Gods Concubine (73 page)

“Harold discarded me,” she snarled.
“No one
discards
me!”
Then she relaxed, and smiled. “Have you seen his body, my love?”

William gave a terse nod.

“Did you like the arrow? I thought it a nice touch. I thought…”

Swanne stopped, appalled at the expression on William’s face. “He was nothing to us, William. Why look at me as if I were the most loathsome witch on earth?”

“He was a good man, Swanne. He did not deserve to die.
And not in that manner.”
William paused, his face working. “And to now beg me to murder his children.
Your
children. I cannot credit it. Is there
nothing
within that breast of yours but hatred and ambition? Nothing?”

“What is wrong with you, William?
You
and
I
are the only things that matter. And the Troy Game. Nothing else counts. We are here, we are together, and we can complete the Game.
Nothing else matters.
Why look at
me
as if I were a vile thing?”

He turned away. “I also used to think that nothing mattered but the Game,” he said quietly. “I used to think that nothing counted but that you and I lived together, forever, caught in the immortality of the Game.”

Swanne stared at his back, her face a mixture of confusion and frustration.
What was the matter with him?

“Forgive me,” William said, his voice now drained of all emotion. “I am tired. I know I am not what you want me to be right now…but…I am tired.”

“Of course.” She moved to him and put a hand on his back, rubbing it gently up and down before she reached for one of his hands, turning him around as she lifted it and put it on one of her breasts. “I understand. Of course I do. Perhaps in the morning…?” She smiled seductively. “All we need do is lie side by side tonight if you are too tired to…” She rubbed his hand back and forth over her breast.

He pulled it away, watching her face cloud in anger. “I am
tired,
Swanne. I am sick to the stomach at the slaughter that has ensued this day. I want to be alone. I want solitude. I want to grieve for Harold, even if you do not. I am sorry if you thought that I would leap instantly into your arms, but…”

He stopped, too tired and heartsore to even continue arguing the point. The thought of lying with Swanne—
the thought of that blood-sour mouth running over his body, taking him into her flesh
—made his very stomach lurch over in nausea. He grimaced, and that told Swanne more than words ever could.

“What?”
she said, her body stiff, her brows arched. “You think to lust after your damned Cornelia? She’s a pale, hopeless wretch who has retreated into a convent, William. I can’t see her offering her body for your use.”

“I am married to a woman who I respect and honour,” William said, holding Swanne’s furious stare. “I have no thought to demean Matilda by taking another to my bed.”

“I cannot believe you said that,” Swanne said. “What is a
wife
when compared to
me?
First Cornelia, and now this Matilda?”

“A wife is an honourable thing, Swanne.”

“That is not what you believed when you had Cornelia mewling at your side.”

“Perhaps I
should
have thought of it then,” he said quietly.

“I am your—”

“Matilda will be my queen, Swanne.”

To that Swanne could make no immediate verbal response. She merely stared at him, her mouth closed grim and tight. Finally, she said, “I am your queen, William.
I
am your mate, your partner. How have you forgotten that?”

“We will dance the final enchantment together, Swanne. We will make the Game together. We will—”

“How can you possibly want another woman before me?”

Although Swanne was still angry, her voice sounded genuinely bewildered, and William gave up trying to argue with her. He took her in his arms, and pulled her close, and hugged her. “I am tired, Swanne. Forgive me. My mind and mouth are too muddled to make sense.”

“Ah, my sweet…” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “You must pardon me as well. I know you must be exhausted, and we have eternity before us to consummate our love. Our power. Kiss me one more time, and I will leave you in peace for this night at least.”

She grinned lasciviously, and William’s mouth gave a tired twitch in response. Swanne looked up at him, her body relaxing against his, and William gave a capitulative sigh and leaned down to kiss her.

After all, what was a kiss?

He pulled away almost instantly, again appalled at the foulness he tasted in her mouth.

But Swanne did not seem to notice his revulsion. She gave him a smile. “Soon,” she said, and left the room, picking up her cloak as she left.

William stared after her, the fetid taste of death still filling his mouth.

T
WELVE

S
wanne gave William a full day and night before she came to him again. He’d kept himself busy in the aftermath of the battle, with orders and worries and the sheer and unexpected weight of Harold’s death with which he had yet to deal effectively.

Harold’s death had been a far more bitter blow than William had imagined. He hadn’t known Harold well, but what he had known…

And he had fought to save him.
Damn it!
He had fought so
hard
! The fact that it hadn’t been a Norman arrow that had felled Harold gave William no comfort. Instead he felt even more responsible; that it was Swanne’s hand (no matter who wielded the weapon, it was always Swanne who struck) made William feel even more guilty than he would have done otherwise.

So when Swanne had herself admitted into his presence on the third day after the battle, William raised his head wearily from the maps he’d been studying and gazed at her with such clear aversion that any other woman would have turned on her heel and walked straight from his presence.

“I am weary, Swanne,” William said. “What is it you want from me?”

“How can you ask that, my love? You must be fatigued if you cannot even remember what we have fought towards for so long.” She smiled at him. “Come now, give me a kiss, and then we can, perhaps, share our noonday meal and discuss what we should do. Whatever your weariness, William, we must consolidate what we have gained. Asterion can no longer keep us apart, and we must work towards the Game with all the strength we may.”

“You are right.” William called to his valet and asked him to bring some small ale and whatever food he could barter from the kitchens, then he gestured for Swanne to take his chair which sat before a brazier while he took a bench.

As the valet set a platter of food in front of them—fresh bread, and the remains of the pigeon pie that William had partaken of the previous night—William poured some small ale from a jug into beakers.

“You’re looking thin, Swanne. You should eat.”

“I have been mildly unwell, but nothing of any true concern.” She smiled, and once more William found himself thinking that it looked more like a grimace rather than a genuine expression of warmth. “And I have been aching for you. To be with you.”

Her smiled stretched, becoming almost predatory. “I remember how we were interrupted that day in your stables, when Matilda made her ungracious entrance. I think, William, that it is time we consummated our union.” She pushed aside the stool on which sat the platter of food and, rising from the chair, unlaced the bodice of her gown so that her breasts swung full and naked before William. “William, do not deny me. We have already begun the partnership of the Game. You cannot now turn your back on me, or on the Game. Once started, it
cannot
not be finished. We have obligations we both need to fulfil, and the sexual union of both Mistress and Kingman is the mightiest of them.”

He sat very still on his bench, only his eyes moving as first they ran over her breasts then to her face. “Swanne…”

She knelt before him, and lifted his hands to her breasts. “This does not arouse you?” she said.

Now William shifted, uncomfortable. In truth, it did arouse him, the memory of her foul-tasting mouth notwithstanding. It had been many weeks since he had slept with Matilda, and now, to have these warm, soft breasts filling his hands…

“William,” Swanne whispered, running her hands up his thighs, kneading and rubbing until they reached his groin. “William…”

He slid down from the bench, thinking,
Just this once…just this once…then she will be satisfied and she will leave me alone. Just this once…it will surely do no harm…

“William!” Swanne said, more powerfully this time, and she also slid so that she lay on the floor, and she pulled William down atop her. His mouth ran along her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, not touching her mouth, and his hands kneaded at her breasts.

Smiling in triumph, Swanne hauled her skirts over her hips, then began to fumble with the fastenings at William’s crotch. “Thank God,” she said, “that your petty wife is not about to interrupt us
this
time.”

“And I say, ‘Thank God she is’,” came a voice, and William rolled off Swanne so fast that he knocked over the stool carrying the platter. Food scattered everywhere as he fumbled with his clothing while trying to rise at the same time.

Matilda walked into the room, calm and dignified, very in control of herself.

“Husband,” she said, nodding to him in greeting as if she’d disturbed him at nothing more than his morning shave. Matilda continued into the chamber until she was close to Swanne and then, very tightly, also nodded at her.

Swanne made no attempt to cover herself. She had propped herself up on her elbows so that she could see the better, but her breasts still hung bare from the front of her under-tunic, and her naked body was exposed from her hips downward.

“And thus you expected to be
queen
beside my husband?” Matilda said, letting both incredulity and disgust fill her voice.

The barb struck home, for Swanne flushed as with one hand she jerked her skirts down and with the other pulled her bodice over her breasts. She looked to William to aid her rise, but he had stepped several paces away and now stood slightly to Matilda’s left.

Unwittingly—or not, as the case may have been—William had placed himself so that he and Matilda stood together, confronting Swanne.

Swanne managed to rise to her feet with as much dignity as she was capable of. Her flush had deepened, clearly more through anger than through humiliation, and her eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, but Matilda forestalled her before she could speak.

“You are the Lady Swanne, I think. Yes? Ah, William, look at that red mouth, and those sharp teeth.” Matilda’s voice hardened. “Lady Snake, more like. Swanne is too gracious a name for
you,
my dear.”

“Matilda,” said William. “What are you doing here? Are you well?” He kissed her quickly on her mouth, recovering far more quickly from his initial fluster than Swanne liked.

“I had a bad dream,” Matilda said, her voice now rich with love. She laid a hand on his cheek. “A terrible dream, and so I acted on it.” Her eyes slid back to Swanne, and her tone and features became glacial. “Just in time, I see.”

Swanne’s mouth opened and then closed as she fought to find something to say. As William and Matilda continued to watch her with impassive faces, Swanne finally managed to summon enough dignity to give Matilda a sharp nod, William an even sharper look, before she stalked for the door.

As it closed behind her William’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He took his wife’s face in gentle hands. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”

She smiled, her eyes full of love and relief.

“Why not?” cried Asterion, stalking back and forth before Swanne as they stood in an unnoted corner of William’s camp. “Why not?”

“I had him,” she ground out, still so angry her flesh almost vibrated. “He was mine…and then that damned
wife
intervened. Gods help me, I will have her torn apart limb by limb.”

“You failed me,” Asterion said, and there was enough coldness in his voice to make Swanne look at him in panic.

“I will have him, I
will.
He cannot resist me for long. Besides, she is pregnant, and soon will be too unwieldy to take any man atop her.”

“I need William dead, Swanne.”

“I know! I know! I promise you, my love. He will be!”

“Before we get to London.
I do not need William breathing over my shoulder when I retrieve those bands.”

She leaned against him, placing her hands against his chest. “I will let nothing come between us, Asterion. Believe me, William will be mine before we arrive in London.”

He nodded. “Make sure of it.”
Damn her! William should be dead by now!
For a moment Asterion contemplated the possibility that Swanne might not be able to seduce William. If that was the case, could he use the other…?

No, they were imps of different natures. Swanne carried the deadly imp within her. The destroyer.

She was the only one who could murder William safely.

“Make sure of it,” Asterion said again to Swanne, and there was enough threat in his voice to make her blanch.

T
HIRTEEN

CAELA SPEAKS

I
sat within St Margaret the Martyr’s for the six weeks it took William to reach London and felt every pace he and his army took as England disintegrated before its conqueror. From Hastings, William marched on Canterbury, then further west on the road to London, fighting skirmishes here and there, but facing no real opposition.

The might of England’s army and its nobles had died on the field of Hastings. Not merely Harold, although for my heart he was the most of it, but his surviving brothers, his uncles, Alditha’s brothers; everyone who might have had a faint hope of uniting the remnants of England’s pride against William. All had died on the bloodied field of Hastings.