Alisoun surged to her feet. "But why?"

"Not for lack of hospitality in you," Philippa a.s.sured her. "But because...oh, sometimes I think it was all my fault, and if I went back, I could-"

"Die," Alisoun interrupted flatly. "And leave your baby alone for as long as she survived."

Now Philippa sank onto a seat, her complexion several shades paler. "In sooth, you're right. But I may be forced, and neither one of us will be able to do anything about it."

"I know." Of course Alisoun knew. She had nightmares about being helpless in that situation. Walking over, she put her hand on Philippa's shoulder.

Philippa patted it, then looked up. "So. Sir David has many good qualities and he's right about a lot of things. Did he say anything about marriage?"

Alisoun didn't want to discuss that, not even with Philippa, so she stared at the clothing laid across the bed. "Why did you bring the yellow cotte? That's not my work dress."

"Because your people believe you simply celebrated the wedding night before the ceremony. It's common among the villeins, and quite a few of the n.o.ble people I've known have done it as well. I think they expect to see you in something besides that gloomy old brown work dress."

Alisoun stuck out her lip and removed her old shift.

"Did he mention marriage?" Philippa s.n.a.t.c.hed the clean shift away before Alisoun could don it. "And you're not getting dressed until you tell me."

"Very well! I'll tell you."

Philippa handed her the shift.

"He mentioned it." Alisoun dressed as quickly as she could and headed for the door with Philippa on her heels.

Philippa didn't say another word, and Alisoun thought she had escaped easily until she stepped into the great hall. Then the impact of a dozen pair of eager eyes. .h.i.t her, and she almost staggered from the weight of expectation that descended on her shoulders. She glanced back at Philippa and saw that her shoulders shook as she suppressed her amus.e.m.e.nt. Alisoun whispered, "This isn't funny!"

The outer door blew open and slammed against the wall. Sir Walter stomped into the great hall and glowered around him, and Philippa abruptly straightened. "You're right. This isn't."

So much confused Alisoun now, but she knew one thing. She'd told Sir Walter to stay away from her, and now he stalked toward her, totally ignoring her command.

She didn't care what had happened in the night. She didn't care that David had tossed her sheet into the vegetable garden. She only cared that Sir Walter disobeyed her. She marched to meet him, calling across the gap, "Why are you here when I told you-"

"Did he hurt you?" Sir Walter wrapped his arm around her shoulders as if he thought she couldn't stand alone. "Did that mercenary force you? For I vow, my lady, if he did, I don't care who he is, I'll kill him."

Alisoun staggered, off balance both mentally and physically. "Of course he didn't force me."

"You can tell me, my lady. After all, you have no brothers and no father to protect you."

"I don't need protecting," Alisoun said firmly. "At least, not from Sir David."

"How did it happen? Did he hold you down, or did he-" he choked with what looked like embarra.s.sment, "-seduce you?"

"I think I...seduced him."

His arm dropped away from her. They glanced at each other, eyes wide, but for the first time in months, no hostility existed between them. Both were uncertain; both struggled to comprehend the sweep of changes in George's Cross.

Alisoun couldn't conceive of a George's Cross without Sir Walter, not even after their disagreements. He had been a valuable servant; it would behoove her to try and understand his discontent rather than go through the trouble of training a new steward. She said, "If it would please you, we could talk."

"There." He pointed to a bench in the corner.

Together, they went and sat down. They looked out at the great hall, and the servants who stared so curiously turned away as if to give them privacy. In actuality, of course, they wanted to hear, and all lingered as close as they dared.

Sir Walter didn't seem to notice them. He sat stiffly, could hardly speak. "Sir David was...your choice?"

She found herself similarly afflicted. "I have to have someone to...ah..." How to tell him what she thought when she didn't know for sure what she thought herself? She tried to think how to present this in a manner he could comprehend. "I want an heir. Or...I wanted an heir, but Sir David demands that I marry him if I conceive, so..."

Sir Walter leaned back and sighed in relief. "At least someone is thinking clearly."

Surprise moved her beyond embarra.s.sment. "You wish me to marry Sir David?"

"My lady, you have no choice! The deed is done. You've mated with him, and the news has by now no doubt reached London."

"You exaggerate."

"Do I?" He leaned toward her, his fists on his knees. "Do you know what they're saying in the village? That you're the reason for the drought for the last two years, because your womanhood was drying up and the saints disapproved of the waste."

Stunned, she stammered, "They...they've blamed me for the drought?"

"Not before. Not until now. That wretched reeve Fenchel started it, I trow. He's the one who always watches the signs, and he says that it started raining the day Sir David arrived and has rained just the right amount since. No heavy downpours have broken the crops or washed away the soil. No dry spells where the plants struggle and show yellow."

"So it's Sir David who broke the drought."

"Nay, he says 'tis you. You're the lady, the one they worship as the spirit of George's Cross. They say that Sir David's coming has renewed your youthfulness and turned you once again from a withering crone to a fruitful G.o.ddess."

"That's pagan."

"Aye, they are half-pagan, you know that." He harumphed and looked out at the busily working servants. "The virgin has been sacrificed, the blood sacrifice has been made, and now prosperity is guaranteed to George's Cross."

"Saint Ethelred save us," she said faintly.

"If Fenchel is right, then the child is conceived and my lady, you must marry Sir David!"

"I thought you disapproved of Sir David. You've certainly done all you can to ravage his good standing."

"I fear my dislike had little to do with Sir David. I couldn't sleep last night, and during the dark time I thought long and deeply." Sir Walter hung his head. "I apologize for showing his incompetence to George's Cross. I was so blinded with fury that you'd brought him to replace me, I never thought you would have a plan, and that that plan depended on something as simple as his reputation as a legend. It was a stroke of genius, my lady, and I should have known you better than to think you would hire a mercenary without testing him."

"Look at me," she commanded. Searching his face, she looked for proof of sincerity and found it in the worried lines of his brow and the clench of his chin. "I accept your apology, but I must tell you-I, too, have been angry." She spoke slowly, trying to negotiate through this unfamiliar maze of misunderstanding and old allegiances. "You have known me for many years. Have I ever given you reason to think me volatile or emotional?"

"Just in the matter of-"

"Sh!" She cut a glance toward the servants, and he lowered his voice.

"Just the one thing, my lady, and it is so overwhelming in its lack of intelligent consideration..." He sighed like a man sorely tried.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and stared into his face. "Everything I did before, all the years of good sense and duty, are washed away by one matter on which we disagree. I thought you would understand that I had weighed the consequences of this one act of recklessness in an efficient manner, but you did not." She usually tried to properly consider what she said before she said it, but for once prudence failed her. Sir Walter had been her most faithful advisor for years, and his lack of faith infuriated her. "I went from being your wise and sworn lady to being only a silly woman, and you made your opinion clear, not only to me, but to my servants, my villeins, my men-at-arms."

"I beg your pardon, my lady. 'Twas I who was foolish, I confess."

"I told you what I had done because I believed that to do otherwise was unfair to you-not because I sought your approval."

"I never thought I should give approval to anything that you did, but, I confess, I treasured the times you consulted my opinion." He answered her now with respect, but with the familiarity of an old friend. "I think it perturbed me that you presented me with such a momentous decision and cared nothing for my thoughts." He gave a bark of laughter. "I suppose I've grown complacent in your employ, and thought myself above my station. You have no family, and you so willingly placed me at your side, I thought myself more than a steward and imagined myself a brother instead." Slowly he slid off the bench and knelt at her side. "I am only a rough knight, my lady, and I pledge myself to you. I beg you, excuse my presumption and trust me once more."

Looking at the top of Sir Walter's bent head, she realized he hadn't renewed his fealty in years. That had been her mistake, and possibly not her first mistake. "I, too, have treasured your advice and come to consider you more than steward and more than a friend."

Lifting his head, he smiled, clearly pleased by her disclosure. He looked at her with the direct gaze she recognized from the years of their companionship. "I still can't approve of your actions, but regardless, you are my lady and I would do nothing to harm you."

"I know you wouldn't."

"And that's why I have to beg you to marry Sir David. I grant you, you have always been a lady of infinite good sense-excepting the matter on which we disagree-and I believe that marriage to Sir David would go far in eliminating the danger which threatens you."

"Why do you say that?"

"That knave who shoots arrows at you, my lady, would hesitate if threatened by a man whose sole interest is in keeping you alive."

"Sir David has no money. He has no breeding."

"Exactly why he would fight to the death to keep you alive. He'll not want to battle any other claims on your wealth."

Startled, she laughed. "Are you saying the reasons Sir David is ideal are the same reasons I rejected my other suitors?"

"And he is the father of your child."

"Do you believe this crazed tale of drought and my fertility?" He shrugged sheepishly but did not reply. "You do!"

"Not really, my lady, but you asked me if I trusted your good sense, and I do. If you took Sir David to your bed after so many have failed-"

"None ever tried," she snapped.

"They have, I a.s.sure you. You simply never noticed them." He took a breath and repeated, "If Sir David succeeded where so many have fallen, then I believe you have made your decision and I urge you to embrace it."

She just stared. What had she started with her impulsive behavior?

"Ask young Eudo, and he'll tell you. Every child should have a father."

A telling blow, and one that reached its mark. She said, "I'll take your advice under consideration." Leaning over, she gave him a kiss on the cheek to signify peace between them.

Neither one of them saw David, watching from the dark hallway near the entrance of the great hall.

14.

"You're thinking of him again, aren't you?"

Alisoun jumped at the sound of Edlyn's voice and dropped her spindle on the floor of the great hall with a clatter. "What?"

"You have that look on your face, as if you've bitten into some new dish and are uncertain whether you like the flavor." Edlyn crossed her hands over her wrists. "Are we going to go out and watch him practice again today?"

Alisoun almost pretended not to know to whom Edlyn was referring. But only the new Alisoun would even contemplate such cowardice, and she shunned the new Alisoun. Leaning over, she picked up the spindle and straightened, hoping the bending would account for the rush of color to her face. "I should go to see if Sir David has fulfilled his promise to improve."

"Well, he has. He improves every day. Even Sir Walter says he's better now, and in only a month."

Alisoun viewed Edlyn's uptilted chin and wanted to sigh. "But Sir David is not better than Hugh."

Now Edlyn's color matched Alisoun's. "Hugh is younger and bigger, and Sir David said he's never seen a man so skilled."

Placing the spindle on the bench, Alisoun tucked her arm through Edlyn's. "He would say so, though, since he can't defeat him."

"Hugh de Florisoun is special," Edlyn said.

The worship in her voice made Alisoun want to weep. The preparations for Edlyn's wedding proceeded apace while the bride sighed for another man-a man who never noticed her except to chuck her under the chin and grin. Even if Hugh had noticed Edlyn, it would do them no good. They were both poor; should an attachment develop, they would be unable to wed. It was just as well Edlyn went off to Wess.e.x soon, Alisoun thought grimly, as she collected all the wool and put it in her basket.

Edlyn pulled Alisoun to her feet. "Sir David and Hugh are providing much entertainment to all who have come to market."

"I don't like to expose you to so many strangers," Alisoun said. "The Lammas Market attracts less than savory characters, I fear."

"I don't go down to the market," Edlyn protested.

"You don't have to. They're coming up to us. I've never seen such traffic between the castle and the village."

As they stepped outside, Alisoun saw that a crowd once again lined the fence around the practice area-her people and many strangers. Alisoun never knew who or what she would see when she stepped out of her door. Greasy sheep farmers mingled with her serving maids, who used their spindles to keep the men at bay when they became too bold. Fenchel stuck close to his friends from the village. Avina strutted among the merchants, trying to attack one of the wealthy ones. Ivo stood just as he always did, arms crossed over his chest with an att.i.tude that rejected David's efforts as feeble. Gunnewate had his eyes closed as if the activities bored him. Both men came to the alert as Alisoun neared the training yard.

Normally, she would reprove her people all for sloth, but not this time. The summer work seemed to be getting done, and this time watching the combats was time they would have spent loitering at the market instead. And they needed rea.s.surance that Sir David of Radcliffe would indeed protect them.

They were getting it. David had justified her faith. He worked with every weapon all day, every day, ignoring the pain of his broken ribs and the bruises that mottled every surface of his skin. His transformation proved awe-inspiring, and if not for Hugh, his reputation would be almost as good as new.

The men would fight with swords until both fell panting on the ground. They fought on horseback with mace, lance, and shield. They wore their armor on the hottest days to accustom themselves to the weight.

But Hugh consistently defeated Sir David.

Andrew and Jennings imitated them while young Eudo performed the onerous duties of squire to them all. Alisoun was pleased to see that David's constant courtesy to the lad inspired the others to a like courtesy, and she never once heard the epithet of "b.a.s.t.a.r.d" thrown at him. Even Sir Walter found it prudent to keep his lips sealed about Eudo's parentage.

Seeing him now inside the training yard, Alisoun sighed. "Sir Walter has tried to be a most gentle knight."

"He has tried," Edlyn said sharply. "I would that he always succeeded."

"Perhaps if Sir David rode him less harshly, those small fits of temper would abate," Alisoun said. "I don't understand the reason for Sir David's displeasure."

"He doesn't like that Sir Walter has wormed his way into your affections once more."

"We but spoke and came to a new understanding. I would think that Sir David wished for such an accord between me and my steward."