Judith found it was one thing to be kissed when she thought she was the only one to be lost in a sea of sensation, and quite another to be in Rannulf’s arms and know that he felt the same. There was a heady excitement to this kiss, one that she had been too frightened to recognise before. The stars whirled above her. Her head span. Her legs felt weak. Her body was moulding to his, and his to hers.
All at once, Judith realised there was only one way this could end. And that must not be. She pulled back. Their lips seemed to cling.
Rannulf’s eyes looked as dark as the velvet dome of the heavens, but she could see he was smiling. He kept his thumb under her chin, and drew a shaky breath. “Judith! Sweet Heavens!” He gave an unsteady laugh.
“Don’t swear,” Judith said primly. Her laugh betrayed her. It was shaky too.
“This must stop—” Rannulf echoed her thoughts “—while we still have some of our senses left. Do you swim?”
“Aye, but never in the sea—”
“’Tis glorious. You’ll love it.” He waded for the shore and whipped off his tunic. It landed in a crumpled heap, and Judith saw his hands go to the ties of his trousers.
“Rannulf, no!” she protested, glowing like a beacon.
He waded back, and casually flicked her nose. “My apologies,” he said ruefully. “You are quite right. I’d be safer clad than not.”
“You’d be safer clad!” Judith spluttered.
He gripped her hand and grinned.
“My…my dress,” Judith stuttered, suddenly flustered. “I can’t swim in it.”
“Let me assist you in removing it,” Rannulf suggested, innocently. His eyes glinted in the moonlight.
Judith batted his hands away. “No!”
“The salt will spoil the fabric…” he added.
“I care not! I hate this gown. Keep your hands to yourself, Rannulf!”
He crossed his arms. “You can have my long tunic until I can get you some decent clothing. I have to admit to a desire to see you attired as an Englishwoman should be. Do you see that rock in the bay?”
Judith nodded.
“I propose a wager. The first one to swim there and back may claim a forfeit. I shall give you a head start because you are hampered by your skirts.”
“Agreed! But I need no concessions from you,” Judith answered, and plunged in.
It was queer to be swimming in a dress. The material was too light to drag her down. The bay was like a millpond. If it hadn’t been for the warmth of the water, she could almost have imagined she was swimming in her favourite pool in the Chase with pondweed clinging round her legs.
Rannulf swam at her side, matching her stroke for stroke.
“You’re not even trying!” she panted.
White teeth gleamed through the darkness. “I’m trying, princess, believe me,” he said drily.
Judith gulped in a mouthful of brine. It shrivelled the inside of her mouth. She looked at the rock. It seemed as far away as it had when they’d started. It was too far for her. The slave ship had weakened her more than she’d thought, and her long, trailing skirts were no help.
“I can’t swim far,” she admitted, her breath coming in little gasps. “I’m going back.”
Rannulf was but a handspan away. “I can take you back to shore. Relax against me. Aye, that’s it. I won’t lose you to the sea goddesses, and I have yet to claim my forfeit.”
Judith let Rannulf float her back to land. She watched the stars. The air must be clear as crystal for her to see so many. She heard the soft swishing pulse of waves on sand. Then her heels scraped a rock and she flinched.
“Judith?”
“Nothing. ’Tis only my feet. They need time to heal.”
“I’ll carry you to the boat. You can change into my dry tunic,” he said.
He lifted her in his arms.
“I’ll only put it on if you turn your back.”
His lips twitched. “What about my forfeit?” He set her down on the upturned boat.
“But the race was never run!” Judith objected.
“I knew it was folly to gamble with a woman,” Rannulf sighed. “You conceded defeat. Victory is mine. I claim my prize.” He fixed her with a limpid gaze and finished on a whisper. “Will you yield to me?”
“I…I…What do you mean, yield?” Judith stuttered. The dip in the water had not cooled her down at all. She wished it were not so dark. She could not tell if he were serious or…
“Why, pay me the forfeit, of course. What else would I mean?” Rannulf opened his eyes wide.
“I thought…I…that is…oh, never mind.” Judith was embarrassed at where her thoughts had led her. “Wh…what do you claim?”
“Nothing too terrible. Only a goodnight kiss when I’ve carried you back to the door.”
She breathed again. “Oh, is that all?”
“That’s all.” Rannulf pushed his tunic into her hands. “Call me when you’re ready. I won’t look.”
Judith peeled off the sodden robe, keeping a wary eye on his back.
Rannulf had a fine body. Slim, straight and strong. Perfectly proportioned. No giant, no brute beast, but lithe and fit and…her heart twisted. Damn him for being a Norman!
She yanked his tunic over her head. Something rolled out and landed on the pebbles. It sparked up at her, a tiny star fallen to earth.
Forgetting her feet, Judith jumped down. She winced. She picked up the winking star, and discovered it to be a pendant—a reliquary such as pilgrims wore. Curious, she turned it over in her hand. Rannulf was a crusader. He had been to Jerusalem. What Holy Relic did the tiny casket contain?
Her blisters made her fingers thumbs. She fumbled with the catch.
An iron hand wrenched on her wrist. Judith jumped.
“R…Rannulf!”
“My property, I believe,” he said tightly.
“I…I…I’m sorry,” she stuttered, excusing herself. “I only wanted to see what you had in it.” She dropped the pendant into his waiting hand.
She frowned, noticing the protective way his fingers closed over the reliquary. Guy had said that Rannulf was a good man. Judith conceded that. But she had not marked Rannulf down as being particularly pious…
Rannulf slipped the chain over his head. He made no move to show her the contents. He tossed a wet strand of hair back from his forehead, and his face had an oddly closed look about it.
“I’m sorry,” Judith repeated. “I am forgiven?”
Rannulf’s face cleared. He bowed, and placed a hand over his heart. “Sweet lady, I could forgive you anything,” he declared.
Judith laughed with relief. “A dangerous promise, Rannulf, but I’ll remember it.”
“’Tis well past midnight,” he told her “Time we were all abed. In the morning we’ll find you new gowns and—” he glanced down at her “—some shoes. And if you dare to say that you’ll repay me when we get back to England, I swear I shall beat you!”
“Yes, Rannulf,” Judith agreed, meekly. “Will you carry me?” She wound her arms about his neck and smiled. “I shall have forgotten how to walk soon!”
Light from inside their quarters squeezed through the shutters and cascaded on to the dusty ground. Several moths fluttered against the wooden slats, drawn by the warm glow. A predatory lizard scuttled into the shadows.
Judith could hear voices, speaking in English. Someone else must have arrived. She looked enquiringly at Rannulf.
“Another friend of mine,” he enlightened her.
“Oh. You have more than one, then? You surprise me,” Judith teased, to hide her sudden shyness. Lighthearted banter did not come easily to her after those grim years in the forest struggling for survival.
Rannulf deposited her on the doorstep with an aggrieved sigh. “You ungrateful wench. I carry you all this way, and what is my reward? Mockery.” He put his hands on his hips. “What am I to do with you?”
The voices inside rose.
“Claim your forfeit?” Judith whispered, sw
aying towards him.
His feet made no sound on the sand. The diffused candlelight softened his features. Strong hands cupped her face. Judith lost herself in that beautiful green gaze of his. Her hands went to his shoulders, and slid round his neck. She angled her head so their lips could meet and closed her eyes.
Nothing happened. No firm mouth met hers.
She opened her eyes and saw an unmistakable expression of horror had transformed Rannulf’s face.
“Jesus, no!” he swore. “Not yet!”
Judith frowned. Rannulf’s head was tipped to one side, listening to the conversation inside the cottage. She sharpened her ears.
“You bought her for him?” she heard someone ask.
“Aye. So there can be no backlash from this folly of his,” a different voice replied.
Judith frowned, not understanding.
“And where is de Mandeville now?” the second voice wondered.
Judith’s insides turned to ice. “Wh…what?” she stuttered, staring blindly at the shutters. She felt weak. She dug her nails into Rannulf’s shoulders for support. What was that name doing being boomed out loud and clear from a tiny lime-washed house, on a foreign shore a million leagues from England?
“He’s outside—” Sir Guy’s voice that, she’d recognise his awkward way with English anywhere “—with the Saxon maid.”
A cold sweat broke out on Judith’s forehead. She swayed. Rannulf’s hands were at her waist, steadying her.
Laughter floated through the shutters. The conversation became inaudible.
But Judith had heard more than she wanted. Far more. Her mouth had gone very dry. She licked her lips and tried to speak. “What?” she managed to croak in a voice that did not belong to her.
She forced her gaze to his. Rannulf was rigid. His expression condemned him.
“You! He meant you!” she accused. He was holding her so tightly his fingers were bruising her waist. Her insides felt cold and solid, and Judith realised it did matter, after all, who he was. It mattered very much. She grabbed his wrists and wrenched them away from her. “Don’t touch me!”
“Nay, Judith, listen to me,” Rannulf said quickly, trying to capture her fleeing hands.
But Judith did not want to listen to more lies. She clapped her hands over her ears. She could read the truth in his eyes. In his posture. He was kin to that murdering monster. She almost moaned aloud. And to think she’d let herself begin to like, to…
She uncovered her ears. “Admit the truth,” she bit out.
Rannulf’s hands fell to his sides. His eyes were trying to meet hers, some emotion flashing in their depths. Judith hardened her heart and looked past him at the sea.
“Aye. ’Tis true,” he sighed. “I am Rannulf de Mandeville. Baron Hugo is my elder brother. I am the younger son.”
“Oh, God!” Judith groaned. “Why did you not tell me? You know what I feel about him—”
“Judith,” Rannulf got in, “I had no part in your father’s death. You know that.”
Judith ignored him. “You should have told me the truth. First you deceive me into thinking you’re Saxon. Then you…you…seduce me into accepting you, and all the time you know my family have pledged to destroy yours!”
“Judith, listen to me. I did not murder your father. Your parents’ deaths need not come between us.”
“How can they not come between us?” she cried. “Every time I look at you I will remember that dreadful day.” She ground her teeth. “You must have thought it a fine jest indeed to woo me with gentle hands and soft glances, and all the time you were set to deceive me!” Her blood was boiling.
Rannulf’s mouth thinned. He shoved his fingers through his hair. “It was not like that, Judith,” he said, sounding exasperated. “I did not set out to deceive you.”
Judith snorted.
“I did not. I hoped instead that you might learn to—” Green eyes met blue ones that were hard as stones. “Oh, what’s the use? You’re a warped and twisted maid, and I must have been mad to think that I could ever—”
“Warped? Twisted?” Judith shrieked. “How dare you!”
“’Tis time someone told you the truth,” he said, coldly.
“Truth?” Judith stuttered, seething “You dare to talk to me about truth?”
Rannulf’s face set. “I think I know why no one bothered,” he murmured.
“You’re despicable!” Judith wanted to tear his hair out. “I see why you helped me! You took me out of that place to use for yourself.”
“I did not.”
“Men!” She curled her lips. Her chest heaved. “Now I understand why you insist that I owe you nothing! I was to pay with my body, wasn’t I?” She forced a laugh. “But I’ve learnt the truth. Poor Rannulf, to think your plan had almost succeeded.”
She saw him clench his fists. She had gone too far. She’d never seen that look on his face. He was going to strike her…
“Be silent,” he said, in freezing tones. “Your ranting is loud enough to bring Balduk’s guard on us.”
“B-Balduk’s guard?” Judith heart stopped. She resisted the temptation to glance over her shoulder. She shuddered.
“They’re bound to be searching for you,” he lied, deliberately cruel.
“You fiend!” Judith spat, and raised her arm to strike him.
His hand clamped round her wrist. “So you had better be sparing with your insults, had you not? You still need my protection, I believe.”
Bitter hurt, pride, and fear warred within her. She bit on her tongue, sent him a glance that should have scorched him to the core, and turned for the door. Her throat was tight with angry tears. She kept her head up. She’d not let him see that pain was ripping her to shreds. Judith stalked into the hut, and flung herself on to the bed, without even a glance at the startled occupants of the chamber. She pulled the covers over her head, and curled up into a cold ball.
She’d not give them the satisfaction of seeing her in tears. It was only because she was angry. She’d go to sleep. And in the morning she’d let him buy her new clothes, damn him. She would be polite, but nothing more, never anything more.
It made her sick at heart to think that she would have to accept anything from Baron Hugo’s brother, but it was either that or…No, no other road was open to her. She would let him pay for her passage home, too. Her brothers had been stealing from his kind for years. Why should she feel guilty for doing the same?
She was glad she’d not let him know that she spoke his tongue. She was glad she had at least that advantage over him.
She stiffened, remembering something else Rannulf could not know. Of course! He could not know that his own mother had died. Word had gone round the Chase shortly before Judith had been captured by Beaufour. Judith chewed on a finger, remembering how Eadwold had gloated when he’d heard the news. But Saewulf had not gloated. He had said that things would get worse now that Lady de Mandeville’s moderating influence on Baron Hugo had gone. Judith had not listened to Saewulf any more than any of the others had. But now she thought about it and realised Saewulf had been right. Things had got worse. The slavers’ returning to the Chase had been only a part of it.
Should she tell Rannulf about Lady de Mandeville? No. Why should she care? A tiny, rebellious voice in her mind wondered if mother and younger son had been close. But her parents’ blood shrieked out from their graves for revenge, and the small voice was drowned.
It took a long time for a ship to sail to England, she thought. A month at the least. Maybe longer, if the winds were not favourable. Judith vowed not to waste that time. Rannulf de Mandeville and his brother must be made to regret the day that they first breathed the sweet air of the Chase.
She pushed back the scratchy coverlet, wondering what had woken her. Sir Guy was sprawling on his back in front of the hearth, snoring, but it was not that which had aroused her.
A cock crowed, and Judith’s heart gave a strange lurch as the familiar sound transported her in an instant
to the other edge of the world, to England and home.
A heap of grey ash was all that was left of last night’s fire. Stretched out beside the snoring crusader, were two other sleeping bodies. Judith’s eyes went straight to Rannulf. He slept on his front, head pillowed on his surcoat, one hand resting on his curved dagger.
Not wanting Rannulf to waken and find her staring at him, she looked at the other man. Judith did not recognise him. He had Saxon colouring, but his fair hair was cut short in the Norman style. This must be the man who had unwittingly betrayed Rannulf’s true identity last eve. Another crusader, if his accoutrements were anything to go by.
Judith ran a hand through her hair, and grimaced. Sticky and stiff with salt, it felt like hemp. Warily, she eyed the sleeping men. Rannulf shifted and mumbled in his sleep, but did not waken. They would not sleep forever. If she wanted privacy…Another ear-splitting summons spurred her into action. Quiet as a shadow, she eased off her pallet, crept across the dirt floor, and stepped out into the dawning day.
The bright lamp of the sun was lighting up the sky. It flooded the bay with delicate pink rays, exactly the colour of the wild roses Judith’s mother had so loved.
The cockerel fell silent. And for a moment nothing seemed to move except the colours, slowly warming all around her. The beauty of it brought tears to her eyes. Judith shook herself. She did not have time to daydream.
The cottage had been built on the side of a hill. The gently rising slope was a patchwork of ancient olive groves. In the distance, beyond the silvery trees, a cloud-topped mountain broke through its shroud of morning mist. The air was fragrant with the scent of thyme. A hen-coop sagged despondently against the plastered walls of their lodgings. There was a well, and round it several scrawny hens scratched in the dust.
She set her hands to the well rope.
The water was a blessing from heaven. Judith drank her fill. She splashed her face. She plunged her head into the bucket, and scrubbed at her hair.
A loud slam shattered the peace. Judith jerked her head up and tensed. She could hear the sound of pounding feet. She squinted through a curtain of dripping hair.
It was Rannulf. He rounded the corner at full tilt, sword at the ready, hair dishevelled. He pulled up, and Judith saw dark colour run up under his tan. Her heart moved in her breast at the sight of him. She scowled. He was her enemy.
Leaves on the Wind Page 11
