The Wild Hunt

CHAPTER 12

Judith stared into the Saracen hand mirror and found nothing that pleased. Her eyes were dark-circled for want of sleep and her complexion was pall id, bedevilled here and there by blemishes.

Her women's courses which for the past two years had been an erratic inconvenience seemed to have settled down into less than welcome four-weekly visitations of cramp and messy discomfort. That it was supposedly Eve's curse and thoroughly sanctioned by the church was no comfort; nor was the kind of information imparted by Christen, her fourteen-year-old niece-by-marriage - that they would cease as soon as she conceived.

'I should have been a man!' Judith said rebelliously.

'They don't live as long,' Christen pointed out.

'And they are easy enough to handle once you have learned the knack.'

'If you had known my father, you would not say that.' Judith began combing her hair. 'His remedy for everything was a bellyful of wine and the thrashing of the nearest scapegoat. Has your father ever beaten you?'

'Sometimes,' Christen answered with a dismissive shrug.

'And left bruises that took weeks to fade?'

Christen made a swift gesture. 'That was your father. Guy's not like that and his needs are obvious if you know where to look.'

'Indeed?' Judith arched her brow, wishing the precocious child would leave her alone. Her thoughts skimmed back over the last few hours.

Guyon had come late to bed, smelling of drink and had fall en asleep the moment he lay down with never a word in her direction. Probably he assumed she was already asleep and she had done nothing to contradict that assumption, afraid of what he might do in his cups.

The morning saw him in possession of a splitting headache, a rolling gut and numerous duties to carry out. The cramps in her stomach had made her feel sluggish and sick. They had scarcely exchanged a word. Neither of them had the time or inclination to be civil and his kiss on her cheek before he rode away had been a matter of form. He had looked through her to the waiting grey and the train of pack ponies and had omitted to tug her braid as was his usual wont.

Don't patronise me, she had said. Perhaps last night he had thought and decided how he should treat her. She blinked very hard. 'Where then do I look?' she challenged the other girl.

Christen eyed her thoughtfully. 'Guyon likes to hunt,' she said after a pause. 'You must twist and turn and evade and, even if he catches you, refuse to give in.'

Judith's wayward eyebrows rose higher.

'And of course,' Christen added with a knowing look at the bed, 'there is always that particular method of persuasion.'

'You know all this from experience?' Judith

'You know all this from experience?' Judith snapped.

'Of course not! I had it from Alais de Clare. She used to be his main solace at court until her husband found out.'

'I see,' said Judith, tight-lipped.

'No you don't,' Christen giggled. 'Her husband wanted her to sweeten Prince Henry, not waste her time on a minor fish like Guyon ... only she preferred Guy's looks and got waylaid, so to speak.'

'And she told you, his niece, all about it?' Judith said scathingly.

Christen blushed beneath the scorn in Judith's voice. 'It wasn't like that.'

'If Guyon offered me to another man by way of a bribe, I'd make hell seem cold by comparison!'

Judith replied savagely. 'God help me, I'd kill them both before I'd be sold like a slab of meat!' And then she clamped her bottom lip in her teeth, remembering that being sold like a slab of meat was precisely the manner of most marriages.

'But you love Guy, and Alais's husband is fat and getting old and--'

'Do not be so sure about the love!' Judith spat.

Christen stared at her with round eyes. 'I do not think Guyon really wanted Alais,' she said anxiously, afraid that she had roused Judith's jealousy and that it would cause trouble for her uncle. 'It was just that the King was chasing him and Guy literally had his back to the wall . He would not have looked at Alais otherwise.'

Judith firmed her lips. There was no malice in Christen; she meant well enough, but her perception was a trifle clouded. However, she had given Judith pause for thought here. There were lessons to be learned, both from Christen and this Alais de Clare who had been bartered by her husband for the favour of a prince. Subtle persuasion. The use of her body as weapon and defence. It had not occurred to her to think in those terms before and, now that it did, she required leisure to digest the notion. She looked covertly at Christen, some of her irritation waning.

The girl was only just fourteen, but already she had a ready command of the art that Judith was suddenly aware of lacking.

Subtlety. The chestnut eyebrows were plucked, but only to remove the straggling hairs, and the well -defined, strong lines went unaffected. Her hair was plaited in one shining, heavy braid threaded with gold ribbon and her gown was of a flattering holly-green wool, moulded to display her figure to its best advantage and embellished only by a girdle of silk braid. She looked exquisite with very little effort and Judith knew how those blue-green eyes could angle across the hall , hiding a wealth of promise and refusal behind the downswept lashes.

It was not an area Judith had previously dared consider, but perhaps in the light of last night's conversation, she ought to do so. Did she want to attract Guyon's notice in that sense? That was something else to be pondered at leisure rather than panicking in his presence. He was susceptible to the persuasions of the bed. She coloured and, over her shoulder, eyed the object with disfavour, wondering how one acquired such skill s. Through practice, she supposed, and shuddered at the thought, remembering two of the keep dogs copulating in the hall and the bawdy shouts of the men egging them on. She knew all the words for what male and female did together, precious few of them mentioned in the Bible, and was reluctant to join the circus. If only she could see the thing as power, not a humiliating subjugation.

'Perhaps you are right,' Judith conceded, frowning. 'Honesty may be the best policy, but a crust slips down better if it is spread with honey first ... I think I have a great deal to learn.' She put the comb down and stood up. 'For the moment, I've to instruct the cook and see about employing a new seamstress and I need to check the spice cabinet and fabric chests. Master Madoc promised to fulfil any commissions I had for him ...

and then,' she added, drawing a deep breath, 'I will consider the matter of subtlety.'

Christen smiled in return without knowing why and decided in future to keep her mouth firmly closed.

In her own chamber, Alicia shook out the drab-coloured gown she had worn in the first weeks of her widowhood. A linen bag of dried lavender and rose leaves fell from its folds along with severe evidence of moths. She clicked her tongue and tossed the garment on the bed.

'Not taking it, my lady?' enquired Agnes, reaching to inspect the damage.

Alicia shook her head and regarded the half-packed baggage chest. She had gowns enough for her retirement upon her dower manor, indeed too many. Her estates, although prosperous, were a backwater compared to the border violence of her former husband's holdings. At least she could be alone with her unseemly hunger.

'What about this belt, my lady. Shall I put ... ?'

Agnes stopped and bobbed a curtsy.

Alicia turned round and her heart began to drum to a battle beat.

Miles le Gallois studied the travelling chests, open to reveal their neatly packed contents — clothes, cups, vials, combs and embroidery. His eyes ranged over the strewed bed and the bare clothing pole, then returned to Alicia. 'If it is on account of me,' he said, 'there is no need. I am leaving tomorrow.'

Alicia mutely shook her head.

'I need to talk to you alone,' he said and as she answered him with stricken eyes, added, 'you may tie me up if you wish, but I swear on my honour not to harm you.'

Alicia carefully folded the veil she had been holding and, after a hesitation, drew a deep breath and gestured Agnes to leave. The maid's mouth thinned, but she dropped a curtsy and retreated beyond the thick wool en curtain.

Miles sat down on the bed and picked up the veil that Alicia had so painstakingly folded. 'Last time we were alone I acted like a green youth in rut,' he said. 'I have come to apologise if you will accept.'

'There is no need of apology,' she said in a low voice, 'unless it be mine.'

'Alicia, look at me.'

Wearily she raised her lids. Her eyes were the colour of twilight and storms and full of vulnerability.

'Do you think that it has gone unnoticed? For the sake of our children, we must come at least to a truce.'

'Why do you think I am going to my dower lands?' she replied.

'Because you are running away?'

Her mouth twisted. 'Not for the reasons you think.'

Miles unfolded the veil. It was made of fragile gauze, the embroidery edging it skilfully worked in gold thread. 'You will miss her,' he said gently.

'She has her own life to live and will the sooner grow into a woman without me for a leaning post. In time I would become the child. Indeed, it has begun already. She shuts me from her thoughts and she is very strong willed.'

'Not a whit like her father, is she?' he mused.

There was a hesitation that made him look up. Alicia's face had blenched. Then she rallied, smiled and drew a shaky breath. 'I wouldn't say that.' She turned her face into the shadows. 'There are many similarities.'

Something rang false. Memory searched and pieced disjointed fragments. 'Who is he?' Miles asked.

He saw the silent vibration of her shoulders.

'That is my own affair,' she answered in a choked voice.

'And mine too since it will touch the blood of my grandchildren.' He rose and went to her and turned her to face him.

'And if I say a baseborn groom or a passing pedlar?' she challenged.

'If that were true, you'd not have denied me the day of the boar hunt.'

Alicia shook beneath his light touch, knowing what she risked if she told him the truth.

'Does he still live?'

'Yes.'

'Does he know?'

'No,' she said. 'To him it was a night of pleasure, a comfort along the road to be forgotten in the dawn.'

'And to you?' He watched her with checked tension.

She laughed at some private bitterness. 'Expedient. When your cow fails to calf, get a different bull to service her.'

Miles released her and, folding his arms, frowned.

'Not pretty, is it?' she said. 'I cuckolded my husband in his own keep and deceived him with my lover's child. You see too much, my lord, or perhaps I have just grown careless of late.'

'I see too much,' he said, smiling painfully, 'because I want you.'

'You don't know me.'

'Well enough to see too clearly.' He tried to decide from her expression the approach he should take. 'I've known you for a long time, ever since you were Judith's age and defying your father's will . And in the years since then, I've watched you from a distance grow and change.'

'And wanted me?' she challenged.

Miles saw the trap yawning at his feet and skirted it deftly. 'I had Christen,' he said. 'There was no space in me to want another woman. You know that.'

Some of the hostility left her eyes, but she remained strongly cautious.

Miles shrugged. 'It is two years since I lost her. Sometimes it seems as close as yesterday. Sometimes the loneliness rides me so hard I think I will go mad. I have taken women to my bed so that I do not have to sleep alone, but there is no lasting solace in that. What I need is another wife and, if I can get a dispensation, your consent.'

Alicia stared at him, dumbfounded. 'It is impossible!' she said huskily.

'The dispensation or your consent? Rannulf Flambard will perform any miracle for the right amount of gold and I will not take no for an answer from you ... not without excellent reasons.'

Alicia sat down. 'I could give you them,' she said shakily.

Miles persisted. For every protest that she made, he had an answer ready, a reasonable solution. He made a nonsense of her fears ... all but one. She told him the name of Judith's father.

Miles drew breath, held it, stared at her in dawning amazement, and very slowly exhaled.

She saw his mind make that final, vital connection, saw his eyes flicker.

'Yes,' she said harshly. 'He was fourteen years old and I was twenty-eight, and in one night he taught me everything that Maurice did not have the imagination to know.'

'Sweet Christ and his mother,' Miles swore, staring at her while he tried to assimilate what she had just told him.

She watched his face, waiting for the revulsion, but it did not come. It was a blank mask behind which any thought could have lurked. She covered her face and turned away.

After a moment, Miles mustered his wits. She was trembling so hard that he thought her flesh would shiver free of her bones. He laid a firm hand on her shoulder. 'It makes no difference to me,' he said finally. 'It is in the past and, knowing him, even at fourteen he was no innocent to be seduced unless he so wished.'

Alicia swallowed, remembering how it had been. She with a plan half formed, afraid to dare, and he with his mind already made up.

'So you will marry me?'

Alicia removed her hands tentatively from her face and looked at him. 'How can you say it makes no difference? I set out deliberately to cheat my husband. I bedded with a boy whose voice had barely broken, I--'

'You flay yourself with guilt,' he interrupted, capturing her hands in his. 'I do not doubt you.

The Welsh have a saying: Oer yw'r cariad addiffydd ar un chwa o wynt. Cold is the love that is put out by one gust of wind. I have taken women to my bed for the comfort and the pleasure they offer, never out of forced desperation. I account your sin the lesser.'

Alicia's mouth trembled with a smile. 'You are very persistent, my lord.'

'It's the mix of Welsh and Norman blood,' he agreed cheerfully.

She shook her head and sniffed. 'I cannot give you an answer. I am so confused that I do not know my head from my heels.'

He put out his hand as if to touch her, but let it drop again to his side, aware of how much was at stake. It was like stalking a deer. Softly, slowly and no sudden moves. 'Perhaps you should remove to your dower lands,' he said thoughtfully.

'It will give you time to think.'

Alicia stepped away from his disturbing proximity. It was obvious that his own mind was made up. She had shown him the black secret lurking at the bottom of her soul and he had dismissed it as of no consequence, still valuing her enough to offer her marriage. It was the first time she had felt her worth to be above that of a mere chattel. A pity it was thirty years too late.

'I hazard you do not often lose an argument,' she said.

'It depends on the subject.' He gestured. 'I could escort you home if you wish it. I have business with Hugh of Chester, but I could take you when I return, say in four days' time' return, say in four days' time'

'And if I say no?' Her tone was sharp, for she received the distinct impression that she was being manipulated in the direction he desired her to go.

'I'll have to think of something else, won't I?' he replied, still smiling.