Love and Chivalry: Four Medieval Historical Romances Read online

  ‘I am truly sorry for your loss.’

  Alyson whirled about, the horn lantern clutched protectively in front of her. ‘You startled me!’ He had come up very close behind her, his feet silent on the stone flags. ‘I am sorry for your loss, also,’ she said quickly, meaning the words no less because she gabbled them.

  ‘I know. I could see that from the moment I saw you again, on the stairs.’ His face, as beautiful to Alyson in the beams of the lantern as the carving of the stone angels in their local church, was earnest. ‘You always did feel for others.’

  For an instant he seemed on the verge of saying more, then he gave a bark of laughter. ‘Steady!’ He caught the lamp as it dipped in her hands, the glowing light bouncing over the sooty beams and rafters. ‘Mother of God, you are not safe with that. You wield it like a weapon.’ He lifted the lantern from her trembling fingers and placed it on the nearest table.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, watching her closely under thick blond eyebrows. His deep brown eyes seemed to darken even more. ‘Is it perhaps the sickness that has laid the rest of this place low?’

  Before Alyson could move or speak, he tucked his cloak closer about her. ‘Do you wish me to—?’

  ‘No!’ Alyson burst out, afraid that he might offer to carry her again. She did not deserve his concern and she was so tired it would be so very easy to fall asleep in his arms. Their every touch and embrace made it that much harder for her to tell him what she must, for it suggested a growing closeness that would be destroyed soon enough. Let me keep my pride and not embarrass Guillelm with my unwanted feelings for him, she thought.

  ‘No one in this castle has been taken ill with the sweating fever for the last three days: the worst of that is over,’ she said, trying to sound lively and confident. Her face, tense with grief, weariness and now trying to mask her response to the tall, handsome man standing less than a hand-stretch away from her, ached as she forced a brittle smile. ‘With the help of the blessed Virgin we have come through,’ she said.

  The worst of the sickness might be past, thought Guillelm, but Alyson looked close to breaking point. He wanted to lift all care from her but knew her stubborn pride of old. He was also profoundly aware of how greatly they had both changed. When he left for the Holy Land he was a boy and she no more than a girl. Now he was a man and she was very much a woman. Their relationship had changed forever. A few moments earlier he had been about to mention their day in the forest, where she had first teasingly called him ‘Dragon’, a title he had since taken as a battle-name for himself and a rallying cry for his men. He longed to thank her again for saving his life, but he had decided against it in case such old history embarrassed her.

  Yet he liked the grown-up Alyson very much. Perhaps at last the time had come when he could woo her properly —when he had dealt with the Fleming and his over-ambitious neighbour, and when Alyson’s grief at her father’s untimely death had faded a little. Perhaps with Alyson and her fearlessness he would prove the terrible predictions by Heloise and his elder sister wrong.

  For now, to spare her more pain, he asked nothing else about the death of his father. Privately he was relieved that Lord Robert had granted Alyson and her people sanctuary: he knew from bitter personal experience that his father was not usually so charitable. There had normally been a price to be paid for help from the master of Hardspen.

  Sending up a sad, regretful prayer for his father, with whom he had never been truly close, Guillelm considered more basic matters. Battles and men-at-arms were things he understood and he turned to them almost with relish as problems he could overcome. Were it not for the danger to others he could almost look forward to the morning.

  ‘My father held this castle and lands as a vassal of King Henry. When the old king died, did he swear fealty to Henry’s daughter, the Empress Maud?’

  ‘He did—as did many others who are now foresworn, forsaking the Empress for King Stephen, simply because Maud is a woman.’

  Hearing her indignant speech, Guillelm applauded her loyalty but not her sense. ‘England is a hard realm to rule. It needs a man,’ he said.

  Really he was her father all over again, thought Alyson, exasperated for the first time with the adult Guillelm. She had expected him to have shown more vision. ‘So Stephen demonstrates his kingship by stirring up civil war throughout the country?’ she demanded scornfully. ’Setting neighbour against neighbour, friend against friend—those for Stephen against those for Maud? Do you know King Stephen is even now besieging Castle Carey, less than thirty leagues from here?’

  The sight of her roused struck Guillelm with a low bolt of pleasure deep in the pit of his stomach. Her eyes glittered as she spoke and her natural high colour was back, stung into her cheeks and lips by indignation. Her earlier weariness flung off, she paced the length of the kitchen floor, his cloak snapping at her heels. She was so pretty that for an instant he was tempted to make her angrier than ever, but answered mildly, ‘And do Étienne the Bold and Walter of Enford now claim they are “acquiring” Hardspen as loyal followers of Stephen? That they will wrest it from Maud’s men and hold it for the king?’

  ‘Something very like,’ muttered Alyson, her light footfalls making an interesting counter-rhythm with the falling rain outside. She stopped abruptly and turned to him, lifting her head. The determined, lost look on her face reminded Guillelm of men he had seen in battle, casting themselves into the thick of the fray when all hope of victory was lost. It chilled him.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked softly.

  ‘The day Walter and his troops appeared, I put him and the Fleming off by begging their leave for us to bury and mourn your father with all due honours,’ she said, twisting the edge of his cloak between her fingers until she clearly realized what she was doing and tucked her hands out of sight. ‘They left us in peace for three days after that.’

  ‘Ingenious and not so far from the truth,’ Guillelm remarked, wondering at her terms—I put him and the Fleming off —why her? Why not one of the men or, God forbid, the as yet unseen widow of Hardspen castle? Guillelm shrugged off the last thought. Although the widow, if real, was one of those he must see tonight, he was beginning to seriously doubt the existence of such a female. ‘And then?’ he prompted.

  Alyson closed her eyes a moment, then opened them. ‘I had the men daub a mixture of mud and pig’s blood on their faces and hands and let it dry so that it scaled. I myself appeared on the battlements with my face veiled. I told the herald that the fever, which still raged within the castle, had left us this way. Walter of Enford is very particular in regard to his person,’ she added apologetically. ‘I hoped our play of blistered faces might dissuade him from too hasty an attack. We had sent messages to the Empress by then. With every hour that passed, we hoped for a relieving force to come to our aid.’

  ‘I see.’ The Walter of Enford he remembered had been as vain and strutting as an Eastern peacock, Guillelm thought, his lips itching to laugh aloud at Alyson‘s clever deception. ‘And how long did your device win you?’

  ‘Another day.’ She sighed and resumed her pacing. ‘In truth, there was real sickness still within the bailey and we were sorely pressed.’

  ‘Of that I have no doubt,’ remarked Guillelm, quiet and serious again. ‘Did my father’s steward die during that time?’

  ‘He did—as did many of his people, which is why my poor Sericus, who is less than nimble, is now seneschal. There was no other left but Sericus with the necessary experience and who could also be spared from possible fighting duty.’ She was still and staring at the floor again, her earlier brightness dimmed. ‘All my tending and potions —I could not save them.’

  It pained Guillelm that she seemed ashamed. ‘You did all that man or woman could. Do not reproach yourself.’

  Still she would not look at him. The men follow her orders, he thought. Why? Because she has wit and beauty? Those alone, although excellent, would surely not be sufficient inducements for grizzled veterans to obey
her, even with the castle reeling with sickness. A dark suspicion bloomed in his mind, one he swiftly ignored.

  ‘So the herald of Walter and Étienne returned the following day,’ he went on, ‘and presumably he was no longer prepared to wait on any more delays. What reply did you give when Walter and the Fleming demanded that Hardspen should now be held as a castle of King Stephen’s? Did you agree and hold them off with your answer?’

  ‘No!’ Her eyes flashed pride. ‘What do you take me for? Lord Robert held Hardspen for the Empress. Should I then deny his loyalty and cynically change sides?’

  ‘Men have done such things before.’

  ‘Then men are wrong! Oh, I know you think me a child,’ she went on, jerking her head up to face Guillelm, ‘but I am one and twenty, two years older than you were when you travelled to Outremer. I have seen the world.’

  Guillelm whistled one soft low note to himself, a habit when greatly touched and determined not to show it. With her avowal, Alyson reminded him of himself as a youth, idealistic and ardent, but matters did not ring true here.

  ‘Events did not fall out that way?’ he asked in seeming innocence.

  ‘No! No.’ She swallowed and even in the dim light of the horn lantern he could see the beginnings of a blush.

  ‘There were two heralds,’ she admitted guardedly. ‘One from each commander, coming at different times. I —I put them both off by saying I needed proper due time to consider their offers, but they have grown impatient.’

  ‘They are not alone in that,’ said Guillelm warningly. She was still not telling all she knew, and time was passing.

  ‘I am supposed to give my answers tomorrow,’ Alyson said despairingly. ‘Today,’ she added, glancing at the closed kitchen shutters, through which the grey wet night was beginning to lighten.

  Again she lapsed into silence. Listening to her quickened breathing and the unearthly call of a nightjar in the pounding rain, Guillelm was struck again by the quiet of the castle: a quiet filled with tension and dread. Striving for the ordinary, he placed the scrap of cheese he had found in one of the earthen crocks onto the table and, in an act of deliberate trust, offered Alyson the eating knife from his belt.

  ‘Let us eat. You cut and I will choose my portion.’ They had done this many times in the past.’

  ‘You remembered,’ she said softly, taking the knife from him and halving the cheese with a swift deftness he also remembered. A smile tugged briefly at her lips. ‘And you also found food.’

  ‘As I always do.’ Guillelm took the smaller half of cheese, biting into its dry saltiness. It seemed all rind, but Alyson, he noticed, ate her portion with care, as if telling herself to be slow. She was too thin, he thought with pity.

  As she returned him his knife, hilt first, he asked lightly, ’Those two commanders outside the gates asked for your hand in marriage, did they not? That was their final offer: a wedding or a siege. And who will you choose? Walter or Étienne?’

  ‘Neither, for neither pleases me, nor the rest of the people in Hardspen, which is why we have been preparing for a siege after I tell them both no, and the worst—’ She broke off. ’You tricked me into answering! Because I let my guard down when we shared food!’

  ‘I am an experienced campaigner with quite as many ruses as you seem to have,’ Guillelm replied, amused afresh by her ready indignation and pleased and relieved by her refusal of both men. He pulled an empty barrel out of the shadows and sat down on it amongst the spits of the cold and dusty fireplace. Now, with his face level with hers and looking closely into her eyes, he said, ‘Sir Walter and the Flemish mercenary each offered you marriage. I tell you frankly, Alyson, that I am wondering why they should do this—unless as a means to secure the castle and its lands.’

  Under straight and level black brows she met his look boldly. ‘I have my own lands.’

  ‘Yes, and I remember Sir Henry’s manor as a well maintained place with good farmland. But you are at Hardspen and the men here appear to be following your orders. Why is that? Tell me, please. Tell me the truth.’

  Faced with his direct appeal, Alyson knew she must speak. Hoping he would understand her near-betrothal as, marvellously, he had understood and sympathized with the rest of what she had done, she caught up her courage. ‘Your father, Lord Robert, graciously—’

  ‘Are the rumours true?’ he interrupted suddenly. ‘That somewhere in this keep there is a new mistress? No doubt she is very comfortable and idle in her solar out of the rain and weather as she counts the gold of her widow’s dues. I will need to pay my respects soon to the grieving chatelaine.’

  His cynicism shook her and she blurted out, ‘But I am Lord Robert’s intended! Your father asked me to marry him and I accepted! We were to be betrothed. Does that make me mercenary?’

  Guillelm folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘My condolences on your recent loss, my lady,’ he said, without looking quite at her, his voice as flat as the water on a millpond. ‘Had you told me this earlier, I would have shown you the honour that you deserve.’

  ‘I was going to tell you, as soon as I could—’

  Guillelm rose to his feet and stepped back. ‘You seemed in little haste to do so. Were you hoping to gull me, too, my lady?’

  His formality hurt Alyson but she was determined to defend herself. ‘I have told you now,’ she said, shrugging off his cloak—if he thought her foul, then she should not wear or touch anything of his. ‘My father made the match with yours.’

  ‘And you agreed.’

  ‘Yes.’ After much anxious pleading and more from her father. In the worsening turmoil of the growing civil war Sir Henry had wanted a strong ally and so had offered Alyson’s hand to Lord Robert. Failing to bend her to his wishes by the threat of violence or semi-starvation, Sir Henry had painted a terrible picture of what would happen to the people if marauders were allowed to roam unchecked over their land and in the end, Alyson could not bear the thought of their suffering. ‘I agreed, but asked that our betrothal might be held off, at least until my older sister was safely settled,’ she whispered, ashamed afresh that she had ever given way.

  It was bad enough to hear this, Guillelm thought, but to have Alyson calmly confess that she had consented to a union with his father was another blow. Upon leaving for Outremer he had never spoken of his boyish hopes of marriage to Alyson, never entreated her in any way to wait for him, but now in a fit of possessive temper he found himself asking, ‘How long were you betrothed to my father?’

  ‘We were never formally plighted… it was an understanding, for the last five months. There had been no news of you from Outremer for three years.’ She had mourned him as dead, had finally given way to her father’s bullying and wishes because she thought Guillelm was dead, but now Alyson would not admit that and expose herself to more of his cold mockery.

  ‘And before that you had been plighted to no others?’

  Did he really think her so easy in her affections? Turning from him towards the kitchen door, Alyson replied coolly, ‘Until my father proposed the match, I had given serious thought to joining the church. Indeed, my older sister Matilda had a true vocation and she has joined the sisters at the small convent of Saint Foy.’

  Alyson sighed, thinking of Tilda, whom she had not seen for five months. Tilda had been desperate to join the nuns but Alyson knew that without the generous dowry their father had given to the convent, her shy and withdrawn elder sister would have fared far less well—the money, grants of land and jewels had given Tilda a high status at Saint Foy‘s, and much-needed protection. Here had been another pressing reason for Alyson herself to accept Lord Robert’s suit, since her own father could not afford two such dowries and Guillelm’s father had waved the whole matter aside. ‘Alyson will give me more sons,’ Lord Robert had said.

  Hearing her sigh, Guillelm dismissed his earlier ideas of wooing Alyson to be his wife. It was hopeless—she wanted to enter the church, as Sir Henry had warned him all those years ago. But she agreed t
o be my father’s bride, even if she was not actually betrothed to him, he thought, and a fresh blaze of anger and jealousy ran through him.

  ‘So you have the choice of two proposals,’ he remarked through clenched teeth. ’I offer you a third, my lady. Hardspen is mine and all who dwell within its bounds. I can and will defend it against all comers and yet it is clear to me that you have ingratiated yourself with the people here.’

  ‘Ingra… How dare you? I have done no such thing!’

  He held up a hand and overrode her exclamation of protest. ‘It will be easier for me if you remain as chatelaine, not as Lord Robert’s intended betrothed or widow but as my wife. You say you were never formally plighted, so there will be no consanguinity, or spiritual affinity. The priest will marry us.’ He spoke as if uttering a threat.

  ‘Forgive me if I do not fall to my knees as I offer you my hand in marriage,’ he went on, as Alyson stood with her back to the kitchen door, scarcely believing what she was hearing, ‘But the morning is almost on us and I must return to my men outside the castle. Before I go, I would have your answer. Will you be my wife? What do you say?’

  Chapter 3

  ‘I must be mad,’ Alyson said to herself, stalking to and fro on the battlements at noon the following day. ‘Why did I agree to anything last night? Why did I allow him to take over?’

  In truth she had been given no choice. Leading the way from the kitchen and returning to the keep with her hurrying to keep pace with his long-legged stride, Guillelm instantly began to give orders. When Sericus and a few others looked to her, Guillelm said bluntly, ‘This lady is soon to be my betrothed and she agrees with me.’