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enemies.
    “You may rise,” the king said.
    His cheerful countenance reassured her.
    “Caen Castle was the favorite residence of my ancestor, William the Conqueror,” he said, letting his eyes travel along the
     beams overhead. “He built it more than three and a half centuries ago, not long before he crossed the channel to conquer England.”
    “Then I can see why you made the castle your headquarters, sire,” she ventured.
    He rewarded her with a smile. “Richard the Lionhearted met here with his barons before going on crusade.”
    Isobel turned with him to gaze down the length of the hall. She imagined the room crowded with knights preparing to leave
     for the Holy Land. Men with serious faces and crimson crosses on their chests. The rumble of deep voices, the clang of metal.
    “The man I have chosen for you is Philippe de Roche.”
    The king’s words brought her back with a start. Of course, the king had not called her to discuss history. How foolish of
     her to forget.
    “I summoned de Roche here from Rouen,” the king said, all trace of his former cheerfulness gone.
    She fought the urge to run from the room. How much time did she have? It could never be enough.
    “De Roche replies that he will come as soon as the roads are safe to travel,” the king said, biting out each word. “And he
     doubts they will be safe for some weeks.”
    Whether the king faulted de Roche’s excuse as insincere or cowardly she could not tell. Liar or coward, the king was angry.
     Heaven help her.
    “This from a man who rides with a guard of twenty!” The king took a deep breath, then spoke more calmly. “I hope the wait
     will not be a trial for you.”
    “Not at all, sire.”
Let him stay in Rouen forever.
    “What has Sir Robert told you about Philippe de Roche?”
    “Only that he is an important man in Rouen.” She willed the king to tell her more. Something to reassure her.
    “Tell me, Lady Hume,” the king said, “do you know the reason your father turned traitor?”
    The king’s words hit her like a blow. Her palms went damp with sweat. “I was only a child at the time…”
    But the king was giving no reprieve today. He leaned forward, waiting for her answer.
    “I believe he sided with the rebels because… because…” She licked her lips. Did he expect her to defend or blame her father?
    “Because?” the king prodded.
    What should she say? Was any answer safe? She could not think with her head pounding and the king staring at her.
    “He did it because he thought the rebels would prevail,” she said, giving him the truth, “not because he thought they should.”
    The king nodded his head vigorously. The right answer, thank God! She swallowed and wiped her palms on her cloak.
    “It was a practical decision he made,” she said, then hastily added, “though grossly misguided, of course.”
    “Then you will understand Philippe de Roche, for he is just such a man.” The king’s voice held such enthusiastic approval
     Isobel nearly staggered with relief.
    “I have cause to suspect that his loyalty, like your father’s,” he said, cocking his head, “is based upon self-interest alone,
     rather than honor and duty.”
    Isobel was reeling from the unexpected turns of the king’s conversation. Why speak to her of the reason for men’s loyalty?
    “If the people of Rouen accept me as their sovereign lord, I shall welcome them to my bosom,” he said, crossing his hands
     over his heart. “But it is my duty to rule Normandy. If they do not open their gates to me, I shall starve them into submission.”
    Anyone who saw the fire in King Henry’s eyes would be foolish not to believe he would do it.
    “Philippe de Roche will save the people of Rouen much suffering if he can persuade them to avoid a siege,” he said. “But for
     de Roche to play his part, he must be kept loyal.”
    She agreed to this marriage as a lesser of evils. Only now did she understand the responsibility that came with her