Elizabeth Chadwick - The Running Vixen

‘We need your support. I know you have your doubts about swearing for Matilda, God knows, she’d tempt a saint to commit murder sometimes, but she’s capable of ruling, I swear it.’

Guyon gave him a pained smile. ‘I do not doubt her capabilities. I’m married to such a one myself.’ His eyes darted with wry amusement to the threshold where his wife was handing her cloak to a maid. ‘But men look to be ruled by a man, not a woman.’

‘Do you?’

‘By preference, yes — well, in some ways anyway,’ he added with another amused look at his wife, but then he sobered. ‘What worries me is that she will wed someone who is going to try the crown on for size and in consequence break us all.’

‘My father is wiser than that. He will look and choose most carefully,’ Gloucester objected, bristling. ‘And Matilda’s no meek maid to give up what is hers by right.’

Frowning, Guyon stared into the middle distance, and finally back at the earnest face of his brother-by-marriage.

‘It is not enough to say your father will choose carefully. He will choose to his own dictates unless he is made to swear that he will not go about the purpose of arranging Matilda’s marriage without the agreement of his tenants-in-chief.’

‘You have been talking to Henry of Blois, haven’t you?’

‘No, I haven’t. It is what any sensible man would say.’ Guyon’s nostrils flared with impatience. ‘I’ve only seen Henry of Blois from a distance thus far. The only man to whom I have spoken is the Earl of Leicester, and that’s because my son’s a chaplain in his household — and Leicester is not happy about swearing an oath to Matilda, with or without a husband.’

Robert of Gloucester scraped his hands rapidly through his receding dark hair. Mustering support for his sister’s cause was like ploughing a stony field; every few paces he met solid opposition, even from such reasonable loyalists as Guyon of Ravenstow whose own children were Matilda’s nieces and nephews. ‘Guy. ’ he began again, but his brother-in-law interrupted him, spreading his hands and sighing.

‘All right, Robert. I’ll swear to her, for her, and at her, but only if Henry promises not to tie her to some entirely unsuitable husband.’

‘I am sure he can be brought to an agreement,’ Robert said, with the smoothness of a diplomat, meeting the by now familiar response of a half-raised shoulder and a look of badly concealed disbelief. He judged the moment propitious to leave and let Guyon mull over what had been said. If he made haste, there was still time to visit Hugh of Norfolk and sound him out before it was time to prepare for the evening’s feast and make his report to Henry.

He stood up and turning, kissed his half-sister and then Heulwen in greeting and farewell.

‘We were just admiring your new stallion,’ Judith said. ‘If Heulwen had known you were looking for another destrier, she’d not have trailed the bay all the way to Windsor.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Gloucester smiled and looked blank.

Laughing, Judith told him from whom he had actually purchased the horse.

Robert laughed too, if a little ruefully as he donned his hat. ‘One of Ralf ’s stallions, no wonder! I did think it strange that young de Lacey should have a horse of that calibre to sell when he’s only just home from the Empire. The sly fox, he never said anything!’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t sure you’d offer the full price if you knew it was almost in the family,’ Heulwen suggested, the insult negated by the dimple that appeared at the corner of her mouth.

Robert snorted. ‘Very probably. He’s as wary as an undercroft cat, that one. Doubtless since I paid him seventy marks for the beast, you’ll be seeing him sooner rather than later.’

Heulwen fiddled with the brooch pinned at her shoulder, heavy as a man’s hand clasped in possession. She had not set eyes on Adam since the day of the Welsh attack and had managed in the interim to convince herself that what she felt was a passing lust, and that any male could as well be substituted — but a substitute was not the genuine article. She thought of Adam’s dark smile, that quizzical way he had of looking, his dry humour, the gentle pressure of his hands on a horse’s flank, or on her waist.

‘I saw Warrin de Mortimer at the horse fair too,’ Gloucester added. ‘He and his father were trying the paces of a courser. I gather that the young man’s soon to be wed. He’s very lucky.’

‘I’m very fond of him,’ Heulwen said tonelessly.

Guyon eased to his feet to see their guest out. ‘I hope Warrin and Adam did not encounter each other,’ he said. ‘Last time they were within rubbing distance I had to stop them going for their swords.’

Gloucester shook his head. ‘No. They were at opposite ends of the field, and young de Lacey was making to leave even as I did.’ He smiled secretively.

Guyon gave him a questioning look

Robert glanced over his shoulder at Heulwen. ‘Yours won’t be the only betrothal we celebrate this feast-tide, my dear. I have it on good authority that my father intends offering Adam de Lacey a rich bride in reward for services rendered to the crown. There are one or two choice heiresses in his wardship, and he is going to give young de Lacey first pick.’

After he had gone, Heulwen realised that she must have made the appropriate responses, for no one had remarked upon her behaviour, and they were all at ease, talking among themselves. They were her family, and yet she felt like a stranger, sneaking warmth from a hearth not her own.

The thought of Adam with a wife cut her to the quick. She could mouth that it was what she wished for him; she could say it with seeming sincerity, but the truth was different. For three months she had turned a blind eye in the same way that she had turned a blind eye to Ralf ’s infidelities — full knowing but refusing to acknowledge. But such blindness did not last for ever, and the light when it returned was too dazzling to be borne.

She complained of a headache when at length Judith noticed her silent pallor, and allowed herself to be bundled up in warm furs and put to bed like a child, a hot stone at her feet and a drink of honey in hot water between her cold fingers, permitting everyone to think that she had caught a chill from standing too long at the market stalls. When Warrin came calling, she told Judith to send him away and curled herself into a foetal ball of misery, wishing she were dead.

Henry, by the Grace of God King of England and Duke of Normandy, held up his hand to silence the scratching of the scribe’s quill, and stared with shrewd, flint-grey eyes at the young man kneeling before him. ‘You are quite sure of this?’

‘The Welsh lad had a fever, sire, but he was still well within his wits,’ Adam answered steadily. ‘He knew what he was saying, and I judged it to be true.’

‘But then your judgement may be coloured by the known fact that you and Warrin de Mortimer hate the sight of each other.’

‘Miles le Gallois was there too. He will bear out my story, and he has no axe to grind.’

Henry pursed his thin lips and continued to study Adam. The young man’s father had been a rebel — violent, untrustworthy and ambitious to a fault, but a good warrior in the field, very good. To all outward appearances his son had inherited only the last trait, although it was never safe to take anyone for granted. It was a timely reminder that like did not always breed like. Old Hugh de Mortimer was steadfast and bovine without an original thought in his skull. There was nothing bovine about Warrin, and perhaps nothing steadfast either.

‘Ralf le Chevalier acted the courier for me on several occasions last year,’ Henry said, pinching his upper lip between forefinger and thumb. ‘You had several accidents between the empire and Normandy, didn’t you?’

Adam grimaced and recited, ‘Two attacks by brigands, a sniper on the Rouen road, a fire at a priory where we stayed overnight, and three barrels of pitch that mysteriously exploded on the galley we were to have taken from Barfleur had we not changed our plans at the last moment. The last one was not on Ralf ’s slate, he was already dead by then, but I think you will find that Warrin de Mortimer was in Normandy at the time.’

Henry stared into the distance for a long time. The scribe stifled a yawn behind his hand and unnecessarily trimmed his quill. At length, the King leaned forward in his chair. ‘I understand he’s been paying devoted court to le Chevalier’s widow?’

Adam stared at the cold tiles that were paining his knees, concentrating on a red diamond shape until his eyes blurred. ‘Yes, sire.’

‘On your feet. I cannot read your eyes when all I can see is the top of your head.’

Adam stood up, his expression immobile. Henry regarded him without relaxing the intensity of his stare. ‘Does the widow’s family welcome the match?’ he pursued in a soft voice.

‘Ravenstow’s loyalty is without blemish,’ Adam said quickly, seeing where this was leading and feeling cold.

‘That is not what I asked.’

‘Her family do not object, but neither do I think there would be a protest if the arrangement were broken. Indeed, sire, it is on that very subject that I desire you to grant me a boon.’

Henry raised his brows. ‘Indeed?’

Adam clenched his fists and inhaled deeply. ‘I desire your permission to take Ralf le Chevalier’s widow to wife.’

‘Ah,’ Henry said with satisfaction. ‘Now we come to the meat of the matter.’

Adam swallowed and held on to his composure, continuing doggedly, ‘The formal betrothal between her and de Mortimer still awaits your consent. There is no legal impediment to my request.’