‘My God, what happened to you?’
He shook his head, a slight movement. His mouth twisted, an expression of distaste, disgust. ‘Something that I’m not proud of.’ His words held finality.
‘It looks like a burn,’ Alinor said, almost to herself. Peering up into the midnight depths of his eyes, she scanned his face, searching for some clue, some hint as to what happened to him.
‘It is,’ he confirmed.
‘Why did no one treat it properly?’ Her voice rose a notch, outrage colouring her speech. ‘Did no one put salve on it?
‘It was difficult,’ he replied slowly, his voice struggling to find the words, the explanation that had remained silent for so long. ‘There was no one around to treat it. My commander threw me in prison for what I had done.’
‘What did you do?’ she whispered.
‘I defied orders.’
‘How?’
He sighed.
As if by their own volition, her fingers reached up, touched the shadowed curve of his jaw, a gesture of comfort. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered. She wanted to know what had happened to him, what made his eyes burn cold with that blank, hostile fire; what cruel, determined shadows haunted the inner depths of his mind.
Guilhem’s voice, when it came, was hollow, clipped. ‘My commander ordered me to set fire to a castle on the borders of Gascony. I asked him if anybody was in it; I had no intention of burning anyone alive, even if they were our enemy. He assured me the castle was empty.’ His voice shook slightly. ‘But it wasn’t empty, Alinor, it was full of women and children. As the smoke rose, billowing out of the windows, I heard their screams. I ordered my own men to go in and pull everyone out.’ He cupped her hand that curved around his face, kneading her knuckles with the broad pads of his fingers. ‘And we did pull everyone out. Everyone, apart from one little boy,’ he said, bitterly.
Wrenching away from her, he picked up his belt from the glimmering grass, buckling it roughly, angrily, around his waist. ‘The child died in the fire, Alinor, and for that, I cannot forgive myself. I couldn’t save him, the fire was too strong, the heat too intense. A burning roof beam fell across my back and I couldn’t go on. And all the time the boy’s mother was outside, screaming and screaming...’
‘Stop now,’ she whispered. ‘Stop torturing yourself, Guilhem, you did everything you could.’
‘Did I? Every day I question myself. Could I have done more, could I have saved him?’
‘Guilhem, you nearly lost your life in that fire; you were lucky that the burn didn’t fester and end up poisoning your blood, killing you in the process.’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe that would have been for the best.’
His dull words hit her, a stunning side-blow; shock bubbled up in panic, liquid, searing. ‘No!’ Alinor blurted out at him, her voice shrill, uneven; her eyes sparked green fire. ‘No! I forbid you to say such an awful thing!’ She thumped him, hard, the flat of her palms smacking against his chest. ‘How dare you?’ she spluttered out, her throat muscles closing up in choking disbelief. She pushed at him, again, shoving against his chest.
His chin jerked up at her frantic admonishment, the trembling emotion in her voice. ‘Alinor, stop, calm down, what’s the matter with you?’
Her fist snared a handful of his tunic, gripping the fabric, as she dragged herself close to him. ‘I never want to hear you say such a dreadful thing again,’ she said, her heart looping dangerously. A lead weight dropped right to the bottom of her belly and now it pulled her down, a boulder wrapped in fear.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked. Her beautiful face, skin lustrous, pearl-like, tipped up to him like a flower, like the fresh white petals of a rose. The worst was over. He had told her and yet, curiously, she hadn’t run away or turned her face from him in disgust; instead she clung to him as if her life depended on it. ‘Alinor, why are you acting like this? What I did was...unforgivable.’
‘No!’ Her fist pushed into his chest once more. ‘What you did, Guilhem, was amazing, honourable and courageous. Your commander wanted all those people to die and yet you rescued them. How many lives did you save?’ Alinor was yelling at him now, one slender hand slashing at the air to emphasise her speech. ‘I bet you didn’t count those. And yet you judge yourself on the loss of one life, beating yourself up for that, chastising yourself. Anyone who knows you, Guilhem, would have known that you would have done your utmost to get that child out. No man should have to live with such guilt and certainly not you.’
Guilhem was silent, an odd expression on his face. Moonlight dappled the taut skin across his cheekbones.
Breathing heavily, air tearing at her lungs, Alinor stopped abruptly, chest tight with emotion, wavering on the spot. The aftermath of her high-pitched yelling rang in her ears, obscuring the soft burble of the river. She focused on her hand, clutched tightly in the coarse weave of Guilhem’s tunic, and reddened, snatching her fingers away. He was so quiet, his mouth set in a stern, forbidding line; she couldn’t decipher his thoughts. What had she said? She couldn’t even remember even half of her words; they had poured out of her so quickly, a torrent of emotion. She patted her hair, then folded her arms tightly over her belly, fingers knotting into the soft fabric of her gown, unsure of herself. She stepped back, away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.
A strange lightness danced about his heart. The faintest shimmer of hope. He watched the rapid pulse at her throat, saw the wild flush of colour in her cheeks. She was like a fierce little tigress defending her cubs, except that she was defending him, fighting for him with every word that she spoke. She was on his side. The dark crust around his heart shifted slightly, fracturing; the taut muscles in his belly softened with release. He had never heard anything like it, never heard a woman speak thus, with such force, such vehemence.
‘My God,’ he said softly, reaching out to touch her hair.
She jerked her head back, away. ‘I’ve said too much,’ she whispered, ducking her head with embarrassment, and turned on her heel to walk hastily back to the camp, to the relative safety of the other soldiers.
* * *
Why on earth had she allowed herself to become so carried away, her words tripping and scampering over each other like some madwoman screeching in the corner of a market square? What must Guilhem think of her? She had allowed her emotions to overpower her, to affect her self-control; thank God she had stopped herself when she did. Her heart shrivelled with shame. What if she had blurted out her true feelings for him? This way, at least, she could slink away after they found de Montfort with some element of her dignity intact. And Guilhem would be none the wiser. She kicked her horse to follow the lead soldiers up the escarpment, trailing after the glossy horses’ rumps on a diagonal line, the bristly gorse reaching up to brush at her skirts. When she and Guilhem had returned from the river this morning, all the soldiers had been awake, the fire stoked up and water boiling over the flames in a blackened pot. With admirable speed, the men had packed and cleared the camp before the sun had barely moved an inch upwards in the sky, bundling their bedrolls and stamping out the fire. After her fiery outburst earlier, Alinor had remained silent on the journey, barely exchanging one word with Guilhem, who rode behind her.
One of the soldiers at the top of the hill raised his arm to halt the line, then rode back down past Alinor, to Guilhem.
‘We’ve reached Skelton,’ the soldier announced, pushing back the shining visor of his helmet. His face was streaked with sweat and dust. ‘The town is down there, in the valley.’
‘A known de Montfort stronghold,’ said Guilhem, moving his horse alongside Alinor’s. His knee brushed against hers; she twitched at the reins to steer her horse away, but was prevented by the steep slope on her right-hand side. ‘You soldiers can’t go into the town, it’s full of de Montfort’s spies and sympathisers; you’ll be murdered in your beds. Stay th
e night up here and wait until we return with information. Alinor and I will go into the town, alone. De Montfort’s camp must be near here; we’ll ask around.’
His eyes, shifting to Alinor, held an odd piercing light, as if he could see into her very soul. ‘Are you happy with that?’
She inclined her head in agreement, her heart sinking with trepidation.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Are you ready to play your part?’ Guilhem said, as they plodded down the lee escarpment of the ridge towards the town: a makeshift huddle of houses strung out along the valley bottom, clustered around a market square, a church. The lowering sun caught the smoke rising from the chimneys: thin trails rising haphazardly up into the softening twilight.
‘Part?’ echoed Alinor, leaning back in the saddle to counter the horse’s downward gait. Her gaze had been trained on Guilhem’s back, tracing the strong muscled rope of his spine beneath the makeshift tunic. The scar beneath. The depths of horror that Guilhem must have endured. She shivered, severing her mind, and her heart, from such thoughts. The saddle-back, rigid leather, dug into her hips and she lurched sideways as her palfrey slipped on a loose stone.
‘Yes.’ Guilhem laughed, twisting around in the saddle to look at her. ‘You are the noble lady, remember, accustomed to giving orders, to getting what you want, and I am your humble servant.’ Sitting on his horse with the natural grace of one accustomed to riding almost every day of his life, his broad frame bristling with honed muscle, Guilhem was the picture of vibrant health and vitality: a knight, a noble. He couldn’t look less like a servant if he tried.
‘Try to look a bit more humble then,’ Alinor muttered, flicking the reins at the flies clustering around her palfrey’s mane. Despite the clear skies, the air was warm and moist, clouding with small black midges.
‘Aye, mistress, that I will.’ Guilhem touched his forelock, a mocking gesture of subservience.
‘Your horse is a dead giveaway,’ she said, some of her anxiety leaching away. All morning her mind had danced about, waiting for him to refer to the manner in which she had spoken to him earlier. How could she have said such things to him? Behaved in such an outrageous way, smacking him in the middle of his chest? But he had said nothing; she hoped fervently that he had forgotten about it. ‘And your expensive leather boots. You should be walking barefoot.’
‘You’re enjoying this.’ He grinned at her, the curve of his generous mouth lighting up his features. Alinor had been outspoken this morning, rattled and out of control, her reaction to his guilt-ridden confession completely unexpected. And yet since then, her manner had been quiet and withdrawn, her eyes continually darting away from him as if she couldn’t bear to look at him, for to look at him would remind her of the terrible thing that he had done. His heart trembled, folding in on itself with sadness. She had had time to think about what he had told her and take in the full impact of his words. He had dared to hope, but now that hope fizzled, blown away like spent ash on the breeze.
* * *
The town was busy, crowded with people who had decided to stay for the night after market day, before taking the long journeys back to far-flung villages, estates. Dismounting on the outskirts of town, Guilhem proposed to lead both horses in. True to his word, he had muddied his boots, pulling a stained, floppy leather hat over his head. With Alinor in the saddle, he held both sets of reins in one hand, marching at the horses’ heads, leading them across the loose-planked bridge and along the main cobbled street of the town. Rubbish lay everywhere, littering the streets and gutters: old caskets, spent straw, piles of dung from a cattle sale. Dogs prowled, searching for scraps of food, heads hunched down below thin, bony shoulders. Fat women, thick beefy arms crossed over massive bosoms, gossiped to each other out of the sides of their mouths, rheumy eyes tracking the progress of Alinor and Guilhem as they passed along the street.
At last, an inn came into sight, a wooden sign swinging across an open courtyard. Guilhem led the horses in, hooves clattering noisily in the enclosed space, the sound bouncing off the grimy white walls. A stable lad darted out from a covered passageway, hair lank with grease, sleeves flapping high on his forearms, too short. The landlord appeared at the door, his manner initially boisterous, belligerent. Then his eyes alighted on Alinor and his smug, slouching demeanour disappeared. His bloodshot eyes rolled over her, noting the fine quality of her garments, the rippling silk, the ornate silver circlet.
‘A room, my lady?’ He bowed his head. ‘I have a private chamber which I’m sure will suit you.’
‘Two rooms, please,’ she said. ‘One for me and one for my servant here.’
The innkeeper’s face clouded. ‘I am completely full, my lady. Apart from one private chamber. Your servant can sleep in the stable, along with the rest of them.’ He laughed hoarsely, his cackle descending into a phlegmy fit of coughing. A lock of dirty grey hair fell across his ridged forehead and he smoothed it back with a slow carefulness.
‘Is there anywhere else?’ she asked. She had no wish for Guilhem to sleep in a filthy stable.
The landlord glanced at her curiously. What had she said? ‘No, my lady, I’m afraid not. This is the only inn in town.’
‘I’m sure that will be fine,’ Alinor replied carefully. She hoped it would be. Guilhem stood at the head of her horse, head bowed, handsome features obscured by the large hat, saying nothing, mute.
The landlord rubbed his hands appreciably. It had been some time since a lady of quality had deigned to stay at his inn. He racked his brains, trying to remember the last time the sheets had been changed in the private chamber. ‘If you would come this way, my lady?’
Guilhem released the reins, came around the side of her horse. ‘This place is not good,’ he murmured. ‘I think we should ride on, find somewhere else.’
‘You heard him,’ Alinor hissed down to him. ‘There is nowhere else.’ She bit her lip, her words hesitant, unsure. ‘Or we could sleep in the open again?’
He heard the doubt drag at her voice, noted the bluish tinge of exhaustion beneath her eyes. He shook his head. He didn’t want her spending another night outside again, but he wished he could have found her somewhere with fresh linens on the bed, decent food. ‘No, no, it’s fine, but we need to be careful in a place like this.’ His hands circled her waist to lift her down from the horse and the stable lad led the animals away.
‘This way, this way.’ The landlord waved his hand in front of him dramatically, the upper half of his body almost bent double from his waist in an effort to please. Alinor stepped up into the hall of the inn, wrinkling her nose in disgust. The smell permeating the air was vile: the stench of cheap tallow candles mingling with stale beer, sweat. Men, and it was all men, she realised in horror as her gaze swept the high-raftered hall, swivelled their eyes towards her, tankards stilled on slack mouths, glistening wet.
‘Is there no other way to the chamber?’ she asked, stalled in the doorway. ‘Must I be paraded in front of all and sundry?’
‘Of course, of course!’ The innkeeper shooed her backwards again, his pasty fingers flapping towards her. ‘Forgive me, madam, I wasn’t thinking! Go back down the steps; we’ll go the other way!’
Spinning around, she came face to face with Guilhem on the step below her. Alinor flushed. ‘It’s a madhouse in there!’ she attempted to explain her fast retreat. ‘The landlord says there’s another way to the chamber.’
The landlord puffed his way up a rickety staircase bolted to the side of the inn, pressing one thick arm against a narrow door to open it, indicating with a rough sideways jerk of his head that Alinor should enter. She squeezed past the sweating, obnoxious bulk of his body, which no doubt was his intention, and into the chamber: a confined, dismal space occupied by one small bed, a coffer set with the cracked earthenware jug and bowl.
‘You need to pay me, now,’ the landlord said, holding out hi
s palm, fleshy lines filled with black grease. ‘I can’t bring you any food if you don’t have the money.’
‘Here,’ said Guilhem, slapping a pile of loose silver into the innkeeper’s open palm. The innkeeper counted the coins fastidiously, then moved out of the way so Guilhem could enter.
‘Stables are down there if you want to sleep,’ the innkeeper said, narrowing his gaze at Guilhem. ‘I can fetch you a blanket if you like.’
Guilhem shut the door in the innkeeper’s face. The door rocked against its rotting frame as he slammed it, a shower of woodworm dust clouding downwards from the sagging lintel.
‘This place is intolerable,’ he grumbled. The chamber stank of pork fat, of foul-smelling grease and rotting vegetables; the kitchens must be nearby. He glared at Alinor. Stripes of sunlight crept through the makeshift shutters across the one window in the room, crossing her slender frame.
‘It’s not bad,’ said Alinor. ‘I’ll be all right in here.’
‘Not bad!’ He strode over to the bed. ‘Have you seen this?’ Exasperated, he tore off the covers, one by one. A threadbare blanket, two linen sheets, damp and stained, a limp feather-filled pillow—all landed on the dusty floorboards in a heap. The mattress, or what was left of it, was revealed: a thin layer of very old straw stuffed on top of the bed frame. No doubt it was full of lice, or some other hideous blood-sucking insect.
‘No,’ he said, almost to himself. God, she deserved better than this! He wanted crisp linens for her, a tub of scented water so she could wash herself, not this smelly, filthy room, more akin to a pigsty than a bedchamber. He thought longingly of his home in the mountains of France, the huge windows open to the clear, pine-scented air, the airy bright-lit chambers, the sound of cow bells tinkling down from the meadows. If only she could have that, if only they were there and not here in this rank, dingy chamber. It made him angry, irritated, that she was unable to have such things, to see her bright angelic face glow in such dismal surroundings. After what he had been through he could endure almost anything. But Alinor? No, not her. She had endured enough.
Commanded by the French Duke (Harlequin Historical) Page 21