‘Has there been any mention of her making a journey?’
Again, Alis shook her head. ‘Not that I have heard. I did hear she received word from Sir Adam, but no more than that.’ She shrugged. ‘I am sorry, Ben, I have heard nothing. Is she involved with your commission?’
‘You might say that, though she, of course, knows nothing of my work for the Duke.’
The blue eyes opened wide. ‘But Rozenn is one of your oldest friends—she must have her suspicions?’
Firmly, Ben shook his head. ‘I have been more than careful. It is safer for her to believe I am simply a lute- player.’
‘I understand.’
‘And now the Duke has charged me with establishing links with his supporters in England. Since I have never been there, it struck him that suspicions might be raised at my sudden interest in William of Normandy’s new kingdom. Escorting Rose would be the ideal cover.’ Ben grimaced. ‘Lures have been laid, but so far I am not convinced she is tempted.’
‘There has not been so much as a whisper about her leaving in the ladies’ bower. You might try the guardhouse.’ Alis grinned. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Men are just as capable of gossiping as women. Rozenn Kerber has friends in the White Bird, and that is the tavern that Denez, the captain of the guard, favours. Denez and his men might know if Rozenn is planning on leaving.’
‘My thanks.’
In the bailey, a young woman’s voice rose above the tramping of the men-at-arms as she addressed one of the stable lads. ‘In the stable?’ the voice asked.
The stable boy laughed. ‘In the loft, mistress. I saw him go up there.’
Quick footsteps approached.
‘Hell!’ Ben said. ‘This is exactly what I was afraid of.’ Taking Alis by the arms, he dragged her down with him into the hay.
‘Benedict!’
Sweeping her veil from her hair, heedless of silver pins and satin ties, he covered her mouth with his hand. ‘Shut up, Alis, for pity’s sake.’ Then, rolling her firmly under him, he buried his face in her neck.
* * *
‘You saw him climb into the hayloft?’ Rozenn repeated, standing in puzzlement at the foot of the ladder. She tipped her head back and looked up, but could see nothing save the edge of the wooden platform and a couple of greying bales of fodder, left over from the past winter. ‘Are you sure it was he?’
The stable boy shifted the straw he was sucking from one side of his mouth to the other. ‘I can’t say I know Ben Silvester by sight exactly, but whoever followed her up there had a lute strapped to his back, so it must be him.’
Rozenn felt the unwonted happiness that had been with her since dawn drain away like so much water through a sieve. ‘Ben f-followed her up there?’
‘Yes, mistress.’
There was a lump in her throat the size of a hen’s egg. ‘Who—who did he follow?’
‘That Norman lady, the one with the yellow hair.’
‘Lady Alis,’ Rozenn murmured, heart sinking to the floor. ‘The pretty one.’
The stable boy’s grin was knowing. He spoke through the straw in his mouth. ‘Aye, that’s the one.’
The muscles in Rozenn’s face seemed to have gone stiff, and for the life of her she was unable to smile back. Since she had decided to marry Sir Richard of Asculf, she should not care—it was no business of hers who Ben Silvester tumbled in the hay. And since she already knew what Ben was like, this was scarcely a surprise. But unfortunately, this was one time she could not walk away and pretend to be unaware. This time the Countess had commanded her to fetch him.
How embarrassing.
Tucking the hem of her skirt into her girdle so she would not trip, Rozenn gripped the ladder and started to climb. Halfway up she paused, glanced down at the grinning stable boy and said, ‘Thank you, Ivar, you may go.’ No sense the whole world knowing….
Ivar picked up a nearby shovel and ambled out into the sunlit bailey. ‘Holà, Denez!’ Ivar called a greeting, his voice fading as he engaged in conversation with Count Remond’s captain and walked with him towards the barns.
As Rozenn neared the top of the ladder, hay rustled. Clenching her jaw, she forced herself up another rung. A low murmur reached her.
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Yes, that was Ben’s voice. Rose felt sick, she actually felt sick. Then came a feminine giggle that tied knots in her belly.
‘Let him think what he likes,’ the woman hissed back. ‘He will learn the truth when he marries me.’
Another rung. Another. Rozenn’s feet were lumps of lead and her heart was thumping so loudly she could no longer hear the guards drilling in the bailey nor the horses stamping in the stalls below. Another rung and she was at the top.
And there he was, Benedict Silvester—that coal-dark hair was unmistakable, though his face was hidden since he was wrapped round Lady Alis FitzHubert, pinning her to the straw-strewn boards with his body. One of his long legs…
Jaw clenched, she stumbled on to the platform.
Ben lifted his head, and blanched. ‘Rose!’
He was surprised to see her, that much was plain. Pushing away from Lady Alis, he shoved his hair out of his face with that characteristic gesture that betrayed his unease more than words ever could. So he used to look when, as a young boy, he first fought his natural shyness to entertain the old Count and his household.
‘Holà, Ben,’ Rose said. The careless words she had prepared stuck in her throat; the loft blurred and wavered in a pointless rush of tears. Turning away, she blinked like a mad thing and fought for control. When she had composed herself, Ben and Lady Alis were both sitting up and he was picking straw from her back while she was placidly re-plaiting her fine blonde hair.
Rozenn tried to ignore the straw stuck in Ben’s hair. ‘Up to your old tricks, I see,’ she managed. ‘It didn’t take you long.’
Ben’s eyes met hers, and for a moment he looked as uncomfortable as she could wish. Good. She was glad she had interrupted them.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he grinned. ‘You wanted me, Rozenn?’ His voice was low, deliberately suggestive.
Damn the man! How was it that his responses were invariably laced with double entendres? Not that it would ever matter to her, she was far too sensible to be interested in a wastrel like Benedict Silvester, not in that way at any rate.
He pressed a swift kiss to Alis’s cheek and, shifting away from her, patted the straw invitingly. ‘Come on, Rozenn, you know you want to…’
Grinding her teeth at his effrontery, Rozenn stepped blindly towards him. In that moment, she wanted to clout him into next week.
Ben rose to his feet in one lithe movement and, reaching for her hand, drew her away from the edge of the platform. ‘Careful, little flower, we don’t want you tripping over that pretty gown, do we?’ Gallant as any knight, may the devil blast him, while he gripped her hand so hard she could not free herself without making a scene.
Alis sat where Ben had left her, unconcernedly tidying herself. Taking her time about it. She had a contented smile on her lips, and a satisfied glow to her cheeks. She looked well and truly… Rozenn sought for a word… Loved sprang to mind, but it was easy to dismiss. Loved…by Benedict Silvester? A wandering minstrel who had more than his share of women in every town and castle in