The Traitor's Daughter (10 page)

He was not going to tell her the whole truth, she knew. Clearly
it was a struggle for him, but his face was almost expressionless and his eyes
wanted to focus anywhere but on her.

“He is true to his friends and implacable to his
enemies. He is for the king as he was for his father. He has land, but always
wants more. He is a clever and cunning soldier, but a poor father and…” he
faltered.

“Husband,” finished Alais. “Is he at least faithful?”

Hugh shook his head.

Alais chose her words carefully. “That does not mean
that I can forget my vows as well.”

Hugh remained silent, but he was losing control of his
face. Alais looked away; she did not want to see what must be there and she
knew her own feelings must be clearly written on her own face.

Hugh was relieved that he would not have to lie too much
to the monks, as Alais had fallen asleep before he and Edmund had left the
room. He was, however, surprised, when the abbot offered the services of the
infirmarian to see how ill the ‘boy’ was and care for him. Hugh protested that
Alfred was merely tired from the day’s travelling, being young and not used to
that kind of exertion and the abbot seemed satisfied.

After a day of silence it was not difficult for Edmund
and Hugh to hold their counsel during the meal. There were other travellers
sharing the monks’ hospitality and although they looked respectable there was
no way of telling who or what they were.  The other travellers talked amongst themselves
and tried to draw the two men into their conversations, but gave up after a
while. Hugh paid close attention to what they were saying, but it was the usual
stories exchanged by travellers: where they had come from; where they were
going; what their business was; which inns and monasteries provided good
accommodation. None of it seemed remarkable to Hugh. All the stories seemed
consistent. Nonetheless, he remained on his guard.

When the meal was over Hugh and Edmund were invited to
stay in the common room and share stories and songs, but Hugh explained about
his sick cousin and they left. They went to the kitchen to collect some food to
take back to Alais. On their way back to their room, Hugh stopped and turned to
face Edmund. “What is it,” he asked, angrily, “that makes you so uncivil to
Lady Alais?”

“Nothing,” said Edmund, taken aback.

“There is something. You never speak to her unless she
speaks first and even then you barely say anything.”

“She’s the daughter of a traitor. And you’re drawn to
her.”

“And that is why you are uncivil to her!” Hugh was
shocked. He and Edmund had an easy relationship, but Edmund rarely criticised
him.

“She’ll lead you astray. You forget that she’s your
father’s wife.”

“I forget nothing,” said Hugh, angrily. “I treat her
like a sister. And you are wrong. She is as loyal to the king as I am.”

“There is treachery in her blood,” replied Edmund calmly.
“It’s part of her. And you may treat her like a sister, but you think of her as
a woman.”

“The danger to her is far greater,” cried Hugh.

“She will only lose what she does not have. You could
lose everything.”

“Do you think I want those estates? You of all people
should know that I want nothing to do with them. They were not gained
honestly.”

“Then give them back when you inherit them, but
remember, that day is a long way off.”

“Do you think Lady Alais will want control when my
father is dead?”

“If she does not, her new husband will.” Hugh felt an
inexplicable urge to punch Edmund, hard, in the face. He even felt his hand
form into a fist before he realised what he was doing. Edmund took a step back
and Hugh knew he had read his intention. He forced himself to take a less
belligerent stance. The first breath did nothing to calm him, the second seemed
to quiet the pounding in his ears and the third enabled him to think.

Hugh had to admit the sense of what Edmund was saying.
It was unlikely that Alais would sit out her long widowhood and not remarry. He
found the thought more painful than he had imagined, especially since a second
marriage would not have to be for the sake of land or wealth, it could be for
love.

“Then we should be grateful it will be a short journey,”
he said to Edmund, surprised that he could speak.

“You should not have interfered,” said Edmund bitterly.
“We should have gone back to France.”

“Nothing is happening in France,” explained Hugh
angrily. “The king negotiates with his allies, while Philip does as he pleases.
There is no real fighting to be had there.” Again, Edmund was right. If only
Edward had decided to fight, they would not be here, now. Many of the
professional soldiers had begun to grow bored. Hugh had known that they would
eventually begin to fight one another or Edward’s allies. He felt that his time
would be better spent at Hill and had returned to England to work on its
fortifications.

“Then you must master yourself and put all thought of
your father’s wife away from you. You knew you could not repair the insult.”

“I know,” admitted Hugh, “but I could not bear for a
stranger, even the daughter of a traitor, to be humiliated so. If it were not
for that one piece of land, my father would not care for her at all. She
deserves better than him.”

Edmund sighed. “You barely know her and yet you would
throw everything away for her.”

“No,” said Hugh, reaching out a hand to place it on Edmund’s
shoulder. “I take your advice to heart and I will master myself.”

“Then I will be more cheerful,” offered Edmund.

Hugh smiled. “At least we can make this a happy journey
for her.”

Edmund rolled his eyes. “Let us hope for comfortable,”
he amended.

“Perhaps that will do,” agreed Hugh and they went to
give Alais her dinner.

When Hugh and Edmund entered the room, Alais was awake
and combing out her hair. She had found and lit the candle they had left for
her. She was startled by their return and hastily pulled up the hood of her
tunic to cover her hair, but not before Hugh had seen it cascading over her
shoulder and down her back. He had a sudden, sharp memory of Isabella grinning
at him mischievously as she brushed her hair. The familiar pain of loss stabbed
at him. He became aware of Lady Alais staring at him.

“We will wait outside until you are ready,” he said,
stepping back into Edmund and forcing him out into the passageway.

“Thank you,” she said, simply and pulled the hood down
again so that he saw her hair again as he closed the door.

He leaned back against it, aware that Edmund was
watching him closely.

“What’s wrong?” asked Edmund.

“Lady Alais is combing her hair,” he whispered.

“Anyone could have seen her,” spluttered Edmund
indignantly.

“There was no reason for anyone else to come into the
room.”

“The infirmarian could have come to check, even though
you made it plain there was no need. Some monks do their duty even when their
abbots tell them otherwise.”

Hugh could tell that Edmund was angry and he was right
about the monks. One of the other travellers could have entered their room in
error or out of curiosity.

After a few moments the door opened. Alais once again
had her hair covered and they entered.

“Did anyone else see you?” asked Edmund immediately.

“No. Why would anyone else come in? I was supposed to be
ill. No one would disturb me. I would have locked the door if I could. But even
in a monastery the privacy of travellers is respected. Do not worry, Edmund. I am
very grateful to you and Sir Hugh. I would not endanger your lives without
cause.”

“But you did!” persisted Edmund. “Not everyone is minded
to respect the privacy of others. Especially not thieves and vagabonds.”

“It must be a terrible thing to go through life
expecting the worst from everyone,” snapped Alais. “They are more likely to be
ordinary travellers.”

“We do not know,” said Hugh, quickly, to stop Edmund
responding. “Edmund is right and it is better to act as if everyone is a
criminal, for the next few days, at least.”

Alais lowered her gaze and he knew that he had hurt her.
Still, better that than a knife in the night or tomorrow on the road.

“We brought you food,” he said, sitting next to her on
the bed.

“Thank you,” she said, but she did not turn round to
take it from him. He stood, awkwardly and placed it on the bed next to her.

Edmund had already removed his tunic and got into bed,
muttering just loudly enough for them both to hear, about having to sleep in
his clothes because of Alais.

Alais started to eat, attacking the food like a beggar.
Hugh felt a pang of guilt that he had made her wait so long to eat. He, too,
removed his tunic and got into the bed beside Edmund. He closed his eyes. It
had not been a good day and nothing like the start to their journey that he had
envisaged. He was more tired from his anger and Edmund’s ill-temper than from
the physical exertions of the day. He fell asleep quickly, listening to Alais
eating quietly.

The next day was grey and overcast, but the rain held off.
Their cloaks were still damp from the rain the day before, but they had no
choice other than to set off early in the morning. Alais had not been as rested
as she had hoped. Although she had been tired, she had not found it easy to
sleep with the two men in the same room. It was not that she was afraid of
them, or even embarrassed. Her reputation would be destroyed if anyone found
out, but that was not what kept sleep from her. It was the strangeness of it. Alais
was used to sleeping in the same room with other women, but the men made
different noises. At first she had tried to bore herself to sleep by trying to
distinguish between the two men by the sounds they made as they turned in bed
or as their breathing changed as they drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
Then, when she had finally managed to fall asleep, she was awakened by a bell
calling the monks to some service or other. She heard Edmund grunt and from the
rustling she guessed that he had turned over and gone straight back to sleep.
Then she heard Hugh’s whisper. “I am sorry, my lady, I forgot about the bells
when we sought to spend the night here.”

“It is of no matter, my lord, I shall soon be asleep
again.” She lied. Hearing his quiet voice in the darkness had brought her
totally awake and she was aware now of every sound that he made. Since he was
awake and Edmund asleep, she could even distinguish which was his breathing. It
was the steady rhythm of Hugh’s breathing that eventually sent her to sleep.

Alais hoped that this day would be more enjoyable than
the previous one. Her argument with the men before they went to bed had made
her wary of them this morning, but Edmund, at least, seemed more cheerful and
he had made himself useful to her by bringing his own food with hers to their
room and eating there. He said nothing, but Alais was content with the truce
and was prepared to be more friendly and careful. She could think of no other
way to show how much she had taken their concerns about her safety to heart
than to obey immediately anything they asked of her; she even mounted her horse
without help. She was clumsy, but she assumed anyone watching would put it down
to her lack of stature and not think that she was a woman.

They left with two of the other travellers from the
monastery, but Hugh was eager to leave them behind in case they should not be
what they seemed. By midday they had separated themselves from the other group.
Shortly after midday Alais’ horse stumbled. Immediately Hugh had brought his
own horse to a halt, jumped out of the saddle and was holding the reins of
Alais’ horse before she was really aware of what had happened. Seeing the
concern in his eyes, she said, “All is well my lord.”

Hugh nodded. “I shall look at his legs.” He helped her
down and they examined the horse’s legs, discovering signs of lameness in one.
“He will be able to walk a few miles without a rider and the rest overnight
should restore him.” He and Edmund looked at one another, then Hugh turned back
to her. “You will have to get up with me, my lady.”

Alais was glad that she did not have to ride with Edmund
again. Although he had been more cheerful this morning, still she remembered
how uncomfortable the ride to Hill had been. Hugh put her on his own horse,
then mounted behind her. He pulled his cloak round both of them and put his arm
round her, pulling her back against his chest. “Are you comfortable enough, my
lady?” he asked, gruffly.

“Perfectly,” she responded. And indeed she was. She had
not been mistaken in her belief that riding in front of Hugh would be more
comfortable than riding in front of Edmund and she was sure that Hugh enjoyed
the experience as much as she did. She felt herself surrounded by him, his
strong hard body behind her, his muscular arm in front and his cloak
surrounding them both. It was an unlooked for intimacy and the more enjoyable
for being unexpected. They set off again at a slower pace for the sake of her
horse and Hugh’s.

“I hope I do not ride too awkwardly for you, my lord.”

“Not at all. I used to ride with my sister in the same
way.”

They rode quietly for a few miles, the two men
discussing possible reasons for the horse’s lameness and estimates of how far
he could walk without permanent damage. Alais took no part in the conversation,
but enjoyed the sensation of feeling the rumble of Hugh’s voice through her
back and the rhythm of his breathing.

She placed her right hand on his for balance.
Immediately he spread his fingers in the gesture that she remembered from Roger’s
house. This time there was no hesitation as she placed her fingers between his.
Slowly and rhythmically his thumb began to stroke hers. She eased herself back,
relaxing against him, ridiculously, fatally happy. However much she tried to
convince herself that there was no more to his gesture than care for her safety
and a certain ease in her company, she knew it meant more. Whatever the reason,
a thrill ran through her body at being this close to him and being held by him.

Now Alais wanted to know more about Hugh. “Tell me about
your children,” she said, trying to draw him out.

“Children!” he snorted.

“Edmund told me that your property came to you through
your wife, so I assumed you had children.”

“No, no children.”

“I am sorry. Perhaps in the future.”

“Perhaps,” said Hugh. His body tensed. It was not as
soft and yielding as it had been moments before.

“I am sorry, my lord, I did not intend to bring up a
painful subject.”