Leaves on the Wind

by Carol Townend

  “Judith,” he said, quietly. “You and I have to wed.”

  Her heart turned over. “Wh…what did you say?”

  “You heard.”

  “N…no. I must have misheard…What did you say?” Her wayward heart was soaring, despite the warnings her head was giving it. Caution, caution, her head was saying, he has made no mention of love.

  “We must wed.”

  A frown marred Judith’s brow. “Must? Is that all?” she wondered. She waited.

  “All?” Rannulf sounded puzzled.

  “It is as simple as that, is it?” she asked.

  “Aye. I want you to stay with me. For your own protection. You’ll not be running off if you wed me,” Rannulf said.

  “Running off?”

  Rannulf sighed. “Look, Judith, ’twas not chance that set that ship on us this morning. It was no pirate. It was Beaufour. He’s in the slaving business deeper than I thought. Obviously he’s after you—”

  “After me?”

  Rannulf gripped her shoulders. “Aye. Don’t you see, Judith? He cannot afford to let you return home. He’s out to kill you—” Judith’s mouth dropped open “—to kill you,” Rannulf stressed.

  Judith shut her mouth.

  “You see, princess, you’re a witness—”

  “But…but my testimony would never stand against a Norman’s—”

  Rannulf shook his head and sighed. “Nay Judith,” he said softly. “You have me at last to take your part. And Guy. We are not without influence.”

  “You would stand by me?” She stared at him, struck dumb with astonishment. It was beyond everything she knew that he, Rannulf de Mandeville, should side with her against his brother’s man.

  He made an impatient movement. “Well, Judith?”

  She turned away abruptly. “I…I cannot think. ’Tis too sudden—”

  He touched her cheek, a tiny, fleeting gesture which should not have warmed her the way it did. “Say yes, Judith, for your life…”

  “For my life,” she muttered.

  He swung her round to face him. “Judith, you must agree,” he said urgently. “Besides—” his tone changed, became warmer “—you cannot deny the attraction between us.”

  “No. I cannot deny it,” she confessed, wishing that he could say he loved her.

  “Then you agree!”

  He sounded triumphant, but seemed blithely unaware of the response she wanted. If he loved her, surely he would tell her. “You take too much for granted,” she said, stiffly, and stared past him at the star-dotted sky.

  “Nay, Judith, do not bring your woman’s logic into this. You admit you love me!” He grinned complacently.

  “I said no such thing!” Judith denied, scarlet to the roots of her hair. “I only admitted I was…attracted to you! No more than that!” She kept her chin up and met his stare without flinching.

  “No more?” He gave a great sigh.

  “No more,” Judith said firmly, though the lie almost strangled her. She must keep free of him, he must never know how it hurt her to do this.

  “You’re hoping for better, perhaps?” he asked, lightly.

  He was holding his head at an angle. She had a suspicion he was mocking her again, but could see nothing of his expression in the poor light.

  “I am only a younger son, I know,” he said. “I must make shift for myself. But I am trained as a knight, and have my strength and my wits. Fitz Osbern would pay well for my loyalty. I am not rich now, but we will never be beggars. I would care for you. I do not believe that a man should beat his wife into submission as some of my people do. Well, Judith? What is your answer?”

  Judith swallowed down her disappointment. It was plain she waited in vain for a response he could not give her. He did not love her. She peered up at the dark face above hers, but he had himself well in hand, and was giving nothing away. The only sign of emotion had been a slight pleading note in his voice. But she must have imagined it. She had wished it into existence. She should have learnt by now that wishing for something did not make it real.

  “I thank you for your offer,” she said, coolly. “But I cannot wed you.”

  “Damn,” he said, quite clearly.

  Judith stiffened. She had not expected that response…

  “May I know why?” he asked, and his voice came out muffled.

  Judith drew in a calming breath. “You know the answer to that, Rannulf. There lies a gulf of hate and secrecy between us—”

  He swung round and took her arm in an urgent grip. “We can bridge that gulf, you and I,” he insisted. “’Tis time the breach was healed. There need be no secrets between us. We must learn to trust each other, to confide in each other. It was never our quarrel.”

  Anger flared suddenly in Judith’s breast. Still he thought to use her, to trap her into betrayal.

  “Oh, but it was,” she contradicted him in honeyed tones. “It has coloured every moment I have spent with you. You cannot deny that.”

  “No. I cannot,” he conceded. His voice hardened. “Very well, Judith. I accept your decision, though I cannot agree with it. You need my protection, and you’ll have it whether you want it or not. I want you to give me your word that when we reach home you’ll stay with me till I have resolved this business with Beaufour.”

  Judith bridled. “You’ve no right to order me about,” she said.

  “Have I not? You must promise me, Judith, you’ll stay by me—”

  “I can promise you nothing!”

  “But Judith, there’s Beaufour to consider. You must testify—”

  Judith turned her back on him. “I cannot, Rannulf.”

  “Don’t you want the slaving stopped?”

  She groaned, “Of course I do. But as for testifying—it would be my death.”

  Gentle hands rested on her shoulders. His breath warmed her neck. “Judith, I will stand by you.”

  “No! No!” she cried. How could she, a fugitive from justice, ever appear in a Norman court?

  Strong fingers held her firm. “You have good reason to refuse to help?”

  “Aye,” she nodded.

  A thumb moved gently on her nape. “Tell me,” he asked, in that gentle voice she loved.

  She twisted in his hold, put a hand on his chest, and looked deep into his eyes. “I cannot,” her voice cracked.

  “You’d let Beaufour continue plying his evil trade?”

  The hand on Rannulf’s chest clenched itself into a fist. “I’d kill him if I could—”

  “Too crude, princess, too crude,” Rannulf said, suddenly looking tired. He wiped a hand across his face. “Subtlety is the only way to root this evil out.” He stooped, retrieved Judith’s cloak and thrust it into her hands.

  “Come. I’ll take you back to your place. There is no more to be said tonight.”

  “No,” Judith agreed sadly. “We’ve said it all, haven’t we?”

  And, smiling brightly to hide the pain in her breast, Judith made for the hatchway and her hammock, without so much as a backward glance to betray that her heart was breaking.

  Chapter Seven

  They rode at last into Mandeville Chase.

  Four weeks had passed since Beaufour’s men had been driven from the White Eagle. The luxuriant leaf-colours of the forest surrounded them, and its warm, earth smell filled their nostrils—welcoming them home.

  Judith directed a dark frown at Rannulf’s back. On board the White Eagle, there had been moments when anything had seemed possible. It had been another world, drifting on the wide ocean. But once back in England, Judith realised that she and her companions must part.

  Rannulf had commanded her to stay with him. Judith gave a little smile. His arrogance both amused and saddened her. Did he really believe he only had to command, and she would rush to obey him? She knew her relationship with him, if such it was, must end. Her mind emptied of all other thought. With difficulty, Judith stiffened her spine, sat straighter in the saddle, and drew in a comforting breath of famili
ar English air. Despite her misgivings, a measure of well-being stole over her.

  She was back where she belonged. The thought popped into her head and with something akin to desperation she clung on to it. Almost time now. Already the trees crowded in on them and blocked out the sun.

  She took in another lungful of warm air, looked up at the arching branches, and tried to ignore the fact that the dull ache inside had sharpened. The ache had been with her for days. It had started on board ship when she’d taken to avoiding him. Close contact had, in the end, become too painful.

  Rannulf, too, had changed. He was riding ahead of her on the narrow track. Guy and Wilfred were in front of him. He smiled less often now and, apart from the briefest of conversations, seemed to be avoiding her. She wondered what was in his mind. Did he really believe she was going to walk meek as a lamb into Mandeville Castle? She scowled. That astounding arrogance…

  She should not be piqued at the lack of attention, but she was. And that irritated her. Since her refusal to testify for him, he had let her alone. He might never have kissed her, might never have shared that moment of peace after the sea battle with her. But Judith remembered all too well that bruising grip he’d had on her hand. She’d not dreamed that…

  The saddle bruised her now. She ached all over. Every joint was so stiff that if they went on much longer she’d not be able to run. Judith shifted, and glared at her mount’s ears. They were flattened back. The animal had a dull brown coat, and a jerky, uneven gait. Judith sensed it resented every step it took, and the burden it carried.

  She glanced sideways, and all but choked. She recognised the track. Her horse, not quite the insensitive beast she’d thought it, divined that its rider had momentarily been distracted, and danced sideways to snatch at spray of hazel. Judith wrenched on the reins. They were but an arrow’s flight from where Eadwold…

  Her chin lifted. Judith set her lips and stared straight ahead. She was glad that the end was in sight. It would be torture to go, she admitted that. But lately it had been torture whatever she did. She felt eaten up, as though she’d lost herself. Maybe, when she was away from him, she would rediscover her peace of mind. She would be free. She needed no one. After all, she was Jude the Saxon, Jude the outlaw. And now she was back in the Chase everything would come right again…

  It was almost time. She’d been staring at his back for long enough. Why should she care what was in his mind? She did not need to speak with him before she went. She would simply jump down and slip away. She darted a furtive glance into the bushes. They were in leaf still and offered both shade and cover. It was the perfect place. Why hesitate? Her horse grabbed another mouthful of greenery.

  “Gluttonous hog,” Judith muttered and dug in her heels.

  Rannulf reined in, half turned in the saddle, and waited for her to catch up.

  “Need any help?” he asked.

  “My thanks, but no. This brute has a mouth like leather,” she concentrated on trying not to look as though she was staring at him for the very last time.

  “I thought as much,” Rannulf admitted. “But…under the circumstances she was all I could get for you. And she’d flounder under my weight.”

  “I know. It’s all right,” Judith said quickly. They were both badly mounted. She wondered uneasily whether he had not had enough money for better horses. She reassured herself with the knowledge that he had bought their horses in much haste. He was clearly in something of a hurry to reach his brother’s land, perhaps, she told herself, it was time and not money he was short of.

  Rannulf leaned forwards and twitched the reins from Judith’s fingers.

  “I’ll lead you,” he said. His face was closed. “That’ll put paid to her gluttony.”

  Judith frowned. “Afraid you’ll lose me?” she murmured sweetly.

  He lifted one corner of his mouth and gave her one of his crooked smiles, but made no answer.

  Judith gazed at him while she still could. His smile had warmed her to her toes. Sweet Lord, but this was going to be difficult! She jerked her head away and forced herself to focus on the undergrowth. It might be easier if she did not have to look at him. But it was not so simple a matter to shut out the sound of his voice.

  “We’re nearly there,” Rannulf said, very low so only she could hear.

  The woodland track was little better than a boar-run, and very overgrown. The horses’ legs were lost in a sea of green bracken and leaves. Their knees touched as they rode. Judith tried not to notice.

  “Where?” she asked, and despite herself, she shot him a curious glance.

  “At the place where I first slept with you.” Rannulf looked full into her eyes. “Where first I fell victim to your beauty, lady.”

  With a jolt, Judith realised that he had remembered, too. The trees were thinning to form a small clearing. She did not need to look further. She knew Mandeville Chase as well as he. She could see the hide that had sheltered them four years ago as clearly as though they were already upon it. A scuffling in the leaves made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Judith ignored it. It was probably only a small animal or bird grubbing for insects.

  “Don’t say it like that,” she said.

  Rannulf’s eyes lit up, and her heart twisted “Like what?” he asked.

  “You know. As if we had…As if…” She fought to keep a blush from her cheeks.

  “Would that we had,” he murmured.

  “Rannulf!”

  “Then perhaps you’d feel bound to trust me.” He looped her reins round his saddle horn and reached for her hand. His fingers were warm. Hers were like ice.

  “Was that a mistake, Judith?” he asked. “Should I have taken you in Cyprus when I had the chance?”

  “Force is not the answer,” Judith said, nerves suddenly stretched taut as a bowstring.

  “No?”

  His eyes matched the forest, she thought irrelevantly, and swiftly lowered hers. She felt uncomfortable, as though he could see through to her soul, and read every secret in her heart.

  “I thought, perhaps—” Rannulf was saying “—that force had become a way of life with you. Something you understood, better than persuasion. Am I wrong? Judith, look at me.” A lean brown hand tilted her face to his. “Can you not trust me, learn to tell me all?”

  Judith swallowed down a lump in her throat. “I told you before, I cannot,” she whispered in a tortured voice.

  And that was the truth. Though something in her shrieked to trust him, she could not. Rannulf de Mandeville was tied to his brother by the same loyalties that chained her to her own brothers.

  “Judith—” Rannulf’s voice was temptation itself “—we could resolve this together.”

  “You go back to your brother, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  There was no more to be said. He was a second son and as such was dependent on Baron Hugo’s graces, if a miserable fiend like the Baron could be said to possess graces.

  She found herself saying, “I thought, back in Cyprus, that you had elected to serve another master?”

  Rannulf’s eyes hooded. “I changed my mind,” he said, shortly. “You know that.”

  “Why? Is it only the slaving? Nothing more?”

  His lips tightened. “Let’s say there’s an old challenge too. I’ve come to pick up the glove.”

  He could only mean her brothers. She had been a fool to think that a de Mandeville would ever spare Eadwold and Saewulf. Not after so long. Not after so much bloodshed. The knowledge hurt more than it should, and to cover it, she fixed her sightless gaze on the fronds of a fern.

  All at once, the cold fingers were back on her neck. She shivered. She was certain they were being watched. But where were the watchers? She scanned the track ahead, and felt the blood drain from her face. Of course! There…a stone’s throw away…beyond the clearing that housed Rannulf’s hunting hide. What was it Eadwold had once said?

  Her brother’s clipped voice sounded in her mind as c
learly as though he were at her side.

  “Fine place for an ambush,” Eadwold had said. “Someone uses this path as a shortcut to the castle. Saewulf, remember it. If they’ve used this way once, they will again. And I want to be ready when they do.”

  But Eadwold had not used the spot for an ambush and Judith had never troubled to wonder why. But now she knew. And that knowledge felt like a spear-thrust through her middle. They had never caught anyone using that narrow track because only one Norman from the castle ever used it. And that Norman had been absent. Crusading in Byzantium for four years.

  Horrified, she turned her gaze on Rannulf. That Norman had returned. And the overgrown boar-run was in use once more. And Eadwold? Was he ready, as he had sworn he would be?

  “Rannulf, you must go! Quick!” she blurted, without thinking how it sounded.

  His face went hard.

  Judith groaned. “No, you misunderstand—”

  “Woman, you twist and turn like a desert snake. I—”

  A pheasant catapulted out of the undergrowth, and flapped past their horses’ heads. Rannulf’s bay sidestepped, and snorted. Judith seized on the distraction as though it was a gift from heaven. She pulled back a foot and drove it into the bay’s flanks with such force she thought she’d broken all her toes. The bay reared, and her reins slipped from Rannulf’s saddle horn. By the time Rannulf had the bay under control Judith had snatched them up. He had not seen her kick out.

  She was almost out of time. “Rannulf?”

  His eyes were wary. “Aye.”

  She held out a hand and smiled. He looked puzzled but allowed her to take his hand.

  “And the other one, I want them both.” Her voice cracked a little.

  Rannulf nudged his horse, and their knees touched again. Her hand was small in his. She took one last look at Rannulf’s hands. They were well cared for, always clean. They were so long and slender, they did not appear strong enough to belong to a warrior. They held hers gently. Eadwold would scorn them as women’s hands. But Judith had seen Rannulf fighting. She knew that appearances were deceptive. Those tanned hands were ruthless when they had to be.