The Wild Hunt Part 10

'I know.' He grimaced, took the wine she offered, drank a mouthful and then set it down.

'Spike it, will you?' he said. 'With white poppy.'

'What for?'

'To make me sufficiently difficult to rouse when Robert de Belleme hails at our drawbridge.'

'And why should he do that?' Judith had a strong inkling as to the reply, having had plenty of time to think during the long watches of the night while her absent husband enjoyed another woman's company without thought for his terrified wife. However, she wanted to hear the words from his own lips, not be treated like an imbecile who would give the game away if possessed of knowledge.

'He might think I was involved in a Welsh raid upon him and his men that took place on the Shrewsbury road yestereve,' he answered. 'I did not tell you before in case we failed. At least you could truthfully have claimed your innocence.'

'What good would that do?' Judith was not impressed. 'You know what my uncle does to "innocents".' Her mouth tightened, but it was because he had been ensconced at another woman's hearth, perhaps even in her arms, while she paced the floor at Ledworth in a cold sweat of terror for his life.

'Look,' he said wearily, 'I do not expect you to go into the kitchen details of how you make a particular dish, but I will praise it or otherwise when it comes to table, and it is the same with certain of my doings. I told you what was needful.'

'What you thought was needful.'

Guyon swallowed and cast around for a fresh reserve of patience. A day of pretence and fencing with men he loathed, a night of clandestine work, an hour's sleep in a hard chair and some chancy riding over rough terrain in the pitch dark made it difficult to find. 'Judith, don't push me,' he said softly.

A trickle of fear ran down her spine. The gentle tone was far more frightening than a bellow to mind her business, or a raised fist. She turned abruptly away to begin preparing a draught of the poppy syrup.

Guyon continued to strip. 'What about the rest of the keep?' he asked after a moment. 'What do they think?'

She looked round at him, her expression impa.s.sive. 'Some of them believe that it is good for you to release your tension in a surfeit of drink, all young men do it. Others say they always knew you were wild and incontinent. Mama is desperate for my safety. My father used to beat us both when he was in his cups ... He split my lip once ... Mama cannot act to save her life. I dare not tell her the truth.'

He snorted with brusque amus.e.m.e.nt. 'You accuse me and then do the same to your mother!'

Judith drew breath to retort that it was not the same at all , but clenched her teeth on the words.

Do not push me, he had said, and she had no way of knowing how close to the edge he actually was.

'I am sorry your mother should be deceived in me, but there is no help for it. So much depends on de Belleme believing my innocence, or at least being unable to refute it.' Guyon came to take the cup from her, tilted her chin, and kissed her gently. 'Trust me, Cath fach.'

His lips were as subtle as silk, his beard stubble p.r.i.c.kly on her tender skin. Warmth flowed through Judith's veins as if her blood had turned to wine. Disturbed, she drew quickly away from him. 'Will you tell me how you retrieved the silver?'

Guyon eyed her closely, but could read very little in her expression, so carefully was she guarding it. His own fault, he knew, for warning her off, but one contrary woman a night was enough on any man's trencher. He looked down into the wine and swirled it thoughtfully around. 'It was worth every drop of this foul brew,' he said after a moment and took a gulp so that the heavy sweetness would not cloy his palate. And then, beginning to laugh, he told her precisely what they had done.

Foul-tempered, all insouciance flown, Robert de Belleme demanded hoa.r.s.ely to see the lord of Ledworth.

'He's still abed, m'lord,' Eric answered staunchly. 'It'll be the devil of a job to rouse him.'

'Do it!' snarled de Belleme, 'or I'll flay your hide and use it for a saddlecloth!'

From another man, the speech would merely have been picturesque. But as it was the Earl of Shrewsbury who spoke, Eric knew the threat was not idle.

'If you will wait a moment, my lord--'

'Make haste, peasant!' growled Walter de Lacey from his place at the Earl's left shoulder and wiped his hand across his bruised mouth.

Eric bowed low, mouth tightening under cover of his full brown moustache, and left the two men at the fire, a wine flagon close to hand.

It was late morning, the servants bustling. The smell of new bread wafted past the men's dust-caked nostrils as a maid laid out the dais table.

'Returning for hospitality so soon, my lords?'

De Belleme whirled to regard the icy glance of his former sister-in-law, Alicia de Montgomery. A b.i.t.c.h in blue silk with a milky collar of pearls at her still surprisingly young throat.

'Recovered entirely from yesterday's malady, I see,' he answered with mock pleasantry, continuing to look her up and down. 'You are remarkably well dressed for a drudge.'

'You should take a gazing-gla.s.s to yourself,'

Alicia retorted, the pearls jumping hard on her collarbone. 'What can we offer you to be on your way this time?'

His right hand flashed out to grip her wrist and tighten over the k.n.o.bs of bone. It was so sudden and so painful that involuntarily she cried out. A servant with a pitcher in his hand hesitated. De Belleme flashed him a red-rimmed glare that sent the man scuttling for cover.

'You always were a clapper-tongued b.i.t.c.h too clever for your own good!' he hissed at her. 'My brother was a fool not to silence your jabber with the blade of his knife!'

'It runs in your family,' she retorted, struggling in his grip, feeling as if her bones were about to snap beneath the grinding pressure.

'Where was Guyon FitzMiles last night?' he demanded, his face so close that she could see the small open pores pinp.r.i.c.king his nose and feel the flecks of spittle on her face as he spoke.

'Blind drunk in his bed!' she gasped. 'My lord, you are breaking my arm!'

'And so I will if you do not tell me the truth, you wh.o.r.e!'

It was no idle threat and Alicia knew it. The pain was making her feel sick. One more slight twist and her bones would snap like dry twigs. 'It is the truth. You saw him carried away yourself!'

De Lacey muttered a warning from the side of his mouth and the Earl flung her several paces away from him with a routier's oath.

Gasping, tears of pain and fury in her eyes, Alicia glared loathing at him.

De Belleme returned the look in equal measure and turned away to view the man staggering across the hall , supported on one side by the captain of the guard and on the other by his anxious wife.

De Lacey swore in dismayed surprise. The Earl stared blankly at Guyon who was stained and rumpled, ungroomed, still stinking of wine and completely without co-ordination.

'Whatever you want,' Guyon enunciated slowly, his tongue stumbling round the words, his eyes owlishly squinting and unfocused. 'I pray you be quick before I am sick all over your boots.' He swayed alarmingly. Eric propped him up. Judith bit her lip and, looking tearfully concerned, clung to her husband's wine-soiled sleeve.

De Belleme gazed round the circle of hostile faces. 'We were attacked on the road, pill aged, tied up and left for the wolves,' he snapped. 'I thought you might know something.'

Silence. Guyon's sluggish lids half lifted. 'Lost your silver too?' he said with a slow smile. It almost became a laugh but the movement of his shoulders brought on a sudden bout of nausea and he folded retching against his wife and his bodyguard.

Judith looked across at the enraged men. 'I am sorry to hear of your misfortune,' she said sweetly.

'Is there anything we can do? Horses? Food? Are there wounded among you?'

Impotent, beaten, Robert de Belleme stared into her hazel eyes with all their innocence and Eve-like deception and then flicked his gaze to the huddled man at her feet, the feline grace gone, the lank black hair grazing the rushes.

'Pray,' he snarled. 'Pray very hard that you are innocent.' He swung on his heel. De Lacey followed him, sneering over his shoulder. Alicia flinched and crossed herself.

'Oh G.o.d,' Guyon groaned, half raising his head.

'You wretched girl, I ought to kill you before you kill me.'

'Perhaps I put too large a measure of the potion in your wine, but at least your display was convincing,' Judith answered judiciously. 'Do you feel sick, or are you able to stand?'

Alicia, about to set her foot where angels feared to tread, once more found herself a baffled outsider to the understanding that existed between Judith and the green-faced man now gingerly rising to his feet.

'You'll be all right by this evening,' Judith consoled him and gestured one of the household knights to help him back to bed.

'Witch,' he muttered, but managed a wan smile over his shoulder.

'I do not suppose you are going to explain any of this to me?' Alicia asked, a line of exasperation between her brows.

'No, Mama,' Judith agreed, her smile the secretive one that was all her father's legacy.

CHAPTER 10.

The shadows of the June evening had begun to lengthen. The sunlight was as golden as cider, but the wind that cut across the marches and ruffled the slate feathers of the peregrine on its eyrie was edged with cold.

Guyon stood upon Ravenstow's wall walk and inhaled the clean, meadow-scented air with appreciation. Below, the hall was hazed with the smell of the smoked fish that had been the main dish of the evening meal, it being Friday. A lingering aftermath of the deception practised upon de Belleme - a punishment and a penance - was the delicacy of his stomach where such food was concerned.

Cadi thumped her tail, eyes c.o.c.ked adoringly, alert to move if he should, but he remained staring out over the demesne. The water meadows gave way to the peasants' strips sown with oats and beans, green-blowing in the wind that chased a contrast of shadows and amber sunlight over the land. A harsh land, filled with the dangers of sudden Welsh raids and the slinking shadows of wolves.

As the summer advanced, the Welsh had grown bold in their raiding. A flock of sheep here, a bull there, a woman in one of Guyon's border hamlets.

He had, of course, retaliated. An eye for an eye.

Everyone knew the rules ... except Robert de Belleme who rampaged up and down his earldom like Grendell of the marsh, destroying and torturing. Doggedly the Welsh retreated into the hill s where he could not follow, taking everything with them and letting their flimsy hafods burn. Reconstruction took only a matter of days and de Belleme was too great a lord to occupy his entire summer chasing shadows through wet Welsh woods. He left that to his va.s.sals, men such as Walter de Lacey and Ralph de Serigny.

The latter had died last month during one such foray into Wales. He and his men had been ambushed and, while fighting his way out, he had suffered a seizure and fall en dead from his horse.

Guyon and Judith had attended the funeral as a mark of respect but, circ.u.mstances and the other mourners being what they were, had not remained beyond the ceremony.

Guyon had dealt efficiently with the raids on his own lands and kept a jaundiced, watchful eye on de Lacey's efforts to do the same. He did the rounds of his va.s.sals and castellans, holding manor courts, advising, solving, replacing and recruiting, granting, denying, his finger firmly on the pulse.

He began to move slowly along the wall walk.

Cadi leaped to her feet, shook herself and followed, nose grazing his heels. A young guard saluted him. Guyon paused a moment to speak, remembering from long training the man's name and family circ.u.mstances. It was a little effort that never failed to repay more than double its expenditure in willingness and loyalty.

The guard paused in mid-reply to Guyon's query and saluted again, this time flus.h.i.+ng scarlet to the tips of his ears.

Guyon turned to find his wife, pink and breathless from her climb, strands of hair escaping her braids and blowing wild. The guard's blush he attributed to the fact that women seldom came aloft and certainly not as informally as this. It never occurred to him to think the young man might find Judith attractive.

'I've found her!' Judith panted, clutching Guyon's arm, her eyes as bright as two polished agates.

'She was in one of the bailey storesheds nestled among a heap of fleeces.'

He slipped his arm absently around her waist and kissed her cheek. 'I told you she would not have gone far,' he said with a superior air.

Judith stiffened. 'You groaned the words at me from the bed because you wanted to be left in peace to sleep,' she said tartly. 'You could not have cared less!'

'Well , not at the time,' he conceded with a grin.

'But I knew she was bound to turn up. I've never known a beast with a life so charmed.'

'She's taken a lover. The same one that sired her last lot of offspring. A great black mannerless leopard of a tom that lives wild on the slope!'

Guyon smiled and leaned upon the limewashed sandstone to watch the clouds chase past on the wind. 'Well , it is spring after all ,' he said with amus.e.m.e.nt.

Judith blushed. He had been very patient with her thus far, his embraces light and fraternal, teasingly affectionate and 'safe'. Her stomach no longer lurched sickeningly when they retired of a night. She knew she was not about to be raped.

Once, unconsciously he had reached an arm across her naked body and murmured a name into her hair, his lips nuzzling her nape and her blood had p.r.i.c.kled, moved by something alien and unsettling that flushed her loins with moist heat. Afraid, she had tossed vigorously and coughed and, the pattern of his breathing had broken; he had removed his arm with a wry, half-waking apology and rolled over away from her.

The time would come, she knew, when she would have to know his flesh. He was his father's sole heir, the duty pressing upon him to beget more branches on the tree than Miles had done.

'If I was barren would you divorce me?' she asked curiously.

He left the merlon and walked onwards until they could overlook the river and its bustle of traffic at the toll as boats sought to moor before nightfall . 'Come now, Cath fach, where else would I find a wife capable of besting me at dagger play?'

'I do not suppose it would matter if she bore you half a dozen sons.'

'Kind of you to offer,' he grinned, deliberately misconstruing her words. 'I have the patience to wait on your ripening l.u.s.t.' She pinched him. He recoiled with a protest, and then suddenly craned forward, narrowing his gaze the better to focus on the distance. 'Visitors,' he said.

Judith came to his side and stood on tiptoe.

Below them, a long barge had just nudged into its mooring and the crew were making her secure.

'Your father!' she exclaimed as Miles stepped on to the wharf.

'Cat among the pigeons,' Guyon said with a thoughtful smile.

'Who is that with him?' Judith bobbed against her husband and a stray tawny wisp of her hair cobwebbed his face.

'My half-sister, Emma. If you remember, she could not attend our nuptials because she was in London.'

'Those girls with her are your nieces?'

'Christen, Celie, and Marian,' he agreed, looking wryly amused.

Judith regarded the group for a moment. The older woman, even from this distance, was obviously lovely, and rich. The white fur lining of her cloak gleamed like silk on snow as it caught the sunlight and her braided hair was the precise colour of a sweet chestnut new-hulled from its case. The girls too were elegantly robed and pristine. Delicately bred, gentle young ladies.

Dismayed, Judith bit her lip, aware that she was wearing her oldest gown and that it was rough with Melyn's moulting fur. Her hair was unkempt and there was nothing prepared to make them a fitting welcome.