The Traitor's Daughter

by Munday, April

  There was some coin in Hugh’s chest and it would not really be stealing for her to use it to travel to London to save his life. Besides, she understood now, as she had not before, that Hugh would value her hair above the coin and feel its loss the greater of the two. At least Full Moon was her own and she had exercised him regularly and was confident of her ability to ride him, even on such a journey as this. Despite its size, she would take one of the French swords that Hugh had left behind. It would serve to scare off attackers and to keep up the illusion of her being a man. She knew only that London lay north, but did not doubt her ability to find her way there.

  The next night there was no further discussion between Richard and Stephen that she could ascertain. She had complained of a sore throat in the morning and began to cough as the evening wore on. Agnes was most solicitous, pleased that her diagnosis of the previous day had been proved correct. She was perfectly happy to retire early with Alais and Elizabeth, whose own cold was worsening. The three women slept restlessly and Alais woke as she had planned in the very early morning and got out of bed. As she had expected, Agnes awoke. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  “I am going to get something for my throat,” Alais replied, even more quietly. It would not do to wake Elizabeth in her condition. She coughed for effect

  “Hurry back then, or you’ll get cold,” said Agnes and fell asleep again before Alais was out of the room.

  Alais did not need a candle to find her way around the house in the dark. Weeks of early rising without a candle meant that she could move around easily by touch alone. She did light one in Hugh’s room to be sure that she took everything she had hidden there during the day. Taking out the dagger that she always wore suspended from her belt, she cut her hair, crying as she did so and wrapped the plait in the dress she had packed to appear in at court. Then she dressed quickly in the clothes she had worn on the journey from Hill, blew out the candle and went downstairs. She was worried as she approached the stables. Occasionally male and female servants would go there to spend the night together in the hay loft, but it was a cold night and the only living beings in the stables were the horses. She lit her candle again and made her way to Full Moon. He nuzzled her for food and she gave him an apple that she had stolen from the kitchen. Then she saddled him as quietly as she could and led him out into the courtyard. This was the most dangerous part of her plan. Whilst she knew the importance of quiet, Full Moon did not and could not be induced to walk softly.

  Since the servants were also becoming unwell with colds, it had been straightforward enough for Alais to offer to take the evening meal to the guards on the gatehouse. With her knowledge of herbs, it was an easy matter to put something in their food to make them sleep. They were, indeed, snoring gently as she approached the gatehouse. She opened the small gate and shut it carefully behind her, hoping that no one would realise before morning that the gate had been opened. They crossed the moat and she led the horse out through the village, listening to the soft crunch of frost underfoot. She was grateful that it had not yet snowed; it would have made this journey impossible for her. Although the moon was not yet full, there was moonlight and she knew that she could cover some distance before she was missed at daybreak. If she was fortunate they would think she was exercising Full Moon and not miss her until late in the day. She doubted anyone would come after her. Only the three women would miss her. Stephen might even be glad at her departure. Since he would not be expecting his father to return to Liss again, he would not have to answer to him for her disappearance. Alais pointed Full Moon’s head north and urged him on. Her only consolation was that she would be seeing Hugh in two or three days, if all went well.

  Alais covered a lot of ground on that first day. The time she had spent exercising with Full Moon had not been wasted and she found that she could ride as fast as a man quite easily. She was light and the horse stepped out eagerly. No one, certainly no one at Liss, could have expected a woman to ride as she did that day. There were only the inns at night to worry about. If she had to share a bed, her companions would certainly find her out, but her luck held there, too and that night she had a bed to herself and the next. There were few travellers at this time of year.

  As she rode north, Alais thought about Stephen and his desire to inherit and she began to wonder again about Geoffrey. No one knew who was responsible for Geoffrey’s death. It seemed possible to her that he had been the first victim of Stephen’s scheming. Geoffrey had died shortly after Stephen’s arrival from Oxford. Stephen must have been disappointed when Hugh’s return from France at around the same time meant that the latter was no longer in any immediate danger of being killed or captured by a French knight.

  Alais pictured Stephen walking around the estate with Geoffrey and suddenly drawing his sword… And there the picture faltered. Why would Stephen be wearing a sword? He never wore a sword. Geoffrey would have noticed and would have questioned him and would not have gone with him unarmed himself. Even if Stephen had managed to convince his brother that there was some danger that necessitated his bearing arms, Geoffrey would have insisted on wearing his own sword. Probably he had hired a mercenary as he was planning now. That would explain why Geoffrey had not been armed. It did not, however, explain why he only had one wound and why his clothes had disappeared.

  Alais found it hard to feel sorry for Geoffrey. There were many stories of his cruelty, not just to Elizabeth, but to villagers and servants as well. He was not missed by anyone at Liss.

  On the afternoon of the third day, it started to snow and Alais knew that she must press on to arrive at court that day. She would be cold and wet tomorrow if she did not and the road would be hard to distinguish from fields and ditches. Full Moon began to have difficulty picking his way through the snow, but still Alais urged him on. It grew darker all afternoon and night would come early. Alais was sure there would be no finding her way that night if it continued to snow and the moon was obscured. Then she was there before she saw it, the small village on the bank of a big river. The directions she had obtained from the last innkeeper had held true. She found a ferryman and begged him to take her over the river before night came. He was less impressed by her pleading than he was by the money she gave him. Once across the river she wasted no time in finding the palace and asking for her husband. Beating on the palace doors, she demanded that Sir William de Liss be told that one Alfred FitzJean of Leigh had an urgent message for him. The man sent a boy who returned a few minutes later with Edmund. His eyes opened wide at the sight of her. “Well, Alfred,” he said at last, “you are come late. Your master will be displeased.”

  “It was the snow, sir,” replied Alais quietly.

  “Come in then, boy, before you freeze,” said Edmund.

  The guard opened the gate and Edmund instructed the boy to take the horse to the stables.

  “And treat him well,” said Alais. “He has served me well these last three days.”

  She patted Full Moon in what she hoped was a manly fashion, took her bag from the saddle and followed Edmund, taking care to cover her face with her hood and to keep her eyes down. Edmund made to take her bag and she pulled it closer to her body. He immediately dropped his hand and set off at a fast pace without bothering to check that she followed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Edmund left Hugh in his bedchamber when the boy had arrived with the news that Alfred wanted to see him. Unlike Edmund, Hugh had not needed to see ‘Alfred’ to know who would be coming in out of the snow. What he did not know was why. Alais had surely not run away from Liss to him. She had given him no indication that she felt the need to leave Liss. Her letters had been unhappy, but she seemed to have the strength to manage there. Equally, there had been no sign that she had any feelings towards him that she could not properly have for her stepson. Yes, there had been moments of shared intimacy that were perhaps deeper than would normally be appropriate, but she had suffered the terror of the threat to her life in Southampton and the loss of her
mother. He had simply provided comfort and temporary security. It was natural that she should confide in the person that she knew best in her new life. For his part, he did not think he had led her astray. He had not understood his own feelings himself. It was only Edmund who had been clear-sighted enough to see what might be going on. Since he had left her behind, he had convinced himself that it was only her resemblance to the much-loved and much-missed Isabella that had led him to think of her other than as his father’s wife. He looked upon her as a man might look upon a younger sister.

  Alais had been much on his mind since he had left Liss. He found himself suddenly excited by the thought that she might have run away to him and began to pace the room. He was certainly happy at the prospect of seeing her again. He had enjoyed her company and her strength. Since she thought that his father was at court, it seemed unlikely that she had come to him, however. That she was travelling alone was certain, why else would she come as Alfred and not as Lady Alais? He found himself suddenly consumed with anger at the thought of her making a journey like that alone. It was bad enough that she had had to travel from Southampton in a way that endangered her life. Why had she put herself in such danger again? Speculation was useless; Alais would either tell him what he wanted to know, or she would not.

  He looked up as Alais and Edmund entered the room. Alais’ cloak was covered in snow and she was shivering uncontrollably. He stepped forward immediately. He wondered at the grin that he could not remove from his face. The situation was hardly amusing.

  “You must be cold, Lady Alais. Come, give me your hands and I will warm them as I used to do for my sister.” He smiled fondly at the memory of little Isabella. She had always offered up her hands for him to warm when she came in from outside in the colder months. He caught up Alais’ hands in his own and placed them against his chest, between his unbuttoned tunic and his undershirt. As soon as he registered the touch of her cold hands against his chest, Hugh knew the extent of his lies to himself. The emotions that her touch evoked were nothing that a man should feel for his sister. Alais usually looked him directly in the eye, but her gaze was averted and she was biting her lip.

  She stretched out her fingers as they warmed and the movement drew a hissing breath from him. Alais tore her hands away in confusion and Edmund cleared his throat loudly and took a blanket from the bed. Alais removed the wet cloak and received the blanket gratefully. As she removed her hood both men saw that she had cut her hair off. They exchanged a glance and Hugh indicated with his head that Edmund should take up position to guard the closed door. Hugh turned back to Alais. What crisis could have made her do this?

  “How long since you ate?” he asked. It was not what he wanted to know, but she had travelled far and could talk once her physical needs were seen to.

  “It matters not.” Alais was still shivering. “Oh, but I am cold.” She began rubbing her arms beneath the blanket. Hugh was tempted to take her in his arms and hold her until she was warm, but a glance from Edmund stopped him. He held the glance, daring the other man to say something.

  “Edmund, perhaps Hilda could get something hot from the kitchen for Lady Alais.”

  Edmund frowned at him. “I shall guard the door,” and Hugh crossed the room to stand by the door, putting the length of the room between him and Alais. He feared it might not be enough.

  Edmund leaned close to him as he left. “Do nothing stupid,” he whispered. Hugh could not blame him. He finally understood why Edmund had been so concerned and wondered that he had not seen it coming himself. He wanted to gather Alais into his arms and hold her until she was warm again. He wanted to cover her face in kisses at the sheer joy of seeing her again. He wanted to do much more, but he had already frightened her in his stupidity.

  “I will not. But be quick.” He did not know how long he could resist the temptation without Edmund there.

  Alais was rubbing her hands together. “My lord, I have urgent news,” she started across the room towards him, but she stopped suddenly, looking into his face and then backed away. Damn! He had frightened her away again.

  “I guessed that from your appearance.”

  Alais raised a hand to her hair; her loss fleetingly expressed on her face. “There was no other way, my lord. I am sorry for its loss.”

  Hugh was amazed; she seemed to be apologising to him.

  “I also had to steal money from your chest.” Now he was certain that she was apologising.

  “I seem to recall giving you the use of everything in my room.”

  “I cannot repay it, my lord.”

  At last he was able to smile. “I know you did not do it lightly and I trust your judgement. Now, what is your news?”

  Edmund knocked on the door and came back in. “She will be here soon.”

  Alais looked from one to the other. “Now that I am here, I can scarce believe myself what I must tell you. Stephen and Richard are plotting to kill your father and blame it on you. Where is he? I asked for him at the gate.”

  It was not lost to Hugh that Alais had not referred to Sir William as ‘my husband’ as she had done before. Her weeks at Liss must have changed how she thought about his father. Then he realised what she had said.

  “They want to kill him? That does not sound like Stephen. He prefers to wound with words rather than with the sword.” He was not surprised that Stephen was making plots. It had not escaped Hugh’s notice that Stephen’s wife had already spent more money than Stephen could possibly have. Their mother had left him something, but otherwise he had very little and Hugh suspected that Catherine spent as much on clothes in a year as he spent on Hill, which was no small amount.

  “They have hired mercenaries to attack him. They will send a letter to him in your name asking him to meet you at his house at Ewell. The letter will be left with his body so that the guilt will be yours. There will be no witnesses left to say otherwise.” It was a simple and straightforward plan. Hugh could almost admire it.

  “How do you know this?” Alais was not offended by Edmund’s directness; she seemed rather to appreciate it.

  “I overheard them discussing it one night.”

  “In the hall? They were discussing it in the hall where anyone could overhear?” Edmund’s tone did not indicate that he disbelieved Alais, simply that he did not think Stephen would be that stupid.

  “They were talking in Latin.”

  “And you understand Latin,” said Hugh, remembering the way that Alais had followed the funeral rites for her mother. It seemed incredible, but he had heard of women who spoke and read Latin.

  Alais nodded. “Please, my lord, you must do something. You are in great danger. Even now the messenger could be on his way to your father.”

  “My father is in Portsmouth. The council sent him to inspect the fortifications there and report back. A messenger came for him yesterday. He could have come from Liss, although I did not recognise him. When is the attack to take place?”

  “On Candlemas Eve.”

  “Then we have time.”

  “You forget the snow!” Alais was almost shouting in her impatience at his stupidity and Hugh wondered what she feared.

  “You do,” agreed Edmund, with a grin at Alais. Then he opened the door as someone knocked. “Come in, mother. Here is Lady Alais.”

  Hilda’s jaw dropped as she saw Alais with her short hair and man’s clothes. Then she remembered to curtsey, which she did awkwardly as she tried not to tip the bowl she was holding.

  “Oh, is that for me?” asked Alais as she crossed the room to take the warm bowl of pottage from the older woman. Sitting on the bed, she began to eat hungrily.

  Hugh wanted nothing more than to stand and watch her, but there was much to be done. “Do you have some proper clothes?” asked Hugh. Alais nodded, her mouth too full to speak. “Then Hilda will take you to the chamber where the ladies sleep. I know not how we will hide your lack of hair.”

  “Do not worry, my lord,” said Hilda, “I can do something about t
hat. No one will know.”

  “No one will notice an extra lady, since the queen is not here and there are many strangers still here from the Christmas feast. Very well, my lady. Edmund and I must ride to Ewell to meet my father and you must stay here until I, or Edmund, come to collect you.”

  He saw Alais pale and immediately regretted what he had said. Alais would now think that she was sending them both to their deaths, which she might be. Hugh had briefly considered not going to his father’s aid. His father certainly did not deserve his help and it would mean that Alais would not have to consummate her marriage to him. She at least would be safe. Another thought tried to edge its way into his mind, but he refused to consider it. His father was his lord and he owed him his fealty, regardless of what he had done or would do. Hugh would not leave him to die and steal his wife, however much he might want to.

  “Do not fear, my lady, I do not intend to die,” he said, carelessly. Alais looked at him closely.

  “Are you sure, my lord?” she asked.

  Hugh blinked in surprise, then realised that he had no answer for her. He had spoken only to reassure her, but she had seen the lie. He had thought that months of practice lying to his father had made him a better liar, but it seemed not to be so.

  “No,” she continued, “I see that you are not sure.” Tears filled her eyes. “I thought to save your life by coming here, not to destroy it.”

  Hugh could not move, could not even speak. There was so much that he suddenly wanted to say, so much that he suddenly understood. She had come for him to save his life, but she feared that he would die.

  “I shall look after him,” said Edmund, trying to lighten the mood. Alais did not even glance at him; her eyes were fixed on Hugh’s.

  “My lord?”

  “I do not know,” he said at last, “but if news of my death would grieve you, I would try very hard to spare you.”