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 out-grown. 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 north-east 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 down land. 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 grey 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 favour 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 favours 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 favour 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 favour I would challenge them—Ow!’ He flinched as Alyson jabbed 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 dare 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 honour, 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 favours, 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 clamour 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.’
‘But sometimes you seem to freeze when I approach. I feared then that you were thinking of him, comparing us, reminding yourself that I was his son —’
‘Never! As I told you, dragon, if I go still, it is with rapture, not fear.’ She would not hurt him by confessing to the odd memory-flash of Lord Robert‘s cruelty when they themselves were close. Such unwanted remembrances had nothing to do with Guillelm and herself and she was determined they would throw no more shadows.
‘Pray God you are right.’ Guillelm gently touched her head. ‘How could he strike you? Beat you? He could not have loved you—no man who loves a woman would ever seek to hurt her.’
‘There are other ways of hurt.’ Alyson knelt up so that their eyes were level. ‘I can bear it no longer,’ she said simply. ‘I have to know. Who is Heloise? What did she do to you?’
Guillelm sighed. ‘Before I tell you of Heloise, I must explain about my older sister.’
He took her hand in his, comforted and reassured when she gave his fingers a gentle
squeeze. Heartened by the gesture and by her steady blue eyes, he took a deep breath.
‘Juliana is trapped in a loveless marriage. I did not recognize it as such, when I served her and my brother-in-law briefly as squire, but even at twelve I thought Juliana cold to her husband, unnecessarily reserved. Once I found her crying in her solar. She told me then that all men are brutes—those were her exact words: “Knights or peasants, men are brutes, slaves to their base passions. Soon enough, you will grow up and be like all the rest: the charming, fresh-faced younger brother who runs to bring me my book or cushion will be as sullen and determined of his rights as Oliver.” Oliver is her husband, a dour, laconic fellow who never praises when he can carp. I did not understand then what Juliana meant about rights, but I learned. I learned especially in Outremer, where some poor women have to sell themselves to put bread in their children’s bellies. They know too much about the rights of men!
‘Soon, I was more than ready to believe my sister’s dismal prediction regarding men: I had seen it too often, played out in alleys when besieging forces broke through. I witnessed how soldiers hurled themselves upon unwilling girls and women. I tried to stop it, but other commanders told me it was the sport of war, that it was the nature of the beast. I remembered what Juliana had told me, and agreed.
‘Of course, Heloise was nothing like a common camp follower or courtesan, forced by circumstances to give her unwilling body to greedy, careless troops. When I met her, I began to entertain the hope that my sister could be mistaken and that not all men are brutes.’
Thunder cracked again, further away this time. There was more lightning, but Alyson paid it no attention. ’I know that she is blonde,’ she remarked, as if that was of great significance. She flicked at her own plait, a nervous, defensive gesture. ‘Fulk said she is very beautiful.’
‘Fulk is an idiot.’ With his thumb, Guillelm traced the line of Alyson’s veil, marvelling at the feel of silk against silk. To him, her flowing black tresses were richer than any gold, but how could he persuade her of that?
‘Heloise bleaches her hair,’ he lied. ‘There is very little of nature in her: she uses many arts to enhance her looks.’
‘She is charming?’ Alyson prompted, a question Guillelm wished she had not asked. ‘Enough,’ she added quickly, sitting back on her heels. ’If it pains you to speak of it, then let it go. It was many years ago, in another country.’
‘No, sweet, you deserve the truth.’
Guillelm stretched out his arm and drew her close, heartened when she did not stiffen. Burning inwardly at the memory of the entire episode with Heloise, he began to speak.
‘As I say, when I encountered Heloise, I was already convinced that women despised men, especially men like me: the big, clumsy kind.’
‘You are not clumsy, dragon! Not a bit.’
Guillelm kissed her in thanks, then kissed her again for pleasure.
‘If you keep interrupting, I shall never be done,’ he warned.
‘Why should I not interrupt, when I am kissed for my trouble?’ Alyson responded pertly. Which made him want to embrace her afresh.
Fighting down his desire, Guillelm resumed his account.
‘I met Heloise at a joust in Outremer. She sent me a favour to wear. I was amazed: ladies of my uncle’s court in Poitiers had rarely granted me favours and I had grown accustomed to the same and worse treatment in the east.
‘After the joust—in which I won Caliph—Heloise sought me out. I remember she was dressed all in white: she was radiant on that hot, dusty afternoon. She brought me a covered silver chalice of wine. She called me “My terrible beauty.” I was flattered.’
Guillelm sighed, looking down at the top of Alyson’s lowered head, wishing he could see into her mind. She was so still, so quiet, he hardly knew how she was receiving this sorry story.
‘She had a rich town house in Jerusalem. From its roof you could see over the grain market to Tancred’s Tower. I fell into the habit of calling there, whenever I could. She always received me. I took her gifts: game, flowers, a poem I had written in mangled Arabic. She smiled at my spelling mistakes.’
Alyson inhaled a slow, deep breath, but said nothing.
‘She would have no other rivals to my affection. Somehow, she heard that I had a liking for small, dark women and she scolded me for days, threatening to deny me her company. At the time I thanked God that she had never learned anything particular of you, Alyson. You were still my ideal, but your father had made it very clear to me that he would never consent to a match between us. I was trying to make some kind of life for myself. All other black-haired, zesty, vivid beauties were too strong a reminder of you, whom I had already lost. Heloise was tall, voluptuous, pale as a winter new moon. I told myself I was smitten with her.
‘She encouraged me. She allowed me to kiss her hands. She teased me into washing and kissing her feet. She spoke of the lands I should be granted in the east. She admired my battle prowess. When she at last admitted me into her inner chamber, with no chaperone present save a Greek maid who knew no French, I took it as a sign and spoke my suit, offering Heloise my hand in marriage.
‘She refused me.’ Guillelm felt his mouth twist downwards. ’How she refused me! She told me I was altogether too big and brutal, that I would burn any woman to ashes in a wedding bed. I remember her laughter as I stumbled from her house. I remember the Greek maid, laughing and pointing, and Heloise, cool and poised, lounging on cushions, picking the petals of the roses I had brought her and tossing them on the floor.’
Guillelm fell silent. Around them, he heard the drizzle of the departing rain, the faint alarm call of a blackbird. He waited and felt his companion shudder, but there was no sound from her.
‘After that, I knew it was no use,’ he said. ’I knew what I was to women. Juliana had warned me, and Heloise confirmed it. I was a brute male, a warrior, nothing more.
‘Then I returned to England, to Hardspen. And I found you again, sweet, brave Alyson, who has never feared me. I thought, I hoped—I prayed things would be different between us. I hoped my love for you would make the difference. I am sorry it has not.’
‘But it has,’ Alyson said.
Chapter 23
She touched his arm, relieved when he did not flinch.
‘You are no brute,’ she said softly. ’You never were.’
‘Truly?’ He looked at her, the ash-like, dull dread in his eyes terrible to see.
‘Yes.’ She took him by the shoulders. ’You are too big to shake, or I would do so. Do you think I care what an eastern harridan says about you?’
‘Truly?’
Alyson nodded and, utterly exasperated, snapped her fingers. ’Of course, you great fool. Do you think—?’
Her tongue was stilled from the rest of its complaint as Guillelm wrapped his arms about her, his whole being transformed into a fiery glitter and brightness. His eyes gleaming, his stern face glowing, he pressed her close to his heart. The heat of his strong body made her gasp.
‘Do you love me, sweetheart?’ he murmured. ’Can you love me, just a little?’
‘Yes!’ Alyson whispered. ’Yes!’
She gasped a second time as his lips embraced the curve of her breast. She was intoxicated, but not by wine. By Guillelm. Increasingly daring, she parted the neck drawstrings of his shirt and burrowed her hand inside, revelling in the feel of his solid body. His chest was criss-crossed with curling golden hairs and, on his left side, by a ridge of scar tissue running down the length of two ribs. She drew back the shirt further and kissed the taut, tanned flesh, close to the scar and then on the scar. His ribs moved under her lips as he inhaled sharply, not releasing the breath until she teased her fingers over the powerful band of muscle across his stomach.
‘Mother of God!’ she heard him hiss, his big hands circling her breasts in gentle, almost lazy sweeps that made her entire body quiver with need. In that mysterious, secret place between her legs, Alyson felt to be melting into sweetness—she
was lost in his touch and in touching him. She loved his long flanks and his back, so broad that when she wrapped her arms about his shoulders her hands could scarcely meet. She loved his shaggy golden eyebrows and his long-fingered hands with their pads of callus on the palms and the fingertips that could probe and stroke. She loved his full, sensual mouth and did not care that his heavy runner’s thigh imprisoned both her legs. In the faint yellow glare of the storm, he was like a statue of a pagan god come to life.
‘So beautiful,’ she murmured. He was so wonderfully hot, his athletic, robust body both smooth and at the same time rough-skinned. Touching him, Alyson thought of Caliph, recognizing in Guillelm the same compelling vigour.
She ran her thumb along the length of his nose, giggling as he caught her thumb between his lips and sucked it. His eyes flashed as he watched her, ravishing her with a glance, and his mouth was bent into an indulgent smile.
She did not want this moment to end, but outside the barn there came a pounding of feet. As she and Guillelm broke apart, a gap-toothed boy almost impaled himself on the plough inside the door.
‘My Lord! My Lady! I have a message for you!’ he yelled, shaking his dripping head and spraying them with water-drops.
Guillelm glanced at Alyson, who was standing poised on the balls of her feet, her hands bunched into fists. ‘What are you doing?’ he snorted.
‘I could say the same of you,’ Alyson retorted. In leaping to his feet, Guillelm had swept her behind him, and not all that gently. Each had attempted to shield the other from a possible attacker.
He smiled, a little grimly, she thought, but his answer was amused. ‘Peace, wife. I am a soldier. Now let us hear what this fireball has to say. Your message, young man?’ he demanded.
Alyson quickly turned her back to reorder her gown with hands that were far from steady, but the boy was far too excited at the prospect of dealing with a real crusader to pay attention to her, a mere woman.
Love and Chivalry: Four Medieval Historical Romances Page 24