Her small gesture was defensive. ‘I become bored without a use for my hands, and I enjoy needlecraft.’
Rapidly reassessing his first impression of her, he put the tunic on. The fit was excellent and he saw that the embroidery consisted of tiny sheep and coils of grass and even a shepherd and a dog. ‘You took no small time over this,’ he said softly, a hint of awe in his voice.
‘It is my wedding gift to you.’ She blushed again. ‘I know you must have serviceable tunics aplenty and Outremer silks, but you will need some warm court garments too. Besides, I wanted to see how the cloth would look as a finished garment. There’s another tunic too, but you’re not allowed to see that yet.’
Her expression became enchantingly shy, almost mischiev — ous. She darted him an upward look through her lashes in totally innocent provocation. His breath caught. Before he could rationalise the move, he had slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him, and bent his mouth to hers.
Elene had been kissed by men before — her father, her vassals, Earl Guyon, Renard’s brothers in rumbustious play at the Christmas feast, by Renard himself in a playful mood, but this sensual, deliberate intimacy was different. She had imagined it often enough, but the reality was out of her control and all in Renard’s, the pressure of his lips delightful and frightening.
Sensing her uncertainty, he started to withdraw. Elene did what she had wanted to do earlier and ran her palms up his sleeves, across his shoulders, and laced her fingers in his hair. Their lips remained joined, hers parting as she pressed forward against him and heard the catch in his throat, the change in his breathing. His hands tightened on her waist. The kiss broke on a mutual gasp. Elene shuddered and buried her face in his neck. Renard held her and closed his eyes. The pressure of Elene’s body, the slight movements she was making filled him with raw desire. Putting his hands up, he removed hers from around his neck, and still holding them, took a step back and a deep breath.
Elene went as red as fire and bit her lip in confusion. She had liked the feel of his arms around her and the touch of his lips, but the inevitable power channelling through their bodies had been a shock, the difference between observing a river in full spate and being tossed into it.
Releasing her, he turned away and began to buckle on his belt. ‘It was only meant to be a kiss,’ he said with a wry shrug. ‘But sometimes one thing leads too quickly to another. I’m living on a knife edge just now and what I need to ease the tension is …’
She stared at him with round eyes, half knowing what he meant and half curious.
‘What I need, I can’t have. Hell’s death!’ he growled, thoroughly discomfited. ‘How did we ever get on to this from wool production! I’d better go, the Earl of Leicester will be waiting.’
Biting her lip, she watched him leave. One of the maids giggled behind her hand that it was going to be a fine wedding but nothing compared to the wedding night.
Elene snapped at the girl to hold her tongue and, for something to do, picked up Renard’s discarded clothing to send down to the laundry. His shirt smelt of stale sweat and something far less identifiable and far more un settlingly pleasant. Her body quivered with the memory of that kiss, the feel of his hands on her. Her loins felt heavy and dull with pressure. Hastily she bundled the soiled garments into the arms of a waiting maid and sought a task with less evocative associations.
Robert, Earl of Leicester was thirty-five years old, a handsome man with heavy-lidded grey eyes that missed very little despite their sleepy appearance. Renard greeted him with a smile that did not conceal any of his wariness and sat down on a vacant stool near the brazier.
‘I don’t blame you,’ Leicester said, amiably cynical. ‘If I were you, I’d be looking at me that way too.’
Renard laughed and relaxed. ‘Everyone’s hunting everyone else. You spend so much time looking over your shoulder that finally you disappear up your own backside.’
‘The Earl has invited us to guest with Stephen at the Christmas court,’ Guyon said huskily and cleared his throat. ‘But I think he can appreciate that in the present circumstances it is impossible.’
‘The King was hoping particularly to greet you,’ Leicester said smoothly to Renard. ‘And your new wife. Has she ever been to the Christmas court? It may be her only opportun — ity before she is burdened with little ones.’
Renard gave the Earl a speculative glance. ‘Will Ranulf de Gernons and William de Roumare be there?’
‘Probably, although with them, nothing is ever certain.’
Renard rose from the stool and paced the room. A woman’s distaff lay on top of a pile of prepared wool in a wide willow basket. He thought of Elene and felt a renewed flash of warmth. He swung round. ‘Then I’ll come.’
‘Renard—’ Guyon began, and broke off, coughing. Adam moved from his seat in the candle shadows and quickly poured him some wine.
Renard turned to his father. ‘Sire, if you had been that keen to see Matilda wear a crown you’d have done more by now than just sit on the fence. You were persuaded to swear for her twelve years ago by Robert of Gloucester, but it was always a forced oath.’
‘Matilda has a son,’ Adam pointed out, his voice calm but with an edge to it like the bite of good steel.
‘Who could either save or sink us depending on how he matures, and don’t say he cannot be any worse than what we have because it wouldn’t be true.’
‘I was not going to moot anything of the sort,’ Adam said. ‘I was just going to remind you that the oath was not to Matilda alone, but to the heirs of her body.’
Leicester scowled at Adam. ‘Perhaps you ought to be with the rest of the rebels in Bristol,’ he suggested.
Adam spread his hands. ‘I make no bones as to where my sympathies dwell, but my family’s interests and my lands come first. If Shrewsbury was to be regained by the Empress, it might be a different matter. For the moment, I am content to fence-sit and see what else Miles of Gloucester can accomplish apart from tucking Worcester, Hereford and Winchcomb beneath his belt. He’s quite a thorn in Stephen’s side, isn’t he?’
Leicester glared at Adam, who glared implacably back.
Guyon, struggling for breath tonight, gathered himself to intercept before the atmosphere became too volatile for it to end in anything less than a quarrel, but Renard preempted him.
‘It’s me you want, isn’t it?’ he said to Leicester. ‘I have said I will come to court and bring Elene with me, and as you know I am not constrained by oaths to anyone. For the rest, an agreement to differ might be best. My mother’s very proud of that screen. It’s Lebanese cedarwood you know, straight from the Song of Solomon, and if it gets damaged while you’re each trying to persuade the other, you’ll have a war of an entirely different kind on your hands, one you’d lose.’
Robert of Leicester subsided with a reluctant chuckle and held out a broad, fleshy palm to Adam who sheepishly smiled and took it. Renard exchanged eloquent looks of relief with his father.
‘Don’t make me laugh!’ Guyon wheezed and took a sip of wine. ‘Did you look in on Henry?’
‘He was asleep.’ Renard’s mouth levelled and tightened. ‘I’ll be seeking reparations at court.’
‘You won’t get them,’ said Leicester. ‘Leave well alone. Only an idiot kicks a wasp’s nest when he’s been stung.’
Renard said nothing, but his expression was closed.
‘Did you raid while you were up at Caermoel?’ Adam asked.
‘I thought about it, but there wasn’t enough time. I was too busy at the keep itself to hare about the country with a burning torch in my hand.’ He looked at Leicester, poured himself some wine and made himself busy with it.
‘And you’re not going to talk about what you were doing in front of me?’ said the Earl with a good-natured smile.
‘No.’ Renard did not smile in reply. ‘You saw the bodies on the gibbet as you rode in? Beautiful adornments for a wedding feast. I only wish that Ranulf of Chester was dangling among them.’
That evening, as Ravenstow settled down to sleep, Renard showed his father a parchment upon which were rough sketches of suggested alterations to the castle at Caermoel. ‘Not the keep as such, let that stay,’ Renard said, finger advancing across the sheet, ‘but extend the curtain wall across this part and build towers here and here to guard the approach, and also put some at intervals along the wall. And I have added plans for two more well shafts to be dug in these areas.’
Guyon stared at the plans in amazement. ‘Are these your own ideas?’
