Lady Knight

by Ling, Maria

  "Go on ahead," Guillaume said. "I'll wait. The lads will come after me if I'm missing. You I will not leave here, unattended and alone."

  Matilda would have argued, but voices rose from the camp and her own would be as clearly heard. She stumbled on, vowed to send Roland or Geoffrey out to search if Guillaume did not follow within the quarter hour.

  But he did, she turned before entering her tent and saw him emerge from the edge of the copse. Resisted the urge to smile and raise her hand in greeting, simply scowled and slipped inside, and collapsed on her own bed.

  ***

  The rest did her good, she felt almost human again by the time her page called her, diffidently, to say that the banquet was ready and all knights were bidden to attend. Her mind sparkled, too, with the beginnings of a plan.

  The first and most obvious obstacle was communicating with Guillaume. Fortunately they'd been seen on civil terms on leaving the stable earlier. It was no great stretch for her to seek him out in his own tent, briefly, to make an offer for her horse.

  In the event, she caught him as he stepped out, within easy earshot of both squire and page. Which meant she had to launch into her opening remarks rather more demonstratively than she'd intended.

  "About my horse," she began. "He is valuable, and dear to me, and I prefer not to part with him. Would you allow me to buy him back?" She half turned the moment she finished speaking, took a step in the direction of the banqueting tent, prayed that Guillaume would walk with her as she intended.

  "I will consider it." Guillaume held a nice line in haughty courtesy. He offered his arm in so formal a manner that it might as well have been a slap. Matilda bit down hard on a smile and allowed him to escort her a few steps further. Then she muttered quickly: "Don't agree. Sell me the lame one."

  His eyes glittered. "Since you ask." He walked on, pretending to muse. Then shook his head. "I'm not inclined to humour you. He's a fine animal, and I intend to use him myself. But there's another I've thought of parting with."

  Matilda snorted. "The bay? I saw him being walked. He limps."

  "He does," Guillaume conceded. "But it's only a light sprain. The leg is sound. You can take a look tomorrow, if you wish. We'll travel the same road in any case."

  "You imagine so?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, felt the pretence of indifference falter. Guillaume quirked his own, so perfect an imitation of her that she had to look away to stop her laughter. Stared straight ahead, to where knights and ladies gathered at the entrance, and tried to find some fascinating detail to distract her.

  "I take it," Guillaume muttered, "that we're to have a falling out over that horse. At some nearby tavern, perhaps?"

  "That is my hope," Matilda said. The crowd closed around them, they were no longer able to swap words in secrecy. They remained together, though, she didn't like to part with him, it was good to have him near.

  "Excellent fighting horse," Guillaume went on. "Caught a blow, strained himself with eagerness to battle on. Plenty of heart. Give him the chance to rest, he'll do you proud."

  "Then keep him yourself," Matilda argued. "Sell me back my own."

  Guillaume released her arm and turned his back on her. Anger stung her, unreasonable and absurd.

  "You could at least consider it," she snapped, and the annoyance in her voice rang entirely true.

  "I have done so," Guillaume said over his shoulder. "My answer is no. I keep the best for myself -- as your cousin will be able to tell you." He dropped in a sneer for good measure. Matilda narrowly avoided punching him. "Now you'll excuse me. I have more interesting conversations to pursue." He strode off, to leave her seething and yet amused.

  "My friend has no manners." Geoffrey slid to her side and offered his own arm in place of Guillaume's. "I apologise on his behalf."

  "Thank you." Matilda allowed the smile to bloom across her face. Guillaume, glancing back, froze. Then he directed so murderous a glare at Geoffrey that it cost her all she had not to laugh. "It appears he shows no greater courtesy to his friends."

  "He's a shit," Geoffrey said comfortably. "Always has been."

  "The stories we could tell," Roland supplemented as he moved into position on her other side. Matilda grinned at him, then caught sight of Alan's scowl from a few steps away and tried to compose herself. He hadn't been there when she first entered, but he stood close enough that he must have followed her in. She didn't like that thought.

  "Go on," she told Roland. "Entertain me."

  Roland launched into a tale that soon had her gasping. Guillaume attempted to stop the flood, but was cheerfully shouted down by his friends. Even Alan, who began with the most forbidding of countenances, was grinning by the time they'd all settled at table.

  "I never said that," Guillaume objected with a ferocious scowl at a particularly unsavoury revelation, but was unceremoniously jeered at by Roland and Geoffrey. In truth, as Matilda studied him more closely, he didn't seem altogether perturbed.

  "I'll wager you did," she said. "Worse, probably."

  That brief glitter came and went in his eyes. Bastard was enjoying himself. She was, too.

  "Maybe," he conceded, and let his friends tell the tale.

  ***

  CHAPTER 6

  "Are you sure?" Alan muttered. "I don't like to leave you here with that cur for company."

  They had reached the tavern, which proved pleasant and bustling. It would be easy to blend in here, with so much coming and going no one would be inclined to take much notice of other guests. If they could lose their too-attentive friends, she and Guillaume might have a little privacy at last.

  "I don't particularly want him around either," Matilda argued. "But I don't imagine he'll trouble me -- he's known to be an honourable man, for all his vile temper. I've heard as much from other knights. Besides, it's only for a short time. He says two days' rest will see the horse fit, I'm saying let him prove it. So we'll remain that long. If not, there'll be no sale. And with a little time in hand, I might be able to talk him into selling my horse back to me after all."

  Guillaume had made a great show of refusing to consider her offers, but continued to insist the supposedly lame horse would be fit to ride by the next meet. Although Matilda had laid the plan, he played his part so well he almost convinced her. A man of varied talents, to be sure.

  "If he won't," she went on, "I still need a battlehorse by the next meet. You know I'll have to risk the hack otherwise."

  Alan gave a reluctant nod. "You should have bought a sound horse before we left. There were plenty to choose from. Still are, just take a look in the tavern stables. You could find some other beast equally good, and not lame."

  Which was true enough. She couldn't grudge Alan those words. "I like the feel of him, though. Even-tempered and easy to handle. If I can't get my own horse back, I'll need a mount I can work with."

  Alan grunted. "Will he be fit in time for the next meet?"

  "Not if he's made to travel," Matilda argued. "Evidently. He started off game enough, but I think he got carried away. A lot of heart, definitely. Let him rest up for a few days, and he should be well again."

  "I'll stay with you, then." Alan's eyes grew thoughtful. "We could spend the time together, like we used to."

  Matilda winced. A week ago, she'd have been delighted. Now she saw calculation in his every word. She couldn't regard him as a friend any more. Much as she liked him, and he her, the relationship between them had irrevocably altered.

  He should never have spoken, she thought resentfully. Should have kept such hopes -- and such desires -- to himself. If he'd never mentioned them to her, they would still be friends and on easy terms, comfortable with one another. Whereas now...

  But she couldn't really blame him. Why shouldn't he chance a blow, if it might bring success? He must have thought her halfway to agreeing already... and in truth she would have been, before she met Guillaume. She'd liked Alan better than any other man, he'd stood her companion too many times to count, and never ha
d she found reason to doubt his honour or resolve. Marriage to him would have been a comradeship in arms, equally acceptable to herself and her brother. She might have been persuaded.

  Whereas now, with what she'd learned from so deft a lover as Guillaume, it was out of the question. She craved Guillaume's presence, his touch, his glance. Grew almost brusque, as she strove to shed her friend and brother knight of so many years. It was wrong, it felt wrong. Yet all she wanted was for Alan to be gone, so she could drop the pretence of loathing Guillaume and give way to desire as before. Fully and freely, without concealment.

  "You've spent time enough kicking your heels waiting for those bones to knit," Matilda pointed out with a jab at his ribs. "I'd have thought you'd be off at a gallop at the mere suggestion you might have to stay put."

  Alan grinned, unexpectedly. "I'll admit I'm not eager. All the same, though..."

  "Don't coddle me," Matilda warned. "I can handle my own fights."

  "I wouldn't be much of a sword-brother to you if I left you to do that," Alan argued.

  Which was truth, also. "Thank you for your concern. Really. But I will get on perfectly well without you here, and it's not far to travel after. Most likely I'll catch up with you on the way. If not, go ahead and secure me good stabling and a favourable draw. I'll not be long behind you."

  "Very well." Alan proved gracious in defeat. "I'll confess I want to prepare to meet that bastard Guillaume again. He's coming down this time -- and hard. Watch him sip his meals after I've finished with him."

  Matilda forced a smile. Wondered who'd come out the worst, after those two met again. Hoped they'd have sense enough to hold their blows, and not cause a maiming.

  "Make sure you're not too far behind," Alan said. "If I don't have word from you within the week, I'm coming back for you. Fair?"

  It was. And she was lucky to count him as a friend. "Fair," she admitted.

  ***

  "Genius." Guillaume glowed with satisfaction as he closed the door. They were alone in his room now, her attendants and his all dismissed on various pretexts. Alan had left with Guillaume's friends, swapping good-natured threats with Roland as they rode off. To leave Matilda and her lover free at last.

  Maybe for as long as an hour, if the attendants stayed away.

  "Finesse." Matilda slipped her kirtle over her head, then shook her hair down. It felt strange to be on such unabashed terms with a man. But she was, didn't hesitate to allow Guillaume the sight of her in nothing but her linen shift. Let him free her from that likewise, slowly. His warm hands travelled over her body, stroked and caressed. Gripped hard as he pulled her close and held her and kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding over hers. Which made her shiver, and grip his shoulders in return, and savour the taste of him. Strong muscles tensed under her hands. Linen bunched under her fingers, smooth fine weave, crisp with fresh laundering. A fastidious man when he laid weapons aside, though brutal in battle. Much like herself. The thought made her smile.

  Guillaume pulled his mouth from hers. "What's funny?"

  "You." She grinned at him. "Is that shirt coming off?"

  "It is now." He stripped in front of her, let her admire the thick lay of roped muscle over a powerful frame. A fighter to reckon with, and a lover too.

  Her lover. She'd never had one before. But she gloried in it now, the knowledge that they belonged together, that she could touch his bare warm skin -- like this -- and let her fingers glide over it, down towards his buttock and his flank. Stroke further if she wanted to -- like this -- and watch his member rise into her hand, and hold it gently, caress its delicate skin, and listen to his quick breathing against her ear.

  "If you want something for yourself," Guillaume whispered, "tell me now. Otherwise this will be all for me."

  She loved that thought. He'd given her so much pleasure, she wanted to do the same for him. Longed to know how best to bring him on, take him on a thundering charge such as she herself had experienced under his hands, and reach the target and smash it apart, as she had done.

  "All for you," she whispered back. His breath caught. Then his hand touched hers, guided her movements, long easy fingertip strokes and a slow curl around the head -- until he choked on a gasp, forced her hand tight against him, and spurted hot liquid hard up over her belly and his, and laughed softly in her ear.

  "Easy," he murmured. "I'm easy to please."

  "Makes two of us," Matilda said with a grin, hugged him close and kissed his bare shoulder. "Just as well."

  He leaned over to the small table behind her, pulled out linen scraps from an embroidered bag, wiped her down and then himself. Poured rosewater from the jug into the waiting bowl, let her wash first and him after, smiled at her with such tenderness that her breath stopped. Took her into his arms again, naked still, and kissed her.

  "That should slow me down a bit," he said. "Now for you."

  She let him pull her over to the bed and drape her over it, lay back smiling while he licked his way down her breasts and belly and into the secret place between her thighs. Rode the pleasure as it built, higher with each delicate touch, until she cried out and arched against him, and shuddered in exquisite delight, and marvelled that such glorious joy could exist here on earth.

  He cuddled her afterwards, lay with his face resting against her shoulder and one arm flung around her waist. Talked in desultory sentences about his life and his fighting. Listened while she did the same, tensed as she spoke of danger or defeat, laughed in triumph at her victories. Slept, at last, while she nuzzled his short-clipped hair and dreamed of a future together, the two of them riding and fighting side by side, and never being enemies again.

  ***

  "No more secrecy," Guillaume said.

  They rode together openly, while sunshine washed over them and the open road stretched before them. Guards ahead of them, carts and attendants trailing behind, they were not alone. But they could imagine it, paired off against each other on matching hacks, while God's blue sky arched above them.

  Matilda smiled and turned her face towards the sunlight, eyes half closed. "What are your terms?"

  "Marriage." Guillaume's voice held no hesitation, it lay steady as rock. "If you'll permit. Or an acknowledged relationship. I'll take that, if I have to. But no more sneaking aside and hiding in corners. Not with you."

  She felt the same. It had been fun, in its own way, the thrill of a clandestine liaison. But it wasn't in her nature to insinuate and lie. All out in the open, an honest battle before the eyes of God and every man or woman, things settled clear and fair and without guile. That was her path in life, and she held to it unswerving. Or had done, until she met Guillaume.

  "I thought you liked keeping mistresses," she teased.

  "Never tried to keep one of my own. Just borrowed those of other men."

  "How charming."

  He laughed and caught her hand, carried it to his lips. A whirr of murmurs flew through the air behind her, dissipated and were lost. Just as well, or she'd have to take note of them.

  "If it displeases you," he said, "I'll learn better for the future."

  "No more dalliance," Matilda said with mock severity. "Chastity and honour, and stark vigils before the sword."

  "You'd best show me how it's done."

  She laughed too at that, so loud her voice rang from earth to heaven, young and strong and free. "Don't know if I remember."

  Their horses fell into step, side by side, so close her boot brushed his. Guillaume's fingers wove between hers, lingered in deft caresses rich with the remembrance of delight.

  "Terms," he said. "As victor, I may set them. You have only to accept or else decline -- and face the consequences."

  "What would those be?"

  He grinned at her, feral with untamed strength. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

  "Scary."

  They rode hand in hand for a while, saying nothing. Behind them, the silence echoed.

  "I'll talk to Alan," Matilda said. "He won't be happy
. But he loves me as a brother, and he wants what's best for me. I can talk him around. Don't go picking fights with him."

  "As if I'd ever."

  Matilda shot him a suspicious glare. "You enjoy upsetting people, don't you?"

  "It livens things up. And most of them are such damned fools. Serves 'em right to catch it hard now and then."

  "What a find," Matilda told the sky. "Couldn't have sent me a nice easy-going man with a shoddy hold."

  "No." Guillaume squeezed her fingers. "You got a brute who smites like an angel."

  "Archangel," Matilda corrected. "Don't pretend to modesty. It doesn't suit you."

  Guillaume bowed in the saddle. "Fierce as an angel of Paradise."

  Matilda winced. "Heard that, did you?"

  "More than once. They were right. About both of us, as it happens."

  She smiled then, warm and content and at ease. With the man who best fitted into her life right here beside her, touching skin to skin. Riding along a dusty road no different from scores of others she'd travelled on, but golden to her eyes because she was on it with him.

  "How long until we get there?" she asked.

  "Not long," Guillaume promised. "Getting impatient for a fight?"

  Matilda grinned at him. "With you around? I'm just glad to sheathe my sword for a little while."

  ***

  "You took your time." Alan shot her a disapproving look, then glared past her at Guillaume. "Did he get in your way?"

  "No." Matilda braced herself. They'd discussed this in muted tones, she and Guillaume, as they rode towards the camp. Kept exchanges brief and cryptic, while their respective guards eyed each other with deep suspicion and held themselves aloof. "He's been very supportive. I may have misjudged him at first."

  "Unlikely." Alan scowled at Guillaume, who sauntered over with a smirk. She wished he wouldn't do that, it could only serve to annoy her friend, and if Alan took umbrage Guillaume would too, she had no doubts at all on that score. Which meant another fight -- over her, which she didn't care for one bit.

  Though she couldn't really blame her lover for the expression on his face. She felt it creep onto her own, every time she saw him. Or thought of him. Or felt the echo of his caresses sing through her body still.