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“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 swore under his breath. “And who am I fleeing from? The Normans?” he sounded bitter.
“Aye. Who else?”
“Who else indeed? Do you still nurse a hatred against all their race?” he enquired, staring intently at his sandals.
“I do. I shall never forget that a Norman murdered my father. Never forgive it. And my mother died too.”
Rannulf’s head came up.
“The Baron did not actually use a sword on her—though he might as well have done. My mother was granted sanctuary by the Abbot. She did not see the month out. She had been ill, but it was the Baron who caused her death. She died of a broken heart.”
“And you hate every Norman alive?”
Judith nodded. “Devils every one,” she confirmed “They contaminate God’s earth. If I could call down a pestilence to eliminate them all, I would.
“Baron Hugo oppresses our people. Justice is a thing of the past. You must know that, Rannulf. You must have seen what was going on before you left. De Mandeville disinherited the true heirs to the land, and ever since then he’s done whatever he pleases.” And recently, since Lady de Mandeville’s death, Judith thought, the Baron’s activities had made the Devil seem angelic.
“I believe that the sole reason I’m here in this—” Judith choked “—in this…place, is because the Baron must have found out I knew about his squalid deals with the slavers. He knew I’d denounce him to the Abbot. Why, if someone cut out his black heart and fed it to the swine—I’d bless them for it!”
“Judith—” Rannulf shoved his hand through his hair and gave her a despairing look.
Judith stiffened. “My language offends you?”
Rannulf shook his head. “Nay. But…Judith, you cannot blame all of his race.”
Judith lifted her chin and maintained a stony silence.
Rannulf sighed. “Is there no forgiveness to be found in your heart?”
“Not for any Norman.”
He smiled. “I do not believe you. I do not believe you could be so narrow.”
Judith shrugged.
“Take care, Judith, lest your heart turn to stone,” Rannulf warned. “It would seem I misread you, all those years ago. I thought you a gentle, delicate maid—”
“I’ve changed,” Judith declared flatly. “I’ve had to. Living as I’ve had to would change anyone.”
Rannulf’s green eyes caught hers.
Judith felt her cheeks grown warm. It was as though he would see into her soul. She wriggled on her cushion, and tore her eyes away. “Rannulf…you must agree de Mandeville is worse than any plague? Do you not know what has been happening?”
Rannulf ran his hand round the back of his neck. “I’ve been away too long. I left England for the crusade very soon after your f…after we last saw each other. I was led to believe that the Baron had reformed. I was told he was ruling with wisdom and justice. I wanted to believe those reports.”
Judith snorted. “Wisdom! Justice! That man doesn’t know the meaning of the words! Don’t glower at me like that, Rannulf. Oh, I don’t want to talk about Baron Hugo,” she sighed. “I’ve had enough of coming to blows over him in the past. I’ll worry about him when I get back home—if I ever do.” Tears pricked behind her eyes. She averted her head, and sank her teeth into her bottom lip, but, even so, her eyes swam.
For a few moments she had forgotten the reality of her situation. She was a prisoner in a House of Pleasure. Misery engulfed her. Would she ever see England again? A tear trailed down her cheek. She tried chewing her forefinger. A second tear followed the path of the first.
Rannulf pulled her hand from her mouth. “You will return. I shall help you,” he promised, squeezing her hand.
Her shaming tears forgotten, Judith stared at him, and tried not to cling too hard to his hand. “You…you can get me home?”
Gentle fingertips brushed away her tears. Rannulf nodded. “Of course. Why do you think I am here?”
Judith went scarlet.
Rannulf’s eyes crinkled, but he chose not to tease her. “First, we’ll sneak you out of this place.” He raised a brow. “I take it you’ll accept my assistance?”
“Accept? Oh, aye. I accept,” Judith blurted eagerly. “But how? It won’t be easy.”
“You’re right. It won’t be easy. But, then, if something’s worth having, it’s worth fighting for, is it not?”
There was a strange edge to his voice. She shot him a sharp glance under her lashes, but his expression was bland.
“I tried to arrange your escape for tonight,” Rannulf informed her. “But it wasn’t possible in the short time I had. You’ll have to stay here another night.”
Her heart dropped like a stone. “But that would mean me spending another whole day here. They might find me another…another…” She gulped and tried again. “What I mean is, I might have to…”
Rannulf was at her side in a moment. Judith’s hand met his halfway. Long, brown fingers closed over hers. His eyes were very dark.
“It seems you’ll make a beggar of me yet, Judith,” he declared. “I’ll pay for the pleasure of your company till we can get you out.”
Judith gripped his fingers. Green eyes were smiling into hers, but there was something oddly intent about his face that made her stomach flutter.
“Do you agree, my maid?”
“My thanks,” Judith mumbled. She closed her eyes. Why was it that relief made one weak? She knew she should force her fingers to free Rannulf’s hand. He was too close. She felt strangely disoriented. It must be the after-effects of the drug.
She felt him lift her hand, turn it palm uppermost, felt a light pressure on her palm that might have been a kiss, and her eyes snapped open.
She was too late. Rannulf had released her, and turned to the table, and she was scowling at his back. “Don’t do that!”
“Do what?” Rannulf enquired innocently over his shoulder. “What did I do?”
Judith flushed.
“Some wine, my lady?” Rannulf held out a goblet.
He was mocking her. “You know I’m not a lady, and I’m certainly not yours!” she snapped.
Rannulf put his hand on his heart. “I can live in hope, can I not?”
“Oh, you’re impossible!” Judith snatched at the cup, but felt the beginnings of a smile tremble on her lips. “If it weren’t for the fact that I need you, I’d wish you to the Devil!”
“But you do need me,” he pointed out.
“Aye.” Judith stared moodily at the blood-red wine in her cup. She hated being beholden to anyone. She valued her independence above all else. That was why she’d chosen to go with her brothers instead of taking up the veil…
Something Rannulf had said stirred uneasily in her mind. She looked at him. There was no tactful way of asking this. “Rannulf, how much did you have to pay for me?” she asked bluntly.
Rannulf spluttered on his wine.
Cheeks aflame, Judith ploughed on. “I…I have no means of repaying you,” she explained stiffly. “And I…I would not see you beggared.” She pulled on a cushion tassel, and twisted the silken skeins round her fingers.
There was a dreadful silence, and Judith knew she had blundered. Rannulf’s face darkened.
“Maybe I should take what I’ve paid for,” he said in a hard, stranger’s voice. “Then there would be no talk of debts.”
Judith caught her breath. She lifted her eyes. “Rannulf, I’m sorry…”
Rannulf was favouring her with a glance which all but scorched her flimsy clothes from her body. His hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles gleamed white. Judith squared her shoulders and wrestled with a sudden impulse to move out of his reach.
“You wouldn’t. Not you, Rannulf.” she forced a smile.
“Can you be sure of that?” he demanded coldly.
“Aye. I think I can. The Rannulf that looked after me four years ago would never force—”
“Ah, but as you so rightly pointed out, my princess—” Judith bristled. The slaver had called her that in the market. Did Rannulf have to fling it at her as though it were a weapon? A dark brow arched “—times have changed since then. I am a mercenary coming home from the wars. I have bought your beautiful body…” His eyes glittered as he looked at her.
“But it would be wrong. I do not want—”
“I am to all intents and purposes a mercenary, Judith. I came on this crusade to earn my way in life. Do you think a mercenary should care for justice any more than Baron Hugo de Mandeville and his Norman compatriots?”
Judith put her hand to her head. “Rannulf…I’m sorry. I should not have said it. Please do not be angry—”
Rannulf did not hear her. “Do you loathe mercenaries as much as you despise Normans, Judith?”
“I…I didn’t know you were a mercenary,” she stammered, wishing there were some way she could reach him, but his anger was a wall between them.
His mouth twisted. “Mercenaries place themselves beyond what it good and right, Judith. Money is their master. That is their right and wrong. They have no moral code. That is what I have become. I tell you now, so you know. I am no better than an outlaw.”
Judith tensed She was an outlaw…
“So why should I not take you if I want?” Rannulf continued. “I have, as you say, paid for you. And by the laws that operate in this place that gives me the right.”
“I don’t believe you!” Judith flared. “You would not. And you’re no mercenary.”
“My lord Fitz Osbern paid me to come on crusade in his entourage,” Rannulf told her. “So what does that make me?”
Judith began to relax. That hard, glittering light was fading from his eyes. “Outlaws do not lack morals—” she’d learned to press home any slight advantage “—it may not be the official moral code, but a code there most certainly is. Even mercenaries must have a code—they must be loyal to the paymaster, or no one would hire them. Mercenaries and outlaws have to know right from wrong. They must abide by their own laws.”
“How do you suddenly know so much about outlaws?”
“I know because…because…” Judith floundered under his penetrating green gaze. She’d walked right into a mire.
Four years of learning to guard her tongue had made its mark on her. An instinctive wariness stopped her tongue running on any more. Even here, she must be careful of what she said about Eadwold and his warriors. If all went well, Rannulf would take her back to the Chase. She shifted her ground. “I know because I want to believe you will not hurt me,” she finished. She knew it was lame and that she sounded feeble, but it was that or risk damaging her brothers’ cause.
Rannulf’s eyes softened. “No, I’d never harm you,” he confirmed. “But there must be no more talk of what you owe me. You owe me nothing.” His tone reminded her of the one Eadwold used when he was not willing to brook any argument. Then Rannulf smiled and it took the sting out of his words.
