Free A Knight's Vow by Lindsay Townsend Page A

will be ready for the betrothal ceremony tomorrow,” he said.
    He expected her to flare up, but Alyson finished trimming
the meadowsweet and said calmly, “We can only do our best. What else did he say?” Her tone sharpened. “That perhaps I
should be veiled tomorrow?”

    She was too quick and saw too much. Cursing under his
breath, Guillelm grumbled, “Not even he would dare say that”
    “He implied my purity was not beyond reproach?”
    “Mother of God, no!” But Fulk had, not in so many words,
but in sly references to Lord Robert’s “vigor.” Now, meeting
her hot, indignant gaze, Guillelm utterly rejected his
seneschal’s foul insinuations. More than that, he realized it
didn’t matter. He wanted Alyson, however she was. “Shall I
carry those flowers for you?”
    “No, thank you”
    Silence stretched between them, heavy as thunder before a
storm, and Guillelm found himself keen to break it. “He
saved my life once”
    “As doubtless you did his,” Alyson answered. “And many
times.”
    It was true, but Guillelm felt his jaw tighten. He was angry
at Fulk and yet knew he was obligated to him, by ties of
custom, habit and fealty. And Fulk had saved him on the field
of battle, had been a brave and competent second-in-command.
    Fulk has stood by me for years, in ways my father never
wanted to or did, he thought. I trust him with my life. I hoped
he would approve ofAlyson, and she of him, that they could
befriends. It seemed that was a forlorn hope, and he had no
tactics to bring them to any kind of reconciliation.
    With a sigh, Alyson placed the cut herbs on the lush grass
of the water meadow and stepped toward him. The westering
sun flared on the red hem of her gown. “I am sorry, my lord,
that you are caught between the enmity between Fulk and
myself. It cannot be a pleasant place to stand” She raised her
hand, her fingers cupped in a small gesture that was almost a
silent plea. “I will try to be his ally and I will give him all due
respect. Your seneschal is unused to women, I think.”

    “Fulk wishes to join the Knights Templar, a recent holy
order of fighting monks, pledged to protect pilgrims to the
Holy Land”
    Surprised as he was to find himself admitting this, Guillelm was further disconcerted when Alyson remarked, “He
also wishes you to join, does he not?”
    “He has spoken of it.” Guillelm frowned. “But it is not-”
He broke off, ashamed of the rest of the thought.
    “He is a powerful advocate for the Christian cause,” Alyson
said, lowering her eyes so he could not see their expression.
“Are all men like him in Outremer? So vehement?”
    “Some are,” Guillelm admitted, ashamed now that he was
not the same. Within the Holy Land he had made friends with
Jews and even with Arabs. “We all use Arab physicians.”
    “Indeed! I would know more of them” Clearly at ease now
that their talk had strayed into her own area of expertise,
Alyson settled on the ground by his feet and hugged at her
knees, another youthful trick of hers that he remembered and
that still delighted him. “What do they use to cure fever?
Toothache? Sprains?”
    “Steady!” Touched by her eagerness, Guillelm was
tempted to sit with her but knew they could not linger; his
men and the folk of the castle would be waiting for them. “We
must leave that for another day.”
    He held out his hand to help her up.

Chapter 5
    Alyson stared at her gold betrothal ring. It was plain and
heavy, without any gemstones, but utterly precious to her.
Under cover of the trestle table she touched it to convince herself it was real.
    All day she had felt to be in a dream. Even this evening, at
her betrothal feast in Hardspen’s great hall, surrounded by
people-mainly Guillelm’s men-listening to their jests and
good wishes, she felt apart, somewhere beyond joy or calm.
    Another dish was set before her to try. Where had the food
come from? She had asked Guillelm, who had