‘Look who it is!’
The man’s voice took Constance by surprise as they made their way inside the keep a few minutes later, thankfully divested of their dripping wet outer garments. The great hall was so long and cavernous that the words seemed to echo around the walls and off the vaulted ceiling, challenging rather than welcoming them to Wintercott.
‘Father.’ If Matthew noticed the challenge then he ignored it, making a stiff bow as an older, strikingly similar version of himself rose from a throne-like chair by the hearth. ‘I trust that you’re well?’
‘Better than you by the look of it.’ Instead of beckoning them towards the fireside like a good host, the older man strode across the room and stopped just in front of them, planting his feet firmly apart and folding his arms as if he were deliberately making a barrier against the warmth. ‘At least I’m dry.’
‘We were caught in the downpour.’
‘So I see.’ The older man’s eyes flickered towards her, sparking with what looked like malicious humour. They were dark brown like Matthew’s, she noticed, but without any of his softness, sweeping briefly over her face and then dropping downwards, raking her body in a way that made her feel acutely conscious that she was only wearing her tunic, the one layer of clothing that hadn’t got wet. For a moment, she was tempted to turn and run back the way that they’d come.
‘You remember my wife?’ Matthew shifted sideways, pushing himself into his father’s line of vision as he took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Constance, this is my father, Sir Ralph Wintour.’
She caught her breath, taken aback by the tenderness of the gesture. His touch was reassuring, though there was something defensive about it, too, as if he felt the need to protect her. But why would he feel the need to protect her here, especially against his own father?
‘Sir Ralph.’ She pushed the question aside and swept into a deep curtsy, amazed again by the close resemblance between the two men. Aside from a few wrinkles and some silver streaks in his father’s hair they were almost identical, with the same height, build and shoulder-length fair hair.
‘Of course I remember.’ His father reached for her other hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. ‘I never forget a pretty face and you’ve grown into a true beauty, my dear.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured the expected reply, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered shamelessly over her breasts. With a tug she tried to pull her hand away, but his grip only tightened, holding her steady between him and Matthew as if she were the rope in some bizarre tug-of-war.
‘How was your journey, my dear?’ The glint in his eyes was disturbing, too, as if he were actually enjoying her discomfort.
‘Long,’ Matthew answered for her, looking pointedly at his father’s hand. ‘We’re glad to be here.’
‘Really?’ His father’s lips curved. ‘You’ll have to forgive my cynicism then. I was starting to wonder if you’d any intention of ever returning home.’
‘I stayed in France as long as the King needed me.’
‘For all the good you did. From what I hear we’ve lost nearly all of our territory over the channel.’ Sir Ralph’s expression hardened. ‘It’s no wonder he’s dispensed with your services now.’
This time it was Matthew’s fingers that tightened. ‘I followed the King’s orders. Just like the rest of his army.’
‘So you blame the King?’
There was a telling pause before Matthew answered, his voice clipped. ‘Even a king can make mistakes.’
‘Only a traitor would say so.’
Constance looked nervously between father and son as the elder finally let go of her hand. She couldn’t help but think of a pair of bulls locking horns. Considering what Matthew had told her about not insulting the King in front of his father, he was coming dangerously close to doing it himself. Despite his warning about their relationship, it wasn’t exactly the reunion she’d expected. On the contrary, it was downright hostile, the atmosphere between them thick enough to cut with a knife.
She glanced towards a giant broadsword hanging above the fireplace and shuddered. That ought to do it.
‘Matthew?’
To her immense relief, a new voice emerged from the shadows suddenly, closely followed by its owner. The man was around her own age with a slight build, pale face and dark curls that tumbled over his forehead and into his eyes as if he were trying to hide from the world.
‘Welcome home.’
‘Alan?’ Matthew’s manner altered at once, his combativeness falling away and his expression turning to one of eagerness. He started forward with a smile and then stopped as if constrained by something in the younger man’s face. ‘It’s good to see you, Brother.’ His voice sounded formal again. ‘You’re all grown up.’
‘That tends to happen after five years.’
For a confusing moment, Constance felt as though they were replaying the scene from her aunt’s solar two days before when Matthew had said that she’d changed and she’d retorted just as brusquely. There was the same heavy atmosphere of resentment and bitterness, as if she wasn’t the only one who’d been angry at him for leaving. Here was the younger brother Matthew had told her about and yet his greeting was almost as cold as their father’s. At least with Sir Ralph there was some family resemblance, however. Looking at Alan, it was hard to believe that he and Matthew were actually related. A scowling countenance appeared to be the only similarity.
‘Grown?’ Sir Ralph sounded scornful. ‘He’s hardly grown at all. He’s still as feeble and puny as his mother ever was!’
‘Since I don’t remember her, I can hardly dispute the fact.’ Alan’s tone was acerbic.
‘Well, I do and she was a weakling like you.’
‘Father!’ Matthew made a move to step in between them, but Alan took a few hasty steps forward, deliberately shouldering him aside.
‘I don’t need you to fight my battles any more!’ His voice was more like a hiss. ‘I take care of myself these days.’
‘I wasn’t trying to fi—’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alan,’ Constance interrupted, doing her best to look and sound as if their behaviour were perfectly natural. ‘And to see you again, of course, Sir Ralph. Matthew’s told me so much about you and Wintercott and...everything.’
‘Indeed?’ Sir Ralph’s expression was blatantly disbelieving. ‘What exactly did he tell?’
‘Well...’ She faltered, looking between each of the men in turn. Matthew’s expression in particular looked rigid. Now that she thought of it, he’d barely told her anything at all, nothing except... ‘You have a new wife!’ The words came out more triumphantly than she’d intended and she adjusted her tone quickly. ‘That is, he told me you’d remarried last year.’
‘I did. Isn’t that so, my dear?’
She blinked, taken aback by the term of endearment spoken in her direction, though surely not to her, before she caught a glimpse of further movement in the shadows and a dark shape seemed to float towards them as if summoned by Sir Ralph’s words. As she watched, the shape gradually revealed itself to be a young woman, probably just a little older than she was, with a willowy figure and auburn hair coiled into two long plaits. She was dressed in a pale grey gown that gave her the look of some kind of ghostly apparition and she came from the same side of the hall as Alan, as if the pair of them had been banished together from the warmth of the hearth.
‘Oh!’ Constance was too surprised to curtsy. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t see you there.’
The woman didn’t answer, her eyes glassy and mournful-looking as she stared at a point just beyond Constance’s shoulder. For a moment she wondered if she really were looking at an apparition, cold fingers trailing a steady path up and down her spine, chilling her very bones. There was something unsettling, sinister even, about the whole scene. This was her husband’s family—her family now, too—only family didn’t seem quite the right description. None of them seemed pleased by their reunion at all. There wasn’t the slightest hint of love or affection and barely any civility. The only warmth in the room was coming from the fireplace and that seemed out of bounds.
‘This is Adelaide, your new mother.’ Sir Ralph seemed unperturbed by his wife’s strange behaviour, his dark eyes glinting as he spoke.
‘My lady.’ Matthew’s second bow was even stiffer than his first. ‘Forgive me, but it’s been a long day and we’re both tired. We’ll have to delay our introductions until later. Constance?’ He didn’t wait for a response, tugging her towards some steps set beneath an arch in one corner. ‘We’ll go to my old chamber.’
‘You’ll find it’s your brother’s chamber now.’ His father’s voice was as smooth as poisoned honey and positively dripping with malice. ‘Surely you didn’t expect me to keep it empty for five years?’
‘Of course not.’ Matthew drew to a halt beside the steps. ‘In that case, which room should we use?’
‘I’ve given orders for the east chamber to be made ready.’
For a moment, Constance thought she must have misheard and that Sir Ralph had uttered some kind of insult instead. There was no other reason she could think of for the expression of horror that suddenly transformed her husband’s face. It seemed to drain of blood in a matter of seconds.
‘No.’ His tone was implacable. ‘Not there.’
‘It’s the finest room in the keep after mine.’
‘Not there!’
‘Why not?’ Sir Ralph’s lips curved again. ‘It’s just a room. Or are you afraid of ghosts?’
Constance tensed, seized with the alarming conviction that the baron was trying to goad his own son into violence. There was no doubting the malevolent flicker in his eye or the deliberate taunt behind his words, even if she didn’t understand it. Only the reference to ghosts coming so soon after meeting Lady Adelaide made her feel more apprehensive. She had no idea what his father was really implying. She could only look around in dismay and wish that they’d stayed outside in the rain.
‘Maybe I am,’ Matthew answered at last, the muscles in his neck bunching so tightly she was half-afraid they might snap. ‘But there are still other guest chambers, I presume? We’ll use one of those.’
‘Do what you want.’ His father shrugged. ‘Only you’ll find those rooms a little cold and my servants have better things to do than light unnecessary fires.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of laying a fire by myself.’
‘But it takes time. Perhaps you ought to think of your wife’s comfort instead?’
‘You’re telling me to think of my wife’s comfort?’ Matthew’s expression was like granite.
‘So it would seem.’ Sir Ralph’s eyes narrowed, honing in on his son’s as if he were taking aim. ‘How does it feel?’