He took a deep breath. “In Germany you no doubt heard rumors that Queen Adelicia may be barren?”
“Yes, the Emperor mentioned that as a possibility. Do you believe it to be true?”
Stephen leaned over the stone siding and gazed down into the swirling waters below. “After three and one-half years of marriage with no offspring, what else can one think? The King, after all, has twenty bastards hanging about the court so he can hardly be at fault.”
“Of course, he’s no longer young,” Maud pointed out. “But in any case there is still plenty of time, my father doesn’t lie at death’s door.”
Stephen paused. “No. However, he’s no longer a well man, I can assure you, though I pray God grant him many more years.” He glanced around the deserted bridge. “The point I would make is that if there continues to be no legitimate son, what will happen to the succession when your father dies? If the Queen remains barren … there is talk that I am the most likely candidate. Of course, if you had been a boy the question would never have arisen—” He gave her a seductive smile. “But I’m most pleased you’re not.”
Maud then remembered the two emissaries who, five years earlier, had come to Rome with the news of her brother William’s death and that Stephen was the favorite to succeed the King. But her father had married again and she, like everyone else, had assumed another son would be forthcoming. She had wondered if her cousin was still a candidate and now she knew. Under the present circumstances, Stephen might well be the next King of England and Duke of Normandy.
He was regarding her expectantly and Maud gave him a tentative smile, determined not to let him see that she was disquieted by his news. Although why she should be she could not imagine. Perhaps it was only a deep regret that her father’s throne must pass to a nephew rather than a child of his own flesh and blood.
Setting aside her reservations, Maud gave him a mock curtsy. “So one day you may become my sovereign! I had better be on my best behavior. I’m glad for you, Cousin. Has the King spoken to you about his plans?”
A slight frown crossed Stephen’s face. “Not yet. I imagine he still hopes the Queen will produce a son. But the Bishop of Salisbury assures me, in confidence of course, that in time the King will tell me—and announce the fact to his court as well. After all, who else would he choose?”
“I’m aware of no one but yourself.” She sighed. “I only wish that my future was as well assured as yours.”
There was a moment of silence before he asked: “You have no idea why the King sent for you? He gave no hint in his messages?”
“None. A new marriage more than likely, what else would he want me for? I cannot bring myself to think about it.”
She felt the familiar surge of anger and frustration and her knuckles whitened as her fingers curled over the rail.
A hand grasped her shoulder and lingered there. “Perhaps the new husband will be to your taste,” Stephen said in a soft voice. “Young, stalwart, and a very model of chivalry. Try to look on the fair side.”
He did not remove his hand and the pressure of his fingers sent her heart fluttering like a captive dove.
“Let us not dwell on the future, either of us,” he went on, his eyes sparkling like emeralds. “In the next moment a bolt of lightning may strike us where we stand. We’re here now, and I intend to make your stay as pleasant as possible. You have a champion in me, always remember that.” His eyes met hers and a shower of sparks flew between them.
Stephen picked up the crown from the railing and handed it to Maud. In silence, they continued across the bridge. Had the sky become a deeper blue? Maud wondered. The sun a brighter hue of gold? Surely the heady scent of the apple trees, warm and sweet on the breeze, had not been there before? She felt vibrantly alive, buoyant, as if she could take wing at any moment. She had not felt like this for—actually she had never felt anything remotely like this. It was intoxicating yet unexpectedly frightening. She glanced at Stephen walking beside her, aware that a bond had been forged between them.
All too soon they reached the pavilion.
Aldyth was standing in the open doorway, a worried look on her face. “Where have you been, Lady? The litter came back quite some time ago.” She stopped in surprise when she saw Stephen.
“We walked from the bridge. Here is my cousin, Stephen of Blois, Count of Mortain. My foster mother, Aldyth.”
Stephen bowed, gave Aldyth a dazzling smile, and said something to her in Saxon.
Unmoved, Aldyth gave him a brief curtsy. Her eyes were wary; her head lifted like a hound scenting danger. She looked suspiciously from Stephen to Maud.