Song of a Dark Angel

said in her deep, rather husky voice.
    Corbett caught the hint of mischief in her dark brown eyes. He catalogued to himself her still-perfect features – the warm, generous mouth, thin, finely etched nose, the neatly plucked eyebrows and the rich brown hair, now neat beneath a green and white wimple.
    'Madame, you are as mischievous as ever,' he breathed.
    He prayed Gurney would not take offence. Alice always made a fuss of him. Corbett, constantly tongue-tied in the presence of beautiful women, never knew whether to be embarrassed or pleased. Ranulf-atte-Newgate had no such reservations. After Gurney had clasped his hand and greeted him with affectionate abuse, remarking that he looked as villainous as ever, Corbett's manservant sank to one knee to kiss Alice's hand. He held it so long that, bubbling with laughter, she pulled it away and walked back to her chair near the fireside.
    'Nothing changes,' Gurney observed drily. 'You, Corbett, still as shy as a child in company.' He pushed two chairs between his and that of his wife. 'You, Ranulf, still with all the cheek of a travelling friar. Come on, your cloaks!'
    He took them and threw them to a servant. Corbett and Ranulf unhitched their sword belts and hung them carefully on a hook on the wall.
    Corbett and Ranulf eased themselves into the chairs, spread their feet and revelled in the fierce warmth from the log fire. A servant brought them posset in pewter goblets with white napkins wrapped round them as the claret had been spiced then heated by a red hot poker. Corbett sipped the wine slowly, savouring each drop as his legs and body thawed out. He felt warm, even drowsy, but did not want to disgrace himself by falling asleep. While Ranulf smacked his lips and crowed with delight, Corbett stared around the darkened solar. It was opulently furnished; woollen cloths and damask hangings covered the walls; the windows were glazed, some of them even tinted; the candelabra held pure beeswax lights – no tallow or cheap oil-lamps here. Corbett felt the carved wooden chair; oak or yew, he reflected, and the same was true of the cupboards and other chairs around the room. Underfoot, the carpets and rugs were of pure wool. As a pageboy hurried to remove his boots, Corbett looked up and saw the black, white and gold of the Gurney arms on a huge shield above the fireplace; beneath this, silver plate glinted and glowed in the candlelight.
    Gurney threw another log on the fire. A small pouch of fragrant herbs had been pushed into a split in the log and, as the flames licked the wood, fumes from the hot herbs spread the aroma of summer across the room. Corbett tasted the wine, half-listening to Ranulf's chatter about their journey. On the opposite side of the hearth, Alice watched him closely.
    You've changed, she thought. Corbett had always been secretive, taciturn and shy, but now she saw in him a certain hardness; the laughter lines around his mouth were not as pronounced as before and his dark eyes, usually so gentle, had a slightly haunted look.
    Alice had heard about Corbett's second marriage to the Welsh princess Maeve and knew how deeply he loved both his wife and his daughter Eleanor. But she had also heard other rumours, of how iron-haired Edward was becoming a harder taskmaster now that he was waging bloody war against the Scots and deeply immersed in a life-and-death struggle with his rival, Philip of France. Corbett, despite his knighthood, his honours and his preferment, looked as if he was paying the price. Alice idly wondered what sights Corbett had seen. She caught his eye.
    'Hugh, do you wish to sleep?'
    'No, thank you, my lady. Perhaps later. There are matters to be seen to, questions to be asked.'
    Alice felt her stomach lurch with fear. Corbett had been her friend. Now, with his sharp eyes, brooding thoughts and clever questions, he was here for other reasons. He would begin to ferret out the truth. Alice, despite the cloying warmth of the room, felt the cold prickle of fear on the nape of her neck. What would this subtle clerk discover? She caught her husband's eyes and gave him a warning look. He saw the glance and looked away. He, too, was apprehensive, fearful of Corbett's visit. All he had wanted was to be free of Edward's court and camp so that he could plough the fertile fields of his manor, raise sheep and export the wool to Flanders for heavy bags of gold. The king's campaigns against the French had stopped all that. Although at this moment Edward