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lady—an earl's daughter. She has been taught to expect certain things from you, such as courtesy and respect. You should have gone in person to tell her that you wish to marry her."

    Gavin held out his arm as the servant girl ran a soapy cloth over it. The front of her coarse woolen dress was wet, and it clung to her full breasts.
    He looked into her eyes and smiled at her, beginning to feel the first risings of desire. He glanced back at Raine. "But I don't want to marry her.
    Certainly she cannot be so ignorant to think I'm marrying her for any reason besides her lands."
    "You cannot tell her that! You must court her and—"
    Gavin rose out of the tub and stood while the girl climbed on a stool and poured warm water over him to rinse him. "She will be mine, " he said flatly. "She will do as I tell her to. I have seen enough highborn ladies to know what they are like. They sit in their upstairs solars and sew and gossip while they eat honeyed fruit and grow fat. They are lazy and stupid; they have had everything they ever wanted. I know how to treat those women. I sent to London a week ago and ordered some new tapestries from Flanders—something silly like a nymphet cavorting about a woods so she won't be frightened by scenes of war. I'll hang them in the solar and give her access to all the silk threads and silver needles she can use, and she will be content."
    Raine sat quietly and thought of the women he had met in his journeys about the country. Most of them were like Gavin's description, but then there were women of intelligence and fire who were more like companions to their husbands. "What if she wishes to have a hand in the estate affairs?"
    Gavin stepped out of the tub and took the soft cotton towel the girl handed him. "She will not interfere in what is mine. She will tend to what I tell her, or she will repent it."

Chapter Four
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    Sunlight streamed through the open windows, slanting across the rush-covered floor, playing with little dust motes that glittered like specks of gold. It was a perfect spring day, the first of May, the sun shining, the air filled with the sweetness that only spring can bring.
    It was a large, open room, half of the entire fourth floor of the half-timbered house. The windows facing south admitted enough light to warm the room. It was a plain room, for Robert Revedoune would not part with money for what he considered frivolous, such as carpets and tapestries.
    This morning, though, the room did not look so sparse. Every chair was covered with a splash of color. There were garments everywhere; beautiful, lush, brilliant garments, all new, all part of the dowry of Judith Revedoune. There were silks from Italy, velvets from the Orient, cashmeres from Venice, cottons from Tripoli. Jewels winked everywhere: on shoes, belts, circlets. There were emeralds, pearls, rubies, enamels. And all of it was laid upon a background of fur: sable, ermine, beaver, squirrel, curly black lamb, lynx.
    Judith sat alone amid this splendor, so quietly that someone entering the room might not have seen her except that Judith's person outshone any fabric or jewel. Her little feet were encased in soft green leather, lined and bordered with white ermine, spots of black dotting the fur. Her dress fitted her body tightly about the bodice, the long sleeves draping from wrist to past her waist. The waist was snug, revealing its tininess. The square neckline was low; above it, Judith's full breasts showed to advantage. The skirt was a soft bell that swayed gently when she walked.
    The cloth was of gold tissue, fragile and heavy, iridescent and shimmering in the sun. Her waist was encircled with a narrow belt of gold leather set with emeralds. On her brow was a thin cord of gold, a large emerald suspended in the middle. A mantle of emerald-green taffeta hugged her shoulders, fully lined with ermine.
    On another woman the sheer brilliance of her green and gold gown might have been overwhelming. But Judith was more