‘Guilhem, I am so sorry; I never realised when I arranged this marriage for Bianca that I was putting her in so much danger. Wilhelma and her son came to me on a good, reliable recommendation.’ Eleanor plucked at a loose thread, floating adrift on the lustrous silk of her gown.
‘How could you have known?’ Guilhem replied. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. Thank God Alinor was there; it was her quick wit that saved my sister.’
‘Alinor?’ The Queen raised pale, wispy brows, faint arcs above her hazel eyes at his use of her first name. ‘I didn’t realise you were on such familiar terms with the girl.’
‘Apologies.’ A ruddy colour dusted the tops of his cheekbones. ‘I mean, Lady Alinor.’
The Queen stared hard at him for a moment. ‘I will send for Wilhelma and her son and have them brought before me directly.’ She inclined her head towards a lady-in-waiting standing by the door. ‘Margaret, fetch me John de Plessis and John Fitz Geoffrey. They can ride over to Claverstock and bring them back to me.’ She glanced at Guilhem’s tall figure, braced against the window frame. ‘I would send you, but I need you here for the nonce. With Henry in captivity...’ her mouth drooped slightly ‘...I...that is, Edward and I, we need your advice. Edward will be very pleased to see you. He was most put out that you decided to ride to Claverstock with...this Lady Alinor.’
‘But I went to visit my sister; he knew that.’
The Queen extracted a silk kerchief from the brocade pouch that dangled from her woven girdle; sniffed into it delicately. ‘You know how he values your company. But, your visit to Claverstock was a good decision. If you hadn’t gone there, then none of this subterfuge with your sister’s marriage or, rather, non-marriage, would have been discovered.’
If I hadn’t gone there, my heart would still be my own. Would he have preferred it that way?
‘Where is Edward?’ he managed to croak out, shifting away from the window.
‘Out.’ Eleanor rolled her eyes. ‘He rode out with a few knights this morning towards Marlborough—not to fight, but to try to find where de Montfort has gone. Where they have taken my good husband. I can only hope and pray that he is in good health.’ She stared into the fire, momentarily distracted. ‘Edward will be back before nightfall, God willing.’
Guilhem nodded. He would go and check on the horses, make sure they were properly stabled before going to his own allocated chamber; he needed a wash, a change of clothes.
The Queen hitched forward, contemplating the flames of the fire, clasping her milk-white hands together. ‘Guilhem...I think it might be better if you fetch your sister and this...this Alinor to me now; I would like to meet them and hear their story from their own lips; it will be too chaotic at the feasting tonight.’
Standing beside the chair he had recently vacated, Guilhem placed one hand on the carved back. ‘Would you mind waiting an hour or two? They are both exhausted; I told them to rest.’
Eleanor pursed her lips; she wasn’t used to being contradicted. She hesitated, frowning, then a smile broke across her face and she waggled her fingers at him, the gemstones adorning her hand sparking in the firelight. ‘Goodness, only you, Guilhem, only you, would get away with such a request. Be gone with you and bring them to me later, but before the feasting. Understood?’
He lifted her hand, bending low, touching his lips to her jewelled fingers. ‘Understood, my lady.’
* * *
The stables were enormous at Knighton, big enough to house one-hundred-and-twenty horses comfortably, so it was some time before Guilhem managed to locate his own destrier and the two palfreys ridden by Bianca and Alinor. Their saddles removed, all three had been secured in a stall each, rubbed down and given a net of sweet-smelling hay to eat. His hand smoothed over the nose of the grey palfrey, Alinor’s horse, and the animal nibbled at his shoulder, whinnying softly. Satisfied, Guilhem followed the direction of one of the stable lads to find his allocated guest chamber and hopefully, his leather packs that had been removed from his horse.
Reaching the room, he was pleased to see that his saddlebags were stacked by the bed, alongside the other leather bags containing his chainmail hauberk and chausses, his helmet. His armour had been carried from the Priory on one of the carts that travelled with Edward’s army: the carts that transported anything that the Prince and his knights couldn’t take with them on horseback. In the middle of the chamber, a wooden tub had been filled with hot water; he stripped off his tunic and braies, kicked off his dusty boots and climbed in, his hard, aching muscles revelling in the luxury.
* * *
He emerged from the chamber an hour or so later, refreshed, revived and wearing clean garments extracted from his pack. A passing servant in the corridor indicated the chambers allocated to Bianca and Alinor: two doors next to each other at the end of the passageway.
‘Bianca?’ he called through the wooden slats of the door, knocking gently. ‘Are you awake?’
‘What?’ His sister’s voice emerged, shrill and befuddled. ‘Is that you, Guilhem?’
‘Aye, it’s me. Can I come in?’
‘Yes. The door is open.’
He pushed into the bright room. Bianca was beneath the bedclothes, but sitting up, two long tawny braids snaking down from each side of her head. With her circlet, veil and wimple removed, she appeared so much younger, her skin smooth and flushed from sleep.
‘The Queen wants to see you,’ he said. ‘You and Alinor, before the feasting. She asked me to bring you to her. You’d better put some clothes on.’
‘Oh, Guilhem,’ Bianca moaned, the hint of a whine marring her voice. ‘I don’t want to go yet; I’m having such a lovely rest. I thought we would see her later, in the evening.’
‘She wants to see you now,’ Guilhem replied tersely. ‘Surely it’s better that we sort out this muddle sooner rather than later.’
‘I suppose so.’ Bianca’s mouth drooped. ‘You’d better wake Alinor then; she’s next door.’
His heart skipped, blood picking up speed at the mention of her name.
‘I’ll come back for you in a little while,’ he said. ‘Be ready. And make sure you bar this door; anyone could walk in.’
Sun filtered through a series of tall narrow windows, casting stripes of diagonal light across the corridor as he moved along to Alinor’s door. Outside, a pigeon on the tiles cawed softly. He rapped lightly, calling her name.
No answer.
‘Alinor!’ he hissed again. ‘You need to wake up now!’
Silence.
He lifted the latch, pushed inwards, remembering an earlier time, an earlier day, when he had barged into her chamber at Claverstock, to discover her clad only in a flimsy chemise, slender legs silhouetted beneath the gauzy fabric. Tiny pink toenails gleaming up at him from the dark floorboards. His breath hitched.
The door refused to budge, barred from the inside. ‘God, Alinor,’ he bellowed, frustrated, annoyed that she had protected herself with the very thing which he had asked his sister to do. He thumped at the thick, solid planks with one massive fist, shaking the hinges. ‘Wake up! You need to open this door!’
He heard a sound from within, the faintest scuffling. Wood scraped against wood as the bar was lifted; the iron latch clicked up and the door creaked inwards, only by an inch or so. Alinor’s face appeared in the narrow gap, flushed, sleep-soft.
His heart creased; he clenched one fist at his side, digging his nails into the base of his palm. ‘The Queen wants to see you. Are you dressed?’ he asked brusquely. But even through the restricted aperture he knew the answer. Knuckles white, her hand gripped into a bunch of linen towel at a spot just above her bosom; her glorious hair was loose, falling about her face in curling, pale gold tresses.
Her eyes were like green fire. ‘No,’ she whispered, her throat parched from her disturbed sleep.
‘P
ut something on,’ he ordered sternly. ‘I’ll fetch you in a little while. And bar the door behind you again.’
Alinor nodded, closing the door softly. He wondered if she had heard him correctly; she seemed so befuddled with sleep. Hesitating, he waited for the sound of the wooden bar to be fitted back in place. He wanted her to be secure.
The sound failed to materialise. He waited a few more moments. ‘Alinor, put the bar across,’ he called.
No response.
Impatient, he opened the door, meaning to chastise her for her complete lack of security.
His eyes flew to the bed. She was there, lashes cast down across her cheeks, sleeping soundly, as if she had never opened the door to him. Stretched out on top of the bed furs, she lay on her side towards him, golden head resting on the pillow, slender figure wrapped in the linen towel. The hand that had gripped the towel so tightly now lay, palm upwards on the coverlet and the towel itself, sweet Jesu, was now untethered, slipping treacherously, revealing the enticing shadow between her breasts.
He couldn’t move, every muscle in his body clenched in delicious anticipation, his feet rooted to the spot as he drank in the sight of her, like a man in the desert who has at last found water. Nerve endings quivered with awareness. He swallowed, moisture deserting his mouth. How could he have let this happen? To him of all people? He could command whole armies, march for days on end, fight with a skill and physical strength superior to most of his peers and yet, here he was, brought to his knees by a golden-haired maid who floored him with a single glance, the scant touch of her hand.
He needed to wake her and get out of here. Flames licked at the base of his belly, stirring dangerously. Propelling himself forward, legs flabby like wet rope, he crouched down by the bed, his face on a level with hers. Her breath sifted over his cheek, stirred his hair. Just breathing in her delicate scent transported him to a different place: an exquisite, magical world, far away from the horrors of war, the horrors of that dark, confined space that had been his home for months. Shake her awake, his reason told him. Shake her by the shoulder and have done with it! Strands of white-gold hair straggled across her bare shoulder, pooling down on to the coverlet in a silky mass. His eye traced the delicate ridge of her collarbone, the shadowed hollow of her throat; the patina of her skin gleamed like a lustrous pearl. As if guided by an invisible hand, his fingers lifted, trailed along her temple, down one side of her cheek, testing the downy softness below her ear.
At his touch, Alinor sighed, lips parting, rolling on to her back. The edges of the towel gaped apart perilously, fell away from her body. Her naked body. The full rounded beauty of her breasts was exposed, the flat pearly expanse of her stomach, the entrancing dip of her belly button, the flare of her hips. Desire ripped through him, incandescent, uncontrollable, devouring his self-control.
Behind him the door opened. ‘Are you coming?’ Bianca poked her head into the chamber. ‘You’ve been ages...is Alinor there?’
Guilhem sprang to his feet as if stabbed, scowling darkly, and turned the bulk of his body to hide the half-covered figure on the bed. ‘Out!’ he said, pointing his finger at Bianca. ‘Get out, now!’
‘Is Alinor all right?’ Bianca asked, frowning. ‘She’s not ill or anything?’
‘Just get out!’ he yelled at her, flushing darkly. ‘I’ll come and fetch you in a moment!’
Widening her eyes suspiciously at her brother, Bianca withdrew. The door clicked behind her.
Blood racing, Guilhem grabbed Alinor’s cloak from a chair and slung it over her haphazardly, covering her from neck to toe. Shame coursed through him, black and coruscating. His behaviour had been despicable: like that of a voyeur, debauched and immoral, feasting his lewd eyes upon her delectable curves whilst she slept on in blithe innocence, unaware of his lecherous sneaking scrutiny. He couldn’t have her, and yet, God in Heaven, how he wanted her, those sweet limbs wrapped around his own, her mouth on his.
‘Alinor, wake up!’ he bellowed hoarsely, pulling at her shoulder roughly, then stepped back decisively into the middle of the room when her eyes opened softly.
‘Oh!’ she said, smiling, her hair rustling on the pillow as she turned her face towards him. ‘What are you doing here?’
Guilt swept over him, like dirty smoke. ‘I’ll fetch Bianca.’ His voice was ragged. ‘She can help you to dress. Queen Eleanor wants to see you now.’
Chapter Fourteen
In the Queen’s solar, Prince Edward sprawled in the high-backed armchair opposite his mother, long legs stretched out before him, his face flushed and grubby, red tunic speckled with dust. He still wore his chainmail, the metallic hood pushed back from his limp blond hair, matted to his scalp by cooling sweat. The low evening sun, pooling to a spot of light on the tiled floor, wavered as one of the Queen’s ladies closed the narrow window.
‘He’s here, you say?’ Edward said to Eleanor, draining the contents of his silver goblet. Wiping his mouth with his bare hand, he held the empty vessel out to be refilled. A dimpled serving maid moved forward with an earthenware jug and carefully poured more wine into the shining cup hanging from the Prince’s hand.
The Queen drew herself upright in her chair and smiled. ‘Yes, Edward, Guilhem is here. He’s brought his sister, with another lady in attendance—there have been some problems with Bianca’s marriage and I promised I would sort them out for him.’
Edward hunched down in his seat, his mouth petulant. ‘Then sort it out quickly, will you? I need him for my campaign, with no domestic distractions.’
‘It’s hardly a “domestic distraction”, as you call it,’ the Queen replied waspishly. Her mouth tightened, tiny lines wrinkling the skin beneath her bottom lip. ‘I will not allow you to belittle such a thing. The mother of the man Bianca was supposed to marry tried to kill her. And would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for this other girl, her stepdaughter.’
Edward yawned, then leaned forward, swirling the red wine in his goblet, deliberately sending the level nearer and nearer to the brim. His fingers were bony, gripping like claws around the gleaming silver. ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten about my campaign, Mother? To free Father from Simon de Montfort’s clutches and overthrow his army in the process. My father,’ he repeated. ‘Your husband.’ His sarcastic emphasis on the final two words was unmistakable.
Eleanor rose in an elegant rustle of skirts. ‘No, my son, I have not forgotten.’ She laid one hand on Edward’s shoulder. ‘And I thank you for everything you are doing. But that doesn’t mean I cannot help others whilst your campaign is ongoing.’
Her son shook his head: a sharp, irritable movement. ‘You mistake me, Mother. I have no quarrel with you helping others, but I need Guilhem at my side.’
‘No one commands Guilhem. He’s a free agent.’
Edward rolled his eyes ruefully. ‘Aye, more’s the pity.’ He grimaced at the flames, spitting fitfully in the hearth. ‘What a shame he has enough money not to be beholden to any lord, or prince, for that matter.’
‘And yet he is still loyal to you, Edward,’ Eleanor replied, hitching forward slightly. ‘And a good friend. You cannot buy trust like that with coin.’
‘As usual, Mother, you are right.’ Edward lifted his goblet to take another gulp of wine.
There was a knock at the door and the maidservant opened it. Alinor and Bianca stood on the threshold, hesitating, Alinor in her lavender-coloured gown, Bianca wearing blue silk, both women like bright flowers hovering in the shadows beneath the pointed arch.
‘Come forward, ladies, please.’ The Queen smiled graciously and beckoned them in. ‘You are in a predicament, I understand; I am anxious to hear your story.’
Guilhem stepped into the room behind the women, ducking his head beneath the low doorway. Seeing him, Edward placed his goblet down on a small side table and sprang from his seat, moving across the polished, ti
led floor with a grin, blatantly ignoring the two ladies. ‘My God, Guilhem!’ He slapped his friend on the back. ‘Am I glad to see you!’
Guilhem laughed. ‘I’ve only been away for one night.’ And yet, he thought, glancing at Alinor’s neat head, the graceful fall of her veil, it seemed like a lifetime. Something had altered within him, eased, nudged at the tough icy lump that had been his heart. He was different.
‘Long enough, Guilhem. Come, come and have a drink and tell me what’s been happening. It sounds like you’ve become caught up in some boring domestic tangle!’ He clutched at Guilhem’s bulky upper arm, intending to take him over to the fire. ‘Another chair, here!’ he snapped at the maidservant.
‘Stop a moment, Edward!’ Guilhem held his ground. ‘Forgive me, but my sister must speak to the Queen; let the ladies sit around the fire. We can stand.’
‘Oh, all right, if we must!’ grouched Edward. For the first time, he glanced over at the women, watching them curtsy before his mother. With a gracious wave of her hand, the Queen indicated that they settle themselves in the chairs opposite her. He ran a finger around the inside of the neck of his chainmail; the iron links chafed against his skin, irritating him.
‘Who is the lady with your sister?’ he muttered to Guilhem. ‘God, she’s beautiful; where did you find her?’
Right under your nose, thought Guilhem. How could he explain to Edward that the woman with skin like silver, with her eyes of emerald fire, was the same diminutive nun who had given them so much trouble at the river crossing?
‘She is the stepsister of the man Bianca was supposed to marry,’ he explained. ‘It was she who helped my sister to safety after the threat on her life.’
‘Brave woman,’ Edward acknowledged. ‘She doesn’t look that strong.’
Don’t be fooled, thought Guilhem. Hidden beneath that sylphlike frame was a courage to match a dozen of his foot soldiers. ‘She might not look strong,’ he agreed, ‘but she possesses a formidable strength of purpose.’
Commanded by the French Duke (Harlequin Historical) Page 16