The Running Vixen by Elizabeth Chadwick

They’ve sent him to see me home. Partly it’s to be rid of him for a while, and he needs the responsibility and experience of commanding men. Partly it is because I wasn’t well a few days ago.’
    Adam looked concerned. Miles waved the air in dismissal. ‘It was nothing, my own fault. I exhausted myself trying to keep up with a child of five. They say the old return to their infancy. Well by God, I paid for my foray. Judith and Heulwen had me posseted up in bed for two days and wouldn’t let anyone near me.’ A mischievous spark kindled in his eyes. ‘I told them I’d have more company laid out dead in the chapel, and made myself so difficult a patient that in the end they saw sense and just about pushed me out of the keep!’ He looked over at the horses snuffling around the trough, their shadows mingling in the dust. ‘Heulwen told me why you quarrelled,’ he said quietly.
    Adam tossed his shirt on to the ground and sat down beside it, his back to Miles so that the latter did not see his frown. ‘Did she?’ He twisted his fingers around a clump of grass growing near his feet, uprooting it from the dry soil.
    Adam’s back might be turned, but Miles could see the tension in his neck and shoulders, could feel it in the quality of the atmosphere, and thanked Christ that Renard had gone to investigate the training. He nodded towards the three stallions and said, ‘She sent them by way of an apology. She knows she treated you unfairly.’ The wrinkles deepened around his mouth and eyes. ‘She’s also very stubborn.’
    Adam looked round at Miles. ‘Did she tell you everything?’
    Miles spread his hands. ‘As much as any woman. A carefully adjusted version of the truth, I hazard. She did not explain what the two of you were doing in the solar at midnight in the first place.’
    Adam lowered his gaze to the grass clod dangling between his fingers. ‘We spoke of another matter too, concerning Ralf and what may be an affair of treason. Heulwen was worried, and so was I when she told me - and one thing led to another.’
    ‘Do you want to tell me? About Ralf, I mean?’
    Adam threw away the grass and stood up in one lithe movement that made Miles envious. ‘No.’ He rotated his left arm to ease a muscular ache and eyed the horses. ‘Not yet. Not until I know more.’
    Miles inched far more circumspectly to his own feet, pain knifing through his knees.
    Adam went to the three stallions and began to look them over again with a knowing hand and admiring eye. He stroked Vaillantif ’s muzzle. The stallion butted him and mouthed the bit. He took the bridle and led him towards the training ground, a deep frown knitting his brows. He had his truce. Now all he had to do was find the grace to accept it and forget.
    ‘It’s a great pity,’ Miles added, limping beside him. ‘If only you hadn’t grown up with her, she wouldn’t be thrusting the obstacle of “brother” under your nose, and in my opinion, you’re far more suited to her needs than the strutting cockerel she’s determined to wed.’
    They passed between the shadows cast by the corridor of two storesheds and Adam did not see the quick, calculating glance that Miles shot his way. ‘I am not and have never been a brother to her,’ Adam said curtly. The word sent a shudder through him. ‘But it does not mean your opinion is right - with respect. I am not some willing hound to come at a whistle and be leashed because it suits the need of others.’
    ‘That is not what I meant, and you know it. You are as difficult as my granddaughter.’
    ‘Let it be, sire,’ Adam said stiffly. Gathering the reins, he mounted Vaillantif and trotted him across the training yard to a bundle of lances that were stacked against the far wall.
    The men paused in their sword practice and turned to watch him. Jerold took another swig of wine from the skin and passed it to Renard, who was now stripped to his shirt and in possession of a whalebone sword and a kite