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the sky when Maud and her entourage rode to within sight of the castle, but it did nothing to warm Gallien. September had been unseasonably hot. Overnight, the weather had changed. In the stiff breeze that bore the promise of winter’s cold embrace, the snap of green and gold gonfanons, emblazoned with Henry’s device, was deafening. The steeds of the mounted knights behind Maud pranced, snorting dragons’ breath into the chilly air. As her carriage rolled into the bailey, she was greeted by the men of the Montbryce family down on one knee, and the women of the castle in deep curtseys, their wimpled heads bowed as befitted the granddaughter of William the Conqueror.
    As Gallien raised his head at her command, he noticed a redheaded lad mounted on a gelding beside her carriage. Maud ignored her companion when she left the conveyance, but Gallien’s conviction that she should not become Queen grew when it dawned on him this boy with his red nose in the air was Geoffrey Plantagenet.
    “Welcome, Empresse ,” Baudoin gushed, stepping forward. “You do us great honor. Mon fils , Étienne, will show you to the chambers we’ve prepared. I trust they will meet with your approval.”
    Gallien gritted his teeth. It was his right as the eldest son to guide the royal visitors. His father had deliberately excluded him. The fact would not be lost on Maud.
    A large matronly woman lumbered out of the carriage after Maud, issuing orders to the Montbryce servants regarding the royal baggage. Gallien fumed for his mother and her faithful Steward Bonhomme, standing with their mouths agape at this insult.
    ~~~
    Later, when the trunks had been taken to her chambers and servants had bathed and dressed her, Maud descended the stone steps to the Great Hall on the arm of Geoffrey Plantagenet.
    Born only a year before Gallien, she looked to be twice his age, despite his prematurely white hair, though he had to admit her bearing was regal. The long sleeves of the heavy maroon gown tapered to a point at her wrists. Over it she wore a black tabard, cinched at the waist with a braided grey girdle. A short grey cloak of some flimsy material flowed behind her back, fixed to the shoulders of her gown with gold brooches. A long white veil cascaded down from a jewelled crown Gallien deemed rather elaborate for such an occasion. An ostentatious gold collar girded her neck.
    From there, Gallien’s gaze travelled to her breasts. He found that amusing. A woman’s breasts were usually the first thing he noticed! Maud’s were—adequate.
    Geoffrey wore a short vermilion doublet and tight leggings that emphasized the swell of his manhood and the curve of his buttocks. What was the boy trying to prove? Red was the color of kings, and tight hose was for men with more to show off than poor Geoffrey.
    Orange and red striped fabric bloomed from the broad slashes in the sleeves of the doublet. An elaborate gold chain that would have looked more at home on the broad shoulders of a Flemish burgher completed the costume.
    On his head he sported a red woolen cap with the frivolous sprig of broom.
    “Probably brought a supply of the weed with him,” Gallien muttered.
    The royal pair avoided each other’s gaze and looked more like an estranged mother and son than a betrothed couple.
    The matronly harridan, clad in a ghastly bright red gown, followed in their wake, her nose in the air as if she were the Queen of England, her purple wimple towering over her head. She reeked of aged flesh and some perfume, though a bath might have been more effective.
    Once everyone was seated and the introductory formalities of welcome observed, a feast was served that Gallien judged more sumptuous than any other meal eaten there before that he could recall, and there had been many elaborate banquets.
    The immaculately groomed servers were resplendent in their green tabards with the Ellesmere crest. The mutton meatballs were excellent and the roast chicken glazed with eggs delectable,