Windsor Castle June 1172 “My lady, you are called to go on a hunt.” I sat in the simples garden, doing my embroidery. It was the only place where the ladies of the court would not follow me. The kitchen servants knew me by then, and paid me no heed, thinking me odd. Knowing that I was in high favor with both the king and the queen, they did not turn me away. A month had passed since Richard left for the Aquitaine. After our dance in the great hall, I had not seen the king alone again. My fascination with him lingered even after I confessed the sin of it, and was shriven. I had confessed the sin only once, but the memory of it stayed with me, though Henry had not so much as looked at me in almost four weeks. I had spent the time dancing with young men the queen chose for me, and improving my embroidery among her women, though I would never show as fair a hand at it as Marie Helene. I sat for long afternoons with Eleanor when she could spare the time away from her ladies and away from the court. I would read to her, not from the Bible, but from old Roman texts that she drew out of her trunks, left over from her travels in the Holy Land with my father. We never spoke of my father, that old tie between us, but it gave me comfort to read those books aloud, as odd as they were, and to know that, once, my father had read them, too. They were pagan texts, every one of them, so I could not believe that he had ever liked them. I imagined that he had read them aloud, as I did now, for Eleanor’s sake. On this afternoon, the queen was out riding. She let me stay behind, as she knew I hated hunting with falcons. She had been very kind to me in the last weeks, since the king’s interest in me had faded. She said nothing more of our conversation about Henry and his mistress. Whenever she saw Bijou, she greeted her kindly, as if my dog had no connection to the king at all. When I confessed my interest in the king, the priest dismissed my fear of sin, though he had absolved me and given me penance for it. He said that it was natural I should feel awe in the royal presence, and that not all thoughts of admiration were impure. I tried to comfort myself with this, but I knew the priest was wrong. I was thinking of Henry as I sat in the simples garden, my embroidery forgotten on my lap, Bijou asleep at my feet. “A hunt?” I asked. The sound of my voice woke my little dog. She leaped up against my knees and scrambled frantically to reach me. I hoisted Bijou onto my lap, where she began to gnaw on my embroidery frame. I gave her a strip of leather that had once been my shoe, and put the embroidery out of her reach. “The king’s hunt, my lady.” “It seems rather late in the day to start a hunt, Marie Helene.” “I know that, Your Highness, but nevertheless, you are sent for.” I dreaded such hunts and avoided them when I could. I could still see the dove’s bloody, beating heart in Richard’s gloved hand as he reached up to offer it to his hawk. I had never been called on to hunt in the king’s party. The thought of Henry sent a frisson of joy down my spine, but I knew that such joy was foolish. “Do I have time to dress?” I kept my voice even, as if I had no thought for Henry at all. Marie Helene met my eyes. I could not tell if she believed my indifference. “No, my lady. You must go as you are.” Marie Helene took up my things and placed them in their velvet bag. Bijou scrambled from my embrace into my waiting woman’s arms. I ran my hand over the red silk of my gown. “Well,” I said, “I hope I keep to my horse.” “Be careful, my lady.” She did not mean to warn me of my bad riding, but of other dangers. I chose to not acknowledge her fears, or my own desires. “Do not fear for me. I will not fall.” No other ladies waited for me in the stable, nor gentlemen, either. Henry was nowhere to be seen; only a groom stood by to help me onto my horse. Sampson had been saddled for me. He seemed to remember me from the time before, for he whinnied when I came near. I rubbed his nose before the groom put me on his back. I struggled a moment with my skirts, for I was not used to riding. I had always traveled by litter before coming to this court. I was still struggling when the king came from nowhere, as he always seemed to do, and took hold of my foot. I froze in place, sure that if I moved, I would fall from Sampson’s back and disgrace myself. “Alais, you are not seated properly.” Without waiting for my answer, the king pulled me down off the horse, so that I stood next to him on the straw. I stared up at him, taking in the smell of sandalwood for the first time in weeks. I welcomed the scent, as well as the touch of his hands. I lowered my eyes so that Henry would not see my face. Henry’s hands stayed on my waist. I felt the warmth of his palms through the layers of my clothes. My tongue fastened itself to the roof of my mouth, dry as dust. I looked down at his hands to keep from looking into his eyes. The king held me, and the groom turned the other way. I could not catch my breath; Henry was too near. Just as I thought I must say something or step away, Henry lifted me onto the horse’s back, checking the girth himself. His hand lingered on my foot as he placed it into the stirrup. He was wearing a new tunic; the blue offset the gray of his eyes. I still did not speak, though I savored the sight of him. Once Richard returned, who knew when I might see the king alone again? I would take pleasure in each moment, then put them aside, never to be spoken of. I sat my horse in silence and kept my tongue between my teeth. “Well, then,” he said, in a voice too loud and hearty for indoors. “Shall we go?” Henry did not move, but seemed to wait to hear me speak. I answered him with difficulty, loosening my tongue against my will and better judgment. “Yes, Your Majesty.” “You might call me Henry,” he said. Though this was what I called him in my thoughts, it was not worth my life to show such familiarity openly. He did not wait for my answer, but climbed onto his own horse, leading mine out of the stable. It was good that Sampson knew his business, for any skills I had learned my first time on horseback were gone. I did nothing but keep my seat as we rode out into the courtyard and over the drawbridge. I kept the reins firm in my hands, but Sampson ignored me and simply followed the king. We did not ride hard, though I knew that the king was fond of a good ride. I had been told that we were going on a hunt, but there were no other ladies present and only two men-at-arms. The king brought no hawk; I was grateful not to have to see such a bird again. We rode until we came to the river, where ash and myrtle trees met with willows at the water’s edge. There was tall grass by the river, dotted with purple irises and daisies. Sampson stopped when the king’s horse did, and stood still while the men came down off their mounts. I waited, paralyzed. Henry did not cross the expanse of green at once. As he met my eyes, I was struck by the warmth between us that seemed to rise from nowhere, and come from nothing. I tried to bring to mind Richard’s face. All I could recall was the red of his hair where it gleamed on his shoulders in the sunlight. I remembered the rose he had given me, the rose without a thorn. The flower was long since dead, but I had pressed its petals and saved them in a little drawstring bag. The fragments of the flower he had given me still held their scent. Henry came to my side, squinting up at me. The sun was high; it was just past noon, and I had not eaten since breakfast. When my stomach growled, I closed my eyes and prayed for death. The king only laughed. “It’s a good thing I thought to bring some dried meat, Princess. We can’t have you hungry this long before supper in the hall.” Henry drew me down from Sampson’s back. He did not keep his hands on me this time, but let me go almost as soon as my feet touched the ground. When he turned to look in his saddlebags, I caressed Sampson’s nose and thanked him for being so careful with me. The great horse lapped at my hair, but did not chew it. “Is there anything for Sampson, my lord?” I asked. Henry handed me a crab apple, which Sampson ate in one bite. He gave me some venison wrapped in lettuce, and I tore the lettuce off and ate the meat as soon as the king gave me leave. I stood close by Sampson, as if he might protect me from my own thoughts. Even next to the sun-warmed horse’s hide, I could still smell the sandalwood on Henry’s skin. Henry watched as I ate, and I thought I would choke. I ate each bite carefully, chewing slowly, so that I would not disgrace myself. I felt his eyes on my lips and on my throat. I was not embarrassed now, but warm. I opened my palm, and Sampson ate the lettuce right out of my hand, his lips tickling, making me laugh. I caught Henry’s eye, and he laughed with me. “Will you walk a little way with me, my lady?” I took the hand he extended. He had taken his gloves off, and I felt the heat of his palm on mine. I did not flinch or shrink from his touch. If I had any sense, I would have been afraid. But for two men-at-arms, we were virtually alone. I was many things, but I was no coward. Henry smiled when I did not back down, or pull away. He raised my hand to his lips. “You will make fine sons, Alais.”“God willing, my lord.” He looked at me a long time before he spoke again, the sunlight playing in the red gold of his hair. “Yes, Alais. God willing.” We walked down to the shore of the river. The king threw his cloak down for me to sit on. The sun was warm, the grass cool against my hands. He stood looking down at me before sitting a few feet away. “My lord, you will ruin your clothes.” “I have more.” I did not speak again, but leaned back on my hands, sunlight on my face. The grass smelled sweet, and the purple irises by the water’s edge glistened in the light. It was a stolen moment. I knew that it was nothing, and could lead nowhere, but I decided to put Richard from my thoughts, and Eleanor. I would take them up once more, the people I loved above all others. But for this afternoon, I would sit alone, and enjoy the king. “This is an enchanted place, my lord. Thank you for bringing me here.” Henry smiled, pleased that I did not dissemble. He heard no false tones of court speech in my voice; as always, I was myself with him. “And the little dog,” he said. “How is she faring?” I smiled at the thought of what little Bijou might be tearing up even as the king and I sat there. Marie Helene would keep her out of my silks, but that was as far as my assurance went. “She is delightful. Thank you again, Your Grace. She has brought me nothing but joy.” “It has been only a month, Princess. Do not count your chickens.” I laughed at the king’s use of such earthy language, knowing that if he had ever seen a chicken up close, it had been on a plate. “What have you named her, then?” “Bijou.” Henry colored with pleasure. When he brought me the dog, he had called me his jewel. I reached for a flower, and ............