Free The Leopard Unleashed by Elizabeth Chadwick

clattered utensils together and whistled loudly. Judith watched the work go forward, noting its alacrity, doubtless the result of her presence. ‘Tell me about her,’ she said.
    Renard swished crumbs off the table with the side of his hand. ‘She’s a tavern dancer from the hovels of Antioch. Her father was Welsh, her mother native. She uses a dagger as well as any mercenary.’
    ‘Her body too, it seems,’ Judith snapped.
    ‘Mama, I’m not a monk, nor of a monk’s temperament,’ he said. ‘Done is done, and a lecture is not going to unwind any of this coil, or cause me to change my nature.’
    A dairymaid arrived with another pail of milk and was followed by an older woman swinging two necked chickens by their feet.
    Judith sighed and pressed her hands to her forehead.‘My temper is short these days. Your father was coughing badly in the night and I have barely slept.’
    ‘Neither have I,’ Renard said, contrite now. ‘My mind has been turning like a butter churn.’ He made a wry gesture. ‘That’s more than half the reason I need Olwen. It’s impossible to think of anything else when I’m …’ He made an eloquent shrug serve for the rest.
    ‘You must decide what you are going to do with her.’ Judith warned. ‘You have seen how it is with your father. I know we haven’t had the opportunity for a full discussion yet, but you must know from Adam what de Gernons is saying and doing. Your marriage has to come soon before true winter sets in.’
    Before there is no time for weddings or celebrations
… The knowledge hung between them like a heavy black cloak.
    ‘Yes I know. Don’t worry. I won’t bring Olwen to my wedding.’
    ‘But neither will you put her aside?’
    Renard contemplated his cup, picked it up and drained the milk. Then he looked at his mother. ‘I think not,’ he said with finality. ‘If you had seen Elene’s last letter to me you would understand why. I dare say she will make a superb chatelaine and mother, everything that I know Olwen will not, but I doubt she will ever be capable of firing my blood to scalding point, and sometimes I need that kind of release.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I’d better arm up if I’m taking out the patrol.’
    Judith stared up at him: young and lithe, in the half light, the beard shaved off, he suddenly looked so much like Guyon as she had first known him that it almost broke her heart. ‘Renard, have a care.’
    ‘On the patrol, or in my dealings with women?’ he asked lightly, but she could sense the checked irritation.
    ‘Both,’ she rallied on a snap. ‘And you can count me among the women.’
    The light in the west brightened to a rosy gold as Renard took the household knights and serjeants out of the keep and on a wide-sweeping patrol of the demesne. The breeze was cold, but not unpleasant, and cleared the last vestiges of sleep from his brain. He began to enjoy the feel of the powerful horse beneath him, the slide of leather through his fingers, the musical sounds of armour and harness, and the rough jesting of the men in the early air.
    He moved up the border to visit two fortified manors, beholden to Ravenstow. Thomas d’Alberin at Farnden complained that the Welsh had been raiding.
    ‘No, not Rhodri ap Tewdr,’ he responded to Renard’s sharp query. ‘We haven’t had any trouble that way for ten years now.’ He folded his hands upon his belt-supported paunch.
    ‘Welsh levies from further north then?’ Renard finished the wine he had been served by d’Alberin’s wife, and having returned the cup to her with a preoccupied smile, he gathered up the reins. Their son, christened Guyon in honour of their overlord, was a doughy boy of nine or ten who did no justice to his namesake as he leaned against a wain in the yard, his mouth full of honey tart.
    Renard considered Sir Thomas. ‘When do your forty days’ service fall due? Remind me.’
    ‘Between Candlemas and Easter, my lord. I usually do garrison duty at