Siren Song

by Roberta Gellis

  “Let her go herself,” Mauger said. “She knows the way, and I would like a word with you about Alys.”

  He watched William take a hesitant step forward, knowing the man was dying to lift Elizabeth down from her horse but was also afraid that touching her would cause him to betray himself. Mauger bent down to fiddle with a stirrup to give William his chance. Maybe the idiot would be so muddled by touching the dross he desired that he would agree to Mauger’s importunity this time.

  Unaware that Mauger was acting deliberately, William moved very fast when he saw his neighbor occupied. He had Elizabeth off her horse—on the far side from Mauger—in one swift motion. Their eyes met and Elizabeth walked away smoothly. William grabbed her palfrey’s rein and led it toward the stable, thus hiding from Mauger the fact that sweat was beading his forehead, even though it was a nasty cold day. By the time Mauger dismounted and followed him, William could speak again.

  “Sorry to make you lead in your horse,” William said. “The grooms are busy with my young destriers. I was trying their paces to see if one would serve Raymond—the young knight who is with me now, you remember, the one the king sent—in this Welsh business.”

  Mauger had opened his mouth to say he had met Raymond and been unfavorably impressed, but instead he asked, “What Welsh business?”

  “You were the one who told me about David trying to creep out of his agreement with the king,” William replied.

  “Assuredly, but what has that to do with horses for Raymond?”

  “Had you not heard that Gruffydd ap Llewelyn is dead?”

  “No, I had not!” Mauger exclaimed. “But I still do not see—oh yes I do. Now Gruffydd is dead, Henry has no alternate prince to offer the Welsh and raise civil war so David thinks it safe to repudiate his agreement. Has it come to war already?”

  “Not yet, but the king is sufficiently sure it will that he has warned my overlord and Ri—the earl has courteously warned me. So far no levy is called, but it is certain.”

  “Will Henry call out the whole kingdom?” Mauger asked.

  “I would not think it,” William replied cautiously. He did not wish to confess his knowledge of the Scottish troubles because he thought that was not generally known yet. “I cannot believe a very large army will be necessary to depress this upstart’s wild ideas, but I am certain to be called because Henry will naturally summon his brother.”

  Mauger looked furious, which at first surprised William. Then he associated the anger with Mauger’s opening remark that he wanted to talk about Alys. However, when he glanced at Mauger again, after handing Elizabeth’s palfrey to a boy, the man was smiling broadly. William could only assume he had misread the earlier expressions. He had not. Mauger had been furious, but only briefly. All his problems had flown away. Nothing was easier than disposing of a man during war service. The enemy might do it quite legitimately, and if enemies did not, there were dozens of ways to commit murder and blame it on someone else.

  Moreover, from what William said about the second destrier, it was clear that Raymond was going to Wales also. Mauger could have kissed William for solving all his problems for him. Alys would be completely alone in Marlowe. Nothing could be more natural than that a close friend and neighbor should bring the news of her father’s death and offer comfort and consolation.

  Now Mauger understood why de Bohun had refused to send Aubery home. Thank God he had refused. It would be far better if Aubery came after the Welsh action while Alys was still desolate at the loss of her father and the young knight she had set her eyes on. Doubtless Aubery’s offer of affection and companionship would be very welcome then. There would be no problems in controlling the girl or preventing her from communicating with her father’s overlord. How fortunate that Elizabeth had brought that cloth as a present. It was a good beginning. Now he would have to talk to Alys himself.

  “Probably I will be called too,” Mauger remarked, having managed to remember what William said to him last. “I am glad to have this early warning.”

  There was no probability about it. Mauger intended to have a clerk write to de Bohun as soon as he returned to Hurley and volunteer his services. The fact that Aubery was with the earl would be excuse enough. The fact that he and William were longtime neighbors and “friends” would provide sufficient reason that they should serve in the same actions. For the first time in years, Mauger saw his object actually within reach.

  William should have realized that something was very wrong with Mauger’s statement. Hurley Abbey seldom sent out the knights who owed it service. The abbey preferred to compound for a fine, which it could get back—with considerable profit—by collecting recompense from the knights. William was not thinking about the usual behavior of Hurley Abbey, however. His mind was not capable of grasping anything beyond the fact that Elizabeth was probably up in his women’s quarters. He managed to agree with what Mauger had said, hardly having heard what it was. When he managed to wrench his mind away from the fact of Elizabeth’s presence, he began to wonder why Mauger had accompanied her. Alys… Mauger had said something about Alys.

  “Did you say you wished to speak to me about Alys?” William asked.

  “Yes. Frankly I did not like the way this new knight of yours looked at her. He is very young to be trusted—”

  “I do not distrust him,” William interrupted, leaping to Raymond’s defense. Although he had never thought about it, the truth was that William liked Raymond much better than he liked Mauger. “However, I agree with you that he might be hurt. I have sent him off to Bix to train the troops I will take.”

  “There would be no problem,” Mauger suggested, “if Alys were formally promised. She is a good girl, and once her mind was settled on Aubery she would discourage any other advances.” Mauger did not, in fact, think Alys was a good girl. He thought her a willful bitch but was wise enough never to permit a hint of such a thought to come across to her doting father.

  “But her mind is not settled, Mauger,” William pointed out. “I know you think me doting in that I do not simply tell her that Aubery is to be her husband. Perhaps I am doting, but I cannot do it. I will speak plain to you. Mary was a good wife to me. Still, I was unhappy in my marriage for there was no love in it for me.” William stopped suddenly and his color rose. He had nearly said he loved another woman—to that woman’s husband. “I would not bring such dissatisfaction on my daughter—nor upon Aubery, whom I love also—for any benefit in the world.”

  “But you have no objection to Aubery, do you?” Mauger asked.

  “You know I have not. Aubery is a good boy and will make a fine man, I think. If Alys will agree to have him, nothing could gladden my heart more. But it is Alys who must live her life with Aubery, not I.”

  “Would you object if I talked to Alys alone? I have some messages for her from Aubery.” Mauger hesitated, then said, “I am a fool! Aubery sent word that he wished to come home but could not. I should have known then that trouble was stirring in Wales and de Bohun did not wish to give him leave. He entrusted me with some words for Alys. I wondered why, but if he believes there will be a war… Yes. Aubery has always taken it as final that he is betrothed to Alys, you know.”

  “No, I did not know,” William said.

  It would be horrible beyond belief to inflict on Aubery what he himself had suffered all these years. Now William tried to think of any sign at all that Aubery had felt about Alys as he felt about Elizabeth when they were children. He was almost ready to swear it was not so, but not absolutely ready. Part of his unsureness, he knew, was owing to the fact that he could not really concentrate. Elizabeth was in the keep. Elizabeth… Suddenly it came to William’s mind that if Mauger took Alys away to talk privately about Aubery, he and Elizabeth would also be alone.

  “I may talk to Alys? Would you permit her to ride out with me? It is very hard to transmit tender messages with servants coming and going or a father listening and—”

  “Yes, certainly,” William said, his mouth g
oing dry with desire. “If Alys is willing, I have no objections.”

  Mauger’s plan was excellent, and it might have worked had he been even slightly acquainted with his wife’s character and thus kept her apart from Alys. The girl was not yet in love with Raymond, but his suppressed emotion had communicated itself to her and something in her was coming awake in response. A clear declaration of passion from almost any desirable young man might have toppled her. Mauger’s secondhand relations of Aubery’s love would not have been as effective, but Alys might have been sufficiently moved by the false words to agree to a formal betrothal.

  Elizabeth, who had seen what was happening to Alys, was equally determined that Alys and Aubery not be precipitated into something they would both regret. She was not certain of exactly what moves Mauger would make, but she knew William would never force Alys into a betrothal. Therefore, her path was clear, she had to make sure Alys would continue to resist. She smiled at the polite, pleased, but puzzled thanks Alys gave for the length of cloth.

  “It will suit you better than me, love,” Elizabeth said, laughing, “but you know it was never bought for me. It was meant for Aubery. Mauger wanted an excuse to come here, and this was it.”

  “Oh,” Alys said, and laughed also. “Would you like me to make a gown for Aubery from it?”

  “No!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Alys, do you have any love for Aubery?”

  “Of course,” Alys replied, shocked. “How could I not? I have known him forever.”

  “That is not what I mean at all,” Elizabeth said. “Do you want to marry him?”

  Alys looked uncertain and rather embarrassed. A dark, thin face with bright, intense eyes flickered through her mind. But how could she say to Aubery’s mother that her son was not desirable?

  “You have misunderstood me,” Elizabeth continued hastily, reading Alys’s expression correctly. “I do not wish to urge you to marry my son. To tell you the truth, I do not think you would suit each other at all.”

  “Well,” Alys temporized, “I do love Aubery, but…but I have known him so long that he is like a brother. I…I am not certain. If Papa wants me to marry him…”

  “Your father only wants you to be happy,” Elizabeth said very firmly. “Believe me, Alys, there is no hell like an unhappy marriage. I know! Do not allow anyone, even your father, to convince you that you feel what you do not feel. I think my husband has come here to press for a betrothal. Do not agree unless you are very sure that you wish to spend your life with Aubery.”

  “I am not sure of that,” Alys replied promptly. “How can I be sure? And what about Aubery?”

  “Aubery?” Elizabeth smiled again. “It is true Aubery is a few months older than you, but in many ways he is much younger. I assure you Aubery does not wish to marry anyone…not yet.” She hesitated, and a thoughtful expression came into her eyes. “Alys,” she said slowly, “do not believe what Mauger may say about Aubery’s feelings. I…I do not like to criticize my husband, but…but he is not overcareful to speak the truth when he thinks a lie will serve his purpose better.”

  “Are you saying that Aubery does not love me?” Alys asked.

  There was a hint of pique in her voice. Elizabeth thought swiftly. Was she doing her son harm? Was she depriving him of a rich marriage with a beautiful, intelligent woman? She thought of the last time they had been together. No. Aubery already seemed to lean toward gentle girls who desired protection. Alys infuriated him, although he was very fond of her.

  “If you want the truth, he does not,” Elizabeth answered. “Oh, like a sister, to quarrel with, as you love him, yes. But he is young, and you know your father has filled his head with the need to be dutiful. Mauger could doubtless convince him it was his duty to mouth words of love, but… Alys, you will know love when it comes to you. You are fortunate in having a father who cares more for you than for wealth or pride. Do not permit yourself to be rushed into any avowal. There is plenty of time to take Aubery if you want him, but once you are betrothed it will be too late to change your mind.”

  Alys nodded. That was an argument her father would accept without being hurt, but she felt dissatisfied. “Why do you suddenly speak to me of this, Elizabeth?”

  “Because Mauger has been speaking of it to me and says he wants it settled in writing. He even sent to ask Aubery to come home, but he did not come.”

  “He did not? Did he send a message?”

  Elizabeth’s face softened. She did not realize that what she said implied Aubery knew his father’s reason for asking him to come home. Her mind was on the fact that de Bohun’s messenger had sought her out after he had delivered his master’s letter to Mauger. He told her softly that Aubery sent his love and wanted to assure her that he was well and very happy. Also her son wished to know if all was well with her. If his father’s message was on her account, the messenger said, Aubery would beg his lord to allow him to come home—which he had not done—and he was sure the indulgence would be granted.

  “Only his love to me,” Elizabeth said softly.

  “Then it is certainly true he is not dying for love of me,” Alys snapped.

  The tart tone made Elizabeth realize the mistaken impression she had given Alys. “No, he is not,” she agreed, laughing, “but he did not refuse to come. The Earl of Hereford would not give him leave.”

  “Oh.” Alys’s face cleared and she laughed also. Then she sobered. “I did not think. Of course de Bohun could not let his squire go now. He will be needed in this Welsh war.”

  “Welsh war?” Elizabeth repeated, growing pale.

  “Did you not know?” Alys cried softly. “I am so sorry. I should not have told you, but I thought… Papa goes too.”

  “Your father also?” Elizabeth’s voice shook and her eyes were enormous.

  “No harm will come to Aubery,” Alys comforted, although her voice was not very steady either, “and you will not need to worry about him because Papa will write to me often, you know he does so, and he will look to Aubery and send news of him.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth faltered, “yes, of course. Alys, you will send me word if you cannot come yourself of how…how your father does, even if he does not mention Aubery. I…I can judge from that, you know, what action is taking place.”

  A flicker of reluctance touched Alys, who guessed that Elizabeth’s uneven breath and pallor owed only a little to fear for her son. She was almost inclined to temporize so that she could keep knowledge of her father jealously to herself, but a maidservant came in to ask that she and Elizabeth come down to the hall.

  Chapter Eight

  When they entered the hall, Elizabeth sheltered behind Alys and the maid so that her pallor and trembling were not perceived. She heard her husband’s voice and tried desperately to understand so that she could answer sensibly, but no one seemed to expect any answer from her. She was so shaken by terror that she could not attempt to understand it. It was nothing new for William to ride to war in Richard of Cornwall’s tail, and although she had always feared for him, it had been nothing like this.

  The exchange of voices in which, surprisingly, Alys had taken a major part ended. Alys and Mauger were going off somewhere together. That seemed peculiar, but Elizabeth had no fear that Mauger would insult Alys and she only felt relief. She would be able to rest for a few minutes and absorb the shock so that she could face Mauger when he returned. She had taken a single faltering step toward a chair when she was seized in a strong hold.

  “Elizabeth!” William’s voice held fear. “What ails you?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, “a slight faintness. Let me sit down a moment.”

  “You are so cold,” he said. “You are shaking.”

  His touch made it worse. Such a violent mixture of fear and desire roiled in Elizabeth that the room dimmed and her knees buckled. She was aware of being lifted and carried and clung instinctively. Then, as she was set down on a bed, the world steadied and cleared. She felt William reach up to unlock her arms from around his n
eck so that he could cover her, but she whispered, “No, do not let me go. I am afraid.”

  He sat down on the bed beside her. “Of what? In my house, what could you fear, Elizabeth?”

  The supine position had restored her. Fear still ate her, but the physical effects of it were gone. Her hands had slipped down from William’s neck, but she still held tightly to his arms.

  “I am better already,” she assured him. “You have done all that was necessary in letting me lie down. Let me rest a moment.”

  “But what overset you?” William asked anxiously, and then a horrible notion came into his mind. Elizabeth had been with Alys. “Did Alys say something unkind to you?” he snarled.

  “Alys? Have you told Alys what…what…?”

  “I have told Alys nothing, but one does not need to tell Alys things. She is very clever. Elizabeth, if that pert devil said something to hurt you after all the kindness you have shown her, I will lift her hide with my belt.”

  “No!” Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Color came back into her face. “I had no idea she knew about…about us.”

  “Knew is too strong a word, perhaps, but a guess so certain…” She still held him, and heat coursed up his arms from where her hands lay, running over his body. Desperate to say something, anything, he went on, “But something happened, something was said to distress you.”

  “Alys told me you were going to war in Wales.”

  She had her eyes fixed on his slightly averted face and all of a sudden the dear, familiar features were startlingly clear, as if she were seeing him for the first time. He was not handsome in terms of a hero of romance, like Mauger. In particular those ridiculous, long, curling lashes that now hid his eyes made her want to laugh at the same time that she could barely prevent herself from pulling him down and kissing them. The thought of kissing brought Elizabeth’s eyes to William’s mouth and she began to tremble. He looked back at her when he felt her shaking, his own eyes dark with passion. He did not dare make any direct advance. He had asked her that time at Hurley and she had refused. But he could see the desire as plain in her face as he knew it must be in his own.