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wariness had congealed into open hostility, all chance of rapport gone from the moment he overheard Bran telling the women that he owed Hugh his life. "What would you have Lord Bran docouple with a wench under his lady mother's own roof? That might be the way it is done by you English, but the French have more style!"
Hugh swallowed the insult as best he could. "You mean he has a whore in the village." He sought to sound knowing; nothing less than torture could have gotten him to admit to the supercilious Noel that he was still a virgin.
"A whore? Well, the priests would call her that, for certes, though she lays with no man but Lord Bran. I daresay he could tumble her in a church if he wished, so hot is she for him!"
"You are describing a mistress, not a whore," Hugh objected. "She lives in
Montargis, then?"
Noel's smile held a glint of mockery. "No . . . the convent."
Hugh stared, and then flushed. He was not easily provoked, and had been willing to overlook Noel's snide barbs, his lordly asides, for he had no false pride, knew that he was a green country lad with much to learn in the ways of the world. But enough was enough. "I am not so simple as that," he snapped.
"Did you truly think I'd believe so outrageous a lie? Lord Bran would never seduce a nun, for that would he a mortal sin and he'd burn in Hell!"
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Now it was Noel's turn to stare. But after a moment, he roared with laughter.
"You dolt, I was not talking of a nun! I was talking of the Lady Juliana!"
Hugh gasped, then took a threatening step forward, "Liar! Take that back!"
Noel jumped to his feet, suddenly aware that the younger boy was four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier. "Make me," he said, and grabbed for the nearest weapon, a brass candelabra. But Hugh was surprisingly fast for his size. He got to the candelabra first, jerked it out of Noel's reach, and flung it across the room, where it crashed into the opening door, missing Bran by a hairsbreadth.
For an endless moment, Bran looked down at the candelabra, then back at the horrified boys. "Playing catch with a candelabra? My brothers and I always used a pig's bladder football," he said lightly, and Noel's relief was such that he almost made a serious blunder.
"It was Hugh's" He choked the accusation back just in time, as Bran's head came up sharply. Noel knew that Bran did not give a fig for what his squires did between themselves, was not likely even to notice unless the blood began to flow in earnest. But he had only contempt for those who tried to divert blame onto others. "Nothing, my lord, nothing," Noel said hastily, chalking up one more debt to Hugh's account.
Bran's smile was sardonic. "Well, if you lads are done with this game of yours, you'd best be off, Noel. I told Juliana you'd be there by Vespers."
"I'll have your lady here in a trice, my lord," Noel promised, shooting Hugh a look of triumphant malice as he headed for the door.
Bran moved to the table, poured himself ale. "There are some sugared quinces here, Hugh. Help yourself if you fancy any," he said, and the boy mumbled his thanks. Sugared quince was a rare treat, but he had no appetite for it now. He was genuinely shocked that Bran should be bedding a woman of good birth; it was not seemly. As he busied himself in tidying up the chamber, he tried not to look at the bed, tried not to imagine Juliana and Bran sprawled naked upon it. Thinking now of Juliana, of her sultry smile and midnight-black eyes, he realized that some of his indignation had been fueled by his own guilty lust.
And it occurred to him, too, with a jolt of dismay, that he was going to have to offer the loathsome Noel an apology for having called him a liar. Honor demanded as much.
JULIANA was a light sleeper. Although Bran's moan was soft, muffled by the pillow, it was enough to awaken her. Sitting up, she pulled the
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bed hangings back, groped for the bedside candle, and held it over her lover's face. It was as she suspected; Bran's breathing was rapid,