restless and subdued.
Sweyn rubbed one huge, calloused palm over his beard, loudly vibrated his larynx, and spat into the rushes. ‘Watch his footwork,’ he growled. ‘It was always his weakest point. If you can fault him there, then you have a chance. Do not, whatever you do, lock horns with him bull to bull because he will kill you.’
‘I do have eyes in my head!’ Adam snapped. He broke a hunk of bread from the loaf, took a bite, and without tasting it, washed it well down with a gulp of the wine.
‘What about brains?’ Sweyn enquired, unimpressed. ‘If you’re not prepared to listen to some sound advice, then you’re a fool.’
Adam inhaled to retort, saw the fear lurking behind the drawn-down bushy brows and half-lowered lids, and was silenced. ‘I am listening,’ he said instead. ‘I just become edgy before a battle. You should know that by now.’
Sweyn’s expression softened for a moment. ‘Aye well,’ he muttered, ‘that’s as may be, but you’ll need to be on an even keel before you step into that arena.’
‘Have you ever known me not so when it has mattered?’
‘No, but it has never touched you so closely before.’ Sweyn braced his hands upon the board and shoved to his feet. ‘I’ll give you a workout to warm up when you’ve done eating — I’m going for a piss.’
Adam watched him to the door, then lowered his gaze to the bread between his hands. He did not really want it, but knew he had to eat something. It might be unwise to go into a fight with a loaded stomach, but if the ordeal were to last any length of time, then an unsustained sword arm was liable to fail. He forced another piece down, took a gulp of wine, and became aware of the intent scrutiny of his squire.
‘Austin, stop looking at me as though I were already corpsed in my coffin and go and fetch my sword,’ he snapped.
The youth rubbed his wrist across the dark down on his upper lip. ‘They are laying bets in the alehouse down the road that you won’t last more than ten minutes against Warrin de Mortimer,’ he said, his young voice torn between indignation and doubt.
‘Are they?’ Adam arched one eyebrow. ‘Because I am guilty of slander, or because my sword arm’s supposedly weaker than his?’
‘Both, my lord.’
Adam shoved the empty cup aside and swept his hand impatiently across the debris of bread on the trestle. ‘Did you make a wager?’
The squire reddened. ‘Yes, my lord. They all laughed at me, but they were willing to take my coin.’ His eyes brightened with contempt. ‘Their loss. They haven’t seen you fight.’
Adam snorted. ‘God knows what your father will think. He entrusted your training to me, and thus far I’ve set you a fine example, haven’t I? Drink, women and gambling.’
Austin’s blush receded. He gave Adam one of his incorrigible looks. ‘It was Papa who gave me the money for the bet and told me to put some on for him too while I was about it.’
‘That’s very encouraging,’ Adam said with a pained smile, adding, ‘Austin, I don’t want you standing round catching your death of cold while I do battle. God knows, one fatality is enough today. Get my sword, lad, then I want you to go to your father’s house and await my summons.’
Austin’s throat rippled. ‘My lord, I want to be there,’ he said resolutely. ‘It is my place as your squire.’
‘It won’t be pleasant, whatever the outcome,’ Adam warned, watching him with thoughtful eyes, assessing the youth’s degree of control and maturity. ‘If I am killed, I expect all members of my household to behave with dignity. If you think your grief or rage are going to goad you into some act of folly, then I cannot permit you to come.’
‘I promise to uphold your honour, my lord.’ Austin stood straight, tears glittering in his hazel-green eyes. ‘Please do not send me to my father.’
Adam gave him a curt nod. ‘So be it then.’ He left the trestle and went to pick up and buckle on his swordbelt, giving the youth time to compose himself. Austin wiped his face on his cuff, then went to lift the scabbard from its leaning place against the wall. The gilded leather sheath resting across one palm, the pommel across the other, he suddenly stiffened and stared at the woman standing in the doorway.
‘My lady,’ he muttered, his face burning scarlet.
Adam swung round, his own complexion as dusky as his squire’s before it slowly faded to match the hue of his bleached linen shirt. Without taking his eyes from Heulwen, he held out his hand for the sword and dismissed Austin with a brief gesture. The boy hesitated, then bowed, and with obvious reluctance left the room. Heulwen stood aside to let him pass, then closed the door and, putting down the hood of her cloak, advanced towards Adam. He noticed that the ornate brooch no longer adorned her cloak but had been replaced by the simple braided pin she had formerly worn.
‘You should not be here.’ His voice was level, betraying none of the conflicting emotions that the sight of her aroused in him.
‘I couldn’t skulk behind my father’s closed doors when I knew what you had to face today.’
‘It might have been easier for us both.’ He set his hand to the sword grip and gently eased the weapon from its sheath.
‘But not the best or truest path.’ She looked from his face to the gleaming steel and shuddered. ‘Adam, I have to be present at this trial by combat, for Ralf ’s sake. It is my duty as his widow to be there whatever happens.’
‘Heulwen, if I fail, it will go hard with you. You’ll be branded a whore in full public view.’
She shrugged and forced a smile. ‘I still have my father and Judith and family friends between me and such disaster. I am not afraid on my own count.’ And then her smile slipped to reveal the terror and tension beneath it. ‘Adam, in God’s name, put up that sword until you have need to draw it,’ she whispered.’
Carefully he resheathed the weapon and laid it down on the trestle, then crossed the three paces between them. One of her braids slipped and swung forward to brush against his hand. He touched it, using it as a rope for his fingers to climb until they reached her face. Tenderly he touched the purple and yellow swelling beneath her left eye.
‘Am I then a matter of duty too?’ he challenged softly.
‘Adam, that’s not fair!’
He stroked the other, unmarked side of her face. ‘Am I more to you than a stallion to a mare?’ he persisted.
‘You know you are!’ she said with furious reluctance.
‘Do I?’ Her anger sent a pang through him. He wondered how long it would take to break down the barriers she had built around herself during her marriage to Ralf.
She made an impatient sound, at whom he did not know, and raised her hand to take his away from her face. ‘When I saw you at Ravenstow in the autumn, I wanted you,’ she said, her voice low and intense. ‘Half my mind saw you as the boy I used to know, my foster brother. The other half saw the man you had become, and between the two I did not know which way to turn. I still don’t, and it’s too late for choices now anyway. I’m trapped.’ She turned his hand over so that it lay palm upwards in her own, the skin hard across the fleshy pads beneath each finger from the constant pressure of gripping a sword.
Ralf ’s hands had been fine-boned and swift in motion like the man. Adam’s were those of an artisan — strong and square with spatulate, capable fingers that would have looked utterly ridiculous decorated with rings. A jolt of terror shot through her at the thought of them gripping a sword in the arena. Her breath caught and her grip tightened.
‘I’ve been trapped all my life,’ he said, ‘and it’s not too late. After today, it is only the beginning.’ He turned his hand in hers, linking their fingers, and drew her against him. For an instant she resisted, and then he felt her body flow against his. He bent his mouth to hers, desire beginning to melt reason like a flame burning down the wick of a candle, stripping the wax.
In the doorway, Sweyn loudly cleared his throat. ‘My lord, I’ve fetched the whetstone for your blade and you have yet to warm up for the fight.’ He flicked a granite, impervious look at Heulwen and inclined his shaggy head. Adam sighed and fumbled for his grip on reality. The flame inside him steadied, receding to a glow, but his eyes were intent as they memorised her face upturned to his. And then he took a deep breath, controlling himself, and released her. ‘Pray for me,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘If all goes well, then we’ll rejoice together later. If not,’ he
