Free The Battle of the Queens by Jean Plaidy Page B

untrue.’
    ‘I had hoped it, but now you spurn me …’
    ‘Spurn you!’ He had taken her in his arms. And she thought: Yes, here in the forest … where some riders might come upon us at any moment. It will show him how great is his need of me, how his need and his desire takes from him the inherent inclination to conventional conduct.
    ‘Nay, you do not spurn me,’ she whispered. ‘You need me, Hugh … just as I need you. You could never let me go …’
    He gave a cry of despair and thought of the innocent eyes of his young betrothed before he forgot everything but Isabella.

    He had asked that he should first break the news to her.
    ‘My dearest,’ Isabella had cried, ‘but why? She will hear of it in time.’
    ‘Nay,’ he had said, ‘I wish this.’
    She was a little put out but it seemed advisable at that time to give way.
    He said he would ride out into the forest with his little betrothed because he thought it would be easier that way.
    She was grave on that morning; it was almost as though she sensed some disaster. He found it difficult to tell her; he wanted to choose the right words, to explain that it was no deficiency in her.
    She herself began it by saying: ‘My lord, are you displeased with me?’
    ‘My dear little Joan, how could I be?’
    ‘If I had done something that you thought was wrong.’
    ‘ You have done nothing wrong.’
    ‘Is it something to do with my mother?’
    ‘Your … mother?’ he repeated miserably.
    ‘Yes, it seems that since she came …’
    He plunged in. ‘You know that she and I were betrothed long ago?’
    ‘Yes, I knew it.’
    ‘Then your father came and took her away.’
    ‘She has told me often.’
    ‘Well, now she is here again and your father is dead … the truth is, we are to marry.’
    ‘You … marry my mother. But how can that be? I am your affianced bride.’
    ‘My dear child, you are very young and a much more suitable husband than I could ever be will be found for you.’
    ‘ I think you are suitable. You are kind and I thought you liked me and were happy about our betrothal.’
    ‘I was, and I love you of course … but as a daughter. You understand?’
    ‘No,’ she cried. ‘No!’
    ‘Listen to me, little Joan. You have to grow up. There is much you have to learn. Your brother is the King of England.’
    ‘Young Henry,’ she said scornfully. ‘He is only a boy.’
    ‘He is the King of England and you as his sister are worthy of a great match.’
    ‘I have a great match.’
    He took her hand and kissed it. She said eagerly: ‘You did not mean it. My mother will go back to England now you are home and it will all be as we planned.’
    He shook his head sadly: ‘Nay, my child,’ he said. ‘Your mother and I will marry. It was what was intended years ago. Fate has brought us together again but it is what was meant to be. Come, we will ride back to the castle. I wanted to tell you this myself … to explain.’
    ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that you love my mother.’
    He nodded.
    ‘Far more,’ she said sagely, ‘than you could ever love me.’
    Then she spurred her horse and rode forward. He kept a distance between them. He did not want to see her sad little face.

    So they were married and Joan saw her mother take that place which she had thought would be hers.
    She watched them but they were unaware of her; they saw nothing but each other.
    There were festivities in the castle to celebrate the marriage. There was dancing and the singing of lays. Minstrels rendered their music soulfully, romantically, and it was all about lovers.
    Isabella was as beautiful as she ever was, Hugh was handsome. The life of the castle seemed to revolve round them; and the attendants whispered together and their talk was about the romance of two lovers, long parted, come together again.
    Joan wondered what would happen to her. She supposed that when they emerged from this blissful wonder of being married they would perhaps remember her. Something would