White Lion's Lady Read Online Free

he felt was best for his country at the time, and that given the chance, he would do so again.
    As a result of his betrayal, everything he owned was deemed forfeit to the Crown: his lands and titles, his wealth, even his marriage to Isabel’s mother, which was annulled, illegitimizing Isabel and her infant sister. She and little Maura were declared bastards and sent to live in separate convents as wards of the king. Their mother, a distant relative of the royal family, was allowed to retain the rights to her dower lands, but was returned to her homeland of France in supreme disgrace. Six years had passed without a word from her, but rumors circulated that the noble lady had gone quite mad with grief and humiliation. Then, less than a month ago, a missive arrived conveying the regretful news that Isabel’s mother had succumbed to an illness.
    Isabel was now inherited of the château in France and several other estates that bordered the northern kingdom of Wales. She was a landed heiress and, King Richard decided, prime for marriage. He had matched her with theEarl of Montborne, a man Isabel had never met and knew only by reports of his sterling reputation.
    It had been some years since she had trusted in the honor of men—trusting her father’s honor had taught her that bitter lesson—but Isabel hoped she would be able to convince her new husband to allow her to send for Maura once they were wed. If she could do nothing else in this life, she prayed for the chance to be reunited with her sister and the opportunity to look after her until she was old enough to start her own life.
    “I vow I cannot credit why the king saw fit to betroth you, of all people, to Sebastian of Montborne,” Felice continued once the funeral procession had gone ahead and the horses were guided back onto the road to resume the trek north out of London.
    The lurching of the litter as it moved forward upset the beads in Felice’s elaborate hairstyle, a plaited and coiled crown of flaxen locks veiled in pink silk and held in place with a circlet of twisted gold. She reached up to make certain nothing was amiss on her head, then brushed irritably at the wrinkles in her traveling gown, a stunning kirtle the color of a maiden’s blush that fit her slender form to perfection. The fashionable garment, with its long, pointed sleeves draping nearly to the bottom of her skirts and its intricately beaded bodice, easily outshone the pretty, pale green gown and veil Isabel wore for the journey. Indeed, not even the fine dress Isabel had packed for her wedding could rival Felice’s rich attire.
    “Imagine,” the young woman continued, shaking her head, “a traitor’s bastard wedding one of the king’s most favored vassals while I, grand-niece to the royal chancellor, am relegated to becoming the wife of a mere baron. It hardly seems fair.”
    Isabel bit back the urge to remind Felice that until he was appointed chancellor by King Richard, her uncle William de Longchamp was a veritable unknown in noblecircles, a commoner. To those left with no choice but to abide him in his present role for the crown, Longchamp was now considered no better than a commissioned thief, liar, and cheat. Isabel had the distinct impression that the Longchamp fruit did not fall far from the tree.
    “Don’t despair of your situation too soon,” she advised Felice with a reassuring pat of her hand. “After all, you’re not yet wed. Perhaps this betrothal will fall through just as the other two have.”
    Felice sighed heavily and gave a little nod before she registered the subtle barb in Isabel’s comment. Her belatedly insulted gaze snapped up to Isabel, who had since returned her attention to the passing countryside.
    The forest grew thick not far out of the city and continued to hug the sides of the road for some long hours into the journey. Chin propped in her hand to hold her head upright, Felice dozed while Isabel remained awake and far too pensive for sleep. She