The King's Mistress. Terri Brisbin
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“I wish to warn you of what is to come.”
He had seen the sensual, enticing, womanly Marguerite at first. This was the angry, controlling, warrior-like Marguerite.
Was there some other plotting going on? He took a breath and asked, “And what is to come?”
“My lord Henry is simply putting me in my place. He wishes me to know what he could do if he is displeased with me. I fear you have been caught up in a lovers’ quarrel.”
“Henry will call off the wedding today?” His instincts told him there was much more going on here.
“Of course he will! He loves me and will not give me away to some northern lord who never attends court.” She must have seen his look of disbelief, for she added, “I was raised as consort for a king, not some…some…”
“Barbarian of mixed blood, my lady?”
The King’s Mistress
Harlequin Historical #735
Praise for Terri Brisbin
“A lavish historical romance in the grand tradition from a wonderful talent.”
—New York Times bestselling author Bertrice Small on Once Forbidden
The Norman’s Bride
“A quick-paced story with engaging characters and a tender love story.”
—Romantic Times
The Dumont Bride
“Rich in its Medieval setting…Terri Brisbin has written an excellent tale that will keep you warm on a winter’s night.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Beautifully written and well researched, this book is a perfect ten in many ways.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Terri Brisbin
The King’s Mistress
MILLS & BOON
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Available from Harlequin Historicals and TERRI BRISBIN
The Dumont Bride #634
The Norman’s Bride #696
The Countess Bride #707
The Christmas Visit #727
“Love at First Step”
The King’s Mistress #735
This book is for Gail Link, romance author and bookseller extraordinaire, who was one of the first authors I ever met and continues as a friend to this day! Thanks, Gail, for the hours of enjoyment you’ve given me with your books and for your ongoing support!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Prologue
Anjou Province
November in the Year of Our Lord 1177
The slippery satin of her floor-length gown swished around her legs as she turned to face the king in anger. Unable to believe the pronouncement made by him, Marguerite of Alencon gasped.
“Sire! Surely you cannot mean to turn me away from your affections.”
“You will always bear my love, fair Marguerite, even as you bear my child. But you must be clear on this point—you will never take the queen’s place in name or in honor.”
“You have made her a prisoner, Your Grace. You have stripped her of her wealth and power. ’Twould serve you well to seek another as your queen and wife.”
Only after the words escaped did she realize the danger in teasing the Plantagenet temper to rouse. So caught up in her own plans and desires, she stepped too far in voicing these thoughts.
“’Twould serve many well to remember that I am the one who made her prisoner and that I am the one who controls her wealth and power. ’Twould serve many well not to meddle in the affairs of this kingdom.”
With his fists clenched in anger and his head thrown back as he spoke, his words echoed through the chamber and sent shivers through Marguerite as she reconsidered her approach.
“Sire, I beg your forgiveness for my brazen words. I wish only to love you and to give you pleasure and heirs as you desire. I carry one now within my womb and simply want to share my joy at the honor with you.”
Nothing inside her could make her take back the words. She wanted to be queen. She carried his son now. Her blood was noble enough to take her place next to him. Bastard or not, the blood coursing through her veins could be traced back to Charlemagne.
But she was a realist if nothing else, and so, gathering her pride in a bit, she lowered herself into a deep curtsy at his feet and tilted her head down until she was lower than his hand. After a minute in that humbling position, she raised her head and lifted his hand to her mouth. With a reverent kiss on it, she touched it to her forehead and whispered to him.
“I am yours, Henry. I live to love you and to serve you only.”
His manner calmed for his heavier, angrier breathing slowed and he did not pull away from her. Instead, he assisted her to her feet and he guided her to a chair. Once she’d taken her seat, he paced across the chamber without speaking. Marguerite had seen this behavior before in him. When first confronted with news that was neither pleasant nor wanted, he