The Wild Hunt

CHAPTER 15

A week came and went. So did the priest. Twice.

Guyon wavered on the narrow brink between life and death, teetered and stepped back from the edge. Another week passed. There was a terrific thunderstorm. Three sheep in the bailey were struck by lightning and one of the store sheds caught fire. Guyon's temperature descended to normal. He recognised those who stood at his bedside and spoke to them, but he was as weak and dependent as a newborn kitten and even the effort of speech left him exhausted.

In August they received the news that Jerusalem had fall en to the crusaders. The people of the town held a great bonfire and rejoiced for two days. Guyon got out of bed for the first time, walked three paces and collapsed.

Judith made him swallow iron filings in wine and more of the disgusting ox-blood broth and gave him a stick to help him walk.

Emma and her daughters left to go first to Emma's dower lands and then return. At the end of the month too, Alicia departed for her own dower lands with Miles for escort, her leave-taking of Judith somewhat tearful, but there was a new peace behind the emotion and Judith did not begrudge the cause of it, only hoped it would last.

By late September the wound in Guyon's thigh had healed to a livid pink scar that he would bear for the rest of his life, but, precluding the success of any schemes that her Montgomery uncles and Walter de Lacey might have in store, his life was not now measured in terms of hours and minutes.

Currently, Robert de Belleme was in Normandy conducting a private war against a neighbour who had offended him and was not expected back in England this side of spring. Walter de Lacey had been occupied in a localised but savage war against the Welsh, persuading them to stay on their own side of the border and leave his herds alone. The patrols went out from Ravenstow, but their own borders, due to the vigilance of Eric and de Bec, remained secure.

Outside, the wind was gusting a carnival of brown and yellow dead leaves against the keep wall s. Pigs rooted in the woods for acorns, or snuffled among the windfall apples in the garths and orchards attached to the cottages. In the fields, men ploughed over the stubble and prepared the land for its winter lying while women and children were out gathering the blown-down dead twigs and branches for kindling in the long dark months ahead.

In the main bedchamber, Guyon closed his eyes and buried his head on his forearms, lulled by the soothing motion of Judith's strong fingers on his back, massaging stiff muscles with aromatic oil of bay. It had been his first time on a horse since his illness. He had discovered that although his recently healed tissue protested, he was not overly uncomfortable and had thus spent longer in the saddle than he should. 'Learning to ride before you can walk,' Judith had said with exasperation.

Peevish with exhaustion, he had snapped at her that he knew his own limits.

'Then why overstep them?' she had smartly retorted with a toss of her head and left him to struggle upstairs on his own.

She had been right of course - as usual. He stirred beneath her touch as she found a strain and thought that he owed her his life. Without her knowledge of simples and her care in the early days, he would have died. In between, she had faced down and seen off Walter de Lacey and, with the aid of his father and the keep's official machinery, had run the demesne with commendable efficiency.

One of the maids murmured something and Judith replied softly. A slight shift of his head and a lazily lifted lid showed him the huntsman's wife Elflin for whose sake he had almost got himself killed. She was striking in a strange, ethereal way, her bones bearing the fragile delicacy of frost on glass. Brand, her husband, had been holding Guyon's courser's bridle this morning, a smile of welcome on his taciturn features. They had decided to remain awhile, he said. Judith had confirmed that Brand was indeed a skilled huntsman, quick, willing and conscientious. Judith had brought the girl upstairs to train. Kitchen work was too heavy for her and her beauty was the kind to cause trouble among the general melee of servants who visited the kitchens, or had recently been finding cause to do so. Here, within Judith's immediate governance, she was safe.

Guyon's thoughts drifted drowsily. Judith's hands worked lower over the small of his back.

She paused for a moment, and then there was the cold touch of the herbal oil and the slow, undulating motion of her fingers.

Long abstinence, the slow pressure of her hands above and the mattress below, made his reaction inevitable. Heat flooded his loins and burgeoned.

Judith felt the change in him. Quite suddenly, beneath her kneading palms, the fluid muscles were rigid with tension.

'Are you all right, my lord? Did I hurt you?'

Anxiously she leaned over him. The ends of her braids tickled his back. Her movement released a waft of gillyflower from her garments, spicy and warm.

'No,' Guyon muttered, voice choked. 'No, you did not hurt me, but I think it would be best if you made an end.'

'I was nearly finished anyway,' she said with a shrug, thinking that he wished to be left to sleep.

'Do you turn over and I will anoint your leg.'

There was a strained silence. Judith began to worry. 'Guy, what's wrong?'

He closed his eyes and willed the offending member to subside. It did nothing so charitable.

The feel of her breasts, warm and round against his back as she leaned over him, was only making matters worse.

After a moment, he raised his head from his buried arms and said with agonised amusement: 'What's wrong, Cath fach, is that the condition I'm in won't do either of us the least bit of good if I give it free rein now.'

'What condition?' She looked blank.

'Oh God, Judith, just give me the ointment and get out!'

'But your thigh, it needs ...' Her voice trailed off and her eyes grew as wide as goblet rims as belatedly she made the connection and with a gasp sprang away from him, her face flaming.

Picking up the jar of oil, she thrust it down beside him and fled the room in panic.

Guyon looked at the little pot by his head and, with a groan, buried his face again in his forearms.

It was impossible to run down the sharply twisting narrow stone steps when hampered by an undergown and thick wool en tunic. As Judith slowed her pace, the racing of her mind began to subside as well . Chagrin swept through her. She had been a fool to panic. More than ever now he would think of her as a child. Wherein lay the point of washing her hair in herb-scented water and perfuming the points of her body, tempting fate, only to flee in terror the moment that fate appeared briefly on the horizon?

And if I had stayed, she wondered and gave a small shudder, half fear, half something else. It was like snatching hot chestnuts from the fire and hoping not to get burned. Was the prize worth the pain? And if I go back ...

Poised at the foot of the stairs, her dilemma was resolved for her by FitzWarren stooping to inform her that the lord of Chester was here and asking hospitality overnight for himself and his retinue.

'I have found accommodation for most of his men, but the cook says we have not enough bread and no oven space to bake more with all the new preparations he will have to make.'

'There's an oven in the village, use that,' she said, her present problem abandoned for one of literally far greater dimensions. Where in the name of Holy Mary were they going to lodge Earl Hugh? The great bedchamber it would have to be, and Guyon could have his father's tiny wall chamber. She would make do with the maids in her mother's chamber on a straw pall et. Mentally clucking with irritation, she sent one of the girls scurrying aloft with the news and went forward wreathed in smiles to greet the lord of Chester.

He was even more huge and solid than she remembered and the kiss of peace he stooped to bestow on her cheek was as warm and gluey as melted pig's trotters. 'Well well !' he chuckled in his husky voice, looking her up and down and quite misconstruing the breathless pink flush on her cheeks for something less innocent, 'I see that marriage is suiting you!'

Judith's colour darkened and the Earl gave a phlegmy chuckle of delight, and then proceeded to view with approval the way she mastered her embarrassment and with commendable efficiency set about making him comfortable. 'I remember when you were a tiny maid at your mother's knee,' he grinned, as she drew him to the fire and bade a servant take his cloak. 'Mind you, it also reminds me that I was still slim enough then to chase women for the fun of it!' He patted his enormous paunch ruefully.

'Don't believe a word,' Guyon said behind her, setting his hand lightly on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. 'He's still frighteningly fast when he chooses.'

'Faster than you, so I hear,' said Earl Hugh, the blue eyes disconcertingly shrewd.

'I was rash and I paid for it.'

Chester grunted. 'Not for the first time. Watch him, wench. He'll run rings round you both and you'll end up tangled in knots.'

Judith's laugh was more than wry. 'Do you think I do not know it!'

Guyon tugged her braid. She risked a glance at him. His face was a little fine-drawn with tiredness, but his expression was light enough and there seemed no change in his usual manner. Involuntarily her eyes went lower and colour flamed her face anew.

His mouth twitched. 'Do not be too sure of the outcome, Hugh,' he grinned. 'She's an awesome gaoler.' He led the Earl towards the small solar behind the dais. Judith excused herself to consult with the cook and see if she could get the carpenter to strengthen the guest's chair so that it would not collapse beneath the strain of so great a weight, as it had almost done during his last visit at their wedding.

'You have been very busy making yourself enemies,' Chester remarked, hunching his powerful shoulders.

'Have I?' Guyon eased himself down on to a padded stool.

The Earl considered him. He had come to know Guyon well during last summer's difficult Welsh campaign: a competent leader of men and an excellent scout with an innate knowledge of the workings of the Welsh mind. If he had failings, they were composed of an unpredictable wild streak - probably due to the Welsh blood - that resulted in a disturbing inclination to go his own way if not minutely scrutinised and checked. 'You know damned well you have!' he growled. 'Hardly Robert de Belleme's favourite nephew, are you?

He has some very nasty suspicions concerning your involvement in a raid on the Shrewsbury road back in the spring.'

'Nothing he can prove.'

Earl Hugh lifted a flagon from the cupboard against which he leaned and examined the intricate Byzantine workmanship.

'When has lack of proof ever stopped Belleme from pursuing his intended victim?'

'I might as well be impaled for a sheep as a lamb,' Guyon said and smiled with private amusement remembering the incredulity on the Earl of Shrewsbury's handsome, narrow face.

'It is no game, Guy,' Chester warned.

'Did I say that it was?'

The Earl's eyebrows lifted towards his thinning hair. 'Don't be obtuse with me!' he warned. 'I'm not a woman to be deceived by the twists of your tongue.'

Guyon propped his leg on a footstool. 'I admit it was foolhardy to risk de Belleme's rage, but at the time I was raging myself. Since then I've been a model of propriety.'

'Excluding this recent escapade?' The Earl pointed the flagon at Guyon's leg. 'Antagonising the new lord of Thornford by fighting in his village and stealing his servants?'

Guyon snorted. 'Yes, look at me. Do you think I fight odds of nine to two because I enjoy flirting with death and rousing a wasps' nest of trouble?

Bad fortune, nothing more. If Arian had not cast a shoe, I'd have been nowhere near his territory - and I didn't steal his servants. They were leaving him anyway.'

Chester put the flagon down on the cupboard.

Guyon's lids were heavy, but it was not all the aftermath of fever. Part of it was concealment.

'Walter de Lacey wants Ravenstow, Guy ... and he wants Judith.'

Guyon snorted. 'Tell me something I do not know. He's had a dagger at my back ever since my wedding.'

'I won't share my boundaries with such a one as him if I can help it. No control over himself, for a start. Half a brain and too much cunning, and he's in de Belleme's pay.' He gave a breathy laugh.

'The Welsh nibbling me one side and him the other. It behoves me to keep you alive and in a state of grace!'

'Is that why you're here?' Guyon raised his lids to reveal a glint of humour. 'To protect me from the worst of my own nature?'

Chester shook his head. 'To make sure you know how close to the fire your fingers are!'

'You sound like my father!' Guyon laughed.

'Is he not wise?'

'Oh, very.'

Chester's restless fingers toyed with his heavy circular cloak brooch. He had heard several rumours in Shrewsbury concerning Miles and Maurice de Montgomery's widow. Well , and why not? She was well preserved and her dower lands, although not vast, were pleasant and fertile.

A man could find it in him to plough both with ease. Perhaps it would be entertaining to pay Miles a visit in the near future and see about the purchase of another horse ...

'I know how close to the fire I am,' Guyon said into the Earl's ruminative silence. 'But "uncle"

Robert will have his eyes on a broader arena than mine now that Jerusalem has fall en into Christian hands. I hazard that for the moment he'll leave my demise to fate and expendable tools such as Walter de Lacey.'

Chester pursed his lips. The King's older brother, Robert Curthose, had pawned the Duchy of Normandy to Rufus in exchange for the necessary silver to go on crusade and had departed forthwith. The Christian force had been successful and, barring mishap to Robert's ox-like frame, a few more months would likely see his return and an ensuing broil of trouble. Rufus was not going to smile sweetly and hand over Normandy like meat on a trencher.

'De Belleme will thrust his sword where it will cause the most mischief,' Guyon continued. 'I'll wager you five marks to a single penny that the moment Robert sets foot on Norman soil, the Earl of Shrewsbury will hare to his side and offer him all assistance. You know what he thinks of Rufus.'

'You think that too,' Chester pointed out drily.

'But I have held my oath to him, have I not?

Therein lies the difference. De Belleme doesn't give a pot of piss for his own fealty. I can see it coming as clearly as a thunderstorm over Ledworth ridge. Brother Robert returns from the Holy Wars mantled in glory and demands the return of his earldom. Rufus refuses. De Belleme joins the side that is most advantageous to himself and merry havoc holds sway. All we need then is for the Welsh to come hotfoot over the border aflame with raiding fever and it'll be worse than a drunken brawl at Smithfield fair! It won't matter about me because everyone's fingers will be in the fire then.'

The white bitch at Guyon's feet raised her head and nuzzled his hand. Chester absently admired her narrow-loined conformation and considered Guyon's words. Most of what he had said had already occurred to Chester and doubtless half the other barons in the country. Stormy weather lay ahead and those with sense were making preparations to endure it, or else seeking a new shelter, as in the case of the powerful de Clare family who were quietly cultivating the third brother.

'And Prince Henry?' he said. 'What about Prince Henry?'

'What about him?' Guyon rubbed his thigh. 'He'll watch us all burn for a while, toss the occasional twig on the fire and, when he's had enough, he'll either douse it or walk away, whichever suits his purpose best. Probably he'll side with Rufus. He wants him to obtain Edith of Scotland for his bride and he wants Rufus to name him the heir.'

'You know a great deal for a man who's been on his sickbed since before harvest time,' Chester remarked drily.

Guyon shrugged. 'My brother-in-law writes letters to his wife, my sister, and she shows them to me to relieve the boredom.'

'Your brother-in ... Ah yes,' said the Earl. 'He assists the chamberlain, doesn't he?'

'Along those lines. We all have our ways and means.

Speaking of which, is there a purpose behind your visit, or is it truly just to comfort my convalescence?'

'That depends upon how sick you still are,'

Chester said and cocked a glance at the propped leg.

Guyon shook his head and laughed. 'Sick only of being wrapped in swaddling. If I so much as sneeze, Judith appears at my side with some noxious potion or other.'

'She's a young wife, eager to show off her skills,' Chester said, momentarily diverted.

'Considering the life she led before her marriage, you ought to be grateful she's not spiked your wine with monkshood.'

Guyon's laughter deepened and seamed the corner of his eyes. 'You don't know the half of it, Hugh. Monkshood is far too swift a revenge!'

Chester looked a question.

Guyon sobered. 'I owe her my life,' he admitted.

'And more than twice over.'

'She's a fine-looking girl with a sound head on her shoulders. You are luckier than most.'

Guyon clasped his hands behind his head. Fine-looking? Well , yes, perhaps she was growing that way as her body filled into womanhood and he would not deny her intelligence; but as to his being luckier than most?

He thought back to her reaction in the bedchamber, the fear in her eyes, the way she had run as if from rape.

For close on a year now he had held himself in check. The first months it had been easy for she was still so obviously a child, but time had blurred the division between girl and woman. He was aware of his hunger and the fact that unless he resorted to force, it could not be appeased.

Whatever the change in her body, it was obvious that she was not mentally prepared to accept his flesh. Monkshood was indeed too swift for revenge.

'What did you want to talk about?' he asked abruptly and brought his hands down.

Chester darted his brows at the sharpness of Guyon's tone which was quite at odds with the amusement of a moment since. 'Where your land borders mine, up on Llyn Moell ridge, there is a blind spot between the hill s, and the Welsh ride down the valley to raid. A keep is needed and the best site is within your bounds. When you see it, I think you will agree.'

'Within my expense as well ?' Guyon asked. 'I know the place you mean. Lord Gruffydd's men came through the gap this spring and carried off some of our herds.'

'I am sure we can come to an amicable agreement,' Chester said with a benign smile.

'It might be possible,' Guyon fenced, knowing that look of old. Hugh d'Avrenches was no man's fool when it came to arguing prices and what he did not know the canny officials he kept around him did.

Chester's smile became a rich chuckle and his eyebrows flashed swiftly up and down. 'I thought we could ride out tomorrow, your health and your wife permitting. There are some fine hunting grounds up there on my side, too. I've recently built a lodge.'

'I may be able to escape for a few days,' Guyon answered cautiously. 'Providing your quarry is not boar.' His eyes went to the door. 'I don't hunt them for pleasure.'

'Does anyone?' Chester said, taking his meaning immediately, and changed his expression to one of beaming welcome as Judith entered the room followed by a maid bearing a flagon and cups.