‘Borrowed and improvised from places I saw in Outremer. Sayhun and Kaukab al-Hawa. They’re better than anything we’ve got.’
Judith looked over their shoulders. ‘Expensive?’ she queried.
‘Depends what you set against it,’ Renard shrugged. ‘Not really. I can probably raise a relief from the vassals — with Papa’s permission,’ he added quickly. The physical responsibility for the lands might now lie with him, but the verbal control was still his father’s.
‘I remember when the walls first went up,’ Judith said mistily. ‘It was in the early years of our marriage. You were conceived and born there.’
‘And you don’t want to see it all change?’ He looked round at her.
‘It was a long time ago,’ she said with a briskness that covered emotion. ‘Too long.’
‘The changes are all to the good,’ Guyon said. ‘Providing you can do it without beggaring us.’ He smiled at his wife. ‘I remember those times too!’ His tone was both rueful and poignant. ‘Half a mind to the passion and the other half worrying about what to do if the Welsh made a full-scale assault. It’s too strong for the Welsh now, but Ranulf de Gernons could probably take it if he made a determined effort.’
Renard tapped the parchment. ‘Not when these have been implemented. I’ll engage engineers and stone workers and start the work immediately.’
‘Before you go to court?’
‘As soon as all this nuptial frivolity is over. I’ll leave this with you.’ He headed towards the door of his parents’ bedchamber.
‘Nuptial frivolity?’ Guyon repeated as his son reached the curtain. ‘Renard, go gently with the girl. It might not be to your taste, but do not spoil it for her.’
Renard’s shoulders stiffened and his hands clenched at his sides.
‘It is my prerogative to deal you crusty advice,’ Guyon added with a mixture of humour and warning.
‘And mine to do as I see fit,’ Renard replied, but relaxed his stance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be as meek as a unicorn in a virgin’s lap.’
‘You don’t expect me to believe that!’
Judith fixed him with a gimlet stare. ‘Did you visit Hawkfield on your way home?’
‘No I didn’t.’ He fingered the heavy crimson wool of the curtain. There was hunting on the morrow for fresh meat and he intended returning by way of Olwen, but he was not about to make such an admission to his mother, who would not see his need in the same light as he did. She was still looking at him suspiciously. He could feel her eyes boring into his spine. Without turning round he bid her and his father good-night and quickly made his escape.
‘I knew you would come,’ Olwen said. She stood in the doorway and watched Renard dismount in the gathering dusk. His courser hung its head and rested on one hip. Salty sweat caked its shoulders and flanks and there was a bloody score across its chest where a branch had whipped it during the chase. Renard was in a similar state to his mount, burrs and snags in his cloak and a dried cut on the hand that delivered the reins to a groom.
‘Water him, but not too much, and wipe him down but don’t unsaddle him,’ he instructed the man. ‘I’m not staying long.’
‘How long is not long?’ Olwen asked, leaning against the door jamb and folding her arms.
A bitter autumn wind rustled dead leaves across the courtyard. The coming night smelt cold. The warmth behind Olwen beckoned Renard and the faint, spicy aroma of food he had not tasted since leaving Antioch. A smile twisted his lips. In Outremer he had longed for salt beef and rye bread. Now it was the smell of lamb pilaff that was enticing him. ‘As long as it takes,’ he said, drawing her into his arms.
Her loose hair felt like silk, her mouth was warm and experienced like her body and he could have taken her there and then on the threshold.
‘Not long then,’ she said against his lips, and slipped her hands down his body. ‘My, my, you are eager aren’t you?’ She drew away from him and went into the hall, looking over her shoulder at him in a provocative manner.
Renard scraped his fingers through his hair and wondered why he was not riding homewards with the rest of the hunting party with the kills from an excellent if rough day’s sport. He looked towards the door, half meaning to stride back out and catch up with them. Then he looked at Olwen and knew that the other half was the stronger and the reason he was here in the first place.
They sat down to a shared bowl of lamb pilaff, flat-bread, and the potent, cloudy local cider. She made no more attempts to bait him and her tongue when she answered his questions while they ate was civil, if stilted.
He noticed that the servants trod warily around her and the atmosphere made him uncomfortable, as if a nocked bow was aimed at the space between his shoulder blades. One of the younger girls accidentally splashed cider on to Olwen’s gown and received a stinging slap out of all proportion to the offence.
The girl retreated, trembling. Renard said nothing, just looked at Olwen, and beneath his stare, she coloured and dropped her lids. He found himself thinking that whatever the crime, Elene would never have struck a servant like that. He pushed his bowl away and drained his cup.
‘You haven’t finished your food.
’ ‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ he retorted and stood up.
A frisson of fear tingled down Olwen’s spine. She had thought she would be content with everything she had gained, but instead found herself dissatisfied, wanting more, and her growing frustration was taken out on the servants and on Renard now that he was here. Supposing he did not come again? Supposing he left her here to rot? She had seen it in his eyes. They had so little in common apart from the bed. Gesturing to another maid to remove the remains of the meal she decided that it was time to invoke that common ground before it was too late.
‘Do you not still hunger?’ she asked, eyeing him from between half-closed lids as she slowly unhooked the neck opening of her gown. Her actions were slow and deliber — ate. ‘I thought this was what you came for.’ She tossed her hair, sending a blond ripple down her spine. Turning round, she undulated slowly towards the bedchamber. On the threshold, she turned towards him and parted her lips.
Renard had intended to walk out, but instead, caught like a fish on a hook, he went to Olwen and allowed her to reel him in.
Propping herself up on one elbow, Olwen watched the candlelight play over Renard’s back as he set about finding his clothes. He twitched when she put a languid hand on his skin. She had revelled in the effect she had on him, had enjoyed toying with him until he was on the verge of madness, but tonight, for her, release had been elusive, hovering just out of reach.
‘When will you ride this way again?’ she asked.
Renard moved his shoulders. ‘I don’t know. After the wedding I’ve to return to Caermoel, and from there to the Christmas court.’
Olwen dropped her gaze. ‘Will the Earl of Chester be at court?’ She made her voice neutral, as if she was indulging in conversation for the sake of it while he dressed, but her heart was thumping in great, heavy strokes.
‘All the tenants-in-chief will be there, except the rebels of course. They’ll be in Bristol.’
She rose to her knees, put her arms around his neck and snuggled her cheek against his. ‘Take me with you?’
‘I can’t. It’s official and Elene will be with me to be presented to the King and Queen.’
Olwen pouted. ‘Am I supposed to stay in this poky, back-of-beyond byre for the rest of my life?’ she demanded.
‘You could have remained in Antioch to dance for your living,’ he reminded her as he donned his braies and chausses.
She lowered her arms and rolled over away from him. Tears of frustration and rage prickled behind her lids. ‘At least I would not be dying of boredom!’
He shot her a look full of impatience. ‘This land is yours. Far from being a “poky, back-of-beyond byre”, it’s prosperous and productive, one of the best beholden to Ravenstow, and if you had wit or wisdom about you, you’d nurture it, not mock and sneer. I need not have given you anything at all.’
