Winter Song (6 page)

He sighed with relief, but continued to ask what was wrong, and
Alys laughed and confessed that her temper was soured by too much idleness and
pleasure, and too many love songs on the lute. That made Raymond laugh also,
and he said promptly that he understood completely why she had forbidden him to
say that each day away from her was like a year.

“Only it
is
, Alys,” he finished softly. “No matter
how fast we rode or how long, it still seemed too slow, too far, until I could
hold you again.”

“In return for that loverlike speech, at least I have
greeted you like a true ‘lady’—coldly and with blame,” she teased. “You would
not wish me to be a coarse, common clod and say I was glad to see you,” she
added with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh, yes I would,” Raymond contradicted quickly. “The
coarser and commoner the better. If you really wish to please me, you will
descend to the very depths of vulgarity and give me another kiss.”

“Fie! Fie! You are no true loving knight. Doubtless you even
have designs on my fair body—”

“I certainly have,” Raymond agreed with enthusiasm.

Alys giggled. “I have a few on yours, also, but I fear not
the same as yours on mine. Raymond, you stink like the garderobe. I will have a
bath made ready as soon as you are warm enough. Is your servant bringing up
your clothes?”

“I have outstripped them,” Raymond said, beginning to laugh
again. “None of the horses could keep pace with Gros Choc, and I would not
wait. I have nothing but what I am standing in. If you do not tike the way I
smell, you will have to give me clothing.”

“I am beginning to doubt that you have any clothes beyond
what I give you,” Alys chuckled. “And you never give them back, either.”

“My mother’s maids must have thrown them out, or given them
to the servants,” Raymond said carelessly. He was watching Alys’s face closely,
still amazed that no matter how beautiful he remembered her to be, she was
always lovelier in actuality. An expression of anger or anxiety drew his
attention from her perfect features back to what he had said. “Do you care
about the clothes, Alys?” he asked. “I am very sorry. I should have thought—”

“I suppose the rich have no need to consider such things as
odd tunics and shirts, but I was never rich, Raymond. We have no contract, no
vows have been made. I had hoped you would have stayed longer in your home and
considered again whether you wish to marry me.”

“Alys, what have I done? Will you turn me away for some
patched shirts and chausses? I will give you ten garments for each one lost.
Good God, I see I am making you angrier with each word. What have I said?”

“Nothing wrong according to your lights, Raymond, but can
you not see how unfit we are for each other? I will always worry about
too-small things, things beneath your notice—”

“But you are right. One should not be wasteful. You will
teach me, my love, and I will learn—”

“But it is not a question of right and wrong,” Alys
interrupted desperately. “In your world those garments are only fit for
servants. In mine they are what is worn by better folk every day. Try to
understand—”

“I do not want to understand anything, except—do you love
me, Alys?”

She was silent, her eyes fixed on his thin, bitterly hurt
face. “Yes,” she sighed, “I do love you. If you were a poor, penniless knight,
I would follow you barefoot through the world. I would cook for you and sew for
you and, if need be, carry your goods on my back if you had no packhorse. But I
am afraid, Raymond, afraid I will shame you.”

“No!”

“You love me, and you cry no, but I do not understand your
way of living. I knew no better than to send you away with those old things of
Harold’s…”

“Alys, do not talk so silly. I was at court, wearing King
Henry’s clothes. I could have taken what I wanted from what he lent me. I never
thought of it myself.”

“Men do not think of such things. It is a woman’s place to
see that her man is fittingly attired.”

“Nonsense!” Raymond laughed. “My mother would not think of
studying my father’s court cupboards. His servants—”

“Not even that!” Alys cried. “Raymond, I will go demented.
What am I to do all day?”

“Whatever you wish, my love. Alys, all that matters is that
you love me and I love you. Everything else will be arranged. Beloved, I swear
I will remake the world for you if I must. Do not deny me. How can you say you
love me and yet bear to part with me?”

“To save you hurt and shame—” she began.

But he did not allow her to finish. For answer, he seized
her and kissed her. She was rigid at first, pushing at him, but her strength
was nothing compared with his, and soon she yielded. Her lips grew warm, and
she felt strangely lightheaded and weak. Raymond’s lips had left her mouth and
wandered to her chin, then under it. Alys drew a shuddering breath just before
his mouth closed on hers again, and her hands, which had crept out from between
them and around him to press him closer, did not move to save her wimple when
Raymond began to pull at it.

“I do not wish to interrupt so warm a greeting,” Sir William
remarked, “but perhaps it is just as well that I do so before it grows any
warmer.”

Alys and Raymond jumped apart, coloring self-consciously. “I
have my father’s agreement for our marriage,” Raymond assured his prospective
father-by-marriage.

“I should hope so,” William laughed. Then he sighed and put
out a hand to clasp Raymond affectionately above his elbow. “That is not quite
true, you know. I do not really know whether I am pleased or not. For Alys’s
sake, I am glad, but… Well, I suppose there is no help for it.”

“Where is Lady Elizabeth?” Raymond asked.

Sir William smiled. “Are you delicately implying that I am
greedy and want to keep my daughter, even after winning the wife I so long
desired?”

“No, sir. I—” Raymond swallowed. In fact, he had thought
just that.

Laughing at him, Sir William answered his question. “Elizabeth
is still at Hurley—we were both there. She will be along soon. Come and sit
down, my son.” William paused over the words and smiled. “That has a pleasant
sound—
my son
. Well, I cannot imagine your news was very welcome to your
father. Just how unwelcome was it?”

“Not near so unwelcome as you think, sir,” Raymond responded
with a grin. “Of course, at first he near had a fit, not because the dower was
inadequate—he did not even stop to ask—but because Alys’s land was here in
England.”

“I can see that. I cannot say that I am overjoyed to have my
daughter’s husband a Provençal.”

“But then I had a thought.” Sensibly Raymond ignored William’s
remark, since there was no way of changing his nationality, and continued to
put forth his notion of using the revenues of Bix to pay for lands ceded to
Alys in Gascony.

William sat up straighter as he listened, and a pleased
smile began to soften his rather grim expression. “By God,” he exclaimed when
Raymond was finished. “You have more than you realized. We—you, I, your father,
and Alys—are like to make more out of this than you ever expected. Have you
heard that Nicholas de Molis, the seneschal of Gascony, is hard beset between
Theobold of Champagne and Gaston of Béarn?”

“Béarn? But surely he is King Henry’s friend. Eleanor is his
niece, and I heard that Henry and Gaston could scarce be parted when they were
in Bordeaux. And Henry gave such gifts to Gaston as to—”

“But the gifts are used, the money spent,” William
interrupted caustically. “Wales is in arms. We have suffered severe losses
there.”

“Are you summoned?” Raymond asked eagerly. “May I go with
you?”

“Raymond!” Alys exclaimed. “Do you want to get killed before
we are even married?”

“I will come to no hurt,” he assured her absently, his eyes
still on Sir William.

“As Papa came to no hurt when he was last in Wales?” Alys
snapped.

Laughter and love flooded Raymond at the anger in her voice
and the bright fury in her eyes. His mother would have fainted, his sisters
would be screaming, sobbing, and swooning by turns, and neither reason nor
command would stop them. Alys, on the other hand, might quarrel with him and
try to change his mind with reasons why it was unwise to go to war, but she
would not try to bind him by his heartstrings, nor make his life a misery with
moans and sobs and constant laments.

“No, love,” he replied, laughing. “I certainly do not intend
to be wounded if I can save myself from it, and I will also gladly—most
gladly—marry you before I go. I will marry you right now, if it is your desire,
and again before I go, or each day until I go—whatever you prefer.”

“So I can be a widow?” Alys retorted, still angry but nearly
won to laughter. She knew it was impossible to keep men from regarding war as a
pleasant sport.

“Stop your nonsense, Alys,” William said. “If I were
summoned, I would naturally call on my son to support me, since I have no
castellan for Bix yet and Hurley is now also on my hands. And you would hold
your tongue and send your husband off with a light heart, as is your duty. As
it is, you know quite well that the king will do nothing until after Christmas.
The remnants of our armies are safe for a while, and it takes time to gather a
levy.”

“Good,” Raymond put in. “Then Alys and I can be married and
have a few months of quiet before we go.”

“I think not.” William pursed his lips, and then, seeing
Raymond’s face flush, he smiled. “I did not mean you could not marry,” he
amended hastily. “I meant you would have no time for quiet. Let me finish what
I was about to say before that silly chit dragged us into this stupid
discussion of going to war. The only reason I mentioned the Welsh problem was
to point out why Henry cannot even try to get money or men to aid de Molis.”

“But if the seneschal is not crying wolf…”

“Molis is a good man. He would not cry wolf, although he
himself might be deceived. We can hope that is true but not count on it.”

“Then some help
must
be sent him,” Raymond said,
frowning.

“Yes, and I think that you may provide that help, or a
little of it, anyway, and Alys and your children profit largely thereby.”

“But my lands are small,” Raymond pointed out, “and my
mother’s people are bound to the de Soler faction, who care more for their own
freedom than for the feudal duties they owe the king.”

“It may be possible to increase your lands substantially, well
above the value of Bix. As you mentioned, those revenues are small but sure.
Twenty pounds in the pocket is more easily spent than a hundred owed but never
paid. At another time, Henry might not see this. He has a sanguine nature and
can seldom be brought to see that long promises long delayed are unlikely ever
to be fulfilled. At this point, however, he might gladly grant several
properties to you for your promise to aid de Molis now and support the right of
the English throne in the future.”

“I would take oath on that, and gladly,” Raymond said. “As for
my own lands and those granted to me, I could perform as I swore, but I cannot
see what my sword and a few hundred men could do.”

“It would be more than that. When you speak, it will be
believed you speak for your father. There is no need to say yea or nay unless
you are asked directly. Moreover, you, too, are related to Gaston of Béarn…”
William allowed his voice to drift away.

Raymond’s pale eyes glittered with enthusiasm. “Yes, I see.
Indeed, I see. I would know what to say, and I have no fear my father would
differ from me.” He jumped to his feet and began to pace about, turning
suddenly and almost bumping into Alys, who had risen and was walking away. “Where
do you go, love?” Raymond asked.

“As far as I can get from both of you,” she replied.

“Dear heart—” Raymond began.

“Alys, my love—” her father said simultaneously.

She looked exasperatedly from one surprised face to another.
“I am so glad my wedding will be of use to the king,” she said, “and to the
seneschal of Gascony, and to the power and purse of my husband, to everyone, in
fact, save me! I am not sure I wish to be married for the purpose of providing
King Henry with an army. And I am not at all sure I will have great pleasure
from a wedding voyage spent alone while my husband goes to war.”

“No, no. I will make time for you, I swear,” Raymond teased,
seizing her in his arms. “You do not understand,” he continued more seriously,
holding her so that she could not wriggle free or strike at him. “If I can
rally enough support, there will not be any war at all. If the king of Navarre
sees a campaign will cost too high, he will withdraw to wait for a more
propitious time to push his claim. Truly, Alys,” he said, releasing her and
looking at her soberly, “I will defend myself when someone strikes at me, and I
take pleasure in it, I admit, but I do not think it a good thing to stir up
real war. That will not be my intention.”

She sighed. “I beg your pardon. You are right, of course. If
our marriage can be of help to the king, I should be glad, not spiteful. But…but
I am used only to being a private person, not one whose doings affect the world
at large.”

“It is not easy, dearling,” William said gravely. “I know it
well. I struggled for years to avoid it—but that was wrong. Very wrong. I
regret my selfishness. Every person who is called to such a place must accept
the burden. It is a man’s duty to serve God and man as best he can, and a woman’s
duty to support her menfolk in that service.”

“Yes, Papa.” She put her hand out to Raymond. “Forgive me. I
will make no further trouble, if I can only master my unruly tongue.”

“No, love, say what you like,” Raymond urged. “You are right
to protest what seems wrong to you. It never hurts a man to think twice over a
plan, or to put his reasons for a thing into clear words. Only good can come of
that, so long as you listen to reason, and I see that you do. I will always be
eager to hear what you have to say.”