A prickle of unease ran down Judith’s spine. His eyes were so bright, so intensely blue they were almost fevered. She squirmed out of his grasp. “What do you mean, cross swords with Rannulf?” she asked sharply.
“You belong to him,” Wilfred said. “And, having seen you, I do not like that thought.”
“I do not belong to Rannulf!”
Wilfred’s face was suddenly cunning. “Oh, but you do. You may not know it yet, but you do.”
Judith retreated a pace, but Wilfred’s hands snapped out and caught her by the shoulders. This was not going at all as she had planned.
“I will help you escape,” Wilfred whispered, bringing his face so close that she could see beads of sweat strung across his brow. “Fly with me,” he said. “Slip free of the bonds which tie you to him.”
Judith began to tremble. Wilfred’s eyes were blue, but the look in them wrenched her straight back to the slave block. Other men, men with dark eyes, had had faces distorted by that same look. A look of greed, of wanting to possess, to dominate. A look of lust.
Her hand groped to her side, reaching instinctively for the knife that she no longer possessed.
There was a light footfall behind Wilfred. It was Rannulf. His face was set like stone. His eyes were cruel. Wilfred snatched his hands from her.
“Rannulf!” Judith let relief shine from her eyes. Rannulf’s fingers clamped round her wrist and she was pulled without ceremony against his mail clad body. She smiled gratefully up at him, but pain darted through her when the green eyes remained distant. Rannulf held Judith’s wrist hard; her captured arm was trapped between their bodies, half-hidden by the folds of her skirt, and out of Wilfred’s line of sight.
“My friend,” Wilfred grinned at Rannulf.
Judith stared. The Saxon changed faces quicker than she could blink!
“My friend,” Rannulf said with heavy irony, and smiled. It was a grim smile, not echoed in those bleak green eyes.
“Why, Rannulf,” Wilfred said, affecting surprise. “You’re not angry, are you?”
Judith decided his smile was a shade over-bright.
Rannulf freed her wrist. He shrugged.
Sensing Rannulf was about to move away, Judith reached for his hand through her flowing skirts, found his thumb, and clung.
Rannulf froze, and glanced at her. “Judith?”
Judith could not look at him. She stared rigidly down at the shell in the sand, and prayed he’d hear her silent plea.
His thumb moved, and she tightened her grip.
“Why should I be angry? I have no need for anger,” Rannulf declared.
Judith relaxed. He was not pulling away. Rannulf’s fingers curled round the back of her hand. She risked a glance. He was smiling that lopsided smile of his…
Wilfred’s lips tightened. “No need at all,” he agreed. “After all, I was merely reminding the lady to whom she owed her obedience, and her duty.”
A muscle twitched in Rannulf’s cheek. “Take care, Wilfred of Loidis,” he warned, “lest you sever the bonds of our friendship.”
“The bonds of friendship, Rannulf?” Wilfred tossed his blond head and laughed. “You choose a strange word when you speak of friendship.” He directed a speaking glance at Judith, and sauntered past them towards their lodgings.
Rannulf was looking at her. Judith felt very aware of her hand clinging to his. She shifted uneasily. She had him on her own now. Now she should tell him about Lady de Mandeville.
“I…I think he is a little mad, Rannulf,” she said unsteadily.
“No more than the rest of us,” Rannulf murmured, so softly she thought she had misheard him.
“What did you say?”
Rannulf ignored her question. “What were you talking about, Judith?”
“Nothing of great import, Wilfred told me about his father, and grandfather…”
“Of course.” Rannulf yawned. “Two fellow Saxons sharing their experiences. Telling each other how they have suffered under the Norman yoke.”
“He asked me to go with him,” Judith announced, piqued.
“Oh?” Rannulf lifted their linked hands, and looked at them. “You seemed mightily pleased to see me when I came upon you both,” he pointed out.
Her cheeks burned. “He…he frightened me,” she confessed stiffly.
“Poor Judith.” Rannulf’s eyes danced. “To discover you feel safer with a devil like me, than with one of your own countrymen.”
“Rannulf, don’t,” she begged. She stared at him. How best to break the news? Bluntly, or…
“We have booked our passage home.” Rannulf looked away. “Our ship leaves at dawn. ’Tis a cargo ship, and we’ve had to sell the horses, there’s no room for them on board. But we were lucky to find our own passage home. Did Wilfred tell you?” He began to draw her towards the whitewashed hut.
Guy had told her that Rannulf had sold his war-horse. She had the suspicion that he’d done it solely to buy time with her in that terrible house of Balduk’s. It appeared he wasn’t going to admit that to her though. Judith shook her head and hung back. “No, Wilfred didn’t tell me. Rannulf, my thanks for—”
“No thanks.”
She tugged on his arm and drew his gaze.
“Judith?”
“I know you don’t want my thanks,” Judith babbled, and started pulling him back down the beach. “But I have never possessed clothes half so fine. I want you to know…I like them very well.”
Rannulf bowed his head. “My lady, I live only in the hope of winning your heart,” he responded, and gave her his heart-warming smile.
She took a deep breath. “Rannulf, I must tell—”
“Nay, Judith,” he grinned. “Do not spoil it, by reciting the wrongs my family have done to you. Let it go unsaid for once. We are going home, and you will be coming with me.”
“Rannulf, let me speak!” She could contain herself no longer. “I have news from home.”
He searched her face. His smile vanished. There was a long pause. “What is it?”
“Rannulf, ’tis bad news.”
“Aye?”
The silver pendant was outside his surcoat. She fastened her eyes on it. “It…it concerns your mother,” she stammered, heart in her mouth. She decided to be blunt. “Rannulf, your mother is dead.”
There was a dreadful silence. Judith lifted her eyes. Rannulf was staring right through her. He did not look as though he’d heard her.
“Rannulf?” She took a lean, brown hand in hers. He started.
“My mother, you say?”
“Aye, Rannulf. I’m sorry—”
“When?” His voice was strange.
“At…at the beginning of May,” she said.
“How?”
“I was told she died in her sleep. She did not suffer.”
“Gone three months,” Rannulf whispered, still with that faraway look in his eyes. “And I never knew.” His gaze sharpened. “Judith, I should have known. Death makes war on us all, does it not?”
“Rannulf, I’m sorry.”
“Are you, Judith? Are you really?” His eyes were suddenly fierce. “I should have thought you’d dance on her grave!”
Judith winced, remembering Eadwold’s glee when he’d heard the news.
Rannulf’s mouth twisted. “You saved that one up for a good moment, didn’t you?” he said bitterly. “You waited long enough to tell me—”
“No, Rannulf! I did not even know who you were till last eve, I—”
“Oh, get out of my sight!” Rannulf flung her arm away and stalked off up the beach.
Judith stared after him, emotion welling up in her throat. She wanted to call him back, to tell him she was sorry, but she could not speak for fighting back the tears. She could feel his pain. He had loved his mother. She should not care. The grief of Rannulf de Mandeville should be nothing to her. Swallowing down a sob that came from her core, Judith tore her eyes from Rannulf’s back, and dragged herself towards the cottage on feet made
of lead.
Rannulf stood on the sloping decks of the White Eagle as she nosed out into the Mediterranean. In the shallows the water was the colour of turquoise, and clear as crystal. The White Eagle began riding a gentle swell. The sea darkened. The wind strengthened and filled the sails, and the double row of oars was shipped. They had a following wind and if God stayed with them, the oars would not be needed again.
He sighed, stared at the distant horizon, and his mother’s face came into his mind. She’d been dead these three months. It irked him that he had not known. He felt guilty, as though he’d failed her by not coming back to bid her farewell. He sighed again. It was for his mother’s sake that he’d gone on crusade in the first place. She’d not wanted trouble, and if he’d stayed they would have been up to their necks in it. So he’d gone on crusade, to please her. And now she was gone, forever. And with her, no doubt, all sense of moderation had flown from the castle. The slavers in the Chase would be but a part of it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rannulf saw Judith wander towards him. He felt himself tense and cursed softly. Affecting not to have seen her, he continued staring out to sea. Judith hesitated, and brushed past him. Discreetly he watched her. She was carrying her bundle of clothes. She went to the prow of the ship, deposited the bundle in a coil of rope and clung to the handrail. She had removed her veil, and her hair was blowing in short, shiny waves about her head.
Rannulf fought down the urge to talk to her. He sensed that she wanted to offer him comfort, and had been upset by his withdrawal. If only that meant she’d learnt that not all of his family were black to their marrow.
But knowledge of his mother’s death had changed everything. His plans had changed, become more complicated. It was no longer a simple matter of returning to England and giving the oath to Fitz Osbern in return for his livelihood. Now that his mother had died he must take up that old challenge and settle it once and for all.
Rannulf saw Judith glance his way. She looked unhappy. Perhaps, at last she was learning…He frowned, and whipped his thoughts to order. He must keep his mind fixed on one target, it worked best uncluttered.
“I’d constrain that wench, if you intend to get any joy from her,” Wilfred advised, coming up behind him.
“What?” Rannulf frowned.
Wilfred grinned. “When we get home. I’d lay odds she’ll be off soon as we reach England. She’s got dark secrets, that one, secrets she’ll not let you in on.”
“I know,” Rannulf sighed. “And much as I dislike the thought, I fear you could be right. But my motives are not quite what you think.”
“No?” Wilfred sneered.
“No, damn you!” Rannulf’s face tightened.
“Surely you’re not losing sleep over a wench, Rannulf? She’s only a trollop you bought from a brothel, when all’s said and done.”
Rannulf clenched his hands and fought with a sudden impulse to knock the grin from Wilfred’s face. “If you so much as whisper that again, you’ll be spitting teeth,” he warned.
“What, don’t tell me she doesn’t know? I thought she’d found everything out.” Wilfred’s jaw dropped. He shut it abruptly. “Good God, Rannulf, don’t you think you should tell her you had to buy her—?”
“Why?” Rannulf snapped. “What’s to be gained by it?”
“She’d have to obey you if she knew—”
“Give me strength,” Rannulf muttered. “If you think that Wilfred, you’re more of a fool than I thought. And if you ever tell her—” Rannulf went on steadily “—I swear I’ll spill your guts myself, friend or no.”
Wilfred stared into his friend’s green eyes and blenched. “I do believe you would,” he murmured. “I do believe you would.” He shook his blond head, and his pale eyes wandered up the length of the deck. “I think I’ll see if Guy’s broached another flagon yet. Your company leaves much to be desired this day, Rannulf.”
Knowing cold anger made his face a stone, Rannulf watched Wilfred go. He leaned over the rail and stared blindly into the sea. The worst of it was that Wilfred could be right. Rannulf did not want to constrain Judith. But if his suspicions were well founded, he might well have to. He grimaced. He stood low enough in her estimation already—force would only make things worse.
She was still standing at the prow. A piece of cloth flapped out from the coil of rope and slapped against Judith’s legs. She bent and retied her bundle. Rannulf found himself moving towards her. He could at least show her where she could stow her belongings, before they blew away on the wind…
“Judith?”
Her eyes were wide and wary.
“If you’ll come below, I’ll show you where you can put your things,” he said, aware that his voice was too harsh. He moderated it. “This way.”
“There’s not much privacy, I’m afraid,” Rannulf admitted, looking at the lines of hammocks swaying gently with the motion of the ship. “’Tis rather cramped, to make room for the banks of oars.”
“I think I’d rather have oars than space,” Judith said earnestly. “That way there’s no chance of the ship wallowing for days should the wind drop. And compared to the slave ship…” She gave him a little smile.
Recognising confusion in the back of her eyes, and knowing himself to be the cause, Rannulf avoided her gaze. He had no answers for her. He was aware of an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to shield her from pain, but could not. She was so slender, so delicate. Yet she had survived much. God grant she would survive a little more…
“Which are our places?” Judith broke the silence.
“These—” He waved an arm. “We can rig up a curtain round yours if you like. Ladies are something of a rarity on these vessels.”
The hammocks jostled. The scent of her was in his nostrils. Rannulf set a hand to the step-ladder. He’d leave her to choose her place, before the nearness of her weakened his resistance. He wanted to know what she thought of him. He wanted to know whether Rannulf de Mandeville would always be hated.
“R…Rannulf?” She caught at his sleeve.
Foot on the bottom rung, Rannulf swallowed down an oath. He could feel the heat of her body.
“My lady?” he replied. Keep it formal, he thought. Keep her at a distance.
The hand withdrew. “’Tis… ’tis Wilfred,” she stammered.
Rannulf raised a brow.
She took a deep breath. His eyes were drawn to her breasts. His mind clouded. He clenched his fingers and forced himself to meet her gaze. She was blushing. He realised he wanted to kiss her.
“I…I don’t wish Wilfred to be next to me,” she said.
“He frightens you?” Rannulf managed, watching her mouth.
“Aye.”
He kept his face carefully blank, but the words were not so easily controlled. He wanted to know, he had to know… “I understand,” he said, and his voice was hoarse. “’Tis not because you want me near. Rannulf de Mandeville should not expect too much. He is only to be used as a safe escort home.” He paused. “I’ll ask Guy to take the hammock next to yours, then you won’t find yourself near a de Mandeville.”
“No! No, Rannulf, ’tis not like that. I’d rather you…” Judith caught her lip between her teeth, and looked at the floor.
Rannulf tipped her chin up. He smiled. “Then do I see a glimmer of light in the darkness?” he asked, hating himself for wanting to know.
Judith swallowed, but did not respond.
Rannulf forced his hand back on to the step-ladder. Best not to touch her. “No light yet, eh?” he said. He climbed up a couple of rungs. “I’ve no wish to be a thorn in your side, Judith. I’ll keep you from Wilfred. And Judith, there’s no need to look at me like that. Rannulf de Mandeville will not touch you either.”
The White Eagle took a northerly route to the coast of Seleucia. Only then did she turn west. She hugged the coast of the Byzantine Empire as long as she could, like a child hanging on to its mother’s skirts, reluctant to face the outside world.<
br />
Several days passed. Judith was leaning on the guardrail next to Sir Guy, idly watching the distant coastline.
“I thought we were bound for Crete?” she said.
“We are.”
He sounded evasive. “But this is not the most direct way, is it?” she probed.
“No.”
“Then why waste the time—?”
“Pirates. They infest these waters,” Guy said, shooting her a glance from under black brows. “’Tis safer to follow the coast. A longer route, but a safer one. They’ll not attack while we’re close to the Empire, but after…”
“I don’t believe it,” Judith said.
“Believe it, and pray the saints are on our side,” Rannulf muttered in her ear.
Judith whirled round. With the wind filling the sails, she’d not heard him come up. He’d been avoiding her as though she had the plague. She felt her heart begin to slam.
“’Tis true,” Rannulf said, his eyes greener than ever. “Rumour has it they are Saxon pirates, Judith. Perhaps you’ll be able to beg passage home with them?”
Her fingers began to tremble. She laced them firmly together. “Rannulf, you mock me.”
Pride had kept her from seeking his company. Rannulf had kept his word, and at night it was always he who occupied the hammock next to hers. He retired later than she did, and Judith suspected this was deliberate. He was hoping she would be asleep before he got there. Judith never felt easy till Rannulf was there, and sleep never claimed her till he had climbed up to his place. But that had been as close as he had come, and they had not exchanged two words since the day they had come aboard. It was as though she had ceased to exist.
And now, unexpectedly, he was standing before her, not smiling exactly, his mouth was too set for that, but he was close enough for her to see the golden flecks in his eyes. His hair was blowing in the downdraught from the sails. She wanted to touch it, to feel its texture…
Leaves on the Wind Page 13
