She had never known her mother, her father’s second French wife and much younger than he, for she had died of a miscarriage a year after Elene’s birth. Her father was often sad, more so these days since the news of Warrin’s death.

Elene wrinkled her nose at the mirror. She had never really liked her much older half-brother. He would bring her presents, expect her to enthuse over them, and then ignore her. Her father had ignored her too when Warrin was at home, telling her to go and play or find her nurse.

A sudden sound made her gasp and whirl round guiltily from the mirror, and for the first time she noticed Renard’s older half-sister sitting in a chair nursing a baby.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t eat you,’ said Heulwen with a smile, and lifting the baby from her breast, she covered herself.

Elene tiptoed to the chair. Unable to resist, she put a curious finger on the brown spiky fuzz crowning the baby’s head. ‘What’s his name?’ she asked.

‘Miles, for his great-grandfather.’

‘Oh.’

Heulwen studied the child. She was impishly appealing and bore no resemblance whatsoever to her late brother, lest it be a suggestion of stubbornness about the small, round chin. ‘Do you want to hold him?’

Elene’s whole face lit up. ‘Can I really?’

For answer, Heulwen placed her son in Elene’s arms, showing her how to hold him, not that he needed as much support now. He was able to sit on his own, and turned his head frequently to take note of what went on around him.

‘I’m going to have lots of babies when I’m married to Renard,’ Elene confided seriously. ‘How many teeth has he got?’

‘Two.’ Heulwen put her palm across her mouth to conceal her amusement lest she hurt the child’s feelings.

Elene sighed. ‘I wish I had brothers and sisters. Warrin was lots older than me, and he never wanted to play.’

Heulwen stiffened at the mention of the name. The smile left her expression. ‘Never mind,’ she heard herself sympathising. ‘You have a whole family by betrothal now.

Elene nodded and gave Heulwen a beaming smile, then looked down at Miles who was studying her with round, curious eyes. ‘I like babies. Are you going to have any more soon?’

Heulwen coughed. ‘That lies in God’s hands,’ she said, and sensing a change in the light, looked beyond the absorbed little girl and saw, with a clenching of her stomach, that Elene’s father stood in the doorway.

‘There you are!’ he said harshly to Elene. ‘What do you mean, running away from your own betrothal feast. Do you know how bad-mannered that is?’

Elene caught her lower lip in her teeth. ‘I wasn’t, Papa,’ she said in a small, forlorn voice. ‘I just went to the privy and, and…’

‘…and then came to watch me feed Miles.’ Heulwen rescued her quickly and gave a brief, reassuring smile at Elene. ‘It is my fault for keeping her.’

Sir Hugh grunted and looked from his daughter to the copper-haired woman now lifting the baby back into her own arms. The infant almost dislocated its neck as it swivelled to stare at him.

‘She still should not have run off,’ he said, and then cleared his throat and added with abrupt gruffness, ‘What you did to my son was wrong, but I accept that he too compromised his honour in more ways than one. For the success of this betrothal, I’m prepared to let the past lie. I’ve spoken to your husband already and he says…’

‘…And he says he will do his best,’ Adam said, following de Mortimer into the room. Going to Heulwen, he kissed her cheek. She stood up, Miles struggling in her arms, met Adam’s eloquent look and although she felt cold, managed a half-smile at the older man.

‘The servants are setting out the trestles in the plesaunce for the afternoon. Are you coming down? You can put Miles on a fleece among the women.’

Sir Hugh stared at the two of them together, the swaddled infant held between them. There was a bitter taste at the back of his throat as he thought how, given different circumstances, that baby could have been his own grandson. Elene ran to him, the garland askew on her unruly raven curls. He set his arm around her narrow shoulders, squeezed them hard, and turned to the doorway. On reaching it he paused and looked round. ‘You have a fine son,’ he said heavily. ‘I congratulate you. May he bring you more joy than mine did to me.’

There was a taut silence after he had gone, broken by Miles, who gurgled and held out hopeful arms to Adam. After a hesitation, Adam took him from Heulwen and walked to the window to look down on the somnolent, sun-steeped bailey. Ranulf de Gernons was being dragged across it by a huge black alaunt, choking against its leash. ‘It’s a pity de Gernons had to spoil the gathering, ’ he remarked.

Heulwen murmured something and pretended to tidy away the baby’s things from the bed. Surreptitiously she looked over at the window. Adam was holding Miles gently now in a relaxed pose, and the baby had stilled, eyes agog on the dust motes drifting in a band of sunlight. He leaned out to try and grab them and his hair took on a red-gold tint as it was touched by the sun.

Heulwen swallowed a painful lump in her throat. She was never quite sure how Adam felt about Miles. While carrying him in her womb, she had been afraid of rejecting him, but after the first difficult moments her doubts disintegrated. He was helpless, dependent on her. The feel of him at her breast filled her with love and a pang too powerful to be understood. Adam did not have that closeness of the body to bind him to a child perhaps not of his siring, and it fretted at her for she dared not search beneath Adam’s outwardly calm exterior to see what lay beneath. He had acknowledged Miles as his heir, but sometimes she feared that it was only for her sake, and the child’s; doing what was right rather than what he personally desired.

To distract herself she asked, ‘Has my father said anything to you about the Empress’s marriage?’

Adam turned from the window and came back into the room. ‘No, Guyon’s been avoiding me, biting down on words he’d like to utter but knows he can’t without risk of a rift. I suppose we’ll come to it soon enough — a discussion I mean, not a rift.’ He went towards the door. Heulwen followed him, pausing in front of the mirror to adjust her circlet and veil. Adam stopped beside her. Miles reached out a chubby hand and patted the glass, laughing at himself.

‘He looks like you,’ she said softly. ‘Adam, he’s yours, I know he is.’

For a moment Adam stood silently, watching the baby and the man and the woman; one joyfully innocent, and two balanced on a knife-edge. ‘Do you think it would make any difference, whatever I saw in the mirror?’

Heulwen swallowed. His tone was gentle, but it frightened her. ‘It might,’ she said, her mouth dry, and saw his jaw tighten and his eyes narrow the way she had seen them do on a tilting ground. ‘Adam…’

‘Don’t say anything else,’ he said, still gently, and returning Miles to her arms, walked out.

Heulwen put her head down; eyes stinging, she nuzzled her son’s fuzzy hair. All unwittingly she had just offended Adam’s honour, and she would only dig herself into a deeper pit if she went after him and tried to explain. She knew that look of his by now.

Sniffing, she wiped her eyes on the turned-back hanging sleeve of her gown, balanced Miles on her hip, and went slowly downstairs.


The plesaunce smelt of grass and the spicy, slightly peppery scent of gillyflowers. Bees throbbed among the blossoms. Bream cruised the surface of the stewpond in search of mayflies. The sky was a glorious, soft blue, the sun hot, but tempered by light ripples of breeze.

Adam watched Heulwen join the other women and put Miles down on his tummy upon a thick sheepskin. He was chewing on a ball made of strips of soft coloured leather, and the women were cooing over him and making a fuss. As if drawn by a magnet, Elene left her father’s side to crouch beside him.

Two servants carried some trestles past on which to lay out the food and drink. Adam met Heulwen’s gaze across and between them and turned sharply away. It did not make any difference, or so he had told himself a thousand times over; and a thousand times over the doubt crept in, and she had seen it. He was more angry at himself than her.

Ranulf de Gernons was showing off his dog. Slab-muscled and glossy, it lunged on the leash and snarled at Brith, young William’s own small pet hound.

‘Owning the biggest horse, the biggest dog and the biggest mouth does not necessarily command you the respect for which you had hoped,’ Guyon said wryly from the side of his mouth as he joined Adam beside the rose bushes that climbed the wall.

‘It also makes you the biggest fool if you can’t control any of them,’ Adam qualified. ‘Why’s he here in the first place? Surely you did not invite him by choice?’

Guyon snorted. ‘I didn’t invite him at all. He’s on his way to Chester and sought lodging and hospitality on the way. That it happened to be the eve of Renard’s betrothal was unfortunate.’ He gave Adam a look. ‘The seeking of hospitality is not I think his main motive.’

‘No?’

‘His father wants to know what we are going to do about this illegal marriage between Matilda and Geoffrey of Anjou, and Ranulf’s gone bloodhound for him.’

‘Illegal?’

‘Oh don’t play me for a fool!’ Guyon snapped. ‘You know what I mean. Eighteen months ago at Windsor we were guaranteed a say in the choosing of Matilda’s husband, a say which has been utterly ignored. As usual, Henry has quietly connived behind our backs to get his own way.’

Adam felt his face begin to burn. ‘So what are you going to do? Get it annulled out of pique and start a war? And who will you put in Geoffrey’s place? Ranulf de Gernons, perchance?’ His voice was harsh.