Elizabeth Chadwick - The Running Vixen

A baron crossed the ward to one of the storesheds that had been cleaned out and provided with braziers and mattresses to accommodate the guests who over-spilled the capacity of the main keep. He nodded a curt good-night to Adam and John. Adam stared wide-eyed after Hugh de Mortimer. He had ridden in at the last moment to attend Miles’s funeral, ignoring the surreptitious nudges and speculative stares of his fellow barons and mourners. The atmosphere at first had been strained to say the least, but gradually it had eased. De Mortimer had not once mentioned his son or alluded to the painful events at Windsor, and an attempt by de Gernons to bring them into the conversation had immediately been squelched by Guyon. De Mortimer had pointedly avoided Heulwen and Adam, but had been at pains to extend the olive branch to Guyon and Judith.

‘He’s still after a blood bond with us,’ John said quietly. ‘Hugh wants Renard for his youngest daughter, Elene, and he’s willing to let sleeping scandals and feuds lie in order to get him.’ John grinned at the look on Adam’s face. ‘It’s not as stupid as it seems. Renard’s blood-related to the throne, and every marcher lord with a daughter between the cradle and thirty years old is looking at him with the word “son-in-law” shining in their eyes.’

‘God’s life,’ Adam muttered, shaking his head. ‘How old’s the girl?’

‘Just coming up to six. She’s from his second marriage, obviously.’

‘What does Renard say?’

John chuckled. ‘You know my brother. He just smiles and says that practice makes perfect, and hasn’t he got a lot of time?’

‘And your father?’

‘Keeping his head down. Ren’s right, there is plenty of time yet and at least a dozen interested parties. Papa will let Renard do the initial winnowing and make a decision from there. Mind you,’ he reflected, ‘a match with the de Mortimer girl would heal the rift caused by you and Heulwen, and the dower lands he’s offering would be very useful. The girl herself is a real heart-melter. Mama fell for Elene straight away when she saw her at a wedding last year.’

‘Perhaps because she has no daughter of her own,’ Adam suggested. ‘I know she raised Heulwen, but she was still very young herself then, and Heulwen married at fifteen. It must be lonely for her sometimes, particularly now that William is growing up.’

John looked startled. ‘Mama lonely?’ The thought had never occurred to him, for she always seemed so composed and brisk and capable. ‘I suppose so,’ he said doubtfully, ‘but even if the betrothal does take place, Elene won’t come to Ravenstow until she’s at least ten, and there’ll not be a wedding for another two years if not much longer. Anyway. ’

‘Anyway,’ interrupted Heulwen, ‘Ranulf de Gernons is snoring drunk across his trencher because Mama’s been giving him raw ginevra, and everyone’s going to bed, including me. Adam, are you coming?’

She was wearing a very fetching green silk gown that shimmered like the surface of a lake, and her braids in the firelight were a warm, rich red, where they showed below her veil, catching on the curve of her breasts and reaching to the braid girdle encircling her hips.

‘How could I refuse an offer like that?’ he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing her sidelong against him.

Heulwen elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Your mind is a treadmill,’ she remonstrated, but smiled, knowing that he was teasing her. There was barely any standing space in the small keep, let alone the room for privacy to indulge that kind of need.

‘And who could blame me?’ Adam answered, not in the least set down, and he planted a kiss on her raised eyebrow.

John smiled. ‘Three’s a crowd,’ he said, and bid them good-night.

‘Is de Gernons really asleep in his dinner?’ Adam asked, as arm in arm they went back towards the keep.

‘He was, but Mama got two of the servants to stretch him out on the floor and put a sheepskin over him — and a bowl beside him for when he wakes up.’ Her eyes glinted at the memory and then hardened. ‘If it had been left to me, he’d have spent the night blanketless in the midden.’

‘Now, Heulwen, you can’t do that to the future Earl of Chester,’ he admonished her.

‘Couldn’t I? It is where he belongs, rooting with his trotters. He has the manners of a pig; not only that but he looks like one. If this was Martinmas, I’d be salting him down for the winter by now.’

Adam spluttered. His mood lightened and his head came up. ‘Belike he’d go rancid on you,’ he said.

‘Very likely,’ she agreed, then said, ‘By the by, Earl Robert of Gloucester said that he wanted a word with you, but that it could wait until tomorrow.’

‘What about? Did he say?’

‘No, but from the way he spoke to me it is not something he wants to air in public.’ She slipped him a look along her shoulder, but his face was bland, no expression on it to reveal what he was thinking. ‘Have you any ideas?’

Adam shook his head. ‘Not an inkling, unless it is something to do with Ralf. The King was going to investigate the matter. Perhaps Robert has news.’

Heulwen shivered. ‘I don’t think I want to know.’

Adam squeezed her waist. ‘It might be nothing of that, love. No point in conjuring ghosts out of thin air.’

No,’ she said, and leaned against him.

They went into the keep, where Ranulf de Gernons was snoring stertorously in the straw near the door. Adam was very tempted to tread on him, but discretion won out at the last moment. ‘I wish that I was a dog or a small boy,’ he murmured, as he stepped delicately over de Gernons’s scuffed, ceiling-pointed toes. ‘There’s so much more leeway for lack of manners.’

Heulwen’s upper lip curled with disgust. ‘Why not just be a pig?’ she said.

Rhaeadr Cyfnos cascaded like a white mare’s tail over fern-edged rocks and foamed into a basin a hundred and fifty feet below, where the water became as dark as polished onyx before it trickled like liquid silver over the lip of the basin and into the stream beneath. Adam drew rein at the head of the falls and stared, half hypnotised by the roar of the water and its wild beauty. His skin was damp, his hair and garments cobwebbed by droplets. Vaillantif bent his neck to snatch at the grass, which even this early in the season was a lush green. The bit-chains jinked, while the stallion’s teeth tore rhythmically at the grass. Munching, he raised his head and looked round, ears pricked curiously, nostrils flaring to catch the new scent.

Adam laid one hand on the crupper and turned. Robert of Gloucester, astride his rangy dark bay, was picking his way carefully along the narrow track and then down over the shallow leap of rock to join him. The two knights with him hung back to speak with Austin and Sweyn so that he reached Adam alone. The Earl looked briefly at the tumbling water, then away. He had an aversion to heights: looking over battlements was a necessity to which he had schooled himself, but staring at waterfalls for pleasure was a different matter entirely.

‘Spectacular,’ he said dutifully, and backed his stallion from the spray.

‘There are better ones in Wales,’ Adam said, exhilarated by the wild, foaming power of the water.

Gloucester smiled sourly. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Adam laughed. He nodded at the other destrier. ‘Is the horse all right?’

‘Excellent.’ Gloucester slapped the elegant bay neck. ‘The Empress tried him out while we were at Windsor — he suited her very well. I might make of him a betrothal gift.’

Beyond the damp black tree trunks a watery sun was trying to break through the clouds. Adam squinted up, then looked along the foxfur collar of his cloak to his companion. ‘Is that a means of introducing what you wanted to talk about?’

‘In a way, I suppose.’

Adam laughed. ‘I can just see the Empress astride a destrier, she likes to have firm control of the male. What sort of way, my lord?’

Gloucester tugged gently at a short stalk of straw that had become tangled in his stallion’s mane. ‘The King wants you to take letters of enquiry to the father of the prospective bridegroom.’ The words bore a slightly pompous ring, as though he had been rehearsing them.

Adam watched the pheasant feathers in the Earl’s cap begin to droop in the fine water vapour from the falls. The news was not unexpected, but even so, he felt queasy. ‘What makes you think I am the man to be the King’s herald in this matter?’

‘You know how to keep a close mouth. You’ve done this kind of work before and know its dangers and pitfalls.’

Adam shook his head. ‘I have the Welsh to deal with, my lord, and I am an English baron. I witnessed the King’s oath to us all that he would not seek a foreign husband for his daughter, and Geoffrey of Anjou is not only foreign, he’s Angevin — an enemy.’

Gloucester blinked rapidly. ‘How did you.?’

‘I overheard the King and the Bishop of Salisbury talking about it last autumn.’

‘And you said nothing to anyone?’

‘They were only discussing the possibilities at the time and, as you say, I know how to keep a close mouth.’ He turned his head towards the falls.

‘Geoffrey of Anjou is an excellent choice.’

‘Is he?’ Adam felt the cold beginning to seep beneath his cloak, chilling him. ‘Convince me.’

‘He’s young and strong. ’

‘He is fifteen years old,’ Adam pointed out.

‘With his life before him,’ Robert argued, ‘and likely to be a sight more potent than her last husband who apparently had, er, difficulties.’

‘You surprise me,’ Adam said sarcastically. ‘She would shrivel any snake to the size of a worm with the way she has of looking.’