To Defy a King Read Free

candlelight, her rich brown hair shone with ruddy glints and she was fiercely clutching her doll to her heart.

    Isabelle drew him away into their bedchamber before the light could disturb Mahelt's slumber. 'You had to make a decision, and it was the right one.'

    He sat on the edge of their bed and rubbed his face. 'Roger Bigod is a friend, but he will look to his own best interests first - as I would in his position.'

    'Of course he will,' Isabelle agreed as she placed the candle in a niche, 'but I suspect this offer will gladden his heart and be no second choice.'

    'I should think not!' William bridled. 'Mahelt is a prize worthy of the highest in the land.'

    Isabelle set a soothing hand to the back of his neck. 'Indeed she is, and you could not have done better for her than Hugh Bigod.' She leaned round to kiss him, recognising his wistful sense of loss. Their other girls were still infants. Mahelt had been seven when her next sister had arrived, thus for a long time she had been William's only daughter. She was so like him. She had his prodigious energy and wholeheartedness and the same powerful sense of honour and duty, although, it had to be said, not his patience and tact. She knew her place in the world. As the Earl of Pembroke's beloved eldest daughter, it was an exalted one. Much as she loved her daughter, Isabelle knew that Hugh Bigod was going to have his hands full.

    'Norfolk and Yorkshire are far away from danger too,' William said, although his gaze was troubled.

    Isabelle gnawed her lip. Their relationship with King John was uneasy. The latter neither liked nor trusted William. The feelings were mutual, but an oath of loyalty was binding, and John had given them the Earldom of Pembroke in exchange for that oath. William's strength had always been his absolute fidelity, but he served a man who put no trust in men's honour and had little of that virtue himself. Normandy was in turmoil and unrest seethed under a superficially calm surface. East Anglia, though, was a haven distant from trouble and its earl was a cautious man who kept a firm grip on his estates.

    William shook his head. 'Ten years ago, I carried her to her christening still with the marks of birth upon her body. It seems no more distant than yesterday, and now here I am arranging her marriage. Time is like riding a horse at full gallop that will not answer to your rein.'

    'The horse might not answer to your rein, but at least by planning ahead, you are less likely to lose your seat in the saddle.'

    William gave an amused grunt and, having removed his tunic, lay on their bed, his hands pillowed behind his head. 'I am glad you said "less likely", my love.' He watched her remove her veil and unpin her hair to let the heavy golden braids tumble down. 'God knows there are sufficient obstacles in the road to unseat the canniest rider. I'll have the scribes write to the Bigods tomorrow, and then we shall see.'

    2

    Settrington, Yorkshire, February 1204

    Hugh Bigod dismounted to examine the wolf he had just killed, and wiped his spear in the tawny winter grass. Silver-grey fur ruffled in the wind. Her fangs were bared in a bloody snarl and even in death her amber eyes were baleful. She would have bred pups this year, but her swollen belly was not the result of fecundity, but of having gorged on the heavily pregnant ewe she and her mate had brought down the previous day. Wolves were a constant problem at lambing time, slinking round the sheepfolds, grey as twilight, waiting their moment. The shepherds and their dogs kept close watch, but they could not be everywhere at once and even when the flocks were brought in close to the homestead, there were still casualties.

    Pellets of icy rain drove slantwise into his face and he turned his head away from the wind. Although his fingers were encased in mittens, his hands were numb. It was a frozen, hungry time of year, the dregs of winter hanging on even though the dawns arrived earlier and the light was