“Here.” Maud handed Aldyth the crown and, before she could protest, walked swiftly around the corner of the pavilion with Stephen.
“You know we leave for England tomorrow. Will you ride with me to the coast?” Stephen asked. “I can arrange for us to board ship together as well.”
“You’re most kind, but I’m not certain the King—that is to say, he may have made other plans for me,” Maud said.
“I will arrange it, Cousin, leave the matter in my hands.” Stephen laughed, a light, boyish sound filled with a kind of wild exhilaration. “I would be with you when you set eyes on your native land once again, for it was in England I first saw you.”
“Very well,” Maud said, her face flushed, her heart racing. It was impossible not to be caught up in Stephen’s infectious enthusiasm, his certainty that matters would go the way he intended.
They slowly walked around to the front of the tent, reluctant to part.
“Until tomorrow then,” Stephen said, grasping her hands. “I will come to your pavilion in time for morning Mass.”
“Until tomorrow,” Maud replied, pulling her hands free. She ran, flew, over the grass to the door of the pavilion.
Even after Aldyth had shut the door firmly behind her, Maud could feel Stephen’s presence outside. Within a few moments, she heard the sound of his retreating footsteps.
Later, lying in the feather bed, too excited to sleep, Maud realized that she had almost forgotten the humiliating incident with her father. Life seemed filled with promise once again. She even looked forward to returning to England now. Lifting cool fingers to her burning cheeks, she remembered the touch of Stephen’s large warm hands on hers. The realization that she would be with him over a period of several days was an unexpected boon.
Her eyelids had begun to close when she became aware of Aldyth standing over her. Maud opened her eyes.
“I was almost asleep,” she murmured. “What is it?”
“Something has been nagging at the back of my mind about that strutting coxcomb who thinks so well of himself,” she said, hands on hips. “Now I remember what it was.”
“You woke me for that?”
“Stephen of Blois is married to your cousin, Matilda of Boulogne,” Aldyth told her, with a smile of satisfaction. “Haven’t I always warned you? ‘Those who have honey in their mouths have stings in their tails.’”
Maud’s eyes opened wide and a bolt of disappointment shot through her. Sweet Marie, she had, indeed, totally forgotten.
Chapter Eight
THAT SAME EVENING, JUST after vespers, Maud was again summoned to her father’s camp. Her thoughts were full of Stephen and his wife, Matilda of Boulogne, daughter of her mother’s sister, another cousin whom she had never met.
Maud wondered why her father wanted to see her so soon again. Her body tired and aching from the rigors of the journey across Europe, she prayed the meeting would be short and without incident.
A guard admitted her into the dark interior of the tent where her father sat before a small table, picking at the remains of a dish of stewed lampreys. A shaggy deerhound lay at his feet, head on its paws, mournful eyes fixed on its master. The King motioned Maud to sit opposite him on a small stool.
Warily, Maud obeyed, her senses primed for an unexpected attack. Looking up, she met the King’s hooded gaze.
“You resemble my mother, Queen Matilda,” he said suddenly. “The fairest maid in all Flanders when my father married her.” He reached across the table and touched a tendril of hair that had escaped Maud’s headdress to lay coiled against her cheek. “But your hair is exactly the color of my father’s.”
It was the very last thing Maud had expected him to say. Disconcerted, she flushed. “My grandmother—who never cried,” she said.
The King poured amber-colored liquid from a leather flagon into a wooden cup and handed it to her. “Just so. You remembered.”
Maud took the cup and drank, then almost choked at the bitter taste.
“Norman cider,” said the King, amused. “You will get used to it in time.” He rose to his feet and opened the tent door, letting in a cool night breeze. “Bring some candles,” he called to a page who hovered outside the pavilion.
“We’ve heard how well you acquitted yourself in the Empire,” the King continued, resuming his seat. “The Emperor kept me informed of your progress: your education, most unusual for a woman, the occasions upon which you represented him, the court cases over which you presided—all of it. He was very proud of you.”
Tears sprang to Maud’s eyes. The King watched her in silence. A page entered, carrying two lit candles set in iron holders which he placed on the small oak table. He then bowed himself out.