by Sarah Hegger
“There is nothing frightening about the Lady Beatrice.” Saying the words aloud helped still the violent flutters in Alice’s middle. Pretty enough, tall and willowy with a sweet smile, Beatrice’s manner held a freedom that made Alice feel in the presence of a glorious, brilliant lark—made her feel dull and planted on the ground, ferreting through the undergrowth for grubs and worms while the other woman soared above her.
Alice snorted. Her verse had not improved since her wedding day.
“My lady?” A deep, resonant voice cut into her addled meanderings. Sir Gregory emerged from the gloom of the corridor and stood by her side. His tall form cast long shadows that swallowed her whole. Offering her his arm, he nodded to the hall. “Shall we?”
Beneath her fingertips his simple linen tunic covered the rough-hewn strength of his arm. Sir Gregory appeared modest in his dress, rich but not showy, wearing dark fabrics that added to the mysterious air surrounding the man.
Taller even than William, Sir Gregory’s shoulder cleared the crown of her head. She tried to picture him in a monk’s habit and failed. Command hung in the air about him, a low buzz of bridled power clung to him in a manner ill-suited to a priest. Put a sword in his hand, aye. Set a hauberk about his shoulders and send him to the Holy Land to fight the non-believers—single-handedly—now that she could picture.
“Have you recovered?” People parted for her and Sir Gregory in a wave. For Sir Gregory, at least, and whoever had that still, compelling presence by their side.
“Eh?” Dear Lord, he had her tongue-tied. As for impressing William’s family, she was a lost cause.
“William said you were not well this afternoon.” Sir Gregory inclined his dark head. Eyes blacker than pitch, he stared at her. The Archangel, Saint Michael, leader of God’s armies, bringer of the deceased souls to heaven, guardian of the faithful. “Lady Alice?”
“Aye. I am much recovered.” Her stupid head insisted on drawing great wings rising above his head. “I do not know what came over me.”
He nodded in the direction of the dais. “They have that effect on people, the Anglesea folk.”
Not him though, Alice would wager, if she wagered, which she did not, because Sister would collapse at the mere suggestion. But if she wagered, she would place her last gold piece that he feared nothing.
Sir Gregory chuckled. “I can assure you, my lady, I am no stranger to fear.”
Good Lord, had she said all that aloud? Her face flamed. Still, she didn’t believe it for a second. Alice made a point of keeping her lips shut before she allowed her last thought to escape as well.
“See the children are here.” Sir Gregory’s deep voice warmed like treacle over a fire. “You did not meet them in the bailey.”
Lady Beatrice had her boys about her at table. Alice’s heart gave a nasty turn as she searched for the other child. The one who even the thought of caused a strange prickling in her palms. One of the boys sat between William and his mother. Big eyes stared at her over the table as he shoved a chubby fistful of bread into his mouth. The older child, no more than three years, tugged on William’s tunic, his little face crinkled in vehement entreaty.
Alice breathed a soft sigh of relief.
William rose as they approached, shoulders taut, his handsome face colder than the stones beneath her slippers. “My lady.”
“My lord.” Alice accepted his assistance over the bench and took her seat.
Beatrice leant forward to see past William. “Hello, Alice.”
Warmth unfurled through Alice’s chest, set into motion by the open smile gifted her by Beatrice. Not as lovely as Faye, Beatrice had a charm all of her own, and it spread from her like the sun’s rays warming everyone about her. “Hello.”
“You must think us horribly rude to have descended on you like this.” Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “But we have good reason. There is illness at Anglesea. It has struck the keep hard.” Some of the light died on Beatrice’s face, and Alice wanted it back. “Our brother Roger is strong and young, but our mother…” Tears welled in the blue-green brightness of Beatrice’s eyes.
“She will recover, Sweet Bea.” William put his arm about her shoulders. “You forget the strength of her will.”
Alice wanted to say something comforting, but her tongue knotted.
“You are right.” Beatrice sniffed and took a napkin from the table. She dabbed her cheeks and drew in a breath. “Nurse will not allow it any other way.”
“You have the right of it there.” William chuckled, and a watery smile wavered about Beatrice’s lips.
“You are welcome here,” Alice said, and meant every word. Sweet Bea—it suited her new sister. A sister. What a wondrous notion. As a child, Alice had invented her own sister to follow her around the halls of Yarborough. “Stay as long as you need to. We are family now.”
Beatrice gave her another sweet smile, but the one from William made Alice want to toss up her skirts and dance a jig atop the table. He loved his family, now her family.
“Gah!” The baby beside Beatrice opened and closed his chubby fist as he reached for the bread atop the table.
“This loud gentleman is Adam.” Beatrice broke a small piece of bread and gave it to Adam. “You will have to forgive his manners, but like most men he is a bear when hungry.”
“I am hungry too.” The other boy wedged himself between Alice and William.
“Indeed, master Richard.” William hauled the child up by the back of his tunic. Alice gasped at such rough treatment of a child, but Richard shrieked with delight. William tucked him in the narrow gap between them on the bench. “Now make your greeting to Lady Alice.”
“Good evening.” Richard had his mother’s eyes.
Alice inclined her head gravely. “Good evening to you.”
“I like your hair,” said Richard. “It shines.”
“Aye, it does.” William wrapped her braid about his fist. “Like gold.”
“Nay,” said Richard. “Like fire.”
“Like mead.” William raised a brow at his nephew.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Like…like honey.”
“Like—”
“Enough.” Alice fanned her hot cheeks. Any more of this nonsense would turn her head.
“Thank you.” William kissed her cheek, and the rock within her chest lifted. “He had the best of me at honey.”
Serving women brought the meal to the table. Beatrice’s children remained amongst them, not confined to another table or even another part of the keep. Nothing dire happened with the children at table. Richard spilled a cup of water, but other than that, Alice enjoyed their presence. When she had children, she would make sure they sat like Beatrice’s children amongst their family.
Richard’s warmth pressed against her side, his small form alight with energy and life. One day her child might ask for more milk with his bread, and be chided by William not to stuff his mouth with meat.
At the hall entrance, a woman and boy appeared.
Sweat broke out over Alice’s skin. Her belly threatened to disgorge her dinner as Alice dragged her eyes off the boy and back to the woman. Ivy. She looked like the sort of woman Alice could befriend. Yet she knew the story. Sister had told her countless times this woman was a whore, not fit to grace the presence of ladies.
“There you are.” Beatrice rose to her feet. “We had given up on you two.”
“Mathew wanted to see the horses before he went to bed,” Ivy said with a soft smile. Her gaze flitted to Alice and she bobbed a curtsy. “My lady.”
Words to bid her and the boy—Mathew, he had a name—screamed in Alice’s head but her tongue stuck, parchment dry, to the roof of her mouth. Her throat closed tight about them and refused to let them come.
William’s gaze burned into her, but Mathew transfixed her like a rabbit caught in a fox’s stare.
Silence pressed around her as Ivy and Mathew stood before the dais waiting for her to bid them
welcome, invite them to join the table. Mathew fidgeted, pressing his head to Ivy’s side.
Alice met Beatrice’s gaze. Confusion, and then anger and condemnation written clear across Beatrice’s features as Alice sat there, frozen to the spot. “I…”
“You must be hungry.” William’s voice cut through the thick quiet. His joviality carried an edge to it that made Alice wince. “Come and join us.”
Ivy nodded and took Mathew’s hand. She cocked her head at Alice, her gaze holding a wealth of understanding Alice did not deserve. It humbled her to her core. Shame writhed inside her.
Mathew shuffled close to Ivy’s side, and a bench scraped, jarring and loud. It was her. Alice was on her feet, stumbling over the bench. The hall entrance and safety rushed toward her.
Behind her, William’s voice rose angry and demanding. Yelling her name but she couldn’t stop. She needed to get out of the hall. Away.
On the stairs, her skirts tangled with her legs and she came down hard on the edge of the sharp risers. Air sawed in and out of her lungs as she used the wall to right herself. Beneath her fingers, hard stone pressed into the pads. Alice dug her fingers in, trying to grasp at something solid and still her mind. Darkness hovered on the edges of her vision, driving her limp legs to keep climbing.
She stopped at the top and pressed her back to the wall. From below came the ordinary rise and fall of voices. The oppressive weight on her chest lifted enough that her breathing eased. Sticky sweat trickled down her sides. From this small distance she could battle her thoughts into order again. Force back the clinging fear enough for her mind to work. Dear God, what ailed her? One glance at Mathew and she lost all reason.
Sister called him the Abomination, but Alice recoiled from the idea. “He is just a boy. A small boy.”
Pushing away from the wall, Alice stumbled into her chamber and shut the door behind her.
William’s presence lay heavy on her refuge. A discarded tunic hung on the clothes tree beside her chemise. His chest of gifts skulked by the base of the bed. Gifts from a pleased groom to his bride. Cloves scented the fire-warmed air.
Heavy footfalls approached the door and Alice moved away just as William threw the door open.
He towered in the doorway, raw anger etched into the carved lines of his face. “You dare.”
Alice backed away.
William advanced as she had seen him against Dunstan, feral in his anger.
Her legs nudged the back of the bed, halting her retreat.
William loomed above her, body tight with anger, fists clenched by his side. Peril lurked in each well-modulated, evenly delivered word. “You dare to treat my family in this manner.”
“I…” She had not the words to explain her behavior to herself, let alone the very angry man before me. “I was frightened.”
“Frightened?” His boots nudged her slippers.
Alice nodded. Terrified came closer to the truth.
“Of whom? Ivy?” William tilted his head and glared down his perfect nose at her. “Were you afraid she would taint your sanctified presence?”
“Nay, I have naught to fear from a whore.” The moment she said them, Alice wanted to stuff the words back down her throat. She did not mean them in that way, but her roiling thoughts had her all turned about.
William grabbed her shoulders.
Alice slid out from beneath his grasp and clambered onto the bed, aiming to put the large furnishing between her and her husband.
He caught her ankle and dragged her back to him. Her skirts rucked about her thighs. “If I ever hear you refer to Ivy in that manner again, I will have that poisonous nun locked away in a nunnery for the rest of her days. Give me one more reason and you will keep her company.”
“Nay.” Alice pushed her skirts down. William and his sweet ways had lulled her into believing he would not behave as her other husbands had, but in his anger he became like John. “You would send me away over another woman?”
“Ivy is one of the wisest and most beautiful women I know,” he said, twisting the knife through her heart. “You will learn, Alice, that a woman is not defined by what is between her thighs.”
What he didn’t say, that he found Ivy wiser and more beautiful than her, clamored in his silence. She had behaved badly in the hall, made a fool of herself and insulted her new family. As even greater proof of her deplorable lack of wits, anger rose in swift defense. “Is a woman then defined by who is between her thighs?”
“Only when that man is her lord and husband.” His grip on her ankle tightened. “The moment you said ‘I will,’ I became lord of Tarnwych, and you would do well to remember that.”
“And that gives you the right to do as you please, fill it with all sorts of people of whom I do not approve?”
“I can fill it with whores, gutter rats, thieves, murderers, and rapists if I choose.” William pushed his face closer until their noses touched. “I can do what I like, because I am lord here. Dunstan learned that lesson at the ultimate cost. I suggest you learn faster than he did.”
Air rushed out of her lungs. “You threaten me?”
“I am telling you, my lady. Behave yourself, or you will not enjoy the consequences.”
He dropped her ankle and spun about. The slam of the door reverberated through the chamber.
Alice collapsed onto her back on the bed. “I am already not enjoying them.”
* * * *
William stormed down the stairs and through the hall.
Beatrice and Ivy clustered about the children whispering to each other.
He could well imagine what they said. Alice had shamed him in front of them, but that did not bother him as much as her reaction to Mathew. Aye, he had seen what drove his wife upstairs, and it had naught to do with Ivy.
Since the day of his birth, they had gathered about their youngest brother and protected him from the cruel tongues and derisive faces that followed the lad. Slower than other children, and at times only Ivy and Mother could manage Mathew, but when his world stayed ordered about him, no sweeter or more loving child could you find. Several people had tried to persuade their family to put Mathew away with the holy fathers or keep him on his own with a caretaker. Mother and Father had refused, and so they raised him with the rest of the Anglesea children.
The horror on Alice’s face as she stared at Mathew was seared into William’s mind. That his own wife could be one of the small-minded accursed fools who looked at Mathew and recoiled he could not tolerate. A woman he had lain with, one with whom he shared his life. He could not, would not, accept it.
He needed to hit something, hard, or he could not be accountable for his actions. His boot heels dug into the damp soil of the bailey as he strode toward the practice yards. There he would find an outlet for the fury gripping him by the balls.
Men stepped back, eyeing him warily as he entered the yards.
“You.” He snatched a practice stave from a barrel beside the barracks. “Fight me.”
“My lord?” The oldest Domnall dropped his stave tip to the soil and glanced at his fellows.
“Fight me.” William closed on Domnall. He attacked. Stave met stave with a solid crack that sent shock waves up William’s arm.
Stave still embedded in the soil, Domnall blinked at him.
“Fight someone more your weight,” Gregory said.
William met Gregory’s gaze over their crossed staves. Aye, Gregory would do.
Whispers broke out around them as William circled left.
Gregory twirled his stave. His dark gaze searched for the opening, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet.
William struck Gregory’s stave hard enough to jar his hand. Pain numbed the anger to a low simmer.
Gregory danced, impossibly light on his feet for such a big man, and forced William to climb out of his thoughts and counter the rapid fire blows coming at him. Gregory fought at full strength, giving no quarter, not holding his blows
back, and pressing William hard to counter.
Gregory fought with the ferocity of Northmen.
Sweat dripped from his face as Gregory locked him in the bind before shoving him back. William caught his balance and circled.
He closed again.
Gregory met him.
Their blows tapped and cracked across the bailey faster than a bard could clap.
William fought until his lungs burned and his muscles trembled with exertion, until the angry burn sputtered and died. His only satisfaction lay in Gregory’s sides heaving like bellows and sweat plastering his tunic to his chest. “Enough.”
One of the men brought them both water as they stood, swaying with exhaustion in the practice yards. From the ramparts, the watch called the hour well advanced, and the keep casements had gone dark. They had fought well into the night.
His men had remained to watch, and now murmured amongst themselves.
Aches and pains from Gregory’s well-aimed blows set a low throb from several points on his ribs and thighs. Legs turned to pudding beneath him, William pressed his back into the barrack wall and slid to the ground.
Gregory joined him with a groan. “You have improved.”
William grunted. He suspected Gregory had landed more blows than he had taken. His ribs certainly concurred. “You are still the best I have ever seen.”
“But not good enough when it counted.” Gregory shook his head.
“Calder played a dirty trick.” William raised his aching arm and punched Gregory on the shoulder. It did not surprise him Gregory still carried the burden from his duel with Faye’s late husband. Gregory had killed the man, but not before Calder’s lackey had nearly gutted Gregory with a hidden knife blow. “My sister was well when you left?”
A rare smile crossed Gregory’s face. “She is very close to her time now. I would like to return before she delivers our child. She did not fare well in the beginning. She was often ill. I thank God for it now because it kept her away from Anglesea.”
“This is a worrisome business about Anglesea,” William said. His mother, father, brother, so many people he loved and knew. Perhaps his worry for them had fueled his anger toward Alice.