inconvenience and will leave my new vassals considerably poorer than when they swore me homage.'
'Providing of course that they are willing to pay in the first place.'
Guyon smiled thinly. 'They are obliged by custom to render a relief on Judith's marriage and I will have that from them at the oath-taking tomorrow before they leave.'
Miles glanced uneasily at Guyon. He did not doubt his son's ability to wring the relief from his vassals, nor his ability to hold them loyal to their oaths of fealty. What did disturb him was the glint of devilry lurking beneath the surface of Guyon's thoughtful expression. He had seen that look before, usually preceding some act of rash lunacy. 'What are you plotting?' he demanded.
Guyon smiled. 'Naught, as yet. I'm a newly married man, or had you forgotten? Speaking of which, that's a very pretty lover's bruise on your throat.'
Miles heard the warning behind the flippancy.
He was being told to mind his own business and for a moment resentment flared. He fixed his son with a hard stare. Guyon's eyes returning the look were a melting luminous brown, edged with silky, thick lashes. They masked a will as flexible and strong as a willow wand. You might bend it, but the moment you let go it sprang back to its original way of growing, usually striking you into the bargain. It was useless to argue.
Miles dropped his regard to the parchment and heaved a sigh. 'As I said, I seem to be making mistakes hand over fist.'
CHAPTER 7
The sky was the colour of a wild harebell , its expanse interrupted by small flocks of cloud herded west into Wales by a scudding wind.
Judith clicked her tongue to the sedate brown gelding she was riding, and somewhat reluctantly he increased his pace. The wind gusted at their backs, flapping her cloak, threatening to snatch off her veil. She released the reins to feel for the pins holding it in place and secured them anew. It was a mark of her confidence astride a horse and her swift ability to learn new skill s that she felt sufficiently safe to trust to balance while she performed her toilet.
Before her as they crossed the heathland between Guyon's manor of Oxley and his keep at Ledworth, rode his shield-bearer, Eric Godricson and six serjeants, with a like number behind. An attack by the Welsh or other hostile factions was unlikely but it was still better to be safe than sorry, particularly with Guyon absent raising revenues among his other manors.
Judith stared at the dark trees beyond the heathland without really seeing them as she evaluated the three months that had passed since her precipitous marriage.
The oaths of fealty sworn two days after the boar hunt had mostly been sincere, with the occasional protest at the steepness of the marriage relief. Guyon had dealt smoothly with complaint. He had the silver tongue of a courtier and a merchant's shrewd acumen - men smiled and agreed with him, then scratched their heads and wondered how they had been manoeuvred into parting with their coin when they had intended fiercely to resist.
The incident with de Lacey and Arnulf de Montgomery had sunk out of sight like a rotten log into a quagmire. Guyon's arm had healed cleanly to leave a thin, pink scar. He seldom spoke of the boar hunt although occasionally, in repose, his expression gave her cause to wonder at his thoughts.
Arnulf de Montgomery was busy in south Wales.
De Lacey was sitting on his lands like a disgruntled rook on a nest - God alone knew what he was hatching. Ralph de Serigny was ailing with pains in the chest, brought on by a severe winter cold from which he had not properly recovered. The harsh weather of January and February had also prevented Robert de Belleme from travelling further up the march than the seat of his new earldom, where an array of defences was being constructed beneath his critical architect's eye ... And defences cost money.
Judith was aware of Guyon's concern because he was as tense and alert as a hunting cat. For the most part, he kept his worries to himself, although occasionally he would snap. The first time she had recoiled, awaiting the blow that was certain to follow, but he had lowered his gaze to the tallies over which he was poring, set a pile to one side and continued to work. After a while, when her frightened silence had registered, he had raised his head, apologised briefly and told her to leave him alone. Since then, she had learned to recognise the warning signs and would keep well away, attending to duties elsewhere.
A month ago, when the weather had eased enough to make travelling possible, they had moved down the march to Guyon's main holding of Ledworth, recently inherited from his uncle who had died in battle during the ill -fated summer campaign in north Wales.
The stone and timber castle was imposing, built upon a high crag to dominate the growing town below and the drovers' roads leading from these middle borders into the heart of Wales. It was also, despite its recent construction, musty and uncomfortable. The former lord had neglected the domestic side of keep matters when his wife had died. The seneschal's wife was crippled by stiff hips and the maids had taken advantage of her infirmity to do much as they pleased, which was very little.
Three weeks of purgative chaos had ensued as Alicia and Judith set the worst of the rot to rights so that at least the place was habitable. Alicia in particular had thrown herself into the exercise, chivvying the maids remorselessly, addressing them all as sluts and hussies, her tongue as abrasive as the brushes and lye with which she made them scour the dairy floor and slabs.
Judith was concerned, for the shrewish woman with whom she shared the bower was not her gentle mother. The bouts of feverish activity spoke of panic and a deeply troubled spirit. Once she had come across Alicia choking back tears in Ledworth's private chapel and begging whispered forgiveness. Forgiveness for what?
Her mother was more sinned against than sinning, her confessions to the priest usually of oversights and peccadilloes, nothing that would stain the soul with such guilt.
Judith guided her mount with her knees and frowned, trying to remember when she had first noticed the change in her mother's manner. A couple of days after the wedding, it would have been. Alicia had retired to her chamber with a vicious headache and stayed there for two days, refusing all ministrations save those of Agnes.
She had emerged on the third day a full hour too late to wish Guyon's father God-speed on his road home. Miles, as she recalled, had been perturbed at her absence and by Agnes's firm declaration that her mistress was still asleep and had left instructions not to be woken.
'Riders to the rear!' cried one of Judith's escort, interrupting her thoughts.
'My lord is expected soon,' Eric said with a frown, 'but it is not the direction from which I would expect him to come.' He rubbed the side of his nose, considering. 'Best play safe,' he decided. 'If it is my lord, he'll take no offence at our caution. If it's another, we owe them no excuses. Are you able to gall op, my lady?'
Judith's heart began to thump but she gave a nonchalant shrug. 'If this nag is, then yes,' she responded and gathered the reins.
The serjeant who had first cried the warning circled away behind them to discover the identity of their pursuers. They quickened their pace. A distance of about nine furlongs separated them from the safety of the keep, but much of that route was uphill .
Judith's gelding started to flag. She dug her heels into his sides and heard him wheeze.
'It's Robert de Belleme and Walter de Lacey!' yelled the serjeant, his voice indistinct but explicit with panic.
'Blood of Christ!' Eric spurred his horse afresh and laid his whip across the rump of Judith's gelding.
The drawbridge was down over the ditch. The wet winter and spring had raised the level of the water table and instead of the noisome sludge that usually offended the nose, there was a glistening moat of sky-blue water. The hooves drummed on the planks. Judith glimpsed the glittering ruffles. She flung a look over her shoulder but the wind whipped her braids across her face and all she could see between the tawny strands were the heaving horses behind her and the solid mailed protection of her escort.
Her mount stumbled as they rode beneath the portcullis and into the ward. She pulled him up, his ribs heaving like bellows, his legs trembling, spent. Without waiting for aid to dismount, she kicked her feet from the
