The Winter Mantle (39 page)

'She is hard on everyone.' Sybille darted a glance at the door to make sure that Judith was not within hearing range, 'and twice as hard on herself.' She looked at him. 'I do not think that you are here to cushion that hardness, my lord.'

'I am here,' Simon said, 'because the King has given me orders, and because I would have to be without ambition to ignore them. I cannot help your mistress if she will not help herself.'

'I doubt that she knows how,' Sybille said. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity - too much of it.

'Will you go and bring wine, or do I have to summon one of my men to do so?' Simon said, more curtly than he had intended.

A glimmer of resentment flared in Sybille's eyes. 'No,' she said, 'I will fetch it. But just remember that I once swatted you around the ears for filching fig pastries from Countess Adelaide's table.' Her nose in the air, she left on her errand.

Rubbing his brow where a headache was beginning to throb, Simon turned back into the room.

Judith was standing near the embrasure, gazing down at the sheets of vellum in her hand. She had obviously read the contents for her expression would have crusted hell's cauldron in ice.

'It is not to be borne,' she said with controlled fury.

Simon lowered his hand and wrapped it round his belt. It would not do to show her how tired he was. 'I can see that this news has come as an unwelcome shock, my lady,' he said. 'But I urge you to reconcile yourself to what has to be.'

'Never,' Judith said vehemently.

Simon knew it was futile, but still he spoke out, because he had promised. 'If you wish to remain in your position, there is nothing to prevent you, should you consent to be my wife.'

The words struck the air like fiery brands and Simon could almost feel their heat scorch his face. Rufus had set the condition when bestowing the earldom. See the women safe and provided for. Give Judith the opportunity of remarriage while there was still sap in her body, while she was still young enough to bear more children.

'Should I consent to become your wife?' she repeated, and looked him up and down as if he was some loathsome thing that had just crawled out from under a stone. 'If you are not jesting, then your wits are deranged.'

'I am neither in jest, nor lacking in wit,' Simon said quietly. 'Marriage to me would vouchsafe your status and enhance mine. You are still of childbearing age. I can fulfil the military obligations that Rufus requires. It would suit us both, if you could find it within you to swallow your pride and be civil.'

'I can find nothing within me but contempt,' Judith said. In her face he saw a revulsion so strong that it cut him to the quick. He was not accustomed to that look from women.

'You think me beneath you?' he asked. 'You think me damaged goods and lacking in the esteem by which you set so much store?'

Judith's lip curled. 'I swore when my first husband betrayed me that I would not wed again. I lusted after Waltheof Siwardsson, and it gained me naught but grief. No man is worth the price. I put my faith in God.'

'So you refuse my offer?'

The curve of her smile was thin as a whip. 'I throw it in your face,' she said.

Sybille entered the room bearing a flagon and two cups. 'Here we are,' she said cheerfully.

'Sir Simon is leaving,' Judith said without looking at her maid.

Simon narrowed his eyes. Crossing to Sybille, he took one of the cups and the flagon and poured himself a measure of wine. 'When I am ready,' he said, 'and only as far as the hall. What you do is your decision, my lady, but what I do is your cousin's. By all means keep this chamber, I will find one of my own, but let us be in no doubt as to who has the reins of governance here from now on.'

Judith glared at him and he knew that if looks could have killed he would have died there and then. He returned her stare, his expression impassive, but he could feel the heavy, swift bumping of his heart in his throat. Without taking his gaze from hers, he raised the cup to his lips and drank with slow, symbolic deliberation.

Judith held her ground, but he could see that she was trembling with the effort - or perhaps it was just with anger. He finished the wine, set the cup down on the coffer and sauntered to the door. 'Think on what I have said, my lady,' he said. 'Swallowing pride may be difficult, but living off it will be more difficult still.'

'You have my answer,' Judith said stiffly. 'I would rather go forth in rags than pledge myself to you.'

'Let us hope it does not come to the test,' Simon said with a sardonic curve of his lips and left the room.

Her control had the strength of iron. He was half expecting to hear a cup or a candlestand crash against the doorpost or whistle past his head, but there was only silence.

As Simon walked away he was hit by the same reaction that came upon him after facing the danger of battle. His legs turned to water and his vision blurred. Pivoting from the walkway, he braced himself against the wall and vomited until his throat was on fire and his stomach aching, but although he had rid himself of the wine the sensation of malaise remained and intensified.

Gasping, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He would have slumped down against the welcome support of the painted timber, but he dared not lest Judith emerge from her chamber and find him thus. He knew he was in no condition to face the crowd in the great hall and impose his will. First, he needed to gather that will go and hold it together.

A cool draught blew across his face, chilling the sweat on his brow. He opened his eyes and glanced out of the narrow embrasure. The walkway faced an inner courtyard and he could see the greenery and floral colours of a well-tended garden. With lurching steps, one hand pressed to his aching stomach, Simon sought the respite of its sanctuary.

Matilda was beginning to feel anxious. There was still no sign of her mother and she had exhausted all topics of conversation with their visitors. The flagons had been replenished and the griddlecakes were a memory of crumbs. There was no sign of Simon de Senlis either, and the knights at the high table were growing restless.

What should she do? Matilda had no precedent. She also had no idea why Simon de Senlis was here. Amid the polite conversation, there had been no hints beyond that first comment that they would be in Northampton for at least a week.

She turned to Aubrey de Mar. 'If you and your lord are to remain here for a sennight, then sleeping arrangements must be prepared. By your leave I will go and attend to the matter.'

The knight made an open-handed gesture. 'By all means my lady.' His expression was an odd mingling of relief and anxiety. She could see that he was glad to relinquish the burden of polite conversation and plainly concerned by the absence of his lord.

As she left Jude scrambled from her own place on the bench, agitated at the notion of being left behind to continue the entertainment. 'Where's Mama?' she hissed, seizing Matilda's arm. 'What is she doing?'

Matilda shook her head. 'Likely in her chamber talking to Simon de Senlis about the matter that has brought them here,' she said.

'What do you think it is?'

'I do not know, but it must be important. From what I could glean from Sir Aubrey, Simon de Senlis is one of the new king's most trusted men.' She gave Jude's hand a reassuring squeeze, as much for her own benefit as her sister's. 'If these men are to spend several nights here, the most important will need beds making up. I must have the keys to the linen coffer, and Mama keeps them on her belt.'

'She will be angry if you disturb her,' Jude warned nervously.

Matilda shrugged. 'She is always angry for one reason or another. What difference will it make?'

They had been passing a window embrasure as they spoke. Matilda stopped abruptly and took a back step. There was a stranger in her garden, seated on the turf bench beneath her apple tree. Even from a distance she could see that he was wearing mail and a sword. His head was thrown back in a posture of utter weariness and his arms were folded across his chest. A pang of resentment shot through her that he should be in her place but mingled with it were anticipation and sudden breathlessness. It had to be Simon de Senlis. He was no longer with her mother, but for some reason had chosen the solitude of her garden above the company of the hall.

Matilda gave her sister a gentle push in the direction of their mother's chamber. 'Go to Mama, and ask her about the linens,' she said. 'I will join you presently.'

Jude looked alarmed. 'Why? Where are you going?'

'To speak with Simon de Senlis,' Matilda replied, and, before the impulse could desert her, she turned towards the steps that led down to the courtyard.

Her sister gnawed her lip, hesitated, and then continued towards their mother's chambers, where the very worst that could happen was a scolding.

At the garden gate Matilda hesitated. The need that had carried her thus far suddenly flickered and threatened to turn into a feeling of foolishness. She should not become embroiled. She should be a dutiful daughter of the house and seek her mother's bidding. What was she going to say to the man who was occupying the shade of her apple tree?

However, the double measure of stubbornness and courage she had inherited from both parents renewed her impetus. She opened the gate and fastened the rope latch behind her with resolution.

Her tread was purposeful but it was also quiet, for she wanted the advantage of observing him before he should notice her. She brushed past the lavender bushes, leaving a trail of scent in her wake, and walked along the paths that led to a second, smaller gate and the inner garden with its turf seats, rose trellis and vine arbour.

Simon de Senlis had not stirred from his position on the bench beneath the apple tree. His arms were still folded and his legs were stretched out, barring the path. She noticed that the waxed thread on one of his shoes was coming unstitched and that his chausses, although of excellent quality, bore the dusty appearance of hard travel. Whatever had happened between him and her mother, the Countess had not seen fit to offer him the courtesy of refreshing himself.

His eyes were closed, the lids lined with dense brown lashes tipped gold at the ends. Matilda could not tell if he were asleep or just resting, but she took the opportunity to examine the thin, clever features. His jaw was outlined in dark stubble and his brown hair was sun-bleached to blond on top, revealing that he had spent the summer months outdoors. Unlike the sheriff and the blunt men of his garrison, he did not resemble a Norman reaver. There was evidence of neither bulk nor breadth. A courtier, perhaps, she thought. But he was not dressed like a courtier either.

It was only after she had perused him thoroughly that she noticed he was sitting on his cloak and belatedly realised at what she was looking. The lustre of white fur against a background of blue wool trapped her eyes and filled them until they overflowed. Through a blur of moisture, she remembered being wrapped in the warmth and security of that cloak, remembered being encompassed in her father's love. It was a memory as sharp as it was distant, and made all the more powerful in her life by the fact that it was one of the few she had of him.