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.
