by Sarah Hegger
By that she assumed his horse was called Paladin. A fitting name for the huge beast. Powerful muscles played beneath Paladin’s gleaming coat as he carried them forward. Alice unbent her spine a mite.
“There,” William murmured. “Work with the horse.”
She allowed the rolling motion of the horse to move through her limbs. William was right. The dreadful jouncing eased. If she kept her eyes off the ground and fixed on the countryside flying past them, she might enjoy her ride.
“Alice.” William’s exasperated tone made her stiffen again. “Your wimple is flapping in my face. Would you remove it please?”
The starched ends of her wimple slapped his cheeks, and he had his head craned high and out of its way. He looked ridiculous craning his face clear of the stiff, snapping cloth, but to remove her wimple. The alternative of blinding William whilst she rode before him did not seem sensible. Finger by finger, she released his arm. Unfastening it with one hand took longer than she would have expected, but the ties gave eventually. Before she could catch it, the wind whipped it out of her hand. Alice turned as far as her awkward seat would allow. Her wimple fluttered down and disappeared beneath the horses following them.
Wind caught her hair and sent it streaming out behind them in a wave of bright copper.
“See, Alice.” William laughed, the sound rumbling through her back. “You have your own war banner.”
Reaching up she tried to contain the mess.
“Leave it.” William tucked his head into her neck and out of the path of her enveloping hair. “Fly you flag proudly, my Alice.”
My Alice? He called her that often, and she rather liked it. A special name he had for her, like how Aonghas called her “pretty wee bird,” only better.
She was riding, on a great fearsome destrier. Her beautiful husband behind her, holding her steady. The day grew even brighter about her. A day on which she might believe herself his Alice.
Sister waited for them as their party entered Tarnwych’s bailey late into the evening. She stood statue-like outside the keep doors, the white of her scapula catching the light of the torches.
Alice’s body ached a bit from the riding. Fear had disappeared somewhere between here and The Crags, and she resolved to learn to ride. Horses were not so very fearsome after all. Alice straightened in the saddle before William.
William’s hands held her steady as he lowered her to the bailey floor.
“You are returned,” Sister said, smoothing her scapula front. “Did the cart have a mishap?”
“Nay.” Alice ducked her head out of the glare of reproach. “William believed we would travel faster by horse.”
“But you do not ride.” Sister folded her hands beneath her scapula. “Your hair.”
Her devil’s hair snarled into a mass of curls down her back, and Alice tried to smooth it into a semblance of order. “I lost my wimple on the ride.”
“You.” Sister snapped her fingers at a nearby serving wench. “Go and fetch Lady Alice another wimple.”
“My lady has no need of one.” William stood beside her, his hand warm on the curve of her back.
“Your pardon, Sir William, but any lady has need of a wimple.” Sister drew herself up. “No decent lady dares go about with her hair unbound. It is an affront in the eyes of our Lord.”
William took a deep breath, the press of his fingers harder in her back. “An affront to our Lord?” His voice softened, silky with anger. “Our Lord is surely not so capricious as to create such beauty and then see it hid.”
“No disrespect, Sir William.” Sister raised her chin stretching her lips into a tight smile. “But I believe as a bride of the church, I am somewhat closer to the wants of our Heavenly Father.”
Alice’s skin prickled with the waves of anger seeping from William.
“Indeed, however—”
“I prefer my wimple.” Stepping away from his light touch, Alice moved closer to Sister. “I will repair my appearance and see you for the evening meal.”
“The men and I will do the same and meet you in the hall,” William said.
Sure she must have misheard, Alice stopped and whirled about.
Sister’s chest rose and fell with her rapid breath. “The men do not eat in the hall.”
“They do now.” William strolled closer. The charming man who had ridden with her vanished beneath a calm, ominous stranger. “They will bathe and present themselves in the hall for meals from this point onwards.”
“At Tarnwych we—”
“As a knight, Sister,” William sketched a low bow, “I believe I am somewhat closer to the ruling of men.”
* * * *
William kept himself still as anger, indecision, and frustration all chased across Sister’s harsh features. Riding with Alice before him had washed away the last of his sour mood, but it returned with a roar that left him wanting to punch something.
The way Alice had buckled and folded before Sister’s condemnation roiled inside him. All day, he’d caught glimpses of a different Alice. A woman whose laughter rang, one who waited at the bars of her cage for someone to set her free. With one look, Sister Julianna had slammed the door shut on Alice.
He didn’t trust himself around the malicious old crow. He needed to occupy himself elsewhere until he had a firm hold on his temper. “But for this night, the hall will sit down to its meal without us.” He strode through the men to the barracks. “This night we work.”
Crows cawed loud and raucous over the silence in the bailey. Heads whipped between him and Sister. “I want everything out of the barracks.” Pinning the men nearest him with a hard stare, he raised his voice. “All the filth, all the beddings, everything. I want them out and burned. Rufus.”
The man’s head snapped up.
“Build a fire in the center of the bailey. The men of Tarnwych do not live like swine.”
“Everything.” Sister’s voice rose from behind him. Sweet Jesu, this would not end well between him and this woman. She had enough love for her neck to remain on the steps leading into the keep. “Is such wanton destruction necessary?”
“Everything.” William shifted his glare from man to man. “Right now. Burned.”
“How will the men sleep?” Alice appeared at his elbow.
For her sake, William tugged hard on the reins of his temper. “They will not sleep until the barracks are cleansed of filth and vermin.”
Dunstan cracked his knuckles and planted his feet akimbo. Aye, another reckoning came there too. William met his stare. He ached to take the big bastard on, right here and now. Disappointment soured his gut as Dunstan turned and shouted orders to the men around him. The man would make a good commander, if he could bend his bull neck to his new master.
“Will you not rest?” Alice touched his wrist. “They could clean the barracks in the morning.”
Nay, he could not rest. He needed activity, something to keep his mind from the building anger within him. “I will rest when my men rest.”
Alice took a soft breath, and nodded. “I will see that the serfs make up fresh pallets. The men will need them when they are done.”
A small victory but it coiled within William and calmed the fire in his blood. His Alice would stand by him on this. From the keep entrance, Sister Julianna watched them through narrowed eyes.
* * * *
Bone-weary, Alice returned to the hall after she had changed her gown and confined her hair. A new mood sparked the air as she entered. Faces full of questions turned her way as she murmured her greeting in passing.
Muted sounds drifted up the stairs from the bailey. Men’s voices, raised and then lowered, the crack of wood, and the low buzz of activity. William worked out there, beside the men and if she judged it right, the work would take all night. She did not visit the barracks, as Sister judged it unwise, but she had noted the condition of the men as they rode. Seen how they compared with Aonghas’s men, and if the barracks mat
ched their residents, then she applauded William’s wisdom.
Serving women carried out the meal and placed it on the tables, a testament to William’s kitchen foray. Great platters of meat appeared, bringing with them the hearty scent of venison. Alice dared not meet Sister’s eye, but she felt the rise of outrage battering against her as fresh breads and greens accompanied the meat. Where had Cook obtained fresh vegetables at this time of year? Later, she would ask Cook, but for now the tempting aromas set her tummy growling. Aspic jellies and blood puddings were added to the happy murmur of the hall. She had not eaten since they left The Crags. A quick bite of bread and cheese as they had rested the horses could hardly sustain a body.
“Have the men outside been fed?” Alice called to Gord where he sat at the table nearest the dais.
Gord cast a yearning gaze at the bounty set before him as he rose. “Nay, my lady.”
“Would you see to it?” Commands coming from her mouth sounded odd. “Make sure they receive their share.”
“They are working,” Sister said. “They will not have time for eating. Your husband has seen to that.”
“William would want them fed.” Alice’s head reeled a bit at her own daring. Seldom had she countermanded Sister, and never before a gaping hall full of people. “If Tarnwych is to have an effective army, they must be cared for.” Nobody had told her this, but it stood to reason. “And on the morrow, Gord, would you put the seamstresses to work on new raiment for the men? We looked like beggars before Aonghas.”
“Aye, my lady.” A slow smile of approval spread over Gord’s thin face.
Alice drew courage from it and retuned his smile.
“They have raiment.” Sister’s dry tone pricked at her pleasure.
“They have rags,” she said, forcing her voice to remain firm. “We cannot send them out into the cold without adequate covering. Our Lord would not condone such dreadful cruelty.”
“Sir William sent his squire for new horses,” Gord said. “But the men will need weapons, as well. I will call for the blacksmith when I go the village in the morn.”
How had she not seen what a treasure she had in Gord? Perhaps because this was the first time she had actually commanded the man. “Perfect.”
Chapter 8
The next day passed in a blur of activity for Alice. Gord made good on his instructions, and the keep hummed with new activity. She stood at the center of the mayhem, issuing further instructions, answering questions, and filled with a sense of purpose that made her never-ending list of tasks seem lighter. Serving maids gathered linens, stuffed pallets and pillows, and cut rushes for the barrack floors. Seamstresses pulled bolts of cloth from the stores and spread it over the trestle tables in the hall. Their chatter as they worked filled the austere place with life and cheer.
Out in the bailey, the blacksmith got the old forge running, and his fires belched heat into the overcast day. Over the clang of hammer on anvil, work continued on the barracks. It gave her a thrill of excitement every time she glanced out the casement and saw the men-at-arms scurrying this way and that, their posture taut with purpose. William broke his fast outside with the men and worked alongside them throughout the day.
The hall that night fair buzzed with the number of voices. Scrubbed clean with damp hair and fresh faces, the men skulked into the hall and took their places at the newly set out trestles. Fires blazed in the hearths, dispelling the chill from the walls. Cook blossomed under her new freedom, sending yet another excellent meal into the hall.
Beside Alice, Sister refused all offers of richer fare and worked her way through a bowl of thin beef broth. Alice rolled her eyes when Sister requested yesterday’s bread, and near laughed aloud when the serving woman reported Cook had fed the pigs with it.
Sinful, perhaps, but Alice tucked into her dinner with relish. Her heart lifted as she looked about her at the contented faces in the hall. Despite Sister’s dire warnings, the men did not get drunk, belch or pinch the serving women. Alice would wager their night and day of grueling work had exhausted them. It had thrilled her to do her part, and have the new pallets stuffed and smelling of heather delivered to the barracks. Today her keep functioned as a keep should, a place of refuge and respite.
William entered the hall and her breath gave a curious hitch. Hair still slicked to his head from bathing, he wore a simple linen tunic, still much finer than aught she owned. The deep blue fabric imperfectly mimicked his eyes as he looked at her and waved. As he moved through the hall, people returned his greeting. He stopped at the men’s table, clapped a hand on the shoulder nearest him, bent and spoke with them. A deep, base guffaw rippled through the hall. Her husband had this way about him, as if he carried a pocketful of faery dust and scattered it about the heads of those he encountered.
She liked a lot less how the women blushed and simpered as he greeted them. Even old Maggie, eighty if she was a day, bridled and batted her eyes at him.
“Ah, my Alice.” He took the seat beside her with a smile that twined inside her chest. “How I have missed your lovely eyes.”
Sister’s head snapped in their direction, her gaze burning the side of Alice’s face. “My stagnant pond eyes?”
He grinned and motioned for wine. “Is it poetry you require of me now, my lady?”
“Thank you, nay.” She could not resist the sparkle in his eye. “I have had an adequate sufficiency of your verse.”
“Wise woman.” He sipped his wine and gave a sigh of appreciation. Slumberous warmth filled his gaze. “Far better to glut yourself on my other skills.”
Alice’s throat dried. Not since he had kissed her had William gifted her with that look. It crept across her skin in a tingling rush of awareness, and she shivered. This man was her groom, not yet husband. A low thrum hummed in her belly, spreading its tendrils outwards.
“Wine?” William’s voice startled her. A serving girl stood beside her, Lord knows for how long, waiting to know if she wanted her goblet filled.
Over his shoulder Sister’s dark eyes met hers. Mouth twisted in a sneer, Sister turned her shoulder on her.
“Nay.” Alice waved the girl away.
William dug into his meal and Alice let out her pent breath. Thank the Heavens he had decided against pressing the issue. She rather fancied a goblet of wine, but with Sister already wroth over her unbound hair when riding with William, followed by their disagreement in the hall yester eve, abstaining seemed wiser. The weight of Sister’s voiceless anger pressed on Alice’s shoulders. In her life, Sister had been the one constant, the person who stood by her when all others passed on. Only the most ungrateful of people would turn their back on such unselfish devotion.
* * * *
His Alice looked pretty tonight, despite the hideous wimple concealing her glorious hair. The trip to The Crags had agreed with her, and a charming blush of color stained her wan cheeks. Her support of his efforts had pleased William immeasurably, and he meant to encourage her taking charge of her keep.
God’s teeth, his tired limbs ached. A night drinking with Aonghas, followed by last night without sleep, and this day spent in hard labor had him bent like an aged crone. As much as he enjoyed Cook’s renewed efforts in the kitchen, it did prolong the meal until his head threatened to drop into his trencher.
Although tempted, he doubted he would be of much use to Alice in the bedchamber.
Sister Sunshine rose, casting an immediate pall over the hall. “I will now lead the keep in prayers.”
Oh, dear God, nay. Dismay reflected on the faces in the hall sent his gut sinking into his boots. Sister Sunshine, he would wager his life, shunned any quick benediction sort of worship. Alice rose and followed in Sister’s wake, dispelling his desperate hope of missing prayers and finding his bed.
Fortifying himself with a large sip of wine, William stood and offered Alice his arm.
She blinked at it, and then placed her hand on his sleeve. Small and delicate, with slim, elegan
t fingers capped with neat, trimmed nails. He had the sudden desire to see his jewels adorning her hand.
They entered the chapel at the far end of the hall. Taper smoke drifted in the flickering golden light, stinging his tired eyes. Tarnwych folk filed in and crammed the benches until a few hardier souls took positions against the wall. For a keep this size, the chapel was small and cramped with low stone arches pressing close to their heads. Behind the altar, the plain, mean casements glared at the congregation. He took his place beside Alice and tried to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench.
Sister Sunshine stood beside a rotund priest, who nodded as she whispered in his ear. So the goose led the gander here too. Despite the cold in the stone walls, the press of so many bodies warmed the chapel and sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his cheeks. The smell turned his stomach. At Anglesea, Lady Mary insisted on weekly bathing for all residents of the keep. As boys, he and Roger had never managed to outfox their mother and escape their scrubbing, no matter how hard they tried. Lady Mary had the sharpest eyes at Anglesea, and whatever she missed, Nurse would catch.
Having grown to manhood in such a close and loving family, he had taken it for granted. Unfamiliar faces surrounded him in the chapel. In time they would become his family, but for now, he wished Roger sat beside him, fidgeting and cursing beneath his breath. Henry, the pious brother, would lean forward and glare at Roger to sit still. William had always sat between Faye and Beatrice. He used to make a game of seeing if he could get Faye to break her perfect poise, and Bea was always good for a giggle, even on the most somber of occasions.
Alice shifted on the bench beside him, her slight, heather-scented warmth a comfort against him.
The priest opened the singing of the mass with a deep, sonorous voice that swelled rich and lush through the chapel. Incense twined with swirling taper haze and heat. The priest sang on, a surprisingly beautiful voice that fell on the ear like a lullaby. William swallowed a yawn. He blinked against the weighted air, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.