'Don't believe a word,' Guyon said behind her, setting his hand lightly on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. 'He's still frighteningly fast when he chooses.'
'Faster than you, so I hear,' said Earl Hugh, the blue eyes disconcertingly shrewd.
'I was rash and I paid for it.'
Chester grunted. 'Not for the first time. Watch him, wench. He'll run rings round you both and you'll end up tangled in knots.'
Judith's laugh was more than wry. 'Do you think I do not know it!'
Guyon tugged her braid. She risked a glance at him. His face was a little fine-drawn with tiredness, but his expression was light enough and there seemed no change in his usual manner. Involuntarily her eyes went lower and colour flamed her face anew.
His mouth twitched. 'Do not be too sure of the outcome, Hugh,' he grinned. 'She's an awesome gaoler.' He led the Earl towards the small solar behind the dais. Judith excused herself to consult with the cook and see if she could get the carpenter to strengthen the guest's chair so that it would not collapse beneath the strain of so great a weight, as it had almost done during his last visit at their wedding.
'You have been very busy making yourself enemies,' Chester remarked, hunching his powerful shoulders.
'Have I?' Guyon eased himself down on to a padded stool.
The Earl considered him. He had come to know Guyon well during last summer's difficult Welsh campaign: a competent leader of men and an excellent scout with an innate knowledge of the workings of the Welsh mind. If he had failings, they were composed of an unpredictable wild streak - probably due to the Welsh blood - that resulted in a disturbing inclination to go his own way if not minutely scrutinised and checked. 'You know damned well you have!' he growled. 'Hardly Robert de Belleme's favourite nephew, are you?
He has some very nasty suspicions concerning your involvement in a raid on the Shrewsbury road back in the spring.'
'Nothing he can prove.'
Earl Hugh lifted a flagon from the cupboard against which he leaned and examined the intricate Byzantine workmanship.
'When has lack of proof ever stopped Belleme from pursuing his intended victim?'
'I might as well be impaled for a sheep as a lamb,' Guyon said and smiled with private amusement remembering the incredulity on the Earl of Shrewsbury's handsome, narrow face.
'It is no game, Guy,' Chester warned.
'Did I say that it was?'
The Earl's eyebrows lifted towards his thinning hair. 'Don't be obtuse with me!' he warned. 'I'm not a woman to be deceived by the twists of your tongue.'
Guyon propped his leg on a footstool. 'I admit it was foolhardy to risk de Belleme's rage, but at the time I was raging myself. Since then I've been a model of propriety.'
'Excluding this recent escapade?' The Earl pointed the flagon at Guyon's leg. 'Antagonising the new lord of Thornford by fighting in his village and stealing his servants?'
Guyon snorted. 'Yes, look at me. Do you think I fight odds of nine to two because I enjoy flirting with death and rousing a wasps' nest of trouble?
Bad fortune, nothing more. If Arian had not cast a shoe, I'd have been nowhere near his territory - and I didn't steal his servants. They were leaving him anyway.'
Chester put the flagon down on the cupboard.
Guyon's lids were heavy, but it was not all the aftermath of fever. Part of it was concealment.
'Walter de Lacey wants Ravenstow, Guy ... and he wants Judith.'
Guyon snorted. 'Tell me something I do not know. He's had a dagger at my back ever since my wedding.'
'I won't share my boundaries with such a one as him if I can help it. No control over himself, for a start. Half a brain and too much cunning, and he's in de Belleme's pay.' He gave a breathy laugh.
'The Welsh nibbling me one side and him the other. It behoves me to keep you alive and in a state of grace!'
'Is that why you're here?' Guyon raised his lids to reveal a glint of humour. 'To protect me from the worst of my own nature?'
Chester shook his head. 'To make sure you know how close to the fire your fingers are!'
'You sound like my father!' Guyon laughed.
'Is he not wise?'
'Oh, very.'
Chester's restless fingers toyed with his heavy circular cloak brooch. He had heard several rumours in Shrewsbury concerning Miles and Maurice de Montgomery's widow. Well , and why not? She was well preserved and her dower lands, although not vast, were pleasant and fertile.
A man could find it in him to plough both with ease. Perhaps it would be entertaining to pay Miles a visit in the near future and see about the purchase of another horse ...
'I know how close to the fire I am,' Guyon said into the Earl's ruminative silence. 'But 'uncle'
Robert will have his eyes on a broader arena than mine now that Jerusalem has fall en into Christian hands. I hazard that for the moment he'll leave my demise to fate and expendable tools such as Walter de Lacey.'
Chester pursed his lips. The King's older brother, Robert Curthose, had pawned the Duchy of Normandy to Rufus in exchange for the necessary silver to go on crusade and had departed forthwith. The Christian force had been successful and, barring mishap to Robert's ox-like frame, a few more months would likely see his return and an ensuing broil of trouble. Rufus was not going to smile sweetly and hand over Normandy like meat on a trencher.
'De Belleme will thrust his sword where it will cause the most mischief,' Guyon continued. 'I'll wager you five marks to a single penny that the moment Robert sets foot on Norman soil, the Earl of Shrewsbury will hare to his side and offer him all assistance. You know what he thinks of Rufus.'
'You think that too,' Chester pointed out drily.
'But I have held my oath to him, have I not?
Therein lies the difference. De Belleme doesn't give a pot of piss for his own fealty. I can see it coming as clearly as a thunderstorm over Ledworth ridge. Brother Robert returns from the Holy Wars mantled in glory and demands the return of his earldom. Rufus refuses. De Belleme joins the side that is most advantageous to himself and merry havoc holds sway. All we need then is for the Welsh to come hotfoot over the border aflame with raiding fever and it'll be worse than a drunken brawl at Smithfield fair! It won't matter about me because everyone's fingers will be in the fire then.'
The white bitch at Guyon's feet raised her head and nuzzled his hand. Chester absently admired her narrow-loined conformation and considered Guyon's words. Most of what he had said had already occurred to Chester and doubtless half the other barons in the country. Stormy weather lay ahead and those with sense were making preparations to endure it, or else seeking a new shelter, as in the case of the powerful de Clare family who were quietly cultivating the third brother.
'And Prince Henry?' he said. 'What about Prince Henry?'
'What about him?' Guyon rubbed his thigh. 'He'll watch us all burn for a while, toss the occasional twig on the fire and, when he's had enough, he'll either douse it or walk away, whichever suits his purpose best. Probably he'll side with Rufus. He wants him to obtain Edith of Scotland for his bride and he wants Rufus to name him the heir.'
'You know a great deal for a man who's been on his sickbed since before harvest time,' Chester remarked drily.
Guyon shrugged. 'My brother-in-law writes letters to his wife, my sister, and she shows them to me to relieve the boredom.'
'Your brother-in ... Ah yes,' said the Earl. 'He assists the chamberlain, doesn't he?'
'Along those lines. We all have our ways and means.
Speaking of which, is there a purpose behind your visit, or is it truly just to comfort my convalescence?'
'That depends upon how sick you still are,'
