She must have made a small sound, for De Senlis stirred and opened his eyes. His arms unfolded and he instinctively groped for his sword, then relaxed as he realised there was no danger.
Matilda swallowed against the tightness in her throat. De Senlis stood up, and through her tears she caught the hint of pain in his expression before it was schooled to a careful neutrality. A trifle hazy, but clearing fast, his eyes were a lucent fox-gold.
'My lady, you surprised me.' Given the slightness of his build, his voice was deeper and more certain than she expected. One hand rested on his swordhilt, but she thought it was a customary gesture rather than a sign that he was about to draw it on her. It spoke oceans of her mother's reception that he had not removed it, though. She saw that he leaned on one hip, slightly favouring his left leg.
'Your men are wondering where you are, my lord,' she said rather breathlessly.
He raised a thin, interrogative brow. 'They sent you to find me?'
From the way he was studying her, Matilda knew that he was trying to place her within the household hierarchy - maid or mistress. 'No, my lord. I was seeking my mother for the keys to the linen chest when I looked from the embrasure and saw you seated here.'
'Ah.' He gave a half-smile. 'Would I be right in assuming that your mother is the Countess Judith?'
'Yes, she is.'
'And yet you diverted to talk with me rather than going directly to her?' He spoke as much to himself as Matilda and seemed to be weighing something in his mind.
'My sister was with me. Our mother will give her the keys.' She licked her lips, suddenly feeling nervous beneath his scrutiny.
'And which sister are you?' Without taking his gaze from her, he reached to a low hanging apple, cupped it in his hand and gave a gentle tug. The fruit came away with scarcely a bending of the bough. Dappled green, gold and red, it shone in his hand, reflecting the late glow of the sun.
'I am Matilda. My sister is Jude,' Matilda said faintly.
He nodded, as if she had confirmed something that he already knew. 'You were named for King William's queen, God rest her soul,' he said and crossed himself. 'I saw you once when you were a small child - little more than a babe in arms. I was a squire in the King's service then.'
Matilda's gaze darted to the cloak on the bench and her stomach turned over. 'Your men said in the hall that you knew my father.'
He shrugged. 'I thought I did, but now I believe that only God truly knows any of us and what we will or will not do. His coppery gaze was assessing. 'You resemble him.'
'I remember him wearing that cloak,' she said in a choked voice. 'I always wondered what had happened to it…'
'He gave it to me when he was imprisoned in Winchester.' He turned the apple in his hand, lightly running his thumb over the glossy surface.
Matilda lowered her eyes from his and fought the wave of jealousy that swept her. This man was a link with her father. It should not matter that the cloak had been given to him, not her. Even had it been returned to Northampton, she knew that her mother would never have allowed her to keep it. She longed to reach out, to thrust her hands into the thick, white pelt, to press her nose against the tickly fur and be four years old again. But not in front of De Senlis.
'Why are you here?' she asked brusquely. She wanted to snatch the apple out of his hand too.
If he was taken aback by her tone he concealed it well, although he hesitated before he spoke. 'King William Rufus has bidden me take the earldom of Huntingdon and Northampton into my custody.' He glanced towards the embrasure of the Countess's apartments. 'Your mother has no choice but to yield.'
Matilda stared at him. The words played across the surface of her mind, too new and strange to be absorbed on the instant. 'You are to take my father's lands?' she heard herself ask.
'His Midland shires, yes,' he said. 'I am under royal orders to do so… and I will brook no resistance.' His voice grew harsh on the last statement.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what resistance he expected to receive from mere women, but from his manner it was plain that he had not emerged unscathed from the meeting with her mother.
She raised her chin. 'What is to become of us? Are you under royal orders in that matter too?'
He gave her a brooding look. 'Yes, I am under orders,' he said curtly, 'and in truth I am of half a mind to disobey them.' Raising the apple, he bit into it. His teeth were sound, for there was no hesitation, no attempt to find good ones with which to chew.
Matilda stared at him, afraid to ask what he meant and filled with indignation.
He inclined his head to her in the barest deference and, without clarifying his statement, left the garden.
She gazed after him. His walk was slightly lopsided and she could see that he was striving not to limp heavily in her sight. He had left the cloak strewn on the bench and she wondered if it had been as deliberate a ploy as taking and biting the apple. Matilda sat down upon the pelt, and, as she had been longing to do, filled her hands and buried her face in the cool, glossy fur.
The feel brought the distant memories of her father flooding back. She could see the laughter in his dark blue eyes and sunlight sparkling on his ruddy hair. She could hear the rumble of his voice, speaking in English, and experience the delight tingle through her body as he swung her aloft in his arms. Tears burned her lids. Wrapping herself in the folds of the cloak, she was both comforted and desolated. An odour clung to the wool - of sun-warmed fabric and dust, and something else. The individual scent of the man to whom the cloak now belonged. The hair rose softly on her nape and she gazed in the direction of the garden gate, her lips slightly parted.
Hearing the click of the latch, she thought for a moment that he had returned to claim the cloak, but it was Sybille who came hurrying down the path, cheeks flushed and wimple askew.
'Your mother wants you immediately,' the maid panted.
Matilda rose and the older woman's eyes widened at the sight of the blue mantle.
'Sir Simon left it behind,' Matilda explained. 'I was about to return it to him.'
Sybille shook her head. 'No time for that, sweeting. And best not take it into your mother's presence,' she counselled. 'She's already fit to burst.'
'Sir Simon told me that he is here to take the earldom into his hands.' Matilda removed the cloak and draped it over her arm. It was almost as heavy as a mail shirt.
'Did he tell you anything else?'
Matilda smoothed her hand over the soft, midnight-blue wool. 'Should he have done? Is there more?'
Sybille gave her a dark look. 'Enough to shake the walls to their foundations,' she said with a certain grim relish. 'I won't say more. The mood your mother's harbouring, one word out of place would be cause for a whipping.'
Outside her mother's chamber, Matilda paused to lay the cloak in a coffer that stood against the wall. Straightening her skirts, tucking a stray wisp of hair inside her wimple, she braced herself and entered the room.
Judith was pacing the floor, a deep frown scored between her brows. Her mouth was tucked in upon itself, making her look shrewish and old. When she saw Matilda, she ceased pacing and faced her, fury brimming in her eyes.
'Your sister informs me that you went to speak to Simon de Senlis,' she said icily. 'Do you want to tell me why?'
Matilda cast about for an explanation that would satisfy her mother. 'I saw him in the garden and from the way he was sitting I thought perhaps he was injured.'
'Well, he is not,' Judith snapped, 'and you are to keep away from him. He is a wolf in sheep's clothing.' Her voice shook on the pronunciation. 'What did he say to you?'
'Very little,' Matilda said, beginning to feel resentful of her mother's stance. 'Only that he had come to take my father's lands into his care.'
'Your "father's lands",' Judith sneered. 'Your beloved, blessed father could keep neither his lands nor his head. It is I who have maintained them through all the years of your life, and I will not be replaced by some upstart knight.' The tremble in her voice increased.
'But if it is the King's command…' Matilda said.
I will appeal against it. William Rufus is a fool, and Simon de Senlis is no more an earl than I am a serf. I will not wed him and let him make of me his chattel.'
Matilda gasped and clapped one hand involuntarily across her mouth.
'Oh yes,' declared her mother with a vicious nod. 'He wants to legitimise his claim by marriage, the traitorous thief. I knew Simon de Senlis when he was a snivelling brat. I will not be subject to his rule now.'
Matilda's stomach roiled with shock, anger and a strange unsettling stab of feminine jealousy. When she had stood in the garden and looked upon the vulnerable figure of Simon de Senlis, she had certainly not viewed him in the guise of stepfather.
'At first light we will leave and take refuge at Elstow while I decide what is to be done,' Judith said grimly.
'But if we leave, surely that will be granting him the victory.'
'No. It will show that we spurn him, and his authority will be diminished.' Judith curled her lip. 'My family will not stand quietly by and see this happen to me, and nor will the people of these shires. I am Waltheof's widow, and not without influence.'
And I am Waltheof's daughter, Matilda thought, but she held her tongue. Across the room she caught her sister's eye. Jude looked frightened. It was obvious that the keys to the linen coffer had not been given and that there was no point asking for them. The only beds (.hat her mother intended Simon de Senlis and his men to lie upon were made of thorns.
It was late evening. The Countess and her daughters had appeared in neither the hall nor the guest chamber. Not that Simon had expected them to do so. The mother hen had swept her chicks beneath her wing and was cooped up in the women's bower clucking in high dudgeon. The notion brought the slightest of smiles to his lips, but it did not linger. Countess Judith was not a hen and he did not believe that she would sit and cluck for long.
Rubbing his leg, he eased himself down on to the bench and lifted the cup of wine that his squire had left to hand. Since the Countess had originally had the chamber built to house important guests, it was spacious and well appointed - which he doubted she would have wished for him. A cosy burial casket was probably the accommodation she currently had in mind.
He thought of his encounter with the daughter in the garden. The girl possessed her father's strong bones, although the features were refined to feminine delicacy. There was a look of Judith about the arch of her brows, but instead of being glossy black they were a rich, copper-bronze and made him want to smooth his thumb across them, and then down the line of her cheek to the soft curl of her mouth corner.
It was many years since he had played at love and lust with Sabina the falconer's daughter. Long too since he lost his virginity in a hayrick with a cowherd's young widow. He knew about attraction, the excitement of the chase, the pleasure of gorging on the kill. Knew also about the brothels that Waltheof had once warned him against. The thought brought a grim smile to his lips.
How old was the girl? He was tired, his leg was paining him, and his mind was woolly. Fifteen, sixteen summers? Of an age to be bedded, and she had Waltheof's blood in her veins.
His musings were disturbed by the return of Turstan his squire and several attendants bearing a large oval bathtub and pails of hot and cold water. Late it might be, but Simon could not bear to lie another night in his own sweat and dirt. It was not that he was particularly fastidious, but there came a time when the itch and prickle of unwashed skin and hair became unpleasant. Besides, a hot tub would soothe the ache in his leg.
The attendants, albeit that they belonged to the Countess and kept their heads down, were swift and efficient. He laboured to his feet so that Turstan could help him unarm. On retiring to this chamber, Simon had removed the grinding weight of his mail hauberk, but he still wore his padded gambeson and swordbelt. A show of constant vigilance was prudent.
Once the tub was filled the attendants were dismissed. The last one out closed the door but did not latch it, and as the squire knelt to unfasten Simon's hose bindings it swung open on a draught of air that sent the flames guttering in the two hanging lamps. Instinctively Simon reached for his sword, and the squire flashed his knife from its sheath.
Matilda paused, looking from one to the other, alarm flaring in her eyes.
'My lady.' Simon uncurled his grip from the hilt of his sword and motioned the squire to put up his knife. 'You are brave to enter the lion's den,' he remarked, the imagery suggested to him because she seemed like a young doe, poised for flight.
She coloured, but advanced into the room, although he noticed that she did not close the door. There was no sign of her maid; she was without a chaperone.
'I am not brave at all, my lord,' she replied. 'I know that you are honourable and that you will not harm me.'
Simon gave a humourless smile. 'I doubt you have imbibed such sentiments from your lady mother,' he said. 'And I wonder if you are right to trust your source of information. Any man can turn from his honour in the dark of night if given the opportunity.'
'You are not any man, my lord,' she said.
Her answer surprised a snort of genuine amusement out of Simon. What might have sounded arch and flirtatious coming from an older woman in a different tone was made comically touching by the plain innocence of the girl's. 'Am I not?' he said.
'The King would not have sent "any man" to this task.' She gave him a clear, steady look that burned him like a flame. 'You knew my father. He would not have given you his cloak unless he thought highly of you.' She held out her arms like a handmaiden, the garment draped across them. 'Since we are leaving in the morning, I am returning this to you now.'
With a gesture and a nod Simon dismissed the squire, following him to the door and ensuring the latch fell behind the lad. Then he approached Matilda and removed the cloak from her outstretched hands.