SirenSong (7 page)

That time William might well have hit her, but he was
distracted by an older woman’s voice, exclaiming in pleasure. Lady Elizabeth’s
maid, Maud, curtsied, snapped her fingers at another maidservant to bid her
bring wine, and led William toward a chair, saying that Elizabeth would be down
in a few minutes. Throughout she acted as if Emma was an indecent and
unmentionable lump of dirt on the floor that everyone must try to avoid noticing
to prevent embarrassment. The blank, open-mouthed confusion with which Emma
regarded Maud nearly put William back into a good humor.

This was rapidly dispelled when Elizabeth, coming from the
stairway, greeted Emma gravely and pleasantly. William stood up, feeling his
face flush with rage. Elizabeth looked at him and smiled slowly. His breath
caught. He knew she was not beautiful. Most men would not even have given her a
first glance when Emma was by. She was too tall and far too thin, her small
bosom hardly lifting her cotte and the full folds of the cloth obscuring what,
if any, shape she had. But William knew her body had been well formed at
thirteen and he did not believe that twenty years or two children had changed
it. She was as lean and light as a boy, but far more graceful. Her every
movement was an enchantment, as now, when, still smiling, she raised a single
long finger to her lips.

William set his teeth against the furious remarks he had
been about to make. Elizabeth took his hand and drew him toward a wall chamber.
Emma’s lips pouted like a petulant child’s, and after a minute hesitation, she
followed them. William half turned, his free hand rising to strike. Elizabeth
tightened her grip on the hand she held.

“You cannot come with us, Emma,” she said gently. “Sir
William is a very old friend, and he is about to say some very harsh things
that will only hurt your feelings. You would not wish to hear them, I assure
you.” Her lips twitched, restraining laughter, as Emma paused indecisively,
trying to work that out. But she did not wait for the girl’s slow processes of
thought to come to a conclusion. She drew William into the room she had chosen
and shut the door.

“What the devil is wrong with you, Elizabeth?” William
snarled when they were alone.

“There is nothing wrong with me. I am in excellent health,”
she replied mischievously.

This room was better lit than the hall, and William had to
struggle with his breathing again. Elizabeth watched him with a twinkle in her
large, misty green eyes, a strange color like shallow water over pale golden
sand. Her nose was a little too long, her mouth too wide for her thin face. She
looked more like a naughty elf than a fairy princess. Her complexion was of the
earth also, a warm brunette, and her hair of a nondescript brown, was very fine
textured and curly. It was mostly hidden by her wimple now, but little ends had
escaped here and there and curled deliciously around her face and forehead.

“Perhaps you cannot drive that creature out,” William said
in a constricted voice, “but there is no reason for you to treat her with
courtesy nor to endure her attempts to usurp your place.”

Dear William
, Elizabeth thought,
he always does
exactly the right thing
. Mauger had always had a woman or two in the keep
but the others had been clever enough to keep out of the way. Emma was simply
too stupid to do so. It did not mean anything, Elizabeth knew that.
Nonetheless, the open exposure of the thing was painful, shameful. William’s
fury had turned it funny, although there was nothing funny about the emotion
that fueled his rage.

“She cannot usurp my place,” Elizabeth replied. “You know
that is not Mauger’s intention.” She paused, watching William’s face, and then
added softly, “Why should I not be courteous to her? She does me a great
service.”

For a moment William stood and stared at her without
answering. For ten years they had met frequently, sometimes they had been quite
alone, as now, yet in all that time no single personal word had passed between
them. Of course, William had never before been greeted by Mauger’s whore,
acting as if she were the lady of the keep, either. William understood that his
rage on Elizabeth’s behalf had broken through some wall of reserve she had
built. It had driven her into making a clear statement of her own feelings
about her husband. It was dangerous, horribly dangerous, but William did not
care.

“It is disgusting,” he said, his voice shaking. “He could at
least keep her in the village.”

Having already said too much, Elizabeth threw all caution and
reason to the wind. “But Mauger likes his comfort. If it should be a chilly or
wet night, he would not wish to ride out, and then… No! I prefer to have Emma
here.”

Knowing he was mad and that he would bring his world
crashing down around his ears, William took a step forward and pulled Elizabeth
into his arms. He almost expected her to cry out or push him away, but she did
not resist, allowing her head to fall back so that he could kiss her. And her
mouth was as sweet, as warm and willing as it had been twenty years ago.
Completely lost, heeding now only the siren song of his long love, William
devoured her face, kissing eyes, cheeks, chin, and returning to her lips
between. Elizabeth was no passive partner. Her mouth opened under his, inviting
the invasion of his tongue, and she clutched him with one arm while she ran her
other over his neck and shoulders, down his back, as if she wanted all of him
included in the caress.

After a time, William pulled his mouth free. “Come to me,
Elizabeth,” he begged. “I will honor you as you deserve, I will—”

She put a shaking hand gently over his mouth. “You are
asking me to play Emma’s role in your home.”

“I have no wife,” he cried.

“You have a daughter. Should I ask Alys to give countenance
to such a thing? Should you?”

“I love you—”

She silenced him again. “If you love me, do not ask me what
I desire to give and cannot. William…no! Mauger does not deserve that.”

“Does not deserve—” he choked. “His behavior—”

“Is as much my fault as his,” Elizabeth interrupted. “In the
beginning I hated him—hated the world—and made it all too plain. I was
fortunate he did no worse than turn aside from me. He is not an unreasonable
husband.” Then she smiled gently. “You know it is not possible, William. Mauger
could not swallow such an affront. It would mean war.”

He did know, but he wanted her so much it was like a
physical pain. “I could take you to Bix,” he said passionately.

A flame leapt in her eyes, then died. She pulled away, out
of his arms completely. “We are both mad,” she sighed, “to torture ourselves
this way. I thought we had passed the danger point years ago. I cannot think
what made me say—but you caught me at a bad time. I am so sorry I have broken
your peace, William. You know it is not possible for me to leave Hurley. Even
if we could keep Mauger and Alys from knowing—and I do not believe that we
could—I would lose Aubery and John. I love my sons. Also, I dare not leave
Mauger alone in Hurley. So far, I have kept him from despoiling the estate
beyond recovery, but if I were to leave… You do not know what Ilmer is like—the
broken, cowering people, the wasted land… It is not all Mauger’s fault, of
course. His father ruined the place before Mauger took hold of it, but he never
learned anything from the old man except how to spend and to want. He has not
the slightest notion of management. William…”

She touched his face gently, and he closed his eyes,
breathed deeply, opened them. They were blank and bitter. William knew the call
of duty. He had answered it many, many times against his will.

“I have had no peace since the day I lost you,” he said. “My
heart is yours, my house is yours, my strength is yours. When you want any, or
all, tell me, and they will be delivered.”

“I will take your heart, William. I have need of it, since you
have always had mine.” She swayed toward him, then drew upright, away from the
arms that opened to receive her. “What a fool I am. We must be more sensible,
or it will be impossible for us to meet as friends. Please, William. It has
meant so much to me to speak to you and to see you sometimes. If we cannot meet
without behaving like idiots, I will lose even that. No, please…” He dropped
his arms. This time it was Elizabeth who closed her eyes and breathed deep.
“What brought you here today?” she asked quietly.

He turned away and walked to the slit window that opened to
the north side of the outer ward. At first he did not answer, and Elizabeth
could see the muscles working in his jaw. Finally he turned back and told her
about Raymond’s arrival and Alys’s suspicions.

“I thought I would ask Mauger whether he had heard any rumor
of other such placements or whether he heard anything about young Raymond
himself.”

By the time he had got that far, William had calmed down and
Elizabeth was also well under control. The flush had died from her cheeks and
she was now paler than usual, but her eyes were quiet.

“He said nothing to me,” she remarked, “but there was no
reason to mention a thing like that. He should be back soon, if you would like
to wait.”

Struggle as she would, Elizabeth’s voice held a faint
quiver. William swallowed, torn by emotions he was sure she shared. He could
not bear to leave, but he could not bear to stay either. It would do no good to
ask Elizabeth which she wanted him to do. To send him away would hurt, to keep
him would hurt. Life hurt.

“I…are you on easy terms with Mauger just now?” William did
not want to push Elizabeth into approaching her husband if the advent of Emma
had caused a coolness between them.

“We are always on easy terms,” she replied. “Why not?”

William had started to move toward the door, but he stopped.
Elizabeth bit her lip in chagrin. She had forgotten how much more perceptive
William was than her husband. William had
heard
far more than the words
she said. He had
heard
the reiteration of the fact that she did not care
enough for Mauger to care when he brought a mistress home. Mauger would never
have noticed the fact under the simple remark. Elizabeth, who knew her husband
thought she was docile and stupid, took great pleasure in saying things with
quite outrageous double meanings to him, knowing he would never catch them.

Before William could speak, Elizabeth shook her head and
opened the door. On the threshold of the hall, she stopped so suddenly that
William bumped into her. She stepped aside and gestured courteously for him to
go forward, but her eyes warned. The boiling ferment inside William congealed.
Sitting near the fireplace drinking from a handsome goblet, was Mauger.

Standing back, Elizabeth looked at both men with new eyes.
In looks there was no comparison. Handsome, William was not, except for those
ridiculous eyelashes. On the other hand, Mauger was handsome, definitely so.
His hair was true gold, his mouth well formed, his nose straight, his eyes a
lovely blue, innocent and guileless. Was there something in Mauger that
repelled her? No, it could not be that. It was simply that she loved William.
Love was not a matter of face or form.

“I am glad you are back,” William said.

To himself, his voice sounded peculiar, but Mauger did not
seem to notice anything. Perhaps he would put the stiffness down to William’s
displeasure at finding Emma putting herself forward so much. If so, all to the
good. Mauger said something civil in reply, invited William to sit and offered wine.
He did not mention Emma, but asked with more than usual eagerness what he could
do for William, as if he were aware of being caught in something disgraceful
and were trying to re-win William’s esteem. William obliged with a second
recital of Raymond’s arrival. He was somewhat surprised by the intensity with
which Mauger listened.

“No,” Mauger said, when he had heard the tale out. “I have
not heard of any similar thing nor was the young man at court when I left, so I
cannot tell you anything on that score either, but…but I do not like it,
William.”

“Do not like it? What do you mean?”

“The king is growing more and more suspicious of everyone
and everything,” Mauger said with great excitement.

“What set him off? I know he was fulminating about
Winchester, but when Walter Raleigh went to France—”

“No,” Mauger interrupted, “it is the Welsh business. When
Llewelyn ap lowerth decided that David, his son in wedlock from King John’s
daughter Joan, should rule the whole land, his bastard Gruffydd would not
accept it. This Gruffydd claims half his father’s estate—on what right I cannot
guess.”

William nodded. He knew the story much better than Mauger
because his old lord, Rannulf of Chester, had been a friend and neighbor of
Llewelyn ap lowerth. He knew why Gruffydd could claim half the estate and find
supporters for that claim. It was the Welsh custom that “the son of the
handmaid should be heir with the son of the free”. To William it seemed quite
mad that not only legitimate younger sons were entitled to a share with the
eldest but that illegitimate sons had the same right.

Llewelyn had decided to break with custom. Although
legitimacy meant little to him, he recognized that David, who was King Henry’s
cousin, was more fit to rule than Gruffydd, and he had bound his vassals by
oaths to obey the younger, but legitimate, son.

William knew the rest of the story too, but he had no
intention of interrupting Mauger. He was always careful not to mention his own
close contact with high-level policy lest he should be thought to be boasting.
Thus, he listened quietly while Mauger explained how Gruffydd, not unnaturally,
took exception to this arrangement and how his half brother David, hearing of
his rebellious attitude, had made him a prisoner. But David’s power had gone to
his head, and in 1241 he contended the ownership of the border fortress of Mold
with Henry. David had agreed to submit the matter to arbitration, but he never
appeared before the arbitrators, among whom had been Richard.