“You seem more confident,” observed Constance, as she passed through the door into their own room on the third level of the great keep.

“Do I?”

“Yes, with your sister.”

Hugh closed the door he had been holding open for her, sealing them in alone together. “I am gratified that it appears so; if she scents weakness she exploits it, and presently that will do untold harm to our cause.”

“But …?”

Hugh cringed inwardly; his reservation was so readily apparent then? No, no – only to his lady wife; she knew him far better than most others and so it was only logical that she might notice it. It was an indication that they were close, and as such it should be welcomed, even if on occasion it required he share some of his more untoward thoughts. “But I am not truly convinced that it is quite reasonable to think of one’s youngest sister in terms of a problematical, semi-broken horse, and thus use the same approach one might with such an animal.” Constance laughed briefly. Hugh defended his reasoning once again, both from his wife and to himself, “It is hardly a typical precedent, but it is thus far most successful, more so than any other approach ever has been.”

She plumped up the feather filled cushions in her favourite chair. “Carrot and stick, but from what I overheard in the solar less carrot and more stick.” Smothering a yawn Constance sat down and told him, “You will not win her over with pain, Hugh. Quite the opposite.”

“I know, dearest, and I assure you that is not my intent. I am doing what I can to curb her more unpredictable or damaging aspects, and establishing this relationship correctly from the very start, or so I very earnestly hope and pray. As I stated previously if she senses weakness she will take advantage of it, and at present it is absolutely vital she recognises that of the two of us I am the master. I cannot have her taking certain issues into her own hands, nor can I afford to worry that she may not do as I need. I lead; she must follow, close at my side and working in harmony with me to precisely the same ends. I cannot and will not follow her, and we must stand united in this venture or all will come to naught, or worse than naught – destruction.”

“And …?”

Hugh tapped his fingers restlessly on the hilt of his dagger. “I do not need, or even want, her completely submissive,” he admitted in the end. “Nell reduced to a sheep would be equally as ineffectual as Nell acting as a wild horse.”

“But ..?”

Hugh delayed even longer, his answer even more reluctant. “I fear that is not what our father wants; he desires her completely broken as his sights are fixed firmly on this long war between them. He wants complete victory, but I think pays little real heed to what such victory would produce, or what cost it would be achieved at.”

“Better to marry a shrew than a sheep.”

Hugh nodded. “Yes; though the question is not marriage the old proverb suits well. I would say the end result I seek is someone very much like yourself, dearest. Someone who works for the same ends as myself, whom I can trust and rely upon, but who has a keen mind and independence sufficient to take matters into her own hands in a way which compliments my own works whenever such action is needful.”

“Well matched plough oxen,” suggested Constance, with a slight sparkle to prove she knew how silly the suggestion sounded.

“It is hardly a glamorous analogy, but I find it does suit admirably.”

Someone knocked on the door. Frowning at being interrupted Hugh opened it, coming face to face with a liveried servant. The man bowed. “Your highness, your sister was taken ill in the hall just a few moments ago. She nearly swooned; she’s been carried back to her own rooms now, highness, and she’s being well looked after by her servants.”

To his enormous shame Hugh found that he had lost his tongue; he could neither find a word to say nor produce a sound. He had done this; it was his fault. His alone. He had been too harsh, much too harsh. He had gone beyond what was reasonable without even knowing or caring, all the while congratulating himself. Without even noticing he’d unleashed that inner darkness a little more. It was the fault of that rot he had discovered inside himself just hours ago, that sickening hatred for his dead brothers, that unworthy criticism of his father who he had again criticised but minutes ago. Honour thy father and thy mother; he had failed dramatically in one of the foremost of all God’s commandments. Today he had proven time and again that he was such a wretch he did not deserve to live; he should have died in Stephan’s place.

The servant waited uneasily for a few moments, then confided, “It’s probably nothing to worry about, beggin’ your pardon, highness. It’s simply the stresses getting to her, that’s all, or so everyone’s saying. I mean she was nearly murdered and two of her companions nearly died too, and they’re sick right now because they got the poison meant for her. Then there’s the wedding delay and all, highness, I mean that’d hit any maid hard, if she cared for her groom and all, all the more so with it coming from such tragic circumstances.”

Constance appeared at Hugh’s elbow and snapped to the servant, “Do you always gossip about your betters to your betters?”

The man tugged his forelock. “Beggin’ your pardons, of course, but I meant only to reassure.”

“There is a fine line between reassurance and gossip; do not cross it again. You may go.” She imperiously closed the door in the servant’s face. Placing a hand on each of Hugh’s shoulders she turned him around and propelled him towards their bed. “Sit,” she commanded. He obeyed mechanically.

“It is my fault,” Hugh finally managed to say. “Mine. Oh, sweet Jesú, what have I done? And all this time I have been stood here gloating and congratulating myself - I am a monster!”

“Oh, do talk sense!”

“I let myself be blinded by an illusion, and consequentially let go of much I should have retained.” Hugh scrubbed his hands roughly over his face, hiding his consternation and causing himself some small measure of deserved pain. Then he realised hiding thus was a coward’s way; he snatched his hands away. “Nell is so small, so delicate - I could snap her bones or kill her with my bare hands and scant effort. What is more she is my sister, under my own protection, and a lady, and by all codes of good conduct I should protect her, not even harm a hair on her head-”

Constance interrupted loudly, “Carrot and stick. For all that I like your sister I found your earlier words far wiser than those now. Sometimes harming a hair or two is the only way; more so when much is at stake.”

Hugh knotted his hands up in the skirt of his tunic, torturing the fine material to match his conscience. “Yes, yes, but there is reasonable and then there is excess, and … and …” He sighed and bowed his head, letting his hands fall slack. “I forgot that her toughness is an illusion, founded upon pride and stubbornness. I acted as though it was a reality, twice. Twenty-two strokes today, on top of God alone knows how many from last night, and I did not hold my hand. That is penalty sufficient for a hardened man guilty of some serious crime, but far too much for a lady. Either set was far too much. I thought to put an end to the issue sooner by making my message stronger, but I went much too far.”

“Nonsense!” declared Constance. “You forget who Nell is – add to pride and stubbornness unusual endurance and plenty of practise at using it. She is no wailing milksop or feeble weakling; that is one of the reasons why I like her. Right now that fine mind of hers will be busily working, and she will be deriving much of what you wished her to from this. That is another reason I like her; she has brains and chooses to use them. I rather doubt you will need to repeat this again, and that actually spares her far more in the long term - she is stubborn in a bad way also, and seemingly bent on self-destruction sometimes out of some stupid belief that it is the only way to get what she thinks she wants. Think on this: what would your father have done?” Hugh was unable to repress a shudder. “Exactly,” said Constance quietly. “And he would never have listened to her in the first place, about anything, no matter how trivial or important. She could try and tell him his clothes were on fire and he would not listen.”

“But then why did she faint?”

“Faint? The man said nearly swooned; you are making things a deal worse than they actually are, Hugh. I would say she is simply in pain, stiff, sore, perhaps a little dizzy and very slightly in shock – precisely what you would expect.”

“I did not mean-”

“To hurt her? To put her in any discomfort? Surely that was much of the point? If it was not you would never have laid a finger on her.”

“You are right,” admitted Hugh.

Constance seated herself beside him on the bed and gently turned his face so he was looking her in the eye. “I know why you do this, Hugh. You must stop it, and stop fearing yourself. You need confidence, now more than ever. What you are being called on to do is unusual, vitally important, something you have not been prepared for and must tackle with everything you have without holding back. You cannot do that if you doubt. You are not anyone but yourself. If you cannot be your dead brother than nor can you turn into your own father.”

“He would be a worthy man to emulate,” replied Hugh dutifully, but his heart was not in it.

“As a king, perhaps, in some ways but not all. As a man? Forgive me, but I can find little good to say there. You will not become like him because you are inherently a good man.”

“I know I could be … I have his temper, like a blight within me.”

“But you control it so well I hardly even know it is there.”

Pained, he insisted, “But it is there.”

“And you control it,” she repeated, emphasising the words. “Therein lies the main difference. He does not; he revels in his lapses like a spoiled child. Even when angry you still control yourself, even when goaded, even when justified. You are nothing like him, and I am glad of it.” Hugh searched her face, and saw her conviction clearly. She believed everything she had said, believed it completely. She saw him searching and smiled slightly. “You trust my judgment in everything else; why not here?”

“Because … because you cannot see inside me the way I can.” If she could she would turn from him in horror. He looked away.

“I see more than you think, my love.” Once again she insistently tilted his face back to meet her eye. “I am not blinded my proximity either, or crippled by expectations; I am not searching frantically for traces of something which is not there and so finding proof where there is none. Either you trust me completely or you trust me not at all. Which is it?”

Hugh placed his hand over hers, holding it in place at his cheek. “I trust you.”

“Then believe me.”

“I will try.”

“No, not try, do. Try is an excuse for you to do nothing of the sort and continue as usual.”

Hugh assessed whether what she requested was even possible. “I am not sure I can, not completely. You do not know me as I know myself; you do not see how I struggle against my baser aspects-”

“I do – I know you do. All men have less pleasant sides, bad traits, weaknesses. It is what makes us human. You fight your bad more than most do, and with more success than most. But there is one flaw you not only give into but feed and encourage: a lack of confidence.” She laughed quietly, face lighting up as the seriousness melted away. “Would you believe I am fighting my own baser aspects right now? I am sorely tempted to pummel you until you start seeing sense, and then to skip dinner in favour of a quiet evening for two. So you are hardly alone in being tragically human.”

Hugh’s lips quirked into a shy smile. “And you always appear such an angel too.”

“I should hope so! So you will try?”

“I suppose I must.”

“That is rather pathetic, Hugh. No - both brave and pathetic in one. Complete the bravery; promise me. I know you will do all you can to keep your word.”

“I promise, then.”

She kissed him tenderly. “Alas, now I must confess my halo has slipped some more and a public dinner is even less appealing than it was before. But to revert to a more possible plan for the remainder of the day, I shall visit Eleanor in a while, see how she is.”

“Please, I would be greatly eased to have a reliable report of her health. Did you perchance observe the bodyguard’s reaction?”

“Yes.” Constance hesitated, taking in inordinate amount of time. “Think of a hound when it hears something unexpected and disliked; head coming up swiftly, ears pricked, tensed and ready to move. Then think again when the same dog decides the sound is not so bad but not yet to be trusted; relaxing superficially but still tensed and alert. He was unhappy and uneasy, but so were we all. Although … I do not wish to make this sound different to what it was, not knowing what is at stake if I exaggerate or underplay matters. We were all unhappy, but he and Anne were the most unsettled of all. There was nothing there to indicate anything more than liking for our princess, honest liking, as between friends, or perhaps simply distress at being caught in a quandary. You did order him to protect Nell from everything and anything, if my second maid reported it correctly to me.”

“Indeed that was so; it would have placed him in a most uncomfortable situation, one with no correct course of action. We shall continue to watch, then.”






“What happened?” asked Fulk, his voice hushed so the others in the large bailey would not overhear.

“Oh … we managed to thrash out an understanding.” In his arms Eleanor winced at the word thrash. “Aggressive negotiations.”

Fulk sighed. “We’ll need bandages then.” His attempt at levity went badly awry, mostly because he was too worried to strike the right tone. For all his care he knew the way he was holding her was hurting. She might be joking in a very cautious manner but she wouldn’t have shown weakness before a large audience if she could help it. Then there was what he’d overheard while waiting in the solar; the crack of leather on flesh had seemed to go on forever. He hadn’t counted; he’d been too busy trying to appear indifferent.

She brandished the purse she clutched tightly like a trophy. “Successful negotiations.”

Fulk ignored her, addressing Hawise instead. “We’ll need the usual medical stuff – balm, something to wash cuts with, scraps of clean linen, some bandages for safe measure. Unless you can carry her royal batteredness you’ll have to go, not me.”

Hawise silently peeled off from the tiny group, returning to the keep they had only just left.

At the door into the guesthouse Fulk ran into trouble, unable to lift the latch with his hands full. One of the many curious onlookers got daring enough to risk a closer look under the guise of helping him; Eleanor played dead as the woman worked the latch. Fulk thanked the woman, then kicked the door shut in her face as soon as he was through.

Eleanor effected a miraculous recovery as he carried her slowly down the passage. “It really was not my fault; Hugh started it. I tried to smooth matters over but he was not interested.”

“I feel like a beleaguered father,” groused Fulk good naturedly. “‘It wasn’t me; it was all his fault!’ If you start pulling your brother’s hair I’ll send you to bed without supper.”

“So long as you join me.”

“I’m scandalised, simply scandalised.” Fulk struggled to work the latch on the door into the outer of Eleanor’s two rooms. “Such a nice young gooseberry saying such things, quite shocking.” A bit more fiddling and the door crept open. Fulk booted it the rest of the way, then again to close it.

“I really have no idea what is so shocking; I only wanted you to tell me a story to pass the time.”

“Don’t think you’re getting off the hook so easily, oh affectionate apple. No change of subject’s going to make me forget that I’m carrying you because you’re once again a bit the worse for wear.”

“Apple? We have a case of mistaken identify; I am insulted. Anyway, if we are speaking of hooks and extricating ourselves from them, you really owe me the rest of your little speech about property before I owe you anything at all.”

“Not now,” replied Fulk curtly, still working at the door into her bedchamber. “Suddenly I understand why they only make the poor groom carry his bride over the threshold! It’s too damned tricky with all these doors.”

“Yes, now, and if you are hinting I should walk I refuse; I abandoned what was left of my pride right before everyone just to get a ride from a knight.”

“So you faked the faintness?” inquired Fulk sceptically.

“Of course.”

The very buoyancy of her assertion made Fulk more suspicious. “Yes,” he agreed, not bothering to hide his scepticism. His latest attempt at the latch failed. He altered his stance and aimed Eleanor at the solid wooden planking. “Right, you want a ride, you work for it a bit. Open the door, your laziness.”

Eleanor reached out and unlatched the door easily. “What was so difficult about that?”

“You’re not carrying a princess.” Once through into the bedchamber Fulk booted the troublesome door shut with hearty satisfaction, satisfaction which lasted until the temporary numbness wore off and his toes started throbbing.

“Now you have vanquished the fearsome door finish the speech, oh brave and fearsome broken-nosed buffoon.”

“No. It’s not a speech to finish in a short time, and it’s not one I want you to misunderstand. You’ll have to remain curious, your royal shortness.”

“You,” Eleanor informed him tetchily, “are annoying.”

Fulk placed her down in a sitting position on the edge of the bed; he beamed brightly at her. “I try.” Fulk glanced over at the door; coast clear he kissed the corner of her mouth.

Before he could pull away she looped an arm about his neck and kissed him rather more passionately. Abruptly she pulled back. “Ouch,” she grumbled.

“I warned you.”

Rather shamefacedly she pointed out, “You have blood on your mouth.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fulk scrubbed the back of his hand over his lips a few times. “Gone?”

“Yes.” Eleanor unfastened the leather drawstrings holding the purse closed and spilled the contents into her lap. She counted the collection of coins rapidly. “That is the exact money, and he was carrying it about ready for whenever I asked. He did plan it. If it did not hurt so much I would say I am proud of him.”

Not for the first time Fulk was thankful he came from a more boring family than Eleanor’s.

The quiet bang of the front door heralded the return of Hawise. The maid was bearing the collection of items Fulk had requested, precisely those items and not a thing more or less, and all of them in sensible quantities. She said nothing at all, spreading the items on the opposite side of the bed to that which Eleanor sat on. “Wine,” she explained softly, seeing both Fulk and Eleanor watching her as she placed a stoppered canteen down.

“You know what you’re doing?” Fulk asked her. It wouldn’t be too prudent for him to stay or to treat Eleanor himself.

“I have some basic skills but little practise with them.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. Give me a shout if you want anything; I’ll be stood outside the door like an ideal bodyguard.”

“This really is not at all necessary,” began Eleanor hopefully. “I am quite fit, and really there is nothing much to do with bruises.”

Hawise said, “But your back is cut too; blood’s soaking through your clothes a bit.”

“Really, I am fine-”

Fulk shut the door on her protests, grinning to himself. He felt rather sorry for poor Hawise; dealing with a wounded gooseberry on your first day, talk about initiation by fire.






Freshly scrubbed after his afternoon’s heavy training Trempwick settled back in his favourite chair before his bedchamber’s fire and slipped into his thoughts with the same keenness of a swimmer dipping into the water on a hot day. The latest messages from the palace were … not troubling. Certainly not. More unexpected. Yes, unexpected. Yet somehow also expected. Lagging a day behind events, as usual. Nell had let her tongue run away with her once again; unsurprising. Hugh had reacted intolerantly; again unsurprising. The whole palace was talking about it; inevitable.

Nothing from his mother. Nothing from Juliana. Expected; one had just communicated and could not do so easily or safely again for a while. The other was a mere peon, a nothing, disposable, expendable, not worth involving in anything beyond the rudimentary. He would collect her report in person. This would also allow him to strengthen the chains binding the maid to him.

Nell had let her tongue run away from her. Rashness. One of her less likeable traits. All his careful teaching had failed to remove it, only reduce it to a generally manageable degree. It was perhaps her greatest flaw. It was … truly a pity. Nell without those reckless impulses would be … Trempwick closed his eyes and smiled, slowly, savouring the idea. She was worthy now, in possession of something special, a thinker. Temper her, purge that fault. That would leave her cool, calm, truly able to manipulate and navigate any situation. As he did. Head over heart; mind over impulse and flesh. His apprentice, perfected.

But for now this was besides the point. Nell had acted impulsively. This was not unusual. But. There was always a but. She must have known what would happen. So why insult the Welsh prince? He had no report from close by; he did not know what had been said. Rumour insisted she had insulted the Welshman for little reason. This was not true. Nell would not do that. What would she gain? Wounds. Pain. Humiliation. Time with Hugh. Gain or loss, that? The prince did not like his sister. Nell knew that. Many knew that; Trempwick had seen to it. She also believed he had tried to abduct her. She knew he would hurt her. What possible reason could she have for wanting to see Hugh?

Trempwick sat still, thinking. His right leg began to cramp; he shifted his pose a little. The pins and needles feeling of returning circulation came and went. Still he thought, mind working with rapid, fluid efficiency.

He could not see why. Nell hated Hugh, feared him also. She no more wanted to see him than to see her father; years of their training her to hate and fear bearing fruit. All without his intervention too. William’s own folly. Blessing and disappointment. Useful, undoubtedly, and a free gift Trempwick could use in many ways. His friend’s failing; painful to witness. A shrewd man, brought low by simple anger. Still, she had not wanted to go to the palace. Waltham was not where Nell wanted to be, now or ever. It was everything she disliked, filled with what she feared, holding nothing good for her. Woburn, and he, were her home. Had she not said as much? Indeed, she had. She had meant it, too. That he had clearly seen. Seen many times over, even when she did not say the words. Nell would rather be here than at the palace. This could prove problematic in the future.

But. Ah, once again that little word. But, at the palace was her knight. As much as she might protest otherwise she was not over Fulk. She still loved him. She did not fool him; she never had. She cared for the knight still. That was actually … gratifying. Once won Nell was loyal. He would have to make that loyalty solely his. And … as unfortunate as this whole Fulk mess had been … it was … Trempwick paused, carefully selecting a word which suited this occasion. The feeling was extraordinary, unanticipated. If he had to put a word to it he would choose … delightful. A change of pace for both of them. A little challenge for him. Educational; he had learned a little more, a little new about his princess and how to handle her. Nell’s first love. It had been fascinating to watch, and good to see her happy. Just such a pity he had not been the target, as he should have been. All would have been well then; no pain of loss for her, his own position stronger also.

She did not love him. Cared, yes. Was defrosting towards, yes. Was slowly being won over by, yes. Would eventually love, yes. But now? No. Nell did not love her betrothed. She had never claimed to do so. Not once. Never. She had claimed numerous times to be growing to love him. Truth or bluff? Truth; she cared and would in time love if he continued his careful pursuit without outside interference. She was wise not to claim love – it would be entirely unbelievable. He knew her heart was taken - for now - and she could not bring herself to offer him that final bit of proof. A feeling of incest, and a great many other excuses. Some believable, some not. Indeed, she was very wise not to claim love. He could never have believed her, and so it would inevitably complicate matters. As it was matters were clear and simple. She was behaving much as he would expect of a person about to marry someone she did not love. Tentative, testing, wary, learning. She … exaggerated a little. She did not enjoy his attention as much as she said. Her response was not always natural. But it was simple – she loved another. She was very probably still quite innocent. A mere beginner. Nervous. Slowly, so slowly, he was winning her over. Rather like dealing with a skittish horse.

Trempwick refocused from this tangent. Going to the palace to see her knight again? He had her closely watched and guarded. He had the knight watched. Hugh would be watching her. The palace was packed with people. A princess could find scant excuse to even talk to a minor baron. Unchaperoned it would be … next to impossible. There were simply too many people. While he respected Nell’s abilities he could not see how she could speak to the knight without people knowing. To sneak away at night offered the most likely chance. Which was why he had ordered his mother and Juliana to be sure she could not.

Anyway, what could Nell possibly hope to gain? Seeing what could not be hers? And with such risk. She knew he would be watching her; he had promised as much. Protection, you see. She knew what his reaction was likely to be. He would have no choice but to be very harsh. Nell was not so stupid as to provoke that for such minor gain. Besides, he would have to have the knight killed. Matter of form. Nell wouldn’t risk that. As of last night she still had not seen the knight or been presented opportunity to do so; this was reported well. Although … she had been in that confounded garden, where he was as blind as a beggar. But accompanied by the queen. The queen Nell seemed slightly contemptuous of. The queen Nell had been demonstrating scant patience for before she left Woburn. The queen Nell had sent a gift to, with his knowledge and permission, in return for that necklace. The queen who loved romantic stories. The queen who was demonstrating a level head, for one so young. The queen would be a powerfully ally. A dubious one, also. Dangerous, childish, foreign, subject to torn loyalties too, mayhap. Proving to be politically sound. Not liable to harm her new family, not liable to aid anything which may harm her new family’s name. The queen he had carefully watched, as would be obvious to Nell. To trust Anne would be … nothing short of a sheer, desperate gamble with no certain outcome or use. Much at stake, much at risk, little to gain, no true indication of how the venture would go. The only gain would be a very short time together in dismal, cold surroundings watched by an audience. Maybe enough for a lovesick fool. But Nell was no fool. Anyway, her being in that garden had not been arranged. So the knight could not have been there. Unless … but then how could Nell have got a message to the knight?

Ah, you see. It all ran about in confusion. Nell was doing things which, for some reason, made him uneasy. But he could not find why. No motive. No gain. No opportunity. Such risk. Such stupidity. Against everything he had taught her. Against what he knew of her. This he put down to the imperfect understanding he had of her recent movements. Also his mistrust, still strong after the Fulk mess. If he were there himself this would be solved, simply. It would make sense.

He needed more information. For now it must be assumed that this Llwellyn had upset Nell somehow, provoking one of her characteristic examples of imprudence. This Hugh overheard, and he acted. It fitted well enough. It worked. But he would feel better if the foundations were stronger. Sloppiness had been the end of many. It would not be the end of him. The wedding was on Wednesday, afternoon. He would leave early, arriving Tuesday afternoon instead of early Wednesday morning as planned. Even with the extra time he would still make the trip at punishing speed; not to waste a second. He would investigate Nell himself. He could check she was well. He could attempt to protect her if this was indeed Hugh’s doing. He would insist on returning to Woburn with her early on the Thursday. A day and a half absence, total. Not enough to harm his duty to his king.

His message from the other spy had been quite … amusing. Godit continued her pursuit of Fulk. She had got some results. Persistence, and so the knight would topple. The knight was now diverted, soon to be removed entirely from the game. Trempwick loved the simple brilliance of it all. No need to kill when one could simply lead an enemy by the least intelligent part of his anatomy.

Dual advantage: if Nell ever found out she would be so terribly hurt. And angry. In need of comfort. Worse, if she also found out about the knight’s trip to a brothel. So disappointing; the knight who had caused so many little troubles had put himself from the race with less than an hour’s dismal enjoyment. Little more than a beast indeed. Allowing his baser motivations rule him with no care for the greater game. Sad. But for the better. Undoubtedly so. And more useful this way.

Nell would be so terribly hurt. This weapon needed careful usage. A last resort. He would not hurt his princess unless left no other suitable course. Wasn’t that always the way?






William groaned as a thumb dug sharply into the cluster of knotted muscles in his right shoulder.

“Better, sire?” asked the masseuse.

His reply was emphatic, “Oh yes! Much.” William tried to return his attention to his plans as the girl, his host’s bastard daughter, began to work on the long muscles running from neck to shoulder joint. He’d been travelling through his French lands at a pace he would describe as almost idle, though it was not truly such. He had been covering nearly twenty miles per day most days; an astonishing amount for an army containing infantry and laden with baggage animals carrying some of his treasury and his pertinent records.

He was getting close to his main target now; Yves’s stronghold at Saint Maur was only four days conventional march away, three and a bit at his rapid clip. Soon it would be time to put a little more spring in his step and remind everyone just what he was capable of. Once he had proven himself and tidied up Yves he would return home, paying visits to different lords than those he had stopped with on his way out. He would also be delivering a good, sharp, crown wearing shock those of suspect loyalty; those who had not sent their respects to him as he travelled, and those whose respects had felt wrong.

As the massage moved to his back William let his mind turn homewards, towards Anne and Hugh, and sadly towards the brat too. She spoiled the happy picture; she always did. William reminded himself he had little cause for gloom; she was finally being tamed, and Hugh would keep her firmly in hand. In just three days time from this exact moment she would be married and that marriage recently consummated, or in the process of being consummated. William’s face crinkled with distaste at the thought; he really did not want to think about that particular aspect of the marriage at all, especially if the brat revived her useless protests. In a way he was very glad to be absent and only to return once the dust had settled, even if it did mean he endlessly worried about what might have gone wrong.

His squeamishness disregarded, three days and the brat would be a reduced problem. Once married she presented less opportunity to would be rebels and would be easier to control. Once consummated she was trapped in that marriage; she could never claim consanguinity with Trempwick. Therefore in three days time the brat would be firmly pegged into place; she would have lost and would know it, completely. From there his work would be relatively minor, compared to the battle he had been fighting for years now. That was something to welcome. She might even be happy, in the end.

How about Hugh? How would the boy be coping? William knew his son was competent, also knew he knew his business from years of helping to run the kingdom. But the boy did suffer from a certain lack of imagination, and that limited his flair for doing the right but unexpected thing, a talent a good king needed. He also suffered from a lack of confidence, and that could prove crippling. Hugh would probably be doing perfectly fine, carrying out his father’s wishes towards his sister and stepmother, holding everything together with his calm competency, and so he’d have no reason to doubt and no need for flair. As he saw with his own eyes that he could rule successfully without his father at his side Hugh’s confidence would grow. This trip of his would do the boy good. Until now he’d always been in the same country as Hugh, taking the boy along when he went to France instead of leaving him behind, and consequentially always in easy reach if council was needed. Boy? William chortled; man, and had been for years now. It would probably do Hugh just as much good if his own father finally fully recognised the fact he’d grown up and was a man in his own right now.

What of his little grandchild to be, and his daughter-in-law? Surely both must be fine and hale, surely they must be. He had prayed for them three times each day; morning, noon and night. All England was praying for them. Yes, William decided firmly, both would be in the peak of health, and nothing would be wrong. He would not allow himself to think of them otherwise; pessimism might jinx them.

And Anne? Last perhaps, but never least. William found himself smiling at the thought of his little wife. She would be alright too. Right this moment she would be asleep, after spending part of the evening reading. During the day she would have applied herself to learning and to shouldering as much of the burden as she could, just as she would have every day since he left. Hugh would not let her overextend herself, or drive herself to exhaustion. Would she miss him at all? Still smiling William found that he believed she would, at least a little. He certainly missed her, usually in the evening hours he had become accustomed to spending with her. He wondered what particular book she would be reading now, and how many stories she would have devoured by now.

The girl’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “How is that, sire?”

William sat up from his prone position on his borrowed bed and flexed his muscles experimentally. “I feel years younger.” Years younger, and as if he’d not spent day after day in the saddle from shortly after sunrise to a few hours before sunset. “Thank you.”

“Will there be anything else, sire?” she asked very bashfully, stammering slightly.

Abruptly homesick and lonely, body reinvigorated and tingling from a good massage William considered. She knew what she was asking, doubtless had been told to ask it by a father who hoped to get some gain from a daughter in the king’s bed. She was young, probably only around fifteen, and very pretty, freshly washed and perfumed before being sent up in her best clothes. From her age and the timid awkwardness she was probably a virgin; conscience would demand he gave her something to bulk up her dowry to compensate if that was the case, but that would be a very minor expense for him. Very importantly she had been dropped in here after much of the rest of the castle had gone to bed for the night, so word was not likely to spread, so long as he sent her packing good and early tomorrow. Anne would not find herself humiliated.

“If you do not mind; that is not a rhetorical question. If you do not want to stay you can go.”

She blushed a very pretty pink. “I don’t mind.”








11 pages, and every single POV character strutting their stuff except Nell and Jocelyn. I think that is a record, at least since the early days when only Fulk and Nell were revealed as POVs.

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