A Knight's Vow (8 page)

“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?”

It was hard to resist her pleading and Guillelm did not try.
“Very well. We shall go together.” He held out his arm. “Do
you remember how we used to walk in your father’s fields?”

Blushing slightly, she nodded and unerringly placed her
hand in his, proving that she did remember. Side by side,
Guillelm careful to keep pace with her and not drag her along
in the wake of his natural long strides, they strolled through
the bailey, very companionable.

It was going to be all right, Alyson told herself. She had not
made a mistake in agreeing to marry Guillelm. With the optimism of one-and-twenty, she felt proud and happy walking
beside him, hand in hand. It was as if the years they had spent
apart had never been. Her people smiled at her; his men
nodded to her, a wary respect showing in their weathered
faces. It was going to be all right.

Her joyous mood lasted until she and Guillelm had passed
through the bailey gate and they were out on the rolling grasslands with a few bleating sheep and a swineherd driving a herd of pigs into the nearby woodland. As she crested a steep
rise, slightly out of breath with the warmth of the climb and
simply because she was so pleased to be with Guillelm, she
felt the ground shift beneath her, felt the heavy, relentless
drumming of hooves. A divot of loose earth and grass reared
up at her as a dark-helmed rider on a big bay stallion thundered by, racing over the cropped turf as if charging for the
gates of Jerusalem itself.

“Hey, Fulk!” bawled Guillelm, and the rider turned and
galloped back, even as her own man Sericus seemed to grow
out of a patch of oxeye daisies and long grass, where he
clearly had been taking his ease.

“My lord-lady-” the withered old man stammered, furiously rubbing his rheumy eyes. “I did not hope to see you here”

“Peace, Master Sericus,” Guillelm answered, above the
plunging hooves. “I believe you were going to have an answer
for me about furniture?” And leaving Alyson to puzzle over
that cryptic remark he drew the aged seneschal to one side,
both of them walking over the downs-more slowly than she
and Guillelm had done because of Sericus’s lame leg-and
talking softly with their heads close together.

Which meant it was she who had to greet the hapless Fulk
when the man finally reined in, stopping less than an armlength away from her.

“You ride well, sir,” she remarked, as he slowly lowered
himself from his charger, clearly wincing through his helm as
his feet touched the ground.

“My thanks, Lady.” With the same careful movements, as
if his every joint pained him, he began to rub down the massive sweating warhorse with the saddle cloth. “My lord Guillelm also rides and fights well, as you would know if we were
still in Outremer.”

If Fulk wished to begin afresh or make peace with her he was
going about it in a strange way, Alyson thought, glancing to ensure that Guillelm was out of hearing. Fulk had not removed
his helm, nor made her any kind of courtesy. Since he had mentioned war, she decided on shock tactics.

“Do you resent me, Fulk?”

Her use of his name and the direct question made him
swing round, but to Alyson’s surprise he was laughing.
“Hardly, my lady.” Now he did take off his helmet, revealing
the same cold blue eyes and narrow mouth she had encountered earlier, a shock of gray hair and a narrow, thin face that
might have been pleasing were it not for its sneering expression or the band of small red pustules running across his nose
and cheeks.

Seeing the skin disease, Alyson instantly ran through potions
in her mind that might help, but Fulk was not interested in anything of hers, as his next words made insultingly obvious.

“Why should I resent you, a mere distraction and the leavings of another man? My lord has taken such fancies before,
but they never last. Once he thinks he has won you from his
father’s memory, it will be over.”

“Guillelm has asked me to marry him,” Alyson said, determined that Fulk would not make her angry a second time.

The man shrugged, scowling as his chain mail rasped and
shifted on his body. “My lord belongs in the Holy Land,” he
said, turning away from her again and resuming the care of
his horse. “That is his true work, as a warrior for Christ.”

“You wish, then, that you had stayed in Outremer?” Alyson
demanded.

“I do. Every moment away from that sacred place is a triumph of evil and the infidel.” Fulk paused in his rubbing
down to cross himself piously.

“Then why did you not remain there yourself? I am sure
Guillelm would have released you from his service.”

“You are sure-” Fulk’s words were a cruel mockery. “No
doubt you are, my lady, but I have made my own promises before God. Within one year, I will return to Outremer with
Lord Guillelm de La Rochelle, where we shall resume our
noble struggle against the enemies of Christ.”