'I thought it was time you had a more mettlesome mount than that old bay nag you've adopted. Her name's Euraidd. She's five years old and from the stud herd down at Ashdyke.'
Judith stared at the vision filling her eyes and it swung its head to return the compliment with limpid black eyes. Euraidd - golden. A mare the colour of the sun. Darker dappled rings like gold coins shimmered on the silken haunches and contour of shoulder and belly. Her mane and tail were a flossy blonde, the former braided with tassels of scarlet silk. The harness, like the horse, was expensive.
'She's beautiful!' Judith gasped, more than a little awestruck. 'Are you sure you want me to have her?'
'How else do you expect to keep up with me when we go riding?' Guyon grinned. 'That bay bag of bones might as well have been standing still the other day.'
'He ran his heart out for me when we were fleeing Earl Robert,' she said, and stepped forward to stroke the soft tawny nose. The mare had a white star between her eyes and two small trails of stardust dribbled beneath. She lipped Judith's fingers, seeking a titbit, and the groom obligingly produced a wrinkled apple.
The under-groom emerged from the stables with Guyon's grey saddled up and ready.
'Care to try her paces?' Guyon cupped his hands.
'You should not make such an open display of your wealth,' she reproved, faintly troubled even in the midst of her joy.
'My father has one of the best stud herds in the land. Even impoverished as I am, I still have access to good horseflesh. Besides, you should know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.'
Judith made an agonised face at the literal pun and set her foot into the bowl of his linked fingers.
They rode far and wide over Ravenstow's demesne. The mare's gait was like silk, her muscles flowing like water beneath a cloth of golden satin. Her mouth was sensitive to Judith's slightest touch on the reins. She moved effortlessly from walk to pacing trot, to canter and back to a walk and Judith felt not so much as a jolt as she changed step.
Guyon considered Judith's seat in the saddle with a critical eye and discovered that, as with all skill s, she had mastered this one in a very short time.
'My mother used to hate riding horseback,' he said finally as they rode side by side for home.
'For my father's sake she bore it, but it was a sacrilegious waste of good horseflesh. The best in England and she appreciated it not one whit.'
Judith looked down at the mare. There was exhilaration in riding such smooth power, a tingling of triumph in the knowledge of mastery.
'He misses her, doesn't he?' she said thoughtfully.
'My mother was the light of his life,' Guyon said, his eyelids tightening with pain. 'They fought on occasion fit to bring down the keep around our ears, but I remember the love. She would have given him her lifeblood to drink if he had asked, and vice versa.'
Judith gnawed her lip, unable to contemplate such a depth of feeling and trust. Her own parents had spent their time damning each other's souls into the pit of hell . Slaps, blows, ill -treatment, degradation, cruelty. She knew only too well the nature of marriage ... or thought she knew. She looked through her lashes at her husband's arrogant features and tried to imagine cutting her own veins at his command. No, she thought. I would take up a knife and defend myself to the last bitter drop of blood.
Hard on that thought followed a wave of guilt.
He had been so good to her, tolerating her whims, handling her with patience and consideration, gifting her richly, not least with this beautiful horse. She liked him well enough, knew that she had been more fortunate than her mother as a heifer in the ring, but it was too great a trust to give her soul into another's squandering.
'You are quiet,
Judith smiled and tossed her head. 'Foolish thoughts,' she laughed, her mouth twisting. 'Not worth a penny for their time. Does she gall op, is it safe to give her free rein?' Without waiting for his reply she used her hands and heels to command the mare into a sudden spectacular burst of speed. Guyon muttered a startled oath beneath his breath and spurred the grey in pursuit across the meadow.
Geese scattered honking from beneath the flying hooves. The swineherd, out with the keep's pigs, shaded his eyes against the slant of the sun and watched the horses hurtle past. Ground-nesting plovers broke cover and took hasty wing.
A blackbird chipped at them from a stump.
The golden mare flew lightly over the ground like a faery beast, her tail rippling like combed flax.
Inch by inch the grey gained on her, his stride that slight bit longer, but it was a slow process.
The weight he carried was greater and the mare was determined to keep her head in front. He reached her shoulders, his neck outstretched, his shoulders and hindquarters working like pistons and slowly his nose began to draw level with hers.
Judith glanced round, her braids whipping her face, her eyes blazing with exhilaration and met Guyon's laughter, white-edged with triumph.
'Oh no!' she cried, laughing back at him. 'Not this time, my lord!' And as they pounded on towards the edge of the meadow, she leaned as far forward as the saddle would permit, gripping like a monkey, the reins clutched hard on Euraidd's neck. From somewhere the mare found an extra thrust of speed and, aided by Judith's forward weight, once more pulled ahead of the stall ion to reach the marshy end of the meadow a length ahead.
Mud splattered up around the mare's forelegs and dappled her glowing coat with brown splotches and freckles as Judith breathlessly wound her down to a halt and hung over her braided mane, laughing with delight.
Guyon reined round beside her, drawing the stall ion's head hard into the wide grey chest.
'That was wonderful!' Judith gasped, her eyes shining like two coins, her face flushed and vibrant.
'And you are a madwoman!' he answered, half angry, half amused. 'What if you had fall en off?'
'I would have broken my neck, but I didn't and it was wonderful. And if you are going to scowl at me like that, I'd rather ride on my own anyway!'
'Minx,' he chuckled despite himself.
'Fusspot,' she retorted, poking out her tongue.
Guyon's eyebrows shot up. It was the first time anyone had called him that! Before he could think of a suitable retort, Judith clicked her tongue to the mare and shook the reins, urging her across the stream and towards home. At a safe distance, she looked over her shoulder to where he sat staring after her and grinned impishly.
Guyon steadied his grip on the reins. He was painfully tumescent and very tempted to ride after her and soothe the irritation where it would do him the most good ... and her the least. She is a child, he reiterated to himself. It had been too long an abstinence, that was all . After a moment, the impulse and its source subsided. He walked the stall ion meekly in her wake while he consolidated his hold on things rational.
At the keep they had visitors. Tethered in the bailey were a dozen sturdy pack ponies tended by an equally sturdy black-haired youth. He was loosening the pack of the foremost pony and speaking to a frowning, middle- aged man who was unloading what looked like bales of cloth.
The youth lifted his gaze and met Guyon's as the latter dismounted. Unlatching the last buckle, he spoke a quick word to the servant, and came across the ward to greet them. Judith looked curiously at the lad as he arrived and stood smiling before them. He was as solid and stocky as a young oak tree and darkly Welsh, his eyes onyx black and extravagantly fringed. His wide-planted stance exuded the confidence of a man, the flush in his cheeks the uncertainty of boyhood.
'I'm here with my grandfather,' he said in rapid Welsh. 'We've brought cloth to trade and we need new ponies, and grandfather has other business besides.'
The grooms took the two mud-smirched horses.
'How fares your mother?'
'She had a baby girl two days since,' Rhys said, gaze darting to Judith, obviously wondering how much Welsh she understood. 'She is well and so is the baby ... Eluned is jealous.'
Before Guyon could compose himself to reply, Madoc ap Rhys himself strode out of the forebuilding and clapped a brown, knotty hand on Rhys's shoulder.
'I thought you'd have finished unloading by now!' he declared, but his hazel eyes were laughing and his tone was indulgent. 'God's greeting, my lord. I see that you've had the good tidings. A fine, healthy babe and blessed
