Castles in the Air Read Online Free PDF

She blurted, “Where was King Henry’s court when you left it?” Oh, that was subtle, she chastised herself.
    But he answered readily enough. “Moving about his domains on the continent with the speed of a youth, which he is not anymore, although no one has the crust to tell him. His retainers complain, but I’ve come to think it’s the way he keeps his kingdom under control. No one ever knows where, or when, he’ll arrive.”
    While sorting the bits of chaff and small stones from the oats, she muttered, “You learned much from him.”
    “I didn’t hear you.”
    “I asked what kind of fruit you want.” She peered into the leather sacks that protected dried foods from rodents.
    “Apples. Since my return, I can’t get enough of good English apples.”
    “Don’t apples grow over the channel?”
    “Not with the tang of these.”
    His smile spoke to her soft heart, and she tossed a goodly handful of apples into the bubbling stew. The scent made her stomach growl, and she remembered her trepidations of the previous night. She dismissed them as fantasy, brought only by hunger and distress, and told him, “I’ve heard Queen Eleanor returned to England.”
    “She did,” he acknowledged.
    “I’ve heard she’s distressed with the king.”
    “That kind of gossip spreads like the floods of spring.” He reached for the spoon and stirred the pot. She thought he would say aught else, but he gripped the handle until his knuckles turned white. “Henry is a fool.”
    Startled, she protested, “You’re bold with criticism of your betters.”
    “Henry’s my king, and he holds my allegiance. That doesn’t mean I have no opinion of his good sense, or lack of it.” His mouth was grim. “You never reproached your father? Or your husband?”
    “Neither my father nor my husband was king of England and lord of half of France,” she answered roundly. Picking up the bread, she glanced around. “Where’s the knife?”
    He rose from his place by the fire and took the loaf from her. “ I’ll use the knife.”
    The way he spoke reminded her of her attempt to smash his head. Abashed, she gathered bowls as he hewed a chunk of bread and skewered it with a stick.
    Extending it over the flames, he said, “Neither your father nor your husband had the potential to build what Henry has, nor the potential to destroy it. He’s within a breath of uniting his lands into one kingdom,firmly in control of the lands of his father, of his mother, and his wife. And what does he do? He flaunts a mistress in front of his queen. His proud queen. The queen who divorced the King of France for him.”
    “Love…changes. Grows greater or lesser with time and circumstances.” She was an expert at this. To avoid looking at him, she stirred the pot so vigorously the oats could never scorch.
    “Love? I don’t know if there was ever love between them. But there was infatuation, at least on Eleanor’s part. She’d been married to Louis, and he was so holy he dispensed marital favors only sparingly. When she saw Henry, young and virile as a bull—”
    “She’s older than Henry?”
    “Aye, and that makes his defection particularly galling.”
    “Any woman could understand that,” she acknowledged.
    “Any man could understand that,” he snapped.
    The flames illuminated his handsome features, and she was stricken anew by a sense of his power. This man carried his arrogance easily, without effort or thought. She knew that whoever he was, whatever he did, he was master. Her prolonged scrutiny brought his gaze to hers, and he lifted his brows in query. Hastily she said, “The porridge is ready.” She spooned it into the bowls, accepted a piece of crusty bread, and seated herself on the bed. Testing his knowledge, she said, “But the king is known to have liaisons outside of his marriage. There’s never been any talk of his fidelity.”
    “ Henry’s fidelity? Ha!”
    She savored the flavor of cereal and fruit with closed eyes, and when