Conquering William (17 page)

“She is well.” William burned to get to the bottom of her unconscionable behavior. For certain, the evil nun lay at the root of whatever beset Alice. Undoubtedly the old besom had some rotten maggot eating at her head about his family taking shelter within Tarnwych. He would love to see her face when she learned of Ivy’s past profession. Or perhaps she already knew and dripped her poison in Alice’s ear.

“Is she displeased we are here?” Beatrice never danced around the point.

William forced a smile and slung his arm about her shoulders. “I am glad you are here. Even if it is under these circumstances.”

Beatrice studied him though narrowed eyes. Garrett must have a calming influence on his sister, because she kept her tongue between her teeth and followed his motion for her to enter the keep.

“It is cold enough to freeze your ballocks off here,” Richard said and gave him a huge grin. “That is what Roger says.”

“Roger is not far wrong.” William buffeted his nephew gently atop the shoulder. “But if your mother hears you say that, you’ll be spitting soap for a week.”

“Nay.” Richard cocked his head. “She is not so bad, and she says worse. But Nurse…” Richard rolled his eyes.

Nurse had escaped the illness at Anglesea according to Ivy. Not even disease had the effrontery to challenge Nurse. As his mother’s most devoted supporter, Lady Mary had a stalwart warrior by her side in Nurse.

* * * *

Alice’s legs shook so hard she tripped up the stairs. As she drew closer to her chamber, her good sense reappeared. What had beset her in the bailey?

Sister had not spared her the grim details of William’s family before, and she had felt no terror at them entering Tarnwych for her wedding feast.

The boy, Mathew, had not come with the wedding party. And her terror centered about the child. How ridiculous for a grown woman to fear a child so much she nigh ran away from him. In fairness, she could not blame William for his fury. She had implored him to bar his family the keep. Only an awful wife would demand such a thing.

She reached the landing above and took a moment to order her thoughts.

“Lady Alice.” Gord marched down the corridor toward her. “We will need accommodations for his lordship’s family. Have you any notion of how long they will stay?”

“Nay.” She had run away like a scared rabbit before she could ask William anything. Why they were here, and only a few of them. How long they planned to stay. Why Lady Beatrice wore such a somber expression. “I would ask Sir William.”

Tonight they would expect her to present herself at dinner and put a pleasant face on for her family by marriage. She walked to her bedchamber, her sense of her own foolishness building. Along with it came the dread realization of William’s anger. She deserved his censure, and she did not think he would raise his hand to her, but had she destroyed the fragile, fledgling bond between them with her actions this morning?

Her chamber door stood open and she stepped inside.

“They are still here.” Sister paced before the casement, her gaze locked on the bailey below.

“They are my family now.” Alice kept her tone calm, but verily, Sister was not helping. “I will not turn them away.”

“They brought the whore with them.” Sister pressed her fingertips to her forehead, breathing deep. “I saw her with the children. A whore amongst the innocent. God weeps at such a travesty.

“The whore?” Alice recalled Sister mentioning a whore before, but she had seen only Lady Beatrice and the beautiful dark-haired woman in the bailey. Surely she wasn’t the whore?

“They spread their evil wherever they touch. Betrayers, whores, and immodest women. The abomination is God’s judgment against their sins. Yet see how they flaunt him for all the world. They are shameless in their wickedness.” Sister gripped the sides of the casement and leant forward.

Alice stared at Sister’s back. Even for Sister, that was a harsh mouthful.

Sister stepped back, clasping her hands at her chest. “I must pray.”

Behind her eyes, Alice’s head gave a dull throb. Any more of this and she might take to her bed with a tisane. “Judge not, Sister, lest you be judged.”

Sister uttered a harsh gasp and turned a wrathful face on Alice. “You would use the Lord’s words to justify evil?”

“I am not justifying evil.” Alice twitched with the need to shake some sense into Sister. “But they are my family now and it would behoove me to greet them with a polite smile and bid them welcome.”

“I shall do no such thing.” Sister folded her hands beneath her scapula.

“Then I suggest you take yourself somewhere where your rudeness will go unmarked.”

Alice breathed deep, once, and then again, to still the nerves in her belly. After Sister left her, she had made an effort with her appearance. As much as she would like to deny she did it to appease William, the look on his face in the bailey prompted her inner peacemaker to, at least, leave her hair unbound and clasp the simplest of the girdles about her prettiest dress. When compared to William’s gift silks, the dark blue linen presented as a poor relation, but it was the best she had.

If her appearance failed to soothe his ire, she had run Gord and young Will ragged ensuring Tarnwych welcomed her visitors. Fresh linens, new pallets, refreshment—whatever William’s kin required, she had seen it provided. All from the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

Her first peep into the hall had her slinking back beneath the concealing shadows either side of the door. Beatrice sat beside William at table, the vibrant peacock tones of her bliaut providing a gleaming backdrop for her blond prettiness.

“There is nothing frightening about the Lady Beatrice.” Saying the words aloud helped still the violent flutters in Alice’s middle. Pretty enough, tall and willowy with a sweet smile, Beatrice’s manner held a freedom that made Alice feel in the presence of a glorious, brilliant lark—made her feel dull and planted on the ground, ferreting through the undergrowth for grubs and worms while the other woman soared above her.

Alice snorted. Her verse had not improved since her wedding day.

“My lady?” A deep, resonant voice cut into her addled meanderings. Sir Gregory emerged from the gloom of the corridor and stood by her side. His tall form cast long shadows that swallowed her whole. Offering her his arm, he nodded to the hall. “Shall we?”

Beneath her fingertips his simple linen tunic covered the rough-hewn strength of his arm. Sir Gregory appeared modest in his dress, rich but not showy, wearing dark fabrics that added to the mysterious air surrounding the man.

Taller even than William, Sir Gregory’s shoulder cleared the crown of her head. She tried to picture him in a monk’s habit and failed. Command hung in the air about him, a low buzz of bridled power clung to him in a manner ill-suited to a priest. Put a sword in his hand, aye. Set a hauberk about his shoulders and send him to the Holy Land to fight the non-believers—single-handedly—now that she could picture.

“Have you recovered?” People parted for her and Sir Gregory in a wave. For Sir Gregory, at least, and whoever had that still, compelling presence by their side.

“Eh?” Dear Lord, he had her tongue-tied. As for impressing William’s family, she was a lost cause.

“William said you were not well this afternoon.” Sir Gregory inclined his dark head. Eyes blacker than pitch, he stared at her. The Archangel, Saint Michael, leader of God’s armies, bringer of the deceased souls to heaven, guardian of the faithful. “Lady Alice?”

“Aye. I am much recovered.” Her stupid head insisted on drawing great wings rising above his head. “I do not know what came over me.”

He nodded in the direction of the dais. “They have that effect on people, the Anglesea folk.”

Not him though, Alice would wager, if she wagered, which she did not, because Sister would collapse at the mere suggestion. But if she wagered, she would place her last gold piece that he feared nothing.

Sir Gregory chuckled. “I can assure you, my lady, I am no stranger to fear.”

Good Lord, had she said all that aloud? Her face flamed. Still, she didn’t believe it for a second. Alice made a point of keeping her lips shut before she allowed her last thought to escape as well.

“See the children are here.” Sir Gregory’s deep voice warmed like treacle over a fire. “You did not meet them in the bailey.”

Lady Beatrice had her boys about her at table. Alice’s heart gave a nasty turn as she searched for the other child. The one who even the thought of caused a strange prickling in her palms. One of the boys sat between William and his mother. Big eyes stared at her over the table as he shoved a chubby fistful of bread into his mouth. The older child, no more than three years, tugged on William’s tunic, his little face crinkled in vehement entreaty.

Alice breathed a soft sigh of relief.

William rose as they approached, shoulders taut, his handsome face colder than the stones beneath her slippers. “My lady.”

“My lord.” Alice accepted his assistance over the bench and took her seat.

Beatrice leant forward to see past William. “Hello, Alice.”

Warmth unfurled through Alice’s chest, set into motion by the open smile gifted her by Beatrice. Not as lovely as Faye, Beatrice had a charm all of her own, and it spread from her like the sun’s rays warming everyone about her. “Hello.”

“You must think us horribly rude to have descended on you like this.” Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “But we have good reason. There is illness at Anglesea. It has struck the keep hard.” Some of the light died on Beatrice’s face, and Alice wanted it back. “Our brother Roger is strong and young, but our mother…” Tears welled in the blue-green brightness of Beatrice’s eyes.

“She will recover, Sweet Bea.” William put his arm about her shoulders. “You forget the strength of her will.”

Alice wanted to say something comforting, but her tongue knotted.

“You are right.” Beatrice sniffed and took a napkin from the table. She dabbed her cheeks and drew in a breath. “Nurse will not allow it any other way.”

“You have the right of it there.” William chuckled, and a watery smile wavered about Beatrice’s lips.

“You are welcome here,” Alice said, and meant every word. Sweet Bea—it suited her new sister. A sister. What a wondrous notion. As a child, Alice had invented her own sister to follow her around the halls of Yarborough. “Stay as long as you need to. We are family now.”

Beatrice gave her another sweet smile, but the one from William made Alice want to toss up her skirts and dance a jig atop the table. He loved his family, now her family.

“Gah!” The baby beside Beatrice opened and closed his chubby fist as he reached for the bread atop the table.

“This loud gentleman is Adam.” Beatrice broke a small piece of bread and gave it to Adam. “You will have to forgive his manners, but like most men he is a bear when hungry.”

“I am hungry too.” The other boy wedged himself between Alice and William.

“Indeed, master Richard.” William hauled the child up by the back of his tunic. Alice gasped at such rough treatment of a child, but Richard shrieked with delight. William tucked him in the narrow gap between them on the bench. “Now make your greeting to Lady Alice.”

“Good evening.” Richard had his mother’s eyes.

Alice inclined her head gravely. “Good evening to you.”

“I like your hair,” said Richard. “It shines.”

“Aye, it does.” William wrapped her braid about his fist. “Like gold.”

“Nay,” said Richard. “Like fire.”

“Like mead.” William raised a brow at his nephew.

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Like…like honey.”

“Like—”

“Enough.” Alice fanned her hot cheeks. Any more of this nonsense would turn her head.

“Thank you.” William kissed her cheek, and the rock within her chest lifted. “He had the best of me at honey.”

Serving women brought the meal to the table. Beatrice’s children remained amongst them, not confined to another table or even another part of the keep. Nothing dire happened with the children at table. Richard spilled a cup of water, but other than that, Alice enjoyed their presence. When she had children, she would make sure they sat like Beatrice’s children amongst their family.

Richard’s warmth pressed against her side, his small form alight with energy and life. One day her child might ask for more milk with his bread, and be chided by William not to stuff his mouth with meat.

At the hall entrance, a woman and boy appeared.

Sweat broke out over Alice’s skin. Her belly threatened to disgorge her dinner as Alice dragged her eyes off the boy and back to the woman. Ivy. She looked like the sort of woman Alice could befriend. Yet she knew the story. Sister had told her countless times this woman was a whore, not fit to grace the presence of ladies.

“There you are.” Beatrice rose to her feet. “We had given up on you two.”

“Mathew wanted to see the horses before he went to bed,” Ivy said with a soft smile. Her gaze flitted to Alice and she bobbed a curtsy. “My lady.”

Words to bid her and the boy—Mathew, he had a name—screamed in Alice’s head but her tongue stuck, parchment dry, to the roof of her mouth. Her throat closed tight about them and refused to let them come.

William’s gaze burned into her, but Mathew transfixed her like a rabbit caught in a fox’s stare.

Silence pressed around her as Ivy and Mathew stood before the dais waiting for her to bid them welcome, invite them to join the table. Mathew fidgeted, pressing his head to Ivy’s side.

Alice met Beatrice’s gaze. Confusion, and then anger and condemnation written clear across Beatrice’s features as Alice sat there, frozen to the spot. “I…”

“You must be hungry.” William’s voice cut through the thick quiet. His joviality carried an edge to it that made Alice wince. “Come and join us.”

Ivy nodded and took Mathew’s hand. She cocked her head at Alice, her gaze holding a wealth of understanding Alice did not deserve. It humbled her to her core. Shame writhed inside her.

Mathew shuffled close to Ivy’s side, and a bench scraped, jarring and loud. It was her. Alice was on her feet, stumbling over the bench. The hall entrance and safety rushed toward her.