Windsor Castle July 1172 ?? I did not sleep that night, the last night of the month of June, but paced alone beneath my windows. The French ambassador had left that morning for Bartleur, and my letter with him. I said a prayer for his safe journey, and for my father to heed my request. The wind came up from the river, touching my face as the king had done when he placed the wreath of flowers on my head. I kept that wreath. It lay drying on my table. The flowers had begun to wilt, and soon their petals would fall. Marie Helene did not speak all that night, but watched me pace in silence. She offered me the good, sweet wine that Richard had sent from his lands in Anjou. I took one sip to please her, but the taste only pained me, reminding me of how precarious my position was as Richard’s betrothed, of how dangerous it was to catch the eye of the king. Bijou stayed awake with me almost until dawn. She saw I was agitated, and she paced with me, up and down the length of my room, her little legs trailing behind me or running ahead, as if it were a game we played. She finally fell asleep, watching me from the soft nest of Marie Helene’s lap. I felt the guilt of a hundred deaths on my conscience. I sat beside Eleanor all the day before, and all through the evening meal after I’d ridden out with Henry, as if I had not betrayed her, as if I had not committed treason. Perhaps even she would be in danger if the king was to know of my letter. Though she knew nothing of my treachery, she had had the raising of me. The king might hold her responsible for what I had done, for I was in her keeping. I felt guilty, too, that Richard knew nothing of my fascination with his father. He could never know. I myself must forget it. I prayed that I might, that this sin might pass from me. The Holy Mother watched me from Her niche above my bed, Her eyes patient, but I was not comforted. My mind whirled in a spiral, thoughts that led nowhere. The sun came up; my guilt did not keep the dawn from rising. I stopped pacing as soon as the night sky lightened to the gray of Henry’s eyes. I watched as light bled across the gray walls of his castle, and made its way to me. Marie Helene let me stand alone for almost an hour by the window before she came to me, knowing that if she approached any sooner, I would start pacing again. “My lady”, she said. “You must dress. You are still wearing the gown from last night’s feast.” I drew my thoughts back into the room. I looked around at the fine tapestries and the clean wooden floor, taking in the scent of the fresh herbs that burned in the braziers. My bronze goblet gleamed where it lay on my table, Richard’s wine untouched but for one sip. I met Marie Helene’s eyes and saw that though she worried for me, she had begun to see my strength. I took her hand, and we stood in silence, united in the knowledge that my marriage to Richard would take place, and quickly. I would see to it. Marie Helene raised my father’s rosary between us. She pressed the figure of Christ into my palm, so that the gold bit into my flesh, as did the diamonds, pearls, and amethysts that led up from His Body in an unbroken line of prayer. She said a Novena over me and called on the Holy Mother to guard my steps. I had never before heard a woman’s voice raised in prayer except Mother Sebastian’s in the nunnery There was sanctity in it that I rarely felt in church, a level of commitment to God that I had not found even when a priest raised his hand to bless me in the mass. I did not consider that this was blasphemy, but accepted Marie Helene’s blessing as a gift from the Holy Mother. I knew that I would need all Her gifts in the days to come. Marie Helene opened her eyes, and there were tears in them. “Your wash water is coming, my lady. You must take off your gown, so that the servants do not tell the king that you were up all night, thinking of him.” I laughed at the irony in her voice, and I felt my heart lift. I let her strip my gown from me and take it back behind the screen where my other gowns were kept. In the next moment, castle servants with my wash water scratched once at the door before letting themselves in. Marie Helene caught my eye before moving to instruct them on where to lay the water and fresh linens, as if they could not see for themselves that I had only one table, which served me in everything. Perhaps it was the new link between us, or perhaps I had begun to grow more wary already. I knew that she meant for me to turn down my bed, so that the servants would not see that it had not been slept in. I tossed the bedsheets, pressing my hand into my pillows to make a dent, as if my head had rested there all night. The servants did not see me do this, for I was quick. Bijou seemed to know what I was about, for instead of running to play with me as she normally would have done, she leaped down from the bed and chased the servants’ skirts, so that they laughed and made much of her. The women did not look at me at all until they curtsied in the hallway, closing the door to my rooms behind them. Marie Helene met my eyes over the steaming wash water. “The Lord Richard has returned from Aquitaine,” she told me. I stared at her, not moving. “How do you know this?” “The servant woman told me as she passed.” I felt as if a dam had broken over my head, washing me in a tide of hope. I knelt in the sunlight, wearing only my shift, my breakfast forgotten. “God be praised” I asked forgiveness once more for all my sins, my father’s rosary between my hands. I asked that God cleanse my mind of all thoughts of the king, and turn my mind once more to Richard, and forever. Richard waited for me in the kitchen garden. He stood by the willow tree, beside the bench I always sat on. He met my eyes, but did not cross to join me. It was I who crossed the garden to him. There was no one about, no servants from the kitchen, no women gathering herbs for dinner in the hall. We were alone but for Marie Helene, who stood well back, by the door to the castle. I held out my hand to him, and he took it. His face revealed nothing but wariness, and I wondered if he still wanted to marry me at all. “We must marry,” I said. He blinked, as if surprised to hear such words come from my lips. I lowered my voice, and stepped close to him. I was being too bold, but I did not want to be overheard. Though there were no servants to be seen, someone, somewhere close, was watching us. We did not have long. “I fear the king,” I said. I could not tell him that I feared myself more. His face darkened. Richard had never before turned such a look on me. I remembered in that moment the gray dove that had lain dying in his hand. That same knife was even now sheathed on his wrist. “Has he touched you?” If I told him of Henry’s kiss, Richard might leave that garden and kill his father with his bare hands. The king’s men-at-arms would stop him with their pikes. I would be without a husband, shamed before all the court, sent home in disgrace, or to a convent for the rest of my life. In my exile, I would know that I had brought about Richard’s death. And I would never see Henry again, “No,” I said. “He has not touched me.” My conscience pricked me, but I ignored it. I saw that I had surprised him. Unless I was more specific, he might not move at all. I had no more words to give him. So I offered what I never had, except to a crowned king or queen: I knelt at his feet, as I would at prayer. I said nothing, but lowered my head. If my words could not move him to act for............