The Wild Hunt

CHAPTER 20

Rhosyn looked at the crocks of brawn on the trestle, product of a long morning's work. She sealed the last one with a thick layer of melted lard.

'All done?' queried Heulwen, beaming up at her.

Rhosyn smiled and lifted her younger daughter to sit on the trestle. Heulwen was a chubby bundle of energy with a bright crop of red-gold curls and green-blue eyes, the legacy of her Norman great-grandfather, so Madoc, who had known him, had said. The legacy of her Norman father was her ability to cozen warm approval and adulation from smitten members of the opposite sex.

Rhosyn had not seen Guyon since immediately after Heulwen's birth. Messages passed with Madoc. The trading bond remained strong, but the gossamer ties that had bound herself and Guyon for four years had dissolved into the wind, saving this one living, finespun thread.

'All done,' she confirmed and, straddling the infant on her hip, left the kitchen quarters and set off across the small , withy-enclosed compound towards the hall . After ten strides she stopped short as if she had been poled with an ox-mall et.

Eluned was jumping up and down at Guyon's stirrup and his chestnut courser was sidling restlessly and rolling a white eye. Beyond, she saw Eric and the men of the guard. Guyon leaned over the pommel, one hand on his thigh, the other drawn tight on the reins as he spoke to Eluned.

She tossed her head mutinously, but after a moment stepped aside from the horse. Rhosyn's heart began to thud. As if it did not matter, as if she had only seen him last week, she went forward with a cordial greeting on her lips.

Guyon dismounted and took hold of the chestnut's bridle. Rhosyn saw that his clothes were powdered with dust and that the points of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose had caught the burn of the late summer sun. 'May we claim the hospitality of a drink?' he asked. 'And water for the horses?'

'You know you are always welcome,' she responded and her face grew warm beneath his stare. The luminous brown gaze flickered to Heulwen, who struggled against her mother's confining arms.

'I did not know,' he said, giving the horse to one of his men. 'It has been a long time. Where's Madoc?'

'Away with Rhys and my second cousin Prys to Bristol, but we expect him home any day now. Did you especially want to see him?'

'I've a few commissions for him. How's his health?'

'He works too hard, but I might as well try butting down a stone wall with my head as try to stop him.

He struggles to breathe sometimes and he gets a pain in his arm, but he won't give up.' She turned to lead him into the hafod. 'I hear he spoke to your wife recently.'

'Yes.'

Rhosyn did not miss the lack of inflection and looked at him curiously. Her father said that Lady Judith had been glowing with the contentment of being well loved and secure. Guyon had not come here in over a year. She had begun to assume he would not come again and that the contentment must be mutual.

'You are growing tall , cariad,' Guyon said to Eluned as he sat down. The amber bead he had given her gleamed against the dark wool of her gown. 'And pretty as your mother.'

'Am I prettier than your wife?' she challenged him.

'Is an apple prettier than a pear?' he countered and drew her down to him, lightly kissing her cheek, his eyes meeting Rhosyn's troubled stare over the child's narrow shoulder. 'No one can answer that.'

'Not even you?' Rhosyn mocked before calling one of the serving women. 'Do you want my father to visit?'

'No, I've instructions for him here.' Guyon produced a roll of parchment and took the cup of mead that was given to him. 'Payment in raw wool as usual, unless I hear otherwise.'

She nodded briskly. Their eyes met again, examining, searching. Heulwen, released from her mother's grasp, wobbled towards him, lost her balance and plonked down squarely on her bottom. Undeterred, she struggled up again, grasping Guyon's cross-garter for support.

' Da,' she said, and smiled disarmingly at him. It was the Welsh word for father.

'She says that to everyone,' Rhosyn muttered quickly, her colour high.

Guyon looked from the engaging fire-haired child to her mother who was obviously struggling to retain her equanimity in his presence. It had been a mistake to come, he thought, born of his own pain, and he stirred restlessly as if he would rise and leave.

Rhosyn was on her feet before he could make the thought a fact. 'I want to show you something,' she said with forced brightness. 'Can you spare a moment?'

He looked slightly taken aback. 'Of course.'

'Eluned, look after Heulwen for me.'

Eluned made a face but was not so foolish as to refuse.

Guyon raised a brow as she led him into her private chamber, but forbore to utter the ambiguous remark that came first to mind.

Matters had changed since then. Whether or not for the better, he no longer knew. Rhosyn selected a key from the bunch upon the ring at her waist and looked over her shoulder at him. 'We hear you are pushing into Wales now. A new keep, no less.'

'To protect the border against Lord Gruffyd's raiding. It's no use breeding good raw wool only to have it disappear into the mountains.'

'I sometimes think that you Normans would eat the world if you could.'

'A nibble here and there,' he answered, refusing to be drawn, for there was no heart in him to argue. 'What did you want to show me?'

She unlocked a stout oak coffer and withdrew from its depths a bolt of fabric. 'What do you think of this? My father bought it in Flanders on the last trip, from an Italian merchant who owed him a favour.'

The cloth flowed on to the bed. It held the rich amber and russet tones of autumn leaves and where the light was trapped by the pile, it shimmered like a sunlit pool. To the touch it was soft and thick and springy, like sun-warmed moss or cat's fur. Having never set eyes on the like before and being thoroughly curious, Guyon sat down on the bed and sought to discover everything that Rhosyn knew.

'So all this is done with shears,' he murmured, smoothing the pile.

She looked at his slender fingers on the nap of the cloth. Heulwen's were chubby little stars, formless as yet. 'It is a detailed skill and not many have it. My father thought of selling it in Winchester at the next court gathering.'

'Next court gathering's in London in November,'

Guyon said. 'What price for a Flemish ell of this stuff?'

Her hazel eyes met his and locked. His crinkled at the corners. She suggested a sum. He laughed and responded with an amount much lower.

'What's happening in November?'

'King Henry's marriage to Edith of Scotland. Judith suits autumn colours.'

'Your new King is to wed?'

'It's been under negotiation for a while, since before Rufus died. I think that they have only met once or twice. Still , that's more than Judith and I had.'

Rhosyn gave him a considering look. 'Is she still a child, Guy?'

'Neither child nor virgin, but as vulnerable as blown glass.' His brow furrowed. 'God knows, Rhos, I think I have her and then she eludes me with a twist of her mind and we are back where we started.'

'I know what you mean,' she said with a pained smile and then named another sum a little lower.

His brow cleared. 'I can get two ell s of silk damask for that price!'

'But then silk damask is not so rare.'

'And you are priceless.' He glinted her a look and made another bid. She snapped a response.

He pretended to ponder before answering.

Rhosyn began folding the bolt back upon itself.

'I'm not even sure that I want it,' he added with a grimace. 'Judith will probably think I am offering it to her as a sweetener. We quarrelled before I left and I had no defence except my word and that, apparently, is not good enough.'

Rhosyn straightened and stared at him. 'And is it a sweetener? Are you buying because you cannot have for the asking?'

'I don't think so.' He frowned. 'The King's marriage will throw her into the royal circle.

Henry's new Queen will be feted by the wives and daughters of the English barons and Judith will need to dress according to her rank. It is a practical luxury, I suppose.' His expression lightened and his eyes sparkled with devilry. 'And since Judith will be wearing it at court among all those other envious rich men's wives who will nag their husbands to death for a gown of the same, it behoves you to be generous in your dealings with me!'

Despite herself, Rhosyn was forced to laugh.

'Guy, you wretch!'

He grinned at her. Her heart melted but she did not show it. 'Very well , I'll meet you halfway.'

'As ever,' he said gravely, his eyes alight, and stood up.

She had forgotten how tall he was and the mail he wore made him seem twice his actual breadth.

Her body craved him. Her mind, cold and clear, prevented her from making a fool of herself. Her time was past. Out in the hall she could hear his men and Heulwen's crow of laughter. She moved towards the sounds of sanity.

'Robert de Belleme is back in the marches,' he warned, catching her arm as he followed her out.

'Alert your father if he does not already know. De Belleme is in a savage humour. Henry's much harder to handle than Rufus was and he'll take it out on those least able to defend themselves.

Have a care to yourself and the children and remember what I said about an escort if you should need to travel.'

'How could I forget when you keep ramming it down my throat?' She rolled her eyes heavenwards. 'Guy, I am not a half-wit.'

He squeezed her waist and gave a deprecatory smile. 'No, cariad, but I am.'