The Running Vixen

Chapter 25

Ravenstow, Summer 1128

Elene de Mortimer, seven years old, stretched out her hand and considered with pensive pride the enamelled gold betrothal ring shining on her finger. Renard would one day place her proper wedding ring there when she was a woman and old enough to be married to him. As of now they were only betrothed — pledged to each other as in the tales of the romances that her nurse sometimes read to her. He had given her another ring too, to be worn when her hand grew, but too big now. It hung on a silk cord around her neck for today, but her father said that she must put it away in her coffer when they went home.

All the grown-ups were still eating and drinking in the hall and talking about another wedding. Someone called Matilda had got married to someone called Geoffrey, and there seemed to be some kind of disagreement about whether they should have got married at all. Elene had become restless, then bored, and used the need of the privy as her excuse to leave the high dais and climb the stairs to the apartments above. Then, although knowing that she should return the moment she had emptied her bladder, curiosity had overcome caution and she had begun to explore this stout border keep that would one day be her home.

One of the rooms contained a sewing bench and two looms. A dog was asleep in a pool of sunshine near the window, but it raised its head and growled when it sensed her presence. Startled, she hurried out and came to a small wall chamber which she knew was reserved for herself and her nurse tonight. It smelt musty and dried lavender was posied everywhere to combat the odour of the stone.

A short turn up another spiralling set of stairs brought her to the lord’s chamber that one day she would share with Renard, as Lady in her own right.

A small round gazing glass was propped up on a coffer and she stopped short with a small gasp that was half awe, half delight. She had heard of such objects of course, even seen a poor imitation of one at a fairing, but they were rare and vastly expensive. Picking it up and holding it this way and that, she studied the reflection of a child with hip-length, blue-black hair, wavy and strong, a crown of fresh flowers pinned grimly in place and still defying the pins. It showed her wide-set golden-green eyes, a milky skin, a smile made gappy by missing teeth, and a mischievous expression emphasised by a small snub nose. Her father had smiled sadly at her before the ceremony, and said in a voice rough with emotion, ‘Child, you look just like your mother.’

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.

Guyon arched one brow at Adam. ‘I am not an inexperienced hound to run yelping after a false scent. If the truth were known, I’d prefer not to run with either pack. You knew about this marriage, didn’t you?’

Adam breathed out and pushed his hair back from his forehead. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, exasperated with himself. ‘I should have curbed my tongue but Heulwen and I have just had a disagreement, and my temper’s still hot. Yes, I did know, and for the sake of my honour, which God knows is frequently a millstone around my neck, I could not tell you.’

Guyon grimaced. He knew all about King Henry and the knots he tied in men’s honour. ‘And is Geoffrey of Anjou likely to be a millstone too?’

‘He has the ability to control his wife and all of us if given the chance. For good or bad, I don’t know. By God’s will, he’ll breed sons upon Matilda who will be of an age to succeed their grandfather when his time comes.’

‘It has caused much ill-feeling,’ Guyon said. ‘Henry might have solved his problems across the Narrow Sea, particularly now that William le Clito’s done the honourable thing and got himself killed in Flanders, but I’m not so sure about England. Many of us are far too insular for our own good.’ He watched Renard, Henry and a group of laughing young men head towards the tilt yard. Henry’s voice sounded like a creaking gate; it was on the verge of breaking. Suddenly he felt old.

Adam had turned to watch them. Guyon laid one hand on his shoulder. ‘If you have quarrelled with my daughter, I should go and set matters to rights now. If you disappear with my sons you’ll only make it worse for yourself later,’ he said with wry experience.

‘Easier said than done.’

Guyon grinned and pushed him. ‘Go on…’ And then, while Adam still hesitated, reluctant, ‘The babe’s shaping well. He has eyes like Heulwen’s mother, but he looks like you. Wolves breed true, as my wife’s maid was always saying darkly of you when she rocked your cradle.’

Adam gave him a sharp look and then laughed between his teeth. ‘I don’t need force-feeding, but I’m certainly having it rammed down my throat today.’

Guyon gazed at him, puzzled. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ Adam shook his head and, still smiling, took a step towards the women.

De Gernons lost his grip on the black hound’s leash and the mastiff tore from his hands and hurtled across the plesaunce to leap among the women and attack Brith. The two animals rolled together, snarling and snapping. Elene screamed and ran to her father, hiding her face against his tunic. Shouting, William tried to grab Brith’s collar and recoiled with a shriek, a dripping red slash bisecting his knuckles. De Gernons bellows at the mastiff to heel went unheeded.

Heulwen, who had been talking to Judith at one of the trestles, cried out and picking up her skirts started towards her son, who was lying in direct line of the biting, frantic hounds, about to be rolled upon or worse, for de Gernons’s mastiff was in a state of frenzy, black gums bared on a ferocious snaggle of teeth.

The women screamed. Miles wailed. William’s young hound, lighter of build and gentler of nature, was striving to disengage, blood-drenched and yelping. Adam, running, snatched Miles out of harm’s way as the mastiff, victorious but still full of fighting rage, snarled and launched himself at the nearest thing that moved.

Unable to defend himself because he held the baby, Adam went down beneath the massive forepaws. He smelt the dog’s rank breath, saw the white-rimmed eyes and froth-spattered jaws, and tried to roll and avoid the savage array of teeth. Something splashed over him. He tasted wine and realised that someone had emptied a flagon over the dog to try and drive it off him. Heulwen screamed and screamed again. Above him there was a solid, vibrating thud and a dreadful howl suddenly cut off. The dog’s weight slumped on him and then was dragged off. He breathed again, and rolling over, slowly sat up. Miles screeched in his arms, a trifle rumpled and red with indignation, but otherwise unscathed.

To one side the dog lay in a puddle of blood, a jousting lance pinning it to the turf of the plesaunce through its ribs. Heulwen threw down the empty wine pitcher and dropped to her knees beside Adam, sobbing with reaction and relief. Behind her, face bleached, eyes as dark as flint, Renard was facing a sputtering, furious Ranulf de Gernons.

‘You…you have killed my dog!’ he howled with the disbelieving fury of a spoiled child who has had a favourite toy confiscated.

‘Have I?’ Renard said through clenched teeth. ‘What a shame, and before he’d finished performing for us too.’

De Gernons’s jaw worked. ‘Do you know how much he was worth?’

‘Oh yes,’ Renard answered. ‘The length of a jousting lance at least.’ Turning his back on the enraged heir to Chester’s wide domains, he gestured to two gawping, frightened servants. ‘Get rid of this. Throw it on the midden.’

Too breathless to speak, Adam stood up, his tunic splattered with wine and blood and glared at de Gernons in lieu of actions. Guyon stepped quickly between his son and son-by-marriage and the ‘guest’ before a situation too volatile to be contained developed. The laws of hospitality might be inconvenient, but they were also sacred. ‘Only a fool brings a beast like that among company,’ he said, each word soft but distinct with scorn. ‘It is too much to expect your apology, I know, but that you should try to turn the blame around astounds me beyond contempt!’

De Gernons looked around the circle of accusing, hostile eyes, at hands that hovered above dagger grips, leashed by custom but straining to break free. He hawked and spat, and without another word pushed past Guyon, roughly nudging his shoulder, did the same to Renard, and stalked out. They heard him yelling for his horse to be brought.

‘Like dog, like owner,’ Renard muttered.

Guyon grimaced. ‘We have just made a powerful enemy, and one who will harbour a grudge beyond all reason.’

‘Who wants him for a friend?’ Judith said acidly as she bathed the slash on her youngest son’s hand with wine. William tugged away from her, anxious to see to his wounded dog.

‘That depends on how matters develop at court,’ Guyon said bleakly. ‘Adam, are you all right?’

‘Bruised,’ Adam said with a brief nod and watched the servants dragging the mastiff’s body away. ‘Thank Christ it’s nothing more serious. I thought I wasn’t going to reach Miles in time.’ He kissed his son’s cheek and hugged him close for an instant before handing him, fretting, to Heulwen. A mutual look passed over the baby’s head, but for now there was no opportunity to explore it further.

One of the women handed Adam a cup of sweetened wine.

Guyon shook his head. ‘He didn’t find out what he wanted to know.’

‘I think,’ Adam contradicted over the rim of his cup, ‘that he found out more than he bargained for — and so did we.’

The night was as still as a prayer. Heulwen’s gilded shoes whispered softly over the grass of the deserted plesaunce. In the pond a fish plopped ponderously. Moths blundered among the flowers. A bat was outlined briefly against the green-streaked sky. She looked down at her hand linked in Adam’s as they stopped beside the pond. The water near their feet boiled as a frog dived in panic.

Adam pulled her against his side and squeezed her waist, lightly palming the curve of her hip. ‘You were right this afternoon,’ he said, staring out over the dark, glassy water. ‘Sometimes I have found it very difficult indeed.’

‘Adam…’ She half turned, meaning to say that she did not need an explanation, but he took the hand she meant to lay against his mouth and held it prisoner.

‘I suppose I should thank de Gernons,’ he said. ‘Until I thought that hell-hound of his was going to kill Miles, I didn’t realise what he meant to me.’

‘He is yours, Adam.’ She laid her hand on his sleeve. ‘I wasn’t just saying it this afternoon.’

His smile was ghostly, like the last of the light. ‘Well, that’s a welcome blessing along the way, but it won’t alter the depth of my feeling for him — enrich it, perhaps.’ He dipped his head and kissed her. She responded, arms tightly around his neck.

‘Lie with me?’ he said between kisses.

Surprised, she looked up at him. His eyes were as dark as the glitter of the pond beside them. ‘Here? Now?’

He was unpinning her cloak and his and spreading them on the summer-scented grass. ‘Can you think of a better place? The keep’s crowded.’

Her breathing caught. A delightful warmth contracted her loins and she returned to his arms.

The horizon was dark and the moon had risen, a fat white crescent silvering sky and land. Adam stretched lazily, and sitting up, reached for his shirt.

Heulwen sighed and extended a languorous forefinger to run it down the knobbled ridge of his spine, smiling to feel him quiver. ‘I suppose,’ she said regretfully, ‘that Miles will be roaring to be fed, and Elswith will come seeking me before he rouses the whole keep.’

Adam laughed at the thought of the maid’s face should she seek them here and find them like this.

Heulwen sat up beside him, her unbraided hair tumbling down, and pressed her lips to his shoulder. ‘Adam, can we go home tomorrow?’ She helped him tug his shirt down.

‘I don’t see why not.’ He turned his head to kiss her, and continued dressing. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘Not really.’ She began shrugging into her own clothes. ‘I’d like to see our own plesaunce finished before the summer’s end.’ There was a sudden hint of mischievous laughter in her voice.

‘It would be more convenient than visiting Ravenstow every time,’ he agreed.

She nudged him with her foot in retaliation, then sobered. ‘I want to dedicate a chapel too, for my grandfather’s soul…if you are willing?’

Adam stood up and said quietly, ‘How could I not be willing? We owe him more than we can ever repay. Of course you can have a chapel.’

‘Thank you.’ She kissed him warmly.

He donned his cloak and then swung hers around her shoulders. The moonlight caught the wolf brooch into a brilliant, white glitter.

‘No more tail-chasing?’ she said as he fastened it.

‘No more tail-chasing,’ he agreed, and smiling, turned with her towards the keep.