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An elderly knight escorted Matilda up the aisle in the center of the hall. The deafening silence was broken only by the swish of Matilda’s gown.
No emotion played on Heinrich’s stern face as he watched his future wife approach. Dieter couldn’t blame him. He’d resent being obliged to wed a child—not that he intended to take another wife. One catastrophic marriage was enough to last a man a lifetime. Although, if he was seeking another wife, he’d be tempted to woo the lovely Englishwoman bringing up the rear of Matilda's entourage.
He snorted at the ludicrous notion. She was much too young, and foreign to boot. There’d be no opportunity for their paths to cross.
With the assistance of her ladies, Matilda knelt before the throne.
Without bidding her rise, Heinrich embarked on a greeting in German. “We welcome Her Royal Highness, Princess Matilda.”
“She doesn’t understand a word,” Lothair whispered.
“Neither does…” His attention wholly on the young woman he couldn’t take his eyes off, Dieter stopped himself just in time. “Neither do her ladies.”
The king continued speaking, his gaze on the crowd, not his future bride. “From Liège we will journey to Utrecht where the formal betrothal will take place.”
This time he nodded to Bishop Otbert who obligingly translated the announcement into Norman French.
“Matilda looks like she might topple over if he doesn’t let her rise soon,” Lothair quipped.
Dieter nodded. The worried frown on his Englishwoman’s face betrayed the same concern. “She’s not used to paying homage.”
He exhaled. When had he begun to think of the beauty as his?
“Heinrich wants to make sure she knows who holds the power.”
Dieter experienced a momentary pang of pity for the little girl destined to be married to a ruthless older man who had no regard for her except as a means to an end.
His outrage intensified when Heinrich announced, “The English who have accompanied Princess Matilda will return to England forthwith.”
The elderly English knight’s bemused smile fled when Otbert translated.
Matilda raised her head and looked over her shoulder, panic in her young eyes.
Dieter’s spirits plummeted, until Heinrich announced, “Duke Lothair of Saxony will provide escort for the Princess. And, of course, some of her ladies-in-waiting may accompany her.”
His attendants scurried to lift his cape as he rose and departed the hall, leaving his bride on her knees surrounded by her agitated countrymen and women. Only his English beauty helped the wailing child to her feet.
“An unexpected honor,” Lothair said sarcastically. “I can count on you to be part of the escort?”
“Of course,” Dieter replied, welcoming the chance to discover the name of his intriguing redhead.
