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Judith lifted her head “Hold me tight. It hurts less when you hold me.”
“Judith.” Rannulf hesitated. “’Tis late. We should sleep now.”
“Aye.” Judith made to pull him down beside her. She could feel his body stiffen, resisting her. “What’s the matter? Rannulf?” She was annoyed that he should hold back from her. She needed the comfort he gave her.
“’Tis not seemly,” came his stiff rely.
“Not seemly?” Judith was astounded. “Not seemly? But you are far older than I!”
“I’m twenty-one—” amusement entered his voice “—is that such a great age? Those knights were older still, and that would not have saved you from them!” he pointed out, more soberly.
“But they are monsters,” Judith said. “Invaders. Normans. I wish a thousand plagues on them. You are not like that. You are no Norman.”
“Judith, I must tell you—”
“Just hold me. Please, Rannulf. I hurt so.”
Rannulf could not see Judith through the gloom, but his ears were those of a hunter. They were trained to be sensitive to the slightest of sounds. He heard the quaver in Judith’s voice and capitulated. “Very well,” he replied lightly. “If you’ll try to sleep. Give me some of that cloak; I’m freezing out here.”
Light glimmered faintly from the east. A bird high in a tree cried out a note or two of his morning song.
Judith surfaced slowly from a deep sleep. She was warm. Unconsciously, she shifted closer to the body next to hers, and hugged it to her.
Deep in the Chase a dog barked. Another bird joined in the song.
Judith lifted her head, and turned curious eyes on the reassuring presence in whose arms she lay. Rannulf was still asleep. One strong arm fitted neatly around her waist. She discovered she was holding his other hand. She had no desire to move.
A grey light seeped round the edges of the leather curtain, and Judith studied Rannulf’s features. His brown hair was wavy and tousled. He wore it shorter than either of her brothers, but longer than was favoured by the Normans. A shadow of overnight stubble marked jaw and chin. His nose was straight, lips well shaped, and slightly parted to reveal strong, white teeth. He had the tanned skin of one who had spent most of the summer out of doors. To Judith’s uncritical eyes, he looked as handsome as a prince in a harper’s tale.
Only the red mark disfigured him. Judith slipped her hand free of his. Curious, she ran her finger the length of the weal, from cheekbone to dark stubble on his chin. Though her touch had been as light as the kiss of a butterfly’s wing, his eyes opened. He smiled. Judith’s cheeks burned.
“You’ve managed to appropriate all of the cloak,” Rannulf grumbled drowsily.
His eyes were startling at close range. Fringed with long, charcoal lashes they were not pure green, but were flecked with tints of brown and gold. Judith’s stomach tightened.
“I’m sorry.” She fumbled at the heavy folds of the cloak.
“’Tis early yet,” Rannulf yawned, and reached for her. He pulled her back into his arms, as casually as though he woke every day of the week with a strange girl in his arms. “Sleep awhile longer,” he murmured lazily. “I’ll go and catch us something to eat later.”
Judith was jerked into full consciousness by a rough hand shaking her shoulder.
“Judith!” a familiar voice called. “Judith! My God, Eadwold, she’s alive!”
“Saewulf!”
Judith looked into the clean-shaven face of her nineteen-year-old brother, smiled at the relief she saw written in his blue eyes, and threw herself into his arms. The resemblance between them was very marked.
Another voice, rougher than Saewulf’s, bawled through the opening.
“Out you come, sister. Have you no greeting for your eldest brother?”
Judith scrambled out of the hide, wondering where Rannulf had gone. He must be checking his snares—he’d said he’d go and find food. She hoped the Baron would not catch him poaching.
A dazzling shaft of morning sunlight pierced through the leafy canopy and fell on her face. She blinked up into the stern features of Eadwold. She made no effort to embrace him as she had her younger, best-loved brother.
“You’re unharmed, sister?” Eadwold demanded, hands on hips. “They didn’t…hurt you, did they?”
“Nay. They didn’t even see me. I was in the Chase. Have you seen Mother? Is she safe?”
“Safe enough. We took her to the Abbey.”
“Thank God,” Judith breathed, and the black misery that had her in its grip eased a little.
Eadwold’s face darkened.
Judith’s spirits plummeted again. Her giant of a brother was gazing past her, eyes narrowed in the way she recognised meant growing anger. She turned to see the cause of his wrath.
Saewulf emerged from the shelter, Rannulf’s cloak in hand. It was on this garment that Eadwold’s eyes were fixed.
Judith could see Eadwold assessing the worth of the cloak, hazarding a guess as to the identity of its owner. It did not look like the cloak of a Saxon…
Eadwold rounded on his sister. He was scratching his beard, face like thunder. Judith’s stomach began to churn—Eadwold was best avoided when he was in one of his rages.
“So…you were not harmed, sweet sister?” Eadwold ground out. His grey eyes chilled her to the marrow. “Found yourself a protector, did you?”
“Eadwold, I—”
“What fee did he claim, this protector of yours? What was the price of your safety?”
“Eadwold, Judith is but a child,” Saewulf protested, his face echoing the dawning horror on Judith’s.
“She’s old enough to shame our family,” Eadwold spat. “I am the head of our family now. I would rather see her dead with our father, than whore to save her skin!”
Judith felt as though a cloud had floated between her and the sun. “No! Eadwold, you do not understand.”
But Eadwold had seen her shiver. He stepped towards her and gripped her shoulder.
Something hard dug into Judith’s thigh. She glanced down. “You’re…you’re wearing father’s sword!” she stammered. “And Saewulf…he is armed too! Dear God, Eadwold, if the Baron’s men see you carrying weapons, there will be more trouble You know it’s against the law!”
“There’ll be trouble all right,” Eadwold growled. “Our days of meek submission are over. Yesterday saw to that. I have pledged myself to purge our land of these Norman parasites. My father will not die unavenged. I made an oath over his dead body. Those who block my path will die. I will destroy de Mandeville and all that’s his, or die trying.”
Eadwold’s towering form blotted out the trees. He was a man transformed. Judith scarcely recognised him. This was no ordinary rage. Eadwold had become a stranger, carried along by a surging tide of hatred, and she did not have the strength to swim against it.
Eadwold’s cold gaze dropped to Rannulf’s cloak.
Judith thought about Rannulf. She could see his extraordinary eyes crinkling at the corners, because he was smiling. She looked at her elder brother. The set of Eadwold’s jaw warned her not to confess that she had had a protector. He would never believe Rannulf had behaved honourably. Eadwold was out for revenge, and was like to wreak it on the first person who crossed his path. It was not going to be Rannulf.
Mentally, Judith compared Eadwold with Rannulf. Eadwold was big, over six feet tall—heavily built like a Viking warrior. He had long flaxen hair and a flowing beard in the old Saxon style. Rannulf was not so tall. Rannulf was no weakling, he had carried her easily enough, but he was not built in the same solid mould as Eadwold. She did not like to think of them fighting. She must get her brothers away. Before Rannulf came back with the food he had promised.
Judith cast her eyes around the fringes of the clearing. By the look of the light it was well past Matins. Rannulf could be back at any moment…
Eadwold saw her sidelong glance. His sword scraped clear of its scabbard. “Looking for your protector, sister mine?” Eadwold pressed the point against her breast. Their dead father’s ring gleamed on his finger.
“Eadwold, for the love of God!” Saewulf protested sharply.
The blade moved. Judith caught her breath and glanced down. A faint red mark began to blossom on the fabric of her gown. She forced her eyes to lift to meet her elder brother’s. His pupils were tiny black dots.
“I have no protector—” Judith declared in a voice that was as clear as a bell “—save perhaps my younger brother. Would you kill him, Eadwold, if he were to defend me?”
Eadwold glared into her eyes, and nodded as though satisfied with what he saw there. The sword withdrew.
Judith breathed again.
“No protector, eh?” Still Eadwold probed. “Then how came you to be safe here?”
Half the truth was better than none. “It was getting dark,” Judith told him. “I walked for some while before coming on this shelter.”
“’Tis a fine mantle for someone to leave behind so carelessly,” Saewulf commented.
“Aye,” Judith smiled, though she could have throttled Saewulf for harping on the damning garment. “But I was very grateful for its warmth this long night past. And now brothers, where are we going?” she asked brightly. “We cannot stay here.”
“That we can’t. We go on into the heart of the forest,” Eadwold declared.
“Into the forest?” Judith asked.
“Aye, we are outlaws now, Judith,” Saewulf pointed out.
“What?”
“Outlaws,” Eadwold repeated baldly. “You’re either for us, or against us.”
“But, Eadwold, think,” Judith objected. “There will be a price on your head—and anyone who helps you will be outlawed too.”
“With us, or against us,” Eadwold stressed. “You get the same choice, sister. But I tell you this, you side against us, and you are my sister no more. I will never speak to you again. You will be dead to me.”
“But…outlaws!” Judith rubbed her brow. “Eadwold, if you are caught, you will be hanged. Maybe tortured. That would kill Mother, as surely as if you’d stabbed her yourself. Is that what you want?” The light in Eadwold’s eyes told her he was beyond reason, but she had to try.
“Revenge is all I have left.” Eadwold sounded impatient. “Judith, those murderers have destroyed everything else. Now are you with us, or against us?”
Judith hesitated.
A rustling in the bushes brought three blond heads snapping round.
Judith could hardly bear to look, but it was not Rannulf, only a blackbird grubbing in the leaves. “W…with you, of course,” she replied hastily. “Aren’t you my family? Lead on, Eadwold. I will follow you.”
Eadwold scowled down, solid as a rock.
“Well?” She pulled at his huge hand. She must get Eadwold away. Sunlight dappled the ground, the dew had already evaporated…
“We will carry no maids in our band, Judith,” Eadwold said abruptly. “I’ll take you to Mother, for you cannot come with us. I am forming an army. An army of well-trained and disciplined men, dedicated to resisting Norman rule. His eyes gleamed. “’Twill be no common rabble. There will be no women to distract my men. No camp followers. Just warriors fighting together in the old Saxon tradition, fighting for justice for our people.”
“We cannot consign Judith to a nunnery, Eadwold!” Saewulf objected hotly.
Judith spread her hands in resignation. “I am a maid, Saewulf. What else is there for me?”
“Nay, Judith. You…a nun! “Tis unthinkable. Eadwold, we could disguise her. She could become a youth!”
Eadwold snorted.
“Aye. We could cut off her hair, short like a squire—” Saewulf warmed to his idea “—find her a boy’s tunic. Mother will not want her to waste away in a convent. I will teach her to throw a knife, use a bow—”
“She could never bend a bow!” Eadwold declared scornfully. “She lacks the muscle!”
“I will make her a smaller, more supple one. Judith…” Saewulf’s blue eyes pleaded.
Judith looked wildly at the shortening shadows cast by the sun rising inexorably towards its zenith. She was so desperate to leave the glade she would have agreed to face a pack of wolves single-handed. She did not want Rannulf’s blood on her conscience.
“I’ll do it,” she agreed. “Whatever you say. No one will know I’m a girl. I’ll heal your wounds; I’ll cook for you; I’ll even try to fight for you. I’ll put my hand to the wheel. If necessary I’ll die with you. Only please, let’s hurry.”
“Hurry?” Eadwold queried, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“Aye.” Judith tilted her chin. “I…I want to see Mother.”
Eadwold smiled for the first time that morning. “Good. I confess I did not want to lose my little sister. We’ll have to find a new name for you.” He slung his bundle over his broad shoulder, and stalked to the edge of the clearing.
“Why not Jude?” Saewulf suggested with a grin. “’Tis in part her real name.” He winked, and throwing Rannulf’s cloak at Judith, followed Eadwold into the thicket.
Judith stood irresolute. Now that her brothers were quitting the place, she acknowledged a reluctance to leave. Rannulf’s cloak weighed heavy in her hands. She smoothed the fur. She would have to take it with her, or Eadwold would suspect the worst.
She sighed. She did not want Rannulf to think her a thief. But better he think her a thief than die on her brother’s sword. Rannulf was no Norman. Had he not been kind to her? But it would not matter to Eadwold what race Rannulf belonged to. If Eadwold believed that Rannulf had dishonoured their family, that would be enough to condemn him.
Swinging Rannulf’s mantle round her shoulders, she frowned at the blood staining her gown. “If Eadwold had cut her, his sister, he would not hesitate to kill Rannulf if he thought he had cause.
Would Rannulf return and search for her? She wished she could tell him she was safe. But there was no way. Further contact would only put his life at risk.
Realising she was tarrying too long, Judith gathered up her skirts and followed her brothers into the heart of Mandeville Chase.
Chapter One
Summer, Four Years Later: The Island of Cyprus
Rannulf snatched off his helmet and ran his fingers through sweat-drenched hair, lifting it from his scalp in an effort to get cool. Waiting in the lee of the harbour wall, he was protected from the sea breezes, and that was the last thing he wanted protection from. He’d give half of his hard-won bezants for one refreshing blast of wind. The heat was almost unbearable.
He shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the ship unloading its human cargo on to the long wooden jetty that ran from ship to quayside. He was looking for passage home, but wanted nothing to do with slavers.
Perspiration trickled down Rannulf’s back. He eased his shoulders with a grimace and cursed the ship’s master who kept him waiting out here at noon, where there was no shade. He’d learnt that the sun could be as merciless a foe as any. He had taken to wearing a white robe over his coat of mail, and while this shielded him from the worst of the heat, he still felt as though he were being stewed alive inside a tin pot.
His eyes made another circuit of the harbour, and came to rest again on the bedraggled wretches who were emerging, blinking and filthy, from the hold of the slave ship.
