Julitta hesitated, then flaked a piece of trout off the skin and put it in her mouth. He was right, the fish was indeed succulent and delicately flavoured. As she chewed, her stomach came to life, leaping and craving.

'I would not have thought it of you to be squeamish,' Rolf said curiously.

Julitta shrugged. 'It is easier to eat things if they do not look as if they might still be alive.'

Rolf almost choked on his laughter and had to take a swift gulp of his wine.

Julitta ate the fish and glanced through her lashes at her father, waiting her moment until he had recovered and was ready to give her his attention again. 'May I ask you a boon?'

'Ask me anything you want.'

Julitta flickered a brief glance at Arlette who sat on Rolf's other side daintily nibbling one of the songbirds. She could almost see the woman's ears extending like trumpets to listen. 'Can I ride out with you tomorrow to see the horses?'

His eyes gleamed with pleasure. 'Of course! It would give me great delight to have you keep me company.'

'Only Lady Arlette says that I have to begin to learn how to become a lady for the profit of my future marriage. I did not know if I would be allowed out of the bower.'

Rolf's mouth compressed. He glanced at his wife, whose face had paled as Julitta spoke out. 'No-one will confine you to the bower.'

'She is twisting my words,' Arlette said angrily.

'I'm not, you did say it!' Julitta protested, her voice rising so that other people stopped eating and looked towards the family gathering with curiosity.

'Most certainly your behaviour is a disgrace at the moment. You deserve no favours.'

'Peace, both of you,' Rolf commanded in a tone that caused the witnesses to look elsewhere and pretend attention to their food. 'I will not have this bickering. Julitta, I do not expect you to air your grievances before all and sundry. You are no longer a small child to throw tantrums if your will is gainsaid… or perhaps you are?'

Heat scorched into Julitta's face. She shook her head and looked down at her trencher.

Rolf turned to his wife. 'There is time enough for her to learn from you what she does not know. Tomorrow she will ride out with me and Benedict to see the breeding stock.'

Arlette's lips became a narrow line. 'As you wish, my lord,' she said quietly, a wealth of unspoken resentment in her response. 'Do I have your permission to retire?'

He gestured brusque assent. Arlette rose. So did Gisele, lending moral support to her mother.

Julitta was alarmed. 'I don't have to go too, do I?'

Rolf sighed. 'Better if you remain here for a while to let the dust settle,' he said wryly. Julitta smiled with relief. T wasn't lying,' she declared as Gisele and Arlette left the hall. 'She truly did say those things.'

Rolf poured more wine into his cup. 'She has your welfare at heart, you should not take against her so. She is right that you have things to learn.'

'Does that mean I'm to be trained like a horse and then sold off to the highest bidder?' she demanded.

'Selling you off is the last thing on my mind, Princess. I've only just found you again.' He looked at her sidelong. 'Think of acquiring skills, whatever they might be, as armouring yourself against the world. You have learned to survive, to be independent and think for yourself. Now you must learn control; to bite your tongue when it is unwise to speak out. Lady Arlette can teach you a great deal, do not reject her out of hand.'

Julitta nodded sensibly. Her father patted her head affectionately and turned to talk to one of his retainers. A sudden pang of loss swept over her. She desperately wanted her mother, the comfort of her arms, the warmth of her unconditional love. Instead, all she had was the hostile, dutiful care of Arlette de Brize. Her father, for all his kindness and appearance of understanding, was a man and a stranger, self-centred at his very core. He could not even begin to comprehend.

Muttering an excuse about needing to visit the privy, Julitta escaped the hall. Her father's was not the only gaze to follow her hasty exit. Further down the main trestle, Benedict watched her with troubled eyes, and so too did Mauger, a deep frown between his brows.

CHAPTER 43

'She hates me, I know she does!' Julitta mutinously dragged off the wimple that Arlette had said she must wear whenever she ventured out of the private quarters, and tossed it aside.

Benedict paused while saddling up Cylu to admire the glossy tumble of her curls. The July sunshine burnished the strands to a bright garnet red. She was seated on a heap of straw, her legs parted in most unladylike fashion, her modesty preserved by the full folds of her blue riding gown. He knew that, like casting off her wimple, the pose was in deliberate defiance of Arlette. She and Julitta never quarrelled in front of Rolf these days, but it did not mean that the battle between them had ceased.

'She doesn't hate you,' he contradicted. 'You exasperate and baffle her. More than half the trouble that comes your way is your own fault, you know. You should learn to compromise.'

Julitta glowered at him, but Benedict ignored her expression and resumed harnessing the horse. He was learning how to deal with her moods and had discovered that paying her no heed was the swiftest way to bring her out of a sulk. Besides, he was fond of her, and aware that he was the one to whom she turned to air the frustrations and upsets which she kept to herself on the battlefield.

The straw rustled and a moment later Julitta came to the gelding's head, stroking the soft grey muzzle and muscular cheeks. 'She wants to turn me into a copy of Gisele. She wants me to live my life in that room above the hall with nothing in my head but needles and thread and weaving patterns. I feel as if I am in a prison.'

'Gisele has more in her head than just sewing and weaving,' Benedict defended his betrothed. 'Perhaps it is that you do not want to see beyond it.'

Julitta gave him a glittering look, her expression one that he could not define. 'She doesn't like me either,' she said.

'And you don't like her.' Benedict led Cylu out into the fresh early morning. Already saddled in the bailey was Julitta's small chestnut mare. 'Each of you should appreciate the other for her particular skills.'

'Did you never think of becoming a priest?' Julitta snapped waspishly and led her mare to the mounting block.

Benedict laughed. 'What, and become a martyr?'

Side by side they rode out of the yard. Rolf was absent, delivering three young mares to a client in Winchester; Mauger had returned to Normandy; and thus, for three days, Benedict held responsibility for the stud at Ulverton. He was accustomed to such weight, for it had devolved upon his shoulders before – for the first time when he was sixteen. He was a calm, level-headed young man with a maturity far beyond his years -a maturity that occasionally lapsed if not yoked to the plough of serious occupation.

He looked at Julitta's profile, the daintiness of her nose and cheekbones, the sensual cushion of her mouth. He knew well why Gisele did not like her half-sister. It was a matter of jealousy, simple and hot. Gisele's silvery attractiveness became watery and insipid beside Julitta's raw beauty. Men looked at Julitta in a way that they never looked at Gisele, himself included. And God on the Cross, she was not yet fifteen. He tried not to think about that. She turned her gaze to him now, her eyes a dark sea-blue, flecked with green.

'Anyway,' she tossed her head, 'I've found a way of escaping from the hall and still keeping in Lady Arlette's good graces.'

'You have?'

'I'm learning bee-keeping. The hives are out in the meadow and Arlette never visits them. She hates bees even though she values the honey, and besides, all the grass makes her sneeze and her face swells up.'

Benedict compressed his lips, forcing himself not to chuckle at her resourcefulness. 'The bees will suffer if you slack your duties,' he warned.

'Oh, don't be so pompous,' she scoffed. 'I like tending the hives. Did you know it takes three weeks for a bee to grow from a grub to a worker?'

Still suppressing a grin, Benedict shook his head. 'I know nothing about bees except that they make honey and there is no taste like it straight from the comb with new, warm bread. Even the thought makes my mouth water. I remember your mother giving me a piece of honeycomb when we came to stay at Ulverton in the old days.'

'My mother used to like bees too.' Julitta's eyes grew distant. 'She used to tell them everything of importance that ever happened in the hall.'

'What for?'

'So that they would not fly away, of course!' She looked at him as if he were simple-minded. 'If you forget to let them know who has died, or who is to be married, or when a baby has been born, they will swarm.'

Benedict raised a sceptical brow.

'Well that is what the old lore says.' Julitta shook back her hair. 'Of course they swarm when the queen gets old or the hive becomes too crowded, but it's still best to talk to them. Besides, there is no danger that they will carry tales. I can tell them what I think of someone and they won't scold me or lecture me on how I ought to behave.'

'And I suppose they taught you how to sting too,' Benedict said with a wry grin.

Julitta wrinkled her pert nose at him. 'They die if they sting,' she said after a moment. 'The barb lodges in whatever they attack and they cannot free themselves.' A small shiver ran down her spine.