Free Court of Foxes by Christianna Brand

family equippage. They were to sleep that night at Gloucester; with changes of horses they might be there by the evening; it was almost exactly half-way, they might be at Castell Cothi by dark the next night…
    ‘In that case, I must be up by six for my toilet; with your permission, my lord, I will retire.’
    He jumped to his feet. ‘Certainly. It will be best.’ And he pulled on a bell rope and soon the woman came and there were more curtseyings, and a procession formed at last to conduct my lord and lady up the stairs to their rooms. Two footmen went ahead with candelabra held high, the housekeeper after them, walking crabwise looking backwards, alert lest a young woman of seventeen years be unable to mount a score of broad, shallow steps without a helping hand; behind her Catti Jones, the dark Welsh maid, stepped smartly with her skirts held up above her trim ankles. At Gilda’s side Lord Tregaron kept a protective hand at the elbow of her right arm.
    A man came to the top of the stairs and would have descended; but seeing the little cortège coming up, paused at the top and waited for them to come to the splendid curved landing of the first floor. The footmen moved a little to the side to avoid him as he stood silently, bowing, making way for the lady to pass. On Lord Tregaron’s arm, she paused for a tiny moment to bow back an acknowledgement of his courtesy. He raised his head; and once again for one moment they looked back at one another, those two…
    Fair hair and a quiet face, gentle yet strong. Brown Eyes.

CHAPTER FIVE
    A T THE DOOR OF the bedroom she stopped. In front of them all she said to her husband, coolly: ‘I will bid you goodnight, my lord. We have an early start tomorrow,’ and bowed and went in; the maid Catti following her, closed the door behind her. She said sharply: ‘Lock it; you can sleep on the sofa in here, with me.’ Not for all the red roses in the world would she spend the night in that other man’s arms; but her own vile flesh even now assured her that if he came to her, she might still be unable to refuse him.
    The lady’s maid was not much of a lady’s maid; but Gilda after all was sufficiently capable of preparing herself for bed. She allowed the girl to brush out the marigold floss of her hair; the elaborate coiffure had been so tumbled that she had hardly been able to get it into some sort of shape for the supper hour and tomorrow might (with relief) resort to a simple knot of curls at the nape of her neck, tied back with a black velvet bow as was the habit when riding or travelling. Now, as the bristles slid their way through the silky floss she asked, secretly trembling: ‘Who was the gentleman on the stairs? Do you know?’
    ‘On the stairs? His lordship’s brother, David of Llandovery. They were saying in the servants’ hall that he is just this moment arrived, back from foreign parts much earlier than expected.’
    Gilda sat astounded. ‘His lordship’s brother? Is he the Honourable David Llandovery?’
    Catti misunderstood the emphasis; spelt out the lessons doubtless learned below-stairs. ‘My lord your husband is the head of the family, Madam, is it not so? — his father being lately dead and he now Earl of Tregaron. And the other, being the younger brother, second son of the late Earl, is but an “honourable”, with the family name of Llandovery. Dafydd — that’s the Welsh for David and Dai the short form of it: Davidd bach of Carmarthen, we call him down in Wales, begging your ladyship’s pardon, or Dai bach. There’s no exact English for it: darling David you might say, or dear little David — a term, one might say, Madam, of a sort of loving disrespect — everybody loves him in Wales, so brave and gay he is, and kind…’ But she broke off sharply as though she had said too much, been guilty perhaps of disloyalty. ‘All but his lordship, that is: for you saw how the two brothers passed without a word — it’s said they haven’t spoken for