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Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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palms, and heard a faint whistle that would only need an injudicious sprint across the bailey to turn it into a severe wheeze.
‘You made good time,’ Guyon said as they parted. ‘We did not expect to see you for another month at least.’
‘The summons was urgent. I came as fast as I could, and the good weather has been a blessing.’ He turned to face the keep.
‘Yes, it has,’ Guyon said, turning with him.
Judith had not moved with her husband and son but was regarding the young woman who had dismounted unaided from a brown mare and was staring at Renard’s back with an almost hostile expression in her deep blue eyes. Adam had very briefly told her that Renard had a female travelling companion. His expression had said far more than his few words, but now Judith was wondering how to deal with the situation.
Renard’s associations with women before he left for Outremer had been fleetingly casual. The closest he had ever come to forming a permanent bond was with Eloise, the falconer’s daughter who had borne him a little girl. The infant had died of a fever the summer before he left. Since then Eloise had married the farrier’s journeyman and settled well to the yoke. Renard, it seemed, had moved on to more exotic fare, and if he had brought her all the way from Antioch, then it was more than just casual.
‘Renard’s absence has certainly not taught him any manners,’ she said to the girl in a carrying voice. ‘It seems that we must introduce ourselves.’
Renard turned. Both women were watching him expect -antly, and his face grew ruddy beneath his tan. He cleared his throat. ‘Mama, this is Olwen. She has travelled with us from Antioch. Her father was a Ruthin man who took the Cross with Duke Robert and settled there …’
There was a drawn out pause where much went unspoken but a great deal was communicated. Eventually Guyon stepped into the space where courtesy and etiquette were unmapped.
‘Come within and be made welcome,’ he said formally to Olwen, giving her the kiss of peace and flickering a brief, eloquent look at his wife and his son. ‘Time later for all else. Today is a day for celebration.’
7
It was not quite dawn when Judith discovered Renard seated at the huge chopping trestle in the keep kitchens. There was a beaker of milk at his right hand and he was eating a slab of rye bread topped by a thick slice of cold salt beef.
‘I see time has not moderated your appetite,’ she observed as she fetched a cup and sat down beside him. ‘You ought to be as fat as a bacon pig!’
Renard stretched his legs and leaned back, raising his shirt to show her his flat, muscle-banded stomach. He smacked his palm on it. ‘I challenge you to find an ounce of spare flesh!’ he said indignantly. ‘We’ve been on pilgrim rations for four months and travelling so hard that we’ve hardly had time to eat them!’ Lowering the garment, he returned with gusto to demolishing his bread and meat.
Judith poured milk from the pitcher. ‘Your companion weathered the journey well, considering she miscarried your child on the way.’ Her tone was barbed with the dis approval that had been evident ever since the rudimentsof Olwen’s story had been relayed at table the previous evening.
Renard’s mouth was too full to make answering mannerly and it gave him time to raise his defences and prepare to do battle. He had known this was coming since last night, but some things could be said in public and others were best left to the firelit darkness of an early kitchen where the only ears to overhear were English and would not follow the rapid Norman French.
‘Do you love her?’
Renard sighed. ‘I do not know,’ he said when his mouth was empty. ‘It is like being in the heart of a thunderstorm. We strike sparks off each other all the time.’
An aroma of fresh bread filled the kitchen as one of the cook’s apprentices paddled a batch of loaves out of an oven. Over at the stone sink a scullion
‘You made good time,’ Guyon said as they parted. ‘We did not expect to see you for another month at least.’
‘The summons was urgent. I came as fast as I could, and the good weather has been a blessing.’ He turned to face the keep.
‘Yes, it has,’ Guyon said, turning with him.
Judith had not moved with her husband and son but was regarding the young woman who had dismounted unaided from a brown mare and was staring at Renard’s back with an almost hostile expression in her deep blue eyes. Adam had very briefly told her that Renard had a female travelling companion. His expression had said far more than his few words, but now Judith was wondering how to deal with the situation.
Renard’s associations with women before he left for Outremer had been fleetingly casual. The closest he had ever come to forming a permanent bond was with Eloise, the falconer’s daughter who had borne him a little girl. The infant had died of a fever the summer before he left. Since then Eloise had married the farrier’s journeyman and settled well to the yoke. Renard, it seemed, had moved on to more exotic fare, and if he had brought her all the way from Antioch, then it was more than just casual.
‘Renard’s absence has certainly not taught him any manners,’ she said to the girl in a carrying voice. ‘It seems that we must introduce ourselves.’
Renard turned. Both women were watching him expect -antly, and his face grew ruddy beneath his tan. He cleared his throat. ‘Mama, this is Olwen. She has travelled with us from Antioch. Her father was a Ruthin man who took the Cross with Duke Robert and settled there …’
There was a drawn out pause where much went unspoken but a great deal was communicated. Eventually Guyon stepped into the space where courtesy and etiquette were unmapped.
‘Come within and be made welcome,’ he said formally to Olwen, giving her the kiss of peace and flickering a brief, eloquent look at his wife and his son. ‘Time later for all else. Today is a day for celebration.’
7
It was not quite dawn when Judith discovered Renard seated at the huge chopping trestle in the keep kitchens. There was a beaker of milk at his right hand and he was eating a slab of rye bread topped by a thick slice of cold salt beef.
‘I see time has not moderated your appetite,’ she observed as she fetched a cup and sat down beside him. ‘You ought to be as fat as a bacon pig!’
Renard stretched his legs and leaned back, raising his shirt to show her his flat, muscle-banded stomach. He smacked his palm on it. ‘I challenge you to find an ounce of spare flesh!’ he said indignantly. ‘We’ve been on pilgrim rations for four months and travelling so hard that we’ve hardly had time to eat them!’ Lowering the garment, he returned with gusto to demolishing his bread and meat.
Judith poured milk from the pitcher. ‘Your companion weathered the journey well, considering she miscarried your child on the way.’ Her tone was barbed with the dis approval that had been evident ever since the rudimentsof Olwen’s story had been relayed at table the previous evening.
Renard’s mouth was too full to make answering mannerly and it gave him time to raise his defences and prepare to do battle. He had known this was coming since last night, but some things could be said in public and others were best left to the firelit darkness of an early kitchen where the only ears to overhear were English and would not follow the rapid Norman French.
‘Do you love her?’
Renard sighed. ‘I do not know,’ he said when his mouth was empty. ‘It is like being in the heart of a thunderstorm. We strike sparks off each other all the time.’
An aroma of fresh bread filled the kitchen as one of the cook’s apprentices paddled a batch of loaves out of an oven. Over at the stone sink a scullion
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