if the exchange he had just witnessed was anything to go by, he had command of his temper. In short, Oliver de Warenne seemed to have all the makings of a knight.
His fingers drummed on the trestle. The lads were ribbing his cousin to test his mettle – as they always did with newcomers. It was an initiation ceremony of sorts, and it was essential if de Warenne was to be accepted at Ingerthorpe. But, hell burn it, the man was of his blood. If anyone was to rib him, it should be Geoffrey – no-one else had the right.
If Oliver did have a flaw it was that he had too much pride, he took himself far too seriously. A man might almost think he thought himself above the sins and failings to which other humans succumbed. Was that his weakness? Perhaps.
Geoffrey scratched his scalp, it appeared that his cousin had forgotten the Fitz Neals were a bastard breed. It was there for all to see in their name. Fitz. That was what it meant. Some forgotten Norman baron called Neal had fathered a whelp out of wedlock, and their line sprang from that illegitimate child. Everyone knew it and no-one taunted him because of it. His family had proved their worth and Geoffrey was proud of his ancestry. It was up to him to remind Oliver of that small but vital point.
Geoffrey’s brows lowered. His cousin needed to be brought down a notch or two. He needed a lesson in humility. In touching on Oliver’s bastardy, Matthew had instinctively found a chink in his cousin’s armour. Oliver was sensitive about his birth. And he thought himself immune to human weakness...
The baron’s musings halted as the stair door grated open. There was a little flurry of activity as a tall, well-built lady of elderly years glided into the hall. She was closely followed by a female attendant so quiet and self-effacing that she might as well have been invisible.
With a gentility that sat oddly on his large, untidy frame, Geoffrey rose and went to kiss the lady’s hand.
‘Good morrow, Mother.’
‘Geoffrey.’ Lady Adeliza smiled, and let him lead her to her place on the high table.
Lady Adeliza never troubled to disguise the affection she had for her surviving son. She had two daughters still living, but her love was all hoarded for her son.
As he sat down again, Geoffrey’s scowl returned. His mother had been sister to de Warenne’s mother – a kinship so close that he could name him cousin. His lady mother had been pleased to ally herself with the Fitz Neal family, despite their descent from an illegitimate line. He would teach his arrogant cousin a lesson, once and for all, and it would also serve as his initiation to the Castle. A jest of some sort...
It would have to be large to serve its purpose. Spectacular. And then, after the game was played out, he would show his cousin he meant to do well by him. Good men were hard to come by.
Chapter Three
‘H urry up with the stew, Rosamund,’ Aeffe said, calling out from the mill doorway where she was combing her yellow hair with her favourite ivory comb. ‘I’m famished!’
From the cookhouse across the yard, Rosamund sent her stepmother a look of exasperation. Twilight was falling and she was being as quick as she could, she hated cooking in the dark. ‘If you stopped preening and came to help, it wouldn’t take so long.’
Aeffe scowled and opened her mouth to reply, but just then Alfwold and Osric appeared and she folded her lips together. Even from across the yard, Rosamund could see Aeffe’s eyes glittering with dislike. She’d have to pay for that unguarded remark, albeit not with Osric and Alfwold watching, Aeffe was too clever for that. She would bide her time and it would be done in such a way that no-one knew what she was about.
‘That smells good,’ Alfwold said. He came to stand on the cookhouse threshold, as oblivious of the undercurrents flowing between the two women, as he was of the fact that he was blocking Rosamund’s light. ‘So good that it distracted me and made me lay
His fingers drummed on the trestle. The lads were ribbing his cousin to test his mettle – as they always did with newcomers. It was an initiation ceremony of sorts, and it was essential if de Warenne was to be accepted at Ingerthorpe. But, hell burn it, the man was of his blood. If anyone was to rib him, it should be Geoffrey – no-one else had the right.
If Oliver did have a flaw it was that he had too much pride, he took himself far too seriously. A man might almost think he thought himself above the sins and failings to which other humans succumbed. Was that his weakness? Perhaps.
Geoffrey scratched his scalp, it appeared that his cousin had forgotten the Fitz Neals were a bastard breed. It was there for all to see in their name. Fitz. That was what it meant. Some forgotten Norman baron called Neal had fathered a whelp out of wedlock, and their line sprang from that illegitimate child. Everyone knew it and no-one taunted him because of it. His family had proved their worth and Geoffrey was proud of his ancestry. It was up to him to remind Oliver of that small but vital point.
Geoffrey’s brows lowered. His cousin needed to be brought down a notch or two. He needed a lesson in humility. In touching on Oliver’s bastardy, Matthew had instinctively found a chink in his cousin’s armour. Oliver was sensitive about his birth. And he thought himself immune to human weakness...
The baron’s musings halted as the stair door grated open. There was a little flurry of activity as a tall, well-built lady of elderly years glided into the hall. She was closely followed by a female attendant so quiet and self-effacing that she might as well have been invisible.
With a gentility that sat oddly on his large, untidy frame, Geoffrey rose and went to kiss the lady’s hand.
‘Good morrow, Mother.’
‘Geoffrey.’ Lady Adeliza smiled, and let him lead her to her place on the high table.
Lady Adeliza never troubled to disguise the affection she had for her surviving son. She had two daughters still living, but her love was all hoarded for her son.
As he sat down again, Geoffrey’s scowl returned. His mother had been sister to de Warenne’s mother – a kinship so close that he could name him cousin. His lady mother had been pleased to ally herself with the Fitz Neal family, despite their descent from an illegitimate line. He would teach his arrogant cousin a lesson, once and for all, and it would also serve as his initiation to the Castle. A jest of some sort...
It would have to be large to serve its purpose. Spectacular. And then, after the game was played out, he would show his cousin he meant to do well by him. Good men were hard to come by.
Chapter Three
‘H urry up with the stew, Rosamund,’ Aeffe said, calling out from the mill doorway where she was combing her yellow hair with her favourite ivory comb. ‘I’m famished!’
From the cookhouse across the yard, Rosamund sent her stepmother a look of exasperation. Twilight was falling and she was being as quick as she could, she hated cooking in the dark. ‘If you stopped preening and came to help, it wouldn’t take so long.’
Aeffe scowled and opened her mouth to reply, but just then Alfwold and Osric appeared and she folded her lips together. Even from across the yard, Rosamund could see Aeffe’s eyes glittering with dislike. She’d have to pay for that unguarded remark, albeit not with Osric and Alfwold watching, Aeffe was too clever for that. She would bide her time and it would be done in such a way that no-one knew what she was about.
‘That smells good,’ Alfwold said. He came to stand on the cookhouse threshold, as oblivious of the undercurrents flowing between the two women, as he was of the fact that he was blocking Rosamund’s light. ‘So good that it distracted me and made me lay
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