‘I will have every respect for Christen, sir,’ said Simon with earnest, stilted courtesy.
Guyon considered the bright ludicrous bird upon its perch. ‘Does it eat meat, anyway?’ he asked.
Christen hit him.
Simon’s grandfather was a garrulous old man, in his seventieth year but still hale and hearty, delighted to greet company. He teased Simon unmercifully about Christen, pumped him and Guyon for court scandal, sucking his gums with relish over the juicier bits and making acid remarks about the brains and breeding of the people involved. He gave them wine and honey cakes. The tables board came out and a set of dice and counters. He invited Christen to play and swivelled a jaundiced eye towards Guyon.
‘I heard about you from the Prince last time he was here. “Never play tables with anyone from Flambard’s household, or with Guyon FitzMiles,” he said. “They’ll strip you naked in less time than it took you to dress in the first place!”’
‘That’s untrue!’ Guyon protested, laughing. ‘I’d leave you your braies for decency at least!’
The old man dismissed him with a disgusted wave. ‘Nay, but you’re not as pretty to look at across a trestle as your niece here and I’ve a close interest in her, since she’s likely to be future family. Take your wife above and show her the rooms awhile.’
Simon, not about to miss the opportunity to study Christen’s dainty profile, drew up a stool so that he could watch her as she played.
Judith and Guyon went outside and climbed the wooden outer staircase to the rooms above.
‘What did he mean about the Prince?’ Judith asked as Guyon opened the door and drew aside a heavy curtain.
‘Oh, Henry occasionally stays here, or he used to before the new palace was finished. Sometimes he games with old Walter to humour him.’
Judith examined the room with renewed interest. The walls were plastered and illuminated with seasonal scenes – hunting, plouging, reaping, women dancing at a feast, a man catching fish. The colours were rich and vibrant. There was a brazier in the room and in a niche in the wall stood a small alabaster statue of the Virgin. There was a bench, an oak chest and a long trestle table.
‘He would hold meetings here sometimes,’ Guyon said, glancing round at the familiar surroundings. ‘That mark on the table is where he propped his feet with his spurs still on.’
‘Dicing, wenching and carousing?’ she said archly.
‘Not often. There are places on the Southwark side for that kind of sin.’ He followed her through the second curtain into the slightly smaller bedchamber, which was empty of its main item of furniture. ‘I expect Henry’s had the bed transferred to Westminster, but I dare say we can find one from somewhere.’
‘One?’ Judith looked over her shoulder at him.
‘As the need arises,’ he answered with a shrug, as if the matter was of no consequence.
Judith examined the rest of the room. The windows, like Richard’s, were glazed and the walls as in the first room were plastered and illuminated. Rushes strewed the floor, scattered with lavender, and on a coffer was a folded blanket that was obviously a bed covering. She looked down at a second tableboard set upon a cloth-covered trestle and uneasily moved one of the polished jet counters.
‘We can remain with Richard and Emma if you’d prefer,’ Guyon said, picking up one of the other counters, tossing it inthe air and catching it on the back of his hand as if playing knucklebones.
She shook her head, eyes stubbornly lowered, fingers toying desperately with the smooth, cold lump of jet whose twin was lodged in her stomach. ‘You have seen how cramped we are. Emma will not thank us if we refuse and it would be a discourtesy to Simon and his grandfather.’
Guyon studied her for a moment, then set his counter down and tilted her face on his fingertips. Judith raised her eyes, feeling hot and weak and frightened, and wished that they had stayed downstairs.
‘That is their preference, not yours,’ he said gently.
‘It is mine too,’ Judith stood her ground as he traced the line of her jaw until he reached her ear, skirted it and feathered his fingertip down her throat. Her scalp prickled.
‘There is nothing to fear,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t hurt you. You know that, or you should by now.’
A chill ran down her spine. The finger became a hand that slipped slowly down to her waist, curved there and drew her lightly against him. He brushed her temple with his lips, her cheekbone and jaw, slanting to seek her earlobe beneath her braid and nibble it gently. Judith gasped and arched at the sensation.
He nuzzled the sensitive hollow behind her ear, kissed her throat, returned to her face, his lips light as a butterfly travelling the same path again to return to her earlobe. He held her loosely, not compelling her to the embrace, stroking her as he might stroke Cadi or Melyn, soothing her while enticing her to want more. At length, he moved his other hand from her back and slowly took it up the side of her ribcage to the small, neat outer swell of her breast. Softly he touched her lips with his own, applying no demand, then moved on, kissing her chin, trailing the tip of his tongue over her throat.
Judith began to respond. One hand came up tentatively to rest on his belt, the other, palm flat, smoothed the dark wool tunic on his back. She moved closer. Guyon forced himself to a patience he was far from feeling. His body, responding to instinct and abstention, was eager for release. It had been a long time since Earl Hugh’s hunting lodge, but Judith was so edgy and afraid that one step too soon or too clumsy and he would lose all the ground he had thus far gained. Besides, a hasty coupling on the floor with one ear cocked for a tread on the stairs was hardly the best method of initiating a frightened virgin and, while it might satisfy his current appetite, it would do nothing for his abiding need.
Judith’s lips parted beneath the gentle insistence of his own. She felt as if she was drowning beneath flowing warm waves of sensation. Her breasts tingled. Her loins were moist and aching, her whole body a boneless supple mass.
Downstairs there was a shout of laughter from the old man and loud exclamations from his two young companions. The spell shattered. Judith leaped like a doe and Guyon’s arms involuntarily tightened to hold her. Judith struggled and tore free, her eyes wide, a gasp catching in her throat.
Guyon slowly let his hands fall to his sides. He was breathing hard, as if he had just run up a tower in full mail. ‘You see what happens when you stir a banked fire,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.’
