Chapter 13: The Light and the Shadows

Rosalind stood at a window of the royal palace on the Ile de la Cité. From her vantage point, she could see much of Philip's capital city laid out before her. The chamber he had given her was set in a turret at the corner of the palace, and thus she had windows commanding views in three directions. To the west she could just spy the new fortress of the Louvre that Philip had built, standing where the walls he had commissioned to encircle Paris met the river on the northern bank. To the east, the vast bulk of the new cathedral of Notre Dame rose at the opposite end of the island. She smiled softly at the sight of it, thinking of the visit that she had made there with Philip a few days before. The nave and transept were complete, although the towers of the west front were still under construction. While she was used to cathedrals of great size—that of Durham was massive—it was the expanse of the windows that had impressed her when Philip had shown her the church. The architects in northern France, he explained, had developed new techniques to lessen the amount of weight from the roof that the walls had to support, allowing them to open up large spaces in the walls that were then filled with stained glass and delicate stone tracery. Much of the glass had yet to be installed, but that in the apse had been.

Philip had purposely taken her there in the early evening. He insisted that she close her eyes as he led her in through the door in the north transept to stand under the windows. He had gently tipped her chin upward and then whispered to her to open her eyes. She did, and she found herself in a world of color. Color blazing down at her from the windows illuminated by the setting sun, which in turn threw great pools of vivid light onto the stone floor. She had laughed in delight, spinning with her arms outstretched, bathed in blues and greens and reds that put the silk gowns of the court to shame. She had turned to see him looking at her with what she now thought of as "that look", the look that made her weak, the look of pleasure and desire that came over him when he was able to show her something new that delighted her. She had been so very happy in that moment, standing in an island of color and light, that she wanted him to know what she felt. She said, "thank you." He had nodded with a dismissive wave of his hand, as he tended to when she tried to tell him this, but she added, "I love you." It was the first time she had said it, and the look that had come over his face was one she hoped never to forget. He had been by her side in two strides, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tightly. After a few moments she had struggled in his hold, not to fight free of him, but to allow her to reach his mouth with her own. It occurred to her a few moments later to be glad the church had not yet been consecrated, when the discreet cough of the canon who had been accompanying them interrupted their impassioned embrace.

It had been a whirlwind two weeks since their arrival in Paris. The wedding was being planned, although she left that mostly to Blanche, who was completely at home supervising the servants and the clerics who would be involved. She had also left the design of her wedding dress to her new sister-in-law. Apparently it would involve much gold and fur and the lilies of France. Although Rosalind enjoyed looking more polished and was relieved to find that she could learn to dress herself like a great lady when necessary, she found it hard to muster too much sustained interest in the proceedings.

She looked around her room. Philip had been kind to give her such a large chamber. So bright, too, with the windows on three sides. Her writing desk, painstakingly hauled from Northumberland, was here; along with the books on the shelves that lined one wall, it was the only familiar piece of home she had. The rest of the chamber seemed impossibly rich—the luxury of the materials and the size of the furniture were on a scale she had not imagined in Northumberland. "What do you think, Rob?" she whispered to herself. "You were right after all. Me, the queen of France." She felt the now familiar pain in her chest when she thought of her brother, and she let her cheek rest on the cool stone of the window frame, trying to gather herself.

The departure from Durham had been more difficult than she had expected. Philip had warned her, a few days before they left. "Leaving home is always hard," he said, and he sounded like he spoke from experience. She had brushed it off. "All I loved about home was Rob," she said. Philip raised an eyebrow and looked at the stacks of books she sat amongst on the floor of her writing room. She grinned and pointed at him. "I'm bringing these with me, so they don't count."

He sighed, feigning a put-upon demeanor. "I hope the ships will not sink with all this new weight."

Despite her blithe dismissal of his warning, however, he had been right. On the morning of their departure she had woken in the pre-dawn hours, feeling panicked and sick. The abortive tenderness of her farewell to her father had shaken her and she had slept badly, and now she suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to visit Robert one last time. She roused Donna, who agreed to leave the castle with her and go to the cathedral. They had wrapped themselves in cloaks and walked through the lightening darkness to the church, where she had spent half an hour sitting with her back against Rob's sepulcher, ignoring the chill that soaked through her clothes from the cold stone of the cathedral floor. Donna had made herself scarce but eventually Rosalind had called out for her, her voice echoing in the great space of the empty church. Donna could not have gone far as she reappeared almost immediately. She had had the foresight, even in a half-awake state, to bring an extra handkerchief with her, which she handed over to the younger woman. Rosalind mopped her face and then said, "How can I leave him, Donna?" She ran a loving hand over the side of the tomb. "He's the only person who ever loved me. Every day, he took care of me. How can I leave him behind?"

Donna found herself in the strange position of wanting to encourage the girl to leave for Paris and marry Philip—exactly the plan that she had chastised the Doctor for setting in motion. She pushed her qualms aside, however; Rosalind needed an answer, not a silence brought on by musings she couldn't understand. So Donna gathered her thoughts and spoke. "The only good thing about losing someone you love, Rosalind, is that you can't really leave them behind, can you? They're alive in your heart, and nowhere else, so wherever you go, they're with you."

Donna thought it sounded a bit like a greeting card, but she was pleased to see that Rosalind seemed calmer. She said, "Do you think I'm mad to do this, Donna?"

Donna answered truthfully. "I think you're very brave. And besides, what choice have you got?"

"None other that is nearly as appealing."

"Well then."

Rosalind nodded decisively and stood. She bent over and pressed a final kiss to the stone of her brother's grave, whispered something that Donna did not catch, and then turned away. She took Donna's hand and squeezed it, and then the two women left the church arm-in-arm.

That had definitely been the worst, saying goodbye to Rob, although when Will had swept her into an embrace and held her tightly she had cried again. She loved Will dearly, had often wished that she might marry him, although he inspired in her none of the breathless feeling that Philip did. But he would wed someone else, cementing an alliance just as her own marriage would. And it was highly likely she would never see him again. "Be happy, Rosalind," he whispered in her ear.

She pulled back and smiled through her tears. "I will try. You too, brother." He nodded, looking down to hide the fact that he was crying. "And Will?" He met her eyes. "Check in on Father now and then, yes? He will need you." He nodded again, speechless. They held hands until Philip came to hand her up into her saddle. Her final view of the city of her birth was clouded by the tears that continued to flow as she thought of the brothers—one living and one dead—that she left behind.

Things had improved once Durham faded from sight. By the second day of riding they were in a part of England she had never seen before and her natural curiosity and delight in the novel began to overcome her grief at the departure. They reached the sea coast without incident, the only delay being an unexplained detour that Philip took alone into the forest late on their second day of riding. Once they arrived at the coast, the servants loaded the luggage into the ships and they set sail. Rosalind had, at first, been confined to the ladies' cabin with Blanche and Donna. The sea was rough and her two companions had quickly been laid low by seasickness. Although she had never sailed before, she knew that sitting in the close and dark cabin listening to retching was inevitably going to make her ill as well, so she wrapped herself in her warmest woolen cloak and climbed up to the deck.

There she found a sight the likes of which she had not seen. The ships pitched alarmingly through the waves, but she quickly grew more accustomed to the motion and kept her feet. Out in the fresh air, able to see the horizon, her queasiness vanished. Instead she felt the thrill of seeing the coast go by at what seemed like an unbelievably high speed, of feeling the sea heave the boat up and down, of hearing the sails snap in the considerable wind. She lurched gracelessly to the railing and held on, staring rapt out into the distance. Spray flew over the rails and wet her clothing, but she did not care. Rather, she laughed with delight, tasting the salt water on her lips.

"Rosalind!"

She felt hands on her arms, spinning her around so that her middle back pressed into the rail. It was Philip. He looked alarmed for some reason, but she only grinned at him. "Hello!" she called, above the sound of the waves.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Donna and Blanche are sick, and they were making me feel sick. Besides…I wanted to see!" She gestured around her. "It's wonderful, Philip!"

"You shouldn't be so near the edge. A wave could wash you away." She snorted. "At the very least you'll catch cold."

She didn't know where she found the boldness, but in response to this statement she smiled cheekily, tongue between teeth, and said, "So why don't you stay here and keep me warm?" She then turned in his embrace and snuggled back into him, so that his arms gripped the rail on either side of her and his body cocooned hers in warmth. She heard his low chuckle in her ear, and he kissed the base of her neck, making her shiver. "You taste salty," he told her. They stayed that way for a long time, until the dampness of the spray soaking their clothes made them both too cold for comfort.

So preoccupied had Rosalind been with her memories of the events of the past few weeks that she did not hear Donna enter her chamber, only becoming aware of her presence when she heard the older woman's soft cry of surprise at the sight of her. She closed her eyes momentarily, then turned from the window.

Donna stood a few feet away, surveying her. "What on earth happened to you?"

Rosalind looked ruefully down at herself. Her gown was completely filthy, covered in mud that was now caked and dry. The mud was in her hair as well and it streaked the side of her face. She took a step toward Donna and winced. She was going to have some significant bruising on her left side. Donna was next to her in a flash. "Rosalind, what is it?"

"It's not serious, Donna. I fell off my horse." She and her escorts had ridden out across the Seine that morning, heading toward the abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés to ride in the meadows for which the church had been named. It had been a silly accident; a peasant driving a herd of cattle had emerged into the track at exactly the wrong moment and her horse had reared in surprise. Had it been Thunder she could have controlled him better. Hell, had she not been riding sidesaddle she would have been fine even on this new horse. But the future queen of France could not be seen riding like a man, so she had been thrown and landed hard. The mud was annoying, but the fact that the ground had been soft had probably spared her any further injury. The peasant had been speechless with fear when he saw the royal insignia on her horse and the livery of her escorts, but she had ordered her men that he be allowed to go on his way unscathed. They had helped her up and she had insisted on riding all the way back to the palace, her pride having been hurt worse than her body. She had then sent for Donna and waited at the window for her to come and help her clean up.

Donna made a face and began to strip Rosalind of her filthy clothes. "Well, these are ruined." She worked in silence for a few moments, getting Rosalind down to her underthings, which basically consisted of a light linen dress that was worn underneath her gown. Donna then steered Rosalind to the tub of hot water servants had brought, in which she washed the girl's face and hair. Then she picked up the comb and began to untangle the long tresses. As she worked, she said, "You know he's going to hear about this."

"Yes."

"And he's going to be angry."

"Why? I'm fine."

"Well, number one, it's not usual for the queen to end up arse over elbow in mud, is it?"

"I'm not queen yet," Rosalind said, a bit sulkily.

"And second, he worries about you."

She sighed. "I ride every day. It's inevitable that I'm going to fall now and then."

"That may be." Donna hesitated for a moment, then said, "He's lost people before, Rosalind. People he loved. It's made him…"

She paused. Rosalind's gaze was sharp and interested. Donna opened her mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a pounding on the outer door of her rooms. Donna raised her eyebrows. "I'd be willing to bet I know who that is. Put on your dressing gown and I'll let him in." Rosalind did as she was told, shrugging on a deep red robe over her underclothes and lifting her heavy wet hair to lay down the back. She heard Donna open the door and the murmur of Philip's voice. Seconds later, he appeared in her bedroom, and Donna was nowhere to be seen.

She knew he'd be upset, but she suddenly realized that she'd never seen him angry before, this man she was going to marry. She braced herself for the noise and recrimination that, in her experience, accompanied anger. But Philip was a very different than her father, she quickly realized. His dark blue eyes were cold and he was very still as he watched her from across the room. So motionless that he made her more nervous than her father had with his rages.

Still. He had no right to be so angry with her for such a minor incident. She lifted her chin and regarded him with what she hoped was a challenging look, waiting for him to speak.