Leaves On The Wind. Carol Townend
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not unpleasant.
She nibbled at her bread and continued to study him covertly, crumbling her portion in her fingers. His flowing white robe was firmly belted round his waist. His frame was not large, he carried no extra weight, and with a trained fighter’s eye Judith guessed he would be no easy man to best in combat. There was a hidden strength about him, a tension, a feeling of power held in control. And if it was unleashed?
Judith would not wish him to be her enemy.
An enamelled knife with a wicked, curving blade hung at his belt. No wonder she had failed to recognise him. His attire was nothing like that of the young English poacher who had helped her escape the Norman tyrant and his knights.
“Have you finished shredding that bread, or are you going to destroy the whole loaf, Judith?”
She started. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.” She looked askance at the crumbs she had scattered over board and floor.
“Murderous thoughts, by the look of what you have done to that innocent loaf!”
“I…I was wondering…”
“Aye?”
Judith coloured She crushed the crust to nothing. “In…in Mandeville Chase, when we last met, did you ever come back to the hide? I often wondered.”
“Aye. I did. I’d snared a plump hare for us to feast on. But you’d gone. I saw other tracks around the shelter, but no signs of a struggle, so I assumed your brothers had found you. To be certain, I followed the tracks for about a mile and then I found…”
“Go on,” Judith urged.
“I found evidence that you’d been murdered.”
“But, Rannulf, as you see, I wasn’t murdered.”
“Aye.” Rannulf reached across the table and peeled her fingers from what was left of the loaf. He raised them to his lips.
Judith’s fingers felt strange. Hot all over, she wrenched them away. “Don’t do that,” she scowled. She knew she had nothing to fear from Rannulf. But he unsettled her.
Four years surviving as a youth in Mandeville Chase had taught Judith how to fight and claw for her life, but she’d learnt nothing of what it was to be a woman. She was all but naked in the gossamer silks that purported to clothe her, and felt desperately vulnerable.
“I did but salute your beauty, my lady,” Rannulf smiled.
“I don’t like it.”
Rannulf lifted a dark brow. “My apologies. I did not realise you were averse to a harmless flirtation. I merely thought to get some return on all the money I have expended for the privilege of spending this night with you.”
“All night. You will be with me all night?” Judith seized eagerly on his words. “There are to be no others, only you?”
He bowed his head. “You will be plagued by none but me till dawn touches the east and lights the sky with her rosy fingers.”
Relief washed through her. “Oh.”
“You are displeased by this?” Rannulf asked lightly. “I thought to save you from unwelcome…er…attentions.”
“Displeased? Nay, I’m not displeased,” Judith assured him hastily.
“You might express it a little more fervently,” Rannulf complained. “Try saying, ‘My thanks, Rannulf, for spending nearly all your money on coming to me in Balduk’s House.’ ’Tis not a place I usually haunt, whatever you may care to say.”
“Rannulf, I…” Judith said earnestly. Then she saw that light in his eyes. “Oh, you wretch!” She took aim, and a chunk of bread flew across the table. Rannulf ducked, and the missile sailed into the shadows.
Judith found herself smiling, and realised Rannulf’s teasing was making this easier for her. She warmed to him. “Tell me what it was you found in the Chase that made you think I’d been murdered,” she said.
“With pleasure. As I just told you, I followed your tracks, and eventually stumbled across a little bundle of clothing stuffed into the roots of a tree. It was your blue robe, I recognised it at once. There was blood on the bodice—”
“Eadwold cut me.”
“Eadwold? A friend? Surely a friend would not do such a thing?”
“My brother,” Judith told him shortly. She could not talk about him. “I understand now—” she drew Rannulf’s attention back to her gown “—you thought I’d been killed because of the bloodstains.”
“Aye. But the gown was not all I found. While I was examining the marks on your gown, something fell out among the tree-roots—your hair. Long strands of beautiful blonde hair lying like golden rope on the forest floor.”
Judith giggled. “You sound like a troubadour.”
“I have at least made you smile. You should do it more often. It suits you. To continue.” He put his hand over his heart and grinned. “What could I think but that my fair Saxon damsel had been foully done to death, and there in my hands was the evidence? I was heart-broken.” Rannulf heaved an exaggerated sigh. “But there was worse to come.”
“Yet more?” Judith laughed, and refilled his goblet with wine.
“Aye. For it was then that I realised the full extent of the bitter blow that Fate had dealt me,” he said dramatically. “I had lost my cloak. My finest and best—the warmest cloak I had ever possessed—gone forever. Not only had those evil churls killed the young maiden whom I’d taken into my charge, but they’d also purloined my cloak!”
“What did you do next?” she asked.
“What, after weeping over my mantle?”
“Aye. After the wailing and gnashing of teeth. What then?”
“I took the evidence—your gown and shorn locks—with me and confronted Hugo.”
“What, you went to the Baron?” Judith exclaimed, her eyes opening wide.
“The same. I wanted to know if he knew anything about your death,” Rannulf explained, as if confronting the Baron was a perfectly natural thing to do.
“Nay. He’d have killed you! What did you really do?”
Rannulf met her disbelieving gaze squarely. “As I said. I confronted Baron Hugo with what I thought was the evidence…”
“You expect me to believe that you accused Baron Hugo of killing me, and lived to tell the tale?” Judith demanded incredulously.
“Of course.” He gave her an impenetrable look. “We both saw him at your cottage. He seemed the most likely suspect. I wondered if perhaps he’d decided to eliminate the whole family. I had to find out.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Do? Why nothing. Except he managed to produce a witness to testify that he couldn’t have had anything to do with your death.” Rannulf raised his goblet to her. “As you see, I live to drink to your beautiful eyes.”
His drinking vessel was fashioned from beaten copper. It glowed in the flickering light.
Rannulf drank deep. His face changed, he lowered the cup and frowned into it.
“Don’t you like the wine?” Judith asked.
“The wine’s good enough.”
“What’s the matter then? You look—”
“Judith, who do you think I am?”
She grimaced at his curt tone. “A Saxon poacher who, like many of his countrymen, has had to flee the country and take refuge abroad,” she answered confidently. “You’re a poacher from the Chase.”
Rannulf