see that seducing the Countess's haughtiest maid had been a challenge impossible to resist. Now that the consequences had come home to roost, he did not want to know.
Although Rohese was about as approachable as a stinging nettle, Ethel limped forward, intending to help her up and offer comfort. 'Child, come within before you freeze, she said gently, and extended her hand to the weeping young woman on the ground.
Rohese flung her off and struggled to her feet, her beautiful gown marred by a damp patch of melting, muddy snow. 'Leave me alone, you hag! she sobbed, her face raw with pain. 'Your nostrums don't work! He doesn't love me and I haven't bled! Shoving Ethel out of her way so hard that the elderly midwife staggered, Rohese fled across the snowy bailey towards the gate.
Ethel cried for her to stop but her voice was snatched by
a swirling gust of wind and her chest cramped painfully. Knowing the warning sign too well and unable to pursue, the old lady turned and made her way laboriously towards the hall.
Rohese rounded a corner of the bailey, and the full force of the wintry night slashed through her garments like a knife. Shuddering, the tears icy on her cheeks, she pressed herself against a storeshed wall and hugged her frozen arms.
With a soft jink of chain-mail, a man materialised out of the whirling darkness, a spear in his right hand, a shield on his left arm. A thick cloak blew back from his shoulders, its lining one of glossy squirrel fur.
Rohese was about to scream when she realised that it was one of the guards on his rounds.
'Well, well, said Randal de Mohun softly. 'If I'm not mistaken, it's one of the Countess's maids, and in need of a little warming.
Against banks of mounding white, the river Avon flowed like black glass. The snow struck its polished surface and vanished with neither sound nor trace. It was the same for the body. A single swirl and eddy in the obsidian surface, then nothing to show that it had ever been cast upon the water.
Within an hour, even the footprints had vanished, covered in a powdering of white.
Chapter 13
The hose were woven of the softest red silk with ribbon garters of the same. Catrin gazed at them in pure delight. Fond though she had been of her old pair, these surpassed them a hundred fold.
'Another reason I was delayed. Oliver smiled at her pleasure. 'I had to scour Gloucester for them. Fortunately, I found a hosier who fashions the Empress's undergarments.
Winding her arms around his neck, she kissed him. 'So I'll be wearing hose fit for a queen!
'I hazard they will look better on you than they would on Mathilda.
'Shall I show you?
His eyes lit up and, with a husky laugh, he gestured her to continue.
Catrin was wearing her chemise, ready to start the day. Outside, Saint Stephen's morn was dawning in pallid grey light. The fire had almost died, just the faintest glimmer of red among the ashes, and the room was cold, but she cared little for that just now. Last night had set a gloss on her world that nothing could diminish. Her only guilt was that they had denied Ethel her bed, but Catrin suspected that the old lady would be highly pleased at the turn of events.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she raised her chemise to a tantalising level, took one of the hose and arched her toes into it. Then she drew it slowly up over her calf, watching Oliver all the time. When she reached her knee, she paused. 'How good a lady's maid are you? she enquired, and dangled one of the binding ribbons at him.
'I have small experience, but large ambition and a great willingness to learn, he answered with a grin and, taking the ribbon, accepted her invitation to slide the hose on to her thigh and bind it in place. Of course, as she had known, he could not resist exploring further. His fingertips were delicious, but she yelped at the prickle of his beard stubble.
'By the Virgin, came Ethel's voice from without. 'I thought if I left you two alone last night, I'd at least have my house back by the morning!
Oliver shot backwards and up, colliding with a bunch of drying herbs tied to the rafters. Aromatic scraps of leaf showered down on him. Catrin flailed for a moment like a cast-over crab, righted herself and dragged her undershift down over her knees.
Ethel unhooked the door and stumped into the room. 'God's bones, you've been so busy kindling your own fire, you've let mine go out too! she snorted, and cast her gimlet eye over the couple. There was a gleam in her expression, but Catrin could sense the old woman's irritation.
So too, it seemed, could Oliver. He had already been wearing his shirt and braies. Now he quickly donned his tunic and chausses, and set about rescuing the fire from the brink of extinction. Catrin flashed him a rueful glance and pulled on her dress.
'If you're going to live here, best find a space for a pallet of your own, Ethel muttered, sitting down on her stool and glowering at the embers. 'If, of course, you've thought that far. Her tone was so crotchety that Catrin wondered if she had misread Ethel's earlier attempts at being matchmaker.
'To be honest, neither of us have thought much beyond the moment, Oliver replied mildly enough, but his eyes were wary as he gently piled dry twigs upon the embers.
'Hah, then you should.
'In our own good time, Catrin said with a frown.
Ethel chewed her lips and scowled. 'Time and tide wait for no man — and no woman neither, she retorted ominously.
Oliver blew gently on the fire and soon tiny flames were licking and crackling around the twigs. Leaving it to gain hold, he fetched a folded-up bundle from the corner of the room and presented it to Ethel. 'What's this?
'Your Twelfth-night gift, but I thought you should have it now to sweeten your mood. I'm sorry if we kept you from your bed last night.
She gave him a severe look. 'I'll not be bought, she said, but began unfolding it all the same, waving him aside with a tetchy 'I can manage, as he stooped to help her.
Casting a glance heavenwards, Catrin swung the cauldron over the new fire. Ethel was always grouchy in the mornings but she seemed to be uncommonly so today.
Oliver had bought the old lady a mantle of fine, soft, green wool. It was warmer than a cloak for it was donned over the head, the full drapes of fabric falling to the front and back. Nor did Ethel have to fumble with a cloak pin to secure it.
'You stand need to buy me fripperies like this when your own cloak is nigh on threadbare, Ethel said gruffly, the suspicion of a glitter in her eyes.
'The Countess has promised me a new cloak as my own Twelfth-night gift, Oliver shrugged. 'And for escorting the Empress, I'm to receive an extra day's pay. Don't go looking gift horses in the mouth.
'Aye, then thank you, lad, but I still say you've more money than sense.
'And you have more pride, Oliver retorted, and this time made her sit still while he unpinned her cloak and gently drew the mantle over her head.
Ethel's good hand stroked the soft, green wool. 'Your father would be proud of you, she murmured. 'He always set store by seeing those who depended on him clothed and fed, God rest his soul.
'Amen, Oliver said, thinking that his father's soul would have small rest whilst a Flemish mercenary sat in his hall. Every time the usurpers visited the church, they would trample on his grave.
The water in the cauldron started to steam and Catrin made them all an infusion of elderberry and rosehip, sweetened with honey. Ethel took the first, warming swallow and, closing her eyes, sighed.
'Shall I tell you why I'm being a cantankerous old woman?
'I had scarce noticed any different, Oliver said flippantly, then sobered as her gaze opened on him with a spark of warning. 'I thought it was because of Catrin and me — because we had stolen your bed and become lovers?
