Read Online The Running Vixen by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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because I’ve got to be. I’ll let you know what happens and find out who we can depend upon to renege at the first opportunity. I had to get rid of le Chevalier, he was playing both sides of the coin, but I’ve still got some contacts at court.’
The girl’s expert hand wandered lower and le Clito shifted on the settle to accommodate her ministrations.
‘You ought to get married again,’ Warrin advised as he lifted the curtain to leave. ‘No good begetting bastards. Ask your uncle. He’s got twenty-two of them, and not one of them can inherit his crown.’
6
The pied bitch yawned and scratched vigorously at a tender spot behind her ear. Four pups, bright-eyed, fat-bellied and inquisitive, tumbled and played beside her. Sunlight shafted down from an unshuttered window and bathed their fuzzy infant fur. Judith pushed the shears through the crimson wool marked out on her sewing trestle, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips as she concentrated. It was to be a court robe for Renard and there was precious little time left to sew it, for they were well into November now, the slaughter month. The boy kept on growing; his best tunic, stitched only this midsummer, now revealed his wristbones and barely touched his knees, when it had been made to hang below them. Flanders cloth it had been, of an expensive, bright deep blue, lavishly embroidered with scarlet silk thread. It would do for Henry later on, so all was not lost, but the new garment had still to be stitched, and prayers said with the sewing that Renard would not grow again for a while at least.
The curtain clacked on its rings. Heulwen exclaimed as she tripped over a curious pup, then swore as it dug its sharp little milk teeth into the hem of her gown, intent on a growling tug-of-war. With some difficulty, she persuaded it to let go, and toed it gently sideways towards its dozing dam.
‘Have you finished?’ Judith deftly turned a corner. Crunch, crunch went the shears. She looked a brief enquiry across the richly coloured cloth.
‘For the moment.’ Heulwen picked up a small pot of scented goose-grease salve from the coffer, took a dollop and began to work it into her dry, cold-reddened hands. Several pigs had been slaughtered for salting, and the supervising had involved a certain degree of demonstration. Washing excrement from pigs’ intestines, scraping them and then packing them down in dry salt for later use as sausage skins was a form of purgatory, but then so was needlecraft and, on balance, Heulwen thought that she would rather wash sausage skins.
‘I’ve left Mary filling the bladders with lard and Gytha and Edith making a brine solution. I’ll go down and check it in a while, but they’ve done it a hundred times before and should be all right. Thomas is dealing with the hams. We’ll need more salt before Christmas.’
‘I know.’ Judith worked her way to the end and laid down the shears. ‘You can help me pin this now you’re here.’
Heulwen screwed up her face. Judith began to smile. ‘You need the practice,’ she teased gently. ‘Soon you will have a man of your own to sew for again.’
Heulwen felt heat warm her cheeks and brow. She picked up a pincushion. ‘Nothing is settled yet,’ she muttered defensively. ‘I know Papa’s had Warrin’s letter formally asking for me, but the King has yet to approve - and for that matter, so have I. Besides, Warrin’s still in Normandy.’
‘But due home any day now?’ Judith started to pin the cut edges together, working nimbly. Then she paused and looked thoughtfully at her stepdaughter. ‘In some ways the sooner the better for you, I think.’
‘And you too, Mama.’
Judith’s scrutiny sharpened, but she took no offence. Several weeks of each other’s company had begun to rub the amity a little threadbare. Much as Judith was fond of her stepdaughter, she did not possess the calm, maternal patience that would have served in her best interests. Instead she was
The girl’s expert hand wandered lower and le Clito shifted on the settle to accommodate her ministrations.
‘You ought to get married again,’ Warrin advised as he lifted the curtain to leave. ‘No good begetting bastards. Ask your uncle. He’s got twenty-two of them, and not one of them can inherit his crown.’
6
The pied bitch yawned and scratched vigorously at a tender spot behind her ear. Four pups, bright-eyed, fat-bellied and inquisitive, tumbled and played beside her. Sunlight shafted down from an unshuttered window and bathed their fuzzy infant fur. Judith pushed the shears through the crimson wool marked out on her sewing trestle, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips as she concentrated. It was to be a court robe for Renard and there was precious little time left to sew it, for they were well into November now, the slaughter month. The boy kept on growing; his best tunic, stitched only this midsummer, now revealed his wristbones and barely touched his knees, when it had been made to hang below them. Flanders cloth it had been, of an expensive, bright deep blue, lavishly embroidered with scarlet silk thread. It would do for Henry later on, so all was not lost, but the new garment had still to be stitched, and prayers said with the sewing that Renard would not grow again for a while at least.
The curtain clacked on its rings. Heulwen exclaimed as she tripped over a curious pup, then swore as it dug its sharp little milk teeth into the hem of her gown, intent on a growling tug-of-war. With some difficulty, she persuaded it to let go, and toed it gently sideways towards its dozing dam.
‘Have you finished?’ Judith deftly turned a corner. Crunch, crunch went the shears. She looked a brief enquiry across the richly coloured cloth.
‘For the moment.’ Heulwen picked up a small pot of scented goose-grease salve from the coffer, took a dollop and began to work it into her dry, cold-reddened hands. Several pigs had been slaughtered for salting, and the supervising had involved a certain degree of demonstration. Washing excrement from pigs’ intestines, scraping them and then packing them down in dry salt for later use as sausage skins was a form of purgatory, but then so was needlecraft and, on balance, Heulwen thought that she would rather wash sausage skins.
‘I’ve left Mary filling the bladders with lard and Gytha and Edith making a brine solution. I’ll go down and check it in a while, but they’ve done it a hundred times before and should be all right. Thomas is dealing with the hams. We’ll need more salt before Christmas.’
‘I know.’ Judith worked her way to the end and laid down the shears. ‘You can help me pin this now you’re here.’
Heulwen screwed up her face. Judith began to smile. ‘You need the practice,’ she teased gently. ‘Soon you will have a man of your own to sew for again.’
Heulwen felt heat warm her cheeks and brow. She picked up a pincushion. ‘Nothing is settled yet,’ she muttered defensively. ‘I know Papa’s had Warrin’s letter formally asking for me, but the King has yet to approve - and for that matter, so have I. Besides, Warrin’s still in Normandy.’
‘But due home any day now?’ Judith started to pin the cut edges together, working nimbly. Then she paused and looked thoughtfully at her stepdaughter. ‘In some ways the sooner the better for you, I think.’
‘And you too, Mama.’
Judith’s scrutiny sharpened, but she took no offence. Several weeks of each other’s company had begun to rub the amity a little threadbare. Much as Judith was fond of her stepdaughter, she did not possess the calm, maternal patience that would have served in her best interests. Instead she was
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