Chapter 10: Questions and Revelations

He did indeed find her in her writing room late that afternoon. He thought—not for the first time—that the room was exceedingly well-chosen. It faced west and at this hour was flooded with golden light. When he knocked lightly she called for him to enter. He did so, closing the door behind him and turning to find her seated cross-legged on the floor with small piles of parchment around her. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning up the mess I made yesterday. I have all these half-finished books that I'm in the process of copying. I tend to get excited about a text and make some progress and then I read something new and start that…" She shook her head in gentle frustration, deposited a final sheet on a stack, and looked up at him. She smiled and held out her hand, asking to be helped up. He pulled her to her feet. "Do you wish to sit, my lord?" She indicated the chair behind him.

"Yes, and you must sit beside me." In an echo of the day when he had first found her here and told her of his travels, he sat in the chair and she perched on her writing stool, although before she sat he pulled the stool considerably closer, so that she was within reach. She waited for him to speak.

"Lady Rosalind, you know how important the alliance between France and Northumberland is."

"Of course. It allows you to pressure John on two fronts and forces him to commit resources to the north, which cannot then be used in France. For my father, it provides leverage against John and access to trading routes deep into the Continent and the Mediterranean."

He grinned. "What a tactician you are. Yes. And ensuring all of that was the purpose of the marriage between Blanche and your brother."

Her eyes dropped and she nodded, twisting her hands in her lap.

"It is crucial for me to maintain this alliance despite the tragedy of your brother's death. Your father and I agree on this in principle although we have yet to discuss the details of a treaty. That is why I am here. I want to discuss those details with you first."

She looked confused. "With me? But you know I have no influence with my father. You'd be better off discussing them with Will if you want an effective ally to advocate with him."

"I don't want to discuss them with Will. I want to discuss them with you, because they primarily concern you."

Now she simply stared at him.

"The marriage between your brother and my sister cannot occur. But a marriage is one of the best ways to ensure the stability of an alliance. I would like to use another marriage to do so."

Her owlish gaze was disconcerting, but he persevered: "I would like to marry you, Rosalind. If you are willing."

He didn't know what he expected in response to this declaration, but he did not expect absolute silence. She regarded him as if he were some kind of exotic creature, interesting but unpredictable and potentially dangerous. He had to stop himself from smiling in pleasure at the sight of her mind working as she considered the implications of his words. Finally, she spoke.

"I have not known you long, my lord, but in that time I have never seen you be cruel. I assume, therefore, that this is not some kind of…misplaced jest on your part."

"It is not."

She arched an eyebrow. "Have you then gone mad, since I saw you this morning?"

"What? No! Why would you say that?"

"Why would you want to marry me?"

"I've explained…"

"Kings marry the daughters of kings! For pragmatic reasons, to increase their power. You're not thinking straight."

"Kings marry to cement alliances with powerful families. My first wife was the daughter of a count, and I married her to ensure the loyalty of her family and to bring their land under more direct control. This," he gestured between them, "is also a great alliance. I was giving my sister to Robert for that reason." He heard her intake of breath at the sound of her brother's name, but he pushed on. "As you so astutely put it, this alliance puts pressure on England on two fronts. It is invaluable to me. I'm afraid, my dear, that my offer is deeply pragmatic. I am in full possession of my wits, I assure you."

She shook her head, trying to take it in. "But…if you married me I'd be queen of France."

"Indeed you would."

"Well, there you are! I can't be queen!"

"Why ever not?"

"Because! Because I'm not a great lady. I can't perform all the courtly duties of a queen. I'm…ink-stained and perpetually mussed and…"

He put a hand out and lifted her chin to face him. "You, Rosalind, can learn to do anything you put your mind to. You will be a marvelous queen."

"No."

"You will."

"Why me?" He opened his mouth to speak and she held up her hand. "I heard what you said, but there would be other ways to secure this alliance. Trading privileges, hostages, oaths, payments of land or of gold. Why would you choose to marry me?"

He should have known that she would not accept the easy explanation, but rather would demand the whole truth. So he gave her another piece of it. "I have developed…great esteem for you, Lady Rosalind."

She stood abruptly and turned, walking to the window. She said nothing for several minutes. Finally, she spoke without turning to face him. "I'm not her, you know."

"I'm sorry?"

"Whoever it is that I remind you of."

He gaped open-mouthed at her back for several beats, before gathering himself enough to say, "Wh-what?"

Now she turned to look at him with those penetrating amber eyes fixed on his. "When we first met, in the courtyard of the castle, you looked as if you had seen a ghost. You looked…almost frightened of me. And since then the attention you paid me has been…greater than it should be. From the very beginning. Rob noticed it even before I did; in fact, I brushed it off when he remarked on it. But he was right. But why would that be, my lord? Why would the king of France turn pale as a sheet at the appearance of an insignificant younger child of a potential ally? A girl, at that? Why would he then spend so much time getting to know her? The logical explanation for all of this is that I remind you of someone. Someone you loved."

His mind spun, but he could not seem to find anything to say, and after a few moments she continued, "You told me that you did not love your wife in that way. And Donna said that although she is your mistress, you are not in love with her." His mind boggled at the implication that she had had a conversation with Donna on that subject, but she did not seem to notice, pressing on inexorably. "I imagine, then, that there was another woman. Someone you loved and lost. And I resemble her in some way—I suppose it must be physically, given your reaction when you first saw me."

She drew herself straight. "But I am not her. I am myself. And I…" Her voice stumbled and she looked down for a moment before raising her eyes to his again. "How did you put it? I have 'developed esteem' for you as well. If we were to marry, you would come to realize that I am no replacement for her. And then I would see the disappointment in your eyes, and that would be painful for me. And humiliating."

He simply stared at her. She was so marvelous, so brilliant. How had she figured all of this out? And when? After a few moments, she took his silence as an admission that she was correct and, with a bitter smile, turned away from him again. No. He had to explain at least some of what had happened and what had changed for him. Even if it meant that he would have to give Philip memories from his own mind, memories of Rose, he had to do this, to make Rosalind understand her own worth. He stood and went to her, turning her gently by the shoulders, making her face him.

"You are right," he began. She nodded grimly, but he stopped her with a gesture. "In part. You do look like…you look remarkably like a woman I knew when I was younger. A woman I loved, who is now gone."

"And what was her name?"

Just as he had once told Donna, he now told her: "Her name was Rose."

She gave a small, choked laugh and he realized that that fact had confirmed every one of her worst suspicions, so he continued hastily. "And yes, when I first saw you, I thought time had reversed itself, or that a miracle had happened. But of course I quickly realized that it must be a fluke that you resemble her so closely, physically. I knew it could not possibly be her. So I resolved to avoid you, to minimize our conversations. As you rightly say, you were not significant to my reasons for being here. I thought I could just ignore your presence. But then, I was seated next to you at dinner that first night."

She was listening to him now, standing motionless, although her eyes remained fixed downward so he could not read her easily.

"I only spoke to you to be polite, but immediately you captured my attention. And as I came to know you better, I…" He stopped. What could he say? How could he explain it? Before he had fully thought it out, he blurted, "I fell in love with you."

She gasped. He felt a moment of panic that he had admitted too much, but then a series of images flashed through his brain. Rosalind, her eyes sparking, defying her father. Riding. Hunched over her manuscripts. Rapt as he described faraway lands. Pale and grief-stricken but upright at her beloved brother's funeral. He realized it was the truth, and he felt the relief of telling her.

Rosalind, however, shook her head. "You fell in love with an echo."

"No. I fell in love with the brilliant and beautiful woman who is here in front of me."

She kept her gaze resolutely on the ground.

"The brilliant, beautiful, stubborn woman." This earned him an unwilling smile. "Rosalind, think. Even if you don't believe me about how I feel. Even if you don't feel the same way. What awaits you here but a lonely life on the edge of the civilized world?"

Now she lifted her chin. "There are things worse than loneliness."

He looked in her eyes. "Are there?" She nodded resolutely, and he asked, "such as?"

"Being pitied."

"No one who knows you could ever pity you."

"False hope."

And then suddenly he understood. "I am not lying to you, Rosalind. About what I will do, or how I feel."

She brought her fingers to her temples. "Oh, God. I don't know what to do."

He took her left hand and held it tightly in both his own. "It comes down to a choice. You can stay here with your father and marry whomever he chooses." She looked away from him, but her eyes returned quickly when he kissed her knuckles, in imitation of his gesture from a few days before. He then turned her hand over and stroked her palm lightly, causing her lips to part. He continued, "Or, you could come with me. Be the queen." He kissed the pad of her index finger. "Become the patroness of the scholars and artists at the court in Paris." He kissed the next finger. "Travel with me wherever I go." And the next finger. "Even to the shores of the Mediterranean." He could feel her trembling now, and he released her hand and stepped back. She watched him and he said again, "It is your choice."

The beginnings of a smile curved her lips. She said, "My father will not agree."

"Why not? To ensure the alliance and be rid of you at the same time? What man would not jump at the chance?"

And now she grinned at him openly. "And are you certain you want to saddle yourself with such an difficult woman, my lord?"

He returned her smile, cheeky now. "Oh yes." He leaned in very slowly, gauging her reaction and watching to see if she drew away. She did not; rather her eyes fluttered closed and he caught her lips lightly with his. He intended it to be brief, but their mouths clung together and the kiss deepened. Her arms came around his neck and his went around her waist and they remained wrapped in each other for several long moments. He finally gathered the mental faculties to break the kiss and step back. He felt short of air and his body wanted nothing more than to pull her to him again. But it would not be appropriate at this time to do more than this.

She looked luscious in the light of the setting sun, her eyes remaining closed for a long moment, clearly savoring the kiss. When her eyes drifted open he asked, "Was that your first kiss?"

"No."

Jealousy flared in him, as he thought immediately of Will. She must have seen it in his face, for a mischievous look appeared on hers. "When I was eight, one of the stable boys dared me to kiss him."

He laughed. "Wicked woman." After a pause in which they considered each other, both smiling a bit drunkenly, he said, "So I take it you accept my offer? You will marry me?"

"You are in earnest?"

"Absolutely."

"Then yes. I will marry you."

He could not help it. He kissed her again. Then he pulled himself away, still holding her shoulders. "I will go and see your father immediately." She nodded. "Meet me here tomorrow morning? I will come with news."

He left the room feeling giddy with delight. He could solve the problem of the alliance, rescue Rosalind from her grim situation, and probably allow Philip to produce an heir to the French throne as well. He firmly pushed aside any niggling doubts that lurked the back of his mind. Now he had to convince the earl of the wisdom of the marriage. And then—a much more frightening prospect—he had to tell Donna that their stay in the year 1200 would be extended.