'I expected you to be asleep,' he murmured.
'I was thinking.'
'About what?'
'About today, about the future.' She watched him undress. At seven and thirty, his body was still lean and hard. The first glints of silver had appeared in his hair, and the fine lines at his eye comers had deepened into permanent creases, but he remained a handsome, vital man. Aware of her scrutiny, he paused, a questioning half-smile on his lips, but she shook her head.
'The feast went excellently,' he remarked, seeming to assume that her thoughts of today and the future consisted of thoughts about the betrothal. 'I can always trust you to rise to an occasion.'
Smiling modestly, she thanked him, both pleased and surprised at his compliment. It was not usually within his scope to realise how hard she worked to grease the wheels of the household so that they turned seemingly without effort. 'Perhaps Gisele and I could come to England with you and see what Aubert de Remy has accomplished for himself in London,' she suggested.
He made a non-committal sound and busied himself unwinding his cross garters.
'I would like it very much,' she emphasised.
'I will give it some thought,' he said, without raising his head. 'It is not something to be decided in a moment.'
Arlette narrowed her eyes, but permitted the subject to drop, commenting instead upon how well the two children had conducted themselves during the betrothal ceremony and the feast that followed. The fact that he was quick to follow her lead, his expression relieved, compounded her suspicions and brought her to a decision of her own.
CHAPTER 34
Suitably dressed in an old patched gown and apron, her hair tied up in a kerchief, Ailith prepared to give Ulverton's hall a thorough scouring to remove the detritus of a hard winter and vet spring. It was early May now, the worst of the bad weather over so she hoped, and the warmth of the sun allied with the bright birdsong had filled her with a powerful energy.
All the trestles were carried outside and stacked against the wall where the village carpenter started sorting through them and mending any damaged ones. The rank, mouldy floor rushes were broomed vigorously out of the door into the bailey and removed by the barrowload to the midden where the hens descended upon them in high delight.
Ailith saw Rolf grimace at the industry as he swung into the saddle and caught up the leading reins of the two destriers he was taking to the royal stables at Winchester, three days' ride away.
'It will be finished before you return,' she told him irritably. He would soon complain if she left the rushes as they were to harbour all manner of pests and stinks in the summer heat.
'That's a relief.'
Ailith compressed her lips.
Rolf made as if to ride on, but changed his mind, and bringing his horse around, drew rein in front of her. He looked her up and down, from the frayed edge of her kerchief, to the cuffed toes of her old shoes. 'I remember the first time I saw you, standing over your cabbages with a besom in your hand,' he mused. 'You were angry then too.' Impulsively, he leaned down to stroke her cheek.
Ailith felt the bitter-sweet touch of his fingers. 'And you were the most handsome man I had ever seen, and still are,' she responded with a wounded smile.
They stared at each other, as if trying to peel back the accumulated layers of familiarity that had been laid down season after season, tarnishing and obscuring.
Ailith held her breath, waiting for him to fling down from the horse, take her in his arms and tell her that Winchester could wait, that 'forever' still remained. But he did not move. Locked to the ground by her own doubts and fears, neither did she, and the moment passed, becoming another layer upon the debris.
'God be with you,' he said, and turned his horse around.
'God speed you,' she responded. The feel of his fingers on her cheek lingered like an echo as he rode out of the gate.
Ailith returned to work, venting her emotions in vigorous sweeps of the besom. Julitta came running from her lesson with Father Goscelin. The priest was the younger brother of one of Rolf's knights and Rolf had been persuaded to take him into his household as a chaplain until Goscelin could be recommended to a parish of his own. The young priest had been given the task of teaching the castle children their letters. Only boys were to benefit from his lessons, but Julitta had whined and demanded so persistently that at last she had been given a place among the sons of her father's retainers, and was proving more adept than most of them.
This morning, however, there were tears on her lashes and her face was flushed with temper. From the corner of a vigilant eye, Ailith saw seven-year-old Hamo run to his mother, bawling loudly. A stubby finger pointed accusingly at Julitta.
'What have you done now?' Ailith sighed.
'Hamo told a lie, and when I said it wasn't true and his tongue would drop off, he said it was so, and I was a stupid little bitch. So I kicked him.' Julitta's face was red with indignation.
Ailith eyed her daughter with a mingling of love and exasperation. Hamo's mother was cuddling her fat, pasty-faced son and glowering across the hall at Julitta. 'You should not have done that.'
'He deserved it!'
'Still, you should not have struck the first blow.'
'But he called me a name and he told a lie!' Julitta cried, beside herself with fury. 'He said that Ben was going to marry someone in Normandy. It's not true, he's going to marry me!'
Ailith winced and bit her lip. The child had been bound to discover the truth sooner or later, but she had not bargained for quite so much vehemence. 'Julitta, it was wrong of Hamo to call you names, but he told you no lie. Benedict de Remy has been betrothed to someone in Normandy, a girl of his own age.'
Julitta stared at Ailith with huge, stricken eyes. Her lower lip trembled and she shook her head from side to side with gathering speed.
'Sweetheart… ' Ailith reached for her.
Julitta threw down her slate and stylus and ran away down the hall, her red curls flying and her sobs trailing behind her like a ragged banner. Ailith hastened in pursuit. As she did so, one of the hide thongs securing Rolf's battle axes to the wall gave way, and both weapons clashed down onto a small trestle holding jugs of ale and trencher loaves. One axe landed harmlessly on its side, but the other sank into the table as if the wood was made of moist butter.
Ailith halted. A feeling of dread raised the hairs on her nape and seeped through her pores, chilling her to the marrow. The luck of Ulverton was down, and the way the axe had sundered the wood was an omen. She stared at the still quivering haft and tried to shake off the notion. The thongs were rotten after more than ten years aloft, she told herself; it had been bound to happen. But as she hurried on beyond the exclaiming witnesses to find Julitta, her heart was pounding with fear and the dread remained.
The little girl had thrown herself down upon her small pallet in the main bedchamber, her entire body shaking with grief. It's not fair, it's not fair!' she sobbed.
Ailith gathered Julitta in her arms. Life never was, she thought as she smoothed the unruly hair and kissed the hot temple. 'Benedict is like a brother to you,' she murmured. 'Girls do not wed their brothers.' She half-expected Julitta to be awkward and demand to know why, but the child said nothing. Her sobs diminished to sniffles and the occasional body-shaking hiccup.
'So Hamo was telling the truth,' she said in a quavering, forlorn voice.
'Yes, sweetheart, I'm afraid he was. It doesn't mean he is a blameless innocent,' she added grimly. 'I can imagine the pleasure he took in telling you. Ah, Julitta, why is it so easy to make enemies and so hard to make friends?'