‘My arm. I fear you may need your mouldy bread.’ He spoke softly, his words not carrying beyond the air that breathed them. All the women saw was his hand possessively on hers, the movement of his lips close to her ear and the sudden dismayed widening of her eyes.
‘Go to the bedchamber,’ said Judith. ‘I will bring whatever is necessary. I take it that you do not want them to know.’
‘No.’
Her lips twitched. ‘You are begetting a foul reputation, my lord.’
‘Not half as foul as their minds.’ He cast a jaundiced glance at the women.
‘Is there a difficulty, my lord?’ Alicia enquired, coming forward, prepared to do battle. She was furious. It was bad enough that he should have used Judith roughly last night as attested by the bridal sheet and her daughter’s trembling fight with tears, but that he should stride in here, dishevelled from the hunt and demand her body again, using her like a whore to ease his blood lust, was disgusting.
‘I should be grateful for a word if you can free yourself from your duties.’
Alicia stared at him. ‘Now, my lord?’
‘Come above with Judith, I will explain.’
Her eyes flickered with bewilderment as the ground of expectation was swept from beneath her feet. Guyon bowed formally to her, saluted the others with mockery and left the room, drawing Judith after him. Alicia collected her reeling wits, made her excuses and left them to think what they would.
Judith snipped away the blood-soaked sleeve from his left arm. Guyon clenched his fist on his thigh and winced.
‘Boar?’ Judith peered at the jagged tear. It was not deep to the bone, but neither was it superficial enough to just bandage and leave. ‘It will have to be stitched.’
He gave a resigned shrug. ‘At least I am testing your abilities to the full.’ He managed a weak grin as she soaked a linen pad in a strong-smelling liquid decocted from pine needles.
‘Just pray that they do not fail. It’s a nasty wound. What happened?’
Guyon almost hit the rafters as she pressed the pad to his arm and began to clean away the dirt slashed into the wound by the boar’s tush.
Alicia walked into the room to hear her daughter breathlessly apologising, a quiver in her voice.
‘Get on with it!’ Guyon gasped through clenched teeth. ‘If you stop every time I flinch, we’ll be here all day, and that really will set the fat into the fire!’
Judith bit her lip. Alicia looked down at the raw, still seeping wound. ‘You will need the mouldy bread,’ she said neutrally.
‘I have it, mama.’
Alicia eyed Guyon thoughtfully. ‘I have just heard from one of the beaters. He says the boar spear snapped and that you were lucky to escape with your life, let alone a few small scratches.’
‘This is more than a small scratch, Mama!’ Judith protested, staring round.
‘I can see that. I am only repeating what the beater said, and he had it from your uncle’s squire.’
‘They were both right,’ said Guyon.
The women stared at him. After her first startled declaration, Judith’s wits quickened. Plainly Guyon was not disclaiming this tear as a mere scratch just to be manly. He wanted the wound kept a secret, or at least reduced to nothing.
‘Boar spears do not just snap,’ she said. ‘My father was always very strict about the state of the hunting equipment, particularly when it came to boar. He had the spears checked regularly.’
‘By your senior huntsman?’
Alicia reached for a roll of bandage while Judith threaded a needle. ‘Maurice never made any complaints against Rannulf’s efficiency,’ she said carefully. ‘I cannot say that I know him well myself. He came to us from Belleme on Robert’s recommendation.’
‘Would he be willing to commit murder for the right amount of silver?’
‘Truly I do not know, my lord. Anything is possible if my brother-in-law has his hand in the pie.’
‘Has someone then offered Rannulf silver to give you a weakened spear?’ Judith asked to the point.
