She had dripped wax onto the final fold of her envelope and had just pressed into it the seal of her ring when there was a knock upon her door. She stopped, surprised and alerted. No one knocked at the door of her private apartments. Her servants came when she rang for them, or if they brought her a summons from the king, they called to her softly from outside the door without knocking. But who could this be?
She opened the door to find her husband, Prince Edward. Seeking to conceal her surprise, she lowered her eyes and curtsied. “My Prince,” she said.
“May I come in?”
The question embarrassed both of them. “Yes, Do, please,” she said quickly. “Come and sit by the fie.”
He entered quickly and found himself standing in the center of an unfamiliar room, he had not been alone with her since the night of their wedding, and now he found himself looking around at the new furnishings; a table from Bordeaux, damask wall hangings the color of a Parisian sky at twilight, a painting of a French field full of wildflowers. Turning round to face her, his eyes looked both lonely and sad. “I had not thought,” he said, “how much you must miss home.”
It was the first kind thing he had ever said to her. She curtsied again, slowly this time, and replied, “My home is here with you.”
She moved to the hearth and the two chairs where she and Nicolette had spent so many hours sharing their thoughts. “Please, do sit,” she said. “Shall I have food and drink brought?”
She was about to ring for a servant when Edward said, “No, no, no, that isn’t necessary. I had just…. Dropped by, that’s all.”
She knew, of course, that this could not be true. Her apartments were in a far wing of the palace, and even if they were not almost strangers to each other, it would be obvious that he had come here with some purpose. Isabella studied him, there in the center of the room, lit by the feeble gray light of the narrow window. He looked unusually sallow, his features lax and translucent, s if his face had been fashioned from the smooth drippings of a candle. His lip, split from one of his father’s kicks, had begun to heal but still looked tender. His cheek still bore a trace of bruise. But it was his eyes that looked most painful. They were rimmed in red, and they appeared so lonely and hopeless, like those of a seawife whose husband’s body has already washed up upon the shore and who stares at the horizon anyway.
Edward was alone, totally alone. She saw that. He had never trusted anyone but Peter, perhaps had never loved anyone except him, and how he was gone. Isabella felt his isolation. It was, in its way, like her own. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him someway, to make peace between them. She wanted to say something. She wasn’t sure what, but something that would tell him she wished to trust him and have him trust her. She was just about to try when he said, “Where is Nicolette?”
“Nicolette?” Isabella tried not to hesitate. “I sent her to my castle in the north.”
“The one your father owns? By the Scottish border?”
“He… gave it to me for my use — our use — after we were married. He told me it needed some work but was sound and had fine lands surrounding it, which could produce quite well if properly see after. I had not thought of it for some time, but on my journey to Yorkshire I saw how beautiful the countryside was and I thought the northern castle might be an excellent project to undertake once the Scottish threat is settled. I sent Nicolette to make a survey of the property for me to determine how extensive the work might be.”
She realized she was explaining too much, and she wondered if she was only imagining that Edward looked suspicious as he said, “But you thing it is safe to send your lady-in-waiting with only a half-dozen French guards to protect her to a castle that is scarcely a day’s ride from Scotland? When all of Wallace’s army is still there?”
Isabella’s mind was racing. So Edward knew where she had sent Nicolette, even knew exactly how many of her personal bodyguard she had sent along to protect her. “I felt safe in doing so, m’lord. It was clear to me that, however great a savage this bandit Wallace is, he would not allow any action against a woman entourage, especially one traveling beneath the banners of France, formally neutral in the conflict between Scotland and England. Even without such diplomatic protection, Wallace would have a standing order that women be left alone. He has too much pride to behave otherwise.”
“You think he is an honorable man,” Edward said, his eyes questioning
“I have just said that he is a savage. But even savages have their rules.” She added quickly, “I also believed the trip could serve the purposes of the king Nicolette and such small band will most likely travel north completely without the notice of anyone. But should it happen that Wallace ever learned of it. It would seem to him that the royal family in London has accepted his leadership of Scotland and that we anticipate a peaceful future with our neighbors to the north.”
Edward nodded. He wanted to change the subject and looked around for some excuse. “That painting of the lavender fields is beautiful. Who did it for you?”
“I did it, m’Lord.”
“You? I had no idea.”
“Shall I call for refreshment?”
This time he did not protest, and the princess had her servants bring warm ale and bread. The prince joined her beside the fire but did not touch any of the food and made forced conversation about castle construction. He clearly had no interest in the subject. Soon he excused himself and left her alone.
She had the servants clear away the dishes they had brought, and she sat down alone by the fire and stared into the flames. And there she saw it all clearly.
Edward had not come to find a friend. In all his loneliness and pain, he was not seeking an ally, either political or emotional. He had come to learn if she could be trusted. He had come to spy.
Longshanks had sent him.
The princess was glad she had sent Nicolette.
41
THE RETURN TO SCOTLAND WAS A TRIP LONG AND HARD. ON the way south to fight the enemy, the Scottish warriors had been difficult to hold back; now they were difficult to move forward. Villages along the side routes were tempting targets for many of the Highland clans that made up the Scottish army. Used to making independent decisions and feeling their obligations to the army as a whole were over, now that it was withdrawing victorious, they began to dart off at will to rustle sheep and ransack villages. No one within Wallace’s inner circle, including Wallace himself, had any great desire to discourage this; the Scots had suffered so much in the past that it seemed to them only right that the English should feel the same pains. Rape was another matter; when Wallace learned of it happening, he halted the march of his army, had the offenders tried before an assembly of the clan chieftans, and hanged.
The boredom and frustration of the retreat were shattered on a cold, dull day that began like every other day on the long march home. There was a commotion at the rear of the army, guarded by a clan of wild but unbreakable Highlanders led by Seorus, a friend of old Campbell. Seorus sent a runner forward to his friend. Wondering at the message he received, Campbell sent a mounted rider back for confirmation. In a few minutes the rider galloped back and conferred with Campbell, who the spurred his horse up to Wallace at the head of the column.
Wallace, having noticed the running and riding back and forth, had grown edgy and ready to fight. “What is it?” he asked with excitement. “Is there a force to our rear?”
“Aye,” old Campbell said, frowning, “but none to attack us. It’s more of those Frenchmen — but only a few. And they say there’s a woman with them.”
Leaving Campbell at the head of the column, Wallace took Hamish and rode to the rear.