Free The Follies of the King by Jean Plaidy Page B

scented her hair with special perfumes which she had brought from France. She would lavish her caresses on him; she would make him weak with love for her and after that when they lay languorous together she would hint to him that she wanted Gaveston to be less prominent at Court.
    Her women had left her and she lay in anticipation of his coming.
    ‘Tomorrow, my lord of Cornwall,’ she murmured to herself, ‘you are going to find yourself decidedly out of favor.’
    She smiled to herself. Dear Edward. He was tender, so eager to please.
    He was long in putting in an appearance. He might be delayed of course. It was his first night in his country. Surely, none of those dreary barons would detain him tonight? This was not the night for talking State business.
    But how long he was!
    An hour had passed. But still he had not come. What could it mean?
    She rose from her bed and went to the door of her chamber. One of her women came to her at once.
    ‘Is aught wrong, my lady?’
    ‘The King has been delayed. He has not yet come to his bed.’
    The woman averted her eyes and Isabella caught her by the wrist. “Do you know where he is?’
    ‘No, my lady.’
    ‘Find out.’
    The woman escaped. Isabella went back to her bed. She sat on it, her eyes on the door. At any moment he would come. She would scold him, pout a little, insist that he placate her.
    But he did not come.
    Of course the woman came in, nervous, eyes downcast.
    ‘The King was seen in conversation with one of his ministers.’
    Isabella curbed her rising anger. She did not want to betray her feelings.
    People gossiped. She would not let Edward know how much he meant to her.
    That would be unwise.
    ‘State matters,’ she murmured yawning.
    ‘It is so, my lady.’
    She was angry. Her mother would have said: ‘A King is first a king. You must remember that.’
    Her father was a man who would always consider his kingship before anything else.
    But Edward― Who would have believed it! She was going to be very angry with him.

    * * *

    It was late next day when she saw him. He was in the in the company of Piers Gaveston. They were seated together in a window-sear, the light falling on Edward’s flaxen head which was very close to Gaveston’s dark one. They were laughing and whispering together. Of state matters! she thought angrily.
    She advanced into the room.
    ‘Edward.’ Her voice was cold with its suppressed anger.
    ‘Ah!’ Gaveston had risen. He gave a bow which might be called ironic.
    ‘The Queen.’
    ‘Isabella!’ Edward sounded suitably contrite.
    ‘So you are here,’ she said advancing. ‘Are your state matters so pressing then?’
    There was a short silence then. She stared for she could not believe what she saw— Piers Gaveston was wearing the diamond and ruby chain— Templars’ spoil— which her father had given to Edward.
    Gaveston knew that she was startled. He lifted the chain with a delicate hand on which she immediately recognized the ruby and diamond ring, another of her father’s gifts. She was too bewildered for speech.
    ‘Very pressing,’ Gaveston was saying. ‘It is long since the King and I were together. We had much time to make up for. Is that not so, dear lord?’
    ‘Oh yes, yes,’ said Edward.
    Isabella turned to the King. ‘The chain,’ she said, ‘the ring. He must have stolen them. Have you not seen―?’
    Gaveston laughed. ‘Are they not beautiful? I could have swooned with delight when my dear lord set the chain about my neck and put the ring on my finger.’
    Edward spoke then haltingly, his eyes still on her fearful and yet faintly defiant. ‘Perrot loves rubies almost as much as diamonds―’ he said.
    ‘And the two combined are quite irresistible,’ added Gaveston.
    ‘These are priceless ornaments,’ cried Isabella. ‘They are my father’s gifts to us. They are for our children. You cannot let this man wear them.’
    ‘Ha!’ retorted Gaveston with a smirk. ‘My lord the King would never