Tags:
Biographical,
Biographical fiction,
Fiction,
Historical fiction,
General,
Historical,
France,
Great Britain,
France - History - Louis VII; 1137-1180,
Eleanor,
Great Britain - History - Henry II; 1154-1189
said. “I have long wanted my freedom, but how long would I keep it? I would be beset by fortune hunters. I could not wed just any man. But you would be my powerful protector, and I know without doubt that you would safeguard my inheritance, and help me to rule it well.”
Henry looked long and hard at her.
“It did occur to me you would think I had pursued you only for your inheritance. I think you know now that there is a little more to it than that.” He stretched luxuriously, toying with her nipples. “Even if you were dowerless, I would want you for my wife. I mean that, Eleanor. By the eyes of God!”
“I believe you,” she answered teasingly, “although I should hope that God has averted His eyes for the moment! Yet it has not escaped my notice that the men, money, and resources that my domains could offer you would be of enormous help in gaining you England!”
Henry laughed. “So you know about my ambitions in that direction. Of course, it is no secret.”
“And,” Eleanor went on, “I am aware too that marrying me would make you the greatest and richest prince in the whole world.”
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Henry countered. “Suddenly, you are infinitely more desirable!” He began kissing her, playfully at first, then with a more serious purpose.
“Wait,” Eleanor said, holding him off. “Shall we make a promise to marry?”
He became still and regarded her solemnly. “We shall. I, Henry FitzEmpress, take thee, Eleanor of Aquitaine, as my future wedded wife.”
Eleanor sat up in the bed, her long hair tumbling over her breasts.
“And I, Eleanor, do promise myself to thee, Henry, forever and ever, Amen.” She beamed at him with such radiance that he caught his breath. “Now it is decided. We will
make
it come about. You can leave Louis to me.”
“I shall have to. We depart for Anjou tomorrow. You will not fail me, my Eleanor, I know that.” Henry took her hand and kissed it. She had intuitively guessed that, plain man as he was, he made such courtly gestures but rarely, and she prized it all the more for that.
“I have made up my mind,” she declared. “Nothing shall stand in our way. But there must be the strictest secrecy. We must give Louis no clue that we intend to wed until the deed is accomplished.”
“You speak sense, for he would be bound to forbid it,” Henry commended her. “He distrusts me as it is, for my fiefs encircle his royal demesne on most sides. I could be his greatest enemy. The prospect of my acquiring rich Aquitaine too would give him apoplexy!” He paused, frowning. “You do realize that our marrying without his permission, as our overlord, could mean war?”
“I do,” Eleanor said calmly. “Yet which side would have the greater chance of victory? There would be no contest. The kingdom of France is small and weak compared with the might of Aquitaine, Poitou, and Normandy.”
“Might is one thing, right another,” Henry reminded her. “Many will support Louis out of a sense of moral duty. They will argue that we acted with the greatest provocation, not to mention discourtesy. Yet if you are willing to take the risk, my lady, how could I gainsay you?” His eyes were twinkling in anticipation of a fight with Louis.
“Some things are worth fighting for,” Eleanor declared. “I am not afraid.”
“God, I love you,” Henry breathed, and crushed her beneath him once more.
“Go with God,” Eleanor said as, wrapping a cloak over her nudity, she kissed Henry farewell at the door of her chamber in the lightening of the sky before the dawn. “I will send for you as soon as I am free, then I will ride south to my capital at Poitiers. Join me there as soon as you can, if you would be married to me.”
“I will not fail you,” Henry promised. “You may count on me. I live for the day.” Again he raised her hand to his lips.
“I do not know how I shall bear being apart from you,” Eleanor told him.
“It is
R. Austin Freeman, Arthur Morrison, John J. Pitcairn, Christopher B. Booth, Arthur Train