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found herself glancing at the men in the yard, and doing so, she caught the eye of Brian of Doncaster. Arrogant puppy! He stood there with his thumbs stuck in his belt as though he owned the place. All because her son had brought him and some other men-at-arms back with him after his time in Wales last year, helping guard a Despenser castle.
    Brian met her gaze without flinching or looking away, and she felt her face freeze. The look on his face was much like the expression Sir Ralph wore when he drank in the looks of another young woman, a territory waiting to be conquered. That Brian of Doncaster should dare to look upon her so openly was a disgrace. Stories of ladies falling for the blandishments of men-at-arms and esquires among their households were all too common, but Lady Annicia had no intention of behaving in so lewd a manner. Especially with a man who was little better than a peasant.
    She only broke off her cold stare when Brian was called away by one of his men.
    ‘That man!’ she hissed to herself.
    It didn’t matter what Esmon said, that this Brian may have been valiant and a lion in battle. Lady Annicia felt that he was only in the castle because he wanted to lift her skirts and possess her.
     
    Mary hated seeing Sampson so mistreated, and she banged on the priest’s door with an urgency born of anger at witnessing such mindless cruelty.
    ‘Who is it?’ snapped the priest’s voice before he opened the door.
    Mary was in no mood to be spoken to like a child found tormenting a man’s cat, and was prepared to be as curt with Mark himself. ‘I often pray in your chapel, Father. Have you forgotten my name?’
    Mark stood back from the door. Of course he hadn’t forgotten her name, or anything else about her. Mary had appeared in his more exciting dreams since he had first noticed her figure, and now he often found himself surreptitiously observing her well-filled bodice when he should have been concentrating on his offices. She was the most attractive woman for miles, in his view, and that was one very good reason for him to maintain a certain aloof distance. He daren’t risk compromising himself with her. As a priest he had to be constantly on guard against women and their wiles.
    Mark threw a look over his shoulder at his milk. It was not overboiling yet, but he didn’t want to leave it too long. He needed that warming drink, just as he needed a rest before he celebrated the next service in the chapel. With his sore fingers and feet, he was not in the mood to be polite. Mary was very pretty, but Mark felt that it was more important that he should get that warm drink inside him than that he should stand here gossiping. ‘What do you want?’ he asked more politely.
    Mary bit back her first sarcastic rejoinder. ‘It is cold out here, Father. Can’t we talk inside?’
    ‘Why, what do you want to discuss that shall take so long?’
    ‘Father, I am
freezing
. Won’t you let me in?’
    With a bad grace, he reluctantly grunted assent and pulled the door a little wider. She slipped in past him, and as she did so, he felt her hip brush against his groin. It was fleeting, the merest touch, but it set his heart beating a little faster, especially when he caught a whiff of her fresh, sweet scent, as though she had rolled in new-cut grass infused with lavender.
    ‘What is the matter?’ he asked gruffly.
    ‘It is that poor dunderwhelp Sampson. He’s been beaten again. I saw three boys attack him just now, up on the high road.’
    ‘So what?’ he demanded. The sweetness of her smell was overpowering. It seemed to fill the room, and he took a pace away from her, but mere distance gave him no relief, and he could feel his blood coursing, being this close to a woman in his own room.
    ‘Can’t you stop them? Preach a sermon about how they should leave the feeble-minded alone?’ she said.
    ‘Who were they?’
    ‘Just boys,’ she said hurriedly, for she did not want to have to reveal that one was her