Shadows and Strongholds (27 page)

'I doubt my grandmother likes anyone,' Brunin replied and swallowed as she stepped closer. He felt the swish of her gown against his thighs; the merest hint of her leg within the fabric and almost immediately he was hard. Locking her arms around his neck she stood on tiptoe and licked his neck like a cat. 'Do you want to kiss me?' she whispered. 'You can if you like.' Closing her eyes, she raised her face.

Brunin knew that this was dangerous—that they were playing with fire—but knowing with the rational part of his mind was one thing, and resisting her allure and the urges of his developing young body another. He brought his hands to her waist, and it was so slender that his fingers almost linked at her spine.

Tentatively he lowered his mouth to hers. Marion's eyes widened and for a moment she froze. Then it was as if a barrier gave way and everything within her opened and melted. Her lips parted beneath his, her body undulated, and she made a soft sound in her throat. Her lips tasted of the sweet wine she had been drinking and they were cushion-soft. Stealthily Brunin took his hand up her side. He could feel the swift rise and fall of her rib cage against his palm, the warmth of her flesh through the thin layers of chemise and gown. He had no great experience with women, but he was not entirely ignorant. A maid at Hereford had been sweet on him and there had been a laundress on the Wallingford campaign who had shown him a trick or two. Only boys, she said, grabbed like unmannerly dogs snatching at a bone. Experienced men understood the pleasure of taking their time.

'Oh,' said Marion. 'Oh.' And her hands tightened against his spine.

The sound of brisk footsteps on the stairs caused them to break apart hastily and face the intrusion with guilty expressions and rapid breathing. It was Hawise and she too was panting—in her case from her swift climb. The look on her face quashed Brunin's lust with more efficiency than a pail of cold water.

Raising her chin, Marion gave Hawise a smug, almost pitying smile. 'Were you looking for us?' She licked her lips.

Hawise's gaze could have made a clean cut through glass. 'Brunin's grandmother was asking for him, and I said I would fetch him,' she replied stiffly. 'And you shouldn't be lingering here anyway'

Marion sighed as if she were dealing with an imbecile. 'Don't look at me like that, we've done nothing wrong.' Lifting her gown above her ankles so that it would not hamper her on the stairs, she squeezed past Hawise and began making her way down, her step as light as a mountain goat's with no sign of an injury. 'Brunin, you had better make haste,' she called back sweetly. 'Your grandmother wants you, and her anger probably matters more than Hawise's.'

'I'm not angry,' Hawise snapped. Turning abruptly she made to follow Marion, but she was not as adept at handling her gown, which, being her best one, had yards of fabric in the skirts. She caught her toe in the hem, tripped and would have fallen head over heels had Brunin not lunged and caught her. He gripped her arm with bruising force and thrust her against the side of the stairway, holding her there with his weight while he regained balance for both of them. Chest heaving, he stared down into her eyes and she blazed up into his. Suddenly he was as hard as a rock again, but this time he had the good sense to draw away.

'Thank you.' Not looking at him, she straightened her gown and rubbed her arm. 'You were kissing her, weren't you?'

'What of it?' he said defensively. 'Everybody kisses at weddings.'

'Yes, but there is already speculation about you and Marion.'

'No… there is jesting.'

And jesting leads to speculation and rumour.' She descended the stairs with him following in silence. At the foot, she swirled to face him. 'Do you truly want her for your wife?' she demanded.

'I never said in the first place that I wanted her to wife,' he said with growing exasperation.

'Then why kiss her?'

'Because it suited the moment,' he snapped. After what happened between you and de Lysle in Shrewsbury, you censure me over a simple kiss?'

She flushed crimson. 'I suppose you are going to belabour me with that mistake at every opportunity?'

'No, but you were being unfair.'

She fumed at him through narrowed lids but after a moment her expression relaxed and she almost smiled. 'Perhaps I was,' she said, 'but I'd hate to see you make as much of a fool of yourself as I did.' Turning from him, she went into the great hall.

Brunin shook his head in bemusement. He felt as if he had been buffeted by several small, violent storms, one after the other… and suspected that there were more to come. Bracing his shoulders, he entered the hall where the roar of wine-fuelled conversation competed with the hefty music of tabor and bagpipe and sought his grandmother.

What Mellette wanted of him was not unconnected with what had just happened and her questions echoed those Hawise had asked. He managed to fend them off in a similar wise, his reticence increasing to match the level of her probing. Yes, Marion was pretty and biddable (when she chose). No, he was not courting her. He had merely been solicitous after he stepped on her foot. No, Lady Sybilla and Lord Joscelin had not hinted at a union.

'She seems to have made a remarkable recovery,' Mellette observed narrowly as Marion skipped past the dais in the midst of the circle of dancers. Her gaze fell on Hawise, who had also joined the dancing. True to form, ruddy tendrils of her hair had escaped her braid and whirled about her as she stepped and turned. 'Girls like that are trouble,' she said, but the direction of her stare made her words decidedly ambiguous.

'My mother wants to know more about the de la Bruere girl,' FitzWarin said to Joscelin. 'She's wondering whether she would make a suitable wife.'

It was the third evening of the wedding celebrations and, having returned from a day's hunting, the men were easing their tired muscles before the hearth in the great hall. The women were above stairs in the domestic quarters, chattering over their needlework, listening to the minstrels and regaling the bride with all manner of well-meaning advice.

'For whom?' Joscelin stretched his legs towards the fire and plucked a burr from his hose.

'She has one of my younger boys in mind.'

Joscelin shrugged. 'Her lands are modest but profitable and she has good blood.'

And the girl herself?'

Joscelin suddenly looked wary. 'You would do better to ask my wife.'

And so I will, but what do you say?'

Joscelin was silent for a while and when he spoke he measured his words. 'Marion will either make a superb consort for one of your boys, or be his ruin, depending on how she develops. She has passed her fourteenth year day and is of an age to be betrothed if you follow the law, but still a child if you are talking in terms of her maturity. And it would depend on Marion herself. As you know, Sybilla wants to involve all the girls in choosing their mates.'

'Dangerous.'

'No more so than not involving them,' Joscelin countered. 'If there is some attraction at the beginning, then it has the potential to grow. If you sow your seeds in the right soil, you will reap a better harvest than planting them where they do not suit. As the sower, you have to observe and be diligent. We thought that Hugh de Plugenet would be ideal for Sibbi. We nurtured, we guided, but we did not force.' He smiled. And of course we had an eye to the lands the Plugenets had set aside for her.'

FitzWarin studied some loose stitching on his boot. 'Then for the nonce that soil is fallow, but holds possibilities,' he said, but more to himself than Joscelin. He rotated the cup in his hand, contemplated it for a moment, then put it down. 'I have been wondering about Brunin's future, though. I know you are fond of the lad, and from what I have seen of his progress, he has come as far from the frightened coney I sent to you for training as a pilgrim going from here to Jerusalem.'

Joscelin's eye corners crinkled. 'I know what you are going to say'

'And I know what you are going to answer… that she is your youngest daughter, that she is not old enough and that when the time comes the choice is hers.'

'If you have developed the ability to read my thoughts, then I need to guard them better,' Joscelin laughed. 'All the words you have put in my mouth are true, and you will not persuade me to exchange them for others.'

'I know that. Nevertheless, I will ask you to consider a match between Hawise and Brunin. Not a moment since you said that you and Sybilla might not force, but you nurture and guide.'

Joscelin looked pensive. Brunin and Hawise were easy together. They treated each other with tolerant, irreverent camaraderie. Even when they quarrelled, which was not often, they were swiftly reconciled. But that was boy and girl, not man and woman. Of late, however, he had sensed a certain tension between them. It might be no more than part of their growing to maturity, but Sybilla had the better instinct on such a matter. Besides, there were other factors involved. Hawise had a half-share in considerable lands. Brunin would rise in status if he married Hawise, but her rank would remain the same. Countering this was the matter of alliance and friendship… and the fact that Brunin's grandmother had royal blood.

'I will think on it,' he replied, 'although that is as much as I can offer for the nonce.'

'Then for the nonce I am content,' FitzWarin said, refilling his cup.

May 1155

Joscelin had spent a day hunting in the woods surrounding Ludlow and was riding home replete with pleasant weariness. It was a long time since he had felt so optimistic. The trees were just opening into full spring leaf, a pale, tender green contrasting with the enamelled blue of the sky—a day to swell the heart and fill it with song. Stephen had died the previous October and Henry had been crowned King at Christmastide. He was two and twenty, had all the vitality of his youth, and, from somewhere, all the wisdom and cunning of a man thirty years his senior—and wisdom and cunning it was to bend the Church and the barons to his will. Making a peace treaty was one matter, ensuring that its tenets were carried out was another. It was early days yet, but Joscelin had pinned his hope to the line of brightness on the horizon and allowed himself to believe that he could grow old in peace.

Joscelin and his company rode down towards the bridge over the river, but before he crossed, Joscelin paused to look across the water at Ludlow. The stone glowed in the sunlight, soft gold, mellowing and changing with the shadows and angles of light. Scaffolding caged the south side where he had begun some improvements. He felt secure enough to do that. Gilbert de Lacy and Hugh of Wigmore had been very quiet of late. Lying low, he suspected, while they waited to see what Henry would do about the various measures of the peace settlement now that he truly was King.

A fish leaped, plundered the haze of mayflies, and splashed back down in a dripping sparkle of scales. Upriver, small boys from the town were throwing stones in the water and wrestling, trying to soak each other. Joscelin smiled at their play and, clicking his tongue to the horse, rode on to the castle.

Once in the bailey, he saw that they had visitors. A groom was leading away a striking pale gold mare, her saddle cloth decorated with a double row of small silver bells. Some of the pleasure departed Joscelin's expression. He wanted to stretch out in his chair and doze in his wife's company, a cup of wine to hand, but he recognised that horse, and knew that such an indulgence would have to be put aside.