time we all need.'
'Given different circumstances,' Alicia said with a side-long look at Guyon, 'there would have been no arrangement at all , would there?'
Lost for a reply, Miles lifted his cup and drank.
Guyon looked at the girl to whom he had just bound himself in Ravenstow's freezing chapel, his vows committing him to her protection for the rest of his life, no matter how short that might now be.
Her own voice making the responses had been tremulous and more than once swallowed in tears.
He had felt the daggers in men's eyes as they witnessed his marriage. Arnulf of Pembroke had barely been civil in greeting and Walter de Lacey was sneeringly hostile. Judith's face was turned towards him, awaiting the sacrificial kiss of tradition. The high cheekbones gave a distinctly feline expression to her eyes, which were a peculiar mingling of brown upon grey like water in spate.
Dear Christ, what had he sold himself into?
Probably an early grave, he thought as he slipped his arm around her waist. She was rigid and trembling beneath the glowing green damask. It was a grown woman's gown cladding the thin frame of a child and he knew that he could no more bed with her tonight than he could with one of his nieces. He kissed her cheek as he would a vassal, the touch brief and impersonal. Her skin smelled faintly of rosewater, and her hair of the rosemary and camomile in which it had been washed for the wedding.
Judith shuddered at the contact and Guyon immediately released her. Together they turned to receive the congratulations of the guests and witnesses; few in number because of the hasty arrangements, to Judith they seemed a claustrophobic throng.
The entire occasion for her was a nightmare endured through a fog. Sporadically the mist would lift to reveal a sharply coloured tableau with herself bound victim at its centre. The awful moment when the dog had sent her flying, her arrival at the chapel, the faces turned towards her, their expressions stamped with speculation, with pity, with predatory greed. Now, clearly, she could see her hand resting upon her husband's dark sleeve, her wedding ring of Welsh gold proclaiming his ownership. She was as much his property now as his horse or that dog, to be used and abused as he chose.
The guests mingled in the great hall . Below the dais they danced in honour of the bride and groom. Guyon watched his new wife perform the steps with one of Ravenstow's neighbours. Ralph de Serigny was another of de Belleme's vassals, a thoroughly disagreeable, parsimonious old ferret who, according to Alicia, was only here in order to eat and drink at another's expense. As his borders marched with Ravenstow's on the Welsh boundary, it had been necessary to invite him lest he take offence. His wife, apparently, was dull -witted and had been left at home tended by her women. At least, Guyon thought half smiling, if Ralph de Serigny was only here to eat, drink and escape his wife, he was a deal more welcome than certain others claiming the right of hospitality at his wedding.
The dance progressed and Judith was passed on to the arm of her uncle, Arnulf de Montgomery.
He had a nose like a pitted stone and possessed a dour, unsmiling character. De Montgomery had none of Robert de Belleme's charisma or genius but was the owner of a low, dull cunning. Not having the inventiveness to scheme, he was sufficiently shrewd to attach himself to the plots of others if there was benefit to himself - a man to be watched from the eye corners, frank confrontation not being his style. But how did one look before and behind and to the side at one and the same time?
De Montgomery swept his niece into the clutch of Walter de Lacey who was waiting at the end of the line. The younger man pulled her against his lean body, caught her wrist and turned her around. Judith's face wore a fixed smile. His hand lingered at her waist and he murmured something against her ear.
'More oil than you'd find in an entire olive grove,' muttered the Earl of Chester from the corner of his mouth. Guyon glanced round and up. Hugh d'Avrenches, known as Hugh le Gros on account of his enormous height and girth, was the ugliest man Guyon had ever seen and even now, long acquaintance had not bred the indifference of familiarity.
He had small , hooded eyes of watery pale blue.
His cheeks were pendulous red-veined jowls and his mouth was small and soft with a sweet, surprisingly childlike smile, the similarity enhanced by the gap where his two upper front teeth were missing. He cultivated a jolly, bumbling personality to match his gross figure and the unwary stepped in, never thinking of the dangers lurking beneath the shallows. A good friend, an implacable enemy.
'Enough to slip his feet from under him, I would say,' Guyon agreed.
Hugh d'Avrenches folded his arms and regarded Guyon with a twinkling stare. 'Good soldier, though. He led a competent command on the Mon campaign.'
Guyon's lip curled. 'He also amused himself with torture and the rape of girls not old enough to be women.'
The Earl shrugged. 'We all have our own little foibles and sometimes tortured men can be made to sing a very pretty tune.'
Guyon's nostrils flared. 'Yes,' he said without inflection.
Chester laid a hand on Guyon's shoulder. 'Son, you're too finicky and you can't afford the luxury of principles in the present company.'
Guyon watched Walter de Lacey set his hands on Judith's hips and swing her round. The stiff smile on her face threatened to shatter. 'I realise that. De Lacey offered for the girl himself shortly before her father was killed; he had de Belleme's sanction to the suit.'
Chester pursed his soft, small lips. 'Did he so?'
He eyed the dancers with interest. 'He'll bear watching then, because it doesn't look as though he's willing to concede you the victory.'
Guyon turned and his gaze narrowed in anger.
The music had finished on a flourish and Walter de Lacey had pulled Judith hard to his chest and was kissing her passionately on the mouth, one hand roving and probing the curve of her buttocks. Guyon swore, thrust his wine into the Earl's hastily held out paw and stalked across the room to reclaim his bride.
'The privilege is mine, I believe,' he said icily as he forced himself between de Lacey and Judith. 'I do not want the wedding guests to confuse the identity of the bridegroom.'
De Lacey bestowed on Guyon a snarled smile.
'I doubt they are in any confusion, my lord. Be welcome to the wench while you have the wherewithal.'
'And guard yours if you wish to keep it intact, and mind with whom you drink.' He snapped his fingers at the musicians, who fumbled and then struck up a lively
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. 'I cannot,' she muttered. 'My lord, I ... I think I am going to ...' She clapped her hand to her mouth.
Her face reflected the green of her gown.
Taking her arm, Guyon propelled her out of the hall , ignoring salacious remarks and concerned enquiries alike.
Outside it had begun to snow. Judith leaned miserably against the wall of the forebuilding and vomited until her stomach was empty and her muscles ached. The feel of de Lacey's tongue slithering slug-like around her mouth had filled her with shuddering revulsion. She could still taste him, feel his hand digging into her buttocks, forefinger slyly probing, and the hard thrust of his pelvis against her belly and loins. It had been horrible. Tonight she must endure that and worse in her marriage bed.
'Did he hurt you?'
She shook her head, unable to speak.
'There are always men like him,' her new husband said contemptuously. 'It was thrown down to me by way of a challenge. I am sorry that he chose to use you as his gage.'
Judith bit her lip and wished that he would go away. The snow floated down.
'You need not be afraid of me, child,' he said gently. 'I will do you no harm.'
'I am not a child!' she snarled at him, jerking away. Sleeving her eyes, she wondered if he would hit her.
He touched her shoulder. 'I know it is hard for you.'
Judith raised her chin. 'Do you, my lord?' she demanded flatly.
