A Knight's Vow Read online

  “I must give the maids some gift on the morrow,” he said with a smile.

  Alyson nodded. For her the room was superficially changed, the dark aged dresser and sagging bed gone, the flags made warm and human with rugs, but shadows remained. She was glad of the flowers. She was glad, but also wary of Guillelm. Wondering which of them would make the next move, and too shy to approach the great bed, with its crisp linen sheets, she knelt on the sheepskin to spare her aching feet. “Thank you,” she said, bowing her head as a sign of respect.

  “No!” the cry broke from Guillelm. “You never kneel to me! I am not-“

  He broke off, but Alyson knew what he was about to say. I am not my father:

  “Guillelm, it is all right.” She looked up at his tall strong form and heard herself say, “I trust you. How could I not? You saved my life.”

  “Then why do you wear that?”

  Alyson followed his pointing finger and lifted her hand, touching the golden diadem on her head. “What is wrong?” she asked. “I was told this was an heirloom, that you would be pleased if I wore it.” Alyson debated and then told the truth. “Fulk gave it to me”

  Fulk. His own man had done this. Guillelm could scarcely believe it, but Alyson was still talking, apologizing.

  “I am sorry if I have done anything amiss, dragon. Many at Hardspen told my nurse the story of the diadem: how it brings good fortune”

  “So people believe, but they do not know the whole.”

  Guillelm strode to the bed and sat down, sinking into the soft mattress and wishing for an instant that it was quicksand and that he could bury his duplicitous seneschal up to his neck in it. Fulk’s cunning appalled him, but Alyson deserved better: better from Fulk and far better from him.

  “Come, we are bound in love. Come sit here and I will explain.” He patted the bed.

  He still looked fierce but no longer with her. Alyson dragged the diadem off her head, ready to throw it into the furthest corner. Why had she even tried to trust Fulk?

  Bound in love. Guillelm had used those words. Feeling as if a great light shone within her, Alyson scrambled over to the bed, missing her footing once. It did not matter. Guillelm took her hand and they sat side by side, very companionable.

  He put an arm about her shoulder. “Comfortable?” he asked softly.

  She nodded, and then, seeing his eyes darken, said quickly, “You do not need to tell me if it gives you pain.”

  “No, it is best you know.”

  Guillelm took a deep breath. Years later the memory was raw; he hated to pick at it.

  “As I am sure you have been told, the diadem was my mother’s. It was part of her dowry and had been in her family for generations.”

  He smiled. “I remember her wearing it during our Christmas feasts. Her hair was brown, then, not so fine or black as yours, but the gold looked well against it. In her best gown and jewels, my mother was as noble as any queen.

  “She died when I was twelve. I was living in the north then, as squire to the husband of my sister, Juliana. I was too late to see her before she died; there were no farewells between us”

  Alyson nodded, tears standing in her wide eyes, and Guillelm knew she was thinking of his loss, and of the death of her own mother. He hated to hurt her so, but he knew he had to speak on.

  “A month after my mother was buried, my father had me return to Hardspen” He felt his mouth twist downward; even the thought was bitter and in his mouth the words seemed to taste like vinegar. “Lord Robert claimed he could not live without me, that he was lost, missing his wife and his heir. So I was returned for his need, like an extra blanket, only to discover that another lady had taken my mother’s place.”

  He could tell he had shocked Alyson. Her very stillness gave her away.

  “You are surprised-so was I! The first evening I served at my father’s table, as squire, as I had done at Juliana’s, I found myself handing wine to a woman sitting in my mother’s place, dressed in my mother’s gown and with my mother’s diadem upon her blond head.

  “She was a merchant’s daughter, I discovered. Her name was Margery. She was a plump, cheerful girl, closer to my age than my father’s, and trusting as a puppy. Lord Robert doted on her. I did not. I considered her presence, so soon and so openly after my mother’s death, an insult to her memory.

  “Lord Robert and I quarreled. I kept my temper-which was a hard thing to do! until I could get him alone and then I laid into him.”

  It gave Guillelm no pleasure to admit this, nor to recall the sweating fear in his father’s face when he had swung him against the staircase wall. Even at twelve he had been a strapping lad and anger had given him more strength. Climbing out of the great hall with his father he had not been able to wait until they reached Lord Robert’s chamber before he spoke out. He had pinned Lord Robert on those stairs and raged against him.

  “I threatened to throw him off the battlements. Lord Robert pleaded and blustered; much was said between us on both sides that should never be said. I stormed out and rode all night and when I returned Margery was gone. The diadem was gone, too; Lord Robert told me that it had been put away with the rest of my mother’s things. Certainly I had no wish to see it. I did not ask what he had done with it. We never spoke of it again.”

  Guillelm lifted the diadem from Alyson’s lap. “None of the servants knew the whole story. I told Fulk many years ago, when I was laid up with fever and talking all kinds of nonsense. He swore then that he would not mention it.”

  “He did not,” Alyson said, “not really.”

  They sat a moment in quiet, Alyson considering what he had told her. Guillelm’s distance from his father, the way he often called him Lord Robert, was now explained. But to lose his mother at twelve! That was terrible, just on the edge of manhood, when youths tended to revere their mothers.

  “How did she die?” she asked softly.

  “In childbirth. Twins. Two girls. They died the following day.” Guillelm turned stricken eyes on her. “I am so sorry, Alyson.”

  For him to blame himself was almost too much. She was torn between boxing his ears for being so foolish and gathering him to her. She compromised by stretching up and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

  “It is not your fault,” she said.

  Yes, thought Guillelm, it was, for being envious of his father and suspicious of Alyson and for trusting the fellowship of old crusaders too much. He had known Fulk disliked Alyson-why had he not seen how deep that dislike ran? Between Fulk’s animosity and his own jealousy he had almost spoiled their wedding night.

  “I am sorry,” he said again, kissing her forehead in return.

  “Are we echoes?” she asked, but she was smiling, warm and pliant as he drew her onto his lap.

  I care for her so much, he thought. She deserved so much. He longed to protect her, pamper her, make her laugh, share his past, present and future with her. A child with her warm, clever eyes. A daughter with her hair, her wild kindness and courage … “She would be a little heartbreaker,” he murmured. He was torn between the desire to kneel at her feet and pour out to Alyson how much he cared for her and an earthier need.

  “I am truly sorry about Fulk,” he said.

  Guillelm looked startled as he spoke, as if he had been about to say something utterly different and was overtaken by surprise at his own words. His face had been so tender before, so ardent, that Alyson had almost framed the answer, “And I love you,” but now his statement fell on her like a dash of cold water. She who had only just learned to swim floundered.

  “Is there wine?” she asked brightly, wondering if she should climb off his knee and look for some. In some households, she knew that weddings ended in a very public bedding, and much as she was grateful to Guillelm for sparing her that ordeal, she was not quite sure how to behave. She remembered from the few female friends she had-before Lord Robert had forbidden her to meet them-that brides were often put to bed by a gaggle of maids and womenfolk and the grooms bro
ught to them. Guillelm had said no to that, too, overriding Gytha’s mild protest that her lady would need her hair loosened and brushed by saying, “I will do it,” in a way that brooked no argument. At the time, Alyson had been flattered and excited; now, truly alone with Guillelm for the whole night and for many nights to come, she was almost uneasy.

  Heloise. Her blond rival. A devil, according to Fulk. A beauty so lethal that she must not even be spoken of, according to Sir Tom. More and more she regretted her promise to Sir Tom that she would not question Guillelm directly; such matters were better out in the open between them. Instead she had brooded on Heloise until the woman was almost supernatural in her mind an adversary and a memory she could never defeat.

  I am not blond. I am not tall or elegant or beautiful. Was Guillelm comparing me to Heloise? Was he disappointed? Was that why he had not wanted a public bedding?

  He has not seen me yet, not really, she thought, and renewed panic stampeded in her mind. Her reason told her that Guillelm cared for her, that he had married her, that he spoke of her with the pride of possession: You are mine now But was it only possession? Perhaps with men it was.

  A tiny shake of her hand returned Alyson to herself.

  “There is a flagon and cups on top of the flat chest,” Guillelm said indulgently, “as I told you several moments ago, before you sank into that serious-looking reverie of yours. What on earth were you thinking? No, wait-” he added, as she tried to push herself off his knees. “With your distracted state, I think I should pour the wine.”

  With maddening ease and with her still sunk in his lap, he rose from the bed, retrieved the flagon and cups and settled back against the headboard in a single flowing movement.

  “Drink,” he said, holding a brimming vessel to her lips.

  She did so to please him, although malmsey was a wine she disliked. Its cloying sweetness stung in her nose, reminding her too much of her own recent past.

  Fearful of looking into Guillelm’s eyes lest he see her old fears and believe himself responsible for them, she turned her head, seeking something more to praise.

  Then she saw it. The charm meant for her, for her protection, tucked under her pillow A charm midwives would give women in childbirth, to keep them safe. Gytha must have left it.

  She must truly fearI will be like my mother and Guillelm’s mother and die in childbirth. Leaning away from Guillelm’s sheltering arm, ignoring his, “What?” Alyson drew the charm out of its hiding place.

  It was a tiny purse, richly embroidered, containing a small jasper, the stone that gave protection to pregnant women.

  “A pretty device,” Guillelm remarked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Yes,” murmured Alyson, glad he understood no more. The charm was kindly given but what was the use? Her own mother had possessed a necklace of jasper and yet she had died.

  She shuddered, unable to deny or suppress the memories that now assailed her with their terrible renewing freshness: her mother’s terrified screams, her sister’s crying. The blood. Tilda had accused her of not knowing about the blood, but she had. She had seen her mother’s birthing sheets. She shivered a second time.

  Guillelm sensed her withdrawal and a great sorrow welled in him. Even with the wine, even with him trying to be gentle, patient, it was no use. Heloise had been right: He was cursed in his relations with women. Alyson was like all the rest, afraid of him, revolted by his size.

  Swiftly, before his baser instincts overwhelmed him and he did something he would regret for the rest of his days, Guillelm gently put his new bride from him, laying her down on the bed.

  “I will leave you. Get into bed, Alyson. I will come later.”

  “When, my lord?”

  Her huge eyes tore at him.

  “Later!” He stormed from the chamber, and Alyson heard his dreadful vow, wrested from him in darkest despair, when he dreaded even to look at her lest he see the disgust in her face, “We may share the same bed, but we shall never lie together in love, madam, so put all such horror from you now. I will come back later. Later-“

  His voice echoed on the stairs and then he was gone.

  Guillelm did not return that night. Alyson had no idea where he slept. She did not sleep at all and in the morning when she rose she felt a thousand years old.

  Gytha, bustling in with congratulations, took one look at her and shooed the other maids out.

  “Not all wedding nights are smooth,” she observed when they were alone.

  Alyson did not want to admit that hers had been a disaster, although she knew that tongues would be wagging soon enough. Someone no doubt would have heard Guillelm on the stairs and be eager to tell.

  Mortified, Alyson wanted to dress in her oldest clothes, spend the day out in the lean-to with her potions, but she knew that was impossible.

  “You will win him back, my bird.” Gytha smoothed out the already smooth pillows. “There is a wisewoman I know near Olverton Minor, within sight of your father’s manor. She lives in the woods there, close to the road between Olverton Minor and Setton Minor, almost a recluse except for her family, but Eva is a very experienced lady in all areas of marriage and menfolk.”

  Alyson shook her head. “No more charms or potions, Gytha,” she said. “It must be love and trust, or nothing.”

  She flung back the sheets and rose, a new energy and will pounding through her. I will lie with Guillelm, she vowed to herself, astonished at her own brazenness, but determined nonetheless, and on my own terms. Heloise may have made him chary of women and of himself but with me he will be healed and whole.

  She would save their marriage. She would seduce him back.

  Chapter I I

  “I heard about your vow.”

  Guillelm did not pause in his stoking of the bathhouse fire. He had sent the other men and servants out, but Fulk had entered as if he had a perfect right to be there.

  “Do you not think it a sign from God?” Fulk continued in that pious, smug way of his. How had I not noticed this aspect of him before? Guillelm thought, depressed anew. In everything it seemed he was a poor judge, willfully blind. The only skill he appeared to have was in killing.

  “Yes, it is a sign of my own inadequacy. Boil, damn you,” he added under his breath to the already steaming tub of water. He longed to be clean, to feel clean. “I want no one here with me now,” he growled. He had not forgotten or forgiven Fulk over the man’s mean trick with his wife’s diadem.

  His wife what a reckless dream that had been! Heloise was right: No woman wanted him.

  “Go!” he snarled, and Fulk paled and went, backing out rapidly and skidding down the bathhouse steps.

  Guillelm hurled more logs into the fire. Presently he heard the door creak and bawled, “Out!” without turning round.

  “Where shall I put the towels?” asked an achingly familiar voice.

  He spun round and there she was, Alyson, his wife. Even as he gawked at her, longing to beg her forgiveness, to snatch her into his arms, to drag her with him into the steaming bath and frolic there until the water turned cold, his tongue felt nailed to the roof of his mouth. What could he say? He had failed her so badly.

  She smiled and he was smitten afresh, more stunned than he had been that time in Outremer, when a stone from a sling had struck him on the visor of his helmet and he had almost blacked out. There was no fear of his losing consciousness now, but certainly she mazed his wits.

  “I shall put them here, shall I, my lord?”

  Nimbly, she arranged her armful of towels by the side of the great tub, scattering something on the lapping water that instantly perfumed the bathhouse.

  “An old remedy, lavender,” she explained, lifting her skirts to tread lightly over the flags toward him. “I have spearmint, too, for our teeth and breath”

  “Our teeth?”

  She did not answer, merely passed straight by him, close enough for him to feel the swish of her robe against his legs, and lit two beeswax candles from the torch. She p
laced these on the stone shelf beside the tub, where most bathers put their trinkets, or goblets of wine.

  “I find that bathhouses are always a little gloomy, even in summer,” she remarked. “Do you not think the candles add cheer?”

  They did, and they put a glow into Alyson’s face, warm shadows on the vaulted stone roof of the bathhouse and a flickering play of lights on the water. They added little light, if truth be told, but something else instead, a sense of being in a dream.

  Guillelm cleared his throat. “You have done this before?”

  She divined his real question at once and answered with the devastating directness of an armored knight on a full-tilt charge. “With your father? No. Indeed no one, unless you count girlish fancies.” She looked directly at him, her stormcolored eyes darker than the rarest sapphires. “I have imagined doing this with you, dragon”

  He was astonished that she could make him color up, amazed at her words. She seemed shaken herself, for she laughed, adding, “Perhaps my early morning cup of sweet white wine was a mistake, but I needed something.”

  She lifted her heavy plait of hair away from the back of her neck, draping it over her left shoulder while her fingers picked at the side lacings of her gown.

  “Not to approach you, my lord,” she went on, tugging off her belt and keys, “I need no wine-inspired courage for that, but in order to free my own tongue-yes” She let the leather belt drop onto the flags and began to slide her arms from her wide sleeves.

  In the half-light of the bathhouse he had not noticed the color or style of her dress but now he was all attention. “Alyson, for pity’s sake-” he managed to grind out, as she deftly shimmered out of her gown and hung it over one of the lower roof beams.

  “A maid could help you bathe, if you prefer, my lord.”