Henry leaned down over his saddlebow and said impishly, ‘Remember me to Alicia when you next see her. Tell her I approve.’
The horse lunged forward. Guyon stepped back and watched the glossy bay stallion trot out of the yard. Gilbert de Clare followed on his patchy, raw-boned roan, his brother in tow, and then came Earl Hugh and the bodyguard.
‘What was all that double talk about being related?’ the Earl asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Guyon, uncomfortably aware that Hugh d’Avrenches missed precious little. ‘A private joke. I am not sure that I understand it myself. What’s more to the point, my lord, is Henry’s closeness to the de Clares. There was a deal of double talk there, too.’
‘Keep your nose out, Guy. Judith was right to drop that cup when she did. What the eye does not see and the ear does not hear cannot be a source of grief in time to come.’
‘Oh yes,’ Guyon said a trifle bitterly. ‘I am an expert in the art of diplomacy.’
‘Well then, don’t fall foul of the de Clares. They bid fair to be as powerful as the Montgomery line one day, and one day soon at that. Hunting tomorrow? I’ll see you there.’
Guyon watched him leave, then, frowning, went to the stables to check his courser which had a suffered a leg sprain during the day’s hunt.
Upstairs, Helgund bustled around the bedchamber, lighting the night candle, folding and tidying, setting matters to rights. Judith slowly removed the gold fillets that clasped the ends of her braids and unwound her hair. Helgund helped her unlace the tight-fitting overgown and, after Judith had drawn it off, hung it tidily on the clothing pole and fetched her mistress an ivory comb.
Judith was thoughtful. The evening had not passed without incident, but at least a potential disaster had been avoided. A pity that the Prince possessed a sharper vision than Gilbert and Roger de Clare, who both obviously saw her as a muddle-headed juvenile. She had the impression that Henry had been amused because he was already several steps ahead of her and could afford to laugh. It was not a comfortable thought, butthen neither were the other ones that jostled for space and recognition.
Slowly she combed the kinks from her hair until it hung in a glowing, fiery fan to her thighs and tried to coax her tense muscles to relax. In a quiet voice she thanked Helgund and bade her go to bed. The maid curtsied and left. A soft silence descended and was infiltrated by the sounds of the spring night. Judith sat in the stillness and fiddled with the drawstring of her shift.
When Guyon finally came up to the room, he found Judith sitting on the bed buffing her nails, the candlelight making a golden halo behind her head. She looked up and gave him a strained smile and, rising, padded barefoot across the room to pour him wine.
He took it from her, his expression blankly preoccupied, drank, looked at the delicate glass and seemed to come to his senses, for suddenly his eyes refocused and he concentrated upon her face.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
It was there. You could see it when you knew. The expressions, the occasional mannerisms, the way her hair sprang from her brow. ‘Nothing,’ he said, wondering if his father knew. Perhaps. If it became common scandal the results would be disastrous. She was not Maurice of Ravenstow’s daughter, therefore the barony was not hers by right of birth but belonged instead to her Montgomery uncles – Robert de Belleme, Arnulf and Roger. He suddenly felt very cold.
‘Guy?’ Feeling frightened, Judith touched his arm and, when he did not move, his brow also. He started at her touch and looked at her, but as if she was a complete stranger he had never seen before.
‘What’s wrong? Has Prince Henry taken offence at me? Did he realise that I … ?’
‘Prince Henry?’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘Prince Henry will take no offence. How could he?’ Oh no, it was very much to his advantage. The halter, yoke and hobble of blood. He stared at the cup in his hand, set it down and paced over to the shutters. The catch was loose and he pushed them open. The scent of hawthorn was thick and sweet. He could see the blossom gleaming softly white in the garth. A breeze ruffled his hair and eddied one of the wall hangings.
‘Is it something so terrible that you cannot tell me?’ Judith asked at his elbow. ‘Do we face ruin?’
Guyon gathered his reeling wits and turned to face her. ‘I cannot tell you, love. Call it a political secret if you will, or just plain discretion. It is a confidence I think I would rather die than break.’ He kissed her freckled forehead and tugged a burnished strand of her hair.
Judith frowned. Henry had told him something in the courtyard, of that she was sure, and she could only hope it was not along the lines that she had earlier curtailed by her deliberate clumsiness. ‘It is not a wise hold to have over a man of power,’ she said doubtfully.
He stepped away from her proximity where the scent of the hawthorn had been replaced by the more dangerous beguilement of gilly and roses. ‘Henry intended me to know. He deliberately turned a vague suspicion into a certainty.’
‘Is it very important that you say nothing to anyone, even to me?’
He picked up his wine, drank it and glanced over the cup’s rim to where she stood, her breasts outlined by the yellow gilding of the night candle. ‘Especially not to you,Cath fach.’ Putting down the goblet, he moved towards the curtain.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Below to Walter. There’s a pallet made up in an alcove for me and it’s getting late.’ He picked up his cloak.
‘But the bed …’ She gestured around, her heart thumping. ‘It’s big enough.’
‘Not for us both,’ he said with certainty.
‘Yes it is …’ She drew a deep breath, her eyes enormous.
Guyon looked at her frightened bravery and his heart turned over. ‘When I made contract, my love, I did not want you. Now I do. If it were lust, it would not matter, I’d either slake it elsewhere, or take you without thought. Being as it isn’t, I’ll sleep downstairs.’
