By His Majesty's Grace. Jennifer Blake
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at the neckline and her sleeve ends. Her cap was the same, as were the edges of her veil, which came down to her elbows. His chest swelled with an odd pride at the fact that she stood at his side, however reluctantly.
“Upon my honor, sire, a troop of men came for her,” he answered at last.
“And the babe?”
“Went with her, of course, held in her arms. I would have sent to let you know of their departure, but the message brought by the captain of your guard forbade communication for discretion’s sake. Besides, I thought you knew already.”
“Yes. We understand what you mean to say. Nevertheless, we have had another account from one who watches over the northern section of our realm. It adds to a rumor reported to us by a second source.”
The king paused, his gaze inscrutable. Rand, meeting the pale blue eyes, searching the long, square-jawed face with its small red mole near the mouth, felt his heart bang against his ribs. “If I may ask,” he said after an interminable moment, “what would this rumor be?”
Henry sat forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “On the night this lady went into labor, she encountered difficulties. You sent for a midwife familiar with such complications. Do we have it correct thus far?”
“Indeed, sire.”
“The midwife arrived and the child was delivered while you remained close to make certain all was well. In fact, you were in the same room. Is this not so?”
Rand inclined his head in acquiescence, though the dread of where this might be heading was like a lead weight inside him.
“The midwife, a woman of middle years but with no problem with her eyesight, swears that a girl child was born in due time. She was perfect, in every particular, and cried lustily as she came into the world. The midwife swears that you, Sir Randall Braesford, immediately took the child and left the birthing chamber with it, walking into the next room and closing the door. She says that during the considerable time while she made the new mother comfortable and cleared away the signs of birth, the child was never heard to cry again.”
“Young Madeleine, as her mother named her, quieted as I held her,” Rand began, but stopped at a regal gesture for silence.
“We are not done,” Henry said with precision. “It seems the midwife was not permitted to remain with the lady, but was given a generous reward and hustled away as soon as her job was complete. And she claims that, as she went away, she recognized the stench of burning flesh from the rooms she had just left behind.”
Isabel gave a small cry and put a hand to her mouth. The king’s mother looked ill, while Morton and Bray stood in grim-faced condemnation. Rand had to swallow on bile before he could speak.
“No! A thousand times, no!”
“You deny the charge.”
“On my honor, I burned no child,” he insisted. “I cannot say whether the midwife lied or merely misunderstood what she saw and heard, but Mademoiselle d’Amboise’s infant daughter was asleep in my arms when the midwife mounted pillion behind my man and rode away. The child suckled at her mother’s breast later. She was well and most decidedly alive when she left Braesford. This I swear on God’s holy word and the wings of all his angels.”
“Nevertheless, we have heard nothing from Mademoiselle Juliette since you sent to inform us that she had been delivered of a daughter. She has not appeared in her usual place, has not been seen since she entered the gates at Braesford. Where, then,” the king ended with quiet simplicity, “is the lady now?”
It was an excellent question. Rand wished he had the answer. He swallowed, made a helpless gesture with one hand. “I can’t begin guess, my liege. All I can say is that a mounted guard of men-at-arms came and took her away.”
“They had orders, we presume? You did not give the lady and her child up without a written directive?”
“I was shown a scroll with your signature and seal,” he replied with a short nod.
“You knew the captain of this guard?”
“I didn’t, no. But as you surely understand, sire, I’ve spent many years beyond England’s shores and no few months away from court. Not all your officers and men-at-arms are familiar to me.”
“Nor to us,” Henry said drily. “But why would anyone mount such an elaborate and mysterious charade?”
Rand opened his mouth to speak, but the king’s mother was before him.
“It seems clear the intent is evil,” she said, her soft, even tones in stark contrast to her words. “The purpose can only be to embroil the crown in an affair with a whiff about it of the dead princes in the Tower.”
“Yes.” Grim acceptance sat on Henry’s face.
It was a pertinent thought. Given the shaky start to Henry’s reign, and his tenuous claim to the throne, anything which identified him with the murder of Edward IV’s young sons could bring on a groundswell of contempt that might well harden into opposition. In the right hands, it could even become grounds for blaming that three-year-old murder of the princes, if such it had been, on him, as well. Though he had been out of the country at the time, the members of his faction, including those ringleaders now in the room, had not. They could therefore be blamed for carrying out the deed in his name.
“Another purpose could be to acquire a hostage against future need,” Isabel said in clear suggestion.
Rand swung his head to stare at her in his surprise that she would speak for him. She met his gaze squarely, though a flush rode her cheekbones. The acceptance in the gray-green depths of her eyes made his heart throb against his breastbone. Turning back almost at once, he spoke in amplification of her thought. “Certain powers in Europe might be glad of such leverage, should they require allies in the conflict within the region.”
“Or it may simply be a matter of ransom,” the chancellor of England said, rubbing the extra chin that hung below his jaw.
Quiet fell in which could be heard the distant clanging of Angelus bells. Sunset was upon them. Though the long twilight of summer lingered beyond the tall windows of the room, it was dim inside the palace’s stone walls. A candle guttered on its wick, and Rand was abruptly aware of the scents of beeswax, perfume and sweat from Morton’s heavy ecclesiastical garments. He breathed with a shallow rise and fall of his chest as he waited for Henry’s pronouncement.
“We must not be hasty,” the king said at length. “We will send out men to search suitable properties where Mademoiselle Juliette may be held. If she is found, and the child with her…”
“I beg the privilege of joining the search,” Rand said, speaking past the relief that clogged his throat as Henry paused. “No one could have reason to look quite as hard or as long as I.”
“Your eagerness and promise of diligence do you credit, but it cannot be allowed.”
“I’ve given my pledge, and would not break it. Nor would I break faith with you, sire.”
“We are aware. Still, the matter is delicate. Say you are correct, and the lady is being held against her will. What is to prevent those who have her from ending her life the instant you are sighted? She would be dead to us and unable to uphold your story, while you would be conveniently at hand to take the blame. More, the rumor which came finally to us is rife at court, so we were forced to make the charge and bring you here for this inquiry. We have also heard whispers that you might be killed in ambush to prevent any denial of it. It is this last possibility that caused us to send so swiftly after Lady Isabel, instructing that you both be brought under our protection.” Henry shook his head. “No, you will remain near us, Sir Rand. Besides, it would be unseemly for a new-made husband to be seen searching high and low for a woman not his bride.”
“Sire!”
It was Isabel who exclaimed in protest, cutting across Rand’s immediate words of gratitude for Henry’s