She lifted clouded blue eyes to Rannulf’s. His were clear and steady. Honest eyes. But he was one of the oppressors. He could not deny his birth. If she told him anything, she was betraying her brothers.
Rannulf saw the inner battle reflected in Judith’s eyes. His face closed up. “I see my presence distresses you, Judith. I will relieve you of it. Try and get some sleep. No one will disturb you here. You may not like it, but two Norman warriors have pledged to keep you safe.” The bed groaned as he stood up, and cold green eyes looked down at her. He bowed and the door slammed behind him.
Judith hid her face in her hands. Tears dripped slowly down her face. She wiped them on her palms. Her blisters stung.
“Rannulf is no monster, Judith.” Sir Guy’s quiet statement made her start. She had forgotten him. He was leaning with one hand nonchalantly on the wall next to the fireplace, the other nursing his wine bottle. His face was friendly.
“I know.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat.
“Then why provoke him? He has gone to no little trouble to release you from your…bondage. He must think highly of you, to have spent so much on getting you out—”
“’Tis only because I come from England,” Judith told him.
“Is it?” Sir Guy wondered. He lifted broad shoulders and his hauberk rippled in the murky light. “’Tis most strange, I think, that a man set on saving his coin should suddenly part with so much of it to save a surly wench like you.”
Judith bounced off the bed and glared at the knight. “Just what are you implying?” she cried. “I am Saxon! He is Norman! There can only be hatred between us!”
“Are you so certain of that?” Sir Guy asked softly.
Judith felt a betraying heat in her face. “I…I…” she spluttered and tried again. “Our races are natural enemies.”
“Do you detest me, too, with this natural hatred of yours?” the knight enquired, casually twisting the wine-pot into the crook of his arm and raising it to his lips.
“Aye, I must. Your compatriots stole my family’s future.”
Sir Guy’s soft voice pressed on. “But you do not, I think, hate me as much as Rannulf?”
“No. I hardly know you,” Judith said.
“What has Rannulf done to you, lady, that he merits so much hatred?”
“I trusted him!” Judith declared. “I thought he was Saxon. He betrayed my trust, and I—”
“You fell in love with him,” Sir Guy finished with devastating bluntness. “And so he must be punished. They say that hate is akin to love. I did not believe it until now.”
Feeling as though she’d been punched in her vitals, Judith stared at the man whose dark eyes challenged her from across the smoky room. He was everything she’d ever hated, made flesh. That grey mail coat was too like Baron de Mandeville’s for peace of mind. And yet…
“By Our Lady!” The crusader swore. “If Rannulf could see your face, I vow he’d wish he’d let you rot in a ditch! ’Twould have been better for all of us if he had. Do you realise he sold his destrier for your sake? What use is a knight without his war-horse? God, you’re an ungrateful brat!”
The naked scorn in Sir Guy’s voice shook Judith to her core, and her head dropped. Two heavy swords lay on the table. The fighter in her recognised their quality at once. Her eyes narrowed, Eadwold would give his soul for one of these.
“Which is his?” she asked.
“This.” Sir Guy moved closer and indicated the more slender of the weapons.
Judith reached for it, hesitated and looked to Sir Guy. “May I?”
“You’re not of a mind to gut me?”
Judith smiled “I’m not a complete fool, Sir Guy. I know I need you.”
She weighed the sword in her hand. The blade flashed bright as the sun. It was too heavy for her, but she could feel the spring in the steel. “It’s as though it’s alive,” she said.
“The finest steel there is,” the knight agreed The anger had left his voice. “Thank God he didn’t have to sell that.”
Judith shot him a surreptitious glance. She saw his eyes were a rich, warm brown. They were regarding her with kindness now. She could see that he was hovering on the verge of speech. His eyes fell to her tattered gown. He flushed and averted his face. He cleared his throat.
Instinct told Judith that Sir Guy’s discomfiture was caused by what he wanted to say, and not by her charms. He seemed too human to be a Norman. She gathered Rannulf’s cloak more tightly about her. It was something to hold on to and she felt as though she had wandered into quicksand. “What else is there that would you tell me, Sir Guy?” she asked.
Sir Guy picked up his own sword and ran a blunt finger down the edge. “Rannulf has told me the reason you burn with hate. I can understand it.” He looked into her eyes. “But Rannulf is a good man. He does not deserve your scorn. He intends that you should accompany us on the voyage back to England.” He paused.
“’Tis a long journey.” Judith shuddered, remembering conditions on the slave ship.
“Exactly. Rannulf wants to protect you, and I will support him. But I will not stand by and watch you twist his mind with your morbid suspicions. He deserves better. Do you think you can keep your hatred buried, at least until we reach King Rufus’s territory? If you cannot…”
Sir Guy’s unspoken threat hovered in the air. His eyes were no longer kind.
Judith shivered. Now he was Norman again, and not human at all. “You speak plainly,” she said. “I will bury my hatred. I must, if it ensures me my passage home. But it festers within me. It will be hard at times to forget…” Her eyes slid past Sir Guy to the smoking fire.
“You might find your opinion of us has been transformed by the time we make landfall,” he said lightly.
Judith’s head came slowly round. She lifted Rannulf’s sword and held it up between them. “This stands between us,” she declared soberly. “I cannot help wondering how much Saxon blood it has spilled.”
Sir Guy expelled a breath.
“I’m sorry, Sir Guy, but that is how I feel.” She winced, and shifted her position.
“Your feet?” he asked.
Judith nodded.
“Do you think you can walk on them?”
Judith flexed her ankles. “A little, why?”
Sir Guy touched Rannulf’s sword. “Take that out to him. He should not be alone out there without it.”
Judith’s eyes widened. “He said we would be safe here!” she protested. “And he has his other knife…”
“That heathen weapon!” Guy snorted. “That is little more than a decorative piece. There is no real strength in the steel. I can’t think what possessed him to go out so lightly armed.”
“It looked vicious enough to me,” Judith said, attacked by sudden doubt.
“No good.” Guy shook his head. “No good at all.”
Judith found herself at the door, Rannulf’s sword clutched to her breast. “’Twas in part my fault he went out so carelessly. I…I’ll take it to him,” she stammered.
Guy smothered a yawn behind a broad battle-scarred hand. The door banged shut. Behind his hand Guy’s lips were smiling. “I rather hoped you might,” he murmured.
Chapter Four
Rannulf stood staring out to sea, a dark shadow against the starry tapestry of the sky. There was no one else about. Breathing a prayer of relief, Judith limped towards him.
Rannulf heard the halting footsteps above the chatter of the cicadas and the gentle swishing of the waves. He whirled round, his dagger winking in his hand. “What the Devil? Oh, ’tis you.”
He jammed the knife back in his belt and watched her warily. He resolved to keep his distance. She hated the Norman in him, but how would she react, he wondered, if she knew his true identity? Or that he’d had to send Wilfred to buy her from Balduk? No, he could not risk her discovering that she was owned by a de Mandeville…He’d have to bide his time.
Judith stumbled forwards, only too conscious that her nerves were st
retched to snapping point. “I…I brought you your sword,” she said. “Sir Guy told me how dangerous it is for you to be without it.”
Rannulf’s fingers brushed hers as he took his sword. “Dangerous? Oh…did he?” He seemed surprised. He raised a brow. “You’re not afraid I’ll turn the blade on you?”
“No,” Judith said softly.
“No, she says.” Rannulf’s voice was as cutting as any sword, and Judith recoiled.
Rannulf laughed. The cicadas’ rattling faltered, and then continued as loudly as before. “You have executed your errand. My thanks,” he said curtly, obviously waiting for her to retrace her steps.
Judith did not want to go. She wanted to make things right between them, but she had to make sure that her brothers would not be put at risk. She groped for the right words.
An oppressive silence filled the warm air. Rannulf stared down at her, every line of his body stiff and unyielding. He was making it clear that he was not going to make the first move…
Judith hesitated, and reached out. Beneath her hand his arm felt equally unyielding. His mail sleeve was a barricade preventing her from penetrating his guard. She could not reach the man beneath the warrior’s carapace.
“Judith,” Rannulf said. “There is no need for you to remain out here…”
She kept her hand on his arm. “Rannulf…” Her fingers curled and uncurled over the chain mail. “I…I have come to thank you.”
“Consider me thanked. Now you may go.”
“There’s…there’s more.” Judith held her ground.
“Aye?”
He sounded bored. But his eyes were still fixed on her. Judith sighed. She was to have no help from him. “You are not making this easy,” she accused, withdrawing her hand from his arm.
“What would you have me do then, lady?” he asked, distancing himself with scrupulous courtesy.
“Listen! I want you to listen to me!”
“I’m listening.”
Judith clenched her teeth, and pressed on. “I came to apologise for my behaviour. I must try to forget…I know we must establish a truce. At least till we reach England.”
“I did not know it had been a war, Judith.” He sounded weary.
“Rannulf, I’m sorry. I am prepared to try, only…”
“Only?”
“You must promise me not to ask me anything about my life in England. You know I have brothers—I cannot tell you about them. There can only be peace between us if you give your word that you will not question me about the past. Do I have it?” She looked up at his face, but the moon was behind him and his face was shadowed.
“You want my oath that I will not delve into the past?”
“Aye.”
“You know it,” he agreed instantly. That suited him. He too had secrets he’d rather she never learnt…
Rannulf’s cold response struck a chill through Judith’s heart. “And we will be friends again?” she pressed.
“Aye.”
At last his voice was warming. Judith felt herself relax. Maybe it would be all right…
Rannulf leaned forwards and kissed her gently on the brow. She did not shy away. “Wait here,” he said. “I won’t be above a moment.”
Judith watched him sprint effortlessly across the sands to the cottage. Her heart felt strangely light. Sir Guy had been right about her making her peace with Rannulf. She limped over to an upturned fishing boat. Her feet were agony. She probed at the grit in the cuts, thinking that it was a small price to pay if it meant she and Rannulf could be close again. Flinging her borrowed cloak to one side, she bent to examine her feet.
“What are you smiling at?” Rannulf was back already.
He had changed his clothes, and looked more like the young huntsman she had first met back in Mandeville Chase. He wore a plain tunic, belted at the waist, and simple trousers. His feet were bare.
Judith posed a question of her own. “Where’s your hauberk, and your sword? I thought…”
Rannulf gave a sheepish grin. “The salt water would not do much for either of them. Besides ’tis quite safe here.”
“But Sir Guy said—”
“Forget what Guy said,” Rannulf instructed, touching her hand. “’Tis time we bathed your feet. The salt will help them to heal.”
Judith thought she detected a trace of hesitancy in his face. She smiled shyly at him and was rewarded by his fingers closing firmly on hers.
The moon-silvered wavelets were warm and gentle. There was a slight stinging sensation and then they caressed Judith’s feet as lovingly as a mother washing her firstborn. The pain eased from her torn flesh. Judith sighed in pure pleasure, and wriggled her toes. Overhead the stars twinkled like gems set against black velvet.
Rannulf cleared his throat. “Judith?”
“Aye?”
“Can you tell me how you came to be taken by the slavers?” he wondered. “Or is that a part of your past I must not look into?”
Judith swished her foot through the water, and picked her words with care. She’d do her best not to destroy the amity between them… “I…I was in the Chase, and the Baron and his knights were hunting. I hid, but I let one of them see me.”
“What?”
Judith turned to Rannulf. “I knew him, Rannulf. Before she died, my mother told me which knight speared my father. I recognised the device on his shield, and I was certain it was the devil who rode with the Baron the day my father died. I…I wanted to see his face. I wanted to see what his murderer looked like.”
“You let him follow you?”
Judith nodded.
“And then…?”
“It was very foolish of me, because I was on my own.”
“No brothers that day?” Rannulf probed.
“Rannulf…” Judith warned. “You promised.”
Rannulf’s mouth twisted. “Go on. Who was this knight?”
“His shield bears a silver crescent on blue.”
Rannulf stiffened. “Beaufour! I knew it!”
“You know him? How?” Judith demanded She tugged at her hand. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t break a lance for him.” He let her pull free. “Go on with your tale.”
Judith lifted her shoulders. “There’s no more to say. He let me lure him on, but of course, he is stronger than I. I was caught in my own trap. I was not to know that the Baron’s knights were involved with the slavers.”
“No.” Rannulf sounded thoughtful.
The breeze ruffled Rannulf’s hair. It played across Judith’s cheeks and arms. The sea stroked her calves.
“Rannulf, you’re miles away,” she whispered. “What are you thinking about?”
Rannulf’s gaze slid past her and came to rest on a rock which jutted out of the sea in the middle of the cove. He cleared his throat. “In one way, it might be best if we never reached home, with what I shall have to do,” he answered.
“What do you mean?” Judith demanded, with a sinking feeling. What was he implying? Did he suspect she was an outlaw? Was he planning to go after her brothers?
He did not move his eyes from the rock, but his arm went about her waist. Her body relaxed, if her mind did not. Rannulf drew her close. She rested her head on his shoulder. His touch had never seemed like that of a Norman. When held to him, like this, she found it impossible to believe he’d ever harm her. Then, because there was nowhere else to put her arms, Judith slid them round him and hooked her thumbs over his leather belt. She sighed, and thrust all misgivings to the back of her mind. She felt utterly content, utterly at peace. She felt as though she’d come home already. She could stay like this forever. It did not seem to matter what he was…
Rannulf stirred. “Let me see your hands, Judith,” he murmured, and grasped a wrist.
Judith found her voice and vanished. She gave an inarticulate mumble and let him lift her hand. Long, gentle fingers stroked her palm. Shyly peeping through her lashes, she saw his dark brows sna
p together.
“You were a stupid, stubborn wench, to go down that rope alone,” he said. “Your hands feel like a badly cured hide.”
Her tongue untied itself. “Always the gentle flatterer,” she said, nettled. “Don’t touch them, if they displease you.” She was suddenly acutely conscious of the damning calluses her bow had made on her fingers.
“They don’t displease me,” he frowned. “They are pretty hands, as delicate as a lady’s. Only I do wonder why they…” He fingered the calluses that two months at sea had not wiped away.
Her heart beat fast. “Why they…what?”
“Nothing. For a moment I forgot our bargain. ’Tis easy to forget things when I have such a beautiful maiden in my arms. Forgive me?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Aye,” Judith croaked. Her voice had gone again.
His arms tightened, his lips brushed hers. “Hold me,” he said, watching her face.
Cheeks aflame, Judith slid her arms back round his waist. His body was warm beneath the tunic now there was no cruel mail coat to bite into her flesh. The sea kissed their feet. An owl’s screech broke the rhythm of the cicadas’ song.
Judith hid her face in Rannulf’s tunic, and listened to the steady beat of his heart. He smoothed the nape of her neck. She kept her eyes closed, the better to feel his every movement. The palm of her hand ached. With a lurch, Judith realised that this discomfort had nothing to do with her descent on the rope. She wanted to caress him. She ached to caress him.
Experimentally, she ran her hands up his back. His body stiffened. She heard the gentle whisper of an indrawn breath. She opened her eyes wide. She repeated the gesture; and slowly, shyly traced the contours of his back. She could feel his rib-cage, and the tension in his muscles. She moved her fingers with the delicacy of a butterfly lighting on a flower. Rannulf’s breathing became ragged. With a dawning sense of wonder Judith realised that he was conscious of the merest whisper of her touch. Emboldened by the effect she was having, Judith pressed her lips to the skin at the neck of his tunic. “Rosemary again,” she murmured softly.
Rannulf groaned, and tilted her face up towards him. She heard him mutter something that might have been her name, and then his lips covered hers.
Leaves on the Wind Page 10
