LITMIR.BIZ

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full of other novices? Had she been as cold as he? Had she broken her fast with fresh poppyseed bread?

      ‘We can’t afford to take any risks going through Winchester,’ Adam said, once Maurice had him armed. Their helms dangled from wooden pegs and their long shields were stacked with several others against a partition. ‘I don’t want a seax in my ribs.’

      With his mail coif heavy about his neck, he leaned against a stall and watched Richard’s squire, Geoffrey of Leon, do the honours with his friend’s chainmail.

      Straw rustled underfoot. ‘Nor I,’ Richard mumbled, emerging red-faced through the neck of the chainmail.

      Maurice led the destriers out. Their hoofbeats initially rang loud on the stone flags in the stable, but when they reached the beaten earth in the yard the hoofbeats changed, became muted.

      ‘Maurice?’ Adam leaned through the stable door. ‘Commandeer a pillion saddle from the Prioress.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘And don’t take no for an answer.’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Put the saddle on Flame, when you find it. Oh, and Maurice—?’

      ‘Sir?’

      ‘Charge Le Blanc with guarding our rear on the road, will you? You can keep watch ahead. If anyone attacks, it’s possible they’ll do it in Winchester.’

      He ducked back into the stable. Lady Cecily Fulford. He was glad she was to accompany them. Her presence would be invaluable—and not just for her help with the language. Where was the girl? Impatient with himself for letting musings on Cecily Fulford’s whereabouts distract him from the business at hand, Adam rolled his shoulders so his chainmail sat more comfortably. He trusted that she had not changed her mind about going with them…he wanted her to go with them, he realised. Purely as an interpreter—nothing more, naturally. She would be most useful.

      Richard reached for his sword belt. ‘I agree we should keep a sharp lookout, Adam, but I disagree about Winchester being a point of possible ambush. The Duke’s men already have it garrisoned. And the streets are far too narrow—any fighting would mean the certain death of women and children, not to mention damage to property. I don’t think the Saxons would risk that—’

      Adam shook his head. ‘You’re forgetting, Richard—Winchester’s the heart of Wessex. Harold and his kin have made it their capital for decades: there’s a great cathedral, royal palaces—loyalty will be at its strongest in the city. No, we’ll watch our backs most diligently when we pass through there.’

      Richard grunted and buckled on his sword. ‘You’re the one in command.’

      Adam smiled and clapped Richard on the shoulder. ‘My thanks for your support, my friend. Without it I…Suffice it to say I’ll not forget it.’

      ‘Heavens, man, you’re the hero who rallied the Breton cavalry. All I did was inform the Duke of your actions.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, I have plenty of lands in Normandy already. My time here will come. I’d as lief support you as anyone.’

      ‘My thanks.’ Adam frowned out into the courtyard. ‘Any sign of my lady Cecily?’

      ‘Your lady, is she?’ Richard grinned. ‘Will you wed her in her sister’s place?’

      ‘If I can’t track down the sister I just might.’

      ‘I suppose one Fulford wench is as good as another?’

      ‘This one may be better, since she has offered herself to me.’

      ‘Adam, you don’t have to wed either of them if they don’t please. The Duke gifted Fulford Hall and the lands to you unconditionally. All you had to do was swear fealty to him. You hold title to them now.’ He tilted his head to one side and looked thoughtfully at Adam. ‘In fact, you might do better to look elsewhere, since the novice has no dower. Marrying her won’t fill empty coffers.’

      Adam nodded. ‘That’s true. But it would help my cause at Fulford if I were to wed one of Thane Edgar’s daughters.’

      ‘Then take the little novice, Adam, since she has offered. I can see that she appeals…’

      Aye, damn her, she more than appeals, Adam thought as he went to find her and hurry her along. He could wish that she didn’t appeal—he needed to keep his heart whole. He had given his heart once before, to his beautiful dark-eyed Gwenn. Pain sliced through him, hitting him off-guard. Never again. Never would he put his happiness in the hands of one woman.

      Speaking of women—where had that novice got to? If they were to reach Winchester by noon, as he had planned, they must leave at once. He had urgent despatches for the Duke, and he did not think Novice Cecily would enjoy it if they had to gallop the entire way to the city.

      The herb garden behind the chapel was reached via an arch through a high wattle fence, and it was there that Adam found her. He paused under the arch, watching her slight form as she made her way up one of the turf paths between the beds. Lady Cecily Fulford, Saxon noblewoman. Her footprints left tracks in the melting frost.

      How tiny she was. He’d noticed yesterday that she barely reached his shoulder, but today, in the garden, she looked smaller still. She was clad in her novice’s habit and veil, and that thin cloak. Perhaps that was all she had—but it wasn’t much considering she was a thane’s daughter, an aristocrat. What would she think, he wondered, if she knew that he did not have a drop of noble blood in his veins? Would she turn tail, as her sister had done? Would she lift that little nose of hers and…? Certainly she would not have made that impetuous proposal if she knew of his humble origins. But…Impatiently, he shook his head. Such thoughts were pointless.

      Being the end of the year, nothing in the herb garden was growing: the twiggy remnants of some herb poked out of the ground here; brown, frost-scorched root-tops wilted there. Adam was no gardener, but he could see that this garden had been carefully laid out and tended. In the centre stood a gnarled and leafless apple tree. A small bundle lay at its foot.

      Lady Cecily had yet to see him. Hardly breaking step, she bent to pull some red hips off a straggling briar and tucked them absently into the folded-back sleeve of her habit. It was a nun-like gesture. She moved on; she straightened a stake.

      Watching how she gazed at the sleeping plants, Adam saw love for the garden in every line of her body, in the caressing way her fingers trailed over a rosemary bush, a bay tree…He shifted his stance against the fencing, struck with an uncomfortable thought. Was his desire to take this woman with him as his interpreter pure selfishness? Was he standing in the way of a true vocation? Watching her in this garden he had second thoughts, but yesterday—yesterday in the lodge—he had not gained that impression.

      No, he was not doing wrong to take her. There was no love lost between Cecily Fulford and the Prioress, and no sign of a great vocation either. Cecily Fulford might love this garden, but she did not love the convent. She had asked to go with him, which in itself was something of a mystery. There would be other gardens. For his part, he must be on his guard, lest his attraction to her person made him forget that she must have her reasons for suggesting she married him. And not for one moment would he forget the pain that loving could bring—that aching void after Gwenn had died. Not even for beauty such as Lady Cecily’s would he go courting that a second time. He would wed Cecily Fulford if she agreed, with gladness, but this time he would think of it as a business transaction. He would keep his heart out of it.

      A robin landed on a branch of the apple tree. Pushing himself away from the arch, Adam cleared his throat and called her by her secular name—her true name. ‘Lady Cecily?’

      The robin took flight; she turned and, seeing him, took a hasty pace back. His chainmail—she misliked it. He had been right to remove it yesterday.

      Her cheeks were white as alabaster. He saw her swallow. ‘Y-you are ready to leave, Sir Adam?’

      ‘Aye.’

      ‘I

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