armourer, she was an English widow, dependent on the de Remys' goodwill. It did not matter that they were in her debt, that they tried to treat her as one of their own, Ailith knew that the gulf was too wide to bridge. Since Felice had to spend so much of her time resting, the burden of domestic duty had inevitably fallen upon Ailith's shoulders. Sometimes she was the servant, sometimes the mistress. It was inevitable that whichever role she played, either she or Felice felt resentful. And then, she thought grimly, there was the unspoken battle of wills over Benedict.
Silently Ailith folded a fresh linen square between the baby's legs and rebound him in clean swaddling. Benedict complained loudly at being confined. Giving Felice an I told you so look, Ailith presented her with the wailing infant. In a moment, she was sure that Felice would hand him back, lacking the confidence to cope.
But Benedict, made curious by a different but familiar smell, by the sound of a voice that belonged to the warm womb-darkness before his birth, responded with a smile to his mother's overtures, and then a gurgle.
Ailith felt a stab of vicious jealousy as she watched Felice play gently with Benedict, encouraging him to laugh, talking to him in soft, high-pitched Norman French.
'Isn't he beautiful, Ailith?' Felice's dark eyes were burning with love-light. 'And so good-natured. You are!' she crooned to the baby, making a kissing sound. 'Yes you are! Oh just look at him!'
Ailith could not bear to watch. She wanted to snatch Benedict out of Felice's arms and keep him all to herself. Filled with bitter envy, knowing that it was wrong, she murmured that she had to visit the privy, and fled outside.
Rolf de Brize was tying a chestnut stallion to a bridle ring nailed in the wooden stable wall, and the yard was filling up with an entourage of grooms and retainers. Ailith hesitated. She had left the house to find a breathing space and perhaps to cry; there was that kind of pressure behind her eyes. Instead she encountered the vital red-haired Norman, and space of any kind was denied to her.
He raised his head and saw her standing in the doorway. A look of pleasure brightened his face and he strode up to her. 'Ailith, it is good to see you!' he declared warmly, and before she could move, he had kissed her on both cheeks in greeting.
Her face flaming, Ailith stepped away from him. 'We did not know you were coming to London.'
'I thought I would pay a visit before taking ship; I'm bound for Normandy on the next Rouen trader out of Dowgate.'
'Oh.' Ailith felt a surge of relief followed closely by a sensation that was almost disappointment. She was about to usher him into the house when Felice herself came out to investigate the commotion, Benedict cradled in her arms.
Again Rolf's face lit up and he kissed Felice on both cheeks too. 'You look well,' he said. 'Much better than you did in January.'
'And I am beginning to feel well too,' Felice assured him, a flush to her cheeks and her brown eyes sparkling. 'What do you think of your Godson? Hasn't he grown?' She held out the baby for his inspection.
Ailith watched Rolf take Benedict into the crook of his arm and agree gravely with Felice as to the child's progress. 'One day he will be as handsome as his mother is beautiful,' he charmed, causing Felice to blush harder than ever. 'Aubert's a lucky man. Is he home?'
'Soon,' Felice said, preening at her wimple. 'He's attending to a cargo down at the wharf'
'Good, I need to buy some wine for Ulverton, and I know Aubert will give me the best price.' He returned Benedict to his mother. 'Not that I'll need it until I return from Normandy.'
'Normandy!' Felice had not heard that part of his conversation with Ailith, and looked at him with raised eyebrows. Benedict, tired now, began to cry fretfully.
'Shall I take him?' Ailith held out longing arms.
Felice shook her head. 'No, he's not hungry, you fed him not long since, and his swaddling is clean. I'll sit down and nurse him awhile until he falls asleep. Perhaps you could oversee the meal now that we have guests to provide for?'
Ailith nodded. 'Of course,' she said, her lips tightening. Rolf looked thoughtfully between the two women but made no comment, and when Felice linked her free arm through his to lead him back into the house, he smiled and yielded her his full attention.
The hearth smouldered softly, bathing the woman and baby in a dull red light. Awake, Rolf lay on his pallet and watched Ailith suckle Benedict in the hour when everyone else was sound asleep. Her hair was braided in a loose sheaf and secured by a simple ribbon. She had freed the baby's limbs and a little hand clutched her plait as the infant sucked. Rolf quietly enjoyed the scene. He had never witnessed Ailith off her guard before and the softness in her face as she played with Benedict was a revelation. He had not had much opportunity to speak to her since his arrival. At first she had been busy with the maids preparing food, and when she had sat at table, the conversation had all been in rapid Norman French and she had been unable to follow it and join in — or perhaps she had not wanted to. He had seen a look of strain on her face as the evening wore its way down the candle notches.
There was no strain now. She finished feeding the baby and covered her breasts. Quietly he left his pallet and crouched down at her side before the banked fire. He felt her silent surprise, but she accepted his company.
'How are you faring?' he enquired as she set about changing Benedict's swaddling. Her fair braid swung forward. The movement of her breasts was heavy and fluid within her chemise. After one, rapid glance, he kept his eyes on her face, but she did not look at him, preferring to busy herself with the baby.
'Well enough. I still miss Goldwin and Harold terribly. It is an ache that will never go away.'
'But you are no longer tempted to take a knife to your wrist?' His voice emerged sharper than he had intended.
'I am tempted every day, but I manage to resist,' she answered.
He eyed her thoughtfully. While the child needed her for sustenance, he could see that she was sufficiently fulfilled to think life worth living. But what about the future? He had seen the unspoken tension between her and Felice and how it stemmed from mutual jealousy over Benedict. Sooner, rather than later, he thought, the battle to wean the baby would begin.
Having saved her life in the forge at midwinter, Rolf felt that he had a responsibility for Ailith's welfare, one that he would rather have foregone. In the normal course of his life, he would have tumbled her joyously in the warm stable straw without a second thought and then gone on his light-hearted way. And if she refused him, which occasionally happened, he would have shrugged and found someone else to lighten the heaviness in his groin. Now, burdened, he was at a loss.
'How long will you be gone in Normandy?' She returned Benedict to his cherry wood cradle and set it gently rocking with her toe.
'For the spring and early summer. I have to look over the new foals at Brize and decide what is to be done with the yearlings. I'm going to bring some horses back to England with me as breeding stock for Ulverton. It was the reason the King granted me the lands – to raise warhorses for his stables. I may go to Flanders too. They raise heavier animals there, ideal for blending with my Spanish grey. Breeding the perfect warhorse is not easily done, but I have always relished a challenge, and I suffer from the wanderlust,' he added with a smile.
'Is that what brought you to England? Your wanderlust? The challenge of another man's grass?'
Rolf shrugged uncomfortably beneath her stare, which was almost accusing. 'In part, yes,' he confessed, 'but King William had need of my skills and no-one ever denies his will — not if they want to live.'
'And did you leave a family at home in Normandy when you crossed the narrow sea?'
Rolf sighed down his nose. He had known the question was inevitable, and would have preferred not to answer her. Normandy was Normandy, and England was England. 'I have a wife and child,' he said.
Ailith's expression became closed and wary as he had known it would. 'It must be hard for you, being apart from them for so long,' she murmured.
'Sometimes it is.' He picked up a twig of stray kindling from the floor rushes and peeled at the bark with his fingernail. 'I was married to further the interests of Brize-sur-Risle – for wealth and land and politics. My father was the most astute of men when it came to such dealings. I had no choice. Not that it mattered. Arlette was suitable in every way and there was no-one else.' He poked the twig beneath the smouldering logs in the hearth. 'She is a good wife,' he said, his tone wry. 'Near to being perfect.'
The kindling smoked at the tip and turned black. The bark writhed away from the pith and suddenly bright
