Read Online The Running Vixen by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
Ads: Link
across at his half-sister, eyes dancing. ‘Do you want to send me back down with a message and tell him you’re too busy sewing?’
The thought of what Renard might say spurred Heulwen out of one kind of panic and into another. She put the pins carefully aside, resisting the temptation to stick them in her brother instead of his new tunic. ‘No, Renard, that would be a lie, and anyway, I’d be pleased to see him. One misunderstanding does not make for a lifetime’s enmity.’ She widened her eyes sarcastically. ‘What do you imagine happened in the solar? Or perhaps, knowing your mind, I shouldn’t ask. The pup’s just pissed on you.’
‘What?’ Renard looked, swore, dumped the puppy on the floor, and dragged off his tunic to his mother’s stern reprimand about his language. Heulwen made her escape.
It was stupid to be so afraid, she thought as she twisted her way down the turret stairs and entered the great hall. Stupid to feel so tense and queasy. ‘He is my brother,’ she repeated to herself but to no avail. That part of her past was gone for ever, banished by the sight of a lean-muscled warrior in a bathtub. No, she amended, it was not stupid to fear danger or to panic when forced to greet it face to face.
Adam was in the courtyard talking to Eadric, his furred cloak thrown back from his shoulders, the cold sunlight reflecting off his hauberk and the silver pendants studding his swordbelt. The groom had custody of two fine horses - a bay and a piebald. Vaillantif ’s reins were held by Adam himself, and as he spoke to the servant, he caressed the bright sorrel neck, thick now in its full-grown winter fell.
Heulwen took a deep breath, gathered her courage in both hands, and walked across the ward to greet him.
‘You wanted to see me?’ she said to Adam. ‘Will you come within to the hall?’
He hesitated, then inclined his head. Having given Vaillantif ’s bridle to Eadric, he followed Heulwen back across the ward. A woman accosted her with a question about the pigs that were being dissected. While Adam waited, he stared around. A serjeant was drilling his men. The spear butts scraped on gravel and clacked in forested symmetry as their owners responded to bellowed commands. The woman departed with her instructions. Against the forebuilding entrance, two small boys were playing marbles. One of them raised his head and flashed a brilliant blue-green glance at his sister and the visitor.
‘Why aren’t you at your lessons?’ Heulwen demanded sharply. ‘Where’s Brother Alred?’
‘Gone into the town with Papa.’ William made a face. ‘We’ve to do our lessons this afternoon.’ His gaze lit covetously on Adam’s ornate gilded scabbard and the contrastingly austere sword-hilt protruding from it.
Heulwen said to Adam, ‘William wasn’t here last time you visited.’ She turned to the boy: ‘William, this is Adam de Lacey, my foster brother. I don’t think that you’ll remember him.’
Adam crouched down and picked up one of the round, smooth stones, his expression carefully impassive, aware that she had said ‘foster brother’ deliberately.
‘Can I look at your sword?’ William’s eyes were avid with longing. Belatedly he remembered to add ‘please’.
Adam shot the marble at a larger one near the wall. He heard the crack of stone upon stone and briefly closed his eyes, fists clenched upon his knees. Then he stood up and, smiling down at the boy, drew the weapon from its fleece-lined scabbard.
‘William, you shouldn’t be so . . .’
‘He’s all right.’ Adam’s voice was relaxed, concealing the tension that gripped him. ‘I was the same at his age about your father’s blade - about any blade come to that, because they were real and mine was made of wood, or whalebone.’
William took it reverently. His small fist closed around the leather-bound grip and he held it up to the light so that the iron gleamed bluishly. Inlaid along the blade in latten was the Latin
The thought of what Renard might say spurred Heulwen out of one kind of panic and into another. She put the pins carefully aside, resisting the temptation to stick them in her brother instead of his new tunic. ‘No, Renard, that would be a lie, and anyway, I’d be pleased to see him. One misunderstanding does not make for a lifetime’s enmity.’ She widened her eyes sarcastically. ‘What do you imagine happened in the solar? Or perhaps, knowing your mind, I shouldn’t ask. The pup’s just pissed on you.’
‘What?’ Renard looked, swore, dumped the puppy on the floor, and dragged off his tunic to his mother’s stern reprimand about his language. Heulwen made her escape.
It was stupid to be so afraid, she thought as she twisted her way down the turret stairs and entered the great hall. Stupid to feel so tense and queasy. ‘He is my brother,’ she repeated to herself but to no avail. That part of her past was gone for ever, banished by the sight of a lean-muscled warrior in a bathtub. No, she amended, it was not stupid to fear danger or to panic when forced to greet it face to face.
Adam was in the courtyard talking to Eadric, his furred cloak thrown back from his shoulders, the cold sunlight reflecting off his hauberk and the silver pendants studding his swordbelt. The groom had custody of two fine horses - a bay and a piebald. Vaillantif ’s reins were held by Adam himself, and as he spoke to the servant, he caressed the bright sorrel neck, thick now in its full-grown winter fell.
Heulwen took a deep breath, gathered her courage in both hands, and walked across the ward to greet him.
‘You wanted to see me?’ she said to Adam. ‘Will you come within to the hall?’
He hesitated, then inclined his head. Having given Vaillantif ’s bridle to Eadric, he followed Heulwen back across the ward. A woman accosted her with a question about the pigs that were being dissected. While Adam waited, he stared around. A serjeant was drilling his men. The spear butts scraped on gravel and clacked in forested symmetry as their owners responded to bellowed commands. The woman departed with her instructions. Against the forebuilding entrance, two small boys were playing marbles. One of them raised his head and flashed a brilliant blue-green glance at his sister and the visitor.
‘Why aren’t you at your lessons?’ Heulwen demanded sharply. ‘Where’s Brother Alred?’
‘Gone into the town with Papa.’ William made a face. ‘We’ve to do our lessons this afternoon.’ His gaze lit covetously on Adam’s ornate gilded scabbard and the contrastingly austere sword-hilt protruding from it.
Heulwen said to Adam, ‘William wasn’t here last time you visited.’ She turned to the boy: ‘William, this is Adam de Lacey, my foster brother. I don’t think that you’ll remember him.’
Adam crouched down and picked up one of the round, smooth stones, his expression carefully impassive, aware that she had said ‘foster brother’ deliberately.
‘Can I look at your sword?’ William’s eyes were avid with longing. Belatedly he remembered to add ‘please’.
Adam shot the marble at a larger one near the wall. He heard the crack of stone upon stone and briefly closed his eyes, fists clenched upon his knees. Then he stood up and, smiling down at the boy, drew the weapon from its fleece-lined scabbard.
‘William, you shouldn’t be so . . .’
‘He’s all right.’ Adam’s voice was relaxed, concealing the tension that gripped him. ‘I was the same at his age about your father’s blade - about any blade come to that, because they were real and mine was made of wood, or whalebone.’
William took it reverently. His small fist closed around the leather-bound grip and he held it up to the light so that the iron gleamed bluishly. Inlaid along the blade in latten was the Latin
Similar Books
