‘Does my boldness disturb you?’ She tilted him a half-teasing, half-serious look.

‘Disturb me?’ He considered the thought for a moment, and then grinned. ‘Well yes, it disturbs me a great deal, but in the sort of way I don’t mind. You have my approval to be bold as often as you like!’ His own look was half-teasing, half-serious as he lifted himself off her. Instead of reaching for his clothes, however, he lay down at her side and wound the strand of hair he held around his fingers. The bed was warm from the heat of their bodies and the piled skins and feather mattress made it as soft and comfortable as a glimpse of heaven. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the tick of the charcoal settling in the brazier, and the occasional sputter of the rush dips. Outside the world howled, tearing cold fingers at the shutters, striving to prise apart their encapsulated haven.

Adam turned his back on it to fill his eyes with Heulwen’s tumbled beauty and his hand moved to stroke the swell of her breast. ‘Heulwen, would you marry me if I asked?’ His voice was mild and quiet, designed not to frighten her.

‘I thought that Henry was going to offer you the pick of several wealthy heiresses? Robert of Gloucester told me so this morning.’ Her eyes were clearer now, focusing on him as the pleasure faded to a background sensation.

‘He did, and I refused them. I asked for you instead and he consented.’

‘What do you mean?’ The strand of hair was jerked from his fingers as she raised herself on one elbow to stare at him.

‘What I said. I want you to wife. Listen Heulwen. ’ He reached out to her as she sat up, her eyes furious.

‘Did it not occur to you to ask me first!’ she cried. The rough wool of his crumpled tunic prickled her thighs. She dragged it out from beneath her and pushed it at him.

‘I am asking you now. You cannot deny that you want me as much as I want you.’

‘That was lust, pure and simple,’ she bit out. ‘A mare will stand for any stallion if the time is right.’

Adam flung the tunic back down on the bed and grabbed her by the shoulders. She twisted in his grip. ‘Let me go,’ she spat, ‘or I’ll scream!’

‘Scream, then — have the maids discover us like this. Peal the bells, let all of Windsor know!’ But he released her and, breathing hard, sat back.

‘Adam, I won’t marry you,’ she said on a quieter but still determined note.

‘Why? And do not say it is because I’m your brother. I swallowed that one like a stewpond carp, but I’ve learned since then.’

She hid her face in her hands for a moment, then opened her palms and scooped back her tumbled hair, regarding him squarely. ‘Because,’ she said, ‘I will not be bound by holy vows to that kind of hell ever again.’

‘But you were willing to wed a turd like Warrin de Mortimer,’ he objected. ‘Perhaps I am being stupid, but I fail to see what recommends him above me?’

‘Our arrangement was one of convenience,’ Heulwen said in a shaken voice. ‘You would want more of me than I can give. Yes, my body answers yours, but such a need is fleeting. Ralf taught me that lesson too well for me ever to forget it.’

‘I am not Ralf,’ he said and leaned towards her, ‘and it is far more than a fleeting lust. That, I could have slaked anywhere.’

‘So you say now,’ she retorted bitterly and picked up her shift. ‘But what will you say in ten years’ time?’

‘If the past ten years have not altered my heart, ten years forward will not change it either.’ He touched her shoulder, slid his hand down her arm until he reached her wrist and tugged her gently against him. ‘Heulwen, I love you,’ he whispered against the hammer-beat of the pulse in her throat. ‘Marry me?’

He felt her melt under the gentle persuasion of his fingertips and stretched out his free hand to remove the shift that she held as a barrier between them. ‘Marry me,’ he said again, and sought her mouth with small, nibbling kisses.

Heulwen gasped, torn between the demands of her senses and sense itself. ‘Adam, please I…give me time to. ’

Outside a maid cried a warning, the sound rising to a scream and then cut off short. Heulwen and Adam sprang apart and Adam shot to his feet. Heavy footsteps pounded up the wooden outer stairs, coming at a run, and the door crashed open upon its hinges. Wind-spun snow swirled round the threshold, and over it strode Warrin de Mortimer, his face a blizzard of furious emotions as he surveyed the scene within.

‘You misbegotten, hell-spawned son of a murdering pervert!’ he roared, and reached to his scabbard.

‘Warrin, put up that sword!’ Heulwen cried in alarm. He was blocking the doorway, their only means of escape, and he was a murderer with murder in his eyes. Pale as ice they flickered briefly to Heulwen where she sat, naked and shivering, clothed only in her hair and the shield of her crossed arms. ‘Hold your tongue, whore!’ he spat. ‘Am I supposed to believe that this is one of your foster brother’s “occasional presences” that I must by necessity tolerate?’

Adam had been sidling nearer to the bed. ‘I have the right,’ he said. ‘Heulwen has been vouchsafed to me this afternoon by the King himself.’ He arched a sardonic brow. ‘I am assuming you didn’t know?’

Warrin roared like an enraged bull and sprang. Adam flung himself sideways and the sword slashed across the pillow which Adam had managed to grab to protect himself. As the feathers snowed down, hampering Warrin’s vision, Adam dived across the room and grabbed Guyon’s shield from where it was leaning against the wall. He jammed his left arm into the leather hand-holds and tried to reach the scabbarded sword standing further along the wall.

Warrin got there first, and it was only the speed of Adam’s reflexes that saved him from being hacked open like a pig on a slaughterman’s trestle. A splinter of wood flew up from the surface of the shield and rebounded to stick like a quill in de Mortimer’s cheek. He plucked it loose and dark blood dripped down his face.

‘Do you enjoy murder?’ Adam asked, ducking another swipe of the blade. ‘A surfeit of Welsh hospitality for Ralf, and a sword through the belly for me. My Welsh hostage overheard a certain conversation between you and Davydd ap Tewdr, and was a witness to its result.’

Warrin’s guard dropped for an instant and Adam lunged, buffeting the shield boss at his face, then made a dive for the sword. The night-candle stand crashed over, and Judith’s expensive cedarwood box of tapestry silks tumbled with it. A hinge splayed and snapped, and the bright silks spilled out and were trampled underfoot.

Warrin recovered from his momentary recoil. ‘I’ll have your life for that foul slander!’ he choked, and came on fast as Adam strove to free the blade from the scabbard.

Heulwen darted for the open door and screeched at the full pitch of her lungs for help. In the courtyard, Renard and Henry, just returned from their visit to see the jousting and already alerted by the squawking of the maids that something was seriously wrong, hurtled up the stairs.

‘God in heaven!’ Henry’s eyes were huge with disbelief. From behind his naked half-sister, there came the sound of a muffled crash and a howl of fury.

‘More like hell to pay by the looks of it,’ Renard said. Pausing only to gesture at two gawking serjeants, he pelted up the stairs.

‘Renard, stop them, they’ll kill each other!’ Heulwen screamed at him.

He pushed his cloak at her. ‘Cover yourself,’ he snapped. Thrusting her to one side, he entered his parents’ bedchamber. A hurled goblet crashed against the wall, narrowly missing his head. The air was awhirl with goose feathers, some of which had drifted into the brazier — which was, remarkably, still standing — and the room was filled with the stench of burning. At the far side of the room, as mother-naked as Heulwen, Adam de Lacey was cornered behind a badly scarred shield, and Warrin de Mortimer was swinging murderously at him.

‘In the name of Holy Christ, stop!’ yelled Renard, his voice cracking as it sometimes still did when pressure was put upon it. He was ignored and his jaw, which was very much his royal grandfather’s, tightened. He leaped on to the bed, took three paces ankle-deep in feathers and jumped down between the antagonists, ensuring that he faced de Mortimer rather than presenting him with the target of the space between his shoulder blades.

‘Renard, keep out of this,’ Adam snarled at the youth’s turned back.

‘In my father’s absence I have the authority here,’ Renard answered, his voice once more on the level and controlled. ‘Put up your swords.’

Adam shot a sidelong glance at the two hesitant but brawny serjeants standing to either side of the doorway, Heulwen shivering beside them, her face pinched and blue. He grounded his own swordpoint in the rushes, but kept his fingers wrapped around the hilt, and did not lower the shield.

Warrin bared his teeth at Renard. ‘Don’t get ideas above yourself, whelp! What kind of authority is it that allows your sister to play the heated bitch across the sheets with this forsworn cur!’

Colour slashed across Renard’s cheekbones. ‘Put up your sword,’ he reiterated and nodded to the serjeants, who started forward. ‘I think you should leave.’

De Mortimer stared into Renard’s flint-dark eyes, then beyond them to where Adam stood poised, prepared to defend, or attack. ‘I’ll have a reckoning for this,’ he said thickly as he slotted his blade back into the scabbard, ‘on your body.’

‘My pleasure.’ Adam returned the sneer. ‘And you had better start praying because I can see the flames of hell encircling your feet already.’

There was a tense silence while their eyes met and held, will beating against will. Warrin pointed an index finger at Adam. An ostentatious gold ring trembled on his knuckle. ‘You’re dead,’ he said hoarsely, and turning on his heel, stalked to the door. As he reached Heulwen, he struck her backhanded across the face, knocking her hard into the wall. ‘Whore!’ he repeated, and slammed out into the bitter, snow-pocked wind.