Isabella: Braveheart of France by Colin Falconer Page B

nervous as a new maid. She perspires, though it is midwinter. All that day she cannot catch her breath.
    She wants to ask Isabelle de Vercy what she should do, but she cannot find the nerve. She supposes it is like going to your own execution, that same dread and nervous exhaustion. You can only hope the hangman knows what he is about.
    A single candle burns at the end of the bed. The door inches open and Edward pulls back the furs and climbs into the bed beside her. She watches him remove his nightshirt and is suddenly hungered by the smooth bands of muscle and the leanness of him. He is beautiful.
    She lies there and waits. He kisses her forehead and cheek and she feels his hand touch her breast through her nightshirt.
    Outlandish thoughts tumble through her mind; she remembers seeing two horses do this. She had wondered at the length of the stallion. Will Edward be as mighty? Has a woman ever died during a coupling?
    She likes him kissing her like this. She likes looking at him, and the warmth of his body. She hesitates, then puts a hand on his arm, then his shoulder.
    He kisses her on the lips. She kisses him back, unsure if this is how it is done. His hand moves to her belly. A thought: what does he do with Gaveston?
    Does he do this?
    He pulls up her nightdress, forces her thighs apart. She is too terrified to move. He kisses her again. She wants to tell him he is beautiful, but she dare not. He rolls on top of her, kisses her neck and squeezes her breast.
    His weight crushes her. She braces herself. But then he rolls off, gathers up his nightshirt and goes out.
    The door opens again. He leans over her, kisses her once more and whispers that he is sorry and it is not her fault.
    Then he goes out, slamming the door so hard it extinguishes the candle.
     
    ***
     
    He is gloomy by the fire the next morning. He dips his bread in his wine and tears at it with his teeth. Gaveston makes space for her. He calls for a servant to bring her wine.
    At first she thinks Edward is in bad spirits because of her.
    “There is bad news from London,” Gaveston tells her. “Burstbelly died two nights ago, in Holborn.”
    “The Earl of Lincoln is dead?”
    “He was the last one who stood for me against the barons. As his father-in-law, Lancaster now inherits all his lands, and with those estates comes the largest standing army in the realm. Your uncle is now the most powerful man in England, next to me.”
    They stare at the fire. A log burns through and flares briefly, crumbling into the grate.
    Gaveston drains his cup and goes out.
    “If he loved you, he would leave you,” she says.
    “He loves me and that is why he will not leave me.”
    “Does he mean more to you than your throne?”
    “He means more to me than anything.”
    She shivers inside her mantle. The morning is colder than any morning she remembers. She feels like crying but she will give no one in the world that satisfaction.
    One day he will say that about me: she means more to me than anything. For now I am still a girl, but when I am a woman I will change his mind.
    “I do not understand you, your grace.”
    He shakes his head. “I doubt you ever shall. But that is not your fault,” he adds, for the second time that day, and they lapse into gloomy silence.
     
     
     

Chapter 14
     
    A boar has gone to ground somewhere in a thicket. As they wait for the hounds to flush him out, she walks her horse beside Gaveston. He smiles when he sees her at his shoulder. He has a brilliant smile, though the barons have never seen it.
    The wind burns her cheeks.
    “You cannot hope to win. Why do you fight them?”
    “What else is there to do?”
    “They will kill you if they can.”
    “Would that make you sorry?”
    “Yes and no.”
    He laughs at that. “I understand why you would say no. But why yes?”
    “I don’t know.”
    The dogs are howling but they cannot see them. They are closing in on their quarry down there in the brambles. When they flush him out, Edward