'What am I going to do?' she asked.

Guyon turned, looked her up and down from the bird's nest crown of her head to the scuffed toes of her leather slippers and grinned. 'And yet you can face down Robert de Belleme with never a qualm.' He tilted her chin on his forefinger and kissed her nose before whirling her about to face the stairs down. 'Em's all right, she won't eat you.'

'She might if there's naught else on her trencher,' Judith responded.

'My sister has a heart of gold. She'll fold you to her breast like a waif and stray and I'll be the one to receive the scolding. She still thinks of me as a brat of six filching griddle cakes from the bakehouse door and putting headless mice on her trencher.'

Momentarily diverted, Judith flashed him a glance compounded of horror and amus.e.m.e.nt.

'And things have changed?' she said saucily and ducked adroitly beneath his playful cuff.

'Headless cats now,' he retorted and hugged her.

They had reached the bottom of the stairs. 'I am very fortunate,' Judith said on a sudden, blushing impulse. 'And very grateful. My lord I--'

'Do not set your worth too cheaply,' he said and tugged her braid in an affectionate gesture with which she was now thoroughly familiar.

'Your wife is contrary to my expectations, Guy,'

murmured Emma, reaching a well -tended hand to pick up her cup.

Guyon smiled and stretched out his legs to lounge more comfortably in his chair on the dais.

'What did you expect?' He followed her gaze to the fire and the four girls who crouched there, heads close, intent over a game of knucklebones. Christen possessed her mother's chestnut-red colouring. The two younger girls were plain brown like their absent father. Judith's hair sparkled bronze-blonde like the pelt of a young vixen. Christen said something. Judith capped it wittily and her laughter rang.

Emma sipped her wine. 'Well she's certainly not a Montgomery to look upon. I can see her mother's bones, but where on earth did she get those eyes and that hair?'

'From her grandam perhaps?' Guyon said with a shrug. 'Maurice was only a b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of the house. By all accounts his mother was a Danish widow out of York.'

'Yes, perhaps. I thought she would be slight and dark ... and less of a child. At her age I was extremely conscious of my appearance and how to use it on men to gain my own ends.'

'Oh, Judith has her ways and means,' he said easily. 'And if I ever had a yen for women who primped and preened, I lost it swiftly enough at court. The difference between those harpies and Judith is the difference between dross and pure gold. No insult to yourself intended, Em. You use your talents with subtlety.'

'Thank you,' she retorted archly. 'I'll treasure the compliment.'

'Christen does not appear to have inherited your discretion,' he added as Christen looked up from the game and slanted a long-lashed glance at one of the youngest knights in the hall .

Emma sighed. 'You have noticed it too? There is a devil in her, Guy and it will destroy her unless it can be exorcised.'

'She is scarcely yet fourteen,' he said, all humour flown.

'And older than Eve.'

'And I hazard part of the reason you were summoned to London and are here now instead of with Richard at court?'

She gave him a sidelong look. 'I had forgotten how sharp you are. It seemed a sound idea to send her to housekeep for her father while my duty kept me here in the marches after Mama died. The girls see so little of him that I thought it would be of benefit to them both.'

Guyon grunted. 'You see little enough of Richard yourself.'

Emma shrugged. 'It is not given that every match should scorch the soul. We are content, Guy.'

'Have you spoken to Richard about her?'

'He says the sooner we match her the better, but I do not know. Perhaps she is merely playing at what she sees the court concubines do and, because she is pretty and men respond, she does it the more, never knowing how close to the fire her fingers are.'

He was silent for a time, considering the circle of girls. A serving lad replenished his cup and moved on. Cadi stirred restlessly at his feet. 'You were right to bring her away,' he said at length.

'Christen has always been swayed by the actions of those around her. Do you remember when she was nine and wanted to become a nun because one of the maids took the veil?'

A pained smile curved Emma's lips. 'And last year the crusade. I caught her sewing a cross on her best cloak, her belongings packed in a travelling bundle and vowing to see Jerusalem or die.'

'So what she requires is a spell of gentle domestic harmony with myself and Judith for examples?'

Emma grimaced at him.

Eyes laughing, he said, 'I thought you had serious doubts concerning my state of grace?'

'That was just irritation at the weakness of all men,' she said impatiently. 'I know why you act the rutting stag at court and you and Rhosyn have long had a private understanding. You handle Christen better than any of us. She might listen to you ... and she might listen to your Judith. There is not so much difference in age and they appear to like each other.'

'It depends upon what you want her to learn in lieu of coquetry,' Guyon chuckled, thinking of Judith's repertoire of dubious skill s. He rose to his feet and, still smiling, left the table. Emma followed him.

His father and Eric were locked in mortal combat over a game of merels beside the hearth and neither paid any attention to Cadi's inquisitive nosings.

'Have you noticed any difference in our father these last few weeks, Em?' Guyon asked in a low voice.

She shook her head. 'Not really. Perhaps a little quieter, but you know how he broods. Before we set out, he spent a long time kneeling at Mama's tomb and then complained that his knees were stiff. Why do you ask?' Her voice sharpened. 'Is there something wrong?'

'No, nothing.' He set a rea.s.suring hand on her arm. 'Just filial interest. 'What he needs is another wife ... or a mistress.'

Emma scowled at him. 'You don't seriously mean that, Guy.'

'Why not?'

'Would you welcome another woman in Mama's place - a stepmother?'

'You are deluding yourself if you think he has lived like a monk since her death.'

'I know he has taken casual women for comfort and pleasure,' Emma said with asperity. 'But they were in no wise partners for life.'

'That's what I mean. He needs something more.

Our mother was his anchor and he is in danger of going adrift without one.' Having gained the information he sought, he went to play knucklebones with his wife and nieces.

'Rannulf Flambard has officially been granted the bishopric of Durham as payment for his tireless endeavours,' said Miles, his face studiously blank.

The lantern swung gently on its hook and shadows lumbered upon the stable wall s. Guyon looked up from the delectable golden mare he had been examining. The horse was a gift for Judith, the furtiveness of this night visit to the stable because she was to be a surprise. He stared at his father with bright interest. 'G.o.d preserve the devil when he gets to h.e.l.l .' His mouth twitched. 'What's he going to do, strip the church from within and give it all to Rufus?'

'Of a certainty, weasling little runt.'

The mare lipped Guyon's tunic. He scratched her beneath the chin. 'But shrewd and clever with it. At least if he's s.n.a.t.c.hing food from the mouths of monks, he's not s.n.a.t.c.hing it from us.'

Rannulf Flambard, a common cleric, had risen by his own diligent efforts from obscurity to the ranks of the most powerful men in the land. He had become indispensable to Rufus and a menace to every member of the barony; a tax collector with a Herculean grip on men's financial affairs and the ability to tighten that grip and squeeze his victims dry.

Guyon thoroughly disliked the man, for his att.i.tude rather than from any squeamishness concerning his lowly birth or his task of crown revenue raiser. Indeed, with a numerical talent of his own, he had the good sense to respect Flambard's extraordinary skill s and step warily around them.

'Of course,' Miles added sarcastically, 'Flambard is not the only hazard to our coffers. The Welsh take their t.i.the of silver too.'

Guyon eyed his father nonchalantly across the mare's satin withers. 'I thought you might have heard about de Belleme's misfortune,' he said with a hint of regret in his voice.

'And yours too?'

Guyon said nothing. He could not dissemble with his sire who knew him too well and saw too clearly. Silence was by far the better line of defence.

'Have a care, son. Step very softly around the Earl of Shrewsbury. His rages are all the more deadly for being silent and the remains of his victims are not a pretty sight. He is stronger than ever now. Did you know that he has paid Rufus another relief to take Roger de Bully's lands?'

The flippancy vanished, replaced by startled attention. 'No, I didn't.'

'Blythe and Tickhill straight down the devil's throat. He's likely to be short of coin and temper.

Don't try any more clever tricks like that last one ...

You know what I mean.'

'So if he wants to eat the world, I just stand aside and let him?'

'You don't fling your gage in his teeth!'

'I haven't. A trip rope across his path perhaps, in revenge for a parcel of b.l.o.o.d.y sables.'

Miles sc.r.a.ped his fingers through his hair and reminded himself that Guyon was almost thirty years old and the mould was too firmly set to be broken or altered by an exasperated lecture.

'Just be careful, that's all .'

'Meek as a virgin,' Guyon answered lightly.

'Just don't get deflowered,' Miles said curtly. 'I'm going to bed.'

The lightness left Guyon's face. 'Chance would be a fine thing,' he said to the horse and followed his father.

CHAPTER 11.

Judith gasped and wriggled around in the bed, squinting through her lids as the brightness of daylight flooded the room.

Guyon wrenched the covers aside. 'On your feet, you lazy baggage, or are you going to sleep until noon?'

She sat up, glowering.

Guyon laughed. 'You'll miss a surprise if you do.'

Judith rubbed her eyes and regarded him blearily. He was wearing his hunting tunic of green plaid and leather hose. She had not heard him wake and dress, but then he could be as soft-footed as Melyn when he chose.

'What kind of surprise?'

'The kind that will not wait forever.' He hooked his thumbs in his belt and studied her. Her hair spilled down. A freckled white shoulder gleamed through the untidy tresses and a small , apple- sized breast. Flank and leg were lithe and long.

Fl.u.s.tered, she lowered her eyes, a pink flush staining her throat and face. Abruptly he turned away to her clothing pole and, selecting garments, tossed them on the bed.

'I'll send in your maid. Don't be too long, Cathfach.'

His tone was light and his face wore its customary good humour so that her momentary qualm dissolved into an impudent grimace as he reached the door.

Most of the household was still asleep and, as Judith indignantly discovered on entering the hall , it was not long after dawn. A yawning boy was arranging the side trestles for the serving of bread and curd cheese. Guyon was leaning on the edge of the dais, deep in conversation with the steward and the reeve, Cadi as usual glued to his side.

The two standing men bowed. Judith smiled a greeting to the steward. To the reeve she spoke.

He had not long been appointed to the position - a young man with small children, well able to cope with the task of mediating between the lord and his tenants, but still finding his feet.

Guyon listened to her enquiries after the health of the man's family with whose every name and circ.u.mstance she was familiar and was once more amazed at her scope.

'I didn't know his aunt Winifred suffered from gout,' he chuckled as he led her out of the forebuilding and into the early morning bustle of the bailey.

'She doesn't.' Judith regarded him with grave clarity. 'She just likes their attention. There's nothing wrong with the cantankerous hag. I could think of several effective if drastic remedies to cure her condition. Cutting out her tongue, for one.'

'Judith!' he spluttered.

'It is the truth and only you to hear it. Why should I lie?'

Guyon shook his head, unable to think of a response or reprimand because in essence she was right A lanky youth of about Judith's own age was forking soiled straw into the yard. Hens pecked and scratched near his feet. Ball s of yellow fluff twinkled hither and yon, imitating in miniature the actions of their parents, miraculously avoiding the lad's stout boots and the sweeps of the fork.

'Good morning, Hob,' Judith greeted him. He turned a dusky campion-pink and mumbled into his chest.

'What's the surprise, Guy?' She smiled up at him as she had smiled at Hob.

'You are, constantly,' he replied, then said in English to the boy, 'Where's your father?'

'Just coming, sire. He's walking her round to stop her getting cold.'

'Who?' asked Judith.

Guyon took her arm and turned to face his head groom who appeared around the edge of the building with a harnessed mare following behind in a well -mannered fashion.

'Guyon?' Judith twisted to look up at him and then back at the delicately stepping palfrey.