Windsor Castle February 1173 Richard and I were sitting in his rooms, whiling away the long, dark afternoon in my husband’s keep, when Alais burst in on us from the hidden door. I could not have been more shocked if she had risen full-blown from the stones of the floor the way Henry’s ancestor was said to have been raised straight from hell. Richard was on his feet in an instant, trained for war as he was. He had his dagger in his hand before he realized that it was not an assassin who came to us but Alais. “Richard, you must leave this place,” she said. “Alais.” Richard spoke only her name. My son had the sense to put away his weapon, but I saw that he was slain already Pain and love lingered on his face, at war with each other, vying for precedence. I saw then that he loved her far more than I had understood. For the first time, I saw that between these two, there were no politics, no talk of war, or lands, or gold. Between these two, they had found something I had never sought. A love based not on necessity, politics, or power but on the simple, personal bond between them. The loss of Alais had cost him not an alliance with France, or the lands of the Vexin, but something that was to Richard more precious. Alais seemed as struck by the sight of my son as he was by her. She blinked, swallowing convulsively, though she was too strong to weep. As I watched, she rallied, and found her voice once more. “You must go. John has brought Henry a letter that tells of your alliance with Geoffrey. Even now, the king musters his men-at-arms.” Light began to dawn behind Richard’s eyes, a light of joy I thought never to see again. “You have betrayed him,” Richard said. “You have risked yourself, for me.” Alais reached for him, and he caught her hand. “I will not stand by and let them kill you.”
Henry would never raise his hand to our son. But I remembered Becket, and how Henry’s knights had murdered him in cold blood. I knew that Richard could not tarry here. Richard kissed Alais’ hand as if swearing her fealty, as he so often had with mine, but he held it longer, and lingered over it as a lover might. She let him hold her hand, but she turned to me. I rose and went to them. “Eleanor, Henry is coming. Before he gets here, you must forgive me,” Alais said. “For what, Alais?” I asked, thinking that she meant to ask forgiveness for trying to steal my throne. “For taking the king’s love from you.” The princess spoke low, her voice barely above a whisper. I knew then that this was what she feared, the one thing that had plagued her the whole time she schemed to take my place. It was love she craved, love she valued. She served France blindly out of love for her father. I took her other hand in mine and kissed it. “Alais, you never stole Henry’s love from me. For a long time, there has been no real love between us.” I saw the question unasked in her eyes, and I answered it. I did not make her pay for it, but gave it freely, gift for gift. For when faced with the choice, she had saved my son. “I have not loved him truly, Alais. Not in many years. Not since long before I met you.” She came into my arms then, and I held her. Richard dropped her hand, and turned away. At first I thought he was sorry to see her in my arms again, but as he donned his chain mail, I saw him swipe at his eyes. He was as softhearted toward her as he had ever been. “Eleanor, will you shelter me? Me, and my unborn child?” My grip on her tightened, and I breathed in the rose scent of her hair. Finally, the war betwe............