The Poisoned Chalice by Bernard Knight Page B

while he slid the bracelet over her white fingers and set it in position on her wrist. Still he held on to her and, indeed, placed his other hand on her forearm, pushing back the floppy sleeve of her kirtle to support her arm just below the elbow, the better to admire the set of the ornament.
    She trembled slightly at his touch, as no man – not even Edgar – had touched any part of her without some other woman being within sight.
    â€˜Perfect! Now that we’ve shortened it a trifle, it sits where it should, yet you can get your hand through without trouble.’
    Christina’s cheeks had coloured and she was glad of the gloom to hide her embarrassment. She was not sure how she felt about Godfrey Fitzosbern – he had a certain reputation among the gossips of the town, but there was no doubt that he was good-looking, even if he was almost old enough to be her father. His own wife, Mabel, was only a few years older than herself, though the whispers said that they disliked each other as much as John de Wolfe and his wife Matilda.
    Christina drew her hand from his, slowly, so as not to give offence. ‘It is very lovely, I like it very much,’ she said softly.
    Fitzosbern leaned forward to pat her cheek. ‘You should thank Alfred and Garth there, as well. Though I made the design, theirs were the hands that fashioned it.’
    Reluctantly, she turned and nodded to the two men, who had been watching her like hawks all the while.
    Alfred touched a finger to his forelock. ‘Always a pleasure to do you a service, mistress,’ he said, in a voice redolent with double-meaning. ‘And I’m sure Garth here feels the same.’
    Fitzosbern, catching their tone, scowled at the men, who hurriedly dropped their eyes to the benches, tapping and buffing at the white metal that was their life. ‘It’s a cold night, mistress. Can I offer you a cup of hot wine before you go?’ He motioned with his head towards the curtained door.
    A flush ran up the girl’s neck again. She was still unused to handling unwelcome invitations from masterful men. ‘Thank you, sir, but I must go now.’
    â€˜Nonsense, Mistress Rifford! The evening is bitter outside, you need something to warm you. I’ll not take no for an answer.’ Fitzosbern came around the table and took her hand again. Almost pulling her, he steered Christina towards the inner doorway.
    â€˜I really should be leaving! I have to meet someone – at the cathedral.’ She used the first location that came into her mind.
    â€˜I’ll wrap this bracelet in a piece of silk and put it in a small casket for you, while you sip some wine. Come through.’ This time, Fitzosbern’s arm slipped around her slim waist as he almost lifted her up the step into the room beyond. As she reluctantly passed through the doorway, she saw the gap-toothed leer of Alfred and the loose-lipped stare of Garth watching every move that their master made, jealous longing stamped on their faces.
    The inner room was another workshop, now in darkness apart from the glow of a damped-down metal furnace. Wooden stairs at the back led up to the silversmith’s living accommodation on the floor above. Reluctantly, but now committed too far to refuse, Christina allowed him to escort her upstairs. Here, a good fire burned in a hearth and more dips and candles gave a mellow light. At a long table, a glass flask of wine sat with some pottery cups. Godfrey released her waist with obvious reluctance and poured two generous measures of wine, then went to the fireplace and brought a kettle that was simmering on the hob. He added some hot water and held out a cup to her, touching his own to hers. ‘Here’s to a happy Yuletide to you, Christina – and may you enjoy your excellent present!’ He gave her a broad wink and held up the bracelet.
    The young woman sipped the wine reluctantly, not wishing to appear ungrateful for his