Free A Knight's Vow by Lindsay Townsend

shifted on his body. “My lord belongs in the Holy Land,” he
said, turning away from her again and resuming the care of
his horse. “That is his true work, as a warrior for Christ.”
    “You wish, then, that you had stayed in Outremer?” Alyson
demanded.
    “I do. Every moment away from that sacred place is a triumph of evil and the infidel.” Fulk paused in his rubbing
down to cross himself piously.
    “Then why did you not remain there yourself? I am sure
Guillelm would have released you from his service.”
    “You are sure-” Fulk’s words were a cruel mockery. “No
doubt you are, my lady, but I have made my own promises before God. Within one year, I will return to Outremer with
Lord Guillelm de La Rochelle, where we shall resume our
noble struggle against the enemies of Christ.”

    And you shall not stop me, Alyson finished for Fulk in her
own head. Clearly in this man’s mind she counted as one of
the enemies of Christ-a disconcerting thought, seeing that
she had once yearned to be a nun.
    “Then we understand each other,” she responded crisply,
stepping away from Fulk and his stamping, bad-tempered
horse and scanning the downs to find Guillelm. She would
say nothing of this to her husband-to-be, but she made her
own vow then and there.
    Fulk would not win. She would.
    She did not find Guillelm but met Sericus coming back to
the rough stretch of grass designated by the new lord of Hardspen as the tilting ground. He hailed her, offering his arm.
    “My lady, my lord wishes me to escort you to the water
meadows, where he hopes to join you presently.”
    “Thank you!” Alyson said, the shadow of Fulk’s dark
words fading a little as she realized that Guillelm had remembered her need for strewing herbs and was even coming to
help. Raised up by this tiny act of kindness, she wandered
toward the river with her head full of happy plans. She would
take this time to replenish her healing herbs, too, now sadly
depleted after the sickness. Also, there might be a chance to
find treats for Guillelm did he still like wild strawberries?
She would try to gather him some. Did he still like the smell
of meadowsweet? Did he still enjoy being read to?
    That memory, although precious, brought a less welcome
recollection of Guillelm’s father, confiscating her book.
Smarting at the thought, Alyson muttered an anxious prayer
that her precious herbal was somewhere safe in the castle and turned her attention to Sericus, who was full of his own plans
for Hardspen.

    The sun was beginning to set when Guillelm finally joined
Alyson in the lush water meadows. He had been delayed by
Fulk and others and was out of temper.
    “You will spoil your gown,” he observed, watching her cutting through a swathe of meadowsweet, but she only smiled.
    “I think not,” she said. “I never have before”
    “That’s true enough,” Guillelm admitted. Even as a child,
Alyson seemed to have the gift of deftly threading her way
through mud and muck that would leave him mired almost to
his eyebrows and herself untouched. Now, as he sent Sericus
off with a brisk, silent gesture and a bulging cloakful of herbs,
he saw her step away from the riverbank with another armful
and knew that once she had dusted herself off for pollen she
would be as pristine as a jewel. “You have the devil’s luck,”
he remarked.
    She blushed, fumbling slightly with her knife. “I have some
strawberries for you,” she said softly. “If-If you still like them,
that is.”
    Her diffidence made him ashamed. “I do not know,” he
said brusquely. “It is years since I considered such trifles.”
    Her color deepened but she gave him a piercing look.
“Why so sour?”
    He shook his head. Fulk had said much to him-too similar to his own fears for comfort. He stared at her bare head,
trying not to imagine Alyson with his father, while the gouge
of jealousy jabbed somewhere deep within his chest.
    “Fulk doubts that all