Part 15
Standing before the fire, Chuck quickly broke the wax seal that held the missive closed. He scanned through the words in the near illegible script, so unlike the careful way that the writer had used to write, as she had been taught at court. Serena, his childhood friend, had always been intended to serve the next queen of France, and was trained early to take down letters for whoever would sit on the throne beside Nathaniel.
All this she had taken pride in, and so Serena had perfected the skill of writing and reading, beautified her hand so that her missives for the future queen would rest in their ennobled space in the royal archives.
This hastily scribbled scratches of ink on the parchment told him much more about the situation than the very words themselves. And the words were infuriating enough.
Even more, Chuck felt the desperate need to take the need boat across the Channel.
He glanced back towards the court, and his breath hitched upon the sight of the princess. For the first time, the cinched belt around her waist revealed the swell of her belly. The hush that had fallen on the courtiers were not as much about shock at the revelation, but a surprise that the foreign—enemy—hostage would seem so bold to reveal that she was enceinte. In fact, many had suspected, whispered under their breaths. It never escape the court that of a sudden, the Prince of Wales had returned to court with this princess in such prominent display. There had been no reason for her presence, after all. King Howard had just signed the treaty, and paid the worth of half the lands of France, the largest ransom in gold ever exchanged between France and England.
Why then the burden of this wife of the dauphin?
And why had she been on Edward's arm so frequently, moving about in court in her billowy dresses, displayed about shamelessly—nay, even with pride—and introduced to dukes and earls and ambassadors in the English court?
Blair held her head up high as she crossed the floor and stopped before the throne, curtsying deeply before the king and queen. Prince Edward had joined the party to escort his grandmother to Hertfordshire, and left the monarchs holding court in Windsor. Unescorted by the prince for the first time since her arrival, Blair held the curtsy until the king motioned for her to rise.
She would be shattered if she learns of Serena's frantic plea and terrible news. He would hold his tongue until the proper time.
Burgundy was Nathaniel's, Serena had shared. Burgundy, which Blair had so loved. Burgundy, which had been her refuge until she had so inexplicably left its sanctuary only to be found in London.
Burgundy was Nathaniel's, and so was Baizen.
The king turned and met his eyes from across the large hall, then motioned for him to come. Chuck folded the paper and considered tossing it into the fire, anxious that it be found by anyone. After all, this was still the English court, and despite the tentative peace in the region brought about by the treaty and the Black Prince being on home soil, this kingdom was still the fiercest of France's foes.
Blair turned towards him, and Chuck slide the letter into his vest, saved for a quiet solitary moment.
If ever there was a reason to speak in confidence, this was it.
Take my words to the princess, I beg you.
As he approached the throne, Chuck watched in admiration at the ease with which the princess conversed with members of the king's council. She bore the same regal confidence that she had in the Estates General.
Truly, she would have been such a good addition to the monarchy, had that marriage not fallen apart.
Yet truly, what hope had that marriage that had rent his heart before he had ever vowed in Nathaniel's name to love her and take her before God? And what hope had there been for the monarchy when in truth he saw in her eyes, felt in her every touch, heard in her voice, a fire inside her that sprung on that night in his chambers—a kindling that he had sparked, embers that dulled in moments she was with her husband?
They were inevitable. He could swear to it, despite the odds before them.
She was wed to Nathaniel, full of the child of the next English king, driven towards the right to hold her place as France's queen.
He had sworn before God and country to serve the dauphin, and his very presence in this court was crafted to break apart a marriage that she fought to keep intact.
With all the grace of her bloodline, Blair glided on the arm of a courtier, one of Edward's counselors. Her laughter pealed across the room, lilting like the jesses on the foot of peregrine. Like the bells, the sound told him where she was despite the movement. Yet even silent, Chuck swore his soul was entangled so with hers that he would know where she was.
She had never laughed so—not once in Vincennes.
If he could hold Serena's plea for a while, he could buy her a moment to laugh more.
The festive music struck once more, as if the court was in pretense that the dowager queen had left the court in what could undoubtedly be her death march. Blair moved through the line in the familiar step. On his way towards the king, he paused to join a line and lined up his arm to meet with hers.
Elbows to wrist, a skip, and then turn.
Yet it was not glee on her face that he saw, as one could hope with the sound of her laughter. The sadness that sunk her eyes spoke loudly of the truth. He wondered if she fooled another soul, with the cheer in her voice.
"You are working hard to please this court," he said to her. "Just as you put on a face at home. To what end?"
"We will not win today," she answered. Her breath hitched, and Chuck held his breath at the warmth of her skin on his, the closeness of their bodies when they touched. "But my son will take the crown one day." She turned. He was bereft at the cool air when she stepped backwards. "Kings die."
His head snapped up, anticipating danger at the words. Yet the distance between them to the next pair in the dance was large enough that she was not overheard.
Jesu, she would be the death of him.
When he met her in Bourbon, he had known she was a handful. Eleanor had warned him so. Yet to speak two shattering words while at the center of this English court was so bold and careless that his heart dropped.
Blair stepped forward, and he took several as well. She leaned to whisper as they met. "These Englishmen will be my allies when they remember this pleasant time at court. Mayhap once more you will find yourself in war with a prince of France, only this time you will fight at the side of my son." Their fingers, which were supposed to hover modestly against the others, touched. He could swear she intended it, wondered about all that she learned. He swore he grew, when the littlest of her fingers tangled briefly with his. "For peace and for prosperity on both sides of the channel."
And then as swiftly as it happened, she had stepped away with the briefest smile.
By the time that Chuck had made his way to the king, the monarch himself had made his way to the princess. The king welcomed his to the gathering of his council members that were rapt in conversation.
"This is the jewel which my son has brought home to us!" the king exclaimed. "And no wonder he has kept you far away from us old men selfishly. The prince had always been loath to share."
"I am no toy to be kept in a chest, your grace."
"No toy," the king agreed. "I can see you are a crown jewel to be held up for display." And then the king shook his head. "Nay, more than a jewel." He turned to Chuck and declared, "We can live with the princess, ambassador."
At court, uttered by a king before his council, meant such gains in Blair's brief exposure to the king.
"I have no doubt," Chuck allowed. "Her grace, Princess Blair, has always had a way."
"Have you heard her grace's thoughts on the duchies?" the king pressed. "They are much better than yours, no doubt, as you are a mouthpiece of the throne."
The pang of knowing what had happened to Burgundy threw him. He responded, "We have not had time to speak of it, but I can imagine."
"You cannot be so harsh on the my lord D'Artois, your grace. In truth, deep within, he is more than my husband's man." Blair nodded towards him. "The ambassador knows that my father governs Bourbon as his own kingdom, but shall never use the word out of respect to kings who may not be secure of their hold on their crown. And my lord comte could appreciate my complete hold on my own duchy of Burgundy, from which he takes his own lands."
Edward nodded. "An independent governance of the duchies, a possible restoration of ancestral lands unchallenged, that a monarch would not steal them to be granted to favorites."
"What is yours, is yours," Blair finished. "Run your duchy, and give to the crown. As long as you have strong and loyal dukes and princes in the region providing for the people, you may rule in peace and prosperity—a true treasure to the crown." And then with a smile, she continued, "Perhaps then, by some miracle, there will be no chevauchee or mercenaries flooding my countryside, and you and I will know our places—vassal to liege."
A pregnant silence fell over the council. The king regarded the young woman before him, small in stature as she was, her voice clear when it rang out the statement that was gentle in tone but deafening in its meaning.
She was brave, but not foolish. Chuck registered the subtle move when she rested the hand on the swell of her belly—a move that did not escape the king.
Her lips curved as she held the monarch's gaze.
King Edward nodded, a small gesture that eased those around him.
"Aquitaine was signed to me by King Howard, as part of his treaty. You will honor this, as will your son."
"When my son ascends, I will remember your kindness. Govern the duchy, your grace. As long as the people are secure and in good health, there is nothing to fear from me and mine."
With a curt wave of his hand, the king dismissed the council. When Chuck moved to leave as well, Blair placed a hand on his arm. At the silent plea for him to remain, the king nodded.
"I will install the finest prince, my son, in Aquitaine."
Closer to her.
"Near enough that he can teach your little prince to wield a sword."
His heart grew heavy.
"Then I have your support in my petition in France."
"You understand that you must remain married to the dauphin to ensure your claim to the throne."
She nodded. "Will I have you behind me in refusing his petition for an annulment with the pope? Will you help me push the church for recognition? We are good and truly married, your grace."
The king turned to Chuck. "Is it consanguinity he claims?" When Chuck nodded, the king replied, "And this was not a matter he considered when he sought her hand—"
"And not when he shipped my gold to you for his father's ransom."
Chuck watched the king's expression as he considered the plea before him. Edward was no fool, and was a great knight, a true king, who would soon leave a legacy unparalleled among the English kings. Despite the havoc that his campaigns wrought upon France, in English he was beyond compare. This regard he deserved by his intellect and iron hand.
Yet what man would be unmoved by the sight of Blair, flush with her intent, rounding gently with what the court believed was the king's grandchild?
"I am behind you," the king committed. "And if it should come to it, I will sail to France on the day you challenge your husband for the throne. I will lead an army for you, and the child shall have what is his."
The king and the queen retired at the end of the night, and Chuck waited patiently until Blair peeled away from the party. He presented an arm that she took without hesitation, and they made their way through the long corridor.
He glanced at her, and saw the sunken shadows under her eyes. He closed a hand over her own which rested on his arm.
"The day is late, and you are tired."
"What I have gained today was well worth the rest I lost."
Not once had he seen her so single minded, and wondered how much more she would have grown, how much that Nathaniel had lost, in his whirlwind decision to replace his consort. "We should sail home, Blair."
"We should be on our way to Hertford," she returned, "But here, much like in France, these crown princes would decide my life for me. I should be with Queen Isabella. But they all think that I should be in confinement."
Seeking to pacify her, he offered, "If not for the decision to leave you in Windsor, you would not have convinced the king to raise an army for you."
"The king will do anything in the belief that his blood will sit on the throne of France," she admitted.
He opened the door and stepped back to allow her entrance. She stepped inside, and the maid looked up in surprise as she set aside the sheets. Hurriedly, the young woman scurried out of the room. Chuck stayed at the door. Blair turned and asked him to step inside.
"All night you have been holding something in. Say it, Chuck."
He sighed. He pulled the folded paper from his vest and handed it to her. Blair looked suspiciously at the letter, then looked down. He longed to smooth the furrow of her brow as the message revealed itself to her—one line after another painful line.
Chuck could almost hear Serena's desperate voice in his head.
As her grace's lady of honor, my disposal is at his will and command. Having wed Lord Baizen without Nathaniel's dispensation is an act of treason. I beseech you, Chuck, for all that we have meant to each other, fond as we have been as childhood friends, to plead the princess for succor. Carter is labeled a traitor, imprisoned and punished, all because he loved me. Her grace is fond of Carter, fond of Burgundy. Today Nathaniel has taken both from us.
I have knelt before the dauphin, but he will not relent.
My husband will not seek her, and would rather wither away in the dungeon than call for her help.
I am not so noble, as you know. I have no pride or honor to protect. Only love. Only him.
I fear only the princess can sway the crown. Only she will know what Nathaniel will deem worth Baizen's freedom.
Blair folded the letter, then handed it back to Chuck. He watched her expression closely, but her face was inscrutable. The missive trembled slightly before he took it from her.
"Blair—" he said gently.
He was cut off by the commotion outside the door. She sank into the chair in the corner of the room. Chuck peered outside and noticed the flurry of activity coming from the royal wing. Finally, he spied the maid that had been preparing Blair's bed. He stopped the young woman.
"The king and queen are leaving at once, my lord," the maid said. And then, with a shaky voice, she continued, "The dowager queen has passed."
The news was no surprise to him. After the hasty retreat, the prince's own resolution to ride out with his grandmother, and Isabella's own insistence that this young princess she had such fondness for remain here for her own sake, the writing was on the wall.
Chuck turned to Blair to relay the news.
Only to find her gripping the window, hunched over in pain. He rushed to her side and bore her weight and she moved to grasp his arms. "Blair, Blair, look at me," he said, his voice gentle, soothing, fighting to keep the tension that crept over his body from seeping into his words.
She looked up at him, and Chuck could see the terror and pain in her tear-filled eyes. "It's the babe," she whispered, her voice filled with fear. "The child will be born in bloody England," she gasped.
Chuck shook his head. "It is too early for the child to be born," he assured her. "I have heard of these pains. But mayhap it is but the child telling you not to tire yourself so." He knew nothing of what he spoke of, had experienced nothing of the sort. He had never seen a birth, much less these pains he mentioned. But he hoped his assurances would work to calm her.
Slowly, he walked her to the bed, and gently helped her sit back with pillows on her back.
"What was it? What is happening outside?"
"An escaped animal that the peasants are chasing from the king's chambers," he said smoothly.
She nodded, then rested her head back. She winced once more, then cried out with pain. "Call for help," she told him. "The babe shall come this night, I fear."
Chuck glanced towards the door. From the gap near the floor, he could see the commotion still outside. "I shall. Blair, pray that the child shall not come this night. This babe will not survive if born tonight. You have been in England but these six moons."
At the words, she opened her eyes. Despite the pain, Chuck saw a flash of anger visit her gaze. "It is not too early. We conceived the child in Dijon, you—" And then Blair moaned low in her throat and threw back her head, pushing back into the pillows behind her, unable to finish her insult. And then, gasping for breath, she glared back at him, "You are the arse that assumed I had lain with the prince when you first saw us together."
tbc