Conquering William (28 page)

It helped alleviate the gnawing guilt about sending Sister away. These women looked happy and content with their place. Alice prayed Sister would find a good home amongst them and learn to enjoy their companionship.

“Are you well?” William whispered.

Alice nodded. He had asked her several times, aware that Sister’s leaving weighed on her. Her relief she could barely admit to herself, saying it aloud would constitute the worst kind of betrayal of a woman who had raised her. “It is for the best.”

William nuzzled her neck. “We will make a fine winter here, my Alice. You shall see.”

“Aye.” What would winter at Tarnwych be like this year? Cold outside, for certain, but perhaps warmer within the walls. Filled with people and life and laughter pressing back the worst of the lingering icy misery. In a fortnight they would celebrate Martinmas, and the advent following promised sweeter than ever before. Cook already had the geese picked out and fattened up.

William would not allow any stringy beast for Martinmas beef she would guess.

“I have a surprise for you,” William said.

“What is it?” Last time he had surprised her with a trunk full of jewels and glorious fabrics. Fabrics she still lacked the courage to have made into a dress. Still, with Sister leaving, perhaps she would get Martha to help her fashion a gown. Perhaps in that golden-yellow, or the green that matched her eyes.

William winked at her. “You shall have to wait until morning to find out.”

“Will I now.” Alice so enjoyed bantering with him. “Or perhaps I shall use my wiles to get the secret out of you.”

William’s voice lowered to a thrilling, husky bass. “If anybody could, my lady, it would be you.”

* * * *

Alice reached out her hand to touch and snatched it back. “She is not mine.”

“She most certainly is.” William took her hand and placed it on the mare’s silky neck. “When I asked Gregory to send me destriers, I asked him for his sweetest palfrey as well.”

“For me?” Alice’s voice wobbled, as she tried not to cry. Such a creature could not belong to her, a beautiful mare with her glossy coat nearly matching Alice’s hair. Huge, patient brown eyes blinked at Alice. “What is she called?”

“Whatever you name her.” William covered her hand with his and stroked the taut muscle on the horse’s neck. “Young Will has kept her exercised while I waited to give her to you. Now that Sister Julianna is gone, I could not wait any longer.”

“Mine.” Alice stepped closer. Rich, horsey aroma filled her nostrils, and she drew in a deep breath. The mare stood shorter than William’s destrier. Long-legged and delicate, she was the perfect ride for a lady. “But I cannot ride.”

“That is my next surprise.” William grinned at her. “I am going to teach you to ride.”

Ride? Who would ever have thought such a thing? For certain not her. “Nay.”

“Aye.” William copied her breathy whisper. “Although I shall miss your ass pressed against me while we ride together.”

Alice shivered in delight. William’s wickedness did the most delicious things to her innards. “What if I fall?”

“All riders fall at some point,” William said. “But I aim to teach you not to.”

Ivy had advised caution, but also to live her life. Then again, Beatrice rode every day, and Ivy suspected she was pregnant as well. If she rode very, very carefully…

Her conscience hissed at her to tell him. First she must make certain she carried a child.

“Are you ready?” William cupped his hands for her foot.

“Aye.” Alice stepped into his hands, and he hoisted her onto the mare’s back. The mare shifted beneath her weight and settled.

William strode to Cedric holding Paladin. “She is bred for a lady. You will find her mouth soft and responsive and her nature biddable.”

Biddable, maybe, but the mare’s back rose a long, long way from the ground.

Paladin tossed his head. One big eye rolled around and glared at her from beneath his forelock.

Her palfrey shifted her weight and paid no mind to the great, pawing lout beside her.

“Your reins, Alice.” William battled the great beast to stillness. “Pick up your reins and let us begin. The reins are one of the ways you talk to your mount.” He cast a sharp eye over her. “And sit up straight. The way you sit on your horse will also send messages to her.”

Alice jerked up straight.

William chuckled and edged his big-toothed beast closer. “Be calm, my Alice. She can sense your agitation and it will agitate her.”

“I am afraid.” Riding alone differed from sharing the saddle with William.

“Of course you are.” He smiled at her, warm and reassuring. “But once you learn who is master and who is beast, you will see there is nothing to fear.”

Alice spent the morning watching and listening to William. As a teacher he remained patient, chiding at times, but for the most filling her lesson with fun. By the time he assisted her from the mare, her fear had subsided to a low belly niggle.

“Have you thought of a name for her yet?” William handed the mare’s reins to Cedric.

Alice squirmed on the inside. She had never named a horse before. It seemed a serious undertaking. “I shall call her Rhiannon.”

William nodded. “A great mythical queen to be sure. Make sure you cool Rhiannon down, Cedric, and give our new queen a proper rub down.”

“Do you think we might ride out of the bailey next time?” William had her riding circles around the practice yards again and again. Repeatedly, he had gone through her halting and then getting Rhiannon moving again. As her lesson progressed, the idea of taking to the moors with her Rhiannon had taken root in Alice.

William raised his brow at her. “First, I need to know you have control of her. Then we can see about leaving the bailey.”

“You did well,” Beatrice called from where she perched on a stool beside the barracks. Her blue gown made a splash of color against the stone.

Ivy stood by her side.

“Thank you.” Alice still wanted to fidget when she encountered Beatrice. Perhaps in time they could grow comfortable with each other, like sisters. “William is a patient teacher.”

Beatrice snorted. “Not when he taught me, he was not. Tossed me up on a destrier he did.”

“Bea.” William shook his head at his sister. “Remind me who refused to ride the pony father bought to teach her.”

“That is neither here nor there.” Beatrice gave a nonchalant shrug.

They argued happily, moving on from horse riding to other childhood slights.

“Have you told William?” Ivy sidled up beside her.

“Nay. Not yet.” William and Beatrice progressed to some argument about a Midsummer’s bonfire and Beatrice’s poppet. “I want to be sure.”

“You need to be wary of riding,” Ivy said. “If you fall off, you could lose the babe.”

“I will tell him,” Alice said. She had no clear idea when or how, but she would. It stood to reason William needed telling before she grew a great belly.

“Tell him soon, Alice.” Ivy sighed. Grief carved into the depths of her eyes. “It is a terrible thing not to tell somebody what they need to know when you have the chance. Fate steps in and takes that chance from you.”

Before Alice could question her further, Ivy made her way back to the keep.

Beatrice shook her head as she watched her friend go. “I hate seeing her this sad.”

“Why is she sad?”

Beatrice’s expression grew closed. “That is not my story to tell. You will have to ask her that. I heard you had a spell in the hall the other day. Are you well now?”

“I am.”

“And that Mathew was there when it happened.” Beatrice’s eyes narrowed on her suspiciously.

“There was a bit more to it than that, Bea.” William slung his arm about Alice’s shoulder.

Alice drew courage from the gesture of support.

“What more?” Beatrice stuck her chin out.

Alice strolled with William back to the keep. “That is a story for another day.”

William crouched over Paladin’s neck as the horse widened his stride in a burst of speed. Through the sparse moorland vegetation, the hart bounded for the safety of the crags. It had taken all day to find this single quarry, and now he hesitated to kill such a magnificent creature, a hart of twelve at least, and in his prime.

Hunting mastiffs surged forward in their pack, staying clear of the horses.

As much as his blood rose to the thrill of the hunt, William always left the kill to another. He did not relish the fade of life from a creature’s eyes. This hart would make a fine trophy for the barracks and feed the hall in the feast cook prepared for them.

Martinmas, the beginning of the festivities leading to Christmas. Tonight they would eat well of goose, beef, and if the hunter’s luck held, venison. William had a mind to celebrate. Tarnwych flourished in the weeks since the weight of Sister Julianna had lifted from her back.

His conversation with the Prioress stayed with him. When spring came, he would set out and discover more of Sister Julianna’s origins. A woman that bitter must have good reason, and he liked knowing with whom he dealt.

A fresh delight every day, he watched Alice blossom and discover the world around her, free from her tether. Especially at night, when he had her all to himself. Alice took to bed sport with an eagerness that quickened his blood more than the hunt. The things he could, and would, show her. William shifted in the saddle to get more comfortable. Thoughts of Alice in bed hampered his seat.

A twang, almost lost in the baying of the hounds and the thunder of hooves, then the flash of an arrow. William threw his weight left. The breeze of the arrow’s passage ruffled his hair. His heart drummed in his chest. If he had ducked a heartbeat later, the arrow would have found its mark. In his eye.

“My lord!” A shouting, stomping, milling mass of horses, dogs, and men surrounded him.

He raised his voice above the panic. “Find the archer.”

Aonghas and Domnall peeled off, riding low in the saddle as they streaked in the direction of the arrow’s origin.

A lone figure broke from the shelter of a low copse and ran.

Fist in the air, Domnall bellowed a battle cry and gave chase, Aonghas sharp on his heels.

“Alive,” William yelled after them. “I want him alive.”

* * * *

Battered, bruised and near terrified out of his simple mind, the poacher trembled at William’s feet.

Aonghas and Domnall had delivered the man breathing, but had availed themselves of the opportunity to teach a little hard justice along the way.

“I did not mean it, my lord.” Saliva dribbled down the poacher’s chin, mingling with the blood from his split lip. “I did not see you until I had loosed.”

“You aim like a woman.” Domnall drove the point home with a boot in the ribs.

“Cease.” William winced as the poacher gave a harsh grunt and curled into a protective ball.

“He shot you,” Domnall, face red with outrage, yelled at him.

“Aye.” William thumped the big brute in the chest. “And we will never discover why if you beat him to death.”

Domnall loomed over the cowering man, fists clenched.

“Who are you?” William crouched beside the man.

“Caomh, my lord. I was aiming for the hart. I swear it.”

The hart had long since disappeared into the craggy outcrops.

“You realize this is Tarnwych land?” William took pity on the sniveling cur and handed him his water skin.

The man eyed the offering warily.

“Take it.” Domnall cuffed him. “And be grateful it is not the end of his lordship’s sword.”

“Aye, thank you, Domnall.” William admired loyalty as much as the next man, but if Domnall continued in this manner, Caomh might very well die of fright. “Drink.”

Caomh took the skin as if it were made of vipers, raised it to his lips and sipped, his gaze not leaving William. “It was just one hart. We have not seen the like for many a year.”

“But it were not yours.” Domnall loomed closer.

“I think I have this, Domnall.” William motioned the younger man back. “Take your brothers and sweep the area. Make sure there are no more unpleasant surprises lurking hereabout.”

“I am alone,” said Caomh.

“So you say.” Domnall spat and spun back to his horse.

William waited until the pound of hooves moved away from them. “Now, perhaps you can tell me why you were poaching on my land.”

“We be hungry…my lord.” Anger flashed in Caomh’s eyes, and he lowered them to the water skin and sipped again. “I just wanted the one. For my family.”

“There are easier ways.” William rested his elbows on his bent knees, attempting to look harmless. “You could come to Tarnwych and plead your case.”

Caomh smeared a trickle of blood across his cheek. “Do not be nobody at Tarnwych what hears. Now that Dunstan is dead.”

William raised his brow. “I believe I reside at Tarnwych, and my hearing is excellent.”

Caomh kept his head down.

“Begging your pardon, Sir William.” Rufus slunk closer, still not one to seek out William’s attention. “I know this man. We were raised in the village together.”

“And?” William would never make a soldier of Rufus until the man ceased his doglike servility.

“I know him to be honest.” Rufus shifted, coloring to his ruddy hairline. “Leastways he used to be. But that is not what I wanted to say.”

“As I have pointed out, moments ago”—William pinned Rufus with a stare—“my hearing is excellent, and thanks to an arrow, sharper than usual.”

“The villagers.” William did not think Rufus could flush more, but the man went clay- red. “They used to come to Tarnwych, in the past. Dunstan always dealt with them. He did not like them to speak to anyone but him. Sister Julianna and Dunstan had a sort of agreement. As long as they stayed clear of each other, all was well.”

“Ah.” The truth struck him clear as a bell. “And Dunstan took the opportunity to take care of himself?”

“Aye, my lord. And those he favored.” He gave Rufus credit for standing his ground.

“Before I render judgment, Caomh, I want to see this family.”

* * * *

“God’s Bones.” Aonghas whistled through his teeth.