The Wild Hunt tor-1

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  'I believe you wrote to the widow of Huw ap Sior, offering to her the sables that had come by underhand means into your possession. She has asked me to act for her in this business and gratefully accepts your generosity.'

  'It is naught of generosity, it is her rightful due,' Judith said with a grimace. She had put the sables away at the bottom of a chest, wrapped in fresh canvas, and had thrown the bloodstained coverings on the back of the fire. Even to think of them made her shudder.

  Guyon looked at her with surprise and approval.

  He had not asked her what she had done with the furs, merely assumed that their disappearance marked their disposal.

  Madoc too studied her and wondered if she knew her own power. Probably not; she was still very young and her eyes were innocent of all guile. One day she would be formidable. A black leopard and his golden mate. He smiled at the whimsy.

  'You will need an escort,' Guyon said. 'Sables these days are worth their weight in blood.'

  'Is Rhys yours too?' Judith enquired a trifle acidly when they were alone in their bedchamber.

  Madoc and his grandson were asleep on bracken pallets in the hall among the other casual guests and travellers seeking a night's hospitality.

  Guyon scratched the sensitive spot just behind Melyn's ginger ears. The cat purred and kneaded his tunic with ecstatic paws. 'No,' he said, giving his attention to the cat.

  'You look alike.'

  'Colouring mainly. His father was black of hair and eye. You're not the first to assume my paternity. I wish it were true. He's a fine lad.'

  'You have a daughter of his mother's blood,' she said, watching him through her lids.

  Guyon's fingers stilled in the cat's thick cream and bronze fur. 'Not one who will know me as more than a shadow,' he said carefully.

  'Why did you not tell me about the child before?'

  'Where would have been the point? It is not as though she is going to be raised beneath my roof.

  Rhosyn will give her a Welsh name and raise her to be Welsh.'

  'And you have no say in the matter?' she demanded incredulously.

  Melyn leaped from his knee and lay down to wash beside the hearth. 'What should I do?' he growled testily. 'Snatch her from her mother's arms and bring her to Ravenstow and salve my pain at the expense of Rhosyn's hatred and a blood feud with her people?' He rose and, going to the flagon, splashed wine into a cup. 'My say has been said. I once asked Rhosyn to stay with me and she refused. I could no more constrain her to live with me, or give up the child, than I could bear one of those caged birds in my bedchamber.'

  'Will you go to her tomorrow?'

  He looked at Judith over the rim of the cup. Her expression was guarded, her face milk-pale, the stubborn chin lifted in challenge.

  'Probably.'

  Judith's fingers were claws. She fought a completely new and unsettling emotion that left her wanting to shriek at him that she was not going to stand for him riding off into the arms of another woman, and longing to scratch out that woman's eyes and call her whore.

  Frightened, she turned away and busied herself unlocking the chest that contained the sables.

  True to his word, Guyon had not taken a maidservant or mistress into his bed, or if he had, it had been discreetly elsewhere without insult or humiliation to herself. Having lived beneath the cruelty of her father's code, she should have been grateful and was both confused and chagrined to find that instead she felt betrayed. Desperately she scrabbled in the chest.

  'Why ask me if you do not want to know?' Guyon said and crouched beside her to put his arm lightly across her shoulders. 'I have known Rhosyn for many years and her father since I was your own age. You cannot expect me to sever those ties.'

  The package of sables came into her hands.

  She lifted them and turned. 'I do not, my lord.' She gave him one swift look before lowering her lids.

  'It is just that you pat me on the head and give me presents and laugh when I amuse you, but I wonder if you ever see me as more than a troublesome child with whom you are saddled.'

  She put the furs on top of the chest and stood up.

  So did he, a frown between his eyes.

  Her gaze was still lowered. After a moment, he tilted up her chin and kissed her gently. 'Come, Cath fach, look at me.'

  Her lashes flickered up to reveal a shine of tears. She pushed herself away from him. 'Don't patronise me!'

  Guyon let his hands fall to his sides and drew a slow breath. Then, carefully, he let it out. 'How should I treat you?' he asked with baffled exasperation. 'You are not a woman, you are not a child. You waver over the line between the two like a drunkard. You laugh and play knucklebones with my nieces and skip around the keep hoyden-wild. You tease me like an experienced coquette, but were I to take up the offer in your smile you'd bolt in terror. In God's name, Judith, make up your mind!' He swallowed down the wine and picked up the flagon.

  Her gaze widened. 'Where are you going?' she Her gaze widened. 'Where are you going?' she said breathlessly.

  'To think,' he said with a twisted smile. 'Don't wait up for me.'

  The curtain dropped behind him. Melyn stretched in a leisurely fashion, eyed her mistress from golden agate slits and padded to sit expectantly at her feet. Judith scooped her up, buried her cheek in the thick, soft fur and refused to cry.

  In the event, Guyon did very little thinking. He took his flagon to the guardroom, sat down, propped his feet on the trestle and with relief, was soon thoroughly absorbed in the convivial, vulgar gossip of his soldiers. It was a long time since he had spent an evening thus and, besides relishing the salty, masculine conversation, he was able to bring himself abreast of current marcher gossip. Walbert of Seisdon's wife was pregnant yet again. One of the mill s at Elford had a broken grindstone. The remains of a butchered deer had been found in the woods on Ravenstow's border with Wales. Robert de Belleme had brought a grey Flemish stall ion to run with his native mares.

  Robert de Belleme had offered the widow of Ralph de Serigny in marriage to Walter de Lacey.

  Guyon's face emerged abruptly from the depths of his cup. 'What?'

  'It's true, sire. My sister's married to a Serigny retainer and is a seamstress up at the keep. Regular upset it has caused, I can tell you.'

  Guyon wiped his mouth and removed his feet from the trestle. 'You are telling me that Walter de Lacey is to marry Mabell de Serigny?'

  'Yes, sire. Not common knowledge yet, but it soon will be.'

  'Imagine waking up wi' that in bed beside you.'

  'De Lacey won't be too impressed himself!' quipped the joker in their ranks to a response of loud groans.

  De Bec leaned over to refill Guyon's cup. 'De Serigny's estates are rich,' he said. 'Mabel's dowry was huge and Sir Ralph a regular miser.'

  Guyon sent him a look that said far more than words, then he drank. 'Do you think he'll invite me to the wedding?' he asked.

  'More likely the funeral,' grunted de Bec.

  'Mabel's not likely to outlive her second husband, is she?'

  Guyon pursed his lips. The Serigny lands and the keep at Thornford lay on Ravenstow's south-west border, separated from Wales by a deep, defensive ditch. There were other keeps in the honour too, forming part of the fortifications ringing Shrewsbury and, coupled with what de Lacey already possessed, it would make him a baron of some considerable standing along the middle marches and increase threefold the threat he posed to Guyon's interests.

  One step forward and two steps back, Guyon thought, staring at a puddle of wine on the trestle.

  'You'd better tighten up on the patrols,' he said to de Bec. 'I don't want him cutting his new-found teeth on my borders.'

  'You reckon he would, sire?'

  'Depends on how much backing he gets from de Belleme and how good a grievance he can find to start a war. Knowing our respective overlords, I do not suppose an excuse will be long in presenting itself.' Grimly, he held out his cup to be refilled. 'Do you think de Lacey will celebr
ate his nuptials with a boar hunt?' Prudently, de Bec forbore to answer.

  CHAPTER 12

  Judith stared into the Saracen hand mirror and found nothing that pleased. Her eyes were dark-circled for want of sleep and her complexion was pall id, bedevilled here and there by blemishes.

  Her women's courses which for the past two years had been an erratic inconvenience seemed to have settled down into less than welcome four-weekly visitations of cramp and messy discomfort. That it was supposedly Eve's curse and thoroughly sanctioned by the church was no comfort; nor was the kind of information imparted by Christen, her fourteen-year-old niece-by-marriage - that they would cease as soon as she conceived.

  'I should have been a man!' Judith said rebelliously.

  'They don't live as long,' Christen pointed out.

  'And they are easy enough to handle once you have learned the knack.'

  'If you had known my father, you would not say that.' Judith began combing her hair. 'His remedy for everything was a bellyful of wine and the thrashing of the nearest scapegoat. Has your father ever beaten you?'

  'Sometimes,' Christen answered with a dismissive shrug.

  'And left bruises that took weeks to fade?'

  Christen made a swift gesture. 'That was your father. Guy's not like that and his needs are obvious if you know where to look.'

  'Indeed?' Judith arched her brow, wishing the precocious child would leave her alone. Her thoughts skimmed back over the last few hours.

  Guyon had come late to bed, smelling of drink and had fall en asleep the moment he lay down with never a word in her direction. Probably he assumed she was already asleep and she had done nothing to contradict that assumption, afraid of what he might do in his cups.

  The morning saw him in possession of a splitting headache, a rolling gut and numerous duties to carry out. The cramps in her stomach had made her feel sluggish and sick. They had scarcely exchanged a word. Neither of them had the time or inclination to be civil and his kiss on her cheek before he rode away had been a matter of form. He had looked through her to the waiting grey and the train of pack ponies and had omitted to tug her braid as was his usual wont.

  Don't patronise me, she had said. Perhaps last night he had thought and decided how he should treat her. She blinked very hard. 'Where then do I look?' she challenged the other girl.

  Christen eyed her thoughtfully. 'Guyon likes to hunt,' she said after a pause. 'You must twist and turn and evade and, even if he catches you, refuse to give in.'

  Judith's wayward eyebrows rose higher.

  'And of course,' Christen added with a knowing look at the bed, 'there is always that particular method of persuasion.'

  'You know all this from experience?' Judith

  'You know all this from experience?' Judith snapped.

  'Of course not! I had it from Alais de Clare. She used to be his main solace at court until her husband found out.'

  'I see,' said Judith, tight-lipped.

  'No you don't,' Christen giggled. 'Her husband wanted her to sweeten Prince Henry, not waste her time on a minor fish like Guyon ... only she preferred Guy's looks and got waylaid, so to speak.'

  'And she told you, his niece, all about it?' Judith said scathingly.

  Christen blushed beneath the scorn in Judith's voice. 'It wasn't like that.'

  'If Guyon offered me to another man by way of a bribe, I'd make hell seem cold by comparison!'

  Judith replied savagely. 'God help me, I'd kill them both before I'd be sold like a slab of meat!' And then she clamped her bottom lip in her teeth, remembering that being sold like a slab of meat was precisely the manner of most marriages.

  'But you love Guy, and Alais's husband is fat and getting old and--'

  'Do not be so sure about the love!' Judith spat.

  Christen stared at her with round eyes. 'I do not think Guyon really wanted Alais,' she said anxiously, afraid that she had roused Judith's jealousy and that it would cause trouble for her uncle. 'It was just that the King was chasing him and Guy literally had his back to the wall . He would not have looked at Alais otherwise.'

  Judith firmed her lips. There was no malice in Christen; she meant well enough, but her perception was a trifle clouded. However, she had given Judith pause for thought here. There were lessons to be learned, both from Christen and this Alais de Clare who had been bartered by her husband for the favour of a prince. Subtle persuasion. The use of her body as weapon and defence. It had not occurred to her to think in those terms before and, now that it did, she required leisure to digest the notion. She looked covertly at Christen, some of her irritation waning.

  The girl was only just fourteen, but already she had a ready command of the art that Judith was suddenly aware of lacking.

  Subtlety. The chestnut eyebrows were plucked, but only to remove the straggling hairs, and the well -defined, strong lines went unaffected. Her hair was plaited in one shining, heavy braid threaded with gold ribbon and her gown was of a flattering holly-green wool, moulded to display her figure to its best advantage and embellished only by a girdle of silk braid. She looked exquisite with very little effort and Judith knew how those blue-green eyes could angle across the hall , hiding a wealth of promise and refusal behind the downswept lashes.

  It was not an area Judith had previously dared consider, but perhaps in the light of last night's conversation, she ought to do so. Did she want to attract Guyon's notice in that sense? That was something else to be pondered at leisure rather than panicking in his presence. He was susceptible to the persuasions of the bed. She coloured and, over her shoulder, eyed the object with disfavour, wondering how one acquired such skill s. Through practice, she supposed, and shuddered at the thought, remembering two of the keep dogs copulating in the hall and the bawdy shouts of the men egging them on. She knew all the words for what male and female did together, precious few of them mentioned in the Bible, and was reluctant to join the circus. If only she could see the thing as power, not a humiliating subjugation.

  'Perhaps you are right,' Judith conceded, frowning. 'Honesty may be the best policy, but a crust slips down better if it is spread with honey first ... I think I have a great deal to learn.' She put the comb down and stood up. 'For the moment, I've to instruct the cook and see about employing a new seamstress and I need to check the spice cabinet and fabric chests. Master Madoc promised to fulfil any commissions I had for him ...

  and then,' she added, drawing a deep breath, 'I will consider the matter of subtlety.'

  Christen smiled in return without knowing why and decided in future to keep her mouth firmly closed.

  In her own chamber, Alicia shook out the drab-coloured gown she had worn in the first weeks of her widowhood. A linen bag of dried lavender and rose leaves fell from its folds along with severe evidence of moths. She clicked her tongue and tossed the garment on the bed.

  'Not taking it, my lady?' enquired Agnes, reaching to inspect the damage.

  Alicia shook her head and regarded the half-packed baggage chest. She had gowns enough for her retirement upon her dower manor, indeed too many. Her estates, although prosperous, were a backwater compared to the border violence of her former husband's holdings. At least she could be alone with her unseemly hunger.

  'What about this belt, my lady. Shall I put ... ?'

  Agnes stopped and bobbed a curtsy.

  Alicia turned round and her heart began to drum to a battle beat.

  Miles le Gallois studied the travelling chests, open to reveal their neatly packed contents — clothes, cups, vials, combs and embroidery. His eyes ranged over the strewed bed and the bare clothing pole, then returned to Alicia. 'If it is on account of me,' he said, 'there is no need. I am leaving tomorrow.'

  Alicia mutely shook her head.

  'I need to talk to you alone,' he said and as she answered him with stricken eyes, added, 'you may tie me up if you wish, but I swear on my honour not to harm you.'

  Alicia carefully folded the veil she had been holding and, afte
r a hesitation, drew a deep breath and gestured Agnes to leave. The maid's mouth thinned, but she dropped a curtsy and retreated beyond the thick wool en curtain.

  Miles sat down on the bed and picked up the veil that Alicia had so painstakingly folded. 'Last time we were alone I acted like a green youth in rut,' he said. 'I have come to apologise if you will accept.'

  'There is no need of apology,' she said in a low voice, 'unless it be mine.'

  'Alicia, look at me.'

  Wearily she raised her lids. Her eyes were the colour of twilight and storms and full of vulnerability.

  'Do you think that it has gone unnoticed? For the sake of our children, we must come at least to a truce.'

  'Why do you think I am going to my dower lands?' she replied.

  'Because you are running away?'

  Her mouth twisted. 'Not for the reasons you think.'

  Miles unfolded the veil. It was made of fragile gauze, the embroidery edging it skilfully worked in gold thread. 'You will miss her,' he said gently.

  'She has her own life to live and will the sooner grow into a woman without me for a leaning post. In time I would become the child. Indeed, it has begun already. She shuts me from her thoughts and she is very strong willed.'

  'Not a whit like her father, is she?' he mused.

  There was a hesitation that made him look up. Alicia's face had blenched. Then she rallied, smiled and drew a shaky breath. 'I wouldn't say that.' She turned her face into the shadows. 'There are many similarities.'

  Something rang false. Memory searched and pieced disjointed fragments. 'Who is he?' Miles asked.

  He saw the silent vibration of her shoulders.

  'That is my own affair,' she answered in a choked voice.

  'And mine too since it will touch the blood of my grandchildren.' He rose and went to her and turned her to face him.

  'And if I say a baseborn groom or a passing pedlar?' she challenged.

  'If that were true, you'd not have denied me the day of the boar hunt.'

  Alicia shook beneath his light touch, knowing what she risked if she told him the truth.