The Traitor's Daughter

by Munday, April

  “Alfred! Why am I to have a Saxon name?”

  “I did not choose it to insult you, my lady. Alfred was a great king.” He shook his head and looked at Edmund, who was pretending not to be able to hear their conversation.

  “I am sorry, my lord.” She raised her voice, “I apologise Edmund. There is nothing wrong with having a Saxon name. Even the king has a Saxon name.”

  “As my mother never tires of telling me,” said Edmund, obviously feeling he had been invited to join the conversation. “I, however, have a Saxon name because I come from a Saxon family.”

  Alais was embarrassed and hastened to conclude the conversation. “I suppose I must have a name and Alfred is as good as any.” She was sorry to have hurt his feelings, but she did not want to be a boy at all and being a Saxon boy seemed like yet another humiliation. They pressed on towards the monastery.

  The monks welcomed them warmly and, accepting Alais as the lowliest member of the group, began to lead her to the stables. Hugh stopped them quickly, explaining that the boy was his cousin and that Edmund would take the horses. With one of his more expressive grunts, Edmund took the horses and followed the monk. Hugh and Alais were taken to one of the small guest rooms. They were left there to wait until mealtime.

  Alais wondered aloud how Hugh intended for her to join the company for a meal while keeping her cloak and hood on.

  “I will tell them that you were made ill by the day’s journey and cannot leave your bed. And I will bring you back some food.”

  “You are a poor liar, my lord,” she said, wryly. “They will know that you dissemble.”

  “Better that than anyone find out that you are not a boy.”

  He grinned and his bad temper seemed to pass away.

  Impetuously Alais asked the question that had been on her mind all day, “Why did you come, my lord, for me and my mother?”

  “I told you, you needed an escort.”

  “But, surely your father will be angry with you.”

  Hugh shrugged, “Then I will suffer the consequences of his anger.”

  “I am sorry for that.” Alais suspected that her husband’s anger would be terrible, even for his son.

  Hugh smiled again, “I am a soldier, my lady. I have had to bear much worse.”

  “But not on my account.”

  Hugh’s expression turned serious again, “I would endure much for you.”

  Alais felt herself blush. This was just such a situation that she should have avoided and she had brought it about herself. They should not have been left alone.

  “I hope that will not be necessary,” she said, brusquely, hoping to break the sudden intimacy between them, but she could not tear her eyes away from his face. What she saw there disturbed her. If ever Hugh decided to be a traitor, she reflected bitterly, his career would be short. It was as if his thoughts were laid bare to her. Surely her own face could not be so treacherous. She saw his desire as clearly as if he had stripped her clothes from her and laid her on the bed beneath him. The tenderness and concern that had led him to call short their day’s travel, despite his haste to get to Liss were also clear to see. And then there was fear, whether for himself or for her she could not tell.

  She felt her breath becoming shorter and knew that she had to do something before one or the other of them betrayed their vows.

  “Tell me about my husband,” she said, more loudly than she had intended.

  The effect was instantaneous. Hugh jerked away from her, then turned his back on her. Knowing that he was going to lie, Alais was disappointed.

  “I would rather have the truth,” she said, walking round and facing him.

  Hugh swallowed. “I did not think to lie to you. I merely wish to gather my thoughts.”

  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.

  Chapter Seven

  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 enou
gh, 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.