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because he was itching to span them at her waist and could not trust himself.
    'But not from my horse.' She fixed him with a long, level stare in which he read challenge and invitation. Daring him. Holding him off. Then she turned to her uncle.
    'I like the grey too,' she said in a clear, determined voice and smiled up at William. 'Can I try him?'
    Simon de Senlis fetched the tack and her chosen mount was harnessed. It stamped the yard floor restlessly and kicked at its belly with a sharp hind hoof. Sometimes it was a sign of colic, but Waltheof suspected that in this instance it was irritation at the placing of a saddle.
    Young Simon grasped the headstall while Judith set her foot in the stirrup and her cousin Robert boosted her across its back. She drew the reins through her fingers and commanded the squire to let go. The grey took several short, stiff-legged leaps but Judith swiftly brought it under control, using hands and heels to exert her authority. Waltheof watched with keen pleasure. She looked superb upon that champing, spirited horse, and as her eyes met his in triumph he found himself smiling in defeat.
    Judith trotted the grey around the stableyard and, returning to the men, drew rein. Simon had caught the bridle and Judith was preparing to dismount when there was a sudden frenzy of yowls and two tomcats shot from the stables in a clawing ball of fur.
    The coper and his attendant grabbed for the leading reins as the horses started at the commotion. The grey whinnied and reared, jerking the bridle out of Simon's hand. Its powerful shoulder sent the lad sprawling, and as he struck the ground the sharp forehooves came down across his leg. Simon's shriek rose above the noise of the fighting cats. White-faced, Judith strove to control the horse as it reared and plunged around the compound like a demon.
    Waltheof was the first to recover from the shock of the moment. Bending, he scooped Simon off the ground and thrust him into De Gael's arms, then ran to intercept the plunging grey. Spreading his arms, he leaped in front of the horse. The shod hooves flashed, threatening death. Waltheof made a grab for the bridle and hung on, wrapping his fist around the leather, bringing the beast's head down and throwing his full weight against its forequarters so that it was unable to rear again.
    'My lady, jump!' he roared.
    Judith kicked her feet free of the stirrups, set her hands on the grey's sawing withers and half swung, half fell out of the saddle. Ashen with shock, she stumbled across the yard to safety then turned to stare at Waltheof in sick fear.
    Slowly, with the same skill and pressure that had won him every arm-wrestling contest in which he had ever competed, Waltheof brought the grey beneath his command. Unable to raise its head, held in the vice of the man's grip, the fighting turned to the trembling, wild-eyed sweat of surrender and the grooms raced out to secure the horse with stout halter ropes.
    Waltheof released his grip. The bridle had scored red weals across his palms and his sleeve was smeared with foam from the grey's muzzle. Wiping his hands on his tunic he hastened across the yard. 'My lady, you are unharmed?'
    She swallowed and nodded. 'I am all right,' she whispered. 'Thank you…'
    'You acted swiftly, my lord,' William said with a curt nod. 'My family is in your debt.'
    Waltheof cleared his throat. 'It is a debt I do not acknowledge, sire,' he muttered, feeling awkward now that the heat of the moment was cooling. 'I acted without thought of gratitude or reward.'
    'You might not acknowledge it, but I do,' William gave a wintry smile. 'My niece means a great deal to me.'
    To me as well, Waltheof wanted to say, but dared not. Head lowered, he strode to the stall where Ralf de Gael had laid young Simon. The boy's complexion was as pale and shiny as new cheese and his fists were clenched against the surge of pain.
    'Broken leg,' De Gael said, looking somewhat green himself. His eyes told Waltheof a tale that