A Knight's Vow (18 page)

His wife what a reckless dream that had been! Heloise
was right: No woman wanted him.

“Go!” he snarled, and Fulk paled and went, backing out
rapidly and skidding down the bathhouse steps.

Guillelm hurled more logs into the fire. Presently he heard
the door creak and bawled, “Out!” without turning round.

“Where shall I put the towels?” asked an achingly familiar
voice.

He spun round and there she was, Alyson, his wife. Even
as he gawked at her, longing to beg her forgiveness, to snatch
her into his arms, to drag her with him into the steaming bath
and frolic there until the water turned cold, his tongue felt
nailed to the roof of his mouth. What could he say? He had
failed her so badly.

She smiled and he was smitten afresh, more stunned than
he had been that time in Outremer, when a stone from a sling
had struck him on the visor of his helmet and he had almost
blacked out. There was no fear of his losing consciousness
now, but certainly she mazed his wits.

“I shall put them here, shall I, my lord?”

Nimbly, she arranged her armful of towels by the side of
the great tub, scattering something on the lapping water that
instantly perfumed the bathhouse.

“An old remedy, lavender,” she explained, lifting her skirts
to tread lightly over the flags toward him. “I have spearmint,
too, for our teeth and breath”

“Our teeth?”

She did not answer, merely passed straight by him, close
enough for him to feel the swish of her robe against his legs,
and lit two beeswax candles from the torch. She placed these
on the stone shelf beside the tub, where most bathers put their
trinkets, or goblets of wine.

“I find that bathhouses are always a little gloomy, even in
summer,” she remarked. “Do you not think the candles add
cheer?”

They did, and they put a glow into Alyson’s face, warm
shadows on the vaulted stone roof of the bathhouse and a flickering play of lights on the water. They added little light, if truth
be told, but something else instead, a sense of being in a dream.

Guillelm cleared his throat. “You have done this before?”

She divined his real question at once and answered with the
devastating directness of an armored knight on a full-tilt
charge. “With your father? No. Indeed no one, unless you
count girlish fancies.” She looked directly at him, her stormcolored eyes darker than the rarest sapphires. “I have imagined doing this with you, dragon”

He was astonished that she could make him color up,
amazed at her words. She seemed shaken herself, for she
laughed, adding, “Perhaps my early morning cup of sweet
white wine was a mistake, but I needed something.”

She lifted her heavy plait of hair away from the back of her
neck, draping it over her left shoulder while her fingers
picked at the side lacings of her gown.

“Not to approach you, my lord,” she went on, tugging off her
belt and keys, “I need no wine-inspired courage for that, but in
order to free my own tongue-yes” She let the leather belt drop
onto the flags and began to slide her arms from her wide
sleeves.

In the half-light of the bathhouse he had not noticed the color
or style of her dress but now he was all attention. “Alyson, for
pity’s sake-” he managed to grind out, as she deftly shimmered out of her gown and hung it over one of the lower roof
beams.

“A maid could help you bathe, if you prefer, my lord.”

There was a slight wobble in her voice that made Guillelm
ashamed. She was being braver than he was, risking his rejection and his scorn. She is leading you on, as Heloise did, a
treacherous whisper mouthed in his head, but he ignored that;
the thought was unworthy of her.

“You are all the maids I need,” he said. “But are you not
afraid of wetting your undershift?”

He winced inside, thinking his attempt at flirting too obvious, but she glanced up from undoing her shoes, grinned and
snapped her fingers at him, mock-angry.

“Shame on you, sir! Are you suggesting I am not neathanded? Or would you do the ungentlemanly thing of dunking me into the water with you?”

She was out of his reach, or he might have done it there and
then. “That is a very good idea,” he said, striding across the
flags, “little scold.”

Barefoot and in her shift, Alyson stood her ground as he
approached. Closing, Guillelm saw her hands come up, but
not, as he half-dreaded, to ward him off. Her fingers fastened
lightly on the lacings of his mantle.

“It must take almost a bolt of cloth to clothe you,” she murmured, not fearful but admiring. His mantle undone, she now
tugged at his sleeve and he followed where she led, not daring
to speak in case she changed her mind and whirled out of
the bathhouse.

“Am I truly a scold?”

They were beside the tub now and her hands were on him,
easing his mantle and undershirt down to his waist. Her silken
touch robbed him of answers; he could only shake his head.

“So much,” she said softly, tracing the golden threads, running her fingers through the rough mat of fair curls on his
broad chest, the branching longer hairs running from his
breastbone to his flat, hard stomach, the bits of fluff below his
belly button. “You are wonderfully hairy, dragon “

No woman had ever said that to him. No woman had ever
touched him as Alyson was doing: gentle yet searching, as if
she could not learn enough of him. He felt healed by her
hands, saved by her clever, questing fingers, and at the same
time helplessly stirred.

He closed his eyes and sank his head against the top of hers,
kissing her forehead. Twin needs warred in him: to crush her
into his arms and have her here at once, on the flags of the
bathhouse, and to stay as he was, rigid in delight, scarcely able
to catch his breath. There was the marvelous scent of her: a mingling of rosemary and lavender and a babylike sweetness,
Alyson’s own ineffable essence. She moved about him like a
sultry shadow, weaving her spell with her limbs not only her
hands now, but her legs, too, one winding about his as she balanced against his lean hips. And her mouth!

He gasped as he felt her lips upon his arms, his scarred
forearms that for so many years had known only the feel of
mail and the shock of sword blows and yet now were tamed
and stilled by the butterfly-light kisses of this girl. He trembled like a tree in a gale as her lips moved on, across the great
arch of his ribs. Growing bolder, she used her tongue to flick
and taste at the hair on his chest.

But not so bold. To Guillelm’s disappointment and relief
she stopped, laying her head against his heart with a sigh. Cautiously, as if she was the wariest of creatures that he had ever
hunted, he placed his arms about her, running his thumbs over
the delicate bones of her shoulders. He could feel her taut
sinews and the stretch of her thigh muscles pressing against his.
In her linen undershift he could almost see her body-not quite,
for the bathhouse was, in spite of the torch and candles, still a
place of shadows as well as light-but he knew her shape now,
lithe and wiry, small-breasted and narrow-waisted, with sweetly
flaring hips. She was still too thin, he thought, tracing the clear
bones of her ribs with a pity and anxiety that almost made him
forget his own hard desire, but then her right leg slotted a little
tighter against his left and the intimate contact scorched him.
He shifted slightly, trying to see her face, and she yelped.

“Mother of God, I have hurt you!” he cried, dropping his
hands from her as if she were more delicate than stained
glass, but Alyson pressed herself closer, saying urgently, “No,
no! ‘Tis my own vanity, see?”

She leaned back, and he cursed, seeing where one of her
necklaces had dug into her throat. Although dressed in naught
but her undershift she seemed to be wearing every jewel she possessed-three necklaces, a golden belt and two highly
polished copper bracelets. She was also wearing the silken
veil he had given her, secured by a narrow silver coronet.

He kissed the raw place on her neck and she whispered
something.

“Sorry, brighteyes, would you say that again?”

She blushed and pointed at the tub. “Should you not be in
there, my lord?”

“For sure, my sweet, and you with me ””

Before Alyson had the chance to protest, Guillelm had
ripped off his leggings, kicked them and his mantle away and
scrambled into the wooden tub, lifting her with him.

“Now,” he said, as she struggled to catch her breath, “do
we chew this spearmint you mentioned?”

“If you wish,” she replied, which was in truth no answer at
all, but her courage had failed her. She was in a bath with Guillelm and he was naked. Plans of seduction were replaced by a
paralyzing shyness. She knew she was being foolish-worse,
her seeming reluctance might reinforce whatever cruel tricks
Heloise had played and convince him she did not want him.

“Did you know many women in Outremer?”

The instant the question was out Alyson quailed-what
was she doing? The very last thing she should be asking!

“I am sorry,” she stammered, reaching blindly past Guillelm for the comb she had left on the edge of the bathtub.
“That was wrong-“

“You have done nothing. Truly. Why should you not be curious?” In the shifting candlelight, Guillelm’s features took on
a wry look she was recognizing as a form of deep embarrassment. “I was the same about Lord Robert, with less cause”

He cupped his hands and lifted them, allowing the water to trickle through. “The women in Outremer feared crusaders”
He answered without looking at her. “Me especially.”

And Heloise provided the coup de grace, Alyson guessed.
Understanding this, she willed her limbs to move, but her legs
would not obey her.

“Come here, little one”

Strong arms wrapped about her, lifting her through the
water, and then she was tight against Guillelm, him peeling
her damp veil back from her face. “The silk looks well on
you, even wet, but I would see all of your blush.” He ran his
thumb along her black eyebrows and over her cheekbones.
“You color up so beautifully.”

“As do you,” she managed to mumble in return, her eyes
drawn to the drops of water beading on that wonderful mat of
chest hair. Where was her soap? She had forgotten where she
had put it and without that she could think of no other excuse
to touch him. I have less wit than a wren near you.

“Be glad you have any, for you often make me speechless,”
Guillelm answered softly, which made her blush harder than
ever. She had not realized she had spoken aloud.

“Good!” Alyson could feel his calves against hers. The legs
of a runner, she thought, tracing their lean, long muscles with
the toes of her left foot. Where was her soap? “I cannot have
a man who talks more than I do, or how can you listen to my
wishes?”

“Wishes, eh?”

Alyson raised her chin. “Or commands”

He gave a low whistle. “Is that how you think it will be?”
He lifted her closer to him so that she lost her footing and
floated in the lavender-scented water, him laughing as she
tried to kick him. “This is one battle you cannot win.”

“Maybe not, but I shall win the war.” She stretched up
and tried to kiss him on the mouth, missed and bumped
noses instead.

“Well, my lady, if those are your tactics-” His lips unerringly found hers and he clamped her along the length of his
body, his hands sweeping over her back, her sides, her breasts.
She gasped and he kissed her more deeply, flicking his tongue
against hers.

“My lord!” A breathless Sericus, bedraggled and clearly
distraught, limped into the bathhouse and hastily turned his
back on his young mistress.

Alyson tried to break from Guillelm but it was like trying
to escape the coils of a dragon: impossible. His body heat was
like the blast of a furnace, making her thirsty and dizzy together. He could take me now with Sericus here and I would
not object, she thought, appalled that she could be so wanton.

“What is it?” Guillelm grunted, sounding no more happy
at this interruption than she was herself. “Speak, man!”

“The men were drinking last night,” the old seneschal
stammered, nervously licking his lips. “Some were drunk this
morning and

“Things have become rowdy,” Alyson finished for Sericus,
sensing he was inhibited by her presence.

Sericus nodded unhappily. “One is on the battlements, with
a sword. No one can get near him. He thinks we are the enemy.”

Guillelm sighed and lowered Alyson gently to the floor of
the bathtub, rubbing his hand across his eyebrows. “That
will be Thierry; he drinks and then he fights. Fulk cannot
manage him?”

“I do not know,” Sericus said loyally. “Sir Tom asked me to
come here” He bowed to Alyson. “Forgive me, my lady, I did
not

“No matter, Sericus, you had an urgent summons,” Alyson
replied, absently crossing her hands across her breasts. She
was glad of the high sides of the bathtub.

“Urgent indeed, if Tom told you to fetch me,” Guillelm said,
boosting himself out of the water. He tied a towel quickly round his middle and offered Alyson a hand, smiling slightly when
she shook her head and paid close attention to her fingernails.

“You must bathe without me, sweet,” he said softly.

“Of course,” she said at once. “Take care”

“I will.” Tugging on his mantle and with one shoe still unlaced, Guillelm sprinted for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Guard her, Sericus!”

Alyson waited a moment, hearing his pounding footsteps
receding in the direction of the keep, and then she blew out
the candles. “Now that my anxious husband has gone on
ahead, we shall follow,” she told her startled seneschal.

“But, my lady!”

“I have vowed to remain close to Guillelm today, and I shall,
whatever happens” As she did when she was preparing a particularly tricky potion, Alyson narrowed her eyes and chewed
her lower lip. “It maybe that I can help him with Thierry”