The Star of Lancaster - Plaidy Jean (читать книги онлайн полные версии txt) 📗

He bowed in his best manner while she regarded him with haughty disdain.

'Well met, my lady,' he said. 'It is long since I have known such pleasure as this meeting between us gives me.'

She remained silent. Wait till she knows, thought Harry. Pretty little Isabella, she is a prisoner here. She must have been wondering what will happen to her. I have come to rescue her. How she will love me when she knows.

1 have a matter of the greatest importance to discuss with you,' he went on.

She said coolly: 'I do not know what you and I could have to discuss.'

'You will, sweet lady. You will. Such good news I bring to you that I will withhold it no longer. Is there somewhere where we could be quiet that we may talk?'

'State your business here and now, my lord,' said Isabella. 'You have a long journey back to Westminster.'

Her manner made Harry laugh. Of course, she still thought of herself as the Queen. She had forgotten that Richard was dead, that he had been dethroned. Still, she still bore the title of Queen and she was the daughter of the King of France, madman though he might be.

'I shall go back with good news for my father, I doubt not. Come sit with me and I will tell you why I have come.'

With reluctance she allowed him to conduct her to the window seat.

Then he took her hand and said, 'Isabella, my father has created me Prince of Wales. That means I am heir to the throne. You never reigned with Richard. How would you like to do so one day with me?*

She refused to believe the implication.

1 do not understand, my lord,' she said. 'I know that the true King is dead and that there is a usurper on the throne. You mean that if the true King's loyal subjects do not displace this usurper you will one day be King.'

'There is no usurper. My father reigns by the will of the people because Richard proved himself unable to do so. My father is the descendant of Kings on both sides of his family. England will be happier under him than it ever was under Richard. My father. King Henry, has given his consent to our match and I come here to give you this good news.'

*Our ... match!'

'Isabella, my beautiful little Isabella, I love you. I want you to be my wife ... my Queen one day. My father ...'

She had sprung to her feet; her hands were clenched at her sides; her eyes stony.

'You ... the son of my husband's murderer ... You dare to come here and say this to me!'

'Isabella, you are mistaken. Richard was not murdered. He chose to die. He knew he was useless and he gave up the throne of his own free will. You were his bride ... his child bride ... you were never his wife in anything but name.'

'Please do not speak of him. I do not w^ish to hear his name on your lips. Your father is a murderer, Harry of Monmouth. You have killed my husband. You make your crime worse by suggesting that I w^ould marry you.' Her voice had risen. 'I hate you, Harry of Monmouth. I hate you. I hate you.'

'Well,' said Harry with a grin, 'that need not prevent your marrying me.'

'Go away. Never let me see you again.'

'Now that is asking too much. A wife must see her husband now and then you know. How else are they going to get the heirs the country will expect of them?'

She tried to push past him but he held her fast.

'You are like a wild cat,' he said. 'I must tame you.'

'I shall send to my father,' she cried. 'I will tell him how you

insult me. He will make war on you.'

'Sweet Isabella, dear child. Kings do not make war because of naughty little daughters. Your father will welcome this match as mine does. Come Isabella, I am a fine fellow really, and I am ready to prove it to you.*

'Let me alone. Go away. Never talk to me like this again.'

With that she gave him a push which sent him back to the window seat and she ran as fast as she could up the stairs to her bedchamber.

Harry looked after her ruefully. She would get used to the idea.

In her bedchamber Isabella found the Duchess of Ireland whom Richard had put in charge of her. The Duchess who had been Eleanor Holland before she married Roger de Mortimer had little cause to love the new self-styled King, for her son was Edmund de Mortimer whom many said was the true heir to the throne. The Duchess was still mourning the death of her husband who had died of his wounds in Ireland just before Richard had begun his campaign there.

Isabella turned the lock in the door and stood against it facing the Duchess.

'What do you think he has dared say?' she demanded. 'This ... this boy ... who calls himself the Prince of Whales. He says his father wishes me to marry him.'

'Oh, my child!' There was a bitter twist to the Duchess's lips. 'He wastes little time, does he, this Henry of Lancaster.'

'Eleanor, I refuse. I told him I hated him. I will never ... never marry him. Oh why did they kill Richard? I love Richard ... I'll always love him. Being dead doesn't make any difference.'

'My dear lady, he is only a boy obeying his father.'

'I hate him. He's just as bad as his father. I hate them both. I won't marry him. I'll run away. I'll go to my father. Eleanor, I want to send messengers to him at once ...'

The Duchess stroked Isabella's hair.

Poor child, she thought, she is just a counter in a game to them all ... to be moved this way and that as pleases them best.

Whatever the young Queen felt about her unwelcome visitor he could not be churlishly refused hospitality. He was after

all the son of the King and must be treated as such. Everyone at Havering knew that his or her present position was precarious and that Isabella would not remain long at Havering. It had been believed that she would most likely return to France but the arrival of the Prince of Wales presented a new and exciting possibility for it was quickly learned what his purpose was in coming.

When Isabella recovered from the shock of Harry's proposal she was a little calmer and her attitude tow^ards him was one of cold disdain.

At first this amused him. He would not have cared for an easy conquest; and the more aloof Isabella became the more he decided that he wanted to marry her.

He contrived to be with her as often as possible but as she was determined to avoid him he was not always successful.

In exasperation she tried to explain to him. *I will never marry you,' she said. *I have been married once. I loved my husband, the true King, and I shall never love anyone else.'

Harry tried to reason with her. 'That is nonsense/ he insisted. 'Richard was never your husband. He was like an indulgent father and you were his little pet... like one of his dogs.'

*I hate you, Monmouth Harry,' she murmured.

Tou were never a wife to him. You don't know what it means to be a wife.'

'And you would teach me what it means?'

His eyes glowed in anticipation. 'That would I do right gladly.'

'You never will.'

'Come, give me your promise.'

'I will promise you one thing: I will never be your wife/

'I am not one who easily gives up.'

'It takes two to make a bargain like this.'

'Not always,' he answered. 'In fact royal marriages are arranged for us. My father is very willing. What if your father is too?'

She w^as cold wath horror. She escaped from him as soon as she could and seeking out the Duchess she told her that she was sending a message to her father without delay. He must save her from the odious Harry and his murdering father.

The message was sent to France and at the same time an embassy arrixed from Henry proposing the marriage of his

son to Isabella. Charles the King of France was at the time suffering from one of his bouts of madness and his brother, Louis of Orleans, received the message. He certainly did not wish for the marriage. For one thing Henry was scarcely firm on the throne. There would be all kinds of murmurings against him, he was sure; moreover Louis had a son and it seemed to him that Isabella would be a very suitable bride for young Charles of Angouleme who was a year or so younger than she was.