Free The Traitor's Daughter by April Munday

profoundly
troubled. She stepped forward and took his hand and waited for him to look at
her. When he did she pronounced, “Know, Sir Hugh de Liss, that I, Lady Alais de
Montjoye, absolve you from any blame in the death of Lady Eleanor de Montjoye.”
    Hugh fell on one knee before her and kissed her hand. He
raised his eyes to her face. “My lady, you may absolve me, but my heart condemns
me. Nonetheless I thank you for your generosity.”
    She shook her head, feeling her eyes blur with tears.
“My lord, you can have no blame in my mother’s death. My mother was not yet
under your protection. She did not blame you and I do not blame you. You could
not have known that the French would invade.”
    “I should have taken more care for your journey and been
there when your servants left.”
    “My lord, it would have changed nothing, save that you
would have been in church with us and might have died yourself.”
    “Then it would have been an honourable death.” He looked
away from her again.
    Alais had no response. There could be no response. Hugh
had taken the blame for her mother’s death upon himself and nothing she could
say would change his mind.
    “Then allow me to thank you for my life.”
    He lifted his face to hers again.
    “Those two men would have killed me, or worse.”
    “It was my duty to protect you, Lady Alais.”
    “But you did not know who it was you saved.”
    “A knight must always protect those weaker than himself.”
    “I am grateful, nonetheless.”
    Hugh seemed satisfied with this and stood.
    “It is time for the burial.”
    He called and some servants came to carry Lady Eleanor’s
body to the church.
    Hugh led Alais from the house and along the short path
to the church. As they walked, Hugh pointed out the grave of his mother. Beside
it was a newer grave.
    “My sister, Isabella,” explained Hugh. “She died last
year in childbirth. She was fourteen and I had not even noticed that she had
become a woman.”
    “Why does she lie here and not in her husband’s manor?”
It was an impertinent question, but it was out of her mouth before she realised
that she was going to ask it. Isabella was not his wife, then, but his sister.
This small fact made Alais even more curious. He had told her nothing about his
wife, but only about his sister and his mother. Why did he not speak of her?
Was he hiding something or was she such a part of his life that he felt no need
to speak of her, especially to a stranger?
    “Her husband was a friend of my father’s, much older
than her. He died before anyone even knew she was with child and his son did
not want to wait until Isabella died of old age to have his inheritance.” He
stopped, as if aware of the similarities between his own situation and that of
his sister’s stepson.
    “She was very young,” encouraged Alais, “perhaps she did
not know how to stand up for herself.”
    “She never needed to before she was married. I looked
after her. She was married when I was away with the king, otherwise I should
have stopped it. Isabella was always laughing and happy, but she began to die
the moment she married that man. The son sent her home, although he had no
right. There was no one to gainsay him. It was winter and she suffered much
from the journey. We looked after her at Liss, but the child came early and
they both died.”
    This was not an unusual tale to Alais. Men were eager
for land, or money or advancement and there were sons who despaired of their
inheritance when their widowed fathers married younger wives. She herself was
younger than Hugh by some five or six years and it was unlikely that he would
inherit his father’s property. His own son would have to wait for her death.
Had he told her this tale as a warning, so that she would not go through with
her vows? If so, he must know that it was too late. Or was he warning her that
she would suffer the same fate as his sister and he would himself cast her out
on her husband’s death. Sir