learned to survive, to be independent and think for yourself. Now you must learn control; to bite your tongue when it is unwise to speak out. Lady Arlette can teach you a great deal, do not reject her out of hand.'
Julitta nodded sensibly. Her father patted her head affectionately and turned to talk to one of his retainers. A sudden pang of loss swept over her. She desperately wanted her mother, the comfort of her arms, the warmth of her unconditional love. Instead, all she had was the hostile, dutiful care of Arlette de Brize. Her father, for all his kindness and appearance of understanding, was a man and a stranger, self-centred at his very core. He could not even begin to comprehend.
Muttering an excuse about needing to visit the privy, Julitta escaped the hall. Her father's was not the only gaze to follow her hasty exit. Further down the main trestle, Benedict watched her with troubled eyes, and so too did Mauger, a deep frown between his brows.
CHAPTER 43
'She hates me, I know she does!' Julitta mutinously dragged off the wimple that Arlette had said she must wear whenever she ventured out of the private quarters, and tossed it aside.
Benedict paused while saddling up Cylu to admire the glossy tumble of her curls. The July sunshine burnished the strands to a bright garnet red. She was seated on a heap of straw, her legs parted in most unladylike fashion, her modesty preserved by the full folds of her blue riding gown. He knew that, like casting off her wimple, the pose was in deliberate defiance of Arlette. She and Julitta never quarrelled in front of Rolf these days, but it did not mean that the battle between them had ceased.
'She doesn't hate you,' he contradicted. 'You exasperate and baffle her. More than half the trouble that comes your way is your own fault, you know. You should learn to compromise.'
Julitta glowered at him, but Benedict ignored her expression and resumed harnessing the horse. He was learning how to deal with her moods and had discovered that paying her no heed was the swiftest way to bring her out of a sulk. Besides, he was fond of her, and aware that he was the one to whom she turned to air the frustrations and upsets which she kept to herself on the battlefield.
The straw rustled and a moment later Julitta came to the gelding's head, stroking the soft grey muzzle and muscular cheeks. 'She wants to turn me into a copy of Gisele. She wants me to live my life in that room above the hall with nothing in my head but needles and thread and weaving patterns. I feel as if I am in a prison.'
'Gisele has more in her head than just sewing and weaving,' Benedict defended his betrothed. 'Perhaps it is that you do not want to see beyond it.'
Julitta gave him a glittering look, her expression one that he could not define. 'She doesn't like me either,' she said.
'And you don't like her.' Benedict led Cylu out into the fresh early morning. Already saddled in the bailey was Julitta's small chestnut mare. 'Each of you should appreciate the other for her particular skills.'
'Did you never think of becoming a priest?' Julitta snapped waspishly and led her mare to the mounting block.
Benedict laughed. 'What, and become a martyr?'
Side by side they rode out of the yard. Rolf was absent, delivering three young mares to a client in Winchester; Mauger had returned to Normandy; and thus, for three days, Benedict held responsibility for the stud at Ulverton. He was accustomed to such weight, for it had devolved upon his shoulders before – for the first time when he was sixteen. He was a calm, level-headed young man with a maturity far beyond his years -a maturity that occasionally lapsed if not yoked to the plough of serious occupation.
He looked at Julitta's profile, the daintiness of her nose and cheekbones, the sensual cushion of her mouth. He knew well why Gisele did not like her half-sister. It was a matter of jealousy, simple and hot. Gisele's silvery attractiveness became watery and insipid beside Julitta's raw beauty. Men looked at Julitta in a way that they never looked at Gisele, himself included. And God on the Cross, she was not yet fifteen. He tried not to think about that. She turned her gaze to him now, her eyes a dark sea-blue, flecked with green.
'Anyway,' she tossed her head, 'I've found a way of escaping from the hall and still keeping in Lady Arlette's good graces.'
'You have?'
'I'm learning bee-keeping. The hives are out in the meadow and Arlette never visits them. She hates bees even though she values the honey, and besides, all the grass makes her sneeze and her face swells up.'
Benedict compressed his lips, forcing himself not to chuckle at her resourcefulness. 'The bees will suffer if you slack your duties,' he warned.
'Oh, don't be so pompous,' she scoffed. 'I like tending the hives. Did you know it takes three weeks for a bee to grow from a grub to a worker?'
Still suppressing a grin, Benedict shook his head. 'I know nothing about bees except that they make honey and there is no taste like it straight from the comb with new, warm bread. Even the thought makes my mouth water. I remember your mother giving me a piece of honeycomb when we came to stay at Ulverton in the old days.'
'My mother used to like bees too.' Julitta's eyes grew distant. 'She used to tell them everything of importance that ever happened in the hall.'
'What for?'
'So that they would not fly away, of course!' She looked at him as if he were simple-minded. 'If you forget to let them know who has died, or who is to be married, or when a baby has been born, they will swarm.'
Benedict raised a sceptical brow.
'Well that is what the old lore says.' Julitta shook back her hair. 'Of course they swarm when the queen gets old or the hive becomes too crowded, but it's still best to talk to them. Besides, there is no danger that they will carry tales. I can tell them what I think of someone and they won't scold me or lecture me on how I ought to behave.'
'And I suppose they taught you how to sting too,' Benedict said with a wry grin.
Julitta wrinkled her pert nose at him. 'They die if they sting,' she said after a moment. 'The barb lodges in whatever they attack and they cannot free themselves.' A small shiver ran down her spine.
The destrier herd was spread out over the lush midsummer grasslands, mares, foals and yearlings grazing together under the watchful eye of a powerful silver-grey stallion, a son of Sleipnir.
Confidently, Benedict pointed out to Julitta the best horses in the herd, and indicated which yearlings would be kept for breeding and which would be sold and for what purpose. Julitta was an interested listener and an apt pupil with a born eye. She forgot to be prickly and defensive, her natural personality sparkling through.
'When we lived in Southwark, one of our neighbours had a horse that came from Spain. It was a stallion, but apparently it had no seed — no mare it covered had ever quickened. He still kept it though, just to parade on. I have never seen a horse so beautiful, nor so intelligent or good-natured.'
Benedict felt the excitement take and squeeze him as she spoke. 'That is what I want to do with this herd in the future,' he confided with enthusiasm. 'I want to introduce a strong vein of Andaluz blood, put more fire in their hooves. Oh, they're excellent animals now, you'd have to go all the way to Spain to find anything better, but I want the name of Brize-sur-Risle to shine as the best. To do that, we need to buy stock from the infidel lands, but for the moment, that's nought but a dream. It is almost impossible to get the Moors to part with a stallion unless there is some defect – as your neighbour in Southwark discovered. And for now I still have to prove myself to your father.'
Julitta eyed him, her own face flushed. 'But you will go one day?' she said breathlessly. 'When you are able?'
'Yes, I will,' he said with determination. 'Once I have learned all I can from your father, and once I've fulfilled my obligation to Brize by marrying Gisele and begetting an heir to continue the line.'
The animation left Julitta's face. Abruptly she pulled her mare round and dug in her heels.
Benedict was startled at her change of mood, but dismissed it as Julitta just being her mercurial self. He knew that she was changing rapidly from child to woman. In the months since he had found her, her scarcely budded breasts had developed an alluring roundness, and her hips a gentle curve. She had grown too, was going
