Elizabeth Chadwick - The Wild Hunt

He tapped his whip against his leg and eyed with amusement the scuttling avoidance of the servants, their sidelong stares, and their limbs poised to leap if he should uncoil to strike. It was sweet to see their terror which was, of course, totally justified.

A girl crossed the length of the hall and came towards the fire where he and his companions stood warming themselves. Her pace was confident, her head carried high, her eyes making direct contact with his. It was such a contrast to the twittering fear he so usually encountered that his interest sharpened and he narrowed his eyes to appraise her.

'I am sorry we kept you waiting, my lord, but the times cause us to err on the side of caution,'

Judith said in a low, sweet voice as she curtsied.

He looked down on her bent head, and the long, fine-boned hands clutching the folds of her gown.

'Indeed, it is difficult to judge enemy from friend,'

he concurred and cupped her chin to raise her face to his scrutiny.

There was naught of his half-brother to be seen.

Her brow, cheekbones and softly curved lips belonged to Alicia, but the narrow nose, cleft chin and strange, grey-agate eyes were completely individual.

'It was a pity your marriage took place while I was occupied elsewhere. I would have liked to attend.' He raised her to her feet. She was as slender as a willow stripling, thin almost, with scarcely a figure to mention. If FitzMiles had got a child on her, it did not yet show. Probably as poor a breeder as her dam, which was a pity. If the lord of Ravenstow were suddenly to die, the widow's lands would revert to the crown. Not that he foresaw any particular problem in wheedling them out of Rufus's pocket and into his own, but should FitzMiles die with a babe in the cradle, the estates of both parents would devolve upon that child's head and the wardship of such wealth would be power indeed to whoever owned it. Still , there were more ways than one to milk a cow.

He circled Judith's wrist in a grip of steel. 'Your husband should be here to take care of a prize so valuable,' he remarked. 'Is he always so careless?'

Behind him, Walter de Lacey sniggered. Judith was reminded of her mother's panic-stricken remark about the fox in the chicken run. Her mouth was dry, but she permitted no fear to show on her face and retained a facade of blank innocence. 'He had business elsewhere, my lord.

I would not presume to question him ... Do you care to wait?' She signalled to a servant who crept forward with a flagon and cups.

Robert de Belleme released her wrist and lounged against a low table. 'Playing at chatelaine,' he mocked as she waved the terrified creature away and served him and his men herself. 'How old are you, my dear?'

'Sixteen, my lord.'

'And sweet as a ripe apple on the tree.' He rotated the cup in his fingers to examine the interlaced English design. 'Tell me, Judith, does your lord hope for an heir before the anniversary of your marriage?'

Heat scorched her face and throat. 'If God will s it, my lord,' she managed, feeling as though the pale eyes had stripped her down to the truth.

'And if your husband can restrain himself from the company of his Welsh paramour and other whores and sluts,' de Lacey sneered.

Judith set the flagon carefully down. Anjou wine was too expensive to be flung, she reminded herself, and it was her best flagon. 'I do not interfere in my lord's private business,' she said stonily. Her look flashed over de Lacey and quickly down before her revulsion betrayed her.

'He treats me well , and I thank God for it.'

De Belleme smiled. 'I have yet to meet a woman who is not taken in by Guyon's charm.'

'Or a man for that matter!' guffawed de Lacey. 'It is not every bride can count the King as her rival for her husband's body!'

'Shall I instruct the cooks to make a feast, or is this just a passing visit to express your joy upon my marriage?' Judith demanded in a choked voice.

De Belleme shrugged. 'I have to be in Shrewsbury tonight. I have a matter of business to discuss with your husband, but it can wait and in the meantime I have brought you a belated wedding gift.' He stood straight and half turned to pat the stitched bundle lying on the table behind him. De Lacey, a sudden sly grin on his face, presented his overlord with a sharp dagger to slit the threads.

Shaking inside like a custard, outwardly composed, Judith watched him apply the blade.

The strands parted in staccato hard bursts of sound and the skins spilled out on to the table, glossy, supple, jet black against the coarse woven linen of their coverings.

'Norwegian sables to grace your gowns ... or your bed,' de Belleme said with an expansive sweep of his hand and presented her with one of the glowing furs.

The sable still possessed its face and feet.

Judith swallowed her aversion - the thing looked as though it had been squashed in a siege - and thanked him. It was a costly gift, fit to grace the robes of a queen.

Her uncle dismissed her gratitude. 'It is nothing,'

he said, and meant it. In the fullness of time he expected them to return to his keeping and all they had cost him was a little joyful exertion of his sword arm. 'Is your lady mother here with you?'

'Yes, my lord. She pleads your indulgence. She has a megrim.'

'I have that effect on her.' Smiling, he toyed with the blade of the knife still in his hand.

Judith shivered, suddenly thankful that the majority of her uncle's men were outside the keep.

'Are you afraid of me, Judith?' He admired his reflection in the mirror-bright steel.

'Has she cause to be?' Guyon's voice was as soft as his entrance had been.

De Belleme spun round, his expression momentarily one of shocked surprise before he schooled it to neutrality. For all his height and breadth, Guyon FitzMiles moved like a wraith. It was a trait that irritated the Earl, for God alone knew what the man was capable of overhearing in his stealth.

'Christ's blood, no!' He tossed the dagger back to de Lacey. 'But you know how reputations travel.'

Guyon's eyes fell to the sables puddling the board. His nostrils flared and his luminous gaze struck de Belleme's. 'I know the very roads,' he answered and unpinned his cloak. 'I have granted your men a corner of the bailey. They may have their weapons when they leave.'

'Your hospitality dazzles me, nephew,' said de Belleme drily.

Guyon tossed his cloak on to the table and rested one haunch on the wood. 'Yours would blind. I wonder what you would have done had you caught up with my wife before the drawbridge?'

'Nothing improper, I assure you.'

'By whose code?'

'My uncle has brought us a wedding gift of these fine sables,' Judith said quickly. She could feel Guyon's hostility and knew they could not afford a rift with the Earl of Shrewsbury. There was a moment's silence. The balance teetered. Judith held her husband's gaze and silently pleaded.

Joining him, she grasped his right arm possessively as a bride might do, but actually to prevent him drawing his sword. His muscles were like iron and rigid with the effort of control, and his eyes were ablaze. Frantically she stood on tiptoe to kiss his tight lips, trying to break the terrible concentration.

Through a fog of rage Guyon became aware of her desperation and the spark of sanity that had prevented him from leaping at de Belleme's throat kindled to a steadier flame. He dropped his focus to her upturned face and filled his vision with her shining honesty instead of the contemptuous challenge of his uncle-by-marriage.

'I would set your worth even higher than sables, Cath fach ,' he said with a strained smile as he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, knowing that she had drawn him away from the edge of a very dangerous precipice.