Elizabeth Chadwick - The Wild Hunt

Guyon laughed huskily. 'That sounds like a fine idea,' he said, before closing her mouth with a kiss, his fingers busy with the lacings of her gown.

'Do you happen to know of a fitting scabbard?'

Rhosyn stretched languidly like a cat and then relaxed, a contented half-smile curving her lips. 'I had forgotten what a pleasure it was,' she purred, had forgotten what a pleasure it was,' she purred, eyeing Guyon sidelong across the tossed coverlet in the glow from a cresset lamp.

'Your fault,' he remarked, but easily, without accusation. 'I wanted you to come with me.'

'I would have stuck out like a sore thumb among those Norman women and been as miserable as sin.'

'Sin is never miserable,' Guyon remarked, thereby earning himself a playful slap. He caught her wrist and pulled her across him and they tussled for a moment, before he let her go and she drew back to study him. With his dark hair and eyes, he could easily have passed for one of the Cymru, although his height and breadth spoke of his Anglo-Norman descent.

'I hear that you are with child,' he said, giving her a serious look now.

Her gaze grew wary. 'What of it?'

'Were you going to tell me?'

Rhosyn bit her lip. 'Probably.' She avoided his eyes. 'My father and yours do too much business together to keep such a matter secret and Rhys and Eluned both chatter like jack-daws. You would have discovered sooner or later.'

Guyon felt a pang at her intimation that had she been able to keep it from him, she would have done so. 'My sister seems to think that you will invoke Welsh law on the child's behalf.'

Rhosyn stared at him.

'In Welsh law the son of the handmaiden is equal to the son begotten on a legal spouse,' he clarified.

She shook her head. 'Your sister is wrong.

What good would it do on this side of the border where Norman custom reigns? It would be a hobble of broken straw indeed and I am not sure I would want a child of mine to dwell among saesnegs in a great stone tomb like this.' Her eyes roved the comfort of the room with disparagement.

Guyon almost retorted that he was not sure he wanted a child of his to grow up running barefoot over the Welsh hill s or huckstering in wool for a living, but he curbed the words, knowing from bitter experience that they too were hobbles of broken straw.

'Emma spoke from the viewpoint of a Norman lady,' he said instead. 'She imagines what she would do in your position, and that would be to fight tooth and nail to have that child accepted as my responsibility.' He reached to twine a tendril of her hair through his fingers. 'Also, I think she said it to put me in dread of ever doing the like again.

She disapproves of what she sees as my casual fornications.'

Rhosyn made a face, remembering Emma's frosty expression as her family arranged their pallets in the hall , and then her grimace became a smile as she imagined the lady Emma's response had she witnessed herself and Guyon a few moments ago.

The lamp sputtered in its pool of fat and Guyon gently tugged the strand of hair. 'But our concern is not with Emma, but with you.' His gaze ranged over her body which was just beginning to show the changes of pregnancy.

Rhosyn stared at the coverlet and chewed her lip. 'I try to learn by my mistakes,' he said gently. 'I will not try to hold you; nor, though it be my greatest desire, is it fitting that I should.'

'Your bride, you mean?' she said without rancour.

Guyon made a face. 'You know about that? Ach, how can you not when gossip travels so fast?

Rhosyn cariad , you are well out of this coil. Take the road to Wales and in the name of God, do not look back.'

'Guy?'

He flashed her a grim look. 'Did you also hear that I am to wed into the house of Montgomery? It is by royal command and the girl's mother is an old family acquaintance. My refusal would put her in mortal danger from Robert de Belleme, the new Earl of Shrewsbury. If he can lock up his own wife in some dark oubliette and put out his own godson's eyes, what need to cavil at tossing his sister-in-law and niece over Ravenstow's battlements? It is about power, my love, and you are well out of it. When your father has finished his business in England, go home, keep to your own hearth and forget about venturing across the border unless you have a well -armed and determined escort. Robert de Belleme and his minions will turn the marches into hell for such men as your father.'

Rhosyn shuddered, wanting to believe he was exaggerating, but denied that comfort.

'I will speak with your father tomorrow before our roads part, make sure he knows not to take short cuts across Shrewsbury's domain.'

'Is it really so dangerous?'

'Yes.' His voice filled with emphasis. 'I mean what I say, Rhosyn. Either go into the heart of Wales and do not venture forth again, or stay here with me, under my protection. There can be no middle path.'

She shook her head numbly and shivered. He drew her back down beside and against his body, pulling the coverlet around them. She pressed herself against him but continued to shiver. This was the end of it. She could no more live in one of these great, grim fortresses than a Norman lady could sit milking a ewe on the slopes of Yr Wyddfa. She needed her measure of freedom and, aside from that, Norman women had entirely different views upon the subject of mistresses and their offspring. She had no desire to feud over a lost cause with Guyon's new wife. If he wanted to see her and the child, then let him come to Wales.

' Ffarwell fy llewpart du ,' she murmured against his throat, and kissed him first there in the brown hollow and then raised her head to find his lips. ' Rwy'n dy garu di.'

Guyon's arms tightened around her. 'I love you too, cariad ,' he muttered, and silently cursed the whole Montgomery clan into the deepest pit of hell .

Judith hissed through her clenched teeth as Agnes, her mother's maid, discovered a hitherto overlooked snarl in the mass of tawny-bronze hair she was combing.

'Stand still , sweeting and it won't hurt so much,' Agnes said, a hint of exasperation in her voice, perspiration streaking her double chin. 'It's nearly done now.'

'I'm not a babe to be cozened!' snapped Judith, shifting from foot to foot.

Agnes's mouth puckered to become another fold in her fleshy face and she turned away to pick up a rope of polished agate beads. Judith sniffed, set her jaw and refused to cry. Tears availed her nothing - a lesson hard-learned in early childhood.

Her father had dismissed them as a silly female weakness. Her mother had wept too many herself in grief over lost causes to encourage her daughter in like indulgences.

Judith looked down at her wedding garments. A pale green linen undergown, close-fitting to her slender, almost thin body was topped by a dress of dark green silk damask, gorgeously embroidered with thread of gold at throat and hem and trailing sleeve. Her narrow waist was accentuated by a girdle of jewel-embroidered braid. She felt like the centrepiece at a feast, dressed to be devoured.

In a few hours she was to make her marriage vows in the castle chapel to a man she had never before set eyes upon.

She was to leave her home, go with him, his property to deal with as he pleased; to be bedded by him tonight and perhaps bear his child nine months from now. She was a week short of her sixteenth birthday and terrified. She knew how much her mother had suffered at the hands of her father before his death in September. The growls, the curses, the frequent slaps, the drunken beatings, the disdain that tore at the foundations of confidence. Her mother had borne the brunt, shielded her daughter from the worst of it, but Judith had known, had observed the hell , and could not bear that it might be her own fate.