Elizabeth Chadwick - The Running Vixen

One side of her mouth turned up. ‘Ralf!’ she exhaled mockingly. ‘Jesu God, I’ve been grieving for years, but not for him.’ She glanced at him quickly. ‘I had to have him, Adam, whatever the cost. Do you know what it is to burn? I don’t suppose you do. Well, I burned until everything turned to ashes, and if I have taken it badly, it is because that is all I have left.’ She rubbed her arms within her miniver-lined mantle.

Adam, who knew precisely what it was to burn, could only stare at her, burning still, barred from touching. ‘Heulwen, I. ’

‘No, don’t commiserate.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I don’t think I could bear it, and besides, it doesn’t suit you.’ She laid an impulsive hand on his sleeve. ‘Look Adam, I know it’s late, and I know you came here for solitude, but there is a matter sorely troubling me, and I need to talk to someone.’

He gnawed his lip, desiring to deny her and bolt for the safety of the restless bed from which he had so recently absconded, but he was powerless to refuse the pleading note in her voice He looked down at her hand gripping his. It was slender and long-fingered, the feminine image of her father’s and adorned on the wedding finger by a ring of braided gold.

‘How could I refuse?’ he asked with a grim smile, and wished he knew the answer.

The wine made a musical sound as she poured it into two goblets of trellised glass. The candles were reflected in the bronze flagon, which had a handle shaped like a dragon’s head, the eyes inlaid with garnets and the tongue curling between sharply incised fangs. An embroidery frame stood near the brazier and he went to peruse the boldly worked pattern. It was the hem of a man’s tunic, sewn with couchant leopards in thread of gold on a dark woollen background. Lady Judith’s work, he thought, recognising the style. Heulwen had never owned the patience for more than the most rudimentary needlecraft.

‘It’s a new court robe for my father.’ She handed him the wine. ‘He’ll be needing it, if what I heard is true.’

‘That all the tenants-in-chief are summoned to swear for Matilda, you mean? Yes, it’s true.’

‘Ralf said something about it before he was killed. About Matilda being our future queen.’

Adam swallowed a mouthful of his wine to be polite, and put the cup down. ‘It was fairly obvious once Henry summoned her from Germany.’

Heulwen gave him an appraising look. ‘There was more to it than that. He knew something, and it was setting him on edge. I asked him to tell me, but he laughed and said that it was nothing — patted me on the head like a dog, and rode away to his death.’ She paused as if debating whether to take the final step, then drew a swift breath. ‘When the funeral was being arranged, I had cause to check our strongbox. Ralf always kept the keys himself; he wouldn’t let me near it, so I never knew until he was dead how rich we actually were — too rich for our standing. I know he made a good profit from the horses, but not to the tune of what was in that chest.’

Adam looked at her sharply. ‘You mean it was ill come by? Heulwen, how much?’

‘Two hundred marks.’

Adam whistled. ‘Christ, if I had that much to my name, I’d be a happy man! That’s more than an inheritance relief on some baronies!’

‘A great amount for a “nothing”,’ she said savagely.

Adam’s lips remained pursed. ‘But,’ he mused, ‘was he being paid to keep it a “nothing”, or was he being paid to reveal it in all its glory? Or perhaps both?’

Her voice was alarmed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Ralf travelled far and wide. He was renowned for his skill and valued for it by men of much greater estate than himself. I know for a fact that on more than one occasion he carried messages between Henry and Fulke of Anjou. ’ He paused. Her eyes had gone wide with shock. ‘You didn’t know?’

The wine shook in one hand, while the other was clenched in the folds of her gown. ‘I was ever the last one to know,’ she said bitterly. ‘I suppose it is common knowledge.’

‘Not common knowledge,’ he said gently, ‘except to those of us involved in that kind of game.’

‘Adam?’

He gave her a quick, vinegary smile. ‘It’s a night for surprises, isn’t it?’

‘You are saying that you and Ralf were — are spies for Henry?’

‘I wouldn’t quite say that. We have occasionally carried messages — verbal ones that could not be entrusted to parchment.’ His look became thoughtful. ‘But the payment for such was never a tenth so high.’

‘Then betrayal. ’ she whispered, appalled.

Adam shrugged. ‘I’d certainly say he was dabbling his fingers in a murky broth, but how deep I don’t know.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this?’

‘No, I’ve kept it to myself — half the reason my temper has been so foul. Papa has too much on his trencher already, and it was easier to pretend it didn’t exist.’ She shivered. ‘But it does, and I’m frightened.’

It was the lost, forlorn note in her voice that finally undid him. Until then he had succeeded in maintaining a neutral front, but the sight of her so close to tears, trembling with fear, her spirit subdued, was unbearable and before he could rationalise the move, think better of it and step away, he had put his arm around her and drawn her against him. ‘It’s all right, Heulwen,’ he said with a mingling of tenderness and desire, ‘I won’t let any harm come to you.’

A sob wrenched from her throat, followed by another. She pressed her face into his chest, stifling her grief in the dark wool of his tunic. Adam murmured reassurances and stroked her braid. Her hair smelt faintly of herbs and he was intensely aware of her body pressed to his. He slipped his arm down to her waist. ‘Heulwen. ’ he muttered and lowered his head, seeking sideways, finding and kissing her cheek and temple, and then, as she raised her head in surprise, her mouth. It opened beneath his, pliant and warm, sweet as wine. His hand slipped down over the curve of her buttocks, moulding her closer. For less than the space of a heartbeat her body undulated and yielded to his, and then she jerked like a skittish horse fighting a saddle, tore her mouth from his, and shoved herself violently out of his embrace.

‘Adam no!’ She dragged her sleeve across her mouth. ‘Dear God, no!’

‘Heulwen. ’ He took a step towards her, hand outstretched in entreaty. ‘It’s not. ’

Quivering, she backed away, grabbing her cloak off the stool where she had flung it. ‘I’m not some wide-legged slut to be tumbled at your whim. If you want that sort of pleasure, you know where the guardroom is!’

Adam’s eyes darkened. Torn between fury that she should bring it down to this base level, and shame at his own loss of control, he could only stare at her, bereft of words. Heulwen stared back. The air between them trembled. Then she turned from him and fled.

‘Oh blood of Christ!’ he snarled and plunged after her, but in the darkness he stumbled over someone’s pallet and came down hard among the rushes, the disturbed sleeper cursing him in English. Adam snapped a scalding reply in gutter French, and struggled up again. In the dim light from the banked fire he could see the snoring servants and men-at-arms, the polished brown highlights of the lord’s oak chair set on the dais, a dreaming dog twitching its paws, but no Heulwen.

Adam swore again, this time at his own stupidity, and dug his fingers through his hair. He had meant only to comfort, had not realised until he held her how precarious was the line between the need to comfort and the need itself, and his lack of judgement had just cost him dearly. The memory of her frightened anger filled him with chagrin. What if she loathed him now?

He returned to the solar, found the garnet-eyed flagon and his cup, and set about seeking oblivion in lieu of the sleep that he knew would not come.

Miles, lord of Ashdyke, watched his youngest grandson leap and turn and, with his wooden sword, cut beneath the defences of an imaginary foe. The old man sighed deeply and propped his aching legs on the footstool that Heulwen attentively fetched for him.

‘It’s a long time since I was even half so agile,’ he told her wistfully. ‘He’s faster than a flea.’ In his eyes there was pride, for he recognised much of himself in the slight, elfin boy, or as he remembered himself in the unfettered days of a long-distant childhood.

Heulwen watched her half-brother too, wincing as he clipped the laver and almost sent it crashing over. ‘I suppose you let him wear you out, Grandpa,’ she scolded gently, bringing him a cup of wine.

‘Not in the least.’ Miles grinned. ‘It has been a pleasure to have him with me. He’s deadly with a slingshot. Brought down two big pigeons that had been damaging the seedlings in the garth — and very tasty they were too.’

Heulwen smiled dutifully, the expression not quite reaching her eyes which were full of care. Miles sought her fingers and squeezed them. She looked down at his hand. It was brown and mottled with a twisting blue rootwork of veins, but it was hard and steady and it was her own young unblemished one that trembled. She cast him an anxious look, which he returned with the serenity of long years. ‘We had a visitor while you were away with William.’

Miles slowly nodded and smiled. ‘I know. Young de Lacey. Eadric told me when I arrived. I dare say when I’ve rested these old bones enough to want to sit a saddle again, I’ll ride over to Thornford and welcome him home.’ His gaze was shrewd. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

Heulwen looked down. ‘I’ve quarrelled with Adam,’ she said in a small voice and swallowed, thinking of the incident of two nights since. She had asked him to the solar, forced her dilemma on him, and then, when his sympathy had turned into something far more dangerous, she had reacted like a wild animal striving to break free of a trap. Even worse, she had accused him as though it had all been his fault, when she knew to her shame that it was not. Her own body had quickened readily to desire, and when she had run from him, she had been running from herself. The following day she had pleaded a megrim as an excuse not to come down to the hall, and Adam, without personal invitation, could not go above. He had asked to speak to her and she had sent her maid Elswith to tell him she was unwell. He had taken the hint, gathered his men and ridden out, and the silence left behind weighed heavily on her conscience.