sister and that makes up for whatever I missed in my youth.’
Renard snorted.
‘Heulwen learned the herbal arts from your mother – all of them. Why do you think we only have Miles and the twins? And not because we frequently practise continence or Onan’s sin. Mark me, that girl of yours knows all about the application of moss soaked in vinegar and beeswax plugs, else she would have fallen long before now.’
Renard stared at Adam as if he had never seen him before. ‘Dear God,’ he said softly.
‘I agree a little prayer at the same time doesn’t go amiss,’ Adam said drily. ‘What are you going to do?’
Renard scraped his fingers through his hair and sighed. ‘I wish I knew. I could leave her behind, but if I did my conscience would gall me like a hair shirt. Whatever the manner of her scheming, I cannot throw her back on to the street and leave her to face the consequences.’
‘You could buy her off.’
‘She says she wants to see her father’s country, and that once in England she can make a new life.’
‘As an acting mistress or as a brood mare to be pensioned off when she foals? You’ll have too much on your trencher already without a sour serving of domestic war in your own household.
‘I know, I know!’ Renard kicked bad-temperedly at a cracked floor tile. A chip flew off and skittered across the room. ‘How is Elene likely to take to Olwen’s presence?’
Adam rubbed his jaw. ‘I don’t know. She’s a practical lass for all her soft heart. Probably she will accept Olwen and the babe with reasonable grace providing you keep them discreetly out of the way … but I only say probably. She has been trained by your mother, who is a formidable woman.’
Renard laughed humourlessly. ‘I doubt that Elene or my mother will be any match for Olwen. If I was wise, I’d bring her to England, make sure she was safely delivered, and then pay her to keep her distance. The problem is, I don’t know if I’m capable of keeping mine.’
The Welsh Marches, Autumn 1139
Judith, Lady of Ravenstow, genuflected to the small altar and stood up. Her knees were stiff from kneeling too long, although the discomfort began to ease as she walked slowly to the chapel door. She was fortunate and as yet did not suffer from the severe aches and pains of encroaching years unless the weather was particularly damp, and it had been a dry autumn thus far, praise God.
In the ward some women were dipping rush wands into a vat of warm tallow to make lights for the dark months ahead. Another group from the kitchens was organising to go out berrying on the common grazing. Judith listened to the chatter of the women and wished that she could share their high spirits. Berries were a late harvest gift, excellent preserved or stewed with apples and spices, or served tart with the roasts. They were also a reminder of how swiftly the year was advancing; how fast time was running out.
Two children came skipping across the ward towards her with their nurse puffing in pursuit. Judith regarded her twin seven-year-old granddaughters. Juditta, her namesakeand the older by half an hour, was the taller of the two, with her mother’s red-gold hair and her father’s tawny eyes. Rhosyn was more daintily made with fine features drawn in shades of olive and brown.
‘May we go berrying with Hilda and the others, Belmere?’ Juditta pleaded breathlessly. ‘We’ll wear our oldest gowns, I promise.’
Judith considered the two upturned smiling faces and then the beet-red countenance of their gasping nurse. ‘Berrying?’ She had to hide her smile. ‘When I see you have been bedevilling poor Adela into a state of collapse?’
Juditta looked at the rumpled, dusty hem of her gown and shuffled her feet.
‘We didn’t mean to, Belmere,’ said Rhosyn, giving her an incorrigible grin.
‘I said that they weren’t to disturb you, madam, that you were at your prayers,’ Adela panted, and pressed her hand to the stitch in her
Renard snorted.
‘Heulwen learned the herbal arts from your mother – all of them. Why do you think we only have Miles and the twins? And not because we frequently practise continence or Onan’s sin. Mark me, that girl of yours knows all about the application of moss soaked in vinegar and beeswax plugs, else she would have fallen long before now.’
Renard stared at Adam as if he had never seen him before. ‘Dear God,’ he said softly.
‘I agree a little prayer at the same time doesn’t go amiss,’ Adam said drily. ‘What are you going to do?’
Renard scraped his fingers through his hair and sighed. ‘I wish I knew. I could leave her behind, but if I did my conscience would gall me like a hair shirt. Whatever the manner of her scheming, I cannot throw her back on to the street and leave her to face the consequences.’
‘You could buy her off.’
‘She says she wants to see her father’s country, and that once in England she can make a new life.’
‘As an acting mistress or as a brood mare to be pensioned off when she foals? You’ll have too much on your trencher already without a sour serving of domestic war in your own household.
‘I know, I know!’ Renard kicked bad-temperedly at a cracked floor tile. A chip flew off and skittered across the room. ‘How is Elene likely to take to Olwen’s presence?’
Adam rubbed his jaw. ‘I don’t know. She’s a practical lass for all her soft heart. Probably she will accept Olwen and the babe with reasonable grace providing you keep them discreetly out of the way … but I only say probably. She has been trained by your mother, who is a formidable woman.’
Renard laughed humourlessly. ‘I doubt that Elene or my mother will be any match for Olwen. If I was wise, I’d bring her to England, make sure she was safely delivered, and then pay her to keep her distance. The problem is, I don’t know if I’m capable of keeping mine.’
The Welsh Marches, Autumn 1139
Judith, Lady of Ravenstow, genuflected to the small altar and stood up. Her knees were stiff from kneeling too long, although the discomfort began to ease as she walked slowly to the chapel door. She was fortunate and as yet did not suffer from the severe aches and pains of encroaching years unless the weather was particularly damp, and it had been a dry autumn thus far, praise God.
In the ward some women were dipping rush wands into a vat of warm tallow to make lights for the dark months ahead. Another group from the kitchens was organising to go out berrying on the common grazing. Judith listened to the chatter of the women and wished that she could share their high spirits. Berries were a late harvest gift, excellent preserved or stewed with apples and spices, or served tart with the roasts. They were also a reminder of how swiftly the year was advancing; how fast time was running out.
Two children came skipping across the ward towards her with their nurse puffing in pursuit. Judith regarded her twin seven-year-old granddaughters. Juditta, her namesakeand the older by half an hour, was the taller of the two, with her mother’s red-gold hair and her father’s tawny eyes. Rhosyn was more daintily made with fine features drawn in shades of olive and brown.
‘May we go berrying with Hilda and the others, Belmere?’ Juditta pleaded breathlessly. ‘We’ll wear our oldest gowns, I promise.’
Judith considered the two upturned smiling faces and then the beet-red countenance of their gasping nurse. ‘Berrying?’ She had to hide her smile. ‘When I see you have been bedevilling poor Adela into a state of collapse?’
Juditta looked at the rumpled, dusty hem of her gown and shuffled her feet.
‘We didn’t mean to, Belmere,’ said Rhosyn, giving her an incorrigible grin.
‘I said that they weren’t to disturb you, madam, that you were at your prayers,’ Adela panted, and pressed her hand to the stitch in her
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