The King's Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

the queen upon whom so much depended? “How many know?”
    “Only four, including yourself, Your Majesty.”
    Only four? Dreading the answer, she asked, “Did either maid speculate on who the sire might be?”
    Helene shook her head. “Not according to our wash woman.”
    One blessing, at least.
    Helene wrung her hands. “There’s more, Your Highness.”
    “ More ?” What other horrendous news could there possibly be?
    “Our wash woman formed a romantic liaison with one of the king’s guards. Last night he was unable to meet with her because he had to stand guard at the king’s solar in place of Sir Brett, whom the king has sent to the border”—she swallowed—“to fetch Lady Armstrong back to court.”
    Yolande’s hands fisted as fury rose hot within her chest. Helene, apparently sensing her distress, scurried backward.
    Yolande took a deep breath. “Fear not, Helene. I’ll not kill the messenger.” She wanted to kill someone else entirely.
    As her mother had counseled, Yolande slipped off one of the many strands of pearls she always wore about her neck for moments like this, took the girl’s shaking hand in hers and spilled the lustrous gems into her frightened lady-in-waiting’s palm. “Thank you.”
    “Oh no! Your Highness, I cannot possibly take—”
    “You must, for you’ve done me a great service. And of course, you’ll not speak of this to anyone.”
    Helene had the good sense to look aghast. “Never, Your Highness. My loyalty is to you and you alone.”
    “Thank you. Now please join the other ladies while I ponder all you’ve told me.”
    When Helene, pearls clutched in her fist, disappeared into the keep, Yolande gave in to the pain blooming in her chest and, folding at the waist, groaned aloud.
    This cannot be happening.
    Alexander had made her, his second cousin and a mere countess, into a queen for the sole purpose of garnering an heir. What was to stop him from dispensing with her now that another woman was in the process of providing him with what he desired most? Queens were well known for dying most unexpectedly from unknown causes when thrones were involved. What need had he now for her, Yolande?
    None.
    “Your Highness, are you all right?”
    Yolande jerked upright. “Evette, you startled me. You must tread harder when approaching me.”
    Her cousin grinned. “My apologies, Your Highness. Henceforth, I shall only stomp. Here. I worried you might catch your death and brought your cape.”
    Yolande, chilled to the bone as much from the mention of death as the brisk wind coming off the sea, murmured her thanks as her cousin slipped the heavy fox pelt about her shoulders. “Evette, I need speak with Monsieur Montre. Please summon him to me here.”
    Evette’s brow furrowed. “But you’re shaking with cold. Would you not be more comfortable meeting him inside?”
    Yolande glanced over her shoulder at the sentries walking along the tall tower at her back. “Out here, the walls have fewer ears.”
    Knowing better than to argue, her cousin heaved a sigh and headed for the keep.
    Before Yolande could master the fear welling within her breast, she found her longtime confidant and guard striding toward her.
    Dear Anton, whatever would she do without him?
    Their bond had been forged on the day of her birth, when he’d been ordered to stand guard at her mother’s birthing-room door. But instead of hearing the lusty cries of a newborn which he was to report to her father, he’d heard a woman screaming, “ Nooo! ”
    Alarmed, he’d charged into the room and found his countess weeping hysterically and the midwife holding her, a lifeless infant.
    He’d snatched her from the midwife’s hands and, placing his mouth over hers, breathed life into her. And Yolande had cried for the first time.
    Anton’s brown eyes and hatchet nose had been the first features she’d ever beheld. Not her mother’s, not the midwife’s, but his. And he’d had been at her side ever since.
    While her