The Running Vixen tor-2
Page 4
‘No, I’ve kept it to myself — half the reason my temper has been so foul. Papa has too much on his trencher already, and it was easier to pretend it didn’t exist.’ She shivered. ‘But it does, and I’m frightened.’
It was the lost, forlorn note in her voice that finally undid him. Until then he had succeeded in maintaining a neutral front, but the sight of her so close to tears, trembling with fear, her spirit subdued, was unbearable and before he could rationalise the move, think better of it and step away, he had put his arm around her and drawn her against him. ‘It’s all right, Heulwen,’ he said with a mingling of tenderness and desire, ‘I won’t let any harm come to you.’
A sob wrenched from her throat, followed by another. She pressed her face into his chest, stifling her grief in the dark wool of his tunic. Adam murmured reassurances and stroked her braid. Her hair smelt faintly of herbs and he was intensely aware of her body pressed to his. He slipped his arm down to her waist. ‘Heulwen. ’ he muttered and lowered his head, seeking sideways, finding and kissing her cheek and temple, and then, as she raised her head in surprise, her mouth. It opened beneath his, pliant and warm, sweet as wine. His hand slipped down over the curve of her buttocks, moulding her closer. For less than the space of a heartbeat her body undulated and yielded to his, and then she jerked like a skittish horse fighting a saddle, tore her mouth from his, and shoved herself violently out of his embrace.
‘Adam no!’ She dragged her sleeve across her mouth. ‘Dear God, no!’
‘Heulwen. ’ He took a step towards her, hand outstretched in entreaty. ‘It’s not. ’
Quivering, she backed away, grabbing her cloak off the stool where she had flung it. ‘I’m not some wide-legged slut to be tumbled at your whim. If you want that sort of pleasure, you know where the guardroom is!’
Adam’s eyes darkened. Torn between fury that she should bring it down to this base level, and shame at his own loss of control, he could only stare at her, bereft of words. Heulwen stared back. The air between them trembled. Then she turned from him and fled.
‘Oh blood of Christ!’ he snarled and plunged after her, but in the darkness he stumbled over someone’s pallet and came down hard among the rushes, the disturbed sleeper cursing him in English. Adam snapped a scalding reply in gutter French, and struggled up again. In the dim light from the banked fire he could see the snoring servants and men-at-arms, the polished brown highlights of the lord’s oak chair set on the dais, a dreaming dog twitching its paws, but no Heulwen.
Adam swore again, this time at his own stupidity, and dug his fingers through his hair. He had meant only to comfort, had not realised until he held her how precarious was the line between the need to comfort and the need itself, and his lack of judgement had just cost him dearly. The memory of her frightened anger filled him with chagrin. What if she loathed him now?
He returned to the solar, found the garnet-eyed flagon and his cup, and set about seeking oblivion in lieu of the sleep that he knew would not come.
Chapter 3
Miles, lord of Ashdyke, watched his youngest grandson leap and turn and, with his wooden sword, cut beneath the defences of an imaginary foe. The old man sighed deeply and propped his aching legs on the footstool that Heulwen attentively fetched for him.
‘It’s a long time since I was even half so agile,’ he told her wistfully. ‘He’s faster than a flea.’ In his eyes there was pride, for he recognised much of himself in the slight, elfin boy, or as he remembered himself in the unfettered days of a long-distant childhood.
Heulwen watched her half-brother too, wincing as he clipped the laver and almost sent it crashing over. ‘I suppose you let him wear you out, Grandpa,’ she scolded gently, bringing him a cup of wine.
‘Not in the least.’ Miles grinned. ‘It has been a pleasure to have him with me. He’s deadly with a slingshot. Brought down two big pigeons that had been damaging the seedlings in the garth — and very tasty they were too.’
Heulwen smiled dutifully, the expression not quite reaching her eyes which were full of care. Miles sought her fingers and squeezed them. She looked down at his hand. It was brown and mottled with a twisting blue rootwork of veins, but it was hard and steady and it was her own young unblemished one that trembled. She cast him an anxious look, which he returned with the serenity of long years. ‘We had a visitor while you were away with William.’
Miles slowly nodded and smiled. ‘I know. Young de Lacey. Eadric told me when I arrived. I dare say when I’ve rested these old bones enough to want to sit a saddle again, I’ll ride over to Thornford and welcome him home.’ His gaze was shrewd. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’
Heulwen looked down. ‘I’ve quarrelled with Adam,’ she said in a small voice and swallowed, thinking of the incident of two nights since. She had asked him to the solar, forced her dilemma on him, and then, when his sympathy had turned into something far more dangerous, she had reacted like a wild animal striving to break free of a trap. Even worse, she had accused him as though it had all been his fault, when she knew to her shame that it was not. Her own body had quickened readily to desire, and when she had run from him, she had been running from herself. The following day she had pleaded a megrim as an excuse not to come down to the hall, and Adam, without personal invitation, could not go above. He had asked to speak to her and she had sent her maid Elswith to tell him she was unwell. He had taken the hint, gathered his men and ridden out, and the silence left behind weighed heavily on her conscience.
‘There’s nothing new in that, as I recall from your childhood,’ Miles said wryly.
William danced up to them. Heulwen opened her mouth, but said nothing. Panting, the child paused to regain his breath, and bestowed upon her a dazzling, impish smile. The youngest of her father’s sons, he had a profusion of bouncy black curls, green-blue eyes like her own and their grandfather’s and a way with him that could charm the birds from the trees.
‘Heulwen, can I go and see Gwen’s pups? Papa’s gone into the town to talk to the merchants and Mama’s busy in the dairy. Eadric said I had to ask you.’ He put on his pleading face, managing to look almost as soulful as Gwen herself, so that Heulwen was forced to laugh.
She tousled his hair. ‘Go on then but be careful, and don’t get too close. She’s still very protective.’
‘I won’t, I promise. Mama says I can have one for my very own when they’re old enough to leave Gwen. I’ve seen the one I want — the black dog with the white paws. I’m going to call him Brith.’
Heulwen felt a pang for childhood’s earnest enthusiasms, the passionate joy in small things, the blissful ignorance of wider concerns, and the tragedies forgotten in the time as it took to wipe away the tears. William gave her a brief, tight hug and, sword still in hand, ran off down the hall.
‘And Judith worries about Renard and women!’ Miles chuckled. ‘William is going to outstrip him a hundredfold when the time comes. I can only be glad that I won’t be here to wince as the sparks fly!’
‘Don’t say that!’ Her tone was sharp.
‘It’s the truth, girl, and we both know it. I’m borrowing time hand over fist these days, and when I do go, I dare say I’ll be glad.’ He leaned back against the carved oak chair and steepled his fingers against his lips. His eyes were still keen, his voice steady without the quaver that so often affected the elderly, and his face betrayed to Heulwen none of the fatigue that was inwardly sapping him. He could not however sustain bursts of energy for long periods these days, and had to husband his strength like a housewife coddling a contrary tallow flame. He was more than four score, an age seldom attained and, slowly but inexorably, his body was failing his will.
‘Now then,’ he said comfortably, ‘what about this quarrel of yours. Can it not be mended?’
Hesitantly at first, but gaining impetus, Heulwen told him the tale, omitting the details about the suspect silver in Ralf ’s strongbox. ‘I know I should have been more tactful, Grandpa, but I was frightened. One
moment he was comforting my grief, the next he was kissing me. ’
Miles closed his eyes and conjured up the image of Adam de Lacey. A quiet young man of serious countenance and direct gaze. A superlative horseman, good with a sword, even better with a lance, and not given to the kinds of folly just described to him. He looked thoughtfully at his granddaughter, well aware that she had not told him the whole tale, and she knew he knew, because she had lowered her eyes and her cheeks had turned pink.
‘Foolish,’ he snorted, ‘but not to be wondered at. In part you brought it on yourself. You do not need a gazing glass to know you are attractive to men. Their eyes have always told you.’
‘I didn’t bring that on myself!’ she objected.
‘You interrupted me,’ Miles said with a shake of his head. ‘I was going to say that any young man who found himself alone with you, at your invitation, in the darkest hours of the night might well be pushed over a brink he didn’t even know was there. His first intention probably was to offer comfort. As far as I know, Adam de Lacey is no womaniser. Your father never had trouble with him the way he did with young Miles and his lechery.’
‘Do you think I owe him an apology?’ she asked with a sinking heart.
‘Not necessarily, but I think you were a little harsh with him. You have created a mountain out of a molehill.’
Heulwen looked down and fiddled with the raised embroidery on the belt at her waist. Her grandfather’s great age had in no way incapacitated his wits, and his shrewd scrutiny was making her uncomfortable. She said quickly, ‘Grandpa, I think you’re right. I’ll make amends as best I can.’
The light caught the silver tips of stubble on his throat as he swallowed. ‘You could do worse than consider Adam de Lacey for a husband. Obviously he is attracted to you, and he’s well thought of by men who recognise honour in other men.’
She dropped to kneel beside him, her knees weakening at the very suggestion. Her mind scurried, necessity making it nimble, finding an excuse out of what had once been the truth but was now the truth no longer. ‘Grandpa, I couldn’t, it would be like marrying one of my own brothers. Anyway, I’m as good as spoken for already.’
‘I see,’ he nodded wisely. ‘So you are still set on accepting de Mortimer’s offer?’
‘Yes, Grandpa. After Ralf, I’ll be grateful for a man whose absences are not going to send me into a jealous frenzy.’
She had known passion, he thought, and been burned by its heat, but there had been no healing balm of love to temper its destructive force, only lies, deceit and self-delusion, and she had been too young to understand. A marriage that was purely a business arrangement would suit her very well for the present, but what of the future? Her braids were the colour of liquid fire and they reflected her spirit. No good would come of trying to squash herself into a niche for which she was not made — but how to explain it to her when for the nonce she could not see the wood of the future for the trees of the past. ‘Heulwen. ’ he began and then subsided as a seeping weariness overcame him. He felt as if all the marrow was trickling from his bones and soaking away.
‘Grandpa, are you all right?’ She leaped to her feet in fear. ‘Here, drink some more wine.’
Miles watched her fumble for the flagon and then closed his eyes. When she pressed the cup back into his hands, he forced his lids open again, feeling as though the death pennies were already weighing them down.
Her voice trembled. ‘Grandpa, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.’
He put out his free hand and lightly touched her face as she bent over him. ‘Nay, love, don’t fret,’ he said with a forced smile. ‘I’m all right, just very tired. We’ll talk again when I’ve had a chance to rest.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Grandpa. I’ll make my peace with Adam, and as soon as Warrin returns from Normandy I’ll accept his offer, and that’s the end of it. I’ll go and get Mama.’
‘Child, never mind the end, what about the beginning? ’ he whispered, but to thin air, for she had gathered her skirts and was running down the hall.
Chapter 4
Sweating, Adam closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and gulped wine straight from the costrel. Opposing him, Jerold FitzNigel rested his swordpoint in the dust and wiped his forehead upon the back of his hand.
Red juice trickled down Adam’s chin. Finished, he handed the costrel back to the knight, wiped his mouth, then, bending over, hands on knees, blew out hard through puffed cheeks.
‘You’re out of practice,’ grinned FitzNigel, who drank heartily, then, gasping with satisfaction added, ‘I’d have killed you then if we’d been using sharpened blades instead of these whalebone pretences.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ Adam retorted with the surety of self-knowledge. Practice was practice, a repetition of various moves in a shifting dance of aggression and avoidance until perfection was accomplished — necessary, but devoid of the deadliness that gave true battle its edge. There was devastating exhilaration in pitting your skill against another man and knowing that the stake was either your life or his. But as he had no intention of murdering his marshal, Adam’s edge was as dull as the rebated sword he was using.
Jerold finished drinking, stoppered the costrel and tossed it over to Austin, for whose edification this bout was partly taking place. ‘Care to wager?’ he challenged Adam and, spitting on his palms, raised his shield and dropped behind it to a battle crouch.
Adam wiped his right hand down his hose and applied it once more to his sword-grip. ‘I’d not part you from your hard-earned coin,’ he retorted, shifting his stance on Thornford’s gritty practice-yard floor. As Jerold attacked, he leaped over the low swing of the blade and beneath the knight’s guard, feinting at the shield and sweeping under it. Jerold sprang backwards like a startled hare and a breath came hard between his teeth. Laughing, Adam pressed his attack.
Horses clattered through the main gateway and into the bailey. Grooms went out and a servant came running in and spoke to the squire.
‘Lord Adam,’ Austin called, ‘Miles le Gallois is here. He’s brought you some horses and craves a moment of your time.’
Adam misjudged his stroke, lost his balance, and found himself once more looking down the fuller of Jerold’s sword and into the knight’s laughing eyes. He pushed the blade aside in disgust.
‘Sorry, lord,’ said Austin, biting his lip.
‘My own fault, lad, I’m not concentrating.’ Adam thrust the blunted sword at the boy. ‘Here, take my place and see if you can improve on my performance.’
‘Shouldn’t be too difficult,’ Jerold mocked.
Adam made an eloquent English gesture, dropped his shield and wandered into the main bailey.
An elderly man was dismounting with care from Ralf ’s bay destrier. Behind him, an expression of wistful pleasure on his face, Renard was loosening the sorrel stallion’s girth, while beyond on a leading rein, the piebald sidled friskily.
‘Lord Miles!’ Adam strode forward with genuine pleasure and held out a calloused palm. ‘This is indeed a surprise!’
Miles clasped the proffered hand. ‘Indeed it is,’ he answered, smiling as he gazed upon Adam’s state of sweaty déshabillé.
‘I’ve been practising my swordplay in the tilt yard — not with any great success. It’s a relief to leave it.’ Adam pushed his wet hair off his forehead.
‘Grandpa has brought you these on his way home, since you forgot them in your haste to leave us.’ Renard gestured towards the horses, his mouth curving with mischief. ‘My sister doesn’t usually have that effect on men, rather the opposite.’
Adam gave Renard a sour look. ‘Perhaps I know her too well,’ he retorted.
The youth shrugged. ‘Or not well enough.’ He fondled Vaillantif ’s whiskery muzzle and glanced at his own grey crossbreed. ‘It’s like riding silk. Old Starlight’s going to seem as rough as sackcloth by comparison.’
Miles smiled at his grandson. ‘You’re developing expensive tastes, boy.’
‘Too sharp for his own good sometimes, that one,’ Miles said, as the grooms set about unsaddling the destriers and leading them and the remounts to the water trough. It had once been a coffin, so the priest said, undoubtedly Roman, for there was a vague weather-beaten inscription in Latin just visible on its side. ‘With a tongue like that in his head, he’s got to learn when to keep it sheathed.’
‘Most lads of that age are indiscreet to some degree,’ Adam said, thinking of his own squire’s recent misdemeanours.
‘Or that’s what you tell yourself in lieu of throttling them.’ Miles eased himself down on the mounting block with a sigh, and spread his palms upon his knees.
Adam laughed in wry acknowledgement and signalled to a servant. ‘You’ll stay to dine?’
Miles thanked him for the hospitality, then added, relenting, ‘Renard’s a good boy really. They’ve sent him to see me home. Partly it’s to be rid of him for a while, and he needs the responsibility and experience of commanding men. Partly it is because I wasn’t well a few days ago.’
Adam looked concerned. Miles waved the air in dismissal. ‘It was nothing, my own fault. I exhausted myself trying to keep up with a child of five. They say the old return to their infancy. Well by God, I paid for my foray. Judith and Heulwen had me posseted up in bed for two days and wouldn’t let anyone near me.’ A mischievous spark kindled in his eyes. ‘I told them I’d have more company laid out dead in the chapel, and made myself so difficult a patient that in the end they saw sense and just about pushed me out of the keep!’ He looked over at the horses snuffling around the trough, their shadows mingling in the dust. ‘Heulwen told me why you quarrelled,’ he said quietly.