The Fatal Crown(17)

“What holds you in such thrall? I made enough noise to wake the dead yet you heard nothing.”

Caught by surprise, Stephen whipped around to find the saturnine face and ironic blue eyes of Brian FitzCount, who had slipped silently into the water to join him. Brian, bastard son of the Count of Brittany, had arrived in England at about the same time as himself and they had been brought up together at the King’s court.

Silently Stephen parted the reeds so that Brian could observe the new arrival.

“Jesu,” Brian murmured, “yes, I see. Now I understand the reason for your concentration. Can that breathtaking creature really be the German widow?”

“What did you expect?”

“A dumpy German Frau like as not.” Brian paused, a frown creasing his brow. “Still a mystery why the King has summoned her back.” He stretched his arms then ducked his head of tight black curls under the water.

“No mystery to me,” Stephen said lazily, his eyes riveted to Maud who had suddenly bent to remove her shoes and a pair of black stockings. “The King has a new alliance to be made and his daughter is now an available widow.”

“If that was all there was to it why not say so? Why keep the matter secret? Normandy is at peace with both France and Anjou now, pray God it lasts. With whom does the King need an alliance? Much more sensible to have left the lady in Germany where she could be of use to him. No, there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

Stephen shrugged. “There are always alliances to be made. Perhaps the King wishes to see the only remaining child of his late queen. There could be a hundred reasons.”

Brian lay on his back in the water and gently kicked his legs. “In all the years I’ve lived at court I’ve never witnessed King Henry take any action that did not first serve the interests of the realm.”

“Must there always be a political reason for everything?” Stephen said, impatience in his voice. “You’re as bad as my devoted brother, Henry, who scents intrigue as my brachet scents game.” He drew his breath in sharply as Maud lifted up the skirts of her black gown and tunic, affording him a tantalizing glimpse of a delicately shaped ankle. She then proceeded to run through the grass directly toward his hiding place.

Brian laughed. “If your brother’s keen nose hasn’t uncovered the King’s secret no one can.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Stephen continued, “my cousin is here. Now. And I intend to make the most of it before she is shipped off to another husband.”

“God’s face, I hope that doesn’t mean what it usually does. Such talk from you invariably spells trouble—for the damsel in question. Listen to me, Stephen, it’s one thing to pursue a lady of questionable virtue or a tavern wench, but the King’s daughter, who is also your own cousin? Remember what happened with that baron’s wife last year? You only just escaped her husband’s vengeance by fleeing through the kitchens.”

Stephen chuckled. “With boots, hose, and cloak left behind as evidence! Will I ever forget? If you hadn’t been waiting with the horses—” He gave a mock shudder, his eyes intently watching Maud.

“Exactly. Be warned.”

“Don’t be tiresome. If I required a sermon, I would go to my brother. Henry’s recent appointment as Abbot of Glastonbury has made him more insufferable than ever. You should hear him on the subject of lechery and lust.”

Brian laughed. “I can imagine.”

Stephen turned to grin at his companion. “My cousin will be lonely and need consolation after her recent loss. I have a most excellent remedy for pining widows.”

“By my faith, now I’m really worried for the lady’s safety. You’re incorrigible.”

Stephen did not reply. For a moment Maud had vanished from his sight and he poked out his head from between the reeds to see where she had gone. Not ten feet from his hiding place a pair of startled smoke-gray eyes met his. For the space of a heartbeat their eyes held. There was an odd, sharp little ache in Stephen’s chest, and a sensation in his belly as if he had just fallen from a great height. Before he could speak, Maud’s face turned pink, and she quickly ran through the grass back to the camp.

“Look, Stephen, did you ever see such a sorry sight?” Brian asked, laughing.

“What?” Dazed, Stephen tore his gaze away from Maud to see his cousin, Robert of Gloucester, standing across the narrow river, a blanket wrapped around him. Small but strongly built, with a shock of thick brown hair cut straight across his forehead in the Norman fashion, he resembled a hardy pony from the Welsh hills.