Ailith started to say that no, she did not remember; Aubert and Felice were always entertaining guests of one kind or another, but then an image did come to her – a tall, blond bear of a man with twinkling grey eyes and hands that he could not keep to himself. 'Yes, I know him. He palmed my rump when I took his cloak.' She had quickly disabused him of the notion that she was a serving wench with whom he could take liberties.

'That is just his way,' Felice dismissed with a wave. 'He's a superb goldsmith, the best in the city, and he's so rich. Aubert says that Wulfstan is having a grand house built near the Fleet river and that he owns a half-share in a merchant galley too.'

'Being rich does not give him the right to grope and fondle at will,' Ailith said tartly.

Felice sighed again, and expression pensive, let the subject lie.

That evening, to her displeasure, Ailith found herself seated next to the goldsmith and forced to share her dish with him as was the custom. The scented oil he had used on his beard and hair cloyed her nostrils. His tunic was crusted with gold embroidery and the belt encircling his ebullient waist was elaborately tooled with gold leaf. Rings cluttered his broad ringers. She noted that his nails were trimmed and clean. He had obviously taken great care with his appearance, and to his own taste, no doubt thought himself magnificent. Ailith thought that he looked as if he had just staggered out of the dragon's cave in one of the tales of Beowulf, laden with the monster's hoard. She smiled to herself at the whimsy, but then, feeling Wulfstan's thigh insistently brushing against hers, she thought with a chill of fear that perhaps Wulfstan himself was the dragon.

He expertly carved the small roast fowl that they were sharing, and laid the choicest breast slices on her trencher; he plied her with Aubert's best wine and kept up an amusing flow of conversation. There were deep laughter lines surrounding his grey eyes, but the eyes themselves were assessing and shrewd and never relaxed for a moment.

"Tis good to eat such fine food in good company,' Wulfstan rumbled in his gruff, bear's voice. 'Since my wife died, my own household's been mighty dolorous.'

A lump began to constrict Ailith's throat and after a few bites of the chicken, she was unable to eat any more. She sipped the wine and glared at Felice and Aubert. How dare they try and pair her off. She had not the slightest interest in Wulfstan; indeed, she found his attentions distasteful.

'You must visit more often,' Felice said sweetly, adroitly avoiding Ailith's despairing, furious stare.

'That is most kind of you, mistress,' the goldsmith acknowledged. His hand slipped beneath the table and squeezed Ailith's knee.

She could feel the hot spread of his fingers through her garments and jerked her leg away, hard-pressed not to stab him with her eating knife. Wulfstan smiled at her, hunching and releasing his shoulders as if he found the entire situation a game which he intended to win.

'I will not sit at table with that odious man again!' she hissed furiously to Felice when Wulfstan finally went on his way, promising that he would visit again soon. 'He seemed to think I was a part of the feast the way he prodded and poked at me!'

'He's lonely,' Felice excused. 'He needs the comfort of touch. His wife died last autumn of a bloody flux from her womb and he has been a long time in mourning for such a vigorous man.'

'So it is excusable for him to paw me?' Ailith asked with an ominous air of calm.

'You should not take so much offence. He likes you. He's good-humoured, wealthy, and one of Aubert's best customers.' Felice gave an impatient cluck. 'Life moves on, Ailith, you must not let yourself become enslaved by the dead.'

'It is better than being enslaved by the living,' Ailith retorted waspishly and stalked off to her pallet in the corner of the hall, pulling the wool curtain across, thereby curtailing all further conversation.

'Horse,' commanded Benedict, bouncing up and down in Ailith's embrace and opening and closing his small, fat hands. 'Want horse.'

Leaning down from the saddle, Rolf swept the child up in his arms and sat him on Sleipnir's back. Benedict laughed and grasped handfuls of the wiry silver mane. Sleipnir flickered his ears, but otherwise stood as docile as an ass. Rolf touched him lightly with his heel and rode him round in a slow circle.

It was May once more, a year since the festival at Brize-sur-Risle. This time Beltane had found him at Ulverton where the celebrations had been very similar, although the symbol of a hobby horse had featured prominently in the English rites. The fact that Rolf intended breeding horses at Ulverton had impressed the villagers considerably; indeed, they had seen it as an omen of good fortune. Rolf had joined them at the dancing, but had stopped short of taking one of their women in the grass. Although the people cautiously approved of him, he knew that he was still considered an outsider and a usurper of the rightful lord.

That had been at the beginning of the month. Now, at the end, he had travelled to London to attend the crowning of William's wife Matilda at Westminster, and as always, had billeted himself upon Aubert and Felice.

Ailith was much slimmer than the day of their first encounter, and he was not sure that it suited her. Her face was gaunt, and the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes and between mouth and nostril were not of laughter as they should have been in a young woman. Surely she was not still pining for her husband and child?

'More!' cried Benedict as Rolf drew rein before Ailith. She was anxiously biting her lip, but doing her best not to speak out.

'He loves it!' Rolf chuckled.

'And the Lord alone knows what his mother will say if she sees you!' Ailith answered, but a smile curved her lips. 'Sometimes I think that the only word she knows is "don't".' Then she shook her head. 'I'm sorry, I'm being a shrew. It is only because she cares for him so much, and the midwives told her that she would never be able to bear another child.'

He took the baby on another circuit of the small yard and then, returning him to Ailith, dismounted.

'How old is your own child, your daughter?' she asked curiously as he led the grey towards his stall.

'Almost three years old.'

'And you have no others?'

'Arlette does not bear children easily. She miscarried again just before I left for England.'

'I am sorry.'

Benedict was clamouring to pat the horse. Rolf took him from Ailith's arms and held him close to the stallion's head so that the baby could touch the dark grey muzzle. 'She was making a good recovery,' he said, 'but she was not well enough to journey across the narrow sea with the other Norman ladies to watch the crowning of the Duchess Matilda.' It was a blessing in disguise, he thought, but said nothing aloud to Ailith.

'She must be very disappointed.'

'A little.' He shrugged uncomfortably, for he did not wish to talk about his wife.

They were both startled by the sound of a deep voice raised in demand. 'Ailith? Ailith, where are you, sweetheart?'

Rolf stiffened at the possessiveness in the tone. Beside him, Ailith stiffened too, and he saw the colour drain from her face.

'Who seeks you?' he asked.

'Wulfstan the Goldsmith. He's a friend of Aubert's,' she murmured in a low voice which would not carry beyond the bounds of the stable.

'But not of yours?'

She looked at him with the eyes of a hunted animal and shrank into the shadows.

'Ailith, my love?' The voice came closer.

Benedict squealed loudly and Ailith made a small sound of despair, half-gasp, half-sob. Then she swallowed, and taking Benedict from Rolf, stepped from the stables into the warm spring daylight. 'I'm here, Wulfstan. What do you want of me?'

Rolf heard the defensive note in her voice and an edge of fear, but there was more to it than that. She had spoken to him in both those tones in the past, but never had he heard that third strand of loathing trembling there too.

'Pour us a cup of wine, my girl, and I'll tell you. Are Felice and Aubert not here?'

'No, they've gone to visit a client together, but they'll be here soon if you want to see them.'

'I suppose I do in time, but it's really you I've come to see, chicken.'

Rolf grimaced. Sweetheart? Love? Chicken? The goldsmith spoke as if he wished to devour, and Ailith was indeed behaving like a hen about to be necked for the pot. He followed her out into the yard and saw a blond bear of a man towering over her, his stance intimidating because he stood so close. The visitor's attention diverted from Ailith as Rolf strode into the yard, and immediately, the grey eyes narrowed and the lips tightened within the full, gold beard. Rolf could almost see the man's thoughts. Felice and Aubert absent and Ailith lurking in the stables with another man. Rolf smiled pleasantly. He had no intention of disabusing the visitor.

Looking anxious, Ailith said, 'Wulfstan, I want you to meet Rolf de Brize, a household guest. Rolf, this is Wulfstan, a business friend of Aubert's.'

Rolf extended his hand. The goldsmith grasped it and forced a smile onto his face. His beard bristled, revealing his tension and hostility. 'Are you in London for long?' he asked with a show of teeth which could hardly be termed a smile.

Rolf glanced at Ailith. 'For the coronation of the Duchess Matilda, and to conduct a little business before I return to my lands. Benedict is my Godson, I like to visit him when I can.'