by Speer, Flora
She sat. He was uncomfortably close, but that was what she wanted. He had to be close if she was going to charm him. She smiled at him, and as though the smile were a signal, he began kissing her again. It took a great deal of determination, but she managed to keep her wits about her, while Walter grew steadily more perturbed.
It was awkward sitting side by side kissing, so when she found herself lying on her back with Walter propped beside her on his elbow, she did not protest. It was pleasant to have him lean over her and kiss her again, pressing down on her, and it was quite natural for her arms to slide around his waist, but when he stretched out full-length and she could feel all of him, even through her thick wool skirt, then she began to be uneasy. It was too pleasant. There was a warm, moist sensation spreading though her loins and she kept pushing herself against him without really meaning to. And his hands … his hands should not be stroking her breasts like that, she could feel the hard nipples rubbing against her linen under shift, and the sensation increased the heat that was rising through the lower part of her body.
“Walter, stop.” She was gasping for air. She had not intended to grant him so much. She would make him stop now, and tell him her marvelous plan, whatever it was, if she could only remember it. “Please, Walter.”
“Isabel, my darling, my love. After all these years of waiting, at last, at last you are mine. Do you know how much I adore you? How I have longed for you, prayed you would come to love me, too, and never dreamed it would happen, not like this. You are all that is beautiful, you are wonderful. I adore you, worship you.”
“Walter…please…wait…you don’t understand … I only…Walter!” She saw his face and knew there was no stopping him now. Her skirts were up around her waist and his hands were stroking along her thighs, moving ever closer and closer to the moist, throbbing heart of her, a place that needed something, she did not know what.
“My sweet, gentle flower, my rose. You make me so happy. Isabel, my love, my dearest.”
She screamed when his fingers touched her, probing into her, driving her mad. She saw her own hands tearing at his clothes, pulling up his tunic, unlacing his hose, pulling him to her, into her, wanting him with a desperate, hungry need unlike anything she had ever felt before.
They were together, he filled her, pounding at her with unrelenting passion, and she cried out his name over and over as she exploded into tiny fragments. He held her and would not let her go, keeping her one with him until she had come back to some semblance of Isabel again.
“I did not mean for this to happen,” she said later, when she could talk once more.
”Of course you did,” he told her. “Why else would you have led me into the woods like this? And now, my beloved, my beautiful flower, it is going to happen again.”
It was a long time before she remembered her plan and found the words to tell it to him. To her delighted surprise, he was more than willing, even adding a few clever details of his own. She had feared that having claimed all she had to offer, he would lose interest in her and refuse her idea, but he did not. It was almost as though a similar plan had been secretly fermenting in his own mind, needing only her suggestion to bring it into the open. All he required of her was that she say she loved him as much as he loved her, which was easy enough to do with his hot, strong body pressing against hers, and then, to seal their bargain, they feasted on each other again, one more time, before returning to Afoncaer.
Isabel’s cool politeness over the next few days was a relief to Guy. Perhaps she had at last resigned herself to his rule. He decided he would try to be more patient with her. He might even, before too long, allow her a few baubles for adornment. It would give her pleasure, and she had little enough entertainment here in Wales.
Walter fitz Alan asked leave to go to Chester on some unspecified family business. Guy sent him off with six men-at-arms for his protection and then went back to the work of building Afoncaer.
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” asked Brian, “that Walter should have need to go to Chester when his older brother, who is all the family he has, is in Brittany?”
They were sitting at the trestle table after the evening meal. The cold meats and breads had been removed. The women had retired behind their partition for the night, and those men not on guard duty had wrapped themselves in blankets and lain down to sleep, either here in the great hall or in the stable. Guy could see Geoffrey stretched out near the opposite wall, and Thomas, curled almost into a ball guarding the entrance to the women’s quarters even in his sleep. Only Guy and Brian and Reynaud, sitting at the far end of the table poring over some parchments, were still awake. Guy slid the ale pitcher across the table toward Brian.
“I haven’t thought much about Walter’s purposes,” Guy said. “Had he some other reason for going to Chester?”
“I fear it may be so.” Brian refilled his cup. “Guy, we have all three been friends for years, since we were both his squires, but you know him much better than I do. After all, you were together on crusade, while I stayed at home all that time. Do you trust Walter completely?”
“He is my sworn man.” Guy frowned, remembering. “He is very ambitious and overly fond of luxury. He did not go all the way to the Holy Land with me. We went by way of Byzantium, and Walter remained there. I went on to the siege of Jerusalem and then, after I received King Henry’s letter, to Sicily to find a ship sailing for England. I did not see Walter again until we were both back in London.”
“Why did he stay in Byzantium?” Brian asked.
“He had some plan to marry a wealthy Greek woman he met there. He now says he abandoned that plan because he was homesick.”
“More likely,” Brian said softly, “he heard the news that Lionel was dead.”
“What could Lionel’s death have to do with Walter’s plans?” Guy paused, thinking. Then, “Isabel. He once wanted Isabel. But that was seven long years ago.”
“He still wants her. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. Guy, I believe one reason Walter came to Afoncaer so readily when you sent for him, and then became one of your household knights so easily, was because Isabel is here. He pretended he was surprised to see her the day we arrived, but I think he knew he would find her here.”
“You may be right. I agree Walter is capable of romantic foolishness of that kind. But Isabel is not. If she ever chooses to marry again, it will be to a man with an important title and great wealth. She would not waste herself upon a simple knight who has neither. In any case, I’ve seen no sign that she is seriously interested in Walter, so if he came here to coax her into accepting him, it hasn’t worked.”
Reynaud, at the foot of the table, lifted his head and spoke. “Walter fitz Alan is not a simple man, my lord, as you should know, being his friend. I have heard the Earl of Chester is presently in residence there.”
“In Chester? Why should he not be? It is his castle and his town.”
“My lord Guy,” Brian said, “everyone at Afoncaer knows you and the Lady Isabel have quarreled, and that you have placed restrictions upon her. I cannot believe she will accept such public insult without attempting to repay you.”
“She has spoken often with Walter,” Reynaud added, “alone, my lord, and at times when you could not be aware of it.”
“What are you two suggesting?” Guy asked, laughing. “Do you think Walter is carrying a message from Isabel to the Earl of Chester? ‘My lord earl, my cruel brother-in-law refuses me new clothes. Please send me a bolt of the finest blue silk at your earliest opportunity, and if you have extra men-at-arms to spare, let them rescue me, I beg you.’ Walter would have told me about such a frivolous message, and not gone riding off to Chester to deliver it.”
“Perhaps,” said Reynaud, “Sir Walter has another, far more serious purpose.”
“Was it only last week,” Brian mused, “I heard you warning Thomas that knights do not always keep their vows?”
“Have you any proof, either of you?” Guy kept his voice level, t
rying not to betray the knot that suddenly tightened in his stomach. He remembered Isabel’s angry threats of vengeance, which he had dismissed as meaningless. Outwardly still calm, he could not keep back the thoughts tumbling through his mind. The Earl of Chester was so powerful that King Henry had wanted Guy at Afoncaer to help balance Chester’s power in favor of the crown should conflict arise. Guy knew Chester resented his presence at Afoncaer. King Henry had taken his army to fight in Normandy, too far away to help Guy in an emergency. Afoncaer’s defenses were not yet strong enough to withstand an attack by an army such as Chester could call to his banner. Guy spoke his next thought aloud. “What could Walter possibly say or do that would bring Chester down on us?”
“I do not know,” Brian said. “I have no proof that anything is wrong, just a feeling. Walter has a look about him these days that makes me uncomfortable.”
“I agree with Sir Brian.” Reynaud’s pale blue eyes were intense with worry. “Your own honesty sometimes blinds you to the falseness of others, my lord. We must all be on our guard, I think. Something is in the wind, and it comes from Chester.”
But Walter, returning to Afoncaer in mid-July with the same six men with whom he had left two weeks earlier, appeared to be unchanged. It was not until after Guy had seen him conferring alone with Isabel in a corner of the great hall, that his friend approached him.
“My lord, may I speak with you?” Walter spread his hands, smiling with disarming charm. “I fear I have a serious confession to make.”
“Why to me and not to Father Herbert?”
“Because, dear friend, this confession is about earthly matters. About family.”
“That family business upon which you went to Chester?”
“Indeed, yes, my lord. Shall we go outside and stroll where no one can hear us? It is, like most confessions, a private matter.”
“Very well.” They left the hall and walked across the bailey in silence, until Guy sat down on a pile of dressed stones that were awaiting the masons. Walter sat beside him. “Tell me now, Walter. This is private enough. There is no one else here.”
“I wish to marry the Lady Isabel.”
“I’m afraid that is impossible. You have no lands, no title. I could not in good conscience give her to you, knowing she would have to live in poverty, and I doubt Isabel would agree to such a marriage.” When Walter would have interrupted, Guy held up one hand and went on speaking. “While there are honors in my holdings that I could settle on you in recompense for your loyal service to me, none of them would provide the income you would need to keep Isabel as your wife. So you see, in fairness to both you and Isabel, I must refuse your request.”
“You don’t understand,” Walter said. “I have the prospect of receiving quite a lot of land, and a title, too.”
“I did not know your older brother was likely to die soon,” Guy said dryly.
“Not Baldwin. He’s in perfect health so far as I know. I’ve no chance of inheriting from him. No, it is the Earl of Chester who has promised me land.”
“Has he indeed?” Guy regarded Walter with great interest. “In return for what?”
“We are friends, are we not, Guy?”
“So I have always believed.”
“Then release me from my oath of fealty to you so I may pledge myself to the Earl of Chester. He will create me one of his vassals and grant me lands at Tynant, and the manor house there in which to live. I shall be Lord of Tynant. Isabel has said she will be content with that.”
“I’d be astonished if Isabel were content with the crown of England. You had no right to speak to her about this without consulting me first.”
“I love her. And she loves me.”
“Then you are both fools. That sort of thing is for common folk. No nobleman should love his wife. Such a passion could only interfere with the important duties of one’s life. You should choose a wife who can manage your affairs while you are away at war, an agreeable, placid lady who will cause you no trouble on her own account and who will bear you sons you can be absolutely certain are your own. Surely you are not ignorant of Isabel’s extravagance, her ill-temper, or the fact that the queen demanded she leave the court?”
“I disregard all of that. We love each other. She will be content with me at Tynant.”
“I think,” Guy said coldly, “that you are mad.”
“Because you are incapable of feeling love, you think everyone else should be like you. We want to marry, Guy. I beg you to release me from my oath and give us your permission.”
“I will think about it. I’ll give you my answer in a day or two.”
“Let it be yes. For the sake of our friendship.”
“And what will you do, old friend, if the answer is no?”
Walter’s dark eyes fell before Guy’s clear blue gaze. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Have you already given your oath to Chester?” Guy asked quietly.
“By my honor, I have not.”
“By your honor, and mine, you ought not to have spoken of marriage to Isabel without permission from me.”
“I love her,” Walter declared once more.
“You have spent too much time at the court of Toulouse. They talk this kind of romantic nonsense there. The ladies sigh and swoon and give silken scarves to knights to wear into battle. Here we have more serious matters to concern us: the Welsh, who are always ready to revolt against our rule, and the marcher lords, who would make themselves greater than the king. Be careful, Walter. Until now you have been my friend. I would not like to see you caught in a net woven by the earl of Chester.”
“The only net I’ll be caught in is the one woven by Isabel’s love.”
“Poor Walter.” Guy rose from his perch on the hard stone. He shook his head pityingly. “Who will prove more dangerous to you, Isabel or Chester? Either way, I think you will lose much before your unseemly passion has run its course.”
Chapter 25
Guy was used to keeping his own council and making his own decisions, but this was different. He described his conversation with Walter to the friends who had first alerted him to the possibility of disloyalty. He did not think it odd for a knight, a man of action and warfare, to consider the bookish, quiet Reynaud as a friend. Reynaud had proven himself day by day during more than two years of work at Afoncaer, and Guy had come to value his advice on subjects other than building.
They stood in the almost completed lord’s bedchamber after the workmen had left for the day, certain they would be unheard and uninterrupted. Another few days would see the painting of the plaster finished, and then the carved wooden bed, which was being made in the carpenter’s shop in the outer bailey, would be brought in piece by piece and put together, and at last he could move in. Guy would miss the easy companionship of his nights in the great hall with his men, but it was right that the master of the castle should have his own room.
He knew Reynaud would have no regrets about moving into the smaller chamber on the level below, also almost completed, that Guy had assigned to him. Away from the bustle of the great hall, with its mealtimes and men coming and going, the architect would be able to keep his sketches and his documents in order more easily than he did now. Reynaud had suggested that his chamber should become a library when his work on the castle was finished and he finally left Afoncaer, a place where his plans for and records of the building of the castle could be kept, along with the household accounts for years gone by, and the history of Afoncaer that he was writing.
“You will leave your books and papers with me,” Guy had teased him, “As though they were children sent for fostering.”
“Beloved children sent to a dear friend, knowing the friend will care for the children as if they were his own,” Reynaud had replied. “You know I have taken a vow of celibacy, my lord, so my writings are all I will leave behind me when I die. I would leave them with you.”
Guy had agreed to the proposal. Now he smiled to himself, knowing that just beneath hi
s feet Reynaud’s dream was taking form. It was a more pleasant thought than the matter which had brought Reynaud and Brian and himself here this evening.
Guy reported his conversation with Walter. His listener’s responses were characteristic.
“So now,” Brian said, “We know why Walter went to Chester. It’s obvious to me that Lady Isabel told him she would marry him only if he got himself some property.”
“I wonder if that’s all there is to it,” mused Reynaud.
“So do I,” Guy said. “Walter has never shown any sign of wanting to be aught but my household knight, until now.”
“He has wanted to stay here at the castle, to be near Isabel,” Brian said. “He’s mad for her. I have watched them sometimes when they are together. Isabel has played the courtly game well enough, but I have never seen her show him any real favor until she had that quarrel with you a month or so ago. Now she is all blushes and sweet smiles when Walter is about, like some young girl in love. Will you agree to the marriage? It might be to your advantage to have a friend in Chester’s camp.”
“If Sir Walter is a friend,” Reynaud said softly.
Guy thought about that. He had wondered himself where Walter’s true loyalty lay. And then he thought about being rid of Isabel and the constant irritation she provided. Father Herbert would probably go with her, another relief to his sorely tried temper. There would be no more wild talk about Welsh witches living in the dark, mysterious forests. Llangwilym Abbey, where Lionel had been buried, was not too far away. They could fetch a priest from there when they needed one, until the town was big enough for Afoncaer to have its own parish priest.
It was all perfectly sensible, a logical arrangement, yet something was not quite right. It was almost as if someone had perceived the exact things that irritated him most about his daily life and had proposed to remove them all at once. Too neat. Too easy. He had been in enough military campaigns to have learned to mistrust such ease. It was too often the forerunner of some vicious attack.
