Leaves on the Wind

by Carol Townend

  Judith sat up and began combing her hair with fingers that were far from steady.

  “My apologies, Rannulf.” Wilfred stepped into the chamber. He was out of breath. “I wish it were only a jest—”

  “Get on with it,” Rannulf snapped.

  “It’s Beaufour. Rannulf, he’s escaped.”

  “What!” Rannulf’s whole body tensed. “I thought that fall had crippled him. The last time I saw him he was stretched out on a hurdle, not blinking an eyelid. Divine justice, I thought, for all he’s done.”

  Wilfred put his hand to his head. “I know, Rannulf. I saw him too. But the fact is that he’s gone. Baron Hugo wants you down in the hall.”

  “Beaufour must have had help from inside,” Rannulf commented, buckling on his swordbelt.

  “Aye.”

  “Lead on, Wilfred.” At the door, Rannulf paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “’Till later, princess,” he promised. He blew her a kiss, and ran from the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  No sooner had the last of Rannulf’s footsteps died away, than Judith was on her feet. She wanted to know what was happening below, and was not about to be marooned at the top of the keep. Beaufour was a monster of iniquity, and she had as much a right as any to see justice served on him. She put her fingers on the latch, and peered round the door. A dim light glowed from a lower turn of the stairs. There was no guard.

  She smiled ruefully to herself. It seemed that past habits were not as easily discarded as a set of clothes. Why should she think there would be a guard outside the chamber? She was not a prisoner. She had a perfect right to be here. Rannulf wanted her to be there. He had asked her to marry him, and now, after learning what he had hidden in that reliquary, she was certain he loved her.

  She was glad of Wilfred’s interruption, for it gave her mind time to digest everything she had learned. She wanted it to be right between them when they made love for the very first time. Judith bit back another smile. Their loving now seemed as inevitable as sunrise after dark. Inevitable and right. She wanted it to be perfect. Rannulf loved her, she was sure of it. Happy to cast her doubts aside, Judith flung the door of the chamber wide.

  She ran her hands down her shabby tunic and drew up sharply. She ought to change. She was not in the Chase now. She was a Saxon in a Norman stronghold, and had no desire to shame either her race or Rannulf. Curbing her impatience, she cast her eyes about Rannulf’s room. He’d said her clothes were in his travelling chest.

  She counted two coffers, one by the bed, and the other, much battered and with an iron lock, hemmed in between the two slim window seats. An image of a similar trunk standing by Rannulf’s hammock on the White Eagle flashed into her head, and Judith went for that one.

  The lid was heavy, and its hinges creaked as she opened it. Aye, this was the one, the salt air had got to the metalwork. Sifting through Rannulf’s belongings, she soon found what she was looking for. She drew out the two gowns still in Rannulf’s possession, stood up, and held them to her chest, squinting to see the effect. The sea-green robe, she decided, not that it was easy to tell in this light. She remembered she still had some of Aethel’s lavender in her pouch…

  Tossing the gown on to the embroidered cushion in the window-seat, Judith set about transforming herself from a grubby outlaw into an elegant young lady.

  A little while later she approached the Great Hall. With her hand lifted to draw back the thick door-curtain, Judith checked. There were voices wafting through the hanging and one of them, she had no doubt, was Baron Hugo de Mandeville. She had believed she had routed all qualms about facing him—after all, Rannulf would be at her side. But now that the moment had come, she found she was quivering like a jelly. She shut her eyes, stiffened her spine, and braced herself to walk into the hall.

  “Damn it all, Hugo, did you not think to set a guard over him?” Rannulf said, in French.

  “I…I’m sorry, Rannulf.” Baron Hugo cleared his throat noisily. “I thought he was past praying for.”

  “His sort is never past praying for.” Rannulf’s dry response came clearly to Judith’s ears.

  The Baron did not sound half as intimidating as Judith had thought he would. Rannulf had told her to go to his brother for help when Beaufour had attacked them at the rendezvous. She told herself Rannulf would not have done that if the Baron were as black as he had been painted…She thrust the curtain aside, stuck her chin in the air, and walked slowly into the hall.

  A single trestle remained up, close to a cavernous fireplace, which did not seem large enough for the fire that filled it. Smoke billowed forth, and what with that, and the black drifts gusting from the cresset lights, it was like peering through a fog. Other tables were neatly stacked against the walls. Several pallets littered the floor, but none of the men-at-arms were sleeping. They were all grouped round the trestle table, shamelessly eavesdropping on their lord and his brother. Wilfred and Guy were numbered among them. Saewulf was there too, armed, and apparently at his ease. He stiffened when he saw her, and Judith sent him a quick smile before her eyes travelled past him to the two de Mandeville brothers. The smoke made her eyes water.

  Baron Hugo, resplendent in a dazzling red tunic, was perched on the edge of the trestle, gazing up at Rannulf with his blurred features shaped into a ludicrous expression of apology. If it had not been for Baron Hugo’s tunic, a stranger would no doubt have taken Rannulf to be master of this keep.

  It was the first time Judith had seen Baron Hugo without his armour. Notwithstanding that barrel of a belly, he was smaller than she had imagined him to be.

  The Baron saw Judith first. His jaw dropped, he touched Rannulf’s arm, and jerked his head in her direction. “Brother, your lady,” he said.

  Rannulf swung round, astonishment written all over his face. “Judith?” He closed the distance between them in two long strides, took in her changed appearance at a glance, and bent over her fingers with a courtly gesture that made her heart flutter. “You do me honour, my lady,” he murmured softly, in English, and placed her hand on his arm.

  He drew her towards the Baron. “Hugo, this is Judith Coverdale,” he said, introducing her informally in English.

  Judith hardly had time to attempt a smile, for Rannulf immediately resumed his conversation in French. “Hugo, did anyone go after Beaufour?” he demanded.

  “Aye. A couple of scouts.”

  “What was he riding? His stallion?” Rannulf asked.

  Guy stepped forward, dark eyes sombre. “Aye. That brown brute’s gone from the stable. And someone’s taken the black mare with the white mark on her left foreleg.”

  “Damn!” Baron Hugo thumped his fist on the table. “That’s the mare my steward favours!”

  Rannulf shot his brother a sympathetic glance. “Exactly. They’ve both been feathering their nests at your expense, Hugo. There’ll be no catching them now. They’ve had too long a start, and they knew what they were doing when they picked those horses. They’re the fleetest in the stable. My guess is they’ll have flown for the hills. We’re well rid of them, I think.”

  Hugo scowled. “Aye,” he said bitterly. “And no doubt they’ll start their tricks on some other weak-minded fool—”

  “Hugo,” Rannulf warned softly, glancing round the assembled men. “We’re in company.”

  Baron Hugo climbed to his feet. He smiled and raised his voice. “My thanks for the reminder, brother. But a public confession will put the tally right. I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been a fool. They made it easy for me, I’ll not deny that. Beguiled me with soft words and plied me with wine till it addled my wits. But the fault was mine.” He straightened himself to his full height. “That’s all finished with.” He faced his men. “There, I’ve done with the confessional for today. You men can get to bed.”

  Obediently, the Baron’s men began to drift towards their pallets. Soft murmurs of conversation started up in various corners of the hall.

  Baron Hugo turned back to Rannulf. �
��And if you’d be good enough to spare me some time, Rannulf, I could do with some brotherly counsel…”

  Rannulf lifted his shoulders. “What else have I to do?” he asked, lightly. “I’ve yet to renew my oath to Fitz Osbern.”

  Hugo’s gaze became penetrating. “Rannulf, don’t you know? I thought you saw Beaufour in Cyprus.”

  “I saw him all right,” Rannulf acknowledged curtly.

  “But didn’t he tell you…?” The Baron’s jaw dropped.

  “Tell me what, brother?” Rannulf asked. “Beaufour and I barely managed to exchange greetings at the best of times, and as for conversing with the man—”

  “You have no need to swear fealty to another, Rannulf,” Hugo informed him. “Our mother left you her dower lands. You’ve lands of your own!”

  Judith felt the muscles cord on Rannulf’s arm. There was a stunned silence.

  “I…I beg your pardon?” Rannulf said, in a choked voice.

  Judith swallowed down a sympathetic rush of tears. She blinked, knowing that this time the smoke was not responsible for her watering eyes. The legacy surprised her, for Normans did not generally permit their women to hold lands in their own name. But it was a godsend. She knew how much this would mean to Rannulf. He would be his own man now…

  Hugo moved closer. “Beaufour should have told you,” he muttered. “When he informed me of his business dealings in Cyprus, I asked him to tell you.” The Baron glanced uneasily at Judith. “Trading, he said. Rannulf, I swear I had no idea it was slaving…”

  Judith stirred and jerked her hand. It was time to confess that she could speak French…

  Rannulf misread her movement. He took her to be shying away from his brother. He put a comforting hand on her arm. “That’s all right,” he said softly. “I’ll explain to Judith later that you had no part in the slaving. Go on, Hugo.”

  Judith subsided.

  “Beaufour asked leave to go to Cyprus,” the Baron said. “It was soon after Mother died. I thought it strange that a knight should take up with traders, but then it struck me that he might run across you on his travels and I thought no more about it. I charged him with informing you of our mother’s death, and of your inheritance. When he came back, he said he had told you.”

  “He lied,” Rannulf said shortly. Then his face cleared. “But I’m thankful you were not implicated in the slaving, Hugo. For a while I thought—”

  Hugo clapped Rannulf on the arm. “I’m no slaver, brother! A blind fool, perhaps, but no slaver.” The Baron’s eyes slid to Judith. “She’s prettier in a maid’s garb, brother,” he commented.

  Rannulf’s hand tightened on her arm. “Aye.”

  “I’ll try and make restitution,” Hugo went on, in a low voice. “I’ll do my best to bring Beaufour to trial. His sins will not go unpunished. At the very least he’ll be outlawed.”

  Rannulf nodded. He put an arm round Judith’s waist, and pulled her to his side. He bent his head to her ear. “We did not speak in French to exclude you, Judith,” he explained earnestly in the Saxon tongue, “but because my brother finds it easier.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, I do—”

  “Judith, my dear—” Baron Hugo had taken her hand “—I am glad to make your acquaintance properly.”

  “Properly?” she frowned.

  The Baron smiled. “Aye. When first I saw you, you were fast in my brother’s arms, and, by the expression on his face, I thought him to be carrying a corpse!”

  “Hugo—” Rannulf’s voice held a warning note “—that’s enough.”

  The Baron grinned. “Are you to wed, then?” he asked, with devastating bluntless.

  Rannulf ran a hand round the back of his neck. “The lady has yet to agree…” he admitted.

  “But you will agree, won’t you?” Hugo looked a question at her. “You have to.”

  “H…have to?” Judith stammered, uncomfortably aware that Wilfred had sauntered up. He always gave her such peculiar, knowing stares. But this time he was directing just such a stare at Rannulf.

  “Aye.” Hugo nodded emphatically. “Then your revenge would be complete. You, once an outlaw, would be a lady. And Beaufour would take your place in the gutter. Your positions would be reversed.”

  “But…I have not been pardoned,” Judith pointed out.

  Hugo rubbed his chin, and pretended to consider. “I dare say, if my brother wants you…?”

  “Damn it all, Hugo, you know I do,” Rannulf confirmed.

  “Consider yourself pardoned,” Hugo waved a careless hand.

  Judith gasped. Was it really so easy? “And…and Saewulf…and what about the others?” Judith blurted.

  “Judith, ’tis done already,” Rannulf informed her. “Saewulf has taken the oath of fealty, and has sworn to take responsibility for the behaviour of his men.”

  “Oh.” She felt strangely lost, as though a trail she had been following was no longer there. “My thanks,” she got out, suddenly shy of meeting those green eyes.

  “Now she’ll have to marry you,” Hugo declared.

  “Hugo,” Rannulf’s voice had a sharp edge to it. “Dear God, will no one let me manage this my own way?”

  “Too soft,” Wilfred murmured in disgusted French accents. “Why give her the choice? You don’t have to.”

  “Wilfred, shut your mouth,” Rannulf said tightly.

  Wilfred shook his blond head “Simmer down, friend. She doesn’t speak your Norman tongue.” Wilfred grinned at Baron Hugo. “Your brother’s mad, Baron,” he said.

  “It must run in the family,” Baron Hugo said drily. “But I don’t see that Rannulf—”

  “He owns her, after all,” Wilfred continued. “He had to buy her in Cyprus to keep us out of trouble.”

  Judith’s whole body jerked with the shock of that revelation. All eyes swivelled in her direction. She had to steel the muscles of her face not to betray her astonishment. She refused to confront all the implications of this disclosure with half the Baron’s soldiery watching her. She coughed. “’Tis the smoke,” she spluttered hoarsely, affecting not to have understood what Wilfred had said. She scrubbed at her eyes as though they were smarting.

  Behind the blank expression nailed on her face, Judith’s mind was spinning. Rannulf, she was pleased to note, had gone the colour of chalk. She wondered why he had not told her. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach gave her the answer. She had not been the only one to doubt. It would appear that Rannulf had little faith in her affection for him.

  That crafty smile lit Wilfred’s face. “Relax, Rannulf,” he said. “You only have to look at her face to see she doesn’t understand a word of what I’m saying. Now where was I? Ah, I remember. Now, Baron, tell me what man in his right mind would give a woman a choice when he doesn’t have to? He should command her, and have done. Don’t you agree?”

  “I think, Wilfred, it is up to him,” Hugo laughed.

  “Brother, if you’ve no further need of me…?” Rannulf asked, white about the mouth.

  Hugo made a dismissive gesture. “You may go. Show her to the ladies’ bower. There’s a place for her there. Rannulf, I envy you your wedding night.”

  Wilfred sniggered.

  “I’ve had enough of this.” Rannulf addressed Judith in English, and steered her towards the stairs. “Come, Judith.”

  “Yes, Rannulf,” Judith agreed, all compliance. “The smoke is rather thick. How anyone could actually get to sleep in here is beyond me.”

  “’Tis not that bad, you know—” Rannulf seized eagerly on the change of topic she offered him “—and when you’re down at ground level. The smoke all rises.”

  They reached the door curtain. Rannulf leaned past Judith to hold it back, and all but shoved her through.

  Judith walked up a couple of turns of stairs and paused next to the tapestry which screened the entrance to the ladies’ chamber. “Is this where I should go?” she asked. A wall light was behind Rannulf, and his face was no more than a blur.

 
; He took her hand, and slowly brought it to his mouth. “Aye, if we observe the conventions,” he replied softly, and kissed the back of her hand. “For myself, I wish otherwise.”

  Judith looked uncertainly at the curtain, and back at Rannulf’s shadowed features. He had not released her hand. “I’d rather stay with you,” she admitted, and firmly, she interlaced her fingers with his.

  Back in the tower chamber, Judith went to kneel by the fire. “Thank God this doesn’t smoke like the fireplace in the hall,” she commented, throwing a log into the flames.

  Behind her, Rannulf bolted the door. “Aye,” he agreed. “Most likely the other flue is blocked. I’ve noticed it’s worse when the wind is in a certain direction.”

  Rannulf dropped to his haunches at her side and draped a warm hand round her neck. “Judith?”

  “Aye?” Judith picked up another log and weighed it in her hands. She turned towards him. He was clearly ill at ease.

  “I…I think there’s something you should know,” he said, removing the wood from her and pitching it into the fire.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wilfred put me in mind of something that I think I should have told you before. I put it off for fear of your reaction…”

  His fingers were moving softly through the hair at the nape of her neck. Judith’s throat constricted. She cleared it, and attempted to speak, “Aye?”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Judith,” Rannulf said, and his voice was hoarse, like hers. “It makes it all the more difficult.”

  “Difficult? Why should it be difficult?”

  “Because…” he hesitated. “Because…when I tell you, you’ll probably hate me. And I like it when you look at me in that manner. I don’t want you to stop. So it makes telling you…difficult.”

  There was a crease on his forehead. Judith leaned towards him and smoothed it away with here forefinger “Don’t tell me then,” she whispered. Her heart began to thump against her ribs, and she knew what she must say. “But whatever it is, Rannulf, I swear I’ll never stop looking at you like this.”