Chapter 28

28

" H ow do you lose a princess?"

They were back in the library and Ellen was standing beside the desk watching Ben do a computer search.

"Here we are. Eleanor of Brittany, born 1184, daughter of Geoffrey Plantagenet Duke of Brittany, granddaughter of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Geoffrey died in 1186 and guardianship of Eleanor and her brother Arthur went to Richard I. When she was nine years old, he arranged a political marriage for her with the son of Duke Leopold of Austria, but that fell through. She was then offered to Louis, Phillip II of France's son, then again to Odo Duke of Burgundy, but neither resulted in marriage.

"When Richard died, John, who had been acting as regent, ignored the fact that Geoffrey's children were lawfully next in line to the throne. He held the crown over his head and declared himself to be king. Eleanor and Arthur were both in France at the time living under the protection of their grandmother, the dowager queen. Arthur rightfully believed he had a stronger claim to the throne than John and with the support of the French king and numerous barons in Normandy, raised an army. The rebellion failed and both he and Eleanor were captured by King John's forces." He stopped and looked up. "Still with me?"

"Still with you," she nodded.

"Good, because the next bit is a little murky. History is unclear exactly how Arthur died, but it is generally assumed that John either had him killed, or did the deed himself in a fit of rage. Eleanor was taken back to England and became 'the longest imprisoned English royal in British history' so it says. No doubt John would have liked to have her killed as well, but he already had a bad rep and killing both rightful heirs to the throne might have roused too much of an outcry."

"Both rightful heirs?"

"Geoffrey Plantagenet was older than his brother John, therefore by law Arthur should have followed Richard, and upon Arthur's untimely death, the crown should have gone to Eleanor. Had John not kept her locked away, she might have been able to raise an army to back her claim. John was not very popular, and by all reports, Eleanor was a rare beauty; killing her would have set every baron in England against him. In an effort to appease his detractors, John granted her the title of Countess of Richmond in 1208, but hearing there were plots to rescue her, he not only kept her in prison, but both he and his son, Henry III, moved her to so many castles—Corfe, Marlborough, Gloucester, Bristol—she basically became ‘lost' until her death in 1241."

He leaned back and placed his hands flat on the table. He blinked a few times, sorting and digesting what he had read, contemplating the implications, then looked up at Ellen.

He started to say something, then stopped .

He looked back at the computer screen and seemed to be re-reading a passage but then his gaze flickered to the glass case where he had put the box containing the folio and the Langton paper.

"King John and Henry III both took extraordinary steps to ensure she never married, never gained a husband who might back her claim to the throne. Yet we have a document, written by and witnessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury attesting that he presided over her legal marriage to Henrici de nobili sanguine sanctae Clarae "

"Some dude named Henry," Ellen murmured, quoting him earlier.

"Henry, noble blood of St. Clare to be a little more precise." He leaned forward and tapped his fingers over the keyboard again but this time he shook his head. "Nothing. We have a Richard and a Gilbert de Clare, but the only Henry de Clare important enough to make it into the computer was born in 1173 and died in 1174. As you can imagine, there were a lot of boys named Henry in the middle ages, a lot of parish entries that record marriages as ‘having issue' but not listing them all. A lot of bastards as well. The Langton document clearly states he was of noble blood, but not how much."

"Apparently enough to have his marriage to a princess sanctified by an archbishop."

Ben leaned back and blew a soft raspberry through his lips. "How would that even be possible if she was imprisoned in England and Langton was exiled in Burgundy?"

"You said you liked mysteries."

"So I did, but this one is a doozy."

"Maybe the answer isn't in the computer," Ellen suggested. "Maybe there is something in Enndolynn Ware's diary. She had the proof of the marriage. She carried it and safeguarded it, and left specific orders for her descendants to safeguard it for a reason."

"You do realize you are the only one who might be able to find a clue to that reason."

"I am not averse to solving mysteries myself."

"Good." He stood and closed the laptop. "So while I play CSI detective with my cameras and filters to see if I can raise the signatures on the Langston document, you can read the diary."

She cast her gaze around the vast room. "That big cushy chair over by the window looks comfortable enough."

"Happens to be my favorite when I'm leafing through dusty old tomes; the morning light is perfect." He grinned with careless charm. "Not quite sure how well I will be able to concentrate with you sitting there all curled up like a kitten in a pool of warm sunshine. It is difficult enough with you standing here in the lamplight."

She found it next to impossible not to stare at his mouth, at the way it moved to form his words. All of the Henrys and lost princesses were forgotten in the rush of liquid heat that slid down her spine.

He touched her chin with his forefinger and tipped her head up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes… which only sent the melting sensation down into her knees. The need for him to take her in his arms and hold her washed through her like a slow fire and she could see, by the sparks of green that kindled in his eyes, that he was acutely aware of what she wanted, and that he wanted it too.

"I'm not entirely sure it's a good idea." His voice sounded a little hoarse, a little shivery, and entirely unconvincing.

"Hell is paved with good ideas no one acted on, and I have wanted to act on this particular one all day long."

Ellen rose on tiptoes, slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. Her lips were bold and sure, and his hesitation lasted only as long as it took him to gather her in his arms. Her body pressed eagerly into his, wondering in the back of her mind if there was a lock on the library door. He pulled her even closer and she could feel the heat of his body, the tension in his arms, the hunger in his lips and suddenly it didn't matter where they were. The need to feel him inside her overcame every sensible thought she might have had.

His lips took command and the kiss was no longer hers to control. His hands moved compulsively over her body as if he was unable to stop himself once he had her in his arms. The silk of her dress was a non-existent barrier as he traced the shape of her breasts, her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. His mouth broke from hers long enough to plunder the sensitive arch of her throat, his tongue finding the wildly beating pulse below her ear.

Her hands were not still. They ran down his arms and across his chest, they slid up beneath his sweater and found the solid heat of flesh.

It was too much. For both of them.

He dragged the hem of her skirt up her thighs while her fingers fumbled with the belt and zipper on his jeans. Her lacy little film of underwear was stripped away and then he was lifting her, setting her on the edge of the desk. He skimmed his hands up her inner thighs to part them and then he was inside her. His hands were on her hips pulling her close and she had to muffle her cries against his throat. The first orgasm struck her like a bolt of lightening and he held her tight until he felt the spasms relent, then he moved again, thrusting and stroking again and again until they both arched and strained and climaxed together, shuddering with the bright, intense fury of their release.