Elizabeth Chadwick - The Wild Hunt

'I forget nothing!' de Lacey spat, but lowered his blade to wipe it on the corpse before ramming it back in his scabbard. He turned on his heel to examine the stolen horse, running his hands down its legs to check for signs of lameness.

Guyon compressed his lips and struggled to contain his fury.

De Lacey mounted the black, looped his other mount's reins at the cantle and after a contemptuous look at Guyon, rode over to where Montgomery waited.

Guyon watched de Lacey with narrowed eyes and with conscious effort, slowly unclenched his fingers from the hilt of his sword.

Chester bent down beside the dead man and picked up the bow. 'You were drawn here to be killed, you realise that, lad?'

Guyon grimaced. 'I suspected it back at the keep and knew for certain the moment we caught up with them. A man so anxious to retrieve his horse would hardly lag to wait for us. Did you see the way he blocked my path to make me a sitting target for this poor greedy wretch?'

'It was all arranged last night,' de Bec said, leading over Guyon's courser and Miles's grey.

'I'm sure of it now. If you search his pouch, you'll probably find the cost of his betrayal.'

Chester reached to the purse threaded upon the huntsman's belt, unlatched the buckle and delved. The small silver coins, minted with the head of the Conqueror, gleamed on his broad, fleshy palm in mute evidence of treachery. He trickled them from hand to hand, eyes following their flow and then looked up at Guyon. 'Will you take it further?'

Guyon gingerly remounted. 'How can I? Oh, I know that's proof in your hands, but it's not damning. It could easily be claimed that Rannulf won it at dice. Besides, with this arm I'd be mad to risk challenging de Lacey or Montgomery to a trial by combat which would be the sure outcome of a public accusation. No, let it be. Each of us--'

He broke off and looked around as his father, who had reached for his mount's bridle, uttered an involuntary hiss of pain. 'Sir?'

Miles made a face. 'I think I must have a couple of cracked ribs - and my pride is sore wounded.

In the old days I'd have taken Rannulf like a wraith from behind and him none the wiser until my dagger was at his throat. The flesh grows old and the mind forgets.' He shook his head regretfully.

'De Lacey has come out of this coil with a halo of glory, hasn't he?'

'Shining with corruption,' Guyon agreed. 'But at least I know where his intentions are nailed.'

Alicia fetched the comfrey salve and a fresh dressing and went to Miles where he sat on the bed. He was stripped to the waist and she had just unbound the yards of swaddling bands from his injured ribs in order to treat again the nasty graze that swept over his left side, legacy of yesterday's scrimmage.

'You and your son between you seem determined to exhaust our supplies,' she remarked to break the silence.

'Entirely unintentional,' he said ruefully and stroked the head of the white bitch sitting at his knee. Now that their guests had departed - some of them in haste following the incidents of yesterday - Guyon and Judith were in a wall chamber examining the account roll s. Since Melyn was tucked around Judith's shoulders, Cadi had been banished.

Alicia flicked him a swift glance. 'Hold this for me.'

He took the ointment and sniffed its green herbal aroma. 'It's only a scrape and a couple of cracked ribs. You need not go to all this trouble.'

'It could have been your life!' She dipped two fingers in the jar and began to smear the salve over his ribs. He tensed at the first, cold touch.

Alicia murmured an apology, her colour heightening. He made a disclaimer and slowly relaxed. The light touch of her fingers was soothing. He fondled the dog's ears and gazed at a colourful hanging on the wall .

'What happens now?'

Miles shrugged. 'Nothing. We keep a close watch on all future moves of Walter de Lacey and our new Montgomery kin.'

'You are not going to pursue the matter? Murder and twice attempted murder?'

'And no proof. You cannot make a corpse speak. It is Guyon's word against de Lacey's with an equal number of witnesses to swear for either side.'

'But ...'

'I like it as little as you, but our hands are tied. If it went to justice, it would end in trial by combat.

You've seen Guy's arm. Every marcher lord is bred from the cradle to fight. The odds are too close to load them in de Lacey's favour. Perhaps I'll just stick a knife in his ribs on a dark night. My Welsh blood permits me such lapses of honour.'

'You'll do no such thing!' Alicia's eyes widened in fear as she wiped her fingers on the edge of one of the swaddling bands. 'He is Arnulf's friend and de Belleme's vassal. Robert would impale you on a stake at the Shrewsbury crossroads and leave you there until your flesh rotted off it!'

He flashed her a brief, distorted smile. It was at moments like this that he realised the true depth of his loss. Christen had been one of four within the keep to succumb to the sweating sickness. It came, it claimed haphazardly and it moved on.

Even now, two years later, the wounds were unhealed and inadvertently Alicia was laying them open again, reminding him of what he no longer had.

He was drawn from his introspection by the awareness that she was trembling. 'What's the matter? I was jesting, I swear it.'

'You would not jest if you had lived beneath Maurice's code of cruelty,' she said bitterly. 'You have not had to sit at meat with Robert de Belleme and Walter de Lacey when they have come red-handed from torturing some poor wretch out of his life and wonder if you or your daughter might be their next victim!' Abruptly she pressed the end of the swaddling band against his ribs. 'Hold this,' she commanded.

'Alicia ...'

She reached around him. He felt the warmth emanating from her body and smelled the drifting scent of attar of roses. He let go of the bandage, slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her.

He felt her quiver. She hesitated as if on a brink, and then she made a soft sound in her throat. Her lips parted beneath his and her arms circled his neck, the bandage falling to the floor at their feet.

As impulse gave way to a deeper need, Miles forgot that he had been going to give her detailed reassurances about himself, Guyon and Robert de Belleme, forgot everything but the quickening beat of his blood responding to the feel and taste of her - like fresh water after a long drought.

Alicia gasped and pressed against him as he unwound her braids and threaded his fingers through the thick black twists of her hair. He took his time, kissing her face and nuzzling her throat before claiming her lips again. He ran one hand lightly up her ribcage, found the soft curve of her breast and lightly stroked.

'Tell your maid to keep watch so we are not disturbed,' he muttered hoarsely against her temple.

She heard his words through a haze of sensual delight, and it took a moment for them to reach her brain, but when they did the effect was as immediate as a deluge of frozen water. The thought of Agnes listening outside while she coupled with a man she barely knew, the notion of instructing the woman with her hair all unbound and her lips swollen by kisses, the memory of a time almost seventeen years ago when she had done just that ... The images coagulated and all the magic was lost. She removed her arms from around his neck, averted her mouth from his kiss and pushed him away.

'I am not a whore,' she said flatly.

'What?' He sought her blindly for a moment and then his eyes opened and slowly refocused.

'Alicia ...'

'If you want a woman to tumble, there are plenty of serving girls accustomed to Maurice's ways who would relieve your need.' Gathering her hair, she began clumsily to rebraid it.