but when he tried to look round, she tipped a jug of water over his hair to sluice it clean.
She provided him with clean garments from the chest containing clothing that had been made as gifts for the household knights. The linen shirt was a little too short but fitted well across the shoulders; the braies could be made to fit any waist by adjusting the drawstring tie; and she found some good woollen hose for him that were sufficiently long in the leg. When she enquired if his wound needed dressing, he answered swiftly that it did not. The thought of her long, slim fingers anywhere north of his knees sent a flood of heat to his groin. If she caught his turmoil, she was sufficiently tactful to ignore it and presented him with a tunic of green linen, a light woollen cloak and a leather hood.
"My lady, you have my thanks," he said as, finally, clean and spruce for the first time in four months, he prepared to go down to the hall and take his place among the knights instead of in the piss corner. "If ever there is anything I can do to repay you, then you need only send word and I am at your service."
Mischief lit a gleam in her dark eyes. "Anything?" she said, and then laughed. "Thank you, messire; I will bear it in mind. For the moment, you can best repay me by staying alive lest I should need you to fulfil your promise."
He bowed over the hand she extended to him. "I will do my best, my lady," he said.
***
When William entered the Queen's chambers in Poitiers, he was immediately struck by the familiar scents of cedar and sandalwood and by the opulent shades that Eleanor so loved: crimson and purple and gold. He drew a deep, savouring breath; he was home. Eleanor had been standing near the window talking to Guillaume de Tancarville but, on seeing William, she ceased the conversation and hastened across the chamber.
Somewhat stiffly, William knelt and bowed his head. Clara had shorn his hair close to his scalp to help rid him of the remainder of the lice and the air was cold on the back of his neck.
"William, God save you!" Eleanor stooped, took his hands and raised him to his feet, her tawny eyes full of concern. "You're as thin as a lance, and I was told that you had been grievously injured."
"A spear in the thigh; it is almost healed, madam," William replied, not wanting to dwell on his injury. "I am for ever in your debt for ransoming me."
Eleanor shook her head. "There will be no talk of debt unless it is on my part. You and your uncle sacrificed yourselves for my freedom and I can never repay that. Patrick of Salisbury was my husband's man, and did his bidding first, but he was honourable and courteous and I grieve his death. His murderers will be brought to justice, I promise you that." Behind Eleanor, de Tancarville made a sound of concurrence.
"Yes, madam," William agreed, his mouth twisting. He had sworn an oath on his sword on the matter. Until the Lusignan brothers had taught him the meaning of hatred, he had harboured strong grudges against no man. Now he had that burden and it was as if something light had been taken from him and replaced with a hot lead weight.
"You have no lord now, William." Eleanor drew him further into the room and bade him sit on a cushioned bench. He did so gratefully for his leg was paining him and he had yet to regain his stamina.
"No, madam." William glanced at Guillaume de Tancarville, who was watching him with an enigmatic smile on his lips. William had half expected the Chamberlain to invite him to rejoin his household, but the older man remained silent. "It is the tourney season, and I still have Blancart. I can make my way in the world."
De Tancarville's smile deepened. "Are you sure about that? You seem to have an unfortunate skill for losing destriers and putting yourself in jeopardy."
"I would have done the same for you, my lord, were you in my uncle's place," William replied with quiet dignity, thereby wiping the humour from de Tancarville's face.
"I'm sorry, lad. I
She provided him with clean garments from the chest containing clothing that had been made as gifts for the household knights. The linen shirt was a little too short but fitted well across the shoulders; the braies could be made to fit any waist by adjusting the drawstring tie; and she found some good woollen hose for him that were sufficiently long in the leg. When she enquired if his wound needed dressing, he answered swiftly that it did not. The thought of her long, slim fingers anywhere north of his knees sent a flood of heat to his groin. If she caught his turmoil, she was sufficiently tactful to ignore it and presented him with a tunic of green linen, a light woollen cloak and a leather hood.
"My lady, you have my thanks," he said as, finally, clean and spruce for the first time in four months, he prepared to go down to the hall and take his place among the knights instead of in the piss corner. "If ever there is anything I can do to repay you, then you need only send word and I am at your service."
Mischief lit a gleam in her dark eyes. "Anything?" she said, and then laughed. "Thank you, messire; I will bear it in mind. For the moment, you can best repay me by staying alive lest I should need you to fulfil your promise."
He bowed over the hand she extended to him. "I will do my best, my lady," he said.
***
When William entered the Queen's chambers in Poitiers, he was immediately struck by the familiar scents of cedar and sandalwood and by the opulent shades that Eleanor so loved: crimson and purple and gold. He drew a deep, savouring breath; he was home. Eleanor had been standing near the window talking to Guillaume de Tancarville but, on seeing William, she ceased the conversation and hastened across the chamber.
Somewhat stiffly, William knelt and bowed his head. Clara had shorn his hair close to his scalp to help rid him of the remainder of the lice and the air was cold on the back of his neck.
"William, God save you!" Eleanor stooped, took his hands and raised him to his feet, her tawny eyes full of concern. "You're as thin as a lance, and I was told that you had been grievously injured."
"A spear in the thigh; it is almost healed, madam," William replied, not wanting to dwell on his injury. "I am for ever in your debt for ransoming me."
Eleanor shook her head. "There will be no talk of debt unless it is on my part. You and your uncle sacrificed yourselves for my freedom and I can never repay that. Patrick of Salisbury was my husband's man, and did his bidding first, but he was honourable and courteous and I grieve his death. His murderers will be brought to justice, I promise you that." Behind Eleanor, de Tancarville made a sound of concurrence.
"Yes, madam," William agreed, his mouth twisting. He had sworn an oath on his sword on the matter. Until the Lusignan brothers had taught him the meaning of hatred, he had harboured strong grudges against no man. Now he had that burden and it was as if something light had been taken from him and replaced with a hot lead weight.
"You have no lord now, William." Eleanor drew him further into the room and bade him sit on a cushioned bench. He did so gratefully for his leg was paining him and he had yet to regain his stamina.
"No, madam." William glanced at Guillaume de Tancarville, who was watching him with an enigmatic smile on his lips. William had half expected the Chamberlain to invite him to rejoin his household, but the older man remained silent. "It is the tourney season, and I still have Blancart. I can make my way in the world."
De Tancarville's smile deepened. "Are you sure about that? You seem to have an unfortunate skill for losing destriers and putting yourself in jeopardy."
"I would have done the same for you, my lord, were you in my uncle's place," William replied with quiet dignity, thereby wiping the humour from de Tancarville's face.
"I'm sorry, lad. I
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