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."Au contraire, Angelique.How dare you.Even though Lady Rochelle wishes all Englishmen dead, including Becket, I have more respect for her than I could ever have for you in eons of eternities.""Your wife hates Englishmen?" Edward shifted his horrified gaze to Becket."Even you, her husband?"Becket’s twisted stomach coiled another knot.Henri closed his eyes as if shaken by his mistake but tortured with an inner pain beyond his concern of Rochelle.Angelique snatched the linen from the sword-tip."Henri, I only behave as is my nature.Besides, he’s a prince! And I only tend to his bath, naught else.""Tend to whatever you will.I had almost made an error so foolish that my mind reels with my stupidity."He gave her his back and stormed into the bailey."Henri! What error?" Angelique ran after him, but Becket knew she wasted her pleas.Henri had seen the truth behind his blinding lust--she behaved with an instinct stronger than her affection for Henri.Like Rochelle’s revulsion for Becket.Like Edward’s obsession for the French crown."Hates the English, Becket?""What do you expect, your grace? She witnessed atrocities to a people and land that are dear to her.She almost lost her own life.And she feels betrayed by me.Imagine how you might feel if this raid ripped through England, if one you trusted fought for the enemy.But despite her distress, she will not be disrespectful to you.""Because you don’t give her the chance?""You threatened death should any show insolence.I merely prevent the possibility.""But you don’t solve the problem.In truth, this presents a serious dilemma.I protected DuBois because you are my supporter.""And naught has changed that.""Much of dangerous import has changed.Because of you and your collection of our adversaries from across France, DuBois is now teeming with the enemy who otherwise would have been slain.You leave behind a wife who, in her anger, most likely will stir the rabble to rebellion to attack us from behind, entrapping us.And there is this mystery with Sire Gaston and Charles of Navarre." Prince Edward shook his head as if agitated."There are those who consider me cruel, but ‘tis cruelty in the name of justice.I will not allow anyone to steal from my father and me the throne of France, no matter how comely, no matter to whom she is wed.Now, take me to her.""Your majesty, she is fully occupied with my brother because she trusts no other to care for him, and I prefer not to broach this subject in his presence." Becket winced that his case sounded weak, even to him.Prince Edward blinked as if taken aback by Becket’s argument."We speak of the success of this war, and you are concerned that one small boy should overhear the conversation?""I assumed you wished the discussion secret.Pierre, in his youth, might innocently repeat vital information." Becket’s mind scrambled for aught that would delay the Edward’s confrontation with Rochelle, then mayhap Becket could hide her in the cave – which terrified her.But this terror loomed more dangerous.“’Tis the crown we die for, and you mouthe this idiocy?” Face reddening from obvious anger, Prince Edward glanced around the hall, gestured for someone to approach."Surely your lady will trust a man of God.""Père Bertrand? Even I don’t trust him.""Note, Becket, that I am humoring you because of what you mean to me, so trust me when I say that woman feel differently about men of the cloth, and the priest will take care of this matter.I will speak with your wife – now.”Becket’s desperation sank like a stone in his stomach.In truth Rochelle did feel differently about the priest.And God.And enemies.And Becket had run out of excuses - and the Prince’s patience.Père Bertrand bustled over, fear evident on his face as if he wished he were any place but there.Prince Edward clapped him on the shoulder."I need you to care for a young lad." He glanced up at Becket."His name?""Pierre."Elation erased all fear from the priest’s expression."He’s better, then? No one deigned to inform me.I would be most eager.And I have your blessing, Prince Edward? Mayhap, your command?""You have."Rubbing his hands together, Père Bertrand hurried ahead of Becket, Edward, and the two guards, guiding the small army to the turret room.With every spur-jingled step Becket racked his mind for another delay.If only he could see her in advance, to prepare her for what might be the most perilous moment in their lives.What if Edward discovered Gaston is her father? No, only he and Rochelle knew, and even in her rage she would never divulge such a secret.But what if she angered Prince Edward, as she surely would? What if Edward demanded that Becket take her life – a distinct possibility? Becket had sworn his fealty.Duty bound him to obey no matter the command.Never!He must!Becket’s pulse pounded like an anvil of doom.Somehow, some way, he must do all within his power to stay the predictable outcome.His hand shook when he placed the key in the lock.Prince Edward cleared his throat."You’d best hope she is swayed by my explanation, mon ami, so that I am convinced she is not a threat.Fear not, I’m known to display charm with the female gender; I can be most persuasive." He motioned to the guards."Wait in the hallway."Releasing a tense sigh, Becket turned the tumbler, then pushed back the door.Rochelle stood beside the bed, swiping tears from her face, and his heart wrenched.His secrets and intrigue had thrust this disaster upon her.Pierre, too, appeared terrified, rubbing and rubbing his cheek against Sire Spitz as if desperate for solace.Becket’s heart wrenched another twist.Even at five, his brother sensed the seriousness of their visit.Prince Edward stepped past him."I beg your attendance, fair lady.This man of the cloth will care for the lad while we visit.If you’ll join us on the parapet?"Père Bertrand hurried toward the bed with an eagerness that increased Becket’s trepidation.Horror widened Rochelle’s eyes, then she leapt between Pierre and the priest.Leave, Père Bertrand.""I warned you before, you risk God’s wrath with your stubbornness.Even so, the prince has commanded, I repeat, commanded me to tend to the boy.""Get out!"Becket stilled, stunned.Rochelle, who straightened her wimple with a glare, argued, no, grappled with the priest over Pierre? Without waiting to discover why, he picked up the priest from the floor and carried him, kicking, to the hallway."If Lady Rochelle wishes you gone, so be it.Out."The priest turned on him, skin flushed, eyes full of venom."God will--"Becket slammed the door in his face and turned to Prince Edward who appeared only slightly less shaken by the scene than Rochelle and Pierre.What the hell had happened in Becket’s absence?Prince Edward cleared his throat, forcing an obvious false serenity on his expression."I, too, have lost faith in the clergy.Ever since the Pope abandoned the Vatican to set up residence at Avignon, my father and I have considered him King Jean’s puppet and thus have ignored his papal pleas for peace."Rochelle went rigid, her appearance one of severe constraint and suspicion, then she drew her ever-horrifying glare over Edward’s attire still covered with blood."Rochelle, this is Edward, Prince of Wales--""Red jupon Black armor.The black prince." She jerked her gaze to Edward’s."You! You are the one who hunted me like a wild beast.One of those who struck." She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes glistening with welling tears."My apologies for the mistaken identity, fair lady.‘Tis one reason why I insisted upon this meeting, to calm your distress
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