The Exiled by Posie Graeme-evans Page A

disastrous scene after the mass. It had been worse than a bad dream, because just after he’d personally —
personally
! — dealt with the precedence issue, the queen had been overtaken by the need to vomit as they’d all crossed into the great hall for the breakfast feast.
    Try as she might to hold her wayward stomach in check, Elisabeth Wydeville had begun to turn an unattractive pale green — a notably displeasing contrast to the pallid lilac of her velvet dress. Suddenly the king’s mother and his sister had been forced to an ungainly canter as the queen hurried into a side court, luckily finding a row of handsome potted bay trees to be sick into, out of sight of the gimlet-eyed courtiers.
    Naturally, although Elisabeth’s women had rushed to help their mistress, standing around her and holding their skirts wide to hide her predicament from the inquisitive, the damage could not be hidden when the queen had finally emerged. Some of the vomit had stained the front of Elisabeth’s gown and she would need to change before joining the court for its morning meal.
    It was at this point, when his wife had departed, head held high for her own quarters — not too ill to insist that the other royal women continue to carry her train all the way there — that Edward had made a bolt for his own tiny office and William’s company.
    William set himself to cheer the king and it was the perfect moment, for tonight’s feast in honour of Saint Valentine and the busy Saint Cupid would certainly serve the king’s needs for distraction from his domestic problems excellently well. A man needed recreational sex if he were to keep a level head. It was relaxing and good for the body, and therefore the kingdom, for if a man, a man such as this king, lived in a state of perpetual sexual tension, how could he concentrate on the more important things demanded of him?
    The person of the king was sacred. And it was
his
sacred duty, as the king’s own high chamberlain, to see that nothing impinged on the well-being of that body. He
was
the guardian of the king’s health, as he and Edward had ‘discussed’ this morning.
    So, yes. A woman. Perhaps more than one: even the queen might understand at this time, for breeding women, when breeding, tended not to like sex greatly, if his own experience was a guide.
    Therefore, it was his duty to think carefully on the topic of the king’s bodily health and harmony, consider who might be complaisant — and he would start before tonight’s feast. Yes, he would interview a number of interesting prospects — discreetly — before this evening.
    ‘William, have you heard recently of Anne de Bohun? Is she well?’ William’s heart sank. After the girl had left the court in such astonishing circumstances, William had only thought of her in passing. Good looking enough, of course, and clearly close to the king’s heart. But then, many another had been so as well. Surely Edward was not still thinking of her?
    ‘Your Grace, I have heard nothing for some time. Shall I enquire where she is living now?’
    The king frowned and strode over to his casements, looking down onto the river sweeping past the palace with its freight of broken, dirty ice. ‘No. There’s no need; she’d have told me if she wanted to be found.’
    Relieved, William hurried on, seeking to distract the king. ‘Sire, I think you’re overtired with the affairs of this kingdom. As we were speaking of your health earlier today, I find I have an idea for a comprehensive tonic, one that you’ll find so easy to swallow.’
    William’s tone was so hopeful, so cheeky, the king was forced to laugh. His friend was right — a man could not be a monk for all his life, married or not, and it was ridiculous to be mooning after a girl he could not have. She had chosen her path — so be it!

Chapter Nine
    H ans Memlinc was annoyed. Anne was late. The midday bell had long tolled and he was ready to begin their ‘final’ session — and yet