Free Devil's Brood by Sharon Kay Penman Page B

an untidy shock of brown hair, her half brother, Philippe. So jubilant had Louis been upon Philippe’s birth on an August evening seven years ago that he became known as Philippe Dieu-Donné, the God-given. Louis had already sired four daughters, but Philippe was his heart’s joy, an only son born late in life to a man who’d long despaired of begetting a male heir. Never had Marguerite seen such a doting father and, as she glanced over at her little brother, she found herself thinking unkindly that no one would ever say of Philippe what Louis had just said of Hal.
    Once Hal caught sight of them, he tossed his lance to a squire and swung from the saddle. He greeted Louis with a flourish, acknowledging their kinship both by marriage and vassalage, for he’d done homage to the French king for the duchy of Normandy. Slipping his hand into Marguerite’s, he entwined their fingers together, a silent but subtle declaration of unity that Louis noted approvingly. He was very pleased with this young son-in-law of his, for Hal was good-natured and gallant, but also malleable and overly eager to claim his kingship, chaffing at the bit like a finely bred stallion ready to run.
    “Come, walk with me,” Louis said, shepherding them in the direction of the gardens, bare and fallow under a pallid November sun. Passing through the wicker gate, he seated himself upon a wooden bench, gesturing for them to join him. “Your invitation to meet me at Gisors gladdened my heart,” he murmured, “and was a most welcome surprise, for I’d heard that you planned to remain in England into the new year, holding your Christmas Court at Winchester.”
    “That was our intent,” Hal admitted, hesitating before confirming what Louis already knew. “But my lord father summoned me to return to Normandy.” Adding, after another, longer pause, “And of course I obeyed.”
    But not willingly, Louis thought, not willingly at all. “Marguerite told me that you came to Gisors straightaway from the harbor at Barfleur. How long shall I have the pleasure of your company ere you must seek out your lord father?”
    Hal’s shoulders twitched in a half shrug. “In truth,” he said, “I am in no hurry to see my father.” Finding a smile, he said wryly, “The Church holds that fighting during Christmastide is a sin, a violation of the Truce of God.”
    “Are you so sure that you and your father will quarrel once you are together?” Louis asked, and Hal raised his head, his eyes searching his father-in-law’s face. He seemed to be making up his mind how much to confide, and Marguerite leaned over, whispered something in his ear too softly for Louis to hear.
    “Am I sure that we will quarrel?” Hal said at last. “No…it need not be. I have only to defer to my father in all matters, stifle my complaints, accept his judgment without question or qualm, and we will be in perfect accord.”
    Louis was faintly surprised that the wound had already begun to fester. The lad was like his father in one way if no other—their mutual lack of patience. “If you were to defer to Henry in all matters,” he said mildly, “you would be a puppet prince, not an anointed king.”
    Hal stood up suddenly, began to pace. “If you see that so clearly, why cannot my father?”
    “Well, we shall have to make him see.” Turning then to his daughter, Louis suggested that she make sure that her little brother Philippe did not get into any mischief whilst he and her husband continued their discussion.
    Marguerite had been taught that obedience was a woman’s duty, and she did not object to being dismissed so summarily. As she exited the garden, she glanced back and smiled at the sight meeting her eyes—Hal and her father talking quietly together, their heads almost touching, their faces intent. He has found an ally in Papa, she thought, and with a light step, she went to find Philippe.
     
    N ORMANDY WAS A LAND honeycombed with castles, but none were as formidable as the