The Stolen Queen by Lisa Hilton Page B

speaking now, ‘that she has been happy here. I hope she will be obedient.’
    â€˜She is my daughter.’
    And then the steward came to speak to Lord Hugh and my father picked me up in his arms and carried me to Agnes. He had not done such a thing since I was a tiny child. It had always been my mother who kissed me goodnight.
    *
    â€˜Oh, Lady Isabelle! Look! What are we to do?’ Anges was distraught.
    I had stopped my secret snipping when Othon came, indeed forgotten all about what I had done to my betrothal gown, and now here it was in tatters on my chamber floor.
    â€˜There must have been mice,’ said one of the maids.
    â€˜I hated it anyway,’ I said stubbornly. I was bad tempered because Agnes had made me have a bath, even though it was bright outside and the ground solid and I could have been riding.
    â€˜Shame on you to speak like that of your mother’s gift. And what are you to wear? You were to have new clothes at your birthday, all your other gowns are too short,’ Agnes scolded.
    â€˜You can’t blame me for growing.’
    Agnes put her hands on her hips. ‘Lady Isabelle. Today of all days, I will not have you being insolent. I will not have it, do you hear?’
    â€˜What’s so special about today?’
    â€˜Never you mind. Now go and have your hair combed, you look like a beggar.’
    I was sitting on a stool, muttering as the maid wrenched my stinging scalp this way and that, when Lord Hugh appeared. The maids were shocked to see him in my chamber. They leaped up, curtseying and blushing and apologizing all at once, whisking a napkin over the chamber pot and patting their half-pinned hair.
    â€˜For you, Lady Isabelle. Excuse me, mesdames .’ And he handed me a canvas parcel. Inside was a plain white dress, light silk, with no embroidery or ornament, and a pale fur mantle with a deep hood lined in green satin. They were pretty, but I did not think them very fine. ‘Dress her.’
    The maids shuffled me behind the bed curtains and tugged on the gown.
    â€˜Undo her hair,’ Lord Hugh demanded. The maids did as they were told, looking puzzled. What was a man doing telling them how to dress me? ‘And this is for you, also, Lady Isabelle. You may go into the garden to play with Agnes when you are prepared.’ He bowed to the girls, which made them blush all the more, and withdrew.
    I looked at what he had handed me. It was a ball. A cloth ball of red and blue patches with silly brass bells on it, like a jongleur’s cap. Why had he given me such a stupid toy? I had a horse and a falcon, what did I want with balls? I was mortified to think that Hal might see me with it when I had been plotting to astound him with my riding.
    â€˜Come along,’ said Agnes, in a voice that I knew meant no argument. I trailed after her along the passage, the fur mantle bunched around me. ‘Now we can have a lovely game.’ Her voice was high and artificial, as though I was a strange child she didn’t much like.
    I thought that everyone at Lusignan had run mad that day. Lord Hugh in the wardrobe and my father babbling about Duke Arthur and now Agnes, who disapproved of any game where I didn’t sit still, capering about on the lawn with a ball.
    The low January sun was captured within the garden walls and dutifully chasing Agnes’s throws I grew warm and dropped the new mantle on the ground. I threw the ball back and the bells jingled as she caught it. She tossed it straight up as high as she could as I hovered underneath, catching it and hurling it higher again. I stopped minding the childishness and thought only of the spinning colours against the blue sky. We were both laughing now. It felt so good to play together again in the air, and for once Agnes wasn’t telling me not to get dirty. Higher and higher the ball flew, until I threw it so hard I thought it must have got stuck on the chapel roof. We craned our necks at the