mother had been—few women were. Rozenn craved security, Rozenn craved position. Ben understood, of course, but privately he wondered if she would for ever be making up for being a foundling. If it were not for the fact that the Duke vitally needed to establish a line of contact with his men in England, he would abandon the entire plan….
‘Rose, I must ask, have you heard from Adam since he left? When I heard of the great battle at Hastings, I prayed that he would survive.’
‘He did. Word came via a messenger bringing news to Count Remond. Adam distinguished himself at Hastings and Duke William—that is, the new King of England— has rewarded him with lands and a wife.’
‘A wife?’
‘Aye, her name is Cecily of Fulford,’ Rozenn said, with a little yawn. ‘And very soon I am going to visit them.’
‘You are?’ Ben said, affecting disbelief. ‘My Rozenn leave Quimperlé—impossible!’ She shot him a strange look and, deciding it was probably best not to overdo the disbelief, Ben shook his head and continued. ‘But Adam—remarried—I can scarcely believe it. Poor woman, he will never love her as he loved Gwenn.’
‘How could he? But Adam is kind. He will be a considerate husband, I’m sure, and that will be enough.’
‘Will it? Was your marriage with Per like that? Was Per a considerate husband?’
Anger flared in her eyes. ‘Ben, you go too far, even for an old friend.’ Then her shoulders slumped and just as swiftly, the anger was gone. ‘Per was not considerate, as you now know. How could he have just borrowed and borrowed?’ Sighing, Rozenn leaned on her hand and stared into the fire.
There was more, he knew. Ben waited, but Rozenn continued to gaze blindly into the flames. There was a time when she would have trusted him with all of her secrets. His heart ached. He needed to know more about her plans to visit Adam, he needed to know her reaction to Sir Richard’s ‘offer’, but she was tired and melancholy, so he held his tongue. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
‘Sorry, little one.’ Leaning forward, he touched her cheek. ‘Don’t be sad. You drive those dimples away, and they are very beautiful.’
‘Beautiful dimples?’ She roused herself and covered his hand with hers. ‘You fool.’
‘It’s true, they are beautiful. I dream of those dimples; I sing songs about them; knights have jousted over them…’
‘Idiot. Oh, Ben, it is good to see you. I… I’ve missed you.’
‘And I you.’
She smothered a yawn.
Ben pushed himself to his feet. ‘Has Countess Muriel asked for you on the morrow?’
‘Aye, at first light.’
‘I’m keeping you up. We can exchange more news tomorrow.’ He made his voice as brisk as he might, to hide an inexplicable wave of longing that Rozenn might lie in his arms till dawn. ‘Shall I sleep in the shop?’
‘What? Oh, no. Make your bed over there, if you like, on the other side of the fire.’
Once the candle had been snuffed out and there was only the flicker of the fire to see by, she fell asleep quickly. She lay on her side on the bed, facing him, cheek pillowed on her hand, lips slightly parted. She was, Ben hoped, relieved to have him there. Happy, as he was to see her. He had always been content in Rozenn’s presence, even when they had been children. And every time he and his father had worn out their welcome at the castle, every time they had decided to move on, it had been a wrench to leave her behind. So it would be again, no doubt—she was a good friend.
Ben lay on the pallet she had found him, wrapped in his cloak, and watched the dying flames burn till they were little more than a soft glow. Then at last, his eyelids drooped, and he too found sleep.
Rozenn woke when the first fingers of light were edging round the shutter. She was conscious that her mood was lighter than it had been in months, if not years. Hazy with sleep, she rolled on to her back. She dare not linger long because her neighbour’s cockerel was crowing and Countess Muriel had commanded her presence in the solar at first light.
The Countess and her ladies were working on a wall- hanging intended for the Great Hall, above the dais. Rozenn had been commissioned to design it and, though the designing was done and the Countess and her ladies were perfectly capable of embroidering it without her, the Countess liked her to be present when they sewed.
This was another reason why Rozenn had not made public her intention to journey to England to find Adam and Sir Richard. If she feared upsetting Mikaela and Adam’s mother, she was twice as worried about Countess Muriel. As a rule the Countess was even-tempered, but when crossed she could be spiteful and vindictive. And since the wall-hanging was her current obsession… Oh, Lord.
Eyes firmly shut, Rozenn stole a few more moments in bed, her thoughts drifting. When complete, her tapestry— half-a-dozen yards long and as many deep—would dwarf the other castle wall-hangings. At her first sight of the unworked linen unrolled on the trestle in the solar, the Countess had been delighted.
‘Rozenn Kerber…’ The Countess had smiled, lightly fingering the charcoal figures Rozenn had sketched on to the fabric. ‘You are a wonder. Our hall will be the envy of Brittany. This figure riding out to hunt before all his men, is it Count Remond?’
‘Yes, Comptesse.’
‘And this, the lady in the orchard by the castle—is this me?’
‘Yes, Comptesse.’
‘You have done well, Rozenn. This will indeed enhance my husband’s prestige.’
And that, more than decoration, was the purpose of the wall-hanging. Luckily Rozenn had been quick to realise this. That was why she had designed the hanging with her two powerful patrons in pride of place. Count Remond was ambitious, his Countess was ambitious and the wall- hanging was a visual representation of their aspirations. Rozenn understood about ambition; she had ambitions of her own—she was going to marry a knight. A man of honour, Sir Richard would never have given her the gold cross if his liking for her was not strong.
Sighing, Rose stretched and opened her eyes. Her heart gave a crazy lurch.
Ben.
Fast asleep on his stomach on the pallet on the other side of the room with his face turned to the wall. His dark hair was tousled and he must have pulled off his tunic and chainse—his shirt—in the heat of the night, for his torso was bare. He was not as large as her adopted brother Adam or her husband Per, but he was beautifully formed, with wide muscled shoulders and a narrow waist…
One arm was trailing over the edge of the pallet on to the floor. She looked at his hand, the hand she knew so well, with its slender musician’s fingers relaxed and still. She wanted to touch him. How silly. She must have missed him more than she had realised.
Rozenn’s gaze wandered down Ben’s length to the cloak twisted at his waist, to the curve of buttocks concealed beneath it and finally to the naked foot sticking out at the bottom.
