‘Delectable?’
They were talking in the Saxon tongue, one, amongst others, she had learned to speak in Adela’s schoolroom, but this word eluded her. Torr stepped closer.
‘Good enough to eat,’ he elucidated, his voice low.
Judith flushed.
‘You are hungry, my lord?’
His eyes, the green of Italian olives, sparkled.
‘Always, Judith, but please, you must call me by my name if we are to be . . . intimate.’
‘Tostig,’ she tried, the Saxon vowels unfamiliar on her lips.
‘Exactly. Or better still, Torr.’
‘Why?’
‘It means “Tower”. Many call me it – you will find out why soon enough.’
Judith flushed so deeply she could feel the heat running all the way to her stomach. She wasn’t entirely sure what this handsome man meant but the tone was one she had heard from Emeline too many times to mistake. For once she felt no yearning to escape the hall and hide in her inks; tonight she was the colour.
‘Where will we live,’ she dared to ask, ‘once we are wed?’
His face darkened a little.
‘I have estates near Hereford, in the west. It is a beautiful area – rich and fertile. You will like it, Judith.’
‘You are lord there?’
His face darkened further and he ran an agitated hand through his rich hazel hair.
‘Lord of those lands, yes, though it is not my own earldom.’
The last words were ground out on a harsh rasp and she rushed to soothe him.
‘Mayhap it will one day be yours?’
‘Mayhap, for all the use that is. Wessex is the land to have, Judith, but my brother Harold will get that, for he gets everything. Be under no illusion, I am but a younger son and not like to get anything much.’
The colours of Judith’s evening swum slightly but she had been bred at court and was not easily thrown.
‘At least you are a son. I am Count Baldwin’s sister. With our father dead and my mother gone into a nunnery I am last in the family line – a misfit.’
He looked at her curiously then suddenly snatched her hand.
‘Then you are even more perfect for me than I knew, Judith of Flanders. We can be misfits together. Do you dance?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Good. I love to dance.’
Judith thought of Mathilda in Eu, frozen on a high-backed chair in her jewel-stiff gown, her husband staring at the haphazard Norman dancers as if they were mythical beasts to puzzle over, and felt a rush of pleasure. Relieved that his dark mood seemed to have lifted, she let Tostig – Torr? – lead her out onto the floor and, to her amazement, saw other couples scramble to take a place at their side as if she were suddenly someone worth following. The thought gave her another shiver of confidence and she lifted her ribcage.
‘Heavens,’ Torr said, his eyes fixed on her breasts where they swelled beneath the fine fabric of her gown, ‘I think the sooner we are wed the better – do you not, Father?’
Judith turned, startled, to see Earl Godwin himself on her other side. She blinked, for the great Englishman dazzled. His bulky warrior’s body was adorned with more gold than Judith had seen in her life, even on the precious days she’d been allowed to explore Adela’s jewellery casket. He had huge twisted coils of it wrapped around his arms from wrist to elbow and more around the bulge of his muscles. His thick fingers were ringed with it and the double cloak-clasps he wore on either hulking shoulder glinted like boats sailing into a blazing sunset.
‘Delighted to meet you,’ he boomed, clasping her hand in both of his and shaking it earnestly.
‘And I you, my lord. I have heard much of your great deeds.’
‘Great deeds? Great treasures more like, yes? It’s all men say of me.’ He did not look as if this concerned him one jot. ‘You will be a most welcome addition to the family, Judith. May I call you Judith? Excellent, excellent. Such a forward-thinking county, Flanders, so active, so connected.’
‘Yes,’ Judith said, wishing she could think of something more intelligent but Godwin did not seem to care.
‘I have long looked for an alliance with your family.’
This did not quite ring true and Judith looked around awkwardly as the earl blustered on and the last couples slotted into the set. Torr was running his fingers over hers in a most distracting way and Godwin sparkled so much it was hard to concentrate but she remembered talk of the Norman advisors and had to be sure all was well.
‘You sail with King Edward’s blessing?’ she dared to ask.
Godwin put up a meaty hand.
‘Something like that,’ he agreed, adding in a sudden, dizzying surge of confidence, ‘Kings are contrary beasts, Judith. They ask to be advised then complain at that advice. They demand loyalty but don’t always return it. They . . .’
‘Hush, Godwin,’ his wife Gytha said, grabbing at his hand, ‘the dance is starting and poor Judith doesn’t want to hear your old man’s grumblings.’
‘Oh, no,’ Judith assured her, ‘I’m very interested.’
But the minstrels were striking up a tune and Torr was pulling her close and his free hand was sneaking around her waist to guide her away from talk of kings and she gave in easily. She felt as if she were gliding, so sure was Torr’s hold, so commanding his steps, and sensing other girls watching jealously, she moved a little closer. Torr responded immediately, his hand dropping down to brush the curve of her bottom with such a light touch it might almost not have been there at all save her blood singing in awareness of him.
‘Steady there,’ Count Baldwin said, moving past with Adela, ‘she’s not yours yet, young man.’
Judith was mortified but Torr did not for one moment loosen his hold.
‘Oh, I think she is,’ he said so low only Judith could hear, ‘are you not, my Judith?’
And God help her, she was.
The days passed, each one giddier than the next. The wedding was set for seven days’ time and every day Torr sought her out, riding at her side if they went around Bruges, hastening to bring her his game from the hunt, and moving to join her the moment she entered the hall. One day she even found him outside her room. She’d sent one of her ladies, a giddy girl called Aileen, to fetch her gown from the guardrobe and the fool had been so long she went after her. She found Aileen in the central antechamber, Judith’s gown crumpled in her arms and her hair askew. And there, just behind her, was Lord Tostig.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, surprised into bluntness.
‘I came to find you, Judith.’
‘I do not generally linger in antechambers,’ she said, looking suspiciously from Torr to Aileen.
‘As you should not. I intended to knock at your door but I found this young lady in some distress in the guardrobe.’
Aileen bobbed a sideways curtsey, catching her foot in the gown so that Judith had to put out a hand to steady her and save it ripping.
‘I, I caught my hair,’ Aileen stuttered.
‘On one of the gown hooks,’ Torr supplied. ‘I think she must have tried to free herself but only got in a worse tangle. I heard her whimpering from the stairs.’
‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ Aileen said shakily. ‘I didn’t want to put your gown down because Countess Adela especially said to be careful with it, so I only had one hand and I can be a little clumsy, I’m afraid, as you know and . . .’
Judith shushed her. The girl was useless; she would not be taking her to England with her.
‘But why did you want to see me, Torr?’ she demanded.
‘Why? Oh. I, I have a present for you.’
‘You do?’ He scuffed his feet, apparently shy, as Aileen took her chance to escape past them into Judith’s chamber. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m regretting it now. It’s a foolish idea. You are too delicate, too fine. Let me get you something else, Judith.’
‘Don’t be silly. What is it?’
He prised a ring, gold
en with a swirled inlay of silver, from his littlest finger and proffered it.
‘A token of our commitment. I thought it would be fitting to give you something of my own but I fear I was mistaken. It is too coarse a bauble for your beauty.’
‘It is not.’ Judith held out her hand and Torr guided the ring onto her largest finger. He was not a thick-set man and it fitted well enough. She would have to be careful not to let it slip off but she loved it. It shone against her skin like gilt edging on a manuscript. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said.
‘It is?’
‘Yes. Thank you, Torr. I shall treasure it.’
‘As I shall treasure you.’ He moved closer, claiming her as if they might dance and gently pulling her against him so that it seemed as if almost every part of her body was touching his.
‘My lord,’ she protested, ‘should we?’
‘Oh yes, Judith,’ he said, ‘we should,’ and he was so sure that she protested no more but let his lips claim hers, so lightly and so softly but with such promise that she clung to him when finally he moved back.
‘Should we?’ he teased huskily.
‘We should,’ she told him firmly and reached for him.
‘Oh, Judith,’ he said. ‘We are going to have such fun, you and I – once we are wed.’
And with that he pulled away and, kissing his ring onto her finger, was gone, leaving her quaking with a mix of fury and desire. Was this courtesy or the opposite? She knew not; knew only that she wanted more.
She wore the ring to dinner where Torr was all attentiveness once more.
‘I am sorry I had to leave,’ he told her when they had a moment alone. ‘I was . . . overcome. I do not wish to dishonour you but, oh, Judith, our wedding cannot come soon enough for me.’
Warmth suffused her; it had been courtesy.
‘It is but two more days,’ she whispered.
‘They will seem like an eternity and believe me, Judith, once you know what you are missing two days will seem an eternity to you too.’
‘You know then?’
He frowned, bowed low.
‘I confess I do. I am not so pure as you, my love – or rather, I have not been before. I was young, a little wild perhaps, and, of course, free.’
‘You will not mind losing that freedom?’
‘For you – never. You are enough woman for even a man of my appetites.’
Fleetingly Judith wondered if the pleasures of the bedchamber were all her future husband talked of. He wished to flatter her, no doubt, to reassure her, but it grew a little wearisome.
‘Tell me of England,’ she suggested.
‘England? ’Tis a fine place. You will like it. We will have a great hall.’
‘Where?’
‘Wherever you want. You can buy drapes and, and ornaments if you wish. Do you wish? My mother is always buying drapes. And we can, maybe, have a new bed – one with sturdy posts. You will like that, Judi.’ And he was off on his favourite subject again, though his lips whispered across her earlobe so deliciously she lost track of the words.
‘Judith!’ She leaped away from Torr as Count Baldwin approached. ‘Is he at you again, girl? Goodness! Can I tear you away a moment or two? Your sister is here.’
‘Sister?’ Judith looked at him, confused.
‘Oh, you know what I mean – Mathilda.’
‘Mathilda! Mathilda is here? Now?’
‘She is. She has ridden from Normandy specially to honour us, is that not kind?’
Judith looked round. Her cousin must be surely there by the door where a chattering mob had gathered excitedly.
‘And William?’ she asked nervously.
‘Surely Mathilda is enough?’
Baldwin took her arm to lead her away from Torr, parting the crowds with a gruff command, and there indeed was Mathilda. It was a few months since Judith had last seen her and she marvelled that she’d forgotten that peculiar radiance her cousin had. Mathilda shone as brightly as Earl Godwin but with not an ounce of gold about her slender person and Judith instantly felt clumsier and uglier and somehow larger beside her. But then Mathilda caught sight of her and her fine-boned face lit up girlishly and Judith felt ashamed of herself.
‘Maud,’ she said, rushing to her.
‘Judi. It’s so lovely to see you and you look so well. I swear you are twice as pretty as you were when I left and that was already prettier than most.’
Judith flushed.
‘How is life in Normandy, Duchess?’
Mathilda smiled at the title.
‘It is good, thank you. The people of Rouen have welcomed me as if I am some sort of treasure but then, do you know, they haven’t had a duchess since William’s grandmother and she died in ’31.’ She leaned in closer. ‘As you saw at the wedding, it has been a duchy of little more than men posturing and cutting each other down, Judi, but I am working hard to change that. I am meeting more and more noble ladies and trying to bring some polite society to the different areas of Normandy. It isn’t easy but I will do it, I swear.’
‘I’m sure you will, Mathilda. And William is well?’
‘Oh, yes! He has had some good news. That is why I am here.’
She looked shifty suddenly and Judith grabbed at her arms.
‘You are with child, Maud?’
‘Not that, no, though I suppose I could be. William tries hard enough. We share a chamber every night and I swear I get less and less rest.’
She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that Judith recognised from Emeline’s earthy jokes and tales. Would she, too, laugh this way soon? She glanced over to Torr but he had been cornered by two ladies and did not see her.
‘Have you seen my bridegroom, Maud?’ she asked, proudly pointing him out. ‘Is he not a fine man?’
‘He looks very well,’ Mathilda agreed. ‘And is that his father, Earl Godwin?’
‘It is. See all his gold, Maud. I swear he is almost made of it. Torr says it is the old way – a good Saxon keeps his wealth upon him to display it to all.’
‘And so he has it with him if he needs to flee.’
Mathilda’s voice was suddenly hard and she looked shifty again.
‘Maud, what is it?’ Judith demanded. ‘What’s happened? You’re frightening me.’
Mathilda grabbed her hands, her grip so tight it hurt.
‘I have to talk to you, Judi, and to Father too.’
‘Why? When?’
‘Now. I have to talk to you now.’
‘But dinner is almost ready. We have guests. You haven’t met Torr yet and it would be very rude to . . .’
‘Now, Judith! Come.’ She all but dragged her across to Count Baldwin, chatting easily to Lady Gytha, and Judith saw Mathilda gather herself in that almost regal way she had, so that as they approached she looked twice her small height. ‘I am so sorry, Father, but could I beg a minute of your time on a matter from Normandy?’
Count Baldwin looked at her and Judith saw his eyes change as he, like Mathilda, shifted mode.
‘Of course. Have you met Lady Gytha?’
‘A pleasure,’ Mathilda said, taking Torr’s mother’s hand. ‘I look forward to talking more with you shortly but my husband, Duke William, begged me to bring a message to my father and I must do so before I go and forget it!’ She gave a tinkling laugh that set Judith’s teeth on edge and then took her arm with an easy, ‘Will you come, Judi? I have missed you so.’ And just like that they were easing out of the crowd.
‘What is it?’ Baldwin demanded as soon as they were alone in his antechamber. ‘What’s wrong?’
Mathilda pulled them both close to her.
‘It is the Godwinsons, Father. Their power is waning.’
‘Nonsense, child. Have you seen them?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen them. They’re very keen, aren’t they, for this alliance?’
‘As they should be. Judith is a fine match for the lad.’
‘Of course she is, but why now?’
‘Why not now? Judith i
s eighteen, the young man is twenty-four – now is as good a time as any. What’s wrong, Mathilda?’
Judith looked nervously from her brother to her cousin and back. Beyond the door she could hear the hum of the court enjoying itself – of Torr, her betrothed, enjoying himself. She did not want to be shut in here with these bristling rulers. She did not want to play Mathilda’s games. Not any more.
‘I am going back,’ she said.
‘No, Judith.’ Mathilda seized her arm. ‘Listen. William and I had a visit from Archbishop Champart of Canterbury.’
‘So?’
‘He was an abbot in Normandy before he travelled to England with King Edward. He knows William well and has been . . . promoting his interests.’
Baldwin sucked in an awed breath which only irritated Judith further. Who cared about some ambitious cleric?
‘So?’ she demanded again.
‘So, he says King Edward wishes to rid himself of the Godwinsons. He says their time is running out.’
‘Why believe him?’
‘He says Edward will invite William to his court.’
‘Very neighbourly of him.’
‘And that he will make William his heir.’
Baldwin stepped keenly forward.
‘His heir, Mathilda? William will be . . .’ his voice dropped ‘ . . . King of England?’
‘So the archbishop says.’
‘Then you will be . . .’
‘Queen.’
They looked at each other and Judith felt as excluded as if she were on the other side of the door. Baldwin clasped Mathilda’s shoulders.
‘I said England, did I not, Daughter? I said it.’
‘You did, Father.’
‘And now . . . Have you received the official invitation to court?’
‘Not yet but we will, I am sure of it. The archbishop is not the sort to make empty promises.’
‘I see, I see. Queen of England, Maud? Did I not tell you William was a good match? Did I not tell you crowns could be won? And if ever there was a man to win . . .’
Judith had had enough.
‘Excuse me, Brother.’ He blinked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. He had forgotten she was there. ‘Before you lose yourself in glee over this misty promise, you should remember that the Godwinsons will never allow a foreigner on the throne.’
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