‘You did not do it, however much you desired,’ she replied steadily, ‘and that is the difference.’
His look was bleak. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I thought about it so hard that it might as well have been the deed. If Eric hadn’t been in the room with me …’ He broke off the sentence.
Judith was filled with burning anger – at Walter de Lacey, at Robert de Belleme, at this whole war and at how far Guyon had been pushed and pushed and pushed. Suddenly she understood his need of her and that she must not fail him. ‘You wereoverset and there is no point in brooding upon it.’ She shook his shoulder. It was his grazed one and his breath caught. ‘Guy, look at me.’
He turned his head. ‘You did not do it. You held back,’ she said slowly and clearly.
‘Yes,’ he agreed in a toneless voice, gaze slipping wearily from hers and back to the middle distance.
‘Oh, in the name of the Holy Virgin!’ Exasperated and cross because she was frightened, Judith thrust herself to her feet. ‘Go on then, wallow until you sink in your own guilt. Just do not expect me to follow you!’ She flounced away towards the flagon and reached jerkily for a cup.
Guyon shut his eyes and, with a soft groan, leaned his head against the rim of the tub. ‘Judith, let be. I can’t argue with you, not now.’
‘And that is half the problem,’ she diagnosed tartly. ‘You are so tired that your wits are not serving you as they should. You don’t want to argue with me because you dare not. You need time to rest and recover.’
He gave a crooked smiled. ‘There is need and need,Cath fach.Henry needs my report and then he needs me. My own needs can wait.’
‘You will be worse than useless to him.’
‘Stop pricking me, Judith. I’ll manage.’
‘And you have the gall to call me infuriating and stubborn!’ she retorted. When he chose not to respond, she narrowed her eyes and, mouth set, reached for her vial of poppy syrup and laced his wine with it, adding a hefty splash of aqua vitae to disguise the taste. Her eyes brightened with tears at the memory of the last time she had poured him wine while he lounged in a tub and she contrasted it bitterly with the present. This time there was no brimming laughter, no electric charge of sexualtension. This time there was only fear-tinged determination and exhaustion.
Returning to the tub, she handed him the spiked wine. ‘Speaking of needs,’ she said, changing the course of her attack, ‘the men at least will have to be released for harvest very soon.’
‘Such as are necessary,’ he agreed. ‘I suppose I will have to hire mercenaries to replace them. I’ll send to Ravenstow for the strongbox.’ He took a gulp of the wine and choked on the underlying bite of the aqua vitae.
‘Drink it!’ she commanded, eyes fierce, cheeks flushed, terrified that he would discover the taste of the opium.
His lids flickered wide at her peremptory tone and then he smiled slowly. ‘Dare I? he asked. ‘Last time you shoved a cup beneath my nose and commanded me like that, you were hell-bent on torture.’
Judith felt her whole face scorch fiery red. ‘I saved your life, didn’t I?’
‘Yes you did,Cath fach.’ His look became quizzical. ‘Why are you blushing?’
Judith’s heart began to gallop. ‘I’m not,’ she croaked. ‘It is the summer heat.’
Guyon gaped at her over the goblet rim with undisguised astonishment. Hot without it might be, but the keep walls were several feet thick, the gaps filled with rubble and, even in the summer months, it was comfortable to have braziers in the private chambers.
‘I’ll fetch food,’ she muttered breathlessly, and detached herself from his scrutiny to dive for the doorway.
Guyon shook his head and then ducked it beneath the water to wet his hair and clear his thoughts, wondering how on earth Judith had the temerity to suggest that his mind was not serving him as it should when her own was quite obviously addled. He continued his wash and, frowning, took another swallow of thewine. That remark about the heat had been a flustered idiocy, her exit rapid before he could investigate further; or at least, he thought, until she had invented a more plausible excuse for her blush.
It was after she had given him the wine. Until then she had been simmering at him like a cauldron on a blaze. After a moment, a glimmer of enlightenment caused him to taste the wine again and roll it experimentally round his mouth. Smooth, high-quality Anjou and rough border aqua vitae and … ! He spat it out into the bath water and swore with soft vehemence, staring with furious eyes at the curtain through which she had vanished. Anger sparkled along his nerve endings, an invigorating anger, buoying him up, subduing fatigue. Lace his wine, would she?
Judith returned with a tray of cold roast pigeon and fresh white bread, a new flagon of wine and an excuse for her previous flustered behaviour ready and credible on her tongue, for it was in part the truth. She intended saying that she had been swept by desire at the sight of him in the bath along with the association of pouring him wine, and knowing how tired he was, had not wished to burden him further. It was therefore with a mingling of vexation and relief that she discovered he had fallen fast asleep in the rapidly cooling water.
Eyes raised heavenwards, she set the tray down on a clothing chest, gave Cadi a firm, low command that flopped the bitch down on her belly at the door, eyes still cocked in distant hope on the food, and went to the tub to pick up the empty goblet from the floor.
‘In Jesu’s name, Guy, you might have gone to bed!’ she complained with exasperation, then shrieked as Guyon surged from the water like a pike, seized her and dragged her down.
‘And you might refrain from poisoning my wine!’ he growled as she tried to thresh out of his hard grip.
‘I wasn’t, Guy, truly!’
‘You deny there was poppy in that wine?’
‘Only enough to give you a sound night’s sleep. You need it.’
