Judith firmed her lips. There was no malice in Christen; she meant well enough, but her perception was a trifle clouded. However, she had given Judith pause for thought here. There were lessons to be learned, both from Christen and this Alais de Clare who had been bartered by her husband for the favour of a prince. Subtle persuasion. The use of her body as weapon and defence. It had not occurred to her to think in those terms before and, now that it did, she required leisure to digest the notion. She looked covertly at Christen, some of her irritation waning.

The girl was only just fourteen, but already she had a ready command of the art that Judith was suddenly aware of lacking.

Subtlety. The chestnut eyebrows were plucked, but only to remove the straggling hairs, and the well -defined, strong lines went unaffected. Her hair was plaited in one shining, heavy braid threaded with gold ribbon and her gown was of a flattering holly-green wool, moulded to display her figure to its best advantage and embellished only by a girdle of silk braid. She looked exquisite with very little effort and Judith knew how those blue-green eyes could angle across the hall , hiding a wealth of promise and refusal behind the downswept lashes.

It was not an area Judith had previously dared consider, but perhaps in the light of last night's conversation, she ought to do so. Did she want to attract Guyon's notice in that sense? That was something else to be pondered at leisure rather than panicking in his presence. He was susceptible to the persuasions of the bed. She coloured and, over her shoulder, eyed the object with disfavour, wondering how one acquired such skill s. Through practice, she supposed, and shuddered at the thought, remembering two of the keep dogs copulating in the hall and the bawdy shouts of the men egging them on. She knew all the words for what male and female did together, precious few of them mentioned in the Bible, and was reluctant to join the circus. If only she could see the thing as power, not a humiliating subjugation.

'Perhaps you are right,' Judith conceded, frowning. 'Honesty may be the best policy, but a crust slips down better if it is spread with honey first ... I think I have a great deal to learn.' She put the comb down and stood up. 'For the moment, I've to instruct the cook and see about employing a new seamstress and I need to check the spice cabinet and fabric chests. Master Madoc promised to fulfil any commissions I had for him ...

and then,' she added, drawing a deep breath, 'I will consider the matter of subtlety.'

Christen smiled in return without knowing why and decided in future to keep her mouth firmly closed.

In her own chamber, Alicia shook out the drab-coloured gown she had worn in the first weeks of her widowhood. A linen bag of dried lavender and rose leaves fell from its folds along with severe evidence of moths. She clicked her tongue and tossed the garment on the bed.

'Not taking it, my lady?' enquired Agnes, reaching to inspect the damage.

Alicia shook her head and regarded the half-packed baggage chest. She had gowns enough for her retirement upon her dower manor, indeed too many. Her estates, although prosperous, were a backwater compared to the border violence of her former husband's holdings. At least she could be alone with her unseemly hunger.

'What about this belt, my lady. Shall I put ... ?'

Agnes stopped and bobbed a curtsy.

Alicia turned round and her heart began to drum to a battle beat.

Miles le Gallois studied the travelling chests, open to reveal their neatly packed contents — clothes, cups, vials, combs and embroidery. His eyes ranged over the strewed bed and the bare clothing pole, then returned to Alicia. 'If it is on account of me,' he said, 'there is no need. I am leaving tomorrow.'

Alicia mutely shook her head.

'I need to talk to you alone,' he said and as she answered him with stricken eyes, added, 'you may tie me up if you wish, but I swear on my honour not to harm you.'

Alicia carefully folded the veil she had been holding and, after a hesitation, drew a deep breath and gestured Agnes to leave. The maid's mouth thinned, but she dropped a curtsy and retreated beyond the thick wool en curtain.

Miles sat down on the bed and picked up the veil that Alicia had so painstakingly folded. 'Last time we were alone I acted like a green youth in rut,' he said. 'I have come to apologise if you will accept.'

'There is no need of apology,' she said in a low voice, 'unless it be mine.'

'Alicia, look at me.'

Wearily she raised her lids. Her eyes were the colour of twilight and storms and full of vulnerability.

'Do you think that it has gone unnoticed? For the sake of our children, we must come at least to a truce.'

'Why do you think I am going to my dower lands?' she replied.

'Because you are running away?'

Her mouth twisted. 'Not for the reasons you think.'

Miles unfolded the veil. It was made of fragile gauze, the embroidery edging it skilfully worked in gold thread. 'You will miss her,' he said gently.

'She has her own life to live and will the sooner grow into a woman without me for a leaning post. In time I would become the child. Indeed, it has begun already. She shuts me from her thoughts and she is very strong willed.'

'Not a whit like her father, is she?' he mused.

There was a hesitation that made him look up. Alicia's face had blenched. Then she rallied, smiled and drew a shaky breath. 'I wouldn't say that.' She turned her face into the shadows. 'There are many similarities.'

Something rang false. Memory searched and pieced disjointed fragments. 'Who is he?' Miles asked.

He saw the silent vibration of her shoulders.

'That is my own affair,' she answered in a choked voice.

'And mine too since it will touch the blood of my grandchildren.' He rose and went to her and turned her to face him.

'And if I say a baseborn groom or a passing pedlar?' she challenged.

'If that were true, you'd not have denied me the day of the boar hunt.'

Alicia shook beneath his light touch, knowing what she risked if she told him the truth.

'Does he still live?'

'Yes.'

'Does he know?'

'No,' she said. 'To him it was a night of pleasure, a comfort along the road to be forgotten in the dawn.'

'And to you?' He watched her with checked tension.

She laughed at some private bitterness. 'Expedient. When your cow fails to calf, get a different bull to service her.'

Miles released her and, folding his arms, frowned.

'Not pretty, is it?' she said. 'I cuckolded my husband in his own keep and deceived him with my lover's child. You see too much, my lord, or perhaps I have just grown careless of late.'

'I see too much,' he said, smiling painfully, 'because I want you.'

'You don't know me.'

'Well enough to see too clearly.' He tried to decide from her expression the approach he should take. 'I've known you for a long time, ever since you were Judith's age and defying your father's will . And in the years since then, I've watched you from a distance grow and change.'

'And wanted me?' she challenged.

Miles saw the trap yawning at his feet and skirted it deftly. 'I had Christen,' he said. 'There was no space in me to want another woman. You know that.'

Some of the hostility left her eyes, but she remained strongly cautious.

Miles shrugged. 'It is two years since I lost her. Sometimes it seems as close as yesterday. Sometimes the loneliness rides me so hard I think I will go mad. I have taken women to my bed so that I do not have to sleep alone, but there is no lasting solace in that. What I need is another wife and, if I can get a dispensation, your consent.'

Alicia stared at him, dumbfounded. 'It is impossible!' she said huskily.

'The dispensation or your consent? Rannulf Flambard will perform any miracle for the right amount of gold and I will not take no for an answer from you ... not without excellent reasons.'

Alicia sat down. 'I could give you them,' she said shakily.

Miles persisted. For every protest that she made, he had an answer ready, a reasonable solution. He made a nonsense of her fears ... all but one. She told him the name of Judith's father.

Miles drew breath, held it, stared at her in dawning amazement, and very slowly exhaled.

She saw his mind make that final, vital connection, saw his eyes flicker.

'Yes,' she said harshly. 'He was fourteen years old and I was twenty-eight, and in one night he taught me everything that Maurice did not have the imagination to know.'

'Sweet Christ and his mother,' Miles swore, staring at her while he tried to assimilate what she had just told him.

She watched his face, waiting for the revulsion, but it did not come. It was a blank mask behind which any thought could have lurked. She covered her face and turned away.

After a moment, Miles mustered his wits. She was trembling so hard that he thought her flesh would shiver free of her bones. He laid a firm hand on her shoulder. 'It makes no difference to me,' he said finally. 'It is in the past and, knowing him, even at fourteen he was no innocent to be seduced unless he so wished.'

Alicia swallowed, remembering how it had been. She with a plan half formed, afraid to dare, and he with his mind already made up.

'So you will marry me?'

Alicia removed her hands tentatively from her face and looked at him. 'How can you say it makes no difference? I set out deliberately to cheat my husband. I bedded with a boy whose voice had barely broken, I--'