Elizabeth Chadwick - The Wild Hunt

'Our lives have been a misery these last three months because you thought I had lied,' he said with wry humour.

'I know.' She shivered. 'I do not really mean it. I suppose I would rather be scared to death than so miserable I want to die.'

'So, I am innocent, Cath fach , but what of Henry? Rufus was his own brother.'

'I do not feel as though Henry is my father,' she said slowly after a moment. 'I only know it is so because I have been told and even now my wits are bemused. But I do not believe I care what Henry has plotted. My father ... Lord Maurice I mean, committed crimes equally foul, I am sure.'

'But you cared that I might have done so?'

'That was different.' In the light from the brazier and the candles her complexion deepened to a rosy gold. 'I don't ... love them as I love you.' She half turned away, still fighting it even though the words were spoken. Thorns and roses. You could not have one without risking the wound of the other.

Guyon drew her back against him, within the circle of his arms, raised his hand to smooth her hair and, seeing the blood caked under his fingernails, set it instead on her shoulder and angled his head to kiss her tenderly. 'Then we have everything, and the rest does not matter.'

Which was not entirely true, but appropriate to his thoughts at the time.

'My lady, I've brought some fresh char--' Agnes paused on the threshold, basket clutched to her ample bosom and stared goggle-eyed at Guyon and Judith as they turned to face her. Judith's gown was blotched and spoiled by blood, Guyon's cloak less obviously so, but nonetheless smirched, and, behind them, Alicia's form lay still on the bed, gleaming in the white shroud of her shift.

Guyon, more knowledgeable by now, moved with the necessary speed to catch her and after the staggering weakness of sudden shock Agnes rallied and sat down to mop her wide pink brow on her sleeve while Guyon explained what had happened.

'Shall I fill a tub, my lady?' Almost recovered, Agnes wall owed to her feet and went to fuss over her sleeping mistress.

Judith sighed with obvious regret. 'No, Agnes. She needs rest and quiet and all the fuss of organising a bath would make too much noise. Tomorrow, perhaps. A good wash will suffice.'

'How long before your mother rouses, do you think?' Guyon asked.

'I don't know. Her colour is good, but she is deeply asleep and she will need watching.'

'Agnes is competent to do that? And Helgund?'

'Yes, but ...'

'Good. Then put on your cloak.'

'But Guy, I can't go out like this and - oh!' She broke off to catch the garment as he threw it at her.

'Find something else to wear and bring it with you.'

She stared at him, or rather at his back, for he had turned away to rummage in his own clothing chest for a decent tunic. 'Guy, where are we going?'

'Wait and see. I've told you before about looking gift horses in the mouth.' He swung around and pinning his own cloak, advanced upon her.

'Guy?'

'Trust me?' His expression was a mingling of laughter and tension. 'Trust me, Judith?' He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, or as close as the bunched cloak trapped between them would allow, and kissed her in a fashion that sent Agnes bustling to a far corner of the room on the pretext of some overlooked task.

'I don't know if I should,' Judith said, tilting her head. 'What awaits me if I do?'

'A fate worse than death?' he suggested, draping the cloak around her shoulders and fastening the pin.

She felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach.

Her lips curved and then parted in a full smile; her eyes danced. She would think about everything later. This moment belonged to her and Guyon.

'Show me,' she said, a catch in her voice. 'I want to know.'

Judith was sitting beside Alicia when she woke, her fingers nimbly weaving a needle in and out of a tunic she was stitching for Guyon, her manner one of demure domesticity. She had never been inside a Southwark bathhouse before, indeed had almost refused when she discovered their destination, but Guyon, grinning, had dragged her protesting through the doorway and the rest had been too interesting for her to want to leave.

Mention a Southwark bathhouse and most people would raise their eyebrows and utter knowing laughs, or purse their lips and shake their heads. Many of the stews warranted such censure, but Guyon's particular choice, which she suspected came of long acquaintance, appeared to cater for those with the wealth to buy privacy and discretion. She had seen several people she knew from the court, two of them alone, another in the company of a very pretty girl who was most certainly not his wife.

She and Guyon had soaked themselves clean and warm in a spacious tub and had drunk effervescent wine - not in any great quantity. They had played floating tables - and other less intellectual games, the kind associated with the Southwark stews and knowing laughs and pursed lips, and lent an added spice because of that.

She stifled a giggle and bit off the thread, and became aware that Alicia was watching her.

'Mama?' For an instant Judith was startled, but she recovered quickly and leaned forward. 'How are you feeling?'

'As if my brains have been squashed,' Alicia said faintly and put up her hand to touch her bandage-swathed head. 'What happened?'

'You fainted and cut your head on the brazier as you fell .'

From the other room, muffled by the heavy curtain, came the reassuring sound of male voices in conversation. Alicia strove to sit up, then desisted with a gasp of pain.

Judith pressed her gently back down. 'I had to stitch the wound and quickly,' she apologised. 'It is not my neatest piece of work.'

Frowning with pain and concentration, Alicia studied her daughter. Her rich gown had been replaced by a neat, serviceable homespun. The tawny hair was woven into a simple thick braid and looked almost as if it were damp.

'Judith, how long have I been asleep?'

She placed a cool hand upon her mother's forehead. 'Not long, do not fret yourself.'

'I seem to recall that I have cause to fret.'

Judith shook her head in wordless denial.

Alicia moistened her lips and groped towards what she wanted to say. 'I would have told you, truly I would. I believed in my innocence that Henry would want to do the same. I never thought that ... is he using it to leash Guyon to his cause?'

Judith looked over her shoulder at the curtain.

'Guy is no tame dog to trot to heel, unless it be his wish.' She smiled towards the sound of his voice, while a conflict of pride and anxiety churned within her.

Her mother's voice was small and timid. 'You do not hate me, then?'

'Hate you?' Judith was astonished. 'Mama, of course not!'

Alicia's mouth trembled. Judith leaned over and hugged her mother. Shakily Alicia returned the embrace and then, drained, fell back against the pillow, nauseous with pain but feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from her soul. 'I thought you might. Or else be disgusted. Jesu knows, I have felt those things for myself many times over.'

Judith squeezed Alicia's hand. 'Mama, let it rest. It has caused enough grief. You had your reasons. I think when I have had the time, I will understand them.'

'Is all well between you and Guyon now?'

Anxiety flooded back into Alicia's eyes.

The dim light masked Judith's blush. 'Yes, Mama,' she said, voice choked with laughter. Her mother might have cuckolded her husband with a fourteen-year-old youth, but she would be horrified if she knew where her daughter had just been.

Alicia looked doubtful. 'Are you sure?'

'Very sure, Mama.' Judith gave her mother a dazzling smile in which there remained a hint of secret laughter. 'Miles has been twitching about outside like a cat with a severe dose of fleas. I'll send him in.' And without waiting for Alicia's yea-say, she went to the curtain.