Weak light filtered through the stained glass lancet windows. A solitary candle burned on the altar. With a shock, William realised he wasn’t alone. The man who was on his knees in prayer lifted his head and looked in William’s direction.
“Ah, young Raven. Have you come to pray for victory in tomorrow’s hunt?” Ulric signed a cross over his chest before he rose to his feet with a smile.
“I…yes, I am.” William struggled to contain his surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen their drill instructor in the chapel outside of a Sunday or holy day. Lightening his tone, William joked, “I suppose you are praying to be rid of me.”
Ulric paled beneath his ruddy complexion. “Rid of you, lad?” A moment later he recovered and gave a jovial laugh, his colour returning. “Oh yes—you’ll be expecting to win your spurs. Let’s hope the game runs plentiful and wild tomorrow. That monstrous boar the squires were so excited about—he’d make a fine prize for you. Or a stag…yes, a stag should ensure you were noticed by those whose opinions matter.”
William blinked. It was one of the longest speeches he’d ever heard from his instructor. “And you, Master Ulric?” he asked to be polite. “What do you hope to gain from the morrow?”
A strange expression flickered over Ulric’s face, but it was gone so swiftly that William wondered if it had been a trick of the light.
“Tomorrow I hope everything goes to plan.” Ulric’s gaze went to the elegant gold cross Sir Robert had brought back from the Holy Land. He shook himself and smiled again.
“Listen to me fretting. I’m an old worrywart to concern myself with such things. Our lord is a master of the hunt, and he knows the forest as well as he knows the lines on his palm. If anyone can lead the French visitors to good game, it’s Sir Robert.”
William watched the single flame on the altar dip and weave in the draught from the half-open door. “Do you think something will happen tomorrow?”
Ulric smiled, misunderstanding the nature of the question. “I think you’ll do us all proud, lad. Sir Robert is very taken with you, so don’t let the opportunity slip by. Mind you’re on your best behaviour tomorrow, and if you get the chance to wield that knife with as much skill as you did last night, you’ll be knighted before the week’s out.”
William grinned, and although he knew it was sinful to boast in church, he couldn’t help himself. “I hope you wagered on me. That Frenchie was a tough one to beat, but I did it.”
“You did indeed.” Ulric’s gaze moved over the altar once more before he looked at William with a mock scowl. “But how you won when you could barely stand up is beyond me. What have I told you about balance?”
“I admit my lessons weren’t at the forefront of my mind.”
“You young squires will be the end of me.” Ulric clapped William on the shoulder as he moved past him. “I’ll leave you to your prayers. Stags and boars are not like Frenchmen.”
William bid his instructor farewell, then waited until Ulric closed the chapel door behind him. Silence drifted and settled, and for a while William prayed without knowing what he was praying for. At length he stood and made his way to the back of the chapel. The wooden shutters into the light well had been closed at some point since last night, and he pulled them open. The bright shaft of sunshine made him blink, and then he studied the floor close to the window in case he could find any clues. There were no telltale threads of cloth caught on stonework, no identifying talismans trapped in the floorboards—nothing, in fact, that could help him catch the conspirators before they acted.
Feeling foolish, William closed the shutters and left the chapel, his thoughts agitated and his emotions torn.
* * *
By evening the castle was abuzz with speculation and excitement about the coming hunt. All the preparations were in place, and the hall was full of relaxed, cheerful knights and squires. Even Stephen looked pleased, though William thought this was due more to Lady Alais’s flattering attention at the high table than anticipation of a successful day’s hunting. She surely had the patience of a saint to endure her youngest brother’s droning, boastful talk.
Sir Robert managed to ignore Stephen without seeming to slight him, focusing instead on his noble French guests. William hunched over his mutton stew, his gaze continually darting around at the assembled company as he sought for the would-be murderers. God’s teeth, at this rate he wouldn’t know the men if they wore a sign around their necks! Frustrated, he shoved his dish aside and snatched up his ale mug.
John elbowed him. “What’s the rush? Straining at the leash to be away at daybreak?”
“I’m…nervous.” Admitting it was embarrassing, but the truth had slipped out before William could think of a plausible lie. He shrugged and flashed a grin at the other squire. “Tomorrow could make or break our reputations.”
“I’m happy with my reputation.” John winked at one of the maids, who was reaching over to collect their empty bowls, then he turned back to William. “But you need all the help you can get with enhancing yours.”
Laughter rang out around the table, and even William chuckled. It struck him then how much this business was disturbing him. Usually John’s joking remark would have caused him to spark into an angry retort, but tonight William let it go without comment. How could he countenance losing his temper over something so petty, when his lord’s life was at risk?
The conversation moved on, and William let it flow over him. As soon as it was polite to do so, he excused himself from his fellows and strode out to the courtyard, breathing in the night air. It was cold enough to feel sharp on his skin, and he thought there’d be a frost on the morrow. The sound of the dogs yipping in their kennels reminded him of John’s remark.
Suddenly William felt ashamed. He was like a hunting hound, trained to do one thing and to do it well. He’d been stupid to think he could also handle conspiracies and court politics. He was no gently born nobleman instructed in the ways of half-truths and manipulation. His ambitions ran no higher than to be a knight, to serve his lord, and to amass enough prize money to live comfortably.
William cursed softly, his breath clouding in the cold air. He’d been worse than a fool, thinking he could solve this problem alone. He’d wrestled with it all day, and only his arrogance and pride had kept him from sharing what he’d overheard with someone better placed to deal with it. He should have told Ulric when he had the chance. No—he should have told Robert.
Squaring his shoulders, William lifted his head. He’d do it now. He’d go to his lord and tell him of the plot against his life.
He went back into the keep, using the stairs from the storerooms to avoid running into his fellow squires. He emerged into the kitchen, where a serving lad was pouring hot water from the copper into a basin. William paused long enough to ascertain that the water was intended as a top-up for Sir Robert’s bath, then took the basin and continued up another flight of stairs to his lord’s private chambers.
William balanced the basin against his chest and knocked on the door. He heard movement from within and hoped Robert was alone. He didn’t think he could explain about the would-be murderers if anyone else was present. He swallowed a sudden flutter of anxiety and banged his fist harder against the solid oak.
The door opened. “What’s wrong, lad, why—” Robert fell silent, looking at William in surprise and then amusement. “And why does a squire do the work of a kitchen boy?”
William stared. Naked but for a colourful silk robe, Robert stood in the doorway awaiting a reply. Still struggling to find words, William mutely held out the basin of hot water. He tore his gaze away from the expanse of Robert’s hard-muscled chest with its stripe of silver-dusted dark hair and peered into the room. He glanced at the canopied bed, then at the clothes spread out for the hunt, and finally at the edge of the tub behind the folding screen.
“Nothing to say for yourself, William Raven?” Robert stood aside, allowing William to enter the room.
The door thud
ded shut behind them, and Robert stood close, so close that William felt the heat from his lord’s flesh. He dropped his gaze, still clutching the basin, and studied the intricate embroidery on the silk robe. Somehow it made him all the more aware of Robert’s damp skin, the wet hair on his chest curling and glimmering with water droplets, and the way the flimsy silk clung to his body.
Summoning back his voice, William said, “I apologise for disturbing your bath, sir. I didn’t mean—I had no intention…”
“No intention of what?” Robert tilted his head, still amused, his expression half challenging. “Why did you come here?”
“To—to…” William gritted his teeth. He sounded like a lack-wit, and humiliation bit hard, making him angry. “To deliver this water,” he snapped, and strode across the chamber to pour the contents of the basin into the already half-full tub. He told himself it was the steam that heated his cheeks, but he knew it was embarrassment.
Straightening, he poured the hot water into the bathtub, set the basin down and tried to find the words to apologise for his attitude.
Robert leaned against the door, his arms folded, his gaze assessing. “You look like a creature at bay.”
“I’m not.” William heard the snap of nervous arrogance in his tone and dropped his gaze.
“I heard of your father’s death.” Robert walked across the room, trailing one hand over the clothes laid out on the chest. He stopped at the window recess, gazing out through the open shutters in the direction of the village. “He was a good man. You might like to know that your brothers are thriving under Reinford’s care.”
“Half-brothers,” William muttered. His legitimate siblings had long ago joined the retinue of Sir Alan Reinford in Suffolk. There was no love lost between the four brothers, and William didn’t miss them.
Robert continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “However, I believe I have the best of your father’s sons. Margaret was right when she spoke to me about you. My wife was often right in things where a woman’s opinion shouldn’t count. She knew which foals would become the best destriers, and she knew which squire would make the best knight.”
William stared, trying to match his memory of Lady Margaret, a sweet, fragile-looking woman, with what Robert was telling him. “I thought she took me in because she felt sorry for me.”
Robert laughed and turned from the window. “Margaret did many charitable and kindly things, but persuading me that you were best suited to the martial life was not an act of pity. She saw something in you that your father and I lacked the vision to see, but now I know she was right. You have grown into a fine man these past five years, William—a man made for battle.”
These revelations, though small, shook William’s composure. Though he’d never been openly shunned for being illegitimate, he’d been aware of his status and had held himself apart. When he’d left the village to live at the castle as a squire at the age of fifteen, he’d measured himself against lads like John, who’d already been half his life in training, and felt even more of an outsider.
“I never knew,” he whispered. “Never imagined…”
“Of course not.” Robert closed the window shutters, sealing out the night, and the candles guttered in the sudden draught. “It never does a man good to know he’s valued. At least not when he’s still unformed…untested. A man needs to start out in life hungry for more.”
“Like you did?” William asked, forgetting to be cautious.
Robert smiled. “Yes. Like me.” The smile faded. “It’s only later when disappointment and cynicism sets in, and hunger becomes desperation—but a man must bear many trials throughout his days, and the true test is in how he deals with these tribulations.”
Intrigued by this rare glimpse into his lord’s mind, William leaned forward. “How did you deal with it?”
The response was a gentle laugh, and William knew he’d been too eager with his questioning. Embarrassed again, he hefted the basin. “I should go now, my lord, and return this to the kitchen.”
“Stay awhile longer.” Shaking off his mood, Robert strolled across the room and sat on the side of the bed, carelessly adjusting the fall of the robe. “I have finished with the water. But rather than waste it, you should bathe, too. It will still be warm.”
William pulled his attention away from the strong lines of Robert’s thighs and looked up. “Me? But I washed yesterday.”
Robert held his gaze. “Wash again.”
Hesitant, but remembering how Robert had enjoyed the sight of him naked and aroused in the stables, William set down the basin and undressed. He fumbled with his clothes, wishing he could seem as worldly and confident in his skin as his lord, conscious the whole time of Robert watching him. He was conscious, too, of the intimacy of this setting—not the impersonal space of the stables, but Robert’s bedchamber. This was more than just a slaking of lust, he realised. It was more than he’d imagined or dreamed.
Casting aside the last of his garments, William hurriedly stepped into the tub, tucking his knees to his chest and hissing a little at the heat of the water.
Robert chuckled and leaned forward to dip his hand in the tub. “Every town and city in the Holy Land has a public bathhouse. Cleanliness can become an addiction, albeit a pleasurable one.”
“Is it true that men and women bathe together?” William asked, remembering some of the more salacious tales he’d heard.
“There are certain bathhouses that cater to certain needs.” Robert gave him a gleaming look. “But respectable women do not bathe with men.”
Cautiously, aware of the danger of overstepping the line between them again, William said, “And you, sir? Did you bathe with the…ladies who were not respectable?”
“Upon occasion.” A smile of reminiscence curved Robert’s lips.
William splashed water over his shoulders and chest, self-conscious beneath the weight of his lord’s stare. He hesitated over his next words. “My lord, I am not a bathhouse whore.”
“Indeed you are not.” Robert stood and paced around the screen, circling the tub, watching William like a hawk. “Perhaps I have treated you with less courtesy than might be expected, but I do not think of you as something as easily gained as a whore.”
The conversation was drifting out of his control. William felt the chasm dividing their rank and experience, but held his chin high. “You owe me no explanation, sir, but I am aware of the debt I owe to Lady Margaret’s notice and…”
Robert lifted a hand for silence, his expression serious. “I honoured my wife and respected her for her skills as a chatelaine and for bearing my children, but ours was a political union and not a love match.” He smiled slightly. “Put aside your romantic notions of knights and their ladies, William. The time will come when you, too, must forge an alliance when your heart and desires are engaged elsewhere.”
William shook his head. “I doubt I will ever rise high enough that I will be obliged to marry for social gain.”
Robert chuckled. “Where has all your confidence gone, young lion? If you acquit yourself well tomorrow, you’ll become a knight. With prize money and favours under your belt, you’ll be able to join the tourney circuit in France and make a name for yourself. You may even catch the attention of Prince Richard, and then your future is guaranteed. Men have come from beginnings far more humble than yours and have risen far beyond their wildest imaginings on the strength of their lances alone.”
The double entendre was inescapable, and William blushed. His fingers had started to wrinkle from the water, so he got out of the tub and stood dripping on the woven mat placed on the floor. He took the drying-cloth Robert offered him and blotted his skin, then wrapped the linen sheet around his body. He was aware of his nakedness beneath the cloth, aware, too, of his lord beside him. Tension rose in him again, the warring of desire and anticipation.
His gaze went to Robert’s robe with its gold-threaded embroidery. It was so unlike anything he’d seen before. “Is that from the Holy Land?”
> “From Constantinople.” Robert stroked a finger over the delicate silk. “A gift from a friend.”
“A lover,” William said with certainty.
Robert nodded. “He was my lover as well as a good friend.”
William considered this for a moment. “You miss him, and so you set out to seduce me.”
“You have very forthright opinions.” Robert seemed amused rather than offended. He came closer but did not touch. “I miss him, and you are nothing like him. He roused desires in me that I’d repressed for years. I know you have those same desires. It would be a shame to crush your proud spirit, the way I allowed mine to be crushed.”
“Sex between men is unnatural. The priests say so.” William swallowed, feeling the throb of desire uncoil within him. He remembered how it felt to have Robert’s hands on him, the warmth of his mouth, the roughness of his embrace. “No matter how good it feels, it’s still a sin.”
“Sin can be expiated.” Robert moved closer still. “Forgiveness can always be found through penance.”
“Are you sorry?” William stared at him. “For your lover, I mean. For the sins you committed with him.”
“No.” The bald reply made William catch his breath, but then Robert continued, “I am not sorry for the things we did, just as I will not be sorry for the things you and I do. But I am sorry for the time I wasted, the lies I’ve told, the struggle against my own nature. In Constantinople I found my true self. I learned things forbidden by our Church. Going on crusade—journeying into the Holy Land…it changes people, William. So much is possible there.”
The Lion of Kent Page 5