A Knight's Vow Read online

  Had Guillelm spoken to her servants already, given them orders? Alyson put down the spark of anger that bloomed within her; if he had there was little she could do about it. But no, it seemed she had done her soon-to-be-betrothed an injustice-Gytha chattered on, oblivious to her mistress’s entrance.

  “At last I will robe my lady as she deserves! The new lord will surely not be as wretched and miserly as the old “

  Alyson gave a gentle warning cough and Gytha swung round, giving her former charge a gap-toothed smile.

  “There you are, my bird! Come, help me; my eyes cannot see so well these days and I do not want this material to tear.”

  Crouching, Alyson did as she was bid and together she and Gytha lifted out two gowns, spreading them on top of a second, flat-topped chest.

  “You remember them,” Gytha remarked quietly, as Alyson trailed a fingertip over the flowing skirts.

  Alyson nodded. “Tilda never wore these,” she said, and at once her head was full of memories for her troubled elder sister. She missed Tilda-her slow smile, the shy way she ducked her head before answering a question, her kindness. When they were small, she and Tilda had slept together; Alyson still missed her sister’s warmth and scent.

  “The convent was the best place for her,” Gytha said softly, “with her … unease around men”

  Terror of men was the more accurate, Alyson reflected bleakly, recalling how Tilda had shrunk back even from their father. Given their mother’s tragic history, Alyson understood it but it made her acceptance of Tilda’s final choice no easier. She had relinquished the world gladly, entering the closed order of nuns seemingly without a thought for those she was leaving behind.

  She is safe in a holy place and you should be pleased for her, Alyson told herself sternly, while she shook her head violently at Gytha’s suggestion that she try on the two gowns.

  “Your sister would be happy if you wore them,” her nurse coaxed, “and you surely cannot grace your betrothal ceremony in that ghastly, plain attire,” she went on, tugging on Alyson’s homespun for emphasis. “Your hair is so pretty and that dull veil does nothing for it, and yet I have seen how the new lord looks at your raven locks.”

  “Raven!” Alyson scoffed, giving herself away when she asked, “Guillelm has noticed, you say?”

  Her red-cheeked nurse gave her a knowing glance. “Your hair will be prettier still when it is washed. I saw that your lord has set some of his men to clearing out and preparing the bathhouse. Do you think you will bathe each other tomorrow? No?” Gytha chuckled at Alyson’s scalding blush. “Perhaps later, when you are truly married.”

  If only to silence her nurse, Alyson swooped hastily on the nearest gown, of rich blue wool, hemmed with vermilion. Fumbling with the ties of her rough gown, she muttered, “I will wear this today and the other tomorrow.” The green-blue of that gown would look well against Guillelm’s bright golden coloring.

  “A good choice, my lady,” her nurse soothed. “It shows off the color of your eyes, and I have found a gold belt that Lord Robert did not know you had, else no doubt he would have taken that from you, as well as your other jewels-“

  “Gytha!”

  “These things should be admitted, my lady.” Her voice faded and she busied herself with helping Alyson unpin her veil.

  Alyson said nothing. At tomorrow’s ceremony she would have no family due to circumstances but no female friends either, because of Lord Robert. His grasping jealousy had made it impossible for her to keep any friends.

  Almost as an echo to her thought, Gytha said, “There will be few folk to attend your betrothal, not with your lord so lately returned from Outremer and knowing so few nobles hereabouts. I cannot remember if he has a large family, but even if he has, they will not be able to come at such short notice.”

  “No,” Alyson said faintly, blushing afresh as she now considered the haste of their match. “Guillelm has few close kindred; no brothers or cousins. His only sister is married and settled far off, somewhere in the north”

  “No need to catch your breath, my bird; I’ve done the lacing up as tight as it will go ” Gytha stood with her head on one side and then clapped her hands. “We need a fresh veil.”

  “The old will have to do for today,” Alyson said hastily, recollecting the many tasks she had yet to do and oversee. “Quickly, Gytha! Help me reorder my hair a little.”

  “All done,” said her nurse a few moments later, catching Alyson’s arm before she sped from the chamber. “Look at yourself. You have not taken one peep at your reflection.” She pointed to the deep basin standing on a low table close to the bed washing water left from the morning, Alyson recollected guiltily. With most of the maidservants in the castle still recovering from the sweating sickness it had become her habit to empty the basin herself. Now, however, at Gytha’s insistent prodding she leaned over the bowl, seeing a murky, blue-gowned stranger.

  “My thanks,” she said, and hurried off.

  Her mind once more on strewing herbs for the great hall, Alyson found herself drawn to the bailey. “I have to find my broom,” she murmured, although that was only part of the truth. If she was honest, she was also hoping to see Guillelm and that he would see her.

  With his height and breadth and dazzling hair she spotted him at once, the sight quickening her breathing and already hurrying steps. Working in the increasing warmth of the sun, he had stripped his brown wool mantle down to his waist, revealing a linen undershirt so fine as to be almost transparent. She could see the hard, sinewy contours of his back, the mat of chest hair that she suddenly longed to touch, teasingly running her fingers through those fine gold strands while tracing the pattern of his muscles …

  Blushing, Alyson shook herself and tried to concentrate on what Guillelm was doing. He was dismantling the stranded cart with the shattered axle, while at the same time shouting orders to his men who were distributing bread and ale to the tented poor who had crowded for shelter within the bailey. As he roared out an incomprehensible mixture of French, Arabic and English to his seasoned followers, he was hammering at the cart-even as Alyson watched, he dropped the hammer and lifted the entire planked floor of the cart free of the broken axle, hefting it into the waiting, eager arms of two men whom she recognized as farriers from one of Hardspen’s nearby hamlets.

  “That should serve as a new door for your mother’s house,” Guillelm called, while the farriers braced themselves to receive their gift. They were panting with effort, but Guillelm was scarcely out of breath. Straightening, he surveyed the milling crowds within the bailey, picking Alyson out at once. His dark eyes gleamed and he beckoned.

  “Still no attendants with you, I see,” he remarked, as she approached.

  “The sickness, my lord,” she began, aggrieved that he should fault her for something she could not help.

  He grinned, as if sensing her irritation. “Peace, brighteyes,” he said, giving Alyson the nickname he had coined for her years earlier, when he had been a gangling, big-jointed youth. “Have you seen a saw anywhere close?”

  Silently, Alyson deftly scooped up a saw from beneath the cart’s wheels and held it out.

  “My thanks” Taking the tool, his fingers brushed against hers, their brief touch deepening the luster in his eyes, as he added, in a voice only she could hear, “The gown is fine.”

  Was that a stain of color in his tanned face? Alyson scarcely dared hope that it was; if he was shy of her that was worth more than polished compliments, although for him to say so little

  “You approve, my lord?” Heartened by the fact he was no longer angry with her, she twirled on the spot for him.

  “Greatly.” His lips quivered. “If the Empress Maud could see you now, doubtless she would be envious. I have sent word to her this morning of our betrothal.”

  As a fact, Alyson noted, and not in any way to ask Maud’s permission. She nodded and recollected her manners. “Thank you for sharing your men’s rations with my people.”

  Guillelm
inclined his head. “My people, also,” he observed, regarding the ordered handing out of foodstuffs for a moment before saying, “Food is as good a way as any to ensure loyalty.”

  “Is that your only reason?” Alyson burst out, realizing by Guillelm’s expression that he was teasing. “You tricked me!”

  “Only to check if you still wrinkled your nose when you do not approve-which you do”

  “And your eyebrows still meet when you frown,” Alyson replied, deliberately baiting. “You are doing it now!”

  “Enough of your pretty insolence, my girl. I have work to do”

  “Yes, and I have a great many fresh strewing herbs to collect and a great hall to make ready and one of the cooks to find, but you only say that because you have lost the argument,” Alyson rejoined, stepping back swiftly in a swirl of skirts.

  She had been taunting a little but did not expect the speed or power of his reactions: Guillelm dropped the saw and snatched her into his arms, jerking her right off her feet. “Was that a challenge, my lady?”

  “Do you see my gauge on the ground?” Alyson’s heart was thundering in her chest but not from fear. It was so tempting to rest her head in the crook of his arm, or perhaps tease even more and sting him into kissing her. She could feel his heat and strength, and the touch of his body against hers made her tingle all over. Truly, for all the covering his thin linen shirt gave, he could be naked, she thought, scandalized and delighted at the thought. But people were watching; it was time to remember who she was, the lady of Hardspen. “If you release me, you will be able to search for it.”

  “Not so fast” Guillelm lowered his head to hers. “Maybe you have hidden it somewhere about your person. Under that nunlike veil, perchance”

  Did he think her still a child, that she could allow such horseplay? “I must make haste to see Sericus,” she said quickly, clamping a hand on top of her veiled head.

  “You cannot do that,” he said seriously. “Your seneschal is engaged in a task for me”

  “You ordered my Sericus?”

  “Mine, too, now. As are you”

  Idly, he swung her back and forth, but Alyson refused to be pacified like a babe in arms. For an instant she could not speak, she was gagged by her own rush of temper. “You had no right!”

  “Indeed?” Abruptly, he tickled her under the arm and she automatically squirmed, withdrawing her hand, then gasping as his fingers tugged at the pins securing her headrail.

  “No!” she cried, genuinely disturbed.

  “I know it is an insult to remove a married woman’s veil, but not, I think, that of my wife-to-be,” Guillelm replied, setting her back down lightly onto her feet. “I would see your hair.”

  “But-” The gentle touch of his fingers against her forehead distracted Alyson, making her forget the rest of her protest. I am drowning in sweetness in his arms, she thought despairingly, dimly aware of the farriers staring, of a conspiracy of children pausing in their game of throwing sticks to giggle and point. “Would you make a show of me, dragon?” she whispered.

  Instantly his hand was still. “Not for all the jewels of Outremer, if it truly troubles you” He cupped her face. “But then, you were merely to be plighted to my father, were you not? You told me you had not been formally betrothed” Why not? Guillelm wondered. In his father’s place he would have been very keen to make all fast between Alyson and himself, but then that was not the important matter here. “You can wear your hair loose, like a true maiden.” As swiftly as it had come, the shine of tenderness vanished from his dark eyes and a hard, quizzical look settled over his stark features. “Or did you and my good lord Robert anticipate your wedding?”

  Never! Alyson wanted to shout, appalled at the very question. The mere thought made her shudder inside. “What do you think?” she hit back, adding, “If my father were alive, you would not say such things to me”

  Guillelm became dangerously still. “You think I would not dare?”

  Deciding that actions spoke more than words, Alyson reached up and unpinned her veil, holding it out. “I am as I was born,” she said quietly.

  A brief look of shame flickered in Guillelm’s eyes as he took the cloth from her, screwing it into a tight ball. “That is better,” he growled. “And you must admit I have a right to ask”

  “As I now have the right to ask for an apology,” Alyson replied steadily. She tried not to stare at the faint line of blond body curls that was revealed as Guillelm thrust her veil into his shirt. It ran right down to his navel … She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them as she heard him say, “I am sorry. I was wrong”

  Forgiving him at once, she raised her head to say as much and so caught the far softer, “Your hair … it is amazing.”

  She was pretty enough and provoking enough to be kissed, thought Guillelm, eager to do just that, and more. Only the fact that he was already aroused and had blundered badly with his wretched jealousy-how could he even have asked such an insulting question?-made him pause. But she was so pretty. Her new gown, the color of a summer twilight, mirrored the rich depths of her eyes and flattered the flawless rose-and-cream of her skin but did not quite do justice to her lissome figure; it could be tighter here and here, he decided, longing to run his hands over those very points. Hastily lowering his gaze, he caught a flash of red, like a teasing tongue, on the hem of her gown as she moved slightly back from him and instantly marveled at her slender feet, so tiny. “You are a wonder,” he longed to say to her, but seasoned warriors did not talk that wayif his men heard him they would think him mad.

  “Guillelm-” The new music that she made of his name made him almost miss what she was saying, but it was, as ever with Alyson, direct and pertinent. “I am sorry, too, for being angered when you mentioned Sericus .” She smiled. “My sister Tilda always said I was too hot-tempered; she taught me a convent prayer to recite when I was angry, but often in the heat of the moment I forget it. Of course you are lord here, and Sericus is your servant as well as mine, only” she spread her workworn fingers in a further, silent plea-“grant me, I beg you, a little time to become accustomed to this new order.”

  He grunted an acknowledgment, ashamed afresh at his apology, clumsy compared with hers. “How is your sister?” he asked, avoiding the thorny issue of what Sericus was actually doing for the moment.

  “Happy, I think. The spiritual and contemplative life suits her.” Alyson looked pensive. “I must admit-“

  Please do not say you envy her thought Guillelm, relieved when she merely went on, “I would dearly like to see her again.”

  “That is easily arranged,” Guillelm said quickly, feeling his heart steadying in his chest. This was folly; he had to keep a tight rein on his emotions or this beguiling ragtag of a wench would wind him like a ribbon round her fingers. “But come,” he heard himself saying, in direct contradiction to his previous thought, “is there anything I can grant you now-in thanks for shedding that old-fashioned head rail?”

  “Old-fashioned?” Alyson tried to look affronted and then laughed. “I suppose to a lord lately returned from exotic lands it will be. Doubtless you will have seen many ladies in fine silks. What is silk like?”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Wait until tomorrow, then you will know,” he promised, thinking that no silk was as glorious as her hair. Even as it was now, plaited into a single simple braid thicker than his wrist, it was such a mass of long, fine stuff. “Your favor, my little sweet?” he prompted, delighted when she teased back, “A present for me, my lord? Or should that be a forfeit, for stealing my veil?”

  “Your choice,” he said, aware of his men and the farriers and not caring a jot for any of them. Then Alyson herself brought them out of this strange, dazzling inner world by saying carefully, “Could you then introduce me to your seneschal?” She gnawed at her lower lip. “I would heal the bad blood between Fulk and myself.”

  She was ever a healer, Guillelm recalled, but her request revealed a new difficulty.
“It may be better to wait until sunset,” he replied, hoping she would let the matter go, but such was not Alyson’s way any more than it was his.

  “Why?” she asked reasonably, then she caught her breath as she clearly remembered. “The discipline.”

  “For the grave discourtesy Fulk did to you, yes” Guillelm felt his jaw clench and told himself again that the task he had lain on his follower would be punishment enough. “Sericus is overseeing it for me”

  Alyson’s eyes widened. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “No more than he deserves” Guillelm pointed to the outer wall of the bailey. “We can go watch, if you wish.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “What have you had him do?”

  “It is a common punishment for a knight; I have endured it myself. Listen! Can you hear galloping?”

  They were both silent, Alyson cupping a hand to her left ear to block out the closer sounds of chattering voices, hammering and, overhead, a thread of birdsong. She frowned. “I think I can”

  “Outside Hardspen’s walls, Fulk is practicing in full armor on his warhorse for the rest of the day. I have told him to keep at a gallop; if he stops for any reason I will hear of it, and he will regret it.”

  Alyson gasped. “You have made Sericus your spy?” she demanded.

  Her tone irritated Guillelm. “Not so he is my guarantor and a witness. It will do Fulk good to be humbled a little in front of your game old man. I know Fulk; he will see the justice of it.”

  “But … full armor, all day. That is barbaric!”

  “It is sweaty and hot and cramping, and he will ache abominably for days, but it is still better than the public flogging Fulk would have given you. It casts no slur on his status and it exercises his horse.”

  “Even so, it seems harsh,” Alyson demurred. She bent her head a moment, then raised her face to his. “Please! Will your knight not have ridden enough by now?”