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Authors: Sarah Hegger

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BOOK: Conquering William
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Aonghas swung his leg faster. “I would not say common, so much as not unexpected.” He leant forward. “Some of my countrymen are not always as honest as one would like.”

“How disturbing for you,” William said. “And you are sure it is Scotsmen responsible for these disappearances?”

“Aye.” Aonghas cast his eyes down. “As much as it pains me to admit it. They come from the higher lands, where things are not as rich as they are here. It has become a sort of symbol of honor to steal from the English, and thereby the English king.”

“Verily.” William rubbed his chin as if giving the matter grave consideration. Aonghas lied, but with the sort of skill William admired. Not a man to ever play dice with. “I am guessing that you do not suffer such inconveniences as a fellow Scot?”

“Not that I have noticed.” Aonghas looked genuinely regretful. William almost laughed out loud. This man would have wreaked havoc like a weasel in the dovecotes at court.

“Then, my path is clear.” William heaved a sigh. “I must strengthen the men-at-arms at Tarnwych, run tighter patrols on my land, and treat with unfortunate brutality any transgressors. One can only hope that if one punishes swiftly and ruthlessly enough, the message will become clear to those who would view Tarnwych as a fat partridge.” He too leant forward. “Sir Arthur also taught me that it is often easier to make a preemptive strike than to engage in a long, drawn-out battle.”

“That we should all have had such a wise and loving father.” Aonghas’s hard stare met his. Message conveyed and received. Aonghas would test his resolve, William would wager his life on it, but he had issued the warning.

Aonghas sat back in his seat. “But let us not disturb dear Lady Alice with this talk of fighting. Let us share a meal, and celebrate your good fortune.”

“Was there ever a man so fortunate as I?” William said.

“I wish you long life and happiness.” Aonghas raised his goblet. “Let us drink to your new land and your new marriage.”

* * * *

A masterful, thrilling battle of wits arced above Alice’s head. Fascinating, and so much more satisfying than seeing two men hack away at each other with weapons. Here the weapons remained hidden. Thrusts made and parried with such speed a girl needed to pay attention to catch them.

She wasn’t sure who had emerged the victor and had the sense these were merely opening feints, but William had matched Aonghas strike for strike, going into battle for Tarnwych. Alice shifted in her seat. Tarnwych’s shame sat atop her shoulders. She had not understood much of William’s discussion with Gord, but she had grasped the woeful state of the keep’s stores. She had made this journey to make herself useful. Yet, William had not needed her at all, and still he let her come. If she knew him better, she might have asked why. Warmth spread from his hand on her nape, even through the linen. It was a gesture of claiming, possession. The sort of gesture a man made toward his bride. His wife. A delicious shiver danced down her spine.

Talk drifted to the weather, the history of The Crags. Light chatter of two men passing a pleasant time. Serving drudges carried in a meal bringing with them tummy-growling aromas of fresh bread, roasting meats, and pies. Platter after platter they laid on the trestle tables. Surely such excess constituted a sin, but it smelled and looked much closer to heaven.

At Aonghas’s invitation, William rose and assisted her to table. He seated her on his right, according her the honor of his wife.

“Will you take meat?” His solicitude humbled her. Selecting for her the very finest cuts of meat, a loaf of nut bread still warm from the ovens. Using his napkin, he wiped the moisture from the fruit he placed beside her.

“My thanks.” Alice wished for the poise to take his treatment as her due, but it touched a cold, lonely place within her, and rendered her near mute. He accorded her the respect of a new bride, and a treasured one. Without words, he shouted to the hall his pleasure in his marriage. He did it for Aonghas’s benefit, whispered her practical nature. But how lovely it felt, simpered the girl buried deep within her. That girl’s whimsical musings had stayed hidden deep within her for years.

William waited for her to begin her meal before he ate. He motioned a man over, eyes twinkling at her. “Wine?”

The rogue returned and brought her smile with him. “Aye, please.”

Taking the jug from the serving man, William poured her wine for her and handed her the goblet. He watched her take a sip. “Any blackberries?”

Alice giggled. Verily she had giggled more since his arrival than in her entire lifetime. “Nary a berry to be found.”

“For shame.” He shook his head. “My Alice should always be showered in blackberries.”

* * * *

William’s head hammered away like the devil used it for an anvil the next morning. Blasted Scot had a head for drink that had almost seen William sliding beneath the table. Had they drunk wine, William would have had the wily sod, but that bedamned special mead had nigh killed him off.

It still might as he blinked in the clear, bright morning light. Today, of all days, the north tossed out her loveliest mantle of blue sky. Clustered about on their nags, his men looked even more pitiful in the unforgiving light. He could bluster all he liked about taking a hard line with the thieving Scots, but not even he believed it when staring at his dismal force. Dear God, had the north no finer fighting men to offer? He may as well drive his herds into Aonghas’s courtyard and spare himself the humiliation.

Aonghas, ruddy cheeked and bright eyed, beamed as if suffering none of the aftereffects of the night and offered him his hand. “Safe travels, Sir William.”

“Call me William.”

“Oh, aye.” Aonghas batted the side of his head. “I keep forgetting.”

Like bloody hell.

“Good morrow.” Alice’s sweet voice provided blessed relief. She entered the courtyard dressed little better than their men, but her shy smile dimmed the ache behind his eyes. He had sent her to find her rest hours before Aonghas and he had begun their rod-jousting over a jug.

Her cart stood ready with Gresby perched behind the horses. They wouldn’t reach Tarnwych before the following day. Not if he had aught to say about it.

William hauled his bones onto Paladin, glad he managed a semblance of elegance, and nudged the horse to Alice.

She took a wary step back.

“Come, my lady.” He leant down and held out his hand. “Today you ride with me.”

“What?” She eyed his destrier and pressed her hand to her throat. “I do not ride.”

“But I do.” He managed a reassuring smile. “I will not let you fall.” If she demurred, he might toss her onto the horse anyway. He could not stomach a day of dragging his ass behind her ridiculous cart.

Alice shook her head. “I—”

William scooped her beneath her armpits. Light as a feather, he lifted her onto the mount before him. “There.” He forced some good humor into his voice. “Now stop wriggling, or the horse might take fright.”

She perched frozen before him, her nails digging into his wrists. “I would prefer the cart.”

“That is because you have not yet tried the horse,” he said. Motioning his men, he spurred Paladin out of the courtyard.

* * * *

Alice clamped her lips together, swallowing the scream welling up in her throat. The ground flew past beneath them as the horse clattered over the cobbled yard and through the manor gates. A long, long way down, the blurring ground made her stomach lurch.

Father laughed at her fear of horses, but even he had not plonked her down on one. Only the fear of falling kept her still. They cleared the village and thundered out into the countryside. The motion of the horse would bruise her nethers black and blue. Behind William’s shoulder, Gresby and her reliable cart grew smaller and smaller.

When they stopped she would set Sir William right about his actions. Her cheeks still burned from the embarrassment of him grabbing her up like a sack of grain.

“Breathe.” William’s voice rumbled through her back, his breath touched her ear. “It will go easier for you and the horse if you hold yourself less rigid.”

Was he mad? “I will fall.”

His arm tightened about her middle, pressing her closer to his hard strength. “I will not let you fall.” He chuckled. “Although you might remove your nails from my arm before you draw blood.”

He deserved having his blood drawn, but Alice eased her death grip on his arm.

“Feel the motion of the horse beneath you,” William said.

How did a girl feel anything but all that man pressed against her side?

“Do as I do,” he said. “Rock with the motion, do not fight it.” William’s thighs bunched and the horse lengthened his stride. They went even faster but jounced less than before. “My brother by marriage, Gregory, trained Paladin. He is the very best of his breed.”

By that she assumed his horse was called Paladin. A fitting name for the huge beast. Powerful muscles played beneath Paladin’s gleaming coat as he carried them forward. Alice unbent her spine a mite.

“There,” William murmured. “Work with the horse.”

She allowed the rolling motion of the horse to move through her limbs. William was right. The dreadful jouncing eased. If she kept her eyes off the ground and fixed on the countryside flying past them, she might enjoy her ride.

“Alice.” William’s exasperated tone made her stiffen again. “Your wimple is flapping in my face. Would you remove it please?”

The starched ends of her wimple slapped his cheeks, and he had his head craned high and out of its way. He looked ridiculous craning his face clear of the stiff, snapping cloth, but to remove her wimple. The alternative of blinding William whilst she rode before him did not seem sensible. Finger by finger, she released his arm. Unfastening it with one hand took longer than she would have expected, but the ties gave eventually. Before she could catch it, the wind whipped it out of her hand. Alice turned as far as her awkward seat would allow. Her wimple fluttered down and disappeared beneath the horses following them.

Wind caught her hair and sent it streaming out behind them in a wave of bright copper.

“See, Alice.” William laughed, the sound rumbling through her back. “You have your own war banner.”

Reaching up she tried to contain the mess.

“Leave it.” William tucked his head into her neck and out of the path of her enveloping hair. “Fly you flag proudly, my Alice.”

My Alice? He called her that often, and she rather liked it. A special name he had for her, like how Aonghas called her “pretty wee bird,” only better.

She was riding, on a great fearsome destrier. Her beautiful husband behind her, holding her steady. The day grew even brighter about her. A day on which she might believe herself his Alice.

Sister waited for them as their party entered Tarnwych’s bailey late into the evening. She stood statue-like outside the keep doors, the white of her scapula catching the light of the torches.

Alice’s body ached a bit from the riding. Fear had disappeared somewhere between here and The Crags, and she resolved to learn to ride. Horses were not so very fearsome after all. Alice straightened in the saddle before William.

William’s hands held her steady as he lowered her to the bailey floor.

“You are returned,” Sister said, smoothing her scapula front. “Did the cart have a mishap?”

“Nay.” Alice ducked her head out of the glare of reproach. “William believed we would travel faster by horse.”

“But you do not ride.” Sister folded her hands beneath her scapula. “Your hair.”

Her devil’s hair snarled into a mass of curls down her back, and Alice tried to smooth it into a semblance of order. “I lost my wimple on the ride.”

“You.” Sister snapped her fingers at a nearby serving wench. “Go and fetch Lady Alice another wimple.”

“My lady has no need of one.” William stood beside her, his hand warm on the curve of her back.

“Your pardon, Sir William, but any lady has need of a wimple.” Sister drew herself up. “No decent lady dares go about with her hair unbound. It is an affront in the eyes of our Lord.”

William took a deep breath, the press of his fingers harder in her back. “An affront to our Lord?” His voice softened, silky with anger. “Our Lord is surely not so capricious as to create such beauty and then see it hid.”

“No disrespect, Sir William.” Sister raised her chin stretching her lips into a tight smile. “But I believe as a bride of the church, I am somewhat closer to the wants of our Heavenly Father.”

Alice’s skin prickled with the waves of anger seeping from William.

“Indeed, however—”

“I prefer my wimple.” Stepping away from his light touch, Alice moved closer to Sister. “I will repair my appearance and see you for the evening meal.”

“The men and I will do the same and meet you in the hall,” William said.

Sure she must have misheard, Alice stopped and whirled about.

Sister’s chest rose and fell with her rapid breath. “The men do not eat in the hall.”

“They do now.” William strolled closer. The charming man who had ridden with her vanished beneath a calm, ominous stranger. “They will bathe and present themselves in the hall for meals from this point onwards.”

“At Tarnwych we—”

“As a knight, Sister,” William sketched a low bow, “I believe I am somewhat closer to the ruling of men.”

* * * *

William kept himself still as anger, indecision, and frustration all chased across Sister’s harsh features. Riding with Alice before him had washed away the last of his sour mood, but it returned with a roar that left him wanting to punch something.

The way Alice had buckled and folded before Sister’s condemnation roiled inside him. All day, he’d caught glimpses of a different Alice. A woman whose laughter rang, one who waited at the bars of her cage for someone to set her free. With one look, Sister Julianna had slammed the door shut on Alice.

He didn’t trust himself around the malicious old crow. He needed to occupy himself elsewhere until he had a firm hold on his temper. “But for this night, the hall will sit down to its meal without us.” He strode through the men to the barracks. “This night we work.”

BOOK: Conquering William
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