‘When, Mother?’

‘Within a few days.’ The Countess shook her head sadly. ‘It is always thus with daughters. They must leave the family with whom they have spent their childhood and go to that which will be theirs for the rest of their lives. You won’t forget us, Isabella?’

‘Forget you, Mother! How could I? And my dear father too. Oh no, I shall never forget you.’

She threw her arms about her mother’s neck but even then she was thinking of the strong body of Hugh de Lusignan and wondering what his embraces would be like.

‘You must not fret, my darling.’

Fret. She was all eagerness to go.

‘I shall see you and my father often, shall I not, Mother? We shall be near neighbours.’

‘We must make sure that comes to pass.’

‘We will, we will. I shall insist.’

Her mother smiled fondly. ‘It will be as your husband wishes,’ she reminded her.

Oh no, thought Isabella. It shall be as I wish.

She smiled complacently. She had no doubt that she would get her way with Hugh as she had with her parents.

‘Now we must busy ourselves with preparations for your departure. It is inconvenient that there is so little time.’

She was not inconvenienced at all. She was excited. She wondered how long she would have to wait before they considered her old enough to marry.

In a few weeks she left her father’s castle and was escorted by her parents and some of the men-at-arms to the castle situated in the heart of Lusignan country between Poitiers and Niort.

The stone walls of the castle glittered in the sunshine and although she had seen other castles there was a special quality about this one because it was going to be her home. Within those walls she would become the bride of Hugh de Lusignan who was also known as Hugh le Brun. He was rich, he was clever and he was strong. She was delighted with her bridegroom and as she rode towards the castle with her parents she was determined to prove to him that although she was not yet twelve years old she was ready for marriage; she might be innocent but she was not ignorant. She might be a virgin but she was anxious to cast off that not very exciting state; and because she was already aware that the arts of seduction would be second nature to her, she was going to set herself the task of making Hugh the Brown forget that she was only a child, and she had every hope of success.

The family of Angoulême were given a very warm welcome in the ancestral home of the Lusignans and those present marvelled at this since they had always been natural enemies – always fighting for possession of La Marche, always trying to take a little territory from each other, seeking, it seemed, reasons for quarrels. And now because of this beautiful child’s betrothal to the son of the clan all was peace.

It was certainly a time for great rejoicing.

Isabella was given a bevy of attendants only a little older than herself; and Hugh declared to her parents that in this household she would be treated with all honour. He would be absent for long periods, but his brother Ralph would take his place in the household, and Ralph swore to the family that he would make it his personal duty to see that no harm came to his brother’s betrothed whose beauty and charm had already won all their hearts.

Isabella’s family, though sad to part with their daughter, rode away without misgivings knowing that the Lusignans were to be trusted on such a point of honour.

They comforted each other as they rode back to Angoulême.

‘It has to happen,’ said Count Aymer. ‘All parents must face it.’

‘If there had been others it would have been easier to endure,’ replied his wife Alice.

‘Alas, that we had but one child.’

‘It makes her a considerable heiress though,’ said Isabella’s mother, ‘and if we only had one, at least the one we had must be the loveliest girl in the world.’

‘You speak with a mother’s fondness which may obscure her vision slightly.’

‘Nay, I heard said by one of the Lusignans to another – not meant for my ears: “When did you see a more perfect creature? Thus must Helen of Troy have appeared to those about her.”’

Aymer laughed. ‘I hope our Isabella will not cause as much trouble as that woman did.’

‘Hugh delights in her already. I feel sure he will wish to hurry the marriage.’

‘He must needs wait. She cannot marry at twelve years.’

‘She is not as immature as some twelve-year-olds.’

‘No, my lady, I will not have her forced into the marriage bed before she is ready for it.’

‘You are right. There must be a few years’ wait yet. But perhaps when she is fourteen.’

‘We shall see.’

And so they rode back to Angoulême. But the castle there had lost something with the departure of Isabella.


Isabella set out to charm her new family and succeeded admirably. Hugh was already in love with her and chafed against delay. This delighted her, but she did not want him to know this. She chose a hundred little ways of keeping close to him, of clinging to him, calling attention to her helplessness which she knew he found so appealing; she carefully chose ribbons for her hair which would be most becoming to her unusual colouring and enhanced her beauty in every way. Not that anything so obvious needed to have attention called to it. She exulted in her beautiful face, her perfect little body which irritated her a little because it seemed to her so slow in reaching maturity.

She would prance naked before the young girls who were in attendance on her and demand to know if she was not a little more grown up than she had been the day before. She compared herself with them and demanded to know if they had lovers. Those who had, found favour with her; she would give them ribbons with which to adorn their hair before she sent them off for a tryst; and payment for these favours meant that she wanted a detailed description of everything that had taken place.

She was their adored little mistress; she was unlike any other they had served.

‘What a wife you will make my lord Hugh, my lady,’ they declared.

‘Yes, yes,’ she cried impatiently. ‘But it is all waiting and I am ready now.’

She was obsessed by the subject. She told the girls that Hugh would be so mad for her that he would insist on the marriage taking place without delay.

They laughed and said that would not be difficult. He was halfway to that state already and they swore it was only because he feared to offend her parents that he did not insist on the wedding.

Each day she contrived to be with Hugh; her eyes would light up at the sight of him and she would throw herself into his arms which was not very decorous, but he seemed to forget that. She would clasp him tightly about the neck and press her face against his.

‘Is it not wonderful, Hugh, that you and I will one day be married?’

‘I never wanted anything so much,’ he told her earnestly.

‘Do you wish I were not so young?’

‘I think you are perfect as you are.’

‘But wouldn’t I be more perfect if I were of an age to marry?’

‘One cannot improve on perfection,’ he reminded her.

She believed that her very youth was part of her attraction to him. In one way he didn’t want her to grow up. He wanted to keep her as she was – pure, he thought, unsullied by the world which meant she had not yet coupled with a man. That he desired her, she had no doubt; and yet he wanted her to stay as she was.

How contradictory! Perhaps she had something yet to learn of the ways of men.


This was the state of affairs at the time of the encounter in the forest. She could not forget the man who had looked at her so intently. That he thought she was beautiful was obvious, but that was a common enough reaction. There had been something more than that. No one had had quite that effect on her before. She knew instinctively that had she been alone at the time, perhaps the daughter of a woodcutter or a forester, he would not have hesitated for one moment. He would have seized her on the spot. She was aware of an overwhelming sensuality in this man which Hugh lacked; it was a quality – or perhaps one should say a vice – which she understood perfectly because she now knew that she possessed it herself. She had wished – though fleetingly – during those first moments in the forest, that she had been a humble cottage girl.

That man had desired her in a way Hugh never had and the experiences she would have had with him would be different from any she could share with Hugh.

He was not handsome as Hugh was. Hugh was tall, square-shouldered, with a strong jaw and keen eyes; he was a fighter. This man was different. He was not very tall; she calculated that he could not be more than five feet five inches. There were many men who were no taller but she was comparing him with Hugh. He lacked the nobility which she had admired in Hugh; his mouth was sensual; his eyes a little wild; he was dark and swarthy – no, not handsome by any means. But he was a king – King of England, Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou … he was a very important man, far more so than Hugh who had had to leap from his horse and show that he was in the presence of one who was far above him.

King of England! And how he had looked at her! Hugh had never looked like that, even in those moments when she embraced him and thrust herself against him outwardly artless, inwardly artful, he had never looked quite like that.

She had sat there on her horse, her blue hood – the colour of speedwell flowers and so good for bringing out the blue of her eyes, falling from her hair, her cape flowing about her – a lovely picture she knew.