by Ling, Maria
"No," Matilda said. "It's nothing. But, my dear...I'm rank."
She was. The smell of old sweat and fear filled the room.
"I'll help you wash," Aline said, then turned to Eustace. "Would you ask for fresh linen? And perhaps a bowl of soup or similar?"
He nodded and walked off with an even step, as if much in the habit of obeying commands. Which felt strange, coming from her, she'd never been alone in command of men before. The steward had handled all things after her parents died, and she'd never had any decisions to make.
Aline got Matilda washed and dressed in a clean shift, settled back into clean sheets, fed and dosed and tucked in again. After which the older woman promptly fell asleep -- clear deep regular breaths that made Aline herself breathe easier.
She was tired. Deathly tired. She felt she hadn't slept at all, these past several nights. Although she had, in fits and starts, waking often to check that Matilda was still alive beside her.
Now, for the first time, she could let go of terror and drift entirely into the darkness. Which she did, so completely that she never woke until morning. To find Matilda up, and dressed, and watching her with eyes filled with love.
"Dear child," Matilda said. "Haven't we been through the valleys, you and I."
"We have." Aline roused herself, got washed and dressed and ready. Splayed the shutters open, looked out on a crisp clear day. "Are you well enough to travel?"
"I think so." Matilda hesitated. That odd look of importance crossed her face, the one she always got when about to say something Aline might not approve of. "That young man, Eustace -- "
"Oh, yes." Aline swung around, beaming. Caught herself, dropped the smile, assumed a proper expression. "The earl's man."
"Him," Matilda confirmed. "He called in earlier. Didn't know you were still asleep. Child, I don't think you should encourage him."
"To do what?" Aline frowned.
"It is unseemly," Matilda said, "for him to take a personal interest in you. To call on you in your chamber without being summoned. To know at what hour you are likely to rise. To -- "
"Don't be silly," Aline flared. "He's been so good this whole time, you've no idea. Even held back the entire party, though he was supposed to travel on with me at once -- at the earl's orders. Fetched a physician and a priest, paid for everything -- "
"And do you suppose," Matilda said, "that he did all that out of affection for me?"
"Of course not," Aline snorted. "Nor for me either. It's for the earl his master. I'm to be conveyed properly and comfortably -- those were his words -- and indulged as much as possible. Well, you know what he said when he first came to fetch me. That he was entirely at my disposal, and I could take as long as I liked. Since you were ill, I decided we were to stay until you improved, and he very kindly obliged. And now you want to make out that there's something unseemly about it!"
Matilda drooped. Not by much, but Aline saw it and cursed herself.
"I'm sorry," Aline said, contrite. "I shouldn't have spoken to you so. Especially not when you've been so ill, and only just rallied. But please believe there has been nothing -- no hint of anything scandalous -- he never would, he's so exactly correct in all things. If he seems assiduous to you, it's because he wants to make sure I'm safe and well and unmolested. He said so, on the way here."
"Then I apologise for speaking out of turn," Matilda said -- calmly, but with something of her former strength under the words.
Aline nibbled the inside of her lip. Perhaps it did look a bit peculiar, in a certain light, this attentiveness of his. But there was nothing in it, of course not, he would never dream...
She wished he would, though. Just dream. A passing thought, maybe. She liked him, she thought he was -- well, of course he was attractive, he was young and handsome and devoted to her welfare, she could imagine he'd be as attentive if...not that they would ever...
She shook herself. This was not appropriate matter for thought or conversation.
"Please understand," she said coldly, "that if we had not been held up by your illness, we might already have reached the earl's court by now, and he'd have handed me off to my guardian with great relief. On both our sides."
"Well," Matilda said mildly, "I am sorry to have caused madam so much trouble. If we are to leave now, I can be ready in a moment."
Aline strode up to her and hugged her close. "I love you," she said. "And I was terrified of losing you. Don't ever do anything like that to me again."
Matilda cuddled her. "Under God, if I am given the choice, I never will."
***
CHAPTER 4
"There." Eustace pointed. Aline squinted across snow-dappled fields. She could just make out a shape on the horizon, grey and louring like a bank of cloud. "You can just about see the crenellations."
She'd have to take his word for it. And she didn't really want to see, truth be told. Once she reached the earl's court, the journey would be over. She and Eustace wouldn't ride like this again, side by side, making light occasional talk.
For several days, she'd stayed in the cart with Matilda. But today was glorious, icy bright, with pale winter sun warming the air and turning it from harsh to mellow. It was mild now, here in the shelter of a low ridge, and only the rare rustle of a breeze stung at them like needles and reminded them not to trust too far to friendly weather.
"I should dearly like a gallop," Aline said wistfully, looking out across the inviting open ground.
"Not on my watch," Eustace said. "If the earl gives leave after you arrive, then by all means put my name forward. I've not forgotten your foolish boast." His eyes glinted at her as he smiled.
"Nothing foolish about it," Aline said with a smile of her own. "I love to ride fast."
"I can believe it." He studied her figure for a moment, let his gaze rest on her seat and hands. "You have a fearless air about you."
"Whereas you..." Aline studied him in turn. Not fearless, no. A man who'd conquered fear. "Confident." She'd thought that from the first.
He shied, so violently that his horse danced a step and pricked up its ears. "That's how you see me?"
"Oh yes."
"I'm...gratified." He straightened in the saddle, visibly strove for composure. Achieved it, too. He looked as if nothing could move him, once he set his aim. "Though I fear you may think more highly of me than I deserve."
"Surely not." She was half joking. He seemed to her a man she could admire and respect, as well as like. Though she wouldn't tell him that, he'd laugh at her. Or be horrified perhaps, think she was hinting at something far more intimate -- and entirely inappropriate, between an earl's ward and a mere knight.
Which she wouldn't dream of suggesting, of course. No. Although she envied the woman who got him in the end, or who had him already perhaps. In or out of wedlock, it hardly mattered for a man. So Father had told her, before going on to stress that it mattered very much for a woman, at least one of wealth and high birth, and that she carried his trust everywhere she went. That she must never so far forget herself as to consider any man he himself had not introduced as her suitor. She was to be married well, he'd told her that since she could walk, and no girl of good family must offer herself to lesser men, or bring shame onto her family by forcing them to contract an unfavourable alliance.
No, of course she could not view Eustace in that light. She liked him, that was all, as a companion and protector on the road, as a friend she could turn to at need. But she wished, if only for a passing moment, that she might have had such freedom, that she could admire his open face and glinting eyes, his smile as he turned to watch her, his deft handling of the horse. The way he sat in the saddle, so assured, with a tilt of the head not quite that of pride. Exuberance, perhaps, the sense that he was young and strong and free, that if he chose he could urge his mount into a gallop and speed away across the landscape, towards the distant horizon, and never again be hemmed in or shut between four walls.
Her breath caught. It felt like a dungeo
n, now, the place she was going to and the fate that awaited her. She didn't want to marry some important man, no matter how much land he held. She wanted Eustace -- or no, not Eustace, that could never be. But someone like him. Someone friendly, trustworthy and capable, easy to like. Easy to be with, to ride alongside like this, on a crisp clear morning, while they were both still young.
Instead she was to be sold into some new captivity, held hard by a man she'd never met.
"What?" Eustace asked. He leaned over a little, and a frown crept onto his forehead. "You look...concerned."
"That wasn't the word you had in mind," Aline taunted. She knew him well by now.
"The word was 'dismal'," Eustace admitted. "But I wasn't going to say that, because it wouldn't have been polite. Kindly disregard my indiscretion. What's troubling you?"
"Nothing," Aline lied. "I am a little weary, that is all. And chafing, if you must know, at being constrained to keep so sedate a pace."
Eustace laughed aloud. "Please forgive me," he said. "I've kept you on a tight rein all this time, I know. It will be your turn to hold me soon. Once we're in the earl's court you may order me as you please, and it will be my back that burns if you're not satisfied."
"I wouldn't do that," Aline said. She remembered what he'd said about belts among the squires, shivered at the many beatings he must have endured while still a child.
"Much obliged," Eustace said. "I prefer my skin left where it is."
He studied the road that curved ahead of them, firm and level enough.
"Perhaps a short gallop," he said. "At a controlled pace. To indulge the horses. Can I count on you not to tear across the countryside like a wild thing?"
"Of course," Aline said, grinning back at him. "You'll never have seen a lady ride more meek. But it does not count against our challenge. You must allow me to go full out for that."
"Doubt the earl will ever let you," Eustace said. "But I'll ride close by you whenever he permits, just in case you slip his lead. Come, then." He spoke brief words to one of the other men of his troop, then broke out and trotted past the line of trudging beasts. Aline followed, until they reached the head of the troop. "Steady as you are," Eustace told the lead riders. "The lady wants a gallop. Keep order here."
He changed pace with barely a movement. Aline's palfrey pricked its ears and danced, hesitated under her urgings as if not quite believing such good luck, then sped away. She rode a little faster than she ought, to catch up with him, but as she drew level she checked her mount and kept a neat and steady gallop.
"Very pretty," Eustace called. "No faster than that, if you please." And laughed at his own horse which tossed its muzzle in protest. "Yes, I know you love to run as well. Don't we all."
"Just once," Aline cried, exhilarated, and urged her palfrey on. Then remembered his talk of whippings and checked the horse, chastened.
"That will do," Eustace said. "I thought I had your promise." He slowed to a walk, and Aline obeyed in mutinous frustration.
"I promised to be tame and sedate," Aline pointed out. "Which I was."
"We may disagree on the exact meaning of those terms," Eustace said. "But I'll admit you came to hand nicely after. Once more, then."
She was off like an arrow this time, faster than she'd intended, determined to make the most of this temporary freedom. And it was glorious to speed through the landscape like this, all movement and health and strength.
"Easy," Eustace called. "I swear you'll cost me my place here. Enough now." And he made her slow, and halt, and face him.
"That was wonderful," Aline cried jubilantly. "How I've missed it!"
"So you have." He fell silent, watched her with darkening eyes and a fading smile. "I'm sorry to cut short your pleasure. Take it up with the earl."
"I will," Aline promised. She pushed back a strand of hair that fell across her face, shoved it in under her hood. "Oh, I haven't had a good run since -- " She broke off. "Since before the fever," she completed sadly. "Never had the heart after they all..." She couldn't bring herself to say it.
"Of course," Eustace said gravely. "I'm sorry."
They rode back at a walk. Aline stroked her palfrey's neck and relished anew that feeling of speed and freedom. It was good to be reminded of it, she thought, of life and the joy it still held, bleak as it must inevitably be when so many of those she loved had gone.
"I feel so much better for it," she confessed. "Thank you for indulging me. If the earl should be at all displeased to hear of it, please blame me entirely. I can be wayward if I choose."
"That would hardly be a knightly thing to do," Eustace said. "I'll stand by my own decisions, thank you."
They rode between the double line of men that parted to let them through, took up position ahead of Matilda's cart, where Aline composed herself to bear the usual remonstrations. But Matilda said very little, beyond mentioning the cold and the danger from falling.
"Tuck yourself up, then," Aline said, as patiently as she could manage. "If you find the weather chilly. I find it splendid."
Matilda wrapped herself tighter in the furs Eustace had laid out for her, and said nothing more.
***
"Welcome to my castle." The earl proved to be a burly man with his arm in a sling, who gave her a clumsy but oddly reassuring half-embrace with the other and fixed Eustace with a glare that made her jump. "And what do you mean by allowing my ward to hare across country like that, sir?"
"It was my fault," Aline said. "Truly, my lord. Your man did object, but I was -- well, I may have been a little petulant. You see, I do love to ride. I understand your stables are very fine."
It was the perfect remark. The earl forgot about Eustace entirely, tucked her arm under his own healthy one, and led her across the courtyard. "I forgot for a moment whose daughter you are. Come and I'll show you a destrier your father sent me as a gift once. He's lame at the moment, poor beast, all bashed about like his master. But we'll mend, both of us, and then you'll see some riding."
Aline laughed. She could like this man, she thought to her surprise. Provided those rages Eustace had hinted at weren't too ferocious. "If you'll permit," she said, "I should see to my woman -- "
"Eh, my wife will take care of all of that. Never sets foot in the stable, silly wench, I look forward to having some sensible company at last. Leave everything to her and come and entertain me instead." He pulled her into the gloom, scented with straw and well-groomed coats.
"My horse -- " Aline began.
"Will be tended. I don't keep girls to do lads' work. Now take a look at this." He paused to admire a huge beast, gentle-eyed and glossy-coated, that turned to nuzzle his face. "Yes, it's me, you daft brute. Thought I'd forgotten about you, eh?"
Aline smiled. She liked his way with the horse, gentle under gruff words. A moment later, her own palfrey was led in, and she could watch and approve the calm steady handling by one of the lads.
"Come and see this," the earl said, and guided her down the stalls. "Bought him for my son. Let's hear what you think."
They spent such a pleasant half hour that Aline was almost disappointed to leave, and realised with a start that she'd forgotten to feel apprehensive. He seemed kind as well as forthright, and by the time they sauntered across the courtyard to the hall, she was laughing over one of his remarks.
"That's good to see," the earl commented. "A girl should be able to laugh. Shows her off to advantage. Well, and we have some company on the way, that will give you further amusement." He went on to mention names that meant little to her, though from the sidelong glance he threw her at some of them, she gathered they might be men on the hunt for suitable wives.
She glanced around as they walked, tried to catch some glimpse of Eustace. But he was gone, she didn't know where, and the loss of him jabbed at her heart. She'd got used to his company on the journey, his easy good humour, his companionship. Now that he'd disappeared, she felt she'd lost something a great deal more precious than a guard.
"
Your man was very kind to me along the way," she said. "I hope you'll convey my thanks to him."
"Young Eustace? Sensible boy, if a bit too fond of fast riding. I do not approve of the way he had you tearing across the fields just now. None of that, my girl, do you hear? Ladies should ride slow and sedate, and never unsettle themselves."
"I like to ride fast," Aline objected as politely as she could.
"You'll have to sulk in your chamber, then," the earl replied. "Nothing beyond a walk, while you're in my care. I'll give you a couple of grooms to take with you, they'll make sure you heed my command. And if you don't, you'll be kept out of the stable." He gave her a friendly smile. "Now we understand one another. You're worth a great deal too much for me to risk your injury -- or worse."
"In marriage," Aline said in a resigned tone.
"Absolutely. Can't hope to palm off a crippled wife onto any man willing to pay for her. Well, not without a consideration. I paid handsomely for your wardship, I aim to make a fine profit selling you on. So you'll keep fat and pretty and whole, and let the suitors come for a look over Christmas. You'll like that, being the centre of attention."
"I won't," Aline said. "In truth, I'd far rather be out riding."
"What you want and what you'll get are different things," the earl said. "Now let's not quarrel already. You go and freshen up, and after that my wife will wish to see you. I've set aside a chamber for you next to hers. Just knock on the second door when you're done." He led her to her prison, saw her inside, spoke briefly to the men on guard nearby. They threw one glance at her and nodded understanding. That was all she saw before the earl gave her another of his hearty but heartless smiles, and shut the door in her face.
Matilda had towels and fresh water ready for her, said nothing until Aline had been made presentable. Then offered, in a kind but firm tone: "You'd best not ask for or look at that young man again."
"Which young man?" Aline snapped. The earl's attitude had angered her, she tried hard not to take it out on Matilda. How dare he condescend to her in that way, as if she had no right to freedom. And speak of her worth as if she was nothing more than an animal he bought and sold at will.