Midnight Magic (36 page)

Alberic’s decision on which daughter to marry hadn’t surprised Emma. Gwendolyn was by far prettier and more likeable than her older sister. Besides being too young for Alberic’s taste, Nicole had also tried to stab him with a dagger. Still, Alberic would allow the girl to return to Camelen, which only proved her brother-by-marriage possessed a generous heart.

Emma had promised Nicole she would petition the king to allow the girl to leave the nunnery at Bledloe Abbey and return home. Of late, Emma had considered adding a similar plea of her own, but admitted she didn’t particularly want to go home. Being dependent upon her slightly younger sister and her new brother-by-marriage didn’t appeal. Sweet mercy, she’d come to court with hopes of finding a place for herself but found only misery. ’Truth, she didn’t particularly want to remain here either.

For now, however, she had to put her own problems aside to solve Nicole’s. Once assured the girl was suitably taken care of, she would worry about her own future.

Not that she had any control over her own fate, for that, too, rested in the king’s hands. A king whose time was limited and guarded by wretched, unmerciful clerks.

A stirring at the doorway signaled the return of Queen Matilda from her daily walk in the garden, accompanied by the flock of men and women who comprised the cream of the queen’s court. Everyone in the solar stood, giving the queen the honor due her royal rank. Not until she crossed the room to her ornately carved, armed chair, and gave a small hand signal, did everyone return to their occupations.

Emma wondered if she should again ask the queen to intervene on her behalf. Matilda, however, showed no more inclination to assist the traitor’s daughter than the chamberlain’s clerks. Nor were any of the people closest to the royal couple interested in Emma’s problems, save one brave, caring soul who now came toward her.

Lady Julia de Vere, the lovely niece of the earl of Oxford, had come to court years ago as a hostage to her uncle’s continued support of the king’s efforts to hold onto his crown. Though held in the sumptuous cell of Westminster Palace and not the dreary White Tower, both Emma and Julia were prisoners of the crown. But the fundamental difference between them was that Julia de Vere was treated with the utmost courtesy and respect by all and sundry. Emma didn’t know why Julia didn’t consider her a social leper, but she was grateful the woman deigned to be friendly.

She tried hard not to notice how favorably Julia’s blond hair compared to her own drab brown, or how much better was Julia’s surcoat of sapphire silk, shot through with gold thread, which fit into the elegant surroundings better than Emma’s well-made but now faded green wool.

Emma accepted the difference in their position at court even though she actually outranked the niece of an earl. Being the daughter of a Norman baron placed Emma within the ranks of the nobility, and being the daughter of a Welsh princess should boost her far over Julia. Her high birth was, perhaps, the reason she resided in the palace and not the Tower. However, no one at court felt inclined to acknowledge her station further.

Julia’s smile went far to lighten Emma’s mood. She took a seat on the bench, careful to spread the sapphire silk skirt to show it to the best advantage. “How is your head today? You seem less pale.”

“Better. I appreciate your concern.”

“Four days is a long time to spend on pallet in a dark corner with a pounding head. I still believe you should allow a surgeon to examine you.”

Julia meant well, and Emma would heed the advice if she didn’t already know why the headaches occurred and what she could do to make them cease. However, she considered the cure worse than the agony. She would willingly suffer the pain rather than allow the cursed, devil-sent visions to overtake her as they had in her childhood. Since discovering how to both evade and fight off the visions, she’d done so—though not with complete success.

“The surgeon’s time would be wasted. The pain must run its course. How went your walk in the garden?”

“The flowers are fading. Michaelmas is but a fortnight away and with it will come harvest time’s chill. You should come with us next time. It may be our last opportunity to take the boats into the pond and feed the swans. Were you able to make your request of the king’s clerk?”

Unwilling to tell Julia why the thought of going near the pond, swans or no, made her shiver, Emma merely answered Julia’s question.

“Apparently the king is too busy today to attend to anything not concerning the war. Tomorrow as well. Perhaps I will have better luck the day after.”

Julia leaned closer. “I gather you did not offer to bed the clerk.”

They’d had this discussion before. Emma smiled, remembering her horror the first time Julia had declared that officious, pompous clerks must be bribed into granting favor, either with body or with coin. Julia accepted the practice as a means of getting her way. Her uncle kept her well supplied with coin, but depending upon what she wanted and from whom she wanted it, Julia wasn’t above spending a night or two in a man’s bed, though she was selective in her bed mates and most discreet.

Indeed, taking a lover was common practice. At night, after the queen retired to her private bedchamber, a veritable parade ensued of men coming in and women going out of the solar. Emma had moved her pallet to a dark corner of the large chamber to avoid being stepped on or mistaken for another woman, as much as for a quiet place to endure her headaches.

“Nay. I refuse to offer up my virtue to so mean a little man. Nor do I have the coin to offer him. And nay, I shall not take your coin because I have no way to repay you. Allow me my pride.”

“Pride will not open the king’s door.”

Perhaps not, but she wouldn’t take Julia’s coin for such a purpose. As for bedding the clerk—well, not only did the pale little man not appeal to her, but even if she offered herself to him she doubted he would accept. She wasn’t slender and pretty as were the majority of the ladies who lived in the palace, and she would be utterly mortified if she offered the clerk a tumble and he backed away in horror.

Besides, she already
knew
the man to whom she would give her virginity, and he certainly wasn’t one of the clerks, thank heaven above.

“Then I must find another way into the royal chambers. Perhaps I should make my request of the chamberlain instead.”

“Tsk. The chamberlain is as hard to gain an audience with as the king. The clerks guard both zealously. ’Struth, Emma, you must somehow bribe one of the clerks or you will never get through the doors!”

Emma sighed inwardly. Julia was probably right. But she had nothing a clerk might want.

“There must be another way.”

“Then you must find a means of entry quickly. I understand the king will be in residence for four more days before he returns to the field.”

Four days. Damn.

Well, if she couldn’t go through the clerks, or appeal to the chamberlain above them, then she would have to go around them. Make a direct assault on the royal chambers. Somehow get past the doorway’s guards.

Fortunately, she had one effective weapon in her. Bravado.

She would give the king today and tomorrow to meet with his counselors. Early on the morning after she would be among the throng of courtiers, advisors, and attendants milling outside his chamber door, prepared to sneak, bluff, or push her way inside.

No matter if she lowered her standing at court. After all, she was already so low she didn’t see how she could sink any further. But she would keep her promise to Nicole.

Darian of Bruges strode through the passageways of the royal residence beside William of Ypres, commander of the Flemish mercenaries, matching his stride to that of his shorter and rounder mentor.

He’d made this trek several times over the past years. Each time Darian was amazed that he was allowed onto Westminster Palace’s grounds, much less into the royal chambers. Of course, there were people who would prefer that a man of his ilk not be allowed in the city of London much less inside the palace.

Too bad.

King Stephen needed men such as Darian if he hoped to win his war against the Empress Maud. Men willing to take risks. Men capable of accomplishing those tasks men of refinement hesitated to undertake.

His boot heels clicked against the marble floors, an unusually loud noise for a man so devoted to silent approaches. But then, he wasn’t in the field. His only task this morn was to act as an added set of ears and eyes for William.

A task few others could perform. Not only did his commander trust Darian’s keenly honed ability to assess his surroundings, catching details others missed. But he was one of a handful of men who knew William’s eyesight had begun to fail. Not even the king knew yet, and William didn’t plan to tell him until the problem interfered with his ability to command his troops in battle. Thankfully, the surgeon felt that time might not come for many years yet.

“Do you know why we have been summoned, or who else will be present?”

William shook his head. “The clerk did not say, though I would not be surprised to see Henry. He did not approve of the plan we decided upon yester noon. I fear he may have convinced the king to change his mind.”

Damnation. If the king changed his mind, then Darian wouldn’t be leaving London anytime soon and Edward de Salis, a vile, evil man, would continue to ravage villages and maim and murder innocents. The bastard must be stopped soon, and Darian itched to bring the bastard to his knees, then send him to hell.

Unfortunately, Henry, bishop of Winchester, the king’s brother, was quite adept at convincing Stephen to change his mind. But then, one of the complaints often heard about Stephen was his inability to withstand a convincing argument.

One would think a king would have more confidence in his judgment and stand firm on his decisions. Apparently not. Especially when arguments came from the brother whose support and machinations helped put the crown of England on Stephen’s head.

But politics were for others to contemplate and argue over. A native of Flanders, Darian didn’t care who sat on the throne of England. He had his own reasons for becoming involved in this war, his loyalty belonging only to William of Ypres.

“Henry might feel differently if his villages were being burned and his people harmed.”

“Too true. Do you see him?”

They were nearing their destination. Darian’s height proved useful as he glanced around at the men and women milling in front of the doors to the antechamber.

“Nay. Nor do I see any of the earls or other advisors present yester noon.”

A good sign. If Henry had indeed won Stephen over, the bishop would surely be here to gloat.

“Perhaps they are already in the king’s chambers. Ah, the doors open.”

The huge oak doors swung wide. The crowd rushed forward to enter the antechamber. Pushing and shoving ensued, each person trying to gain advantage over their fellows. Their efforts would do them no good. The clerk would decide on the order people were allowed into the royal presence. Unless they’d been summoned by the king or had paid the clerk a goodly sum ahead of time, they would be forced to wait until the clerk deemed them worthy.

One woman had apparently come to that conclusion. Garbed in a white chemise covered by a topaz-hued surcoat, the softly rounded, dark haired woman actually seemed hesitant to pass through the doorway. Darian saw her nervousness in the way her hand smoothed over a gauzy veil that was anything but ruffled. He couldn’t see her face, but could well imagine the doubt he might glimpse in her eyes.

When he found himself wondering what color those eyes might be, he pulled his attention back to where it belonged.

He and William edged forward at the back of the crowd, the king’s summons guaranteeing they would be among the first admitted to the king’s inner chamber. It suited Darian immensely. He didn’t like crowds, and found the air in the palace stifling. Better this audience was over quickly so he could get out into the field and not have to deal with personages of noble birth, most of whom couldn’t be bothered with anything other than their own petty concerns.

The woman in topaz bowed her head and positioned herself close behind two large men who shouldered their way through the middle of the crowd, doing her best to avoid notice by the guards on either side of the door. She slipped into the antechamber without challenge and he could almost feel her relief.

She’s not supposed to be here.

He admired the woman’s boldness, but knew her efforts were for naught. She may have sneaked past the first set of guards, but would never get past the clerk if she wasn’t on his list of those who would be allowed to speak with the king. And he highly doubted she was on the clerk’s list.

But her problem wasn’t his problem. There was nothing he could do to help her even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t.

Still, his curiosity prodded him to nudge William and ask softly, “The woman in topaz. Do you know who she is?”

William squinted. “Lady Emma de Leon. Have you heard her tale?”

He’d heard of her and her plight.

“Daughter of Sir Hugh de Leon, who had the misfortune of dying while fighting for Maud. King Stephen’s ward. Barely tolerated at court.” As he was grudgingly tolerated. He brushed aside an unwanted pang of kinship. “Must a royal ward be on the clerk’s list for her to speak with the king?”

William huffed. “Probably. Why?”

“Merely wondering.”

Thankfully, William accepted the explanation without comment because Darian truly couldn’t explain his curiosity with the king’s ward.

Lady Emma glanced furtively from side to side, likely looking for a place to hide, giving him brief glimpses of her profile. Young. Smooth skin. Straight nose. Strong jaw. Wide set eyes. Not pretty, but handsome enough for a man to give a second look.

He still wanted to know the color of Emma’s eyes, but he didn’t have the chance to look more closely. Duty called. He followed William to the next doorway, this one guarded by an imperious clerk as well as two burly soldiers.

The clerk bowed. “Lord William, you are expected.”