‘No, not yet.’ Adam removed his hand from the dead-leaf texture of the old man’s. The aftermath of hard battle was in his bones, making him feel as limp as a rag. ‘But it won’t be long — certainly before your father can get here. You have to accept it; he wants to die. Let him go.’ He took hold of her shoulders, kissed her forehead and became aware again, as she stood resisting in his embrace, of the state he was in. ‘Where have you lodged us for the nonce, Heulwen? I’m reeking in blood, and in no fit state to comfort my wife or let her comfort me.’
Heulwen stood a little back from him, his words dragging her from her grief to the realisation that there were things to be done; that she had a husband who needed her attention and her ministrations.
‘The wall room that was Rhodri’s.’
Adam paused at the door to let the priest enter and spoke to him for a moment before continuing on his way. He stopped again as he caught sight of his squire whispering to one of the maids, his hand in the act of curving around her waist. ‘Austin, go and fetch me parchment, ink and quills, and bring them to the wall chamber!’ he snapped. ‘You girl, about your duties!’
She blushed, and bobbing a curtsy fled, the empty bath pail banging against her skirts. Adam shook his head. ‘That boy!’ he muttered beneath his breath, but with more irritation than anger, and shoved aside the curtain to enter their temporary bedchamber. Another maid finished emptying her pail into the tub and flitted from the room. The steam from the bath was laden with the scent of bay and rosemary.
‘Adam, I had to ransom him, I had no other choice,’ Heulwen said, beginning now to feel nervous as he reached to the buckle of his swordbelt. ‘FitzSimon wanted me to send to you first, but I was too frightened for my grandfather.’ She rubbed her hands together, watching him. ‘I think I wounded FitzSimon’s pride.’
‘You’re good at that,’ he said. ‘You find the sore spots in a man’s soul and prick them sometimes until they run with blood.’ He fetched her a look from under his brows. ‘I know all about your behaviour towards my designated constable. He was waiting in the gatehouse for me to ride in, and as full of righteous indignation as an inflated bladder. I heard him out, and then I deflated him to a manageable size.’ He clinked the swordbelt across the coffer.
Unable to discover from his tone whether he was annoyed at her or at FitzSimon, she said, ‘For my sake?’
His smile was slight and sour. ‘Not entirely. FitzSimon hides his inadequacy in arrogance and the belief that he’s always right. He’s a good soldier when directed, but he doesn’t enjoy surprises such as women who snatch his authority and make ransom deals with Welsh brigands.’
‘Adam, there was no other way. By the time I had sent for you. ’
‘Did I say that I wholeheartedly agreed with him? You might have handled him with more tact, although I doubt that’s in your nature, but in the matter of the commands you gave you were right. My own would have been the same. No harm done, except that Rhodri is loose sooner than I expected, and I still don’t know him well enough to be sure which way he’ll jump next.’ He pulled off the torn surcoat, tossed it to one side, and waited for her to help him remove his hauberk. Half a day since she had aided him to don it. Now the once gleaming links were spotted with mud and splotches of blood where it had soaked through the surcoat. There was also on his left side a line of splayed, warped rivets, showing how close he had come to being riven himself. Heulwen stared at the discarded, ruined surcoat and suddenly her hands were icy, unable to take the hauberk’s weight so that it slithered to the rushes at her feet.
Adam had turned his back on her and was removing his gambeson and shirt. When he turned round and sat down on the bed, she stared at the comet-shaped bruise empurpling his ribs in the precise position of the damage to surcoat and hauberk. The livid mark was concealed from her as he leaned over to unwind his garters, and Heulwen gazed at his bent head, her stomach churning.
At Windsor, the trial by combat had seemed like stiff and gilded play-acting, he and Warrin just characters in some monstrous charade, real, but only half real, and herself another player watching it all through a dark mirror. Over the space of the past two months, the charade had receded as she lived with Adam and had begun to see unknown facets glinting under the surface, with herself reflected in them. Now, staring at the tear in his hauberk and the bruised flesh above the new pink scar of his fight with Warrin, the dark mirror shattered and exposed her to the reality of how much she stood to lose.
Adam glanced up. ‘Have you. ’ The look on her face stopped him. She was so pale that her skin seemed translucent and he thought for a moment she was going to faint. ‘Heulwen?’ He dropped his leg bindings and stood up, but before he could reach her, she had reached him. One arm went hard around his neck and she fastened her mouth on his, not just offering, but wildly demanding. He tasted tear-salt, felt her shudders, and her other hand was stroking him intimately, kindling a blaze. He broke away from the kiss with a gasp like a drowning man and clamped his hand upon her working one, holding her away before his control snapped and he took her to the bed and used her in the way she was demanding.
‘No, Heulwen, not this time,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’ll not deny that I want you, but not like this. If you want to rage against your grandfather’s dying, do it some other way. Go and kick the wall, or slaughter a pig, ride a horse into the ground, but do not bring it into our bed. God knows that’s a haunted enough place as it is.’
Heulwen shook her head, her eyes brimming. ‘You don’t understand, Adam. It’s not my grandfather I fear to lose, it’s—’
There was a discreet cough outside and, hard upon it, Austin came into the chamber, sheets of parchment tucked under his arm, quills and an inkhorn in his hands; behind him walked a maid bearing food and wine.
Adam set Heulwen gently to one side and directed the squire to put down the writing implements and then go. While Austin did his bidding and the maid set down her tray, Adam finished undressing and set about the matter of a perfunctory bath. Heulwen lifted the flagon to pour him a cup of spiced wine, her hand shaking on the handle.
Presently, Adam put down the sponge, set the soap dish out of reach and said with quiet decision, ‘Heulwen, go to my chest and bring me the casket you’ll find at the bottom.’
She handed him the goblet and, giving him a curious look, went to do as he asked. The casket lay beneath his summer cloak and lighter linen tunics — a small, but exquisitely executed box made of cedarwood overlaid with enamelled copperwork depicting the signs of the zodiac — not a masculine possession at all.
‘It belonged to my mother, so I’m told,’ Adam said, watching her from beneath his eyelids. ‘Brought back from the east with a host of tall tales by one of her brothers. I meant to give it to you some time ago, but it slipped my mind until now. The jewels inside are yours. They were my mother’s personal ones, not bound to be passed on with the estate titles.’ He gave a deprecatory shrug. ‘There isn’t much. Apparently her first husband saw no reason to deck a woman in gauds when he could better use the money elsewhere, and my own father — well you know all about my own father.’
Heulwen sat down on the bed and after one glance at Adam, raised the casket lid. A modest collection gleamed at her from the interior. Two intricate necklaces in the Byzantine style, probably gifts from that same brother, a girdle stitched with thread of gold, and a silk purse that matched it. There was an ancient torc bracelet of woven gold, several cloak clasps, some of silver, some of bronze, and some rings, one set with three garnets. She thanked him reservedly, wondering why he had chosen to give these things to her now: a sop to her pride? A comfit to an upset child?
Adam left the tub, dried himself, donned his chemise, then sat down beside her. ‘You haven’t opened the drawer at the bottom,’ he said, nodding to the copperwork panelling the base of the casket. She narrowed her eyes to look closer and saw that what she had thought were decorative knobs were there for a purpose. When she gently pulled them, a drawer slid out. She made a small sound of surprise, and picked up the brooch that lay within.
‘Your grandfather said that I was to give it to you when I deemed the time right,’ he said, studying her pensively.
She stared at the piece. ‘Grandpa gave you this? The wolf brooch?’
‘On that first night we returned from Windsor, together with a warning to beware of futility, which we haven’t heeded very well, have we?’ He gave a self-deprecating shrug.
‘He set great store by this.’ She traced the figure of the wolf with a gentle forefinger.
‘And by you.’ He touched her braid. ‘Are you going to sit in vigil with him tonight?’
‘Yes,’ she said through a tear-constricted throat.
‘Then wear it for him.’ He leaned round to kiss her, but did not linger, and crossed the room to the onerous duty of parchment and quill. She listened to him setting out the materials, heard the wine splash into a cup and the
