the postern had revealed the stealthy entry of the men and ponies.
She had expected Guyon then, but he had not come. The ponies had disappeared promptly like beasts of the Wild Hunt into the hollow hill s and when she had let Melyn out and gone down to Eric, he had been taciturn and evasive. Lord Guyon had business in Wales. He would be back soon enough. He advised that she retire.
Judith knew that when she recovered her equilibrium she would be thoroughly chagrined at losing her temper, but for the nonce, like a drunkard, she did not care. Eric had recoiled from the lash of her tongue, eyes wide in shock. When Guyon returned, she intended to do more than just make him recoil. He told her nothing, left her to worry, treated her like a child who did not have the skill to understand.
'Nor shall I if he does not give me the chance!' she said through clenched teeth as she flounced away from the arrowslit and began to dress.
She had just pulled on her stockings and shift and was scrabbling about on all fours searching for a wayward shoe, when Guyon entered the room as silently as a cat.
'Good morning, wife,' he said, grinning at the sight of her upturned posterior.
For a long moment she was still and then she rose to her feet and faced him, her complexion flushed with anger.
'Strange moonlight,' she said sarcastically. 'I have been sick with worry! Eric rode in before midnight matins. Where have you been?'
'I went to see Rhosyn and I fell asleep,' he replied matter-of-factly and came further into the room to sit on a stool and begin unlacing his boots.
'You went to see Rhosyn?' she repeated and swallowed the urge to hurl her newly found shoe at him. 'Have you changed your mind?'
'About what? Fetch me a drink, there's a good lass.'
Judith dropped the shoe and turned away, her back as rigid as a lance, her voice choked with the effort of controlling her rage. 'You said you had no mistress.'
Guyon flashed her a glance. 'I don't. Huw ap Sior was a close friend of her family. I took her the news of his death and a warning to be on guard. I am sorry if you are vexed, but expect apology for naught else.'
'Vexed is not the word!' Judith sloshed wine into a cup with a shaking hand. 'I could kill you myself!'
'No doubt ... Pass me those clothes over there.'
'Those?' She swung to him, lids widening. 'But they stink!'
'I know.' He grimaced, took the wine she offered, drank a mouthful and then set it down.
'Spike it, will you?' he said. 'With white poppy.'
'What for?'
'To make me sufficiently difficult to rouse when Robert de Belleme hails at our drawbridge.'
'And why should he do that?' Judith had a strong inkling as to the reply, having had plenty of time to think during the long watches of the night while her absent husband enjoyed another woman's company without thought for his terrified wife. However, she wanted to hear the words from his own lips, not be treated like an imbecile who would give the game away if possessed of knowledge.
'He might think I was involved in a Welsh raid upon him and his men that took place on the Shrewsbury road yestereve,' he answered. 'I did not tell you before in case we failed. At least you could truthfully have claimed your innocence.'
'What good would that do?' Judith was not impressed. 'You know what my uncle does to 'innocents'.' Her mouth tightened, but it was because he had been ensconced at another woman's hearth, perhaps even in her arms, while she paced the floor at Ledworth in a cold sweat of terror for his life.
'Look,' he said wearily, 'I do not expect you to go into the kitchen details of how you make a particular dish, but I will praise it or otherwise when it comes to table, and it is the same with certain of my doings. I told you what was needful.'
'What you thought was needful.'
Guyon swallowed and cast around for a fresh reserve of patience. A day of pretence and fencing with men he loathed, a night of clandestine work, an hour's sleep in a hard chair and some chancy riding over rough terrain in the pitch dark made it difficult to find. 'Judith, don't push me,' he said softly.
A trickle of fear ran down her spine. The gentle tone was far more frightening than a bellow to mind her business, or a raised fist. She turned abruptly away to begin preparing a draught of the poppy syrup.
Guyon continued to strip. 'What about the rest of the keep?' he asked after a moment. 'What do they think?'
She looked round at him, her expression impassive. 'Some of them believe that it is good for you to release your tension in a surfeit of drink, all young men do it. Others say they always knew you were wild and incontinent. Mama is desperate for my safety. My father used to beat us both when he was in his cups ... He split my lip once ... Mama cannot act to save her life. I dare not tell her the truth.'
He snorted with brusque amusement. 'You accuse me and then do the same to your mother!'
Judith drew breath to retort that it was not the same at all , but clenched her teeth on the words.
Do not push me, he had said, and she had no way of knowing how close to the edge he actually was.
'I am sorry your mother should be deceived in me, but there is no help for it. So much depends on de Belleme believing my innocence, or at least being unable to refute it.' Guyon came to take the cup from her, tilted her chin, and kissed her gently. 'Trust me,
His lips were as subtle as silk, his beard stubble prickly on her tender skin. Warmth flowed through Judith's veins as if her blood had turned to wine. Disturbed, she drew quickly away from him. 'Will you tell me how you retrieved the silver?'
Guyon eyed her closely, but could read very little in her expression, so carefully was she guarding it. His own fault, he knew, for warning her off, but one contrary woman a night was enough on any man's trencher. He looked down into the wine and swirled it thoughtfully around. 'It was worth every drop of this foul brew,' he said after a moment and took a gulp so that the heavy sweetness would not cloy his palate. And then, beginning to laugh, he told her precisely what they had done.
Foul-tempered, all insouciance flown, Robert de Belleme demanded hoarsely to see the lord of Ledworth.
'He's still abed, m'lord,' Eric answered staunchly. 'It'll be the devil of a job to rouse him.'
'Do it!' snarled de Belleme, 'or I'll flay your hide and use it for a saddlecloth!'
From another man, the speech would merely have been picturesque. But as it was the Earl of Shrewsbury who spoke, Eric knew the threat was not idle.
'If you will wait a moment, my lord--'
'Make haste, peasant!' growled Walter de Lacey from his place at the Earl's left shoulder and wiped his hand across his bruised mouth.
Eric bowed low, mouth tightening under cover of his full brown moustache, and left the two men at the fire, a wine flagon close to hand.
It was late morning, the servants bustling. The smell of new bread wafted past the men's dust-caked nostrils as a maid laid out the dais table.
'Returning for hospitality so soon, my lords?'
De Belleme whirled to regard the icy glance of his former sister-in-law, Alicia de Montgomery. A bitch in blue silk with a milky collar of pearls at her still surprisingly young throat.
'Recovered entirely from yesterday's malady, I see,' he answered with mock pleasantry, continuing to look her up and down. 'You are remarkably well dressed for a drudge.'
'You should take a gazing-glass to yourself,' Alicia retorted, the pearls jumping hard on her collarbone. 'What can we offer you to be on your way this time?'
His right hand flashed out to grip her wrist and tighten over the knobs of bone. It was so sudden and so painful that involuntarily she cried out. A servant with a pitcher in his hand hesitated. De Belleme flashed him a red-rimmed glare that sent the man scuttling for cover.
'You always were a clapper-tongued bitch too clever for your own good!' he hissed at her. 'My brother was a fool not to silence your jabber with the blade of his knife!'
'It runs in your family,' she retorted, struggling in his grip, feeling as if her bones were about to snap beneath the grinding pressure.
