Free The Summer of the Danes by Ellis Peters

stormcloud bearing down on
them, and neither was disposed to do anything to evade or placate it. Indeed,
he perceived that Heledd softened by a hair the stiffness of her stance, and
allowed her head to tilt towards the descending light and glitter into a bright
and brittle smile, meant rather for her father’s discomfort than for Bledri’s
gratification. Let him sweat for his place and his desired advancement! She had
said that she could destroy him if she so willed, it was something she would
never do, but if he was so crass, and knew so little of her, as to believe her
capable of bringing about his ruin, he deserved to pay for his stupidity. The
instant of intense stillness exploded into a flurry of movement, as Canon
Meirion recovered his breath and came seething down the steps in a turmoil of
clerical black, like a sudden thundercloud, took his daughter by the arm, and
wrenched her firmly away from Bledri’s grasp. As firmly and competently she
withdrew herself from this new compulsion, and brushed the very touch of his
hand from her sleeve. The dagger glances that must have strained through the
dimness between sire and daughter were blunted by the night. And Bledri
suffered his deprivation gracefully, without stirring a step, and very softly
laughed.
    “Oh,
pardon if I have trespassed on your rights of warren,” he said, deliberately
obtuse. “I had not reckoned with a rival of your cloth. Not here in Bishop
Gilbert’s household. I see I have undervalued his breadth of mind.”
    He
was being provocative deliberately, of course. Even if he had had no notion
that this indignant elder was the girl’s father, he certainly knew that this
intervention could hardly bear the interpretation he was placing upon it. But
had not the impulse of mischief originated rather with Heledd? It did not
please her that the canon should have so little confidence in her judgement as
to suppose she would need help in dealing with a passing piece of impudence
from this questionably welcome visitor. And Bledri was quite sufficiently
accomplished in the study of women to catch the drift of her mild malice, and
play the accomplice, for her gratification as readily as for his own amusement.
    “Sir,”
said Meirion with weighty and forbidding dignity, curbing his rage, “my
daughter is affianced, and shortly to be married. Here in his lordship’s court
you will treat her and all other women with respect.” And to Heledd he said
brusquely, and with a sharp gesture of his hand towards their lodging under the
far wall of the enclave: “Go in, girl! The hour is late already, you should be
withindoors.”
    Heledd,
without haste or discomposure, gave them a slight, curt inclination of her head
to share between them, and turned and walked away. The rear view of her as she
went was expressive, and disdainful of men in general.
    “And
a very fine girl, too,” said Bledri approvingly, watching her departure.
    “You
may be proud of your getting, Father. I hope you are marrying her to a man
who’ll appreciate beauty. The small courtesy of hefting the lass down the steps
to level ground can hardly have blemished his bargain.” His clear, incisive
voice had dwelt fondly on the word ‘Father’, well aware of the dual sting.
    “Well,
what the eye has not seen, the heart need not grieve, and I hear the bridegroom
is well away in Anglesey. And no doubt you can keep a still tongue where this
match is concerned.” The plain implication was there, very sweetly insinuated.
No, Canon Meirion was exceedingly unlikely to make any move that could
jeopardise his cleansed and celibate and promising future. Bledri ap Rhys was
very quick on the uptake, and well informed about the bishop’s clerical
reforms. He had even sensed Heledd’s resentment at being so ruthlessly disposed
of, and her impulse to take her revenge before departing.
    “Sir,
you are a guest of prince and bishop, and as such are expected