lys lay awake most of the night, alternately savoring and regretting her impulsive kiss, calling herself a fool and wondering if Burke would think her wanton. She finally fell asleep just before the dawn, only to awaken out of sorts. ’Twas a sullen grey day, the skies heavy with the threat of rain, and far from the finest weather to set out on the journey to visit Heloise.
But Alys dressed, attended the second Mass, and returned to the bailey with her uncle and Brigid to find Burke awaiting with his saddled steed. The others were apparently still asleep.
Burke’s arms were folded across his chest, his dark fur-lined cloak flowing behind him. Alys’s heart leapt at the sight of him, no less at the certainty that he waited for her.
“And where are you going?” Uncle demanded.
“Burke takes me to visit Heloise.”
“Is this not a day early?”
“Aye.” Alys lifted her chin, daring her uncle to deny her.
But Uncle dropped his voice, his gaze flicking nervously to the hall. “This knight speaks aright in one thing—Heloise should not be so far from the hall. God speaks through her, and I would have His counsel closer to hand. Bring her back with you this day.”
“But Aunt …”
“Will bend to my will in this” Uncle insisted with a certainty Alys was far from feeling. “Go! Hasten yourselves before Deirdre awakens.”
Alys was not about to ask twice. She fled toward Burke, who tersely confirmed that he had heard Uncle’s command. Certainly Burke’s sweet manner had abandoned him this morn, and he looked as tired as Alys felt. Indeed, their poor parting of the night before seemed to yet linger between them.
“Did you sleep?” he asked, and Alys cursed his perceptiveness.
“The wind kept me awake.”
Burke snorted. “ ’Twas thoughts of a beguiling woman that haunted me.” He offered her his hand and Alys knew she would have to ride the beast once more. The steed flared its nostrils as if it thought as little of that as she.
“No kisses,” she decreed, and Burke smiled so abruptly that her breath was stolen away.
“Of course not,” he agreed, too easily to soothe Alys’s pride.
That was that, she decided sourly as they rode from the bailey. She had declined the man’s offer in no uncertain terms, and this time Burke had accepted her at her word. There was no reason to be troubled by his choice, not in the least.
Alys lifted her chin to the wind, ignoring how much easier ’twas to match the steed’s gait now that she knew to relax. She also ignored the solid weight of Burke’s arm around her waist, at least as well as she could.
’Twas a marvel how quickly they reached Heloise’s abode and, just in time, for the wind was whipping ominously at the dark sea. Alys strained for some sight of Heloise, but the woman was not to be found.
“Where can she be?” she murmured, surprised when Burke’s arm tightened around her waist.
“You will learn to dismount properly this day,” he muttered. “Not leap from a running steed and break your leg.” Burke pulled the destrier to a halt, then swung out of the saddle with ease. He reached for Alys, his expression grim, and lifted her to the ground. There was a moment when they stood toe to toe that Alys thought he might speak, but she ducked beneath his arm and ran for Heloise’s hut.
“Heloise!” Alys called, her fear rising when only the sounds of the wind and the sea carried to her ears. She scrambled down the rocky slope, slipped, and found Burke’s hand beneath her elbow.
“Haste will win you naught but a dip in the sea,” he declared. “Have you no care for your own welfare, Alys?” She did not answer, and he did not release her elbow until they were on the level ground before the hut.
Yet still there was not a sound from the hut. The first heavy drops of rain splattered against the stony ground. Alys hurried forward, still calling. The fire was out, which she should have expected, though the wind was biting. Alys ducked through the portal, hoping against hope that Heloise was not too chilled.
Her heart stopped when she saw the elderly woman curled upon the ground as if she had fallen.
“Heloise!” Alys dropped to her knees beside the anchorite, her hands skimming Heloise’s face, her hands, her brow. Heloise was warm, though her breathing was faint and uneven. “Heloise, what has happened?” Alys tried to gather the woman into her arms but could not move her weight.
To her immense relief, Burke stepped into the hut and readily brought the older woman to a sitting position. Heloise choked and gasped as she stirred. Burke gently thumped her back.
“Water,” he commanded with a sharp glance to Alys. She ran to fetch the ladle from the bucket left to catch the rainwater. By the time she returned, Burke had Heloise’s back braced against the wall and was rubbing the older woman’s hands within his. Her eyes were open, but her features seemed more contorted than usual. She frowned at Burke as if uncertain who he was. Alys knelt before Heloise with the ladle and the older woman’s expression brightened.
“Alys! The stones said you would come.” Heloise sipped of the water, then turned her head away from it. She looked at Burke, then eyed his hands rubbing hers. “All cold,” she pronounced.
“You cannot feel your hands?” Alys demanded.
Heloise shook her head. “All dead.”
“Nay, not dead, Heloise. Chilled. You should not have let the fire die. ’Tis too cold to be without it in these days.”
But Alys noted that when Burke set one of Heloise’s hands aside to take the other, the first did not move. It lay unnaturally twisted, as did Heloise’s legs, and Alys caught her breath in sudden understanding.
She met Heloise’s eyes and saw that the older woman knew fully what had happened to her. “The fit came again,” she whispered.
“In the night, the dark rider comes.” Heloise gasped as if she could not catch her breath, and Alys distrusted the unhealthy pallor of her skin. “The stones, they knew.”
“Nay, Heloise, nay. No dark rider comes for you.” Alys would not permit any such nonsense. Burke slipped away and Alys heard him gathering the tinder for the fire. “Perhaps you heard the horse we rode, naught more than that. We shall make a fire and heat the broth I brought for you. And then you will come back to the keep, Uncle insists, and you will be warm and …”
But Heloise frowned. “Nay, Alys. I will never leave here.”
“Of course you will! That is why we have come. Burke and I will aid you …”
“None can aid me, not even the stones,” Heloise said flatly, her gaze keenly bright. “I am dying, Alys.”
Tears blurred Alys’s vision. “Nay, Heloise, not that.” She took Heloise’s hand within hers, its chill confirming the unwelcome tale. “Not now, not when all is coming aright.”
“I have no choice, child.” Heloise wheezed, then labored to take a breath and winced. “The pain will come again, I can feel its portent even now. I have not long, Alys.”
The fire flared to life beneath Burke’s hands and Heloise started as always she did, the golden light painting her features unnaturally bright. She caught her breath shakily and Alys held fast to her hands, unable to do anything when the color faded from Heloise’s cheeks.
“It comes,” Heloise declared, her voice uneven. “And quickly. Take the pendant from my neck, Alys.”
“Nay, Heloise, ’tis yours. I could never take it.”
“ ’Tis yours, Alys, your legacy.”
“Nay, Heloise, ’tis yours!”
Heloise’s features worked and Alys feared the pain rose within her once more. Her hand shook within Alys’s grip, but still she forced out the words. “Your father had it cast for your mother as a token of his love.”
Heloise gulped a breath and whimpered. Alys clutched her hands, not knowing what else she could do, wishing she could endure the pain in Heloise’s stead. She felt Burke hovering watchfully behind her and had only felt so helpless once before.
But Heloise caught her breath. “Isibeal entrusted it to me, that I would grant it to you.”
Alys shook her head. “Nay, Heloise. You continue to wear it …”
“So some thief will pluck it from my grave?” Heloise demanded sharply. “ ’Tis yours, Alys, yours by right.” The older woman’s voice softened. “If naught else, take it as a reminder of me.”
Alys parted her lips to protest anew, but Heloise gave a cry of pain. Her entire body shuddered and her fingers gripped Alys’s with painful intensity. Her eyes rolled back and she made a choking sound, even as Burke stepped forward to lend his aid.
There was naught to be done and Alys knew it well, though it still was not easy to watch. The fit subsided, fading to shudders as Alys held fast to Heloise’s hand and Burke braced her back.
“Alys, I beg of you,” the elderly woman whispered shakily when she could draw a breath. “Let me die knowing I fulfilled Isibeal’s trust. Take the token.”
Alys’s hands were shaking as she reached for the pendant. Without Burke’s aid, she would never have managed the deed. He lifted Heloise’s head with a care and compassion that wrenched Alys’s heart, extricating the chain from the older woman’s veil when Alys could never have succeeded.
“Don it,” Heloise insisted, her voice rasping. “I would see it on you.” Her gaze was bright as she watched Alys do her bidding.
The golden oval was heavy and it hung between Alys’s breasts, the metal still warm from Heloise’s flesh. Alys took Heloise’s hands again as Burke eased the older woman into comfortable repose. He slipped into the shadows, though Alys knew he lingered near.
His very presence gave her unexpected strength.
Heloise breathed laboriously for a few moments, her pain clearly easing. “Isibeal had but one regret,” she finally confided.
“Placing her trust too readily?”
“Nay, child! She loved you nigh as much as she loved her knight. Never believe anything else that witch says of the matter. What does she know of love? You were wrought in love.”
“Heloise, you should not stir yourself so.”
But Heloise would not be swayed. “I saw them together, Alys, I saw their love and ’twas humbling in its vigor.” Heloise licked her lips and Alys offered the ladle once more, only to have the older woman shake her head. “Nay, the only thing Isibeal regretted was that she waited.”
Alys frowned. “Waited?”
“She waited for her knight to come, because he had pledged to do as much. When she died, she said she wished she had not been so proud, that she had pursued love herself.” Heloise fixed Alys with her bright gaze. “The stones want your promise, Alys.”
Alys’s nape prickled at Heloise’s odd insistence. “What promise?”
“Your promise that you will pursue love as your mother did not.”
“Heloise—”
“Promise, Alys!”
“Aye, Heloise, I will, of course I will.”
No sooner had she uttered the words than Heloise caught her breath. The older woman arched her back as a spasm of pain obviously rolled through her and her lips pulled back from her teeth.
“Burke!” The knight was there already, holding Heloise as she cried out, murmuring to her, but the older woman emitted a heart-wrenching cry. She gasped, she shook her head, she trembled violently. She might have said something, but then suddenly she sagged against Burke.
And an eerie silence fell in the hut.
Alys waited for Heloise to take another breath. She was certain the spasm would pass, but naught happened. Alys leaned closer, touching Heloise’s throat, seeking a sign of her pulse.
There was naught. Panic rose within her. She stroked Heloise’s face, called to her. But Alys knew the truth even before Burke eased Heloise down and lifted her hands away.
He looked straight into Alys’s eyes. “There is naught more to be done.”
“Nay! There must be something we can do. We must aid her, we must make her breathe again, we must—”
Burke shook her hands. “Alys, she is gone.”
“Nay!”
“Aye.”
At his conviction, the tears Alys had been fighting broke loose in a torrent. She wept like a child, burying her face in her hands. She shuddered to her toes, and once she had begun to cry, Alys could not stop. She gulped great gasping sobs, rocking on her heels, and touched Heloise’s hand repeatedly. Alys could not believe that the woman who was as close as a mother to her was gone for all time.
She was grateful that Burke left her to her tears, though she did not immediately guess what he did. When Alys eventually looked up, she realized that the older woman now looked to be in repose, a marked contrast to the agitation in which she had died.
To her astonishment, Alys watched Burke slide his hands across Heloise’s aged face. The contortion of her dying spasm faded beneath the deft touch of his fingers and thumbs. In the twinkling of an eye, Heloise’s features were at ease, as they had been three years past. She looked as if she slept.
Burke glanced up and must have seen the surprise in Alys’s expression. “War teaches a man many unwelcome skills,” he said softly, then stood. “ ’Tis easier if your last sight of her is a peaceful one.” He inclined his head slightly, then headed for the door. “I will be outside while you say farewell.”
And he left Alys to her mourning.
Cedric was alone in the hall when Talbot strode impatiently across the floor. “Is there any morsel worthy of breaking my fast?” that knight demanded. “Or shall I have to wait until Killarney to eat decent fare?”
Killarney? Surely the man did not intend to leave? Cedric bounded to his feet, knowing his request to Alys would already cost him dear in his wife’s eyes. If this knight left before Deirdre arose, there would be hell to pay in this hall.
“Sir, you cannot think to leave!” he boomed. “Why, Cook is just making fresh bread now.”
“Aye?”
“Aye, and you will never guess what the steward found in the cellar—a fine cask of apple wine.” Cedric gestured to the cask, its discovery naught short of miraculous in his eyes. “You and I shall partake of its bounty.”
Talbot snorted. He considered the hall, the cask, then Cedric before he shrugged. “I suppose ’twill hurt naught to see whether ’tis worse than that swill you found last evening.”
“Naught at all, naught at all.” Cedric gestured wildly to Cronan who mercifully caught his meaning with speed. The cask was opened, two chalices filled, and Cedric breathed relief when Talbot pursed his lips in satisfaction.
“ ’Tis not half bad,” he conceded.
Cedric settled back, content. “Surely you cannot even consider leaving Kiltorren while there is such fine wine to be savored.”
“Indeed.” Talbot eyed the contents of his chalice, then fixed Cedric with a bright eye. “Perhaps you could aid me.”
“Aye! Anything I can do for a guest!”
Talbot smiled. “ ’Tis but a tale I desire. A tale of a woman named Isibeal of Kiltorren.”
’Twas not long that Burke waited for Alys, though he would have granted her days if she had needed it. He could see what a blow the woman’s loss was to her and could only imagine what ’twas like to witness death the first time with the loss of one held so dear.
He stared out to sea, skipped stones across the water, gauged the changing mood of the clouds. The great raindrops had not lasted, though still the sky brewed. Moonshadow grazed, the quantity of grass so insufficient here that the task fully occupied the steed.
Burke watched the waves, thought of Heloise’s solitude, and marvelled anew at Deirdre’s cruelty.
He heard Alys’s step before she spoke and turned to find her hovering in Heloise’s doorway. She looked bruised and uncertain, young and shaken. Her fingers toyed incessantly with the pendant she had not wanted to take.
Burke waited in silence and, with halting footsteps, Alys came to his side, staring out to sea in her turn. He did not know how long they stood there thus.
“Thank you,” Alys murmured finally. “I am glad that you are here.”
“As am I.”
She turned to him, her red-rimmed gaze searching. “ ’Tis not new to you.”
Burke shrugged. “Though no less tragic, for all of that.”
Alys heaved a sigh, her gaze trailing over this lonely point. “I shall never be able to accept that she is not here, waiting for me to bring her fresh bread or melt her cheese.” Her lip trembled. “She loved cheese so.”
“Aye, you will. ’Twill not come readily, but ’twill come.”
Alys bit her lip, her thumb working across the pendant.
Burke thought it time to change the topic. “Might I see it?”
Alys hesitated only a moment before she pulled the chain over her head. She handed it to Burke, clearly reluctant to remove it. “Do not drop it, I beg of you.”
“Of course not.” Burke wound the length of chain securely around his fingers. He tipped the golden oval so that the image engraved there caught the light. “ ’Tis a unicorn,” he said softly, “and a maiden. Like the old tales, when the innocence of a maiden subdues the ferocity of the unicorn, compelling that creature to tamely lay its toad in her lap.”
Alys nodded. “Can you guess what it means?”
Burke shook his head, examining the motif once again. “Perhaps your father felt that your mother had tamed him—did you not tell me that Heloise said to was reputed to be most fierce?”
Alys nodded again.
“Or perhaps there was a chanson on this theme that they favored.” Burke winked, thinking the lady in need of a smile. “Perhaps you were wrought in a forest glade.”
Alys extended a shaking hand for her token, but Burke stepped closer and lifted the chain over her head. “It matters little what it meant to your mother, Alys,” he said quietly. “ ’Tis a token of love and an apt reminder of Heloise’s love for you.”
Alys’s gaze clouded once more and Burke caught her in his arms. She wept against him, soaking his tabard with her tears, the sound of her grief tearing holes in his heart. Burke told her close, whispering soothingly in her ear.
When Alys finally lifted her head, Burke shed his cloak and cast it around her shoulders, nuzzling the fur lining against her chin. “Like a queen,” he whispered, and was rewarded with a faint glimmer of a smile.
“Hardly that.” She sighed, her tears gathering again.
“Should we take Heloise to the chapel in Kiltorren?” Burke asked, not certain how Alys would take to discussion of such practicalities.
She straightened though, looking regal indeed as she shook her head. “She said she would never leave here. In fact, she probably would want to remain with the stones.”
“She had claimed of late that the stones whispered to her and told her things.” Alys met Burke’s gaze. “ ’Twas uncanny how accurate some of their confessions could be.”
“ ’Tis often said that the voice of God resonates in all His creations.”
Alys nodded, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the site. “She liked it here, against all odds, and certainly more than at the keep. But I cannot imagine how she could stay.” The seabirds called and circled above, their cries more than apt reminder of the realities of leaving Heloise untended in the wilds.
“I can seal her hut, if ’tis what you desire.”
Alys looked to him hopefully. “Truly?”
“Of course.”
The lady nodded with resolve. “I think Heloise would prefer that.” Her eyes filled with uncertainty. “But what of last rites?”
“I do not think this anchorite had any sins to confess,” he said firmly. “She was a woman of God, Alys, and no doubt as pure as after her last confession.”
Alys nodded slowly. “You are right.”
Burke touched his lady’s cheek. “Have you said your farewell in full?”
Alys blinked back her tears, then nodded vigorously. She kissed his fingertips then turned away, walking a little distance to stare out to sea, swathed in his cloak.
And Burke set to work.
Burke was quick. Alys turned to watch him when she had suppressed her tears once more, and was surprised at how much progress he had made. He fitted stones with precision, his brow knotted as he chose each one in turn, and already she could not even discern where the base of the door had been.
As Alys watched, he finished the stonework, then chinked the stones with the greenery cast up by the sea. Finally, Burke stepped back to appraise his work.
But a few adjustments and he washed his hands, offered Alys his arm, and together they strode back to his destrier. He lifted Alys wordlessly to the saddle, then walked alongside her. Alys glanced back as he led the stallion away and cast her gaze one last time over this place.
In her heart, Alys knew she would never return.
Just as Heloise would never leave.
When she listened closely, Alys almost fancied she could hear the stones murmuring to each other. She turned away then, telling herself to be content that Heloise was at peace, in solitude with her whispering stones.
’Twas perhaps all the anchorite desired.
The wind pressed at their backs as they made their way toward the keep, and Burke was stoically silent. Alys considered the pledge she had made to Heloise, stubbornly ignoring the catch that rose in her throat at the very thought. She realized that what she fought was not Burke, nor his charm, nor even her uncertainty of what might come between them. ’Twas not even a dread of repeating her mother’s error, though she had long been certain that was true.
’Twas the fact that she loved Burke de Montvieux precisely as he was.
And she realized that her pledge to Heloise compelled her to do something about that, not merely wait to have her dream fall into her lap.
Burke halted when they reached the low wall on this side of Kiltorren’s bailey and fixed Alys with a troubled gaze. “Alys, I would speak to you of something before we return to the hall, though indeed the timing is less than opportune. This day’s events will change matters, as always a passing does, and I would have matters clear between us.”
He did not touch her, nor did his gaze swerve from hers. Alys almost dreaded whatever he might say.
“You know well enough that I am without holding, without inheritance, without allegiance to a powerful lord,” he admitted heavily. “I have precious little to offer, save myself, but I offer all that I have to you, Alys.”
Alys stared as Burke continued with quiet intensity. “A few successful years at the tourneys and I would have enough to support a family, to acquire a small holding, to see my wife indulged.”
Then he offered Alys his open hand. His fingers were outstretched, his broad palm up, but the choice to take his hand was left to Alys alone. Burke looked up at her, his expression serious beyond all.
“Be that wife of mine, Alys.”
Alys did not trust her ears. Though Burke had offered himself before, he had never offered marriage with his heart shining in his eyes, no sweet words upon his tongue. “You would truly wed me?”
“You cannot be surprised, Alys,” Burke chided. “I offered for you before, and the choice of a bride is not an issue upon which any man of merit changes his thinking. Brianna dispatched me on a quest for a bride, and only one bride would do.” With one last silver glance, he made to pull his hand away. “I ask only that you think of the matter.”
“There is naught to consider,” Alys said quickly.
Burke looked back to her, his expression so cautiously hopeful that a lump rose in Alys’s throat.
“I will marry you, Burke, whether you have Montvieux or not.”
His eyes flashed, he snatched her from the saddle and held her close. Alys laid her head against his chest and savored the agitated pounding of his heart, the tenderness of his hand cupping her nape.
“Alys, I shall see that you never regret this,” Burke murmured, a waver in his voice. “I pledge it to you.”
Alys smiled and reached up to touch his jaw. “I believe you.”
Burke seemed momentarily astounded by this, then he granted her a thorough kiss that left her unsteady on her feet.
“Alys, I would not hasten you, but I would welcome having this wretched place behind me.” Burk’s arms tightened around her. “I do not trust your aunt. ’Tis late this day, but I would prefer not to linger here any longer.”
“Nor would I,” Alys agreed. “Indeed, there is no longer any reason to stay.”
“Shall we leave with all haste?” Burke’s gaze was anxious. “We could escort Brigid to Guillaume.”
“Aye. I shall fetch her. She will not have much to pack.”
Burke kissed Alys with a ferocity that shook her to her core. She closed her eyes against the heat of his ardor and knew that she chose aright. She would pursue love, precisely as Heloise had bidden her, and she would not be left clinging to regrets.
That was the lesson of her mother’s life, and Alys had long ago vowed not to repeat her mother’s mistake.
She could only hope that her love for Burke would suffice.
No sooner had Alys reached the landing before her chamber than a figure stepped from the shadows to confront her. “Aunt!”
“Aye, ’tis me, though you have kept me waiting long enough,” Aunt snapped. “Not to mention another. Where have you been, you ungrateful child?”
Her aunt’s unveiled hostility caught Alys by surprise, and she took a tentative step backward. “I visited Heloise. She died this day—”
“And good riddance that is, if indeed ’tis the truth.” Aunt advanced upon Alys, the malice in her features making Alys shrink against the wall. “You think none noted the import of your disappearance with that knight last evening, but you are wrong. You were lifting your skirts, with the same lack of shame as your mother, and do not imagine that I do not know it.”
“Nay, Aunt …”
“Save your lies! Another knight has smelled the taint upon you, Alys,” Aunt declared angrily. “All day long Malvina has been compelled to listen to him crow your praises. ’Tis time you paid your due. ’Tis time you earned your way in this hall, and this time you will not defy me.”
Alys’s heart began to pound with the fear that she had not fled Kiltorren quickly enough. “What do you demand of me?”
“You know what I want of you! Earn your favor here upon your back, as your mother earned all she won in her sorry life!”
Alys lifted her chin. “I will not!”
“You are tainted and can do naught else.” Aunt leaned closer and hissed. “You have no choice, child. Your fate was determined when your wanton mother first parted her thighs and blessed you with the whore’s taint.”
Alys stepped forward to challenge her aunt. “There is no such thing as a whore’s taint.”
“Indeed?” Aunt folded her arms across her chest and regarded her niece coldly. “Then why did this knight ask after Isibeal, that whore of this house, and why did he insist that he must have you come to him as soon as he learned you were her spawn?” Aunt arched a questioning brow.
Alys did not have an answer for that. “I do not know.”
“But I do! ’Tis the taint of a whore that follows you, the rumor of your mother’s loose morals that brought this knight sniffing all the way from Paris.”
Alys frowned, sensing there was an element missing in this argument. Her mother had been dead nigh upon twenty years and none had come seeking her before. “But that cannot be …”
“But ’tis, Alys, to!” Aunt leaned closer. “The knight lusts for you, he demands your services, he knew from the sight of you that you were born to be a whore. Just as the other one did.” She snatched at Alys’s arm so suddenly that Alys did not have time to step away. “Your kind cannot be particular if you mean to eat each day. Go and service him.”
“I will not!”
“By all that is holy, you most certainly will.”
“Nay!” Alys shook her arm free.
“Fool! Listen to me and listen well.” Aunt snarled. “This Talbot wants a whore and I want his every pleasure met within the walls of this keep. Malvina fancies him and she shall have him.” She gave Alys a shake. “You will ensure that Talbot is pleased or you will be cast from these gates to starve. Am I understood?”
But Alys shook her head, though she was trembling inside at her own defiance. “I will do no such thing. I am leaving with Burke.”
Aunt smiled mockingly. “And this knight will wed a bastard child like you? The daughter of a whore? A woman with no dowry? The man may have lost his inheritance, but he still has a lineage that demands its due. He will use you and cast you aside with naught.”
“Nay, he will not!”
“Get yourself to the hall without delay.” Aunt sneered when Alys did not leap to do her bidding. “Do not imagine that your champion will save your sorry hide with nuptial vows. A knight like Burke de Montvieux sees only one use in a woman like you.”
With that Aunt pivoted to walk away.
But Alys straightened in the shadows, determined to have all clear between them before she departed forever. “Why did you lie to me about Burke’s offer of marriage three years past?”
Aunt froze, though she did not turn.
Alys swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why did you lie to me about his return to Kiltorren the year after that? Did you truly beat me only to ensure I did not meet him then? Is that why you expelled me with Heloise?”
Aunt pivoted slowly and Alys felt her dread rise. Her palms were damp and she knew none would aid her here. Still, she had to know the truth. “And why should you imagine that I will believe whatever lie you tell me now?”
Aunt studied her, her own features wreathed in shadows, her expression unreadable. “This, then, is the gratitude I have for raising you as my own after Isibeal’s shame. You truly are your mother’s child.”
“You raised me as a serf!” Alys retorted. “You suffered me here only to wait upon you.”
“You deserve no better!” Aunt shouted. “You and your slut of a mother! No man in Ireland was good enough for Isibeal, nay, Father had to send her to Paris for the finest Christendom had to offer. But me, what fate did our darling father store for me?”
Aunt advanced on Alys, her eyes wild. “Naught! Naught but a suitor not deemed fitting to scrape Isibeal’s shoes.” Aunt jabbed herself in the chest. “I was wed to Isibeal’s leavings, regardless of what I had to say of the matter.
“And then what happened?” Aunt demanded, flinging her hands skyward. “Fine Isibeal, she who could do no wrong, did do wrong. Amidst her dancing and feasting and fine parties in Paris, Father’s darling Isibeal managed to conceive a child out of wedlock. Here, I thought, would finally be justice!”
Aunt shook a fist beneath Alys’s nose. “But did our doting father cast her out? Nay, not Isibeal. I would have been flogged until I bled, but she was treated like a queen! She brought shame into this house, and I, I had to wait upon her during her time! ’Twas unfair! ’Twas wrong, but my father cared for naught but his beloved Isibeal.”
“ ’Tis true then,” Alys whispered. “You hate me only because Isibeal bore me.”
“Is that not enough?” Aunt gritted her teeth. “I was glad when she died,” she declared bitterly. “I was glad that Father wept for months, I was glad that Isibeal’s lover never did come to her side. She deserved some pain in her life for all that she had caused me.”
“And what of Burke?”
Aunt fired a look of such loathing down the corridor that Alys cringed. “What makes you imagine that I would let you make a hell of my daughters’ lives the way that Isibeal made one of mine? You could not have a knight when none would have my Malvina, especially one of the ilk of Burke de Montvieux.
“Those tourneys were an expense borne to find spouses for my daughters. I could not suffer you to win the prize.” Aunt’s eyes narrowed. “I have granted you more than your due these twenty years. Go to the hall, Alys. ’Twill be the last debt due between us.”
Alys squared her shoulders. “Nay. Any debt is long paid.”
Aunt took a sharp breath. “You have grown defiant,” she snapped. “Indeed, Alys, we have need of the willow switch again.”
Aunt stepped closer, but she had no chance to reach Alys before Alys was struck from the side.
“Bitch!” Malvina screamed, lunging suddenly out of the shadows to strike. Alys’s neck snapped back with the force of her cousin’s blow and her head hit the wall with a crack that left her dizzy. “You would steal all from me, just as your mother stole all from mine!”
“Malvina! Aunt, aid me!”
“Never” Aunt’s words sliced through the shadows like a knife. “Indeed, I see you win only what you deserve.” Aunt chuckled softly, then Alys heard her stroll away, humming under her breath.
She was on her own. Alys turned to find her cousin’s eyes lit with the same fury that had shone in her aunt’s.
“You stole Burke from me with your whoring ways!”
Alys backed away, her hands raised in a plea for good sense. “Malvina, I did no such thing.”
“You did, you did!” Malvina’s tears fell as fast as her words. “He never truly looked my way because of you, and now, you do the same with Talbot. He has sat at the board, all the day long, talking only of you. He spared no attention to me!”
“But, Malvina …”
“I want him, Alys,” Malvina insisted. “I want Talbot, and you shall not steal him too!”
“But I do not want Talbot …”
“I will not heed your lies. And I will not watch you tempt Talbot in my garb!” Malvina cried. She grasped Alys’s kirtle at the neck and pulled with all her might. The wool rent right down the front, exposing Alys’s patched chemise. Malvina tore it as well, though when Alys made a sound of protest, her cousin slapped her face.
Alys slapped her back, hard. Malvina paused, caught her breath, then lunged after Alys like an enraged bull. The pair went down scrapping furiously, Malvina seeking to inflict damage and Alys wanting only to be free of Kiltorren. Alys knew she landed at least two successful blows before Malvina changed strategy.
“And you will not don my sister’s circlet! Or put her veil against your filthy hide!” Malvina ripped the circlet and veil from Alys’s head and nearly pulled the hair from Alys’s head in the deed. She shredded the gossamer veiling and stamped upon the pieces. She cast the circlet to the floor with such vigor that it was surely dented beyond repair.
Alys fled for her chamber at her cousin’s distraction, but Malvina chased her. She tripped Alys and shredded the carefully pieced embroidery along Alys’s hem. “And you will not steal from my own mother, after all the generosity she has bestowed upon you.”
Alys snatched at her cousin’s ankles and they rolled again across the floor, wrestling and striking whenever they could. Suddenly Malvina bounded to her feet and spat on Alys. “That is better than you deserve, you thankless whore!”
And she fled.
Alys could not believe the assault was so abruptly ended, but she escaped into her chamber and secured the latch before her cousin or her aunt could return. Alys took a shaking breath and leaned back against the door. There was a lump rising on her head and her cheek would be black on the morrow.
Burke was right. They could not be away from this cursed place quickly enough.