“But it is the wise knight,” Philippe continued, “who knows to stop when his lord so commands!”
“My liege, had you been here, I would have been able to explain,” Gaston said. “I fear you do not fully grasp—”
“Nay, Gaston, it is you who do not grasp this situation. With unrest along the Flemish border but a day’s ride distant, I require strong, obedient vassals here in the north, ready to defend my holdings from attack. Men with no quarrels between them.” He glanced from one to the other, then drew himself up to his full regal height. “We can no longer be Aquitaine and Orleans and Touraine and Artois, each region for itself, each man for himself. It is time for us to put aside the old ways and old wars and stand together as France. To fight together as France!”
Silence followed his declaration, broken only by the pounding of the rain overhead. If his words were meant to replace hatred and enmity with loyal fervor, Gaston thought darkly, they failed.
The King’s expression hardened. “It is not necessary that either of you understand. It is only necessary that you obey my commands. And there will be peace between you!” He folded his arms over his chest. “I have decided it thusly: you, Alain, shall have a portion of the lands that you claim through your mother’s line—those bordering the Oise River and westward.”
Gaston bit back an oath and clamped his hands on the arms of his chair to keep from surging to his feet in outrage. That amounted to half of his brother, Gerard’s, holdings!
“You, Gaston”—the King shot him a quelling glance—“will have returned to you your rightful inheritance: the chateaux that belonged to your father and brother, with all the lands and vassals entailed to each, but for that portion which I have just transferred to the Duc.”
Gaston found but small satisfaction in that—though he did enjoy the strangled sound of protest that Tourelle couldn’t quite contain.
“My liege!” Tourelle sputtered. “Varennes is not capable of managing such holdings! Nor is he deserving of them. The only chateau he possesses now is one that he stole during a—”
“And to seal this peace and assure that there shall be no future trouble between you,” Philippe continued calmly, talking right over him, “Gaston will marry your nearest female relative, Alain.”
Both men leaped to their feet with vehement protests before the King had even finished his sentence.
“Nay, my lord, you cannot ask this!” Tourelle cried.
“It is impossible,” Gaston declared, stunned by the unexpected command. “My liege, you have already promised me the hand of Lady Rosalind de Brissot.” He slanted a scornful look toward Tourelle. “Precisely so that I may join her lands with mine and protect my holdings and my people from the marauders who plague our region.”
“Aye, Gaston, I did promise her to you, along with her dower lands. Half the Artois region, if you will recall. Mayhap you should have given some thought to that before you disobeyed my order to end this war.”
Gaston felt his gut clench. He could not lose Lady Rosalind! He needed her lands and her knights now more than ever. His father’s and brother’s chateaux lay far to the north; he could not hope to hold them unless he had the reinforcements and the power that the de Brissot lands would bring him.
“Sire,” Tourelle said patiently, “it pains me greatly to agree with this barbarian, but he is right in this instance—it is impossible. He cannot marry a maiden of my house because there are none available. My daughters are married. My sister died years past. I’ve no unmarried cousins—”
“ ‘Twas your ward I thought of, Alain. Christiane de la Fontaine.”
Tourelle flinched as if he’d been struck. “Not Christiane!” he spluttered. “She is an innocent, sire. Raised from the age of three in a foreign convent. She is soon to take her sacred vows and join the cloister. I cannot hand her over to this ... this—”
“This barbarian wants naught to do with a woman of his enemy’s house,” Gaston said tightly. “Especially some impoverished novice fresh from the cloister without a blade of grass to her name. Sire, you must believe me. Tourelle is not what he pretends to be, and you are placing a weapon in his hands. He will only use this girl to accomplish what he has wanted all along—the death of the last male heir of the Varennes line. I will no doubt find her blade in my back as soon as the wedding vows have been spoken!”
“Enough! Both of you!” the King snapped. “Alain, you will send for Lady Christiane immediately.”