“What a fool I have been” Guillelm kissed the tip of her nose and, when she smiled, brought his mouth down on hers in the kind of embrace that Alyson had been longing for and dreaming of for weeks.
“We should move from here,” she remarked, alerted to the world again by the spitting of a torch that was almost burnt out.
Guillelm smiled and wound his arms more tightly around her middle. “Move all you wish,” he said. “You can squirm as much as you please from me. You are as light as a crane fly, even with my boots”
“A daddy longlegs?” Alyson queried, giving the common name. “If you think that, I can do this with impunity.”
She tickled him under the arms until he grunted with laughter, seizing her wrists and bringing her eager hands onto his chest.
“You know well how to divert me, dragon,” she said, her fingers combing through the springy golden fuzz as she traced the outline of his collarbones.
“You also,” Guillelm answered, closing his eyes a moment and groaning something softly in Arabic.
Spread-eagled on top of him, their bodies separated by no more than a few threads of cloth, she could feel the heat and muscular power of him. More intimate things, too.
“Someone may find us at any moment,” she said.
“So roll off me,” Guillelm suggested, lowering his arms and closing his eyes again. “Or shall we sleep here? Give Fulk something new to grumble about”
Alyson smiled.
They did not, of course, bed down on the stairs, but neither did they retire to the main bedchamber. No sooner had they slowly disentangled themselves and dusted off their clothes than Fulk found them.
“My lord! I did not think to find you here” He gave Alyson a brief nod, both greeting and dismissal, and returned his attention to Guillelm, now pulling on his boots. “My lord, a troop of men have been sighted on the downs, riding to Hardspen. They bear the standard of the Knights Templar!”
“An excellent company,” Guillelm remarked, cool where Fulk was visibly excited. “I shall ride out to meet them. Have my horse made ready.”
“Already done, lord,” said Fulk, smirking at Alyson. “This way-” He stepped before her, preventing any words of parting she and Guillelm might have shared.
Alyson returned to the solar. It was perhaps a discourtesy, not going back to the great hall to wait for and to greet these knights, but, from what she knew of them, her company would scarcely be welcome. The Templars were warriormonks who eschewed women. What had brought a company of their order to Hardspen? She suspected Fulk had sent one of the knights a message. Fulk would be delighted; to him, she and Guillelm were already estranged and now, with the appearance of men who were pledged to fight in Outremer, what better way to remind his lord of their former time together in the Holy Land? These strangers would drink with Guillelm and his men, and reminisce on the old battles fought and won, and all the while Fulk would be watching, hoping to draw Guillelm back into that world.
Knowing this, it was hard for Alyson to remain with her maids, trying to work on a piece of embroidery by a dim, flickering candle while shouts of carousing drifted through the keep. It was a great risk, she knew, but tonight would be a test: Would Guillelm miss her?
He did send word, requesting her presence in the great hall, an invitation Alyson politely declined. For the next hour she sat half in dread, half in hope, listening for Guillelm’s rapid step outside her chamber and imagining his face as he burst into the cramped solar to fetch her himself, but no man came near.
The maids around her worked quietly at spinning or their own embroidery, their heads bowed. The silence became unnerving and Alyson asked for a song.
Sitting on a stool with her back against the wall warmed most directly by the room’s small brazier, Gytha looked up from rubbing at a comb with a piece of rag. “I have done better than that, my lady,” she said, rubbing at her knees instead. “The local wisewoman is here. Eva is taking a bite to eat in the kitchen and will be with us directly.”
Glad of any change, the maids broke into a muted chatter, but Alyson was more suspicious. “Eva is a recluse, living in the woods, and she just happened to walk into Hardspen this evening?”
“That is so,” answered Gytha firmly, her ready blush betraying more.
“After you sent for her?”
“Perhaps,” Gytha admitted, adding in a softer voice, for Alyson’s ears alone, “After seeing you and your lord together on the stairs, before moonrise, I should think you will be glad of her skills. She has philters and spells to guarantee a male child”
“You spied on me, Gytha?”
“Only for a moment, my bird,” replied her old nurse imperturbably. “And I kept these others away. To be sure, you do not spend your private times with your husband in ways or in places that most wives would call productive, but it was a start”
“Gytha! No more” Alyson’s face was burning as the door to the solar opened and Eva the wisewoman was admitted, shedding her bulging pack before the tumbling flames of the brazier and the keen faces of the maids.
Chapter 22
Eva was a tall, sinewy woman of two and thirty, veiled and gowned as modestly as a nun. With quick, brown eyes, a ready smile and red, work-roughened hands, she looked like a laundress or a kitchen maid. There was nothing unusual in her appearance except for a faint red birthmark under her right ear, shaped almost like a pair of lips.
Alyson tried not to stare at this mark as Eva explained the various uses of her potions and sweetsmelling unguents. Too distracted by what Guillelm was or was not doing to concentrate on the wisewoman’s smooth, soothing patter, she agreed with all of Gytha’s suggestions as to what she should buy. When wine appeared in her hand, she drank it to the dregs, although she knew by her first smell and sip that her drink had been laced with a sleeping draught. Anything, including an evening of oblivion, was better than wondering if Guillelm would leave his fellow campaigners and join her.
In the morning, learning that Guillelm had come to the solar but had been turned away by the other woman, who told him roundly that their lady was soundly sleeping, Alyson felt a little easier. He had intended to spend the night, not with the Templars, but with her.
“He wanted to carry you back to the main bedchamber,” Gytha went on, pausing as she teased out a knot in Alyson’s hair with her comb, “but I told him you had given strict instructions not to be disturbed by anyone”
Alyson sat up straighter on her couch, her head suddenly, appallingly clear. “You had no right. He will think-“
She broke off, aware of the maids listening and of Eva, deftly lifting her pack onto her shoulders, giving her a cool, careful look.
“Thank you, my lady, for allowing me to stay the night,” the wisewoman said as the silence stretched on. “It is good for me to come away from my man and the little ones. He appreciates me more on my return”
She bid the other women farewell, leaving the door to the solar open to admit the fresh morning air. Crossing the threshold, she turned back. “There is a festival in the village of Setton Minor this day. I know this because my man comes from there and he has prevailed upon me to join him in their merrymaking.” She smiled, softening the plain contours of her face, then continued, “The people there have heard of your rescue of the cottar’s child. You and your lord would be welcomed and greatly honored. Will you come?”
Alyson’s first instinct was to say yes, but would Guillelm agree? As she hesitated, Eva added gently, “I hope you will, my lady. It is a time when all may forget their cares and the busiest of men and women may remember each other.”
And their vows, Alyson thought, and she smiled. “We will come,” she said.
Perhaps I have done a very foolish thing, but I cannot help it, Alyson told herself. Part of her wanted to dance and clap her hands, seize the first clean gown she could find and rush to Guillelm. It was a wonderful chance for them to be alone together for an entire day. No Hardspen. No Templars. No Fulk. She and Guillelm could
be like any other young couple at a festival. The freedom of that idea made her giddy.
The clever, careful potion-maker in her urged caution. Patience and persuasion were the keys. If Guillelm thought that he was being ordered to attend this event, he could easily refuse.
Leaving Gytha and the other maids to air and tidy the solar, Alyson slipped into the empty main bedchamber, where she dressed with particular care. A pale blue gown, to complement her eyes and coloring. Her hair bound tidily but not too severely into a single plait, and her head covered by the beautiful silk veil her husband had given her. The whistle he had made for her hung from her belt. A gold necklace and a silver coronet. Her most comfortable shoes, because she intended that she and Guillelm would walk to Setton Minor. If they rode, Caliph and Jezebel could prove too alluring to thieves, and Guillelm might be tempted to bring the merlin on a saddle perch. She was determined that all of his attention would be on her.
Guillelm woke, clearheaded, in the great hall. It was still very early. No others were stirring, not even the servants or the nuns in the chapel. When would that little community be moving on? he wondered. He knew the prioress was awaiting word from her own superiors, but he was surprised at the tardiness of her order. As Sister Ursula had pointed out, the nuns were in a castle full of fighting men.
It was a mistake to think of Alyson’s sister, and what else she had said. All thoughts inevitably led to Alyson. He had missed her so much last night. Every moment, as he sat amongst his own men and the Templars, speaking of Outremer and the endless bloodshed spilt in the name of God, had driven home how alien that world had become to him. He no longer lusted for glory, or fellowship in arms. He was sickened and, yes, bored by the talk of killing. He longed for Alyson’s quirky, mettlesome conversation. Her missed her laughter, her smile, the way her eyes darkened to a more brilliant blue when she was interested in something. He missed the smell of her hair, the touch of her hand on his, the feel of her flawless skin. He missed everything about her. He was mad to be separated from her.
Leaving the soldiers and squires rolled into their cloaks, the Knights Templar snoring to a man, Guillelm rose and strode from the hall.
He wanted to return to the solar at once and carry Alyson off with him, but he forced himself to wash first and comb his hair. Returning to the main bedchamber for a fresh undershirt, he met Alyson coming the other way.
The sight of her robbed him of words. Without any conscious choice, he opened his arms and she ran into them. They clung to each other.
“I never want to be in a nunnery,” Alyson was saying, and Guillelm answered, “I know. I understand that now. I do ””
She drew back a little to look at him. “Truly, dragon?”
“Truly, my most excellent girl.”
He kissed her: lips, eyes, nose, throat, ears. The taste of her was sweeter and more heady to him than mead and she kept pressing her lithe form tight against his, whispering his name over and over.
A crowing cock somewhere in the bailey alerted Guillelm to the passage of time. “We cannot keep meeting in the castle corridors,” he murmured, nibbling her ear.
“I know a place.”
“Only say, sweet, and we shall go to it.”
She stood on tiptoe and whispered a name into his ear, and so it was agreed between them.
On the way to Setton Minor they talked. Alyson began it, saying again that she had no wish to enter a nunnery, that it had been a childhood desire, long outgrown. For his part, Guillelm apologized for threatening Sericus.
“I was wrong to speak of punishing the old man. I spoke out of anger and concern”
“Concern?” Alyson was onto the word in an instant.
Guillelm scowled. Reminding himself yet again that the small, dark woman strolling hand-in-hand with him across the downs was not in any way like Heloise, it still took a leap of faith to admit this next. “I was desperate with worry for you. I wanted to blame someone”
“But Sericus takes my orders, not the other way round”
“I know. I am not proud of how I behaved. Nothing will happen to him, I promise.”
“Thank you”
“No! You should not thank me. I was wrong, altogether wrong” Guillelm felt a drop of water on his face and for an appalled moment thought his shame was breaking through into tears, but a glimpse of the darkening sky in the northeast warned of an approaching storm.
Alyson tugged at his hand. “We can seek shelter ahead, if we hurry.” She pointed to a small wayside barn, its thatched roof a bright yellow against the flower-studded green of the downland. It was the only cover for more than a bowshot’s length in any direction.
Another splash hit his face and Alyson pulled at him again. “Run!”
They skidded along the gently undulating track, each stumbling in their haste. Passing a spring welling forth from an outcrop of flint and chalk and a shrine with two ancient wooden crosses, each garlanded with flowers, they reached the barn just as the rain began in earnest. Another few steps and Guillelm shouldered open the barn door, to be met by a mound of new hay, a scattered collection of rakes and, straight in the doorway, a wooden plough riddled with woodworm.
Alyson sneezed at the dust and Guillelm quickly pulled off his cloak, draping it over the plough. They sat down on the threshold, leaning against the plough, facing the rain.
“This may last a long time,” Alyson remarked, glancing at the sullen gray clouds.
Guillelm, yearning to embrace the subtle lines of her profile, the sweet contours of her shape, could only answer, “It may.”
“Will you host another joust at Hardspen?”
The question was his chance and he grabbed it. “Alyson, at the joust, the favor I gave you-did it please you?”
“Very much” Alyson lifted her hands off her lap to show the dagger tucked into her belt. “Did my tokens please you, dragon?”
Guillelm nodded, now hearing Tom’s warning being bellowed in his mind. He had to say this. “You would have been asked for more favors and not only from me, except-“
He broke off as she turned her head to look at him. Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. “Sir Tom would not take a favor from me,” she remarked. “Was his refusal anything to do with you?”
Conscious of a building sneeze and a general tightening in his chest, Guillelm nodded. “I was jealous.” Wretched, aware of how pathetic his actions had been, he rubbed fiercely at his itching nose. “I told every man who entered the lists that if they received so much as a smile from you, they would have to fight me.”
“What?”
I warned every knight that if they wore your favor I would challenge them-ow!” He flinched as Alysonjabbed her foot against his leg.
“You deserve no less,” she said, her words as rapid as the bouncing rain. “I sat for hours with no champion, while that simpering Petronilla loaded rings and ribbons on dozens! It was the same at our Court of Love! Her looks were praised to the heavens! And now you tell me it was because all these men were cowards and dared pay no suit to me because of you?”
Abruptly, she started to laugh, snapping her fingers at him. “Your face, Guillelm! If I but had a mirror here … So you were a very jealous guardian of my honor, were you? I vow, it is a better explanation for me than that my looks were somehow amiss, not fashionable, but had you so little trust of me?”
Her moods were like quicksilver, but he saw the real danger of her last reproof. “Never! I have always trusted you, sweet. You-but not myself.”
“Ah. The dragon temper.” Alyson glanced at him sidelong, her face disconcertingly unreadable. “I suppose if you could not rein it in, you were wise to warn the others, but next time”-she tapped his knee with her knuckles-“you shall bear my granting favors, and with a good grace. I am no ninny, to toy with a man’s affections, neither yours nor another’s. All I give tokens to shall be as brothers, and they will know it.”
“Yes, wife,” Guillelm answered, tightening the hand she could not see into
a fist as he imagined the clamor round Alyson. The very idea gnawed him like a canker. “You are very just”
Above them thunder rolled and Alyson laughed afresh, her eyes as brilliant as the flash of lightning forking over the downs. “We do not have to hold these tourneys so very often” She took his hand in hers and kissed the long scar close to his thumb. “Be at peace. I am”
She snuggled against him, as sinuous and unconsciously appealing as a kitten. Aware of a different heat pounding through his veins, Guillelm waited. He sensed she had more to say.
“I love watching the rain.” Alyson held a hand out into the downpour.
“You always did.”
They were still and quiet, Guillelm content to inhale the smell of her hair and feel her, warm and soft against him. For how long they were like this, in half-dream, half-dozing state, he had no idea.
When he stirred again to full wakefulness, Guillelm realized that the rain was still falling. It was almost dark outside, a late afternoon turned into an early twilight by the weather.
“We have lost more than half a day,” he said wonderingly.
“I know. You were sleeping so well, I did not like to disturb you.”
“Really?” Astonished that he had slept at all, Guillelm thought he would say nothing more of consequence but suddenly found new, dangerous words dropping from his mouth like broken teeth.
I know how my father treated you”
Beside him, he felt Alyson stiffen.
I am sorry,” he said. “I will never forgive him.”
“To forgive is a hard thing,” Alyson agreed. “But you must not blame yourself.”
“We were never close but, even so, I feel responsible for his misdeeds. Afraid, too. I am his blood. Perhaps as I age, I will grow more like him.”
“Never fear that!” Alyson shook her head. “You are nothing like Lord Robert. Not in any way.”
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