Judith steeled herself. She swung the bottle hard against the edge of the table. She heard it smash, felt wine splash on her skirts.
“K…keep away,” she brandished the bottle in front of the merchant’s face. Her heart was thundering. She’d not let this happen…
“Now wait a minute.” The merchant dropped her arm as though it were a live coal. “Balduk—”
A door slammed in the corridor outside. There came the sound of running feet. Three heads jerked in the direction of the door.
Judith froze. Sweet Jesus, let it be he!
She heard a familiar, well modulated voice. It was slightly out of breath. It was angry.
Rannulf stormed into the chamber. “We had a bargain, as I recall, Balduk,” he scowled. “Surely a business man like yourself does not mean to dishonour it?”
“I…er…” Balduk’s snake-eyes slid sideways. His head followed them.
The Greek blenched and backed, chins wobbling. One claw went to his gilded knife, but it was a toy, a bejewelled fruit knife, next to the curved fighting dagger at Rannulf’s belt. Judith gave a gasp that was half sob, half laugh, as relief flooded through her. Without apparent effort, Rannulf had taken command of the situation. The blubbery merchant’s protest died on his lips.
“Please, no scenes. P…please,” Balduk gulped.
The bully had vanished, and in his place was a snivelling coward. “It…it would ruin the reputation of my House,” Balduk stammered. “Giorgos, I pray you…” He took the merchant by the arm and steered him towards the door.
“Of course, Balduk, I understand. Whatever you wish.” The merchant bowed as if in acknowledgement of Balduk’s wishes, and his knife clicked back into its scabbard.
Judith was not deceived. Terror had forced the merchant’s hand, not consideration for Balduk. Panic oozed from his pores like water from a sponge.
“As a dealer myself—” the thick lips stretched into a parody of a smile “—I understand the importance of a man who keeps his bond. The girl is yours, my friend.” He bowed, and led Balduk from the room.
Rannulf kicked the door shut and rammed the bolt home. “Blast them both!” he swore. He swung round, frowning. “You are unharmed, Judith?”
Judith knew she should not be grinning at him in such a mindless fashion, but she could not help herself. She knew she should not gaze on him wide-eyed with thankfulness. She knew she should not run into his arms either, but that did not stop her. It was good to be there. She buried her face in his neck. The sharp tang of rosemary clung to his hair. It was an honest, refreshing smell after the cloying scents of this despicable house. It reminded her of home.
“Judith, have pity on a poor fool—” Rannulf’s hand was in her hair, pulling her head back “—answer me! Are you all right?”
“I am now,” Judith said simply.
“Then why—” his green eyes danced “—are you digging a broken bottle into my back? If it weren’t for my m—” He corrected himself. “You could hurt me.”
Judith flushed. “My apologies. I…I thought to defend myself.” Meaning to put the broken bottle down, she tried to move out of his arms. Rannulf’s hold relaxed enough for her to drop the bottle on the table, but he did not release her.
“And to think I was worried!” He shook his head, and drew her closer. He smiled into her eyes. “I should have known better, eh?” His expression changed. He looked younger, almost vulnerable.
Judith read his intention too late. “No, Rannulf! There’s something I must ask—”
But Rannulf’s lips had found hers; a swift, direct contact that fired her senses. With a pang, Judith recognised that the passion in Rannulf’s kiss matched a hunger in her. Sweet pain raced through her veins. Her fingers tangled in his hair, absorbing the feel of it. She breathed in the scent of him, pressed close, and before she knew it she was planting a row of gentle kisses on his neck.
Rannulf moaned. Startled, Judith drew her head back. His eyes looked black, his breathing, like hers, was unsteady.
“Rannulf?” Her face burned.
Rannulf gave a crooked smile and caught her to him. Something hard cut into her. She winced. It could not be the bottle, she’d put that down. Rannulf moved his arm, and again, something pinched her.
“What have you got under your robe? It digs in horribly. I’ll be covered in bruises,” she complained. She could not think, she was all feeling.
A shadow fell over Rannulf’s face and Judith came back to herself with an unpleasant jolt. What was she doing?
Rannulf stepped back a pace, and held her at arm’s length. His eyes had narrowed.
Judith was cold all over. Bitter suspicions crowded in on her. She put a hand on his chest. Her fingers moved, feeling through the fabric, and she realised what it was she was touching. She snatched her hand back and gasped, feeling as though someone had kicked her in the face.
Rannulf attempted a smile. “Judith, you know what it is I wear under this garment.”
“Aye!” Blue eyes sparked fire. “I do! ’Tis a Norman coat of mail!”
“Aye.”
“You do not deny it?”
“That would be pointless.” Rannulf folded his arms across his chest.
“You did not wear one last night. Why now?” Judith demanded.
“I thought I might be in need of protection tonight.”
“From me?” Judith glared.
He grimaced. “I hope not. I hoped you would not take it against me because I wear chain mail—”
“Norman mail,” Judith put in.
“—that would indeed be folly—” Rannulf continued as though Judith had not spoken. “No, I thought I might need it when we get you out of here.”
Judith was not to be deflected from her course. “Are you telling me you’re not Norman?” she asked bluntly.
There was a strained silence. Rannulf unfolded his arms. Judith’s breath lodged in her throat.
A tanned hand came towards her, almost in supplication. “Judith, I beg you, listen to me…”
Ruthlessly, Judith fended him off. She’d have it from his own lips. “You’re being evasive,” she accused. “You’re sidestepping the question. Tell me, Rannulf. Was Zoe right? Are you of Norman birth?”
Rannulf rubbed his hand round the back of his neck.
Judith thought she glimpsed hurt in his eyes. She hardened her heart. His race had caused her family agony enough. “Rannulf?” There was no pity in her for a Norman.
“Aye—” his eyes seemed to plead “—I am of Norman birth.”
Judith twisted away, to hide the lurching of her senses. The hope that she’d be proved wrong, slender though it was, had been something to hang on to, something to keep her together. Now that hope had been snatched from her, and she felt as though she’d tumbled headlong into a black abyss.
“I hate you!” she choked. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I did not lie.”
“You did! Oh, not in so many words. But you knew I’d always taken you to be Saxon. You knew I despised the Norman race. And you let me go on thinking you were a Saxon. What is that if it is not a lie?”
“Judith…”
To her horror, Judith felt a stinging at the back of her eyes. She tossed her head, stalked to the window and blinked furiously. “There can be no excuse,” she said.
“No?”
“No. You are born of a bastard breed. A race that knows how to conquer, how to destroy, how to suppress. You are a liar! God, I wish I’d never set eyes on you!” Her chest heaved.
She stared through a mist of tears at the silver sea beneath the window. How could it still look so lovely, so unchanged?
“Is this a lie?” Rannulf murmured in her ear.
Judith stiffened.
His hands warmed her shoulders. His lips were on her neck. Pain clawed through her. She bit back a groan. She forced herself to stand straight as a spear. Fought, and conquered the longing to melt against him.
Rannulf shifted, moved
closer. One strong arm slid round her waist. Her hair was pushed aside. She felt his tongue on her skin. He kissed her ear. Judith swallowed. His touch was…She left the thought unfinished.
There was no air. That familiar ache warmed her belly. Even now she was a victim of his charm. Her eyes closed. Her nails dug deep furrows in her palms. And him a Norman!
“Aye!” She spoke through clenched teeth. “That is the worst lie of all! You think you can seduce me to your will with a handful of kisses. Well, you can’t! You never will. And I won’t be taken in by pretty words either.” She wrenched herself round and glared at him.
“I don’t believe you came back to look for me in the Chase—”
Rannulf’s lips twitched. He looped his thumbs over his belt. “I did not desert you in the Chase,” he said.
“And as for your brave confrontation of Baron Hugo—” she sneered “—he’s probably a friend of yours! And to think I thought you noble and kind!” She snorted. “You worm! You…Norman!”
Rannulf’s face closed up. “Be careful Judith,” he warned coldly. “You need me.”
“Aye!” she hissed. “And how like a Norman to rub salt into the wound!”
Rannulf shrugged. Was it a trick of the light, or had he gone pale?
The gap between them loomed large.
He rubbed his face. “If I were the worm you say I am, then why don’t I let you rot here?” His voice was tight with anger. “Why am I parting with hard-earned gold to set you free? Why am I trying to get you safely home? Answer that, you ingrate!”
“That’s no riddle! That’s easily answered!” Judith fired back scornfully. “You think I’ll be so grateful that I’ll satisfy your every whim.”
Rannulf’s brow was black as thunder. “I’d not take you, my maid, though you were the last woman on God’s earth!”
Judith’s chest heaved. “You liar! I could see it in your eyes! You want a slave—”
“No! Judith—”
“’Tis probably cheaper for you to sneak me out of here than to buy one at the market!”
With an exasperated sigh, Rannulf swung round on his heel.
“Wh…where are you going?” Judith demanded, her voice rising shrilly.
“Somewhere I shall be welcome,” Rannulf said shortly.
His back looked very straight and very stiff. Judith bit her lip. Her fury had gone as swiftly as summer lightning, and its going left her cold with dread. She acknowledged she needed him. She wished it were not so, but what choice did she have. And he a Norman!
“Rannulf! Don’t go! I’ll beg, if that’s what you want.” She fell to her knees and clutched at the flowing white robe. “Only don’t go without me! I’ll die if I’m left here. Rannulf—” Her voice broke and, to add to her humiliation, she heard herself sob.
Rannulf glanced down at her. “There’s no need to get hysterical,” he said crisply, and tugged his clothing free. “I’ll give you my help, if you want it.”
“I do!”
“In spite of my Norman blood?” he pressed.
“Aye!” Another sob rose in her throat. “Though I pray God forgives me! I have no one else to turn to. I must accept your help.”
Rannulf nodded. He picked up the lamp and carried it to the open window, moving it up and down in the aperture.
“What are you doing?”
“Signalling,” came the brusque reply. He repeated the movement. “Now we wait. I suggest you eat something. This is likely to be the best food you will see in quite some time.” He set the lamp on the floor and took up a position in the window-seat, watching the rocks below.
Judith stared at his unyielding back. It made sense to eat. She moved to the table and reached for the bread.
She heard a dull clank, and looked towards the window. Rannulf uncurled himself from the window-seat and stepped back.
She heard the noise again. It was metal scraping on stone. Rannulf dashed forwards, and his head and shoulders vanished through the aperture. Judith dropped the bread and ran to him.
Rannulf brought his head back into the chamber. He gave her a twisted grin. A rusty grappling hook was fast in his hands. A stout rope ran from the hook and disappeared over the ledge, presumably to the rocks below.
Judith pounced on the line. It looked much weathered, but was still strong. “We can tie it to the couch,” she suggested eagerly, glad to have something to do, and wanting to make up for her boorishness. The rope smelt of the sea.
“Aye. I’ll move it to the window. The frame will hold our weight. And the bed is too big to slip through that narrow opening.” Rannulf heaved the couch into place. Judith handed him the rope, making sure she did not touch him. Rannulf did not appear to have noticed.
“There,” he said, his quick, capable hands tying the last knot.
Judith looked at the line.
“Time for us to quit this chamber.” He took her arm. “Come, Judith, we will go down together.”
Judith hung back. “No,” she said.
Rannulf frowned. “No? Don’t be stupid, woman. You want to get out of here, don’t you?”
“Aye, but—”
“What devil lurks in your mind now? Come on, Judith.” The pressure of his fingers increased.
“You bruise me, Rannulf.”
His lips thinned. “Judith—”
“I am quite able to climb without your help,” she informed him. “’Tis not so far. I shall go down on my own.”
“God, Judith! This is not the time nor the place for more mulish objections! You might fall.”
“And so might you,” she pointed out. “You might drag me down with you.” She would not go down that rope tied close to him. She heard him sigh. She knew she was pushing him too far, but she would not have him near her again.
“Rannulf, I will not fall. I will go alone, or not at all.” She looked pointedly at his hand on her arm.
“Very well.” His hand dropped to his side. She saw a muscle clench in his jaw and knew he was angry. “You go first. But you must coil the line around your waist, thus. Then loop it over your shoulder, and feed it out slowly as you go.”
Judith nodded her agreement, and stood meekly under his hands as he demonstrated how to handle the rope. Her skin warmed to his touch.
“Thanks,” she muttered, tearing herself away as soon as she could. She stepped on to the window-ledge, and swung her legs out over the precipice. The night breeze lifted her hair. She looked down, and her heart drummed. Someone was standing below on the black rocks, a small foreshortened figure. She shut her eyes.
“I can still take you down,” Rannulf whispered, taking her firmly by the waist.
“There’s no need. I was merely judging the distance,” Judith lied stiffly. She pushed his hands away. She’d found her pride at last. Rannulf’s being Norman had somehow given it back to her. She must think of her brothers’ cause. She must distance herself from him. Even now. Even though the height made her head swim, and her heart jump out of her body. Even though she trusted him? Ruthlessly, Judith crushed that last treacherous thought. She composed her face.
“Of course,” Rannulf said.
There was a suspicious break in his voice. Judith shot him a glance, but his face was blank.
“Take care—” he stood back and gave a crooked grin “—and don’t terrorise poor Guy when you get down there. Remember he’s trying to help you. He can’t help being a Norman knight any more than I.”
The rocks at the bottom looked very hard. They looked very black. Judith steeled herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and eased herself out into space. The rope jerked tight around her, driving the breath from her lungs. Her back smashed against a rock wall. Her eyes sprang open. Her elbow cracked on stone. If she could only twist round a little…that was better. Using feet and hands, she could keep the bruising wall at bay.
White moonlight painted the bay. The sea shone like steel. The black rocks were coming up fast to meet her. She heard Rannulf call softly from over her head. But h
is words were snatched by the wind, and she’d no energy spare to ponder their meaning.
The rope burned her palms. She was going down too fast. Her arms did not have the strength to control her descent. Why had she been so stubborn? A short time ago she’d have found this easy. But a couple of months’ enforced inactivity on the slave ship had drained away her strength. She was falling like a bucket down a well. Except that it was not water that lay waiting for her at the bottom, but hard rock. She was going to crash on those rocks. Every bone would break…
“Steady, my lady, take care,” someone said in English. It must be Sir Guy.
Judith’s feet hit stone. She cried out. Someone caught hold of her, and steadied her. The jagged rocks had carved into her unshod feet, but she was spared worse injury.
“My thanks!” she gasped and dragged in some air. Her eyes widened. Her fingers were clutching at a sleeve of chain mail. Her skin crawled. She snatched her hand away. She was staring at an enemy. He’d no white surcoat, like Rannulf, to mask his armour. His hauberk glinted as he moved. He was the embodiment of everything she’d ever hated. Her eyes lifted to his. They looked dark. As did his thick thatch of hair, and his moustache. A dark soul too, no doubt…
“Guy Lambert, at your service, my lady.” He bowed.
The insensitive brute grinned. He was quite oblivious of her revulsion.
He started unwinding the rope from about her waist, gave it a sharp tug, and tipped back his head.
Judith followed the direction of the knight’s black gaze. She could see the bright lamplight streaming out through the window. A shadow moved across the light. Rannulf. Judith worried at her lip.
“Don’t distress yourself, he’ll be safe enough.” Her enemy spoke from his place at her side.
“Mmm.” Judith did not turn her head. Rannulf was coming down slowly. He controlled the rope better than she had done. His hands would not be scorched. Judith let out her breath and Rannulf landed light as a cat on the rock.
He flung aside the rope and stalked up to take her hands in his. “Was it worth it?” He turned up her palms and frowning, examined her burn marks.
Judith tried to pull free, but his grip was like iron. “I’m down safely, aren’t I?”
Leaves on the Wind Page 8