Chapter One
Montferrand, France
Christmas, 1172
To all appearances, the Christmas court of King Henry II was another triumph of his glorious, twenty-some-odd-year reign. At his side remained his queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Christendom's great beauty still, and ranged around them were their children, a brood to make the angels weep in envy. The oldest and heir to the throne was Henry, already crowned "the Young King" these two years past and married somewhat longer to Margaret, daughter of the King of France. The next two sons were betrothed to princesses of their own and already made dukes: Richard of Aquitaine and Geoffrey of Brittany, at least for the moment -- Henry had a jovial habit of switching his land-gifts around when it suited his fancy. The youngest royal, John, was rather famously ill-tempered and held no lands at all, but he was only four years old, so 'twas assumed he would mend on both counts. Even the daughters, Matilda and Eleanor, seemed perfect, having inherited a great deal of their mother's famous beauty and very little of her infamous wit.
All in all, the family made a magnificent picture for the nobles gathered in this hall to admire them as they feasted. If the Queen was known to despise her husband as much as she adored him these days, 'twas no great matter -- they'd been married more than twenty years, after all, and Henry's roving eye remained a great portion of his charm. And if the princes were known to all bear certain grudges against their king and one another, that was to be expected as well -- they were barely more than children; their father would keep them in line. Henry had kept peace in his reign longer than any English king before him by sheer force of his great will. Surely he could control his own family. So the nobles assured themselves that Christmas night as they toasted their God and their king.
Malinda Brinlaw harbored no doubts at all; to her, the night was perfect. Sitting with her parents and cousin, Nan, at a table at the foot of the dais, she felt perfectly at ease, perfectly at home, and she drank in every detail, the royal glamour entirely untarnished to her eyes. The King was splendid and mildly terrifying, just as a king ought to be; the princes and princesses were too beautiful to be real. And Queen Eleanor was her idol, perfect in every way. Malinda knew every romantic detail of her astounding history, how she had once been queen of France, how she had come to marry Henry when he was no more than a duke's young son and had come to see him crowned king of England, how she ruled her own court of love and chivalry and changed the face of the world at her whim. To Malinda, Eleanor had achieved all that a woman could hope, and she fervently longed to know her. She adored her for her pride, her beauty, even her famous temper. Her fondest wish was to become a lady-in-waiting, to dwell in her shadow, to breathe the rarefied air of her fanciful court. Unfortunately, her parents did not share her hero worship; indeed, her father made no secret that he considered the Queen something of a twit. As one of Henry's favorite nobles, Will Brinlaw could have seen his daughter well placed in the royal orbit long ago, and Nan, his niece, as well, but such honors did not impress him, and his wife, Alista, concurred. But Malinda was determined. She had never in her life been denied anything for long; she didn't expect to be now.
"Aren't they beautiful?" her best friend, Lisbet, whispered in her ear, returning from a dance to sit beside her. "Which one will you have, Malinda?"
"Which what?" she laughed, turning to her friend.
"When you marry," Lisbet laughed with her. "Now that you're finally at court, it's time to decide which of the princes you will choose."
"Henry is already married," Malinda pointed out, taking a sweet from the tray piled high before them, "and Richard and Geoffrey are both betrothed to girls with crowns." She took a bite and savored the way it melted on her tongue, finer than anything she'd ever tasted at home.
"Figs and apples for their crowns," Lisbet scoffed, taking the rest and popping it into her mouth. "You have more beauty in one of your toes than the both of them taken together, and you can do magic besides." She licked her fingers with kittenish satisfaction. "You can pick whichever one you please, and the poor boy will be undone."
Malinda smiled, embarrassed, but pleased nonetheless. "We aren't supposed to mention magic, remember?" she scolded softly, giving Lisbet a poke that made her snicker. She looked back at the dais, pretending to peruse its wares. "Too bad Henry is the oldest and the prettiest besides," she sighed. "Richard is almost as nice, but he seems too serious -- he hardly ever smiles."
"Perhaps he's shy," Lisbet offered.
"Perhaps, but still...he may just be ill-tempered." She tapped her chin in thought. "And Geoffrey is really too young -- "
"Not for a prince, he isn't," Lisbet grinned. "Bewitch him now, and you can bend him to whatever shape you like."
"There is that," Malinda laughed, enjoying the sheer silliness of the game. "No, I can't choose," she sighed. "You pick yours, and I'll take whatever's left."
"An admirable plan," Nan teased. "Just don't tell my uncle."
"No, don't," Will Brinlaw retorted, catching only the end of the conversation. "Whatever it is, I'd rather not know."
"Be careful," warned Malinda's mother, who had heard all. "Your words may haunt you later." Lady Alista was as well-known for her candor as her beauty, and she rarely spared her husband, dearly as she loved him still. "Soon we'll all be keeping secrets from you."
"And how will that be new?" he grumbled.
"Nan has trusted you with all her heart," Alista pointed out, casually taking a sweet of her own. "She came to you in all good faith -- "
"Not this again," Will cut her off in mid-sentence. "Not tonight."
"If not tonight, then when?" Nan demanded. "I'm growing older by the second."
"I'd hardly call you a crone just yet," her uncle answered with the faintest trace of a smile.
"You might not and neither would I, but what of the rest of the world?" Alista chided gently. "Twenty-four is well past the age when most women marry, love."
"And Guy de Lancey is even older," Lisbet offered helpfully from her seat beside Malinda. "Keep putting him off, and he might find someone else."
"No, he could not, so if that's what you're waiting for, Uncle, you may as well stop," Nan said, her cheeks beginning to flush, angry not at Lisbet but Will. "Guy loves me; he could never be married to anyone else, no matter what you may believe, and I love him."
"But why, in heaven's name?" Will asked. "I have no doubt de Lancey will wait for you until time ends given the slightest encouragement, but why would you want him? The man is as dull as a plank."
"Not really," Nan insisted. "He's shy, but not with me."
"Besides, sweet, when I met you, you were rather dull yourself," Alista pointed out without the slightest hint of a smile to betray she was teasing. "And you turned out all right." Malinda giggled into her napkin -- the war was already won.
"Be that as it may," Will said dryly, his expression saying he knew he was beaten as well.
"Mama, look there," Malinda interrupted, her attention taken by a pair of knights coming across the hall as quickly as courtesy would allow. "It's Mark!"
"And Phillipe!" Lisbet added, jumping up.
"Finally," Alista said, getting up herself.
Malinda's younger brother, Mark, and Lisbet's older half-brother, Phillipe, had been knighted the summer before after three years of service as squires, and they had served in the King's personal guard ever since. All told, they hadn't been home in forever, and everyone was most eager to see them, particularly their sisters, but they had been in a hunting party when the family a
