She nodded slightly. “I was there, Archdeacon. I saw it all. I tell myself that such acts occur. I know this part of the country is more liable to them than most; I know William is a cruel, hard man. I’ve been told enough about him, but still, I couldn’t believe he would commit such treachery. And I saw him, with his own hand…” She broke off, trying to stifle the sob which rose in her throat. “It was so terrible. Even that child, Geoffrey, Seisyll’s son, and later the baby.” She bit her lip and sat silent, twisting the cloth of her skirt between her fingers. Then she looked up suddenly, swallowing hard, and faced him squarely, her eyes fixed unwavering on his.
“My child is cursed, Father, by what happened that day,” she burst out. “I would rather it is never born at all.” She waited defiantly, half expecting him to be shocked, but to her surprise he nodded understandingly.
“It’s a natural feeling,” he said slowly, his low voice soothing and considered. “But it is wrong. You must have faith. The child is as innocent as it is possible for a human creature to be. He will be washed and sanctified by baptism and by our prayers. You must not fear for him.” He drank back the dregs of his wine suddenly and rose to his feet. “And now I have some news for you, my lady. Three nights ago your husband was at Hereford. From there I understand he plans to go to Hay and then he is coming on here to Brecknock, so you will be seeing him soon. You must prepare yourself for that.”
Matilda pulled herself to her feet. Her hands were shaking, and nervously she tried to hide them in the folds of her skirt, but the all-seeing eyes of the archdeacon had spotted them instantly. He put his hand gently on her arm. “You have been a good and loyal wife to William de Braose. Don’t be afraid of him. He is still the Christian man you married.” He grinned suddenly, his unexpected boyish grin that she found so heartwarming. “Perhaps now I shall be able to have my chair back when he comes. I miss it, I must confess, perched on that high stool when I’m reading at Llanddeu. I must be getting old.” He sighed and put his hand to his back with a mock grimace of pain.
In spite of herself, she laughed. She had grown very fond of Gerald in the few weeks she had known him. “Poor Archdeacon. I must give you a salve to rub on your back. When William comes, your chair will be my first thought, I promise you. It’ll travel up that track to Llanddeu faster than lightning!”
But even the sound of his gay chuckle as he pulled on his mantle and swung out into the soft rain to find his horse did nothing to ease the sick fear that flooded through her at the thought of William’s imminent arrival.
14
Nick sat back and smiled at Judy fondly. “I never did ask you where you learned to cook. That was the most superb lunch. Thank you.” He eyed the empty casserole and then leaned forward to pour out the last of the wine.
“A woman should keep some secrets surely!” Judy grinned. She had changed from her paint-stained jeans and smock into a summer dress with vivid blue stripes, which suited her coloring remarkably well. As she leaned forward to take his plate Nick caught a faint breath of Miss Dior.
“Coffee would make it perfect,” he said hopefully.
“First creme brulee, then cheese.
Nick groaned. “Are you trying to kill me or something?”
“As long as you can beat me at squash a meal like this once in a while won’t kill you.” She stuck her head around the door. “Do you really have to go to your mother’s this weekend, Nick?”
He nodded. “I’m afraid I must. I haven’t seen her for ages, and as I’m going to be away so much over the next month I thought I’d get it over with. And while I’m down there, if the tides are right, I thought I’d bring
Judy raised her lips to his eagerly. “Any time is the right time,” she murmured, trying not to wonder why he had not suggested she go with him to Hampshire. “Why don’t we leave the rest of the meal until later?” She ran her tongue gently along the line of his jaw and nipped his ear.
His hands slipped around to the zipper at the back of her dress. Expertly he slid it down, pushing the fabric off her shoulders. Beneath it she was naked.
Unembarrassed, she wriggled away from him and stepped out of the dress. “I’ll turn off the coffee.”
He was undoing his shirt, his eyes on her breasts as she unplugged the pot and walked past him into the studio. In the bedroom she drew the curtain, blocking out the sun, then she turned in the shadowy twilight and held out her arms.
Nick laughed. “No. No shadows. I want to see you properly.” Kneeling on the bed, he reached across and switched on the bedside light.
On the notepad by the lamp was a page of whorls and faces and doodles and strange shapes and in the center of them all, framed with Gothic decoration, the name Carl Bennet and a curlicued three. Nick picked up the pad and stared at it.
“When did you write this?”
“What?” Judy slid onto the bed beside him and lay down, her arms above her head, her legs slim and tanned on the white candlewick cover.
“Carl Bennet. Why did you write his name here?”
She sat up. “To hell with him. You’re supposed to be thinking about me!”
“I am thinking about you, Judy.” Nick’s voice was suddenly hard. He pushed her back, leaning over her, his face taut with anger. “I am wondering why you have written his name down. Where did you hear it?”
For a moment Judy contemplated lying. Her brain was moving like lightning. If he found out the truth later he would blame her. Better tell him. Softly she cursed herself for writing the name at all-a stupid absentminded, automatic reaction to having a pencil in her hand…
“Jo rang yesterday,” she said softly. She smiled, reaching up to kiss him, winding her arms around his neck. “She thought you might be here, that’s all. It didn’t sound important.”
“What did she say about Bennet?” Unmoving, he stared down at her and for a fleeting moment she felt a pang of fear.
“She said she was going to see him. Nick, forget her-”
“Did she say when?”
“Today. I told you, forget her-”
“When, Judy?” Nick caught her wrists and disengaged himself violently from her embrace. He sat up. “She must not go there alone!”
She grabbed the bedspread and pulled it around herself as Nick stood up. “You’re too late. She’ll be there by now.”
Without a word Nick strode past her into the studio. He picked up his shirt and dragged it on, groping for his shoes. Behind him Judy stood in the doorway, still swathed in candlewick. “Nick, please. Don’t go.”
He turned. “I’m sorry, Judy. I have to be there. I have to stop her if I can!”
The long train of horses and carts that heralded the arrival of William de Braose and his retinue began to assemble in the outer bailey of Brecknock Castle on the first day of May. The serfs and townspeople, out from dawn about their ancient rites, tending the Beltane fires on the moors despite the threats from the priests, returned to find the castle full of men.
Matilda sat in her solar listening with Margaret to the clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels below, longing to hide. She dreaded the meeting with William, try as she might to remember Gerald’s reassurances, and when her husband’s arrival was at last announced she took a deep breath to still her wildly beating heart and walked slowly down into the brisk spring sunshine to greet him. Dismounting, William looked up at his wife as she stood on the steps above him, his face impassive. He was splendidly dressed in scarlet and green, his mantle clasped by a great cabochon ruby, his fringed beard neatly trimmed. He strode up the steps two at a time and kissed her hand
