An Honourable Rogue. Carol Townend

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      Alis tossed her head and her veil quivered, giving Ben a glimpse of a honey-blonde braid. ‘You think a woman incapable—’

      He shook his head. ‘Lord, no, it’s not that, but I wonder if you fully understand the dangers.’

      ‘I know the risks, Benedict.’ Her voice grew hard. ‘Better than you, I think. My father—’

      ‘Your father is a fool, but he is blessed to have such a daughter. Jesu, I tell you this, if I were in your father’s position—’

      ‘Languishing in the Duke’s dungeon…’

      ‘Aye, if I were he, I would not permit my daughter to take such risks. Look what happened to my own father. Albin had years of experience in the field and three times your strength.’

      Alis tipped her head to one side, and a spear of sun turned a strand of hair to gold. ‘How noble, you think women are to be cherished,’ she said, looking at him as though she were seeing him for the first time.

      ‘Yes, yes, I do,’ Ben said. Rozenn’s features flashed into his mind. There was a woman he had once thought to cherish, but that was years ago. In any case, Rozenn had never shown the slightest desire to be cherished, at least not by him. Rozenn had chosen Per. Keeping a firm rein on his expression, Ben evicted Rose from his mind. As the Duke’s special envoy, a secret and dangerous commission that was known only to a handful of people, he was never likely to be in a position to cherish anyone, let alone encumber himself with a wife. Not that he wanted to; such longings, thankfully, had faded.

      Alis was watching him, a tiny smile playing about her lips. ‘Your reputation belies you, Benedict Silvester—you are too much the flirt to cherish anyone.’

      Ben shrugged, and forced his mind to the task in hand. He had lain awake half the night, startled by passionate thoughts that centred on Rose, but he would not let thinking about her interfere with his work for Duke Hoël. There would be no such foolishness where Rose was concerned. ‘So, to sum up, you have learned nothing in the months that you have been here?’

      ‘It takes time, Benedict, to build trust, as I am sure you are aware, but I believe I now have it. Last week the Countess asked me to walk with her when she attended Mass at the Abbey, and again this morning.’

      Ben frowned. ‘Surely all the ladies go with her to Mass?’

      ‘Aye…’ Alis’s voice rose in excitement and Ben put his finger to his lips. She moderated her tone. ‘You miss the point. We all go as her escort, but only one of us goes with her to the confessional. Usually, it’s Ivona Wymark, the chatelaine. Ivona has been with Countess Muriel for years.’

      Ben nodded. He knew Ivona. Thoughtfully, he watched the dust motes drifting through a beam of light. ‘Yes, that is well. The next stage—’

      ‘I know the next stage, Benedict. I will watch, and I will listen. You may tell the Duke that as soon as I hear the slightest whisper about Count Remond initiating a Norman alliance, I will send word. They trust me now. This last week, a couple of strange knights rode in, claiming to have been waylaid by a gang of thieves on the highway.’

      Ben stiffened. ‘You think they are Norman envoys?’

      Alis raised an eyebrow. ‘I believe so.’

      Ben had heard rumours that Anglo-Saxon refugees from England had been seen in this part of the Duchy. He wondered which was worse from the Duke’s point of view: a pact between Count Remond and some of the Saxons dispossessed by William of Normandy, or an alliance with one of the great Norman barons. He ran his hand round his neck. It was not his place to reach any conclusions— the Duke had charged him with bringing information, not with planning his strategy. In any case, Duke Hoël was too clever to prevent agreements being made— particularly when most of them would amount to nothing. No, Duke Hoël employed Ben to inform him of any alliances, and to say how likely it was that one of the barons might actually mount a campaign against him. With the peace and stability of the whole duchy at stake, it was important work.

      ‘Which baron sent them, I wonder? Argentan? Lessay? Mortain?’

      She sighed. ‘Lord knows. But if some sort of a treaty is being made, it is only a matter of time before someone lets something slip.’

      ‘Good. When I am in England, the Duke will be relying on you here in Quimperlé.’

      ‘I won’t let him down. The Duke holds my father, remember.’

      Alis’s laugh had a bitter edge to it and Ben frowned. Her father, Hubert, was a good man, and while Ben knew that the Duke must have his reasons for imprisoning him, it stuck in his craw that Hubert was kept under lock and key and that his daughter was being drawn into the shadowy world that he had been born to.

      ‘Alis, before I go, I would ask if there had been any gossip lately among the ladies concerning Rozenn Kerber?’

      ‘Rozenn Kerber? The seamstress?’ Alis shook her head. ‘What sort of gossip?’

      ‘Has there been any mention of her making a journey?’

      Again, Alis shook her head. ‘Not that I have heard. I did hear she received word from Sir Adam, but no more than that.’ She shrugged. ‘I am sorry, Ben, I have heard nothing. Is she involved with your commission?’

      ‘You might say that, though she, of course, knows nothing of my work for the Duke.’

      The blue eyes opened wide. ‘But Rozenn is one of your oldest friends—she must have her suspicions?’

      Firmly, Ben shook his head. ‘I have been more than careful. It is safer for her to believe I am simply a lute- player.’

      ‘I understand.’

      ‘And now the Duke has charged me with establishing links with his supporters in England. Since I have never been there, it struck him that suspicions might be raised at my sudden interest in William of Normandy’s new kingdom. Escorting Rose would be the ideal cover.’ Ben grimaced. ‘Lures have been laid, but so far I am not convinced she is tempted.’

      ‘There has not been so much as a whisper about her leaving in the ladies’ bower. You might try the guardhouse.’ Alis grinned. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Men are just as capable of gossiping as women. Rozenn Kerber has friends in the White Bird, and that is the tavern that Denez, the captain of the guard, favours. Denez and his men might know if Rozenn is planning on leaving.’

      ‘My thanks.’

      In the bailey, a young woman’s voice rose above the tramping of the men-at-arms as she addressed one of the stable lads. ‘In the stable?’ the voice asked.

      The stable boy laughed. ‘In the loft, mistress. I saw him go up there.’

      Quick footsteps approached.

      ‘Hell!’ Ben said. ‘This is exactly what I was afraid of.’ Taking Alis by the arms, he dragged her down with him into the hay.

      ‘Benedict!’

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