Love and Chivalry: Four Medieval Historical Romances

by Lindsay Townsend

  ‘Mistress Eva charges me to tell you that she and the villagers of Setton Minor will await your coming another day, for today is now too wet for the festival. She bid me give you this.’

  He handed over a bundle and then was off again, sprinting across the downs with wild abandon, as agile as a pine marten.

  ‘How did Eva know where we were?’ Guillelm asked.

  ‘She is a wise-woman, doubtless with her methods of divining,’ Alyson answered, kneeling back amidst the hay. She was so deliciously distracted by Guillelm’s declarations and embrace that she could scarcely concentrate: it took her three attempts to untie the bundle.

  Inside was a precious scrap of parchment, on which Eva had scratched the following.

  My lady. Consider the barn your castle for today and tonight. Use anything within it as you please. Burn the plough, but not, I pray you, the rakes. If you stay you will have good fortune. The pie is venison.

  ‘She has sent us some goodly provisions, this Eva,’ Guillelm exclaimed, as Alyson spread the bounty before them.

  ‘Mmm,’ Alyson agreed. There was indeed a venison pie, dark maslin bread, dried apples, nuts and soft cheese. In addition to the food, there were two woollen sheets, big enough for two to lie between. Alyson lifted one, brushing its rough warmth against her cheek.

  Eva must have talked to her nurse, she thought, for the last thing she drew from the bundle was a salve. The wise-woman had tied a strip of parchment round the earthenware, round-bellied jar, with the instruction, For my lady’s shoulder. A salve of garlic.

  Alyson blushed. The healer in her knew that garlic was a good antiseptic, but she also knew that the bulb was said to be an aphrodisiac.

  She glanced at Guillelm, hoping her desire for him did not show in her face. ‘If we are to re-heat this pie we shall need a fire.’

  Guillelm reached across her to the woodworm-ridden plough. ‘Then I shall break this up for you.’ He walked out again into a darkening landscape of rainbows and puddles, whistling as he went.

  Later, after she had cleared away the rakes into a corner and swept an area clear of hay and chaff, Alyson laid the plough-turned-into-firewood on the ‘hearthstone’ of a low level boulder. ‘This will smoke, I fear,’ she said.

  ‘I do not care,’ Guillelm replied.

  In case she sounded too brazen, Alyson stopped herself in time from saying that she did not care at all, either, but that was still true: she was too happy.

  It was a strange intimacy, working companionably and almost silently with the man she loved to prepare a meal and a bed for the night, on the downs where only sheep lingered. While Guillelm went off to refill their water flasks at the spring, she said a prayer to the Virgin, and to Jesus, then busied herself making the fire.

  She had a good blaze going when Guillelm returned. As she saw him crossing the downs, threading sure-footedly amongst the grass and heather, Alyson was transfixed by love and then laughter.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ she burst out, unable to contain her giggles. He seemed to have gained an instant gourmet’s stomach; his linen shirt bulged above his belt and pouched in ungainly folds round his normally sleek middle.

  ‘Kindling for tonight,’ he said, patting his heather ‘stomach’. Nodding approval at her fire, he stalked into the empty space of their barn. ‘If you want to spread Eva’s bedding in our sleeping place —’ His face broke into a wolfish grin, ‘— you may do it in any way you please, wife.’

  Wife. She was truly his wife. Hugging that marvellous knowledge to herself as Guillelm piled the kindling by their firestone, Alyson made two rough ‘mattresses’ of hay, covering the smaller with her own cloak and Guillelm’s and the second with Eva‘s blankets. Presuming nothing—although part of her was scandalously tempted to drag their bedding into one glorious heap—Alyson was already half-regretting her action when a deliberate snapping of twigs made her look up straight into her husband’s face.

  His expression was impossible to interpret but as he fed the fire with more wood, his words were clear enough. ‘We will freeze that way. We need to bundle together tonight.’

  ‘But it is summer,’ Alyson answered, mentally scolding the rational part of her head for mentioning that fact. What did it matter? Bundling, as Guillelm put it, was what she wanted. Finally, they would be in bed together.

  ‘It is warm now,’ Guillelm replied, moving away from the fire to draw the two rough ‘mattresses’ together. His amused voice came out of the semi-darkness as he re-spread the sheets and cloaks, making a single bed. ‘It is clear you have never had to take a watch through from dusk to dawn, my girl.’

  ‘Why would I? I am a healer.’ She was laughing, making a joke, but Alyson grimaced as she said it. A shadow seemed to pass over her and she trembled. Was this how the rest of the evening and the night would be—this muddle of longing and regret because she was not sure who would make the next move between them? I have vowed to seduce him, she thought, defiantly raising her chin.

  ‘And I am not your girl any more,’ she went on, unsure if she was being pert or merely petulant.

  Amazingly, Guillelm seemed to understand her tumbled feelings, her lack of sureness of how she should act now. His smile filtered to her through the smoke. ‘No, by God! You are my woman now.’

  He moved back to the open door, pointing to the darkening vault of heaven. ‘Venus is rising. Can you see her?’

  ‘I think so.’ Alyson padded towards the fire and Guillelm. As she drew near, he caught her gently round the waist and lifted her closer.

  ‘It is clearing. The skies will be full of stars tonight,’ he said, turning away to give her time to regain her breath and smooth her gown. ‘Look—there is Andromeda, without her dragon.’

  He pointed as Alyson stood beside him, close enough to smell the fresh water on his skin. He had washed himself at the spring. Trying to distract herself from his disturbing presence, she followed his pointing arm as he named several stars.

  ‘I know few stories or legends for these summer stars,’ she said softly, ashamed of her admission. Her parents had never been able to share any tales with her, and when she had once asked Gytha, her nurse had claimed she had forgotten. ‘They are very beautiful,’ she added.

  Through the arching roof-lintel and above the hissing fire, far above the tops of the tallest tree or hill, the stars slowly filled the sky, brighter than pearls. Some seemed almost blue-white in their brilliance.

  ‘I have always loved the night sky,’ Guillelm said. ‘The scents of an eastern garden at night, the call of owls. When I was in Outremer I would lie awake listening to the little owls hooting at each other.’

  He and Alyson listened as two barn owls called again and again, the sounds drifting slowly away on the still air.

  ‘I used to listen for bats,’ Alyson said, smiling at the memory.

  They remained silent together a moment longer, each aware of the other.

  Dropping another twig onto the fire, Guillelm’s hand found both of hers and raised them gently. He cleared his throat, as if about to admit a shameful thing. ‘As you know, I like to cook, when I can. Shall I treat your shoulder with that salve and then heat up our supper?’

  Gratitude flowered again in Alyson. ‘Yes, please,’ she answered, still partly astonished that she was alone with him and that she moved him—as clearly she did.

  Kneeling beside her on their springy, seductive, sweet-smelling bed of hay, Guillelm hoped that she did not realize what effect she was having on him. Although a rainy mid-summer, he was still very hot, and not from his earlier brisk walk to the spring. He was pleased that his clothes hid the most obvious signs of his arousal. Smoothing a salve made from crushed garlic onto the very top of her shoulder—working with her gown merely unlaced and not even peeled away from her back—should not have been in any way erotic, if only because of the salve’s pungent smell, but touching Alyson made his senses explode.

  ‘We can eat soon,’ he said. Food was not what he wanted but A
lyson might be hungry. The edges of her healing wound were as pink as a peony. Delicately, so as not to hurt her, he trailed his thumb down the delicate line of her spine. Sensing her shiver, he steeled himself to his task again.

  ‘We can use the bread Eva gave us for trenchers,’ he remarked, as the savoury smells of the pottage and pie filtered through the barn. He had already burned his fingers on the earthenware crocks when he placed them in the ashes of the fire, but he was not about to admit that to his nervous little healer-wife.

  ‘There are the dried apples, too,’ Alyson said in her low, warm voice. ‘We can roast them.’

  ‘I can roast them. You need to pamper that shoulder.’

  Conscious of his own rigid discomfort, Guillelm sat back on his heels. He wondered when he would be able to walk to the fire without hobbling in an undignified crouch. ‘It is good English food, but scarcely the exotic dishes I hoped to serve you,’ he growled.

  Alyson smiled and shook her head. ‘To me, it is a feast.’

  Under the bright stars, with the air about them perfumed with hay and wood smoke and the savour of venison and roasting apples, they shared their simple meal. To Alyson, water had never tasted sweeter. To Guillelm, day-old maslin bread had never been so delicious. The crab apples burst in their mouths like a draught of hot spiced wine.

  Relaxed and replete, they ate the soft cheese and then the hazelnuts, rolling the shells between each other, making a game of it.

  ‘There are the owls again,’ Alyson said, tilting her head to listen.

  Guillelm watched the fire-light play over the fragile bones of her face. He wanted her. He had wanted her for a long time.

  ‘Dragon?’

  Something of his tension must have shown in his face. He attempted a hasty smile that felt more like another of what Tom called his ‘gravestone grins’.

  ‘Guillelm, what is it?’ Alyson reached towards him.

  ‘No,’ he warned darkly. ‘Not unless you take it further. Much further.’

  She could do this, Alyson marvelled. Moving from their hearth space, she glided lower on their rough bed. She placed a hand on his foot, her palm covering the ankle bone, and looked up at the man she loved.

  Guillelm’s dark eyes bored into hers. ‘I have always wanted you,’ he said.

  She had not touched him with such leisure and intimacy since their bath together. Alyson took off his shoes and ran her hand along the length of his lower leg; one hand and then the other, learning him over again. He quivered under her hands, the sinews and muscles tensing, feeling harder than bone but warmer. Through his thin leggings, the hairs on his legs were surprisingly soft, his flesh solid and at the same time yielding, both rough and polished. His eyes never left hers.

  ‘I know I have sometimes been curt with you.’ His speech came in stops and spurts as she curved the fingers of her hand across his knee. ‘People are always around. It has driven me mad. Not being able to touch you when I want to, to hold you —’

  His large hands bunched into fists by his side, then unclenched. He was sitting on their ‘mattress’ with his back against the greater mound of hay, his legs thrust straight out in front of him. He was breathing slowly, deliberately and a strong dark tide of colour had risen in his tanned, handsome face. The fire-light threw the intent brightness of his gaze into stark relief.

  ‘Alyson,’ he said urgently, using her name almost as a plea.

  He was waiting for a word from her, she realized, holding himself until then under an iron restraint.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I do not mean to tease you.’

  Now that she finally had Guillelm where she had dreamed of having him for so long—alone, finding her desirable—she was suddenly besieged by a thousand doubts of inexperience. What if he expected a miraculous seduction? ‘I do not want to do anything wrong.’

  She was blushing, no doubt scarlet in the face, but she knew she must not look away from him. She wanted no shadows, no Lord Robert or Heloise between them. Surely I can do this, she thought. I love him.

  Alyson withdrew her hands and knelt up on the prickly mattress, undoing her belt and then the plait of her hair with cold, fumbling fingers. It was harder for her to hold his eyes than it had been for her to keep her ground against the knight at the joust who had tried to attack her.

  ‘I want you to hold me,’ she heard herself say. ‘Please, Guillelm. Hold me. Love me.’

  He was already moving. In the space of a breath, Guillelm enveloped her in a rib-crushing embrace, his face flooded with energy. ‘Mother of God, I was afraid you would never ask! Alyson, my wife, my sweet little healer.’

  He kissed her lips, forehead, nose and throat, saying again, ‘I was afraid I had lost you, that you perhaps had changed in your feelings towards me.’

  ‘I changed to you?’ Alyson wondered. ‘I thought the same. The very same.’

  Each began to laugh in sheer relief, laughing afresh when a fox yapped from somewhere on the downs outside, as if in protest at their levity.

  ‘Come here.’ Guillelm swung her up into his arms, rolling off the ‘bed’ and carrying her closer to the fire. ‘Let me look at you.’

  For Alyson, the gentle collision of his chest and flanks against her body robbed her of words and even thought. She could only feel, skin against skin. Her arm, pressing against Guillelm’s belly.

  He kissed her throat, sending a lazy wave of pleasure sweeping through Alyson’s body that made her toes curl.

  ‘I love you,’ she said, the words easy to say because they were true.

  Brighter than the tumbling flames, his eyes and face glowed with feeling. ‘You are so lovely. Let me see you—all of you.’

  He began to tease her blue gown off her legs and higher, gently trailing the soft linen past her thighs, her hips, her slender waist.

  ‘Put me down, please,’ Alyson begged, longing to be free of the clinging cloth.

  He did so instantly, his face showing an uncertain shyness that she was almost ashamed of evoking. ‘It is all right,’ she said.

  Swiftly, before she lost courage, Alyson unfastened the lacing of her gown and stepped out of the loosened garment and her white under-shift, hanging both over a nearby standing rake. The silver coronet followed and the rest of her jewels, dropped into a small, glittering heap onto the dirt floor of the barn. Standing stiffly, naked and never so glad of her unbound flowing hair, she spoke with her head down, staring at Guillelm’s well-shaped feet.

  ‘Dragon, I am —’

  She was not certain what she would have said next, only that she was here, but Guillelm said gently, ‘Sssh.’ Stepping across the dry earth, he re-embraced her, enfolding her in his arms with such a look of wonder and desire that she blushed and closed her eyes.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ she heard him say. ‘Beautiful and honourable and appealing. A man would have to be dead not to be bewitched by you.’

  He lifted and carried her back to their bedspace, laying her down on her cloak. Stripping off so swiftly that he was almost a blur of movement, he came beside her and drew her closer still, so that she was lying full length on top of him.

  ‘A little less hard for you, I think, than the ground, even with our bedding.’ He blew softly on her eyelids. ‘Are you ever going to open your eyes?’

  Stubbornness urged Alyson to respond to such a direct, amused challenge, but she was distracted by strange, new sensations. With her breasts pressed against Guillelm’s chest and her nipples brushing against his chest hairs, her breath seemed to have dissolved into her throat. Her slender legs, long for her height, rested on his, her toes pressed against his calves. He shifted under her, moving slowly so she could accustom herself to the touch of a man in this way, his thighs supporting her easily, their muscled potency as hard and flawless as new iron. His entire body seemed as enveloping and comforting as a hot bath. But it was not a passive reassurance. She could feel his obvious arousal. His entire skin seemed to crackle with energy. The firm embrace and gentle cla
shes of their bodies made her mouth dry and Alyson shyly conscious again of that place between her legs.

  ‘Alyson?’

  He moved again as she ducked her head and burrowed her face against his shoulder, wishing she was more strutting, more like the deadly Heloise. She found everything about him intriguing yet familiar: this embrace was new to her and yet it felt right.

  ‘This is not something you learn from potions or books,’ she admitted, kissing an old scar close to the beguiling crease of his right elbow.

  ‘No, little healer. I know it is entirely fresh to you.’

  The solemn tenderness of his voice made her feel welcome in his arms and more confident, so that when his hands began to caress her, she allowed her fingers to wander, too.

  ‘God!’ His breath came in rapid gasps as Alyson’s hand flowed down his right flank and across his lower back, exploring that powerfully seductive hollow close to the base of his spine. ‘Your hands. Your fingers!’

  ‘My shoulder is healing and my fingers are fine,’ Alyson said, a little smugly, part of her revelling in his clear response, the way his legs jerked and his hips rose from the mattress, inviting her to go further, touch more. Then she too was lost in sensation as Guillelm turned them both slightly so that she was still supported in his arms but more side-on, and his fingers of his left hand were cupping her breast and the fingers of his right hand stroking her back, lower then lower.

  ‘So lovely,’ he said. He kissed her, his mouth and tongue flicking and teasing against hers, his thumb softly circling her perked nipples.

  Murmuring reassurance as his stretching hand glided over her jutting hip bone, he touched as if she were as delicate as rare glass. ‘Look at me, sweet.’

  How do I open my eyes? Alyson wondered, her body sunk in an intoxicating wonder. Then she gasped, her eyes flying open as Guillelm fondled her bare bottom. He smiled at her, a certain tension in his eyes.

  ‘There is more,’ he said, rolling her closer to him, kissing her again, stroking her naked form from the top of her spine down to her calves.