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of yours may not be perfect, but we have to make the best of things.’

      ‘I hoped Edmund would see that.’

      ‘He’ll come round. His bark was always worse than his bite. At the moment he grieves for his friends. He is guilty for being alive when so many have died.’

      Staring at the closed door, Cecily bit her lip. ‘I hope you are right.’ She looked down at the gown in her hands. Edmund had crumpled it. He had seen Judhael! Was Emma well? So many questions and no chance to ask them. ‘I wish I had your confidence, Gudrun. I fear he may do something rash.’

      Gudrun took the garnet damask from her and shook it out with a snap. ‘Not that one, dear.’ Her voice became confidential. ‘All bluster, he. Why, it’s my belief he may have hurt his leg on purpose, so he wouldn’t have to go and fight when the Normans landed.’

      ‘No!’ Cecily stared. ‘Edmund was one of my father’s most trusted housecarls! Besides, you said just now he feels guilty that he didn’t fight…’

      Gudrun pursed her lips. ‘Well, perhaps you are in the right. Who knows?’

      ‘It is worrying, though. It must have been a battle to get up those stairs with that leg. He wouldn’t have done that purely for the sake of picking an argument.’

      Gudrun shook her head and refused to be drawn further. She held up the garnet damask, and Cecily was reaching out to take it when the door swung open for the second time.

      ‘Really, Edmund!’ Cecily swung round, the gown clutched to her bosom, and almost bit off the tip of her tongue. Adam! It was Adam and not Edmund whose broad shoulders filled the doorway. His black brows were drawn together in a frown and his eyes were dark with suspicion. He knew! Adam knew Edmund had been up here to speak with her. Her mind whirled. Did he also know that Edmund was in contact with Judhael and the resistance? Did he suspect her too? She straightened her spine and vowed to guard her tongue; no one would suffer from anything she said.

      ‘My lady.’ Adam inclined his head, his gaze running over her from head to toe, taking in the cream undergown with its low neck, the garnet dress held in front of her like a shield, her sister’s shoes.

      Gudrun, whose jaw had dropped when she had seen who stood there, lurched into movement. ‘Sir, you should not be in here! Sir?’ With a flurry of skirts, Gudrun rushed at Adam, waving her hands at him as though he were a wayward hen she was shooing back into the henhouse. ‘Please, sir, we have not finished,’ she went on in shocked tones, in English. ‘It is not fitting that you should see her until she is clothed. Go, please.’

      Fearful for her, Cecily held her breath. Though Adam probably could not understand every word, Gudrun’s meaning was clear as crystal. Surely he would strike her? No man, least of all a Frankish knight, liked to be ordered from his bedchamber by a Saxon wet nurse.

      He paused, one foot over the threshold, and she could swear his lips twitched. Laughter? He was laughing?

      She caught Gudrun’s arm, whispering, ‘Gudrun, take care.’

      Ignoring Gudrun, Adam came to stand in front of Cecily. No, he was not smiling. His mouth was stern, his eyes cool. ‘Please to tell your woman that I would have private speech with you.’

      ‘Gudrun, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us? I will call you when we have finished.’

      ‘No, dear, it’s most improper.’

      ‘A brave woman,’ Adam murmured, his eyes not moving from Cecily’s, ‘but misguided. Please to tell her that if she doesn’t leave on her own two legs I shall toss her out myself.’

      His tall, conqueror’s body surely had to have been made by some demon, since its shape so pleased her eyes yet at the same time it frightened her. He frightened her, with his calm, quiet assurance. He was unlike any man she had ever met. The moment he had opened the door she had recognised anger in him, but it was not like the hot, loud, uncontrollable anger that occasionally had taken over her father. This was, in its way, far more alarming. This was controlled power, and he was very much in command of it. Adam shifted slightly, as though to emphasise that his threat to throw Gudrun out was in earnest.

      ‘Gudrun, please!’

      Gudrun threw a scowl at them and stomped from the room, muttering under her breath.

      He was blocking out the light from the wall windows. A silhouette. A strong, slender young man. A warrior. Cecily crushed the damask to her breast and wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart.

      ‘Is it customary in these parts for Saxon ladies to entertain housecarls in their chamber while dressing for their wedding?’

      ‘I…I…No.’ She put some strength in her voice. ‘Of course not.’

      Adam smiled. It was not one of his more pleasant smiles. ‘I thought not. So, if you please, my lady, would you mind telling me what you were talking about?’

      So quiet his voice. So calm his tone. She drew in a shaky breath. Do not let anyone suffer from what you say to him. ‘I…We…That is…he…’

      ‘My lady…?’

      At a loss, she stared up at him. ‘He…he does not wish me to marry you.’ There—she had given him the truth, and it was a truth that could hurt no one.

      ‘And that is all?’

      She stared up at him, but with most of the light behind him, his expression was hidden. ‘Sir?’

      ‘No meetings arranged with what is left of the Saxon nobility? No plans to oust me from Fulford? No plans to kill me, perhaps?’

      Thankful that Edmund had not let her in on any of his schemes, again she could give him the truth. ‘To kill you? Not that I know of, sir.’

      He stared at her for a long moment. ‘Would you tell me if you knew, Cecily? That is what I find myself wondering.’ Sighing, he turned his back on her, and his voice became little more than a whisper. ‘I find myself wishing I could trust you.’

      Something in her tightened, and when after another pause she realised he was gazing down at the matting, tearing at one of his fingernails with his teeth, the tightness turned into pain. He was hurting, and she could feel it. He did want to trust her. But surely the great Breton warrior could not be hurting because of her? It could not be…And yet…?

      She stared at his back, took a deep breath, and moved to his side. ‘Adam?’ Greatly daring, her pulse racing at her temerity, she reached up and gently took his hand away from his mouth. ‘That is not an attractive habit, sir.’

      His fingers tightened on hers. His lips came up at one corner and his gaze softened. ‘You think not? Then, since you are to be my bride, I will do my best to break it.’ He opened his mouth to say more, but someone rattled the door.

      ‘Gudrun,’ Cecily said.

      ‘Is that woman afraid of nothing?’

      Cecily laughed. ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

      ‘She has your interests at heart. She is a woman in a million.’ Lifting her hand briefly to his lips, he released her. Somewhat bemusedly, Cecily watched him wave Gudrun in and bow himself out.

      ‘He did not bully you, did he, dear?’ Gudrun asked when they were once again alone. For the second time, she took the dress from Cecily and shook out the creases.

      ‘N-no, not at all.’

      ‘That’s good. Hurry, dear, slip this on.’

      Deep in thought, Cecily stood like a statue while Gudrun pulled the dress over her head and chatted and fussed and cajoled. Ought she to warn Adam if she learned of plans to kill him? Certainly she had no wish for his death. But if it came down to a choice between saving Adam’s life or the life of one of her father’s people she did not know how she would choose. Dear Lord, do not let it come to that, she prayed.

      Gudrun adjusted

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