Dazzled, Maud could only stare at him in breathless wonder. Handing the reins to a waiting squire, the rider sprang gracefully from his horse. At first Maud was aware only of a flow of energy emanating from the figure striding toward her. As he came closer she could see a tall, lean man with wide shoulders, dressed in a long blue tunic embroidered in red and gold thread at the hem and cuffs, and wearing tan boots of soft Spanish leather. His face broke into a smile as green-gold eyes stared down at her in a long, searching look of recognition.
“Well met, Cousin,” the man said, his voice surprisingly soft, as he half lifted her out of the litter. “I am Stephen of Blois, Count of Mortain, and we first saw each other a long time ago. Do you remember?”
“Indeed.” He still resembled the boy in the scarlet cap who had smiled at her in much the same way he was smiling now. “The day I left England is not one I would be likely to forget,” she said. “Surely you are the boy with the cat’s eyes riding into Windsor as I rode out.”
Stephen laughed delightedly. “Cat’s eyes! No one has ever compared me to a feline before.” His face grew sober. “The day one leaves home marks a turning point, does it not?” He gave her an understanding look. “And the day one returns, another.”
Filled with a rush of emotion, Maud looked quickly away, unprepared to find such ready empathy from this unknown cousin. She wondered why neither of them mentioned the incident by the river.
“I thought you the most beautiful maiden I had ever seen,” Stephen continued, “but so unhappy. Time has made you even more fair. I hope it brought you happiness as well, before your tragic loss, of course.” He signed himself.
Maud felt tongue-tied, ill at ease with the admiration she saw reflected in his eyes, the warmth in his voice. Aware of his large hands still holding hers, Maud tried to pull away, but he held her fast. A spark traveled from his palm to hers; the air seemed to pulse between them. The feeling was so new, so intense, and so unexpected that she felt close to panic.
“You cannot keep her all to yourself, Stephen.” A small, stocky man, his brown hair shaved at the back and sides, walked up to them. “Sister!”
As Stephen finally released her hands, the man hugged Maud affectionately, kissing her on both cheeks. “I’m so pleased to see you again. You cannot know how I’ve missed you all these years.”
The Welsh lilt to his voice, the deep-set dark eyes were all familiar. In a wave of relief, Maud threw her arms around her half-brother. Robert was as warm and friendly as she had remembered him. The crown shifted on her veil and she reached up to steady it.
“By Our Lady, you wear a king’s ransom on your head, Cousin,” Stephen said, apparently noticing her crown for the first time. He could not seem to take his eyes off the gem-encrusted gold plates winking in the morning sun.
“It’s the Imperial crown, given to me by the Emperor,” Maud said, a hint of pride in her voice.
There was a moment of silence. The two men exchanged quick glances, and Maud sensed their unspoken disapproval.
“Yes, well, you will hardly need it here,” said Robert.
“You’re in Normandy now where beauty is the only crown a woman wears,” Stephen added. “Yours is more dazzling than any diadem.”
Light repartee of this kind had not existed at the stiff German court, with its formal etiquette. Maud did not know how to take this unfamiliar banter. Obviously, as Aldyth had warned, it had been a mistake to wear the crown, but she had no intention of removing it now.
They waited a moment as if expecting her to remove it but as she made no move to do so Robert said, “Come, Sister, the others wish to greet you as well.”
Robert led Maud to the group of horsemen who had dismounted. One, a hunchback, dressed all in green, had dark brown hair framing a comely, sensitive face.
“Here are the de Beaumont twins.” Robert pointed to the hunchback. “Robert, Earl of Leicester in England, whom we call Robin. His twin brother Waleran, Count of Muelan in the Vexin.” He nodded at a large man, resplendent in red and black, with a brooding face and a nose beaked like a hawk. He turned toward a third man. “Brian FitzCount, Lord of Wallingford.”
This man was almost as tall as Stephen, with a sinewy frame and cropped black curls growing over his head like lamb’s wool. Something flickered in his dark blue eyes as they stared straight at Maud.
“Perhaps you will remember they arrived on the day you left for Germany,” Robert continued. “Not that you would be expected to recognize them as the sniveling rats they then were.”
The men’s names were not unknown to her, of course, for the Emperor had insisted she familiarize herself with the most powerful lords at her father’s court. The twins were the sons of the late Count of Muelan, King Henry’s oldest friend. She gave them a warm smile.