Gods Concubine (8 page)

“It will do,” she said, and loosened the laces holding together the neck of her under-robe so that he could run his hand over her breasts. “For all the gods’ sake, William…”

The agony of wanting in her voice undid him. He hauled the skirts of her gown up, running his hands over her thighs and bare buttocks. Then he lifted her up, resting her buttocks on a shelf and, as she wrapped her legs about his hips, fumbled desperately with his own clothing that he might bury himself within her, and as he did so, as he moaned and dug his fingers into her buttocks, pulling her hard against him, there came the faint memory of Matilda’s words two months earlier:
You will not dishonour me with her?

Never!
he had cried.

Never…

He thrust deeply into Swanne again, and then again, and she cried out and tightened her legs about him.

Never.

And then William became aware of that damned belly of Swanne’s digging into his, and he wondered if she had cried out like this under Harold of Wessex, and whether or not she had ever promised Harold what William had promised Matilda.

Never
.

“I can’t,” he said, groaning, and pulled out of Swanne so abruptly she almost tumbled to the floor.

She flushed, and he knew her well enough to know it was anger.

“Not yet,” he said, readjusting his own clothing.

“What?” she hissed. “You don’t want to dishonour your
wife?
”

William’s face reddened—she had picked up his thoughts. “She is important to me.”

“And I am
not
?” Swanne said, dangerously quiet.

“Listen to me, Swanne.” William stepped close to her and took her chin between fingers less gentle than they had been earlier. “Neither of us can afford to relax our guard. Each of us has a part to play so that, eventually, we can both play our parts
together
. Yes, Matilda is important to me. She brings at her back military might and alliances that I can ill afford to ignore if I am to seize the throne of England. For the love of Christ and His army of damned Christian saints, Swanne, have you not heard of my dilemma? I spend eleven months of the year, year in, year out, fighting rival claimants to Normandy; men and armies sent by
Asterion
, I have no doubt, to keep me occupied and away from England. I need Matilda, her dowry of military support and alliances, if ever I am to consolidate my hold on Normandy and then turn to England. Matilda…damn it, Swanne, Matilda is my way to you and to the Troy Game!”

She had quietened and relaxed a little as he spoke, and now she reluctantly gave a small nod. “You think Asterion sends these armies to annoy you?”

“Aye. Again and again they come back. That’s Asterion’s hand, none other.” He paused. “Is he in England? Do you know him?”

She shook her head. “I cannot tell who he is, but the ‘where’…well, I am certain he is in England. I can
feel
his presence sometimes, generally when Edward is holding court, but that sense is only faint, and there are so many people about…”

“We must be wary, Swanne.”

“Yes. I know.”

He kissed her. “It won’t be long, surely…not now.”

She gave a half smile. “No. It won’t be long.” Then, “Where are your kingship bands, William? You feel naked without them.”

He grimaced. “After…after you died—”

“After my
murder
at that bitch’s hands.”

“Aye. After Cornelia murdered you, I burned you atop a great pyre on Og’s Hill. Then, mindful of your warning—‘
Save the Game. Hide it, for Asterion is surely on his way.
’—I took the bands from my limbs and hid them around London. They lie there still, even though I think Asterion hunted through two thousand years for them so he could destroy the Game.”

She shivered, and moved in close against him. “I do not know what amazes me more, William. That for two thousand years Asterion sought those bands—and kept us apart—or that you have such power you could frustrate him for that long. William, can you still feel the bands? You know they are safe?”

He nodded. “They are safe. I would know the instant anyone touched them.”

“And the Game?” she said. “Do you feel it even as far from it as you are?”

He nodded. “It is strong still. Unweakened by all the time it has been left to itself.”

There was a small silence.

“It is different, William.”

He hesitated before answering.
Yes, the Game
was
different.

“Could the Game have changed in the two thousand years it was left alone
?
” Swanne said.

“Perhaps,” William said, but his voice was slow and not reassuring. “We had not closed it. It was still alive, and still in that phase of its existence where it was actively growing. Who knows what…”

He stopped then, but his unspoken words were clear.
Who knows what it could have grown into.

“Oh, gods. William,” Swanne said, “how long before you can come?”

He gave a small shrug. “With the resources Matilda brings at her back? With her father and her entire clan as allies? A year, maybe two at the most. Swanne, listen to me—we cannot risk this again.”

“Meeting like this? Are you afraid that next time your Matilda might discover us?”

He tensed, and she knew the truth of her words.

“I cannot afford to alienate her, Swanne, but, no, I fear more for what Asterion might do. You can be sure that he’s somewhere, watching us. Manipulating us.” He paused. “Is there anyone at Edward’s court who you can trust to carry messages between us?”

She thought, frowning, then her brow cleared. “Yes. Do you know the cleric, Aldred? He is a Norman, so…”

“Yes, indeed. I know him well.” William paused for thought, then gave a decisive nod. “He is an excellent choice. Either he, or his subordinates, travel to and from Normandy throughout the year.”

“And he favours you. I have heard him talk well of you to Edward.”

William smiled. “Aldred then. But be careful, for—”

He stopped suddenly, his head up. “Gods, Matilda is but fifty paces away. She is looking for me. Go, Swanne.
Go!
”

“William—”

“
Go!
” He kissed her once, hard. “Go! It won’t be long. I swear. It won’t be long, but
go!
”

And then she was gone, and William staggered, caught his balance, and looked up to see Matilda staring at him from the doorway.

S
IX

S
he was only seventeen, the crown of her head scarcely reached his chest, and she had none of the mystical power of the woman who had just left him, but Matilda’s simple, still presence and her clear, questioning gaze made William’s heart thud with nerves.

“There has been someone with you,” she said, and, closing the door, walked into the room, her eyes now sliding this way and that about the tack room.

Suddenly her eyes were back on him, very still. “Someone unsettling enough that your breath rasps in your throat and your cheeks flush. What is this, William? That look I only thought to see in the more intimate moments of our marriage.”

“You surprised me.”

“I think I should have surprised you a moment or two earlier than I did. Yes?”

William thought of what Matilda
might
have seen had she been that bit earlier. Swanne, legs about his hips, moaning in abandon? Gods—

“You vowed,” Matilda’s voice was harsher now, and William could hear the grate of pain and judgement underlying it, “that you would never dishonour me with her. Not two months since.”

Gods, what had she seen? Or was Matilda more perceptive than he had credited?

William thought of all the lies he could tell,
would
have told had this been Cornelia instead of Matilda, and he thought that when he began to speak one of those glib lies would slip smoothly out. But he found himself remembering their marriage night, and what benefits the truth had brought him then, and so when he spoke, it was truth rather than falsehoods. “She was here, that woman of whom I spoke, and she begged me to take her. Oh God, Matilda, I wanted to. Thus my breath. Thus my flushed cheeks.”

“And you did not?” Matilda had not moved, and her eyes were very steady on his.

“I began,” he said. “I was roused, and for a moment I did not think. Then I remembered you, and I stepped back from her.”

“You remembered what I bring at my back, more like.”

“I remembered
you
, Matilda. If it had been your dowry at the forefront of my mind then I could have lied to you just now.”

“Who is she, William?”

“She is the Lady Swanne, Harold of Wessex’s wife.”

“I have heard of her, and of her legendary beauty. How came she here, William?”

Oh gods, how to explain
this
to her?

“She was raised among the ancient ways,” he said, “and, when a baby, suckled at the breasts of faeries. She…she commands powers that many would condemn.”

Matilda stared at her husband for many long minutes, digesting this piece of information. “A witch?” she said finally, her voice a mere whisper.

William opened, then closed his mouth. He gave a single nod.

“By Christ himself, William, what interest has she in you?”

“Even witches can find me attractive, Matilda.”

Matilda laughed, and William was profoundly relieved to hear genuine amusement in it.

“As also daughters of Flanders,” she said. “Very well. I believe you. I think you spoke truth to me just now. Not many husbands would have done it. Now tell me more. Was that,” she waved a hand at his groin, “the only reason she used her witchcraft to reach you?”

“No. Matilda, I have spoken long and often to you of my plans for my…for
our
future. But there is one burning ambition of which I have not yet spoken to you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I long for the throne of England. I
yearn
for it.”

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Fighting for Normandy isn’t enough for you?”

“When Normandy is secure, then I am turning my eyes to England, Matilda. You are already Duchess of Normandy—”

“Those bits of it you command,” she said, sotto voce.

“How much more would you like to be Queen of England?”

She thought about it. “Very much, I think. I have heard it is a fine land, and rich, and its people pliable, but I have also heard that there are many people who lust for England. The Anglo-Saxon earls for one, notable among them the Godwine family, and what of the Danes and Norwegians? They have ever longed for England.”

He grinned, mischievous. “I thought the challenge would appeal to you.”

“Oh, aye, challenge
does
appeal to me. Why else marry
you
?”

They both laughed, their eyes locking, and William relaxed even more. He moved close to her, and bent down to kiss her, but she moved away.

“Not when your mouth still stinks of this Swanne. Later, perhaps, when you have washed away her taste with wine.”

William was not perturbed by Matilda’s refusal, for there was no hatred or bitterness in her voice. Indeed, her tone had been matter-of-fact, as if all she had complained about was that his mouth still stank of the leeks he’d eaten for his noon meal.

“I will secure Normandy,” he said. “And then I will go for England. I
will
be king of England, Matilda. And you queen.”

“Not this Swanne?”

He shook his head, his eyes unwavering. “No. You. Swanne is…Swanne is my eyes and ears within Edward’s court. My ambition for England is also her ambition.”

“And yet she does not want to be your queen in return for all this disloyalty to her country and husband.”

“What she might
want
,” William said quietly, “is not necessarily what she might get.” Stunningly, he realised that this was no lie.

She regarded him very steadily for some time before finally speaking. “Do you not want to know the reason I came seeking you? What made me dare the stables and all its dirt?”

He smiled. “What, my love?”

Now she drew close to him and, taking his hand, put it on her stomach. “The midwives have just confirmed to me what I have suspected now for a week or more. I am with child, William.”

He looked at her, then drew her in close, holding her in silence for a long time. Eventually Matilda drew back, her face softer than it had been at any time before in this conversation.

“Do you think you could still bear to make love to me when I am swollen with this child, William?”

He smiled, but for a moment the memory of Swanne’s pregnant body pressed against his consumed him. “I will find it no difficulty at all,” he said.

“Then let us quit this tired and dusty stable, and seek our bedchamber and that glass of wine to wash Swanne from your mouth. I do not think that tightness of breath nor that flush in your cheeks should be wasted.”

He slept once they’d made love, but Matilda lay awake under the heaviness of his body, thinking over all that had happened this day.

Matilda had known the instant she’d stepped into that tack room what had been happening, although she’d not been able to understand the how of it, for there was no exit from that place save the doorway she herself stood in.

But there William had stood before her, as aroused as ever she’d seen him, and behind her had stood the Master of the Horse, Alain Roussel, who had begged her not to enter.

Matilda had closed the door on Roussel and had done what she had to, in order not only to save her marriage from disintegrating into a sham, but also to fashion it into something even stronger than it had been.

William had been engaged in making love with another woman (and a witch, no less!) that he’d already admitted (and on their wedding night!) was the first love of his life. Matilda could have whined and sulked, or she could have cried and stormed and threatened, but she did none of these things, realising it would have lost her William’s respect. Instead, she had remained calm and reasonable, allowing William to judge himself by his own words rather than by hers. She realised that a marriage could be made on stronger ties than love and that, in the end, these ties would defeat whatever love or lust William felt for this Swanne.