White Heart Read Online Free Page A

shining in the sun. His proud bearing; his grave demeanor. He was a boy, yes, but I had instructed him in the art of kingly bearing—essential to gaining his people’s confidence, and to keeping the throne.
    My heart seemed to stop, then, at the sight of a man and horse racing toward the procession at full gallop, intent, it appeared, on crashing into my son. Alerted by the pounding hooves, Guérin wheeled his horse around. His guards drew their swords. No harm could come to Louis—and yet I held my breath, paralyzed in fear. Since my husband’s death, dread had infused my every waking thought, horror my every dream, for I knew to what lengths a man might go for power. King John slit his own nephew’s throat over control of Normandy. Pierre Mauclerc, while perhaps not as evil as John, was every bit as ambitious. And yet I could not believe my ears when, just the week before, Pierre had requested my hand in marriage.
    I am sure my jaw dropped open. “I am descended from queens, and kings,” I said. “Would I lower myself by marrying the likes of you?”
    “You could do worse than marriage to a member of the House of Dreux.” His voice, deceptively calm, oozed menace.
    “A minor son, born to a minor son.”
    “I was born the grandson of King Louis VII’s older brother. My grandfather should have been the king. But Louis the Fat chose the wrong son.”
    I regarded him with interest. “Why would he have done so?”
    “My grandfather,” he said, “was too dull to be king.”
    I snorted. “Dullness, it seems, is a heritable trait.”
    “Marry me, and your troubles will end.”
    “Troubles? Can you bring back my dead husband?”
    “I can soothe the barons, who fear you’ll take a husband from a foreign land—from Castille, perhaps.”
    I frowned. Take a husband? I had not considered it. In that instant, however, I saw the dangers of doing so—to myself, my son, and my people.
    “I don’t intend to marry anyone,” I said, “least of all, you.”
    Now he was the confused one. “Not marry? But you must.”
    “Why, pray tell?”
    “The prince won’t come of age for seven years. Who will rule France until then?”
    “My husband willed the kingdom to me, and I intend to keep it.”
    “A woman, rule France? The barons will never agree to that. Believe me, it is far better for you to marry. Besides”—his leer displayed long, yellowed teeth—“you will become lonely without a man in your bed. A beautiful woman like you will attract many suitors, and you’ll surely be tempted by one of them.”
    “Perhaps, monsieur, but not by a man with a borrowed title and no lands of his own.” He flinched, making me want to laugh in his face.
    “Besides,” I added, “I have vowed to join the Fontevrault convent when Louis comes of age.”
    The genius of this notion occurred to me as I spoke. In pledging to take the veil, I might avoid having this unpleasant talk with future suitors—for, as Pierre pointed out, others certainly would follow. I had no desire to marry, and give up my authority. Besides, a new spouse might want to keep the crown for himself, and for his own heirs. Jealousy had killed my husband, at Thibaut’s hand. It would not be the reason for my son’s death, too, not if I could help it.
    And it was Thibaut who, I then saw, spurred his horse toward, then around, Louis. Not attacking him, no, but late for the ceremony, as usual, and racing to reach the cathedral before Louis did. I laughed, relieved—but then I remembered that he was banned, and why.
    “Thibaut! Would he defy me?” I turned to Romano. “I forbade him to appear in my court for abandoning Louis at Avignon.” Who knew what damaging songs, what oblique confessions, what public pleas for my forgiveness he might present today? He would reveal too much, and cause both our arrests.
    Romano’s beautiful dark eyes smoldered. “I will take care of him, my lady.” He left my side to speak with the bishop, and soon a phalanx of