Conquering William (12 page)

“You poor child.” Sister Julianna slipped her arm around her and supported her.

“He killed Dunstan.” Was that thin, reedy sound her voice? The hammering of her heart near drowned it out. “I didn’t think he could, or would, but he killed him.”

“There now.” Sister half carried her through the hall. “Men are nothing more than animals. This has been a harsh lesson for you, but one I trust you will remember and remember well.”

“How is Molly?”

Sister Julianna clicked her tongue. “Silly wench is scared witless, but mostly unharmed. He got there before the men could do their worst.”

William had saved Molly. Savage and vicious he may have been, but he’d had good reason. Hadn’t he? Right and wrong did not seem as defined in her mind anymore. Where lay the greater evil, in what Dunstan had done or the just taking of a life? Could one ever justify taking a life? A headache throbbed behind her eyes. None of her other husbands had caused her this much thinking.

* * * *

William clung to the outer bailey wall as he heaved up his dinner. Away from keep eyes he dropped his mask. He had taken a life tonight. As a fighting man, born and raised, he’d encountered death before. Dealt it out more times than he cared to remember, but the senseless waste of life never grew easier.

He pressed a shaking hand to his screaming ribs and drew a careful breath. Strong as an ox, Dunstan had got a firm grip on his trunk before William got free. Now Dunstan lay dead. William took the washcloth Gord had handed him earlier and wiped Dunstan’s blood from his hands. Would he could wipe it from his conscience.

He pushed away from the wall and strode into the inner bailey. Careful none of his thoughts showed on his face, he marched past the clusters of men huddled together as they spoke.

Dunstan had flown his troublemaker colors from William’s first day. Still, William had wanted to be wrong, wanted to avoid the entire confrontation. In raising a weapon against his lord, Dunstan committed treason, a crime punishable by death. Had it gone unpunished, the next man to fancy himself a taste of power would rise in challenge of William’s authority. And the next…

As a man of war, Father possessed very few finer graces, but he knew men. He had always told all three of his sons a hard, preemptive strike could mean the difference between a protracted, messy war and swift peace.

Lazy, undisciplined, and left like stray mongrels to develop bad habits, Tarnwych’s men had wallowed in their squalor. Well, he’d sent a clear message tonight. By morning the malcontents would have slunk off into the night.

At rest for the night, the keep burned low tapers, lighting his walk through the hall. He’d stayed in the bailey long enough for the whipping of Aylard and Rufus. Another senseless act, avoidable if the dullards hadn’t blindly followed the wrong leader. He’d had them cut loose and sent Father Mark to tend their wounds. Would Tarnwych have any men-at-arms left in the morning?

A boy passed him on the stairs, big eyes staring at William like he’d seen a ghost. The child bowed so low, his forelock brushed the ground. “My lord.”

“Get to bed, boy. It is late.” William tried to gentle his tone. He would wager tales ran rampant through the keep of his deeds this night.

“Aye, my lord. Right away, my lord.” The boy backed away, missed his step, and would have gone tumbling down the staircase if William hadn’t caught him.

“What are you doing up so late?”

The boy averted his gaze, and heavy breaths rasped through his mouth. “Rats.”

“Rats.”

“Aye, my lord. I am Will, the rat catcher.”

“That’s a fine name you have there, young William.”

Will almost smiled and gripped his tunic. “My thanks, my lord.”

“Do you always catch rats in the middle of the night?”

Will nodded. “That is when they are most busy.”

Rats were not in William’s collection of knowledge. What would his mother do? For certain, she would not support keeping young children from their beds. “Do you like dogs, Will?”

“Eh?” Will stiffened. “I mean, I do not know, my lord.”

“Then we shall find out.” William’s bed whispered sweet nothings to his aching body. “We will get some ratters in here, and you shall have the care of them.”

With a pat on the shoulder, he left Will and resumed climbing the stairs. Alice needed dealing with next. He’d spoken roughly to her tonight, and it sat ill with him. But, sweet Mother of God, when she entered the barracks after him, the fear had nigh choked him. If things had gone badly with Dunstan…

His flesh crawled. His Alice. Pocket-sized, flower-fragile, and innocent despite her three marriages.

She was also now frightened of him, and he might have undone all the progress he’d made with Alice. Of course, closer than a tick to a dog, the blasted nun had whispered in Alice’s ear all the way back to the keep.

Here he’d thought marriage would be a simple thing. Find an appropriate bride, let his father make the match, and then get on with the business of being wed. Unfortunately, Tarnwych threw one snarl after another. His days of wedded bliss drifted further and further from his grasp.

He opened the door to his bedchamber.

Alice sat on a bathing stool beside a large bath. Her unbound hair shone to rival the large flames dancing in the fireplace. The tang of lemon filled the warm air.

“Sir William.” She stood. Her little hands knotted in her apron. “I thought you might like to bathe, after…” She jerked her head toward outside the keep.

William stood in the doorway. Of all the receptions he might have expected…It almost brought him to his knees.

“Of course, if you would prefer not to bathe, I can—”

“Alice, you must be an angel.” William strode across the chamber and stopped her mouth with a smacking kiss.

“I did right?” Her big green eyes undid him, packed full of uncertainty and the desire to please.

“You did perfectly.”

Delicate pink stained her cheeks. “I could assist you.”

“Alice.” He took her face in his hands. “I can honestly say that given a choice between you and Cedric, I would take you every time.”

“Cedric is riding for Anglesea,” she said.

“Then it is indeed fortuitous that I picked you.”

* * * *

Alice busied herself as William disrobed. First his boots, and then his tunic. Fisting the collar, he hauled his chemise over his head. Finely wrought muscle covered his chest. A thin line of hair marched between the ridges of his belly and disappeared beneath his chausses. Aye, but he was finely put together. His skin was dark, as if he spent time in the sun without his clothing.

As he turned, she allowed herself the pleasure of studying his back in more detail. Wide shoulders tapered into his slim waist.

He removed his chausses.

Dear lord. She spun about and nearly collided with the bed post. This would never do for a thrice-married woman. None of her other husbands had looked like William, though. She couldn’t resist another peek. His tight, muscular buttocks repaid the risk. With his hands on either side of the tub, he sunk into the warm water.

His deep sigh shivered though the air.

Alice gathered his discarded clothing and placed it by the door. The iron scent of dried blood curled her lip. Sister would have a method for removing the bloodstains. Alice would rather toss the clothes into the fire than ask Sister. Of course, she could sneak the clothes into the kitchen hearths without Sister knowing. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d avoided hours of scrubbing in cold water.

Water swished behind her. “Alice?”

“Aye.”

“Would you?” He pointed to the basin of bathing soap. William’s wet hair was plastered to his head. Moisture gleamed from his skin. Her stupid head kept sticking on his nakedness beneath the water. What did the rest of him look like? The parts she hadn’t seen. The parts no decent woman had any business speculating about. Belly fluttering, mouth parched, she approached the bathing tub.

“Shall I?” The soap basin teetered on her shaking palm, and she grasped it with both hands. Now she needed to spread the soap all over him, and then wash it off. Slowly. Her pulse hammered in her throat. Silly girl. Assisting someone with their bath did not mean an invitation to maul them.

“Please.” His beautiful smile spread over his face.

Mauling it was then, and with a clear conscience. But first, she had one more little pleasure for him. She crossed to the casement table and poured him a goblet of wine, the special kind he had brought from Anglesea.

His look of delight as she handed it to him gave her the courage to pick up the soap basin and kneel beside the tub. Beneath her hand, his arm was warm and hard as she spread the soap from his wrist to his shoulder.

“You do not have to do that,” he said and took a long sip of his wine.

“I know, but I thought you might be tired.” She dug her fingers into the taut muscle of his shoulders and earned a heartfelt groan. A similar sound to the one he made when he kissed her. The too large fire heated her skin to discomfort. Nay, the warmth came from within her.

He dropped his head forward and she soaped his nape and shoulders. His skin was smooth, marred here and there by the odd scar. He must have earned the older scars as a boy. She imagined William as a sprightly lad, quick to mischief and keeping his nurse on her toes all day long.

Spreading her fingers wide, she ran the soap down either side of his spine.

William hissed and jerked beneath her fingers.

Alice snatched her hands back, not sure how she had erred. Perhaps she had been too enthusiastic in her attentions.

“Sorry.” He exhaled. “My ribs are a bit tender.”

“From the fight?” Red mottled skin covered his ribs, turning blue and purple in places. “You are hurt.”

“You could kiss it better.” He sent her a wicked glance over his shoulder.

Alice snorted and scooped more soap from the basin. Carefully she cleaned the injured parts and around to his other arm.

William shifted his goblet to the other hand and watched her. “I thought you would be…upset.”

His steady gaze made Alice uncomfortable, and she rose and fetched the soap basin. “I do not like bloodshed. I have not had much occasion to witness it.”

He clasped her hands around the basin. “But you understand why it was necessary.”

A question so direct deserved a direct answer. “I am not sure that I do. I understand Dunstan did wrong and would have been worse had you not stopped him.”

“But?”

The truth burned in Alice’s throat, but Father did not like her to voice her opposition, and Sister often twisted her words until Alice wished she’d never uttered them. William was a near stranger to her. From the day he had walked into her keep—their wedding day—he twirled and turned like a gemstone on a string. Light reflected off first one facet and then another until she battled to see the stone for itself.

“Look at me.” His tone compelled her to meet his gaze. “Never be afraid to speak your mind to me, Alice.” He squeezed her hands. “Perhaps when we are amongst others, it will not do to be constantly challenging me. Here, in this room, I want your honesty, whether I enjoy hearing it or not.”

“Did you have to kill him?” Faint and breathy, her words rushed from her. Alice froze. She hardly dared think where she had found the courage to utter them.

William grimaced and dropped her hands. “Aye, I asked myself that same question. I do not know for certain. At the time, my fighting blood was up and I obeyed my instinct.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, leaving droplets of water spiked on his long lashes. “Now, I am not so certain. I keep thinking perhaps I should have shown mercy. But even as I say that, I know had our positions been reversed he would not have hesitated to kill me.”

Alice absorbed the truth of his words. Dunstan would have killed him. She had read the man’s brutal intent as he fought William.

“We men are a lot like dogs,” he said. “Dogs need to establish who is the strongest amongst them from the first. Once that has been done, we get along rather well within our defined places.”

“Indeed.” She had no idea how to respond to that. Sister would have agreed whole-heartedly. Truth be told, Sister would have them all drowned as pups if she had her way. William had frightened her today, and not just with the fight. Did she dare test his claim to want her honesty? Aye, well there was only one way to find out. “You were wroth with me and I did not like it.”

“Aye.” He sank lower into the water and rested his head upon the tub lip. “I did not like it either, but I was furious to see you there. If something had happened to me, who would have protected you in amongst those men? Gord?”

“I do not enjoy being shouted at.” She took his point, and he did not appear ready to bellow at her for daring to speak, so she aired the remainder of the grievance.

“In that you are not alone.” A soft smile made him look endearingly boyish. “The women in my family would agree with you there.”

“They would?”

“Lord, aye.” He chuckled. “Faye would have given me a look to make my ball…blood freeze, and paid me back in some manner when I was least expecting it. Bea would have yelled right back at me.”

“I do not yell,” Alice said.

William’s dark brow rose. “With that hair?” He snorted. “Alice, I have a feeling you have not begun to know the fire within you.”

How did a girl find her ‘fire’ dressed in these? Alice’s coarse linen bliauts, one brown and uninspiring as mud, and the other the shade of Cook’s old pottage lay on the bed where she’d tossed them instead of getting dressed. A dull, brown wren wore bliauts such as these. Only she did not quite feel like a wren anymore. More of a robin, with a dash of color to her plain plumage. In the chest at the foot of her bed lay the glorious silks and velvets William had gifted her.

What gowns they would make. Beneath the green velvet lay more bolts of cloth. This morning she would like to wear the yellow samite. Bright and cheerful, it would surround her in silken sunshine all through the day. She picked up the pottage-colored dress. Not quite sunshine, but the closest thing to it she had.