Judith had turned to stone.
“Get to the Castle!” Rannulf shook her. His scar was a livid line across his cheek. “For the love of God, Judith. Ask my brother to protect you.”
“You…you’re not responsible for this?” Her expression was eloquent of her confusion.
“Nay, love.” Rannulf’s eyes were wild, but the long fingers which looped an unruly lock of fair hair behind her ear were gentle, and they were shaking.
Judith swallowed down a lump in her throat and forced herself to look past him. Events were happening faster than her mind could accept them.
Wulfric was plunging headfirst into a shrub. The bush shook and rustled. Leaves flew in all directions and suddenly Wulfric surfaced, an entire armour in his clutch. Two swords hurtled through the air, and her three compatriots were armed. The drumming hoofbeats were closer, but as yet the trees shrouded to the troop from sight.
The colour had returned to Alfred’s cheeks. He turned and frowned across at Judith, flanked as she was by two Normans.
“Wulfric—” Saewulf looked at the sword in his hand as though it stung his palm. “—I told you, no arms.”
Wulfric bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “My faith in human nature never matched yours,” he declared, backing from the place where path and clearing met. “Alfred, see you to Sir Rannulf. I’ll look to the path.” He sank into a crouch, sword in one hand, dagger in the other.
He was just in time.
“It’s Beaufour!” Judith cried, eyes stretched wide in horror, as a brown war-horse charged into the clearing, a mounted and mailed knight on his back. There was no mistaking the rider, for all that he wore his helmet. His shield was blue, and shining from its centre, that silver moon.
Beaufour had seen Wulfric, and was gathering his mount for the leap over him.
Rannulf put Judith behind him. “I suspected he’d make a move like this,” he spoke hoarsely. “Believe me, I’d no hand in it.”
Judith was reliving an old nightmare. Tears swam in her eyes. Fiercely, she blinked them away. This was too much like…this reminded her of…
When she could see again, her heart turned over. Alfred was closing in on Rannulf, face like rock.
“No! Alfred, no!” Judith woke up. “Not Rannulf!”
Rannulf backed into her. “You’ve got it wrong, man,” he said. “Give me a weapon. That knight means to kill your lady.”
She could see the doubt in Alfred’s eyes.
Beaufour was thundering right over the hunter’s hide. The ancient wattle cracked. He pointed his sword and tilted to one side.
“That man’s the slaver!” she shrieked.
Saewulf moved like lightning. “I believe you,” he said, tossing weapons at Rannulf and Guy. “Alfred, Wulfric needs you. There are more of them bearing down on him.”
Alfred ducked and twisted round the knight to obey him. Rannulf was right, Beaufour was riding at her. But there were three men in front of her, braced to meet his charge. They could have little hope of stopping him. Beaufour impaled her with his eyes, seeming to ignore the wall of blood and flesh in his way. He’d wade right through them all…
She took an involuntary step backwards, but at the speed that horse was going it would not be enough. Then the incredible happened. Rannulf darted forwards, and sideways. He flicked his wrist with impossible speed, and Beaufour’s girth was severed. The knight was leaning too much to one side. He let out a howl of anguish, kicked his feet clear of the stirrups, and crashed to the ground. Stunned, no doubt by the fall, he lay at an awkward angle and did not move. Rannulf leapt to straddle him, and wrenched off his helmet.
Carried forwards by the force of its charge, the destrier swept on. Guy lunged at the flapping reins. Confused and riderless, the animal shied. Great hoofs clawed the sky.
“Look out, Judith!” Saewulf made a dive for Judith’s arm.
Something exploded in Judith’s head. Everything went dark.
Saewulf dropped to his knees and pushed Judith’s hair aside. A bruise was forming under her hairline. He felt for the pulse at her neck, found it, and shuddered with relief. God had watched over his sister, for she’d only been struck a glancing blow to the side of the head, and her skull was intact. Sir Rannulf was fully occupied with the one Judith had named as the slaver, and did not appear to have noticed Judith’s plight. Saewulf twisted round to look after the slaver’s stallion. Their other Norman ally, Sir Guy, had the brute under control, and was vaulting into the saddle.
“On your feet, man!” a harsh voice rang out from behind Saewulf.
Two of the slaver’s horse soldiers had managed to get past Alfred and Wulfric. One steered his horse at Sir Guy, and the other was directing his challenge at Saewulf.
Saewulf lifted his head. He scooped up his sword and sprang to his feet. “What are you waiting for?” he sneered at the mounted man. Judith must rest in the bracken where she had fallen; there was nothing he could do for her as yet. “I would have thought my back a broad enough target,” he taunted softly, “for a faithless Norman.”
The man lifted his lips from his teeth and dug in his spurs. “Your blood,” the horse soldier snarled, “will crimson the grass!”
Saewulf’s mind sharpened. A quick glance round the clearing had told him that they did not have a chance. More armed riders were spilling it on them. This was no truce, he thought. This was a massacre. He saw Wulfric sleeving blood from his eyes. Alfred’s sword arm was dangling limp and out of action, but he had transferred his sword to his left hand and was scything furiously with that. They would not last long. Balancing himself like a tumbler on his toes, Saewulf gripped hard on his sword hilt. He would give a good account of himself too, he vowed, before he was done.
“Hold! Hold, I say!” Rannulf had risen, and was standing in the centre of the clearing with his sword aloft. The slaver lay white as death at his feet.
The man charging at Saewulf heard Rannulf’s command, and hesitated. Saewulf saw his opening, hurling himself upwards and hauled hard. Grappling together like mad things, Saewulf and his adversary hit the ground so hard that the air was knocked from their lungs.
“Hold, men! Beaufour is down! In the name of Baron Hugo de Mandeville, I command you. Put up your swords!” Rannulf cried, loud and clear enough to be heard up at the Castle.
Everyone else seemed to have frozen. The flashing movements from the other side of the grove had ceased. Saewulf dragged in a lungful of air, and fought to keep the Norman’s arms pinned down. He grabbed a handful of greasy hair and yanked the man’s head back.
“Throw down your weapons!” Rannulf’s voice was unmistakably one of command.
“Sir Rannulf?” Saewulf gasped, keeping a wary eye on his assailant.
“Aye. You too. Release him, Saewulf,” Rannulf said. “And you, Richard, let him alone. My brother swore to give these Saxons a fair hearing. Would you besmirch my brother’s honour by breaking his word?”
“Truce?” Saewulf demanded of his man, and gave him a teeth-rattling shake.
“Aye.” The man flinched and nodded.
Relaxing his grip, Saewulf edged up and away from the Norman on the ground. He saw that more riders were hovering at the border of the glade. Sweet Jesus! he thought, there’s an army of them. If it were not for the fact that this man was the Baron’s brother, we would all be carrion by now.
His eyes came to rest on a well-built rider with golden spurs at his heels. Another knight? He knew of no others. Saewulf’s blue eyes narrowed almost to slits, and his blood turned to ice in his veins. That was no knight watching Rannulf. His hand scuttled, without his willing it, for his sword hilt. That was none other than…
“Hugo!” Rannulf’s exclamation, and sudden pallor confirmed Saewulf’s fears. Rannulf lowered his sword, tension in every line of his body, as though, Saewulf observed, he was unsure of the Baron.
The Baron’s horse stepped forwards and brother faced brother. “Rannulf,” Baron Hugo inclined his head.
&nbs
p; “Are you come with Beaufour then, brother?” Rannulf asked, so low that Saewulf had to strain to hear him.
The Baron shifted in his saddle. “Blood is thicker than water, Rannulf,” he replied, equally softly. “As God is my witness, I’m glad you’re back.”
The colour came back into Rannulf’s face. He grinned. He indicated the men clustered around them. “The men, my lord, are yours to command.”
“I think, little brother—” the Baron smiled down at him “—that this day, they are yours to command too.”
She would have been warm and comfortable if it were not for the fact that her head felt as though it had been used as a battering ram. Stifling a moan, Judith forced her eyes to open. She was cocooned on the largest bed she had ever seen, amid a pile of blankets and furs. A bed? She shot upright, winced as a dagger of pain drove through her head, and looked about her.
The chamber was a pleasant one, and the evening shadows were kept at bay by a fire and a solitary flambeau in a wall sconce. Evening shadows? Judith plucked at one of the furs covering her. How long had she been here? And who had brought her? She wrinkled her brow, and willed her aching brain to work.
Beaufour’s war-horse had been out of control, and plunging wildly. It must have struck her. Had she been lying here ever since? Where was she? Worry began to nibble away at the edge of her mind. Meaning to rise, she thrust the bedcovering aside, but the throbbing in her head sharpened and a groan was wrung from her lips. Defeated, Judith collapsed back against the pillows. Perhaps she’d best rest a moment, before trying to move.
Half fearful, she continued her scanning of the chamber. Her eyes stopped when they came to the fire. She’d never seen anything quite like it in so small a room. The fireplace was hewn from the same large blocks of stone that formed the walls and floor of the chamber. There were only two buildings near Beckford all of stone—the monastery and…
This chamber was a strange shape. The wall opposite the fire curved gently round. Hardly daring to look, Judith lifted apprehensive eyes up the wall and her suspicions were confirmed. Two window slits were set into the wall. The pounding in her skull all but blinded her. She sighed and shut her eyes.
She was in Mandeville Castle, there was no doubt of it. She recognised those two narrow windows, she’d looked up at them every time she’d gone into Beckford to see Aethelgyth. But she’d never seen them from the inside till now. Always before, she’d been down in the village, staring up at the blank stone walls of the keep. And now, someone had put her at the top of that keep. The wooden door of the chamber was firmly closed. Was it also locked?
Setting her lips against the pain knifing through her, Judith pushed the covers back and dragged herself to her feet.
Chamber, fire and flambeau rocked alarmingly. Fireglow and shadows merged and mixed. Teeth gritted, she fixed the door-latch with a determined stare, and managed to take a pace forwards.
The latch lifted. The door creaked. A draught rushed into the room, closely followed by a young girl balancing a tray on one hand.
“My lady, whatever are you doing?” the girl asked. She dropped her burden on to an oak coffer, and ran to Judith’s side.
The girl’s long yellow hair and fluency with the Saxon tongue marked her as a native. Thankfully, Judith rested her weight against the girl’s stolid strength. “Who…who are you?” Judith wondered, allowing the girl to turn her back towards the bed.
“Me name’s Emma, my lady,” the girl replied, gently but firmly pushing Judith back into the bed. “Now you lie still, while I make up the fire for you and warm the wine I have brought.”
“But…but…” So many questions were rolling round Judith’s beleaguered head that she did not know where to begin.
“Be still, my lady,” Emma advised. “You’ve had a nasty knock, and you must rest. Sir Rannulf will have me flayed if you’re not better when he comes up.” The girl flung a couple of logs on the fire, and jabbed the poker into its golden centre.
“Where is he?” Judith demanded, seizing on Rannulf as a good question to start with.
“Sir Rannulf?”
Judith nodded, and winced.
“In the hall. I’ve been sitting with you all afternoon. He asked me to tell him when you wake.”
Judith began to relax. Emma had a low voice. And her slow mode of speech was having a calming effect on her. It was either that or the knowledge that it must have been Rannulf who had brought her here.
Emma removed the glowing poker from the fire and bustled over to the tray. There was a hiss as the hot iron warmed the wine, small clouds of steam swirled upwards, and a sweet smell filled the chamber. Emma flung some herbs into a drinking horn and poured a measure of the warmed wine over them. She stirred the contents, and offered the steaming horn to Judith.
“Can you manage it on your own, my lady?” she asked.
“I think so.” Judith smiled and sat up carefully. “What was that you put in it?”
“Oh, just some concoction of Aethelgyth’s. I don’t know exactly.”
Judith’s fingers closed round the horn. “If it came from Aethel, ’twill no doubt do me much good,” she said.
“Aye. Sir Rannulf sent out for it for you,” Emma volunteered.
The wine had been flavoured with honey and a subtle trace of spices to overlay the bitter taste of the herbs.
“My thanks, Emma.” Judith finished it all and passed the empty drinking vessel back to Emma, feeling her stomach warm as the wine reached it. She sighed.
“Rest now, my lady. If you need anything, the lady’s bower is on the floor below.”
So she was not a prisoner. The tightness in her head became less acute.
“I’ll go and tell Sir Rannulf you’re awake,” Emma went on. “You’ll be wanting to see him, I expect.” And, giving Judith a queer, knowing little smile, Emma bobbed a curtsy and left the room.
Judith leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, without seeing it. When Rannulf came, there was much she wanted to ask him. She smiled. Her eyelids drooped. That wine was really working, her head was much less painful already. In a moment or two, she thought vaguely, I will be able to sort out my mind, in a moment or two.
A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her awake.
“Wh…what?” she mumbled sleepily.
Rannulf’s voice, close by her ear, murmured, “You would make a terrible lookout. Do you always sleep so deeply?”
Rosy-cheeked, Judith struggled into a sitting position. “When I’m on lookout, I don’t sleep,” she replied, with a touch of pride. Then she remembered she was talking to a de Mandeville, and her face fell.
Rannulf laughed. “No need to look so stricken. I know your secrets now, remember?” He leant forwards, brushed aside her hair and kissed her lightly on the brow. “Does it still hurt you?” he asked.
“N…no.” she eyed him warily, remembering how distant he had seemed in the Chase. Seated on the edge of the bed, Rannulf had his back to the fire, and she could not see his face. His voice, though, was warm. The fragrance of rosemary filled her nostrils. She had the impression he’d been there for some time.
“How long have you been in here?” she demanded.
Rannulf indicated a large tub in front of the fire. “Long enough to bathe. And you slept through it all like a babe. You slept soundly in Cyprus too, but I never thought you’d snore through my bathing, the fire being built up, more lights being brought and—”
“I don’t snore,” Judith protested indignantly.
“You do, you know,” he said in a teasing voice.
“I do not! You always were a liar, Rannulf!”
“Kiss me, then, and I’ll admit that I lie.” Long fingers gripped her chin and held her face still.
Judith tried half-heartedly to move her head.
“Kiss me,” he repeated, with his eyes on her lips. His voice was no longer teasing.
Shyly, Judith put her hand on his shoulder. Rannulf’s head came down and his mouth brushed softly across
hers. Judith tugged at his shoulder, she pressed close, and as Rannulf kissed her again, that familiar melting sensation warmed her stomach like the wine. She groaned and opened her mouth. She could taste him on her tongue. Her fingers began to weave into his hair, and almost immediately Rannulf lifted his mouth from hers.
“I admit it. You do not snore,” he said. His green eyes were shadowed.
“Rannulf, what is it?” she asked, and suddenly remembered his wound. “Your arm! I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
Rannulf flexed his shoulder. “’Tis of small account,” he said, and grinned. “We are both in a poor way, are we not?”
“Aye,” she agreed quietly and blushed. “Rannulf, I am glad you did not suffer worse hurt. There were so many of Beaufour’s men, I was certain we were outnumbered. Tell me, Rannulf,” Judith went on, “is Saewulf…?”
Rannulf took her hand and squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “Saewulf is safe.”
She opened her mouth.
“And before you ask, so too are your friends.”
“Thank the Lord. But I don’t understand it. We were cornered. I was sure we would all be killed.” She gave a deprecating laugh. “Now for myself, I did not mind, you understand. But for Saewulf, and…Sir Guy…and you. I could not see you killed,” she admitted on a rush. “For all that you are Norman, I could not see you dead.” She found she could no longer look at those too penetrating green eyes.
Rannulf had gone very still. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why could you not see me dead, Judith?”
“Why, because…because…” Judith felt her cheeks flush scarlet. With Rannulf so close, she could not marshal her thoughts. Shakily, she rose to her feet, and stood in front of the fire. She could not say it. “Because you saved me,” she lied, wishing with all her heart she were not such a coward. She would wield a sword as bravely as he, but when it came to this—to admitting that she loved him…she could not do it. In this she was the worst of cowards. It must have something to do with having to hide her feelings during those long years in the Chase, of having to damp down the tender instincts within her. Very necessary for an outlaw, but now…
Leaves on the Wind Page 22