Conquering William (24 page)

“What is in it?”

“Milk.” God forgive her the lie. But her head hurt from Sister’s near-endless shrieking. Finally, Alice had escaped to the kitchen and warmed some milk for her.

Ivy had slipped in and wordlessly handed her a powder.

Sister took a longer sip and lay back against her pillows. “Do not let him send me away, Alice.”

Snap.
The trap jaws fastened around Alice. Sister stared at her, waiting for her promise. And she could not. “Rest now, Sister. You have had an upsetting day.”

“I have cared for you when nobody else would,” Sister said. “A motherless child, unloved by any, scorned by your father.”

“Drink your milk, Sister.” Alice tipped the mug and forced Sister into a bigger sip. Aye, Sister had cared for her, and her father did scorn her. She still did not like hearing it, though. Not as much as Sister enjoyed repeating it.

“He will wheedle his way into your heart. He will make you send me away,” Sister said.

“William has never spoken of sending you away.” She spoke true, although their situation could not continue this way for much longer. Ungrateful child that she was, Alice might not stop William if he did send Sister away. What sort of person repaid another with treachery?

Except, it felt right for Sister to return to the convent. When Alice and William grew closer, Sister stepped into the gap and widened it again. Alice had three people in her marriage, and that meant one person too many. Ironically, Sister had persuaded Alice to accept the match without argument, and now Sister wriggled between husband and wife and it did none of them any good.

As for Sister’s assessment of William’s family, Alice did not agree with it. Not even the smallest bit. How anyone could look at Ivy and call her whore baffled Alice. Aye, Beatrice marched to her own drummer, but the woman was kind and loving, and filled those around her with joy. As for Gregory, Alice had never met a Godlier person. He did not lecture and sigh like Father Mark, or rant and rail like Sister. From him in calm waves of certainty came Gregory’s faith, as much a part of him as his strength and his size.

Quite simply, Alice did not see the world through Sister’s eyes anymore. Her world grew into a bigger, brighter place, full of scents and tastes and sensations, each new one a delightful revelation.

Perhaps Sister should leave Tarnwych?

Sister snuffled in her sleep, and Alice snuck out of the room. Beyond the casement a dull, gray day greeted her. Not perfect weather for a walk, but it would help work the fidgets from her head.

Light drizzle misted the air as she crossed the bailey out onto the moors. Daylight faded, and the air held a chill that crept beneath clothing and settled in bones.

Alice trudged away from the castle and crested a small rise. From here she could see as far as the village to the south and to the north make out the smudged outline of the crags from which Aonghas’s manor drew its name. As a child she had imagined the fae folk dwelled in those crags. Sharing her imaginings with Sister had earned her a week’s worth of sore knees as she had sought forgiveness for false idolatry.

Like her mood, the weather pressed heavy and glum. Her dream of the night before had stayed with her throughout her day. The scene had been so real, familiar, as if it were a memory. She had tried to make sense of it, to wheedle out some tiny thread of remembrance. Dark nothingness met her attempts, but laced with the fear she experienced when Mathew drew near. Her damp skirts clung to her ankles and slowed her progress. Out here on the moors, she could always clear her head and think. Many called them ugly and barren, but Alice found beauty in their harsh solitude.

Possibly, Sister’s constant carping on Mathew as “the abomination” had wormed into her mind and festered. Certainly, Sister did not help, but the trouble ran deeper than that. It lurked on the periphery of her waking mind and refused her attempts to delve deeper. Her boots sunk into the peaty, rain soaked ground. Rain fell thicker around her, seeping through her cloak and chilling her skin. She trudged back to the castle.

Muffled hoof beats sounded behind her.

Beatrice rode a large, chestnut horse, her seat so natural it appeared horse and rider were one being. Like Alice, the rain had soaked her to the skin.

“What are you doing out here?” Beatrice drew level with her.

“I came for a walk to clear my head.” Alice had walked farther than she intended and faced a long tromp through the rain to the keep and dry clothes.

“Come along.” Beatrice held out her hand. “Put your foot on mine and I will take you back with me.”

With Beatrice pulling and a good bit of clumsy clambering, Alice settled behind Beatrice. Funny, how her fear of riding seemed to have disappeared.

“Strange day for a walk,” Beatrice said and heeled the horse into motion.

“It was not raining this hard when I left.”

Beatrice nodded and urged the horse into a fast walk. “As much as I would like to run for cover, this rain makes the ground slick, and I could not bear it if Breeze slipped and broke a leg.”

“Your horse is called Breeze?”

“Aye.” Beatrice covered her head with her hood. “We have been on a few adventures together, my girl and I.”

Alice slid her arms about Beatrice’s waist. With the woman so wroth with her, she did not want to impose, but falling off the horse would hurt more than her pride. “Is this the horse you rode to London?”

Beatrice stiffened. “I see William told you about that.”

“I asked him about his family.” Alice ducked behind the shelter of Beatrice’s shoulder. Much-taller Beatrice acted as a welcome weather break.

“I am surprised you were interested,” Beatrice said with a sniff.

She might never have another opportunity like this one. Wet and miserable though they both were, she had Beatrice’s attention. “I was interested…am interested. William adores you and your sister. And Ivy.”

Beatrice snorted. “So he says when we are not about. But there you have brothers.”

She envied Beatrice that sort of statement, exasperation laced with fondness and familiarity. “I do not have a brother, or a sister.”

“Indeed.” Breeze sidestepped a waving clump of heather and Beatrice clucked to the horse. “As much as my brothers vex me, I am glad for them.”

“William tells me Henry has gone on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land?”

“That was quite some conversation you had with William,” Beatrice said. “Indeed, Henry has always been a pious ache in the ass.”

Alice gasped before she could stop it. Never had she heard a woman say “ass.” She rather liked it, and she giggled.

Beatrice peered around at her and made a wry face. “I know. My language is shocking. Garrett’s is worse, and it only encourages me.”

“Ass.” Alice tried the word out, rolling it around her mouth. “Ass.”

Beatrice laughed, full, rich, and pushing back the day’s gloom. “Do not be telling William I am responsible for your swearing.”

“It is the first time I have said it,” Alice said.

“Ah.” Beatrice grinned over her shoulder. “Then you should say it again.”

“I think I will.” Using the word brought with it a delicious thrill. “Your pardon, my lady, but could you move your ass?”

“My lord you are naught more than a horse’s ass,” said Beatrice.

Alice collapsed against her back in giggles. Even the rain did not seem so bad.

“Ah, Alice.” Beatrice chuckled. “We will make an Anglesea of you yet.”

What a lovely thought. “I would like that.”

Beatrice reined Breeze in. “Would you?”

“Aye.” She could think of few things she wanted more than to be a part of this loud, loving, chaotic family. To roll her eyes at Henry’s pomposity, or have Roger tease her and tug her braid. “It is why I was walking in this miserable rain.”

Beatrice snorted. “The idea of being an Anglesea had you determined to catch a chill in the rain?”

“Nay.” Beatrice’s dry expression made Alice giggle. “I was thinking about Sister and William. They do not get along.”

“Ah.” Beatrice got Breeze moving again. “Does anybody get along with Sister?”

Beatrice posed a fair question. “I suppose there is only me.”

“And you did not really have a choice in the matter,” Beatrice said.

“She did take care of me.” It would not be fair to have Beatrice think of Sister as a monster.

Beatrice grunted. “And now William and your Sister are stretching you between them?”

“Something like that.”

“I have that a bit,” Beatrice said.

Alice found that hard to believe.

“Between my father and Garrett. Actually between Roger and Garrett, too. William manages a little more tolerance, but not much.”

Alice had grown used to thinking of Garrett as “the bastard” or the “accursed villein,” as Sister referred to him. He took on form when Beatrice spoke of him. “Your father does not like your husband?”

Beatrice flapped her hand. “Oh, Father likes him well enough, but they have a complicated past, and both of them are too stubborn to admit that it is over.”

Alice would ask William to tell her the story. Listening to him speak of his family in his soothing, deep voice was a special treat. “So, what do you do? When your husband and father make you feel tugged in different directions.”

“I side with Garrett,” Beatrice said, then chuckled. “For the most part and in front of other people.” She shrugged. “He is the man I chose, but then I have been in love with him since the moment I first saw him.”

Perhaps they had that in common.

* * * *

A mud beast stood in the bailey, and Alice could not drag her eyes away. It had William’s height and form, but covered in filth and muck from head to toe.

Beatrice drew Breeze to a halt outside the stable.

William’s horse capered past them, pursued by a red-faced Cedric. He caught Alice’s eye and pressed his lips together, but the laughter still reached his eyes.

“What is going on?” Beatrice pushed her hood back.

William swiped mud from his face and flung it at the floor. “I fell off my horse.”

“You what?” Alice and Beatrice said together.

William sighed. “I fell off my horse into the mud.”

A group of men standing outside the stables watched him. They did a poor job of hiding their amusement. Aonghas’s boys in the midst of them, wearing the widest grins.

“Is that some of your knightly training we need to learn?” Middle Domnall propped his elbow against the stable wall. His brothers dissolved into laughter.

“Aye,” said oldest Domnall. “His lordship was just instructing us how to mount without use of the stirrups.”

“You fell off.” Beatrice’s voice carried to the shadowed corners of the bailey.

“My thanks, Bea. Rub it in and make sure everyone knows.” William stood beside Breeze and held his arms up for Alice.

Alice did not care about the dirt and mud encrusting his arms as she slid into them.

William’s sweet smile made the mud worth it. “I was coming to look for you.”

“I went for a walk.”

“In this?” William frowned at the sky.

“That is what I said when I came upon her.” Beatrice joined them. “Apparently, our Alice had some deep thoughts that required plenty of rain to untangle them.”

“Deep thoughts, hmm?” William cupped her chin and studied her face.

“For God’s sake, William, you are getting mud all over her,” Beatrice said. “Not that her bliaut’s color is much different.”

“Exactly. It does not matter.” Alice could drown in the endless blue of his eyes. Especially when they looked at her as if she were the only woman on earth.

“Tell me your deep thoughts.” William caressed her cheek with his finger.

Alice wanted to hold onto this moment. “They were silly thoughts.”

“Nay, they were not.” Beatrice jammed her fists on her hips. “Alice was telling me she feels like a bone being fought over by two dogs.”

William glanced at his sister and frowned.

“And in case you missed it, dear William”—Beatrice pushed her face closer to William’s—“you are one of the dogs in the piece.”

William tugged her closer to him. “Alice?”

Alice could have clapped her hand over Beatrice’s mouth. Lesson learned there. Never share anything with Beatrice you wanted kept between you. Or had the woman done it to drive a wedge between Alice and William? Beatrice had never struck her as devious, but Alice had learned to see all sorts of things in different ways now. “That was a confidence,” she said to Beatrice.

Beatrice tossed her hands into the air. “You never said that.”

“Not that it would help,” William said. “Bea is incapable of keeping a secret.”

“That is not true,” Beatrice said, chin stuck out, arms akimbo.

“It is so.” William matched her chin jut. “Everybody at Anglesea knows not to tell you anything they want kept secret.”

“It is not so much a secret.” Alice stepped between them before their disagreement grew.

“This tussle with Sister Julianna and I, it worries you.” William’s warm hand cupped her chin.

“Of course it bothers her,” Beatrice said. “She feels like she is caught between you.”

William glared at Beatrice, and then his face turned thoughtful. “I suppose it does. You are a loyal one, my Alice.”

“Ergh!” Beatrice stomped her foot. “My Alice? Is that the best you can come up with?”

“I like it.” Alice tried to read William’s expression. He did not seem angry, more rueful and contemplative.

Beatrice snorted and trudged off toward the stable. “Come along, Breeze. We know when we are not wanted.”

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

“A bargain?”

“Aye.” William drew her against his chest. Mud mixed with her wet bliaut and made a sucking sound between them. “I know how much you feel you owe Sister Julianna.”

“I do owe her.”

William lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “On the other hand, I am your husband, and we are not doing so very badly. Are we, my Alice?”

“Nay.” Nothing like she had expected, but still not bad.

“But we need time to build on what we have. Time apart from the influence of others, particularly your Sister Julianna.”