A Knight's Vow (6 page)

Alyson stared at the broom in her hand, wondering why she
had wasted time climbing to the battlements for a glimpse of a
man who did not want her when there was so much to be done.

“You have been a fool,” she told herself harshly as she sped
back to the staircase leading down to the bailey. But she knew
that given the choice afresh, she would do the same. She had
loved Guillelm the youth, and surely the man could not be
so very changed? He had been far from indifferent when he
kissed her. She could not forget the devastating tenderness of
his embrace.

He has seen seven years of war, the sensible part of her
mind warned her. He will have known horrors that you can
only imagine.

Yet he has brought no bride with him and he has asked you
to marry him, Alyson answered herself with the stubborn, unquenchable optimism of one-and-twenty. “I feel-I knowthat I can love this man, that he is well worthy of all love,” she
said aloud, her feet quickening on the treads of the staircase.
“So why should I not agree to this marriage? After all, I risk
no other but myself.”

Hoping that her bold words would not prove false, Alyson
sped out of the shadowy staircase into the pallid sunshine,
preparing to make her way to the stables, then to the kitchen. New strewing herbs were needed for the great hall, and she
must check that there was sufficient fodder for the horses and
look over the sheep pens and see how Edwin the shepherd
was faring. He had been sick with the fever, but not so badly
as some of the others.

Approaching the heaving sheep pens, Alyson heard Edwin’s
panicky, “No!” and she saw a small black lamb leap from the
tall shepherd’s flailing arms and go jinking wildly across the
bailey. With Edwin’s shouts and the mother ewe’s deep bleating in her ears, Alyson dropped her broom and cut through the
milling groups in the yard toward the incoming ranks of soldiers, her outstretched arms reaching for the lost lamb.

The black lamb skidded away from another woman who tried
to seize it and bounded closer still to the men in armor and their
huge, glossy mounts. Alyson put on a spurt of speed to intercept
the tiny, mewing creature before it was trampled underfoot.

“Caught you!” she cried, her spirits lifting for an instant as
she snatched the small squirming body out of the way of the
hulking warriors, with their spears, scabbards, and iron-shod
warhorses.

“You, girl! Get back!”

Too late, Alyson realized just how close she had come to the
incoming troops. A warrior in full harness, his face hidden by
his iron helm, was bearing down on her, atop a massive bay
charger. As the man made no effort to turn or slow the highstepping horse, she flung herself out of its path, where it passed
by her so close that she could smell its shining coat and feel
the slap of the embroidered saddle cloth against her cheek. She
gasped angrily, a protest echoed more vocally by several in the
bailey, especially Sericus, who had just appeared on the outer
stairway of the keep.

“Hey! Watch where you are going!” her loyal seneschal
bawled, his usually sallow face turning red with indignation.
“You almost crushed your own-“

“Stop your blathering, old man,” came the cold response
from the warrior on horseback, an insolent reply that had
Alyson’s quick temper boiling.

“How dare you speak to Sericus in that way!” she shouted
up at the tall, disdainful figure, quickly handing Edwin his
black lamb as the shepherd pushed through the now encircling men and horses to join her. From the corner of her eye
she saw Sericus limping quickly down the steps to do the
same and called out, “Stay back! I will deal with this.

“Now, sir,” she continued, fixing her eyes on the man who had
almost ridden her down, “would you care to explain yourself?”

Tossing the reins of his charger to another mounted knight,
the warrior on horseback dismounted in a clatter of armor and
spurs. “Who are you to demand anything of me, girl?” he
asked in the same dry, cold voice as before, glaring down at
her in clear disdain. “It was your own folly that caused this.”

“And what if the lamb had been a child?” Alyson blazed
out in return. “What of my shepherd’s livelihood, which is, I
deem, as worthy as yours! More, for it is the arts of peace and
tending of new life, without which you soldiers would have
nothing. You made no attempt to avoid us!”

“Should I ruin my horse’s mouth for your stupidity?” Stepping even closer, the arrogant stranger suddenly grabbed her
arm. “Perhaps a beating will teach you better manners before
you go about your serving duties.”

“Do not!” Alyson ordered, appalled that he should actually
lay hands on her. Catching a glimpse through his battle-worn
helm of a thin, sneering mouth and glinting blue eyes, cold as
the sky above them, the thought came to her, this man is my
enemy, and for an instant she knew real fear. “No!” she cried,
struggling furiously in his grip. “Stop!”

“I think not,” said the stranger, ignoring cries of outrage
and warning from others in the bailey as he drew back his
arm to strike her.

“Enough! Release her!” Mowing a path through the soldiers and horses, Guillelm’s face was dark with anger, a smoldering rage rising off his powerful frame as a palpable force.
Against that, even the fully armored stranger visibly paled,
letting go of Alyson as if she burned.

“You are unharmed?” Guillelm asked as he reached her,
his large hand brushing her arm where the stranger had manhandled her.

“Yes, but-“

“Then I will deal with this. I bid you go to your room”

He was ordering her away as if she were a child. Alyson’s
relief and gratitude at his timely intervention turned to indignation. “Did you see what happened?” she demanded in a low, taut
voice. “This man has insulted members of my household “

Guillelm’s face stiffened. “This man, as you call him, is my
own seneschal.”

“That excuses his conduct?” Alyson asked, scarcely believing what she was hearing. “He insulted me!”

If possible, Guillelm’s eyes became colder still. “And how
would he know what was due to you, my lady? Given the
manner of your dress?”

Aware that the stranger was now smirking, Alyson lost her
temper completely. “If I dress discreetly that is my choice! As
for dues, if I was a serf I would still be owed courtesy and
gentleness from this knight. You train your people very ill!”

She turned to leave, but Guillelm overtook her after only two
steps. “In here” He half-guided, half-carried her into the stables, not stopping until they had reached an empty stall. “Now,
my lady Alyson.” He barred the stall entrance with his own
body. “You will go to your chamber as I have requested. This
is the second time you have been mistaken for a little serving
maid by one of my men and it must not happen again. I do not
wish to see you in this yard or anywhere in this castle, until you
are dressed in a manner more fitting to your station and to me”

That was all he cared about-how she reflected on him,
Alyson thought, her mind fizzing with fury at his words, his
insulting reference to her as a “little serving maid,” and his
earlier action, where he had drawn her ahead of him into the
stables as if she were no more than a handcart. She was still
more concerned with what he had just told her about the
knight who had almost beaten her.

“That seneschal of yours-is such a person to replace Sericus, who is worth twice of him?” she demanded.

“Be at peace, my lady. They will work together, or I will know
the reasons why not,” rumbled Guillelm, his face in shadow.

“I hope you are right, my lord,” she answered, angry and
alarmed for Sericus and still smarting over what had almost
happened. “He should have known I was of gentle birth from
the manner of my speech!”

Guillelm frowned but somehow looked less forbidding.
“Yes, I am surprised myself that he did not recognize your
true station from that,” he admitted grudgingly. “Unlike
Thierry from last night, Fulk speaks English well and if he
had listened properly he should have known at once”

He shook his head, his lips shaping into a rueful smile.
“But then, my lady, we both know that I myself mistook you
for a maid, and that even after you had spoken to me °”

“Then you did not listen properly, either!” Alyson retorted,
furious afresh at his admitting this and blushing as she remembered their kiss.

He touched the shoulder of her plain brown gown with a
fingertip. “It is the woman we see first-“

“I will dress as I please!”

“And how will it be for our formal betrothal ceremony tomorrow?” he asked with dangerous mildness. “Will you
appear in beige, in undyed homespun?”

“No! I ” Alyson had not forgotten the ceremony, but hearing Guillelm speak of it brought their betrothal, and eventual marriage, that much closer. Suddenly, she felt dizzy, lightheaded. She pressed a hand to her stomach, glad she had eaten
no breakfast. For an instant, she could not say if she was pleased
or terrified at the prospect, but then she caught a lost, almost
haunted look flicker across Guillelm’s face. At once, a great
surge of protectiveness rushed through her-she had called him
dragon and now if she could she would slay dragons for him.

“I will not shame you,” she said tartly, using irritation as a
shield to hide these feelings as part of her wished to comfort
him as she had as a girl, by flinging herself about his neck and
hugging him tightly. “You will have no further cause to reproach me ””

“Mother of God!” Guillelm folded his arms and took several deep breaths, clearly trying to control his temper. In a
gentler, more careful way, he asked, “Why are you in such
plain attire, Alyson, as if in training for the convent?”

She had been, many years earlier, and the strictures of the
nuns against worldly vanity and needless show were lessons she
found hard to shake off, Alyson thought, touched by his use of
her name. There was another, closer reason why she had dressed
simply, but that was more personal and painful. How could she
possibly tell Guillelm, who had just lost his father, that Lord
Robert had burnt her better gowns? That he had envied her
youth and learning? Guillelm must never know such things, she
vowed, determined to preserve his memory of his father.

“You know I have little interest in clothes,” she said, which
was half a lie and half the truth. Guillelm, however, was not
convinced.

“But why so drab?” he continued gently. He studied her a
moment, a slight stiffening coming over his long, lean body
as a look of wariness replaced his earlier concern. “Was it my
father’s wish?”

“I-” Remembering Lord Robert’s angry and soon-ignited
jealousy, Alyson looked down at the hay-strewn stable floor, conscious of the shifting horses and grooms around them.
She prayed her face had given nothing away, but Guillelm had
always been quick at reading her moods.

“So you dressed to please him,” he said, all previous gentleness stripped from his voice. “Then there will indeed be
little change for you, my lady. You dressed to please your old
lord and now you will dress to please your new lord.”

She had to try to make him understand, and without telling
him too much that would dishonor his father’s memory in his
eyes, Alyson thought, as Guillelm unfolded his arms, his face
as unyielding as stone. “Please, you must understand-” she
began desperately, but he would not listen.

“I must discipline the knight who mistook you,” he said
harshly, “though I think it hard on him, for he fell victim to a
woman’s wiles. And I doubt if he will wear your favor too
quickly after this, my lady.”

With a mocking bow he turned and strode back into the
yard, leaving Alyson with the image of his contemptuous
smile and, far worse, with the dreadful fear that she had made
a terrible mistake in hoping that one day he might ever come
to love her as a husband should his wife.

Returning to deal with his own man, Guillelm clamped
down hard on the feelings of jealousy that his latest encounter
with Alyson had provoked. Bitterly aware of the mutterings
and pointings, the scandalized faces of her people in the
bailey, he crossed to his knights, warning himself to keep his
anger in check.

Only that morning, just after dawn, he had walked into
the enemy camp, alone and unheralded, in his long cloak and
the jazerant that an Arab armorer had ornamented with his
own personal symbol: a dragon rampant, breathing a coil of
fire. By the time Etienne the Bold knew that he was there, he was in the mercenary’s tent, crouching by the man’s rough
pallet of straw, his knifepoint at his enemy’s throat.

“The Lady of Hardspen is to be my lady and I will suffer
no insult, no slight to her,” he told Etienne. “You will leave
now or fight me, man to man, in single combat”

“But how did you come here?” Etienne stammered, his
lean, weather-beaten face breaking into a sweat as he realized
that none of his men were about to rescue him.

Guillelm smiled. “Straight through your lines, even as I
am. Several of your guards will have thick heads until sunset
today; I had to knock them out to prevent them raising a general alarm.”

“You are mad!” Etienne the Fleming gasped, his neck reddening where the point of Guillelm’s hunting knife rested.
“Alone in an enemy camp”

“I can move silently enough,” Guillelm answered, “and
when no one conceives of a thing being possible, it is relatively easy to accomplish. Men see what they want to see, and
none of your knights wanted to see me”

“It is mad!” Etienne repeated. “Reckless!”

Guillelm grinned at the charge, remembering Sir Henry’s
bitter words and taking a certain satisfaction in proving
Alyson’s father wrong. “Reckless perhaps, but my head is still
firmly on my shoulders, as you see,” he observed. “This way
is quicker and quieter, Etienne. Join one of King Stephen’s or
Empress Maud’s war-bands; either will give you welcome
and richer booty than you will get hereabouts.”