The Winter Mantle (8 page)

Simon nodded rather dubiously. 'I will try,' he said, speaking more out of a desire to please Waltheof than out of any enthusiasm of his own.

'Good lad. I…'

More footsteps trod on the stairs, lightly this time. Simon knew them, and so did Waltheof, for eagerness blazed in his eyes as he turned expectantly to the door. The boy wondered what Duke William would say if he knew about these meetings between his niece and the English earl. Now that the court was moving on it would not be so simple for them to be alone.

'I cannot stay,' she said more breathlessly than the stair climb warranted. 'My mother is waiting below, but I came to bring Simon a parting gift.' She approached the bed. Waltheof moved aside, deliberately brushing past her so that her long, dark braid touched the back of his hand. She drew a swift breath and her colour heightened.

Simon looked at the coverlet. Lady Judith made him feel uncomfortable. She did not have Waltheof's easy manner. When she spoke to him it was always as if she was struggling to know what to say and her movements were stiff and unnatural. He knew that she felt guilty about his injury and all that really brought her to visit him was the lure of being with Waltheof.

'We were packing the chests to leave and I found this,' she said, giving Simon a rolled-up band of linen a little less than a foot wide. I thought that you might find it preferable to looking at the bare wall all day and we are not going to miss it among all the others.'

It was a hanging embroidered in wool and depicting the story of how the Normans had arrived in France and claimed the land for their own. Warriors and horses came to life in gold and green, scarlet blue and tawny. As he unfolded it, Simon was astonished and delighted. The first smile in days spread across his face as he touched the procession of figures and the scenes they created. He looked at Judith with genuine pleasure in his eyes, all resentment gone. 'Thank you, my lady.'

Her own lips curved in a stilted but no less genuine response. 'You like it?'

'Oh yes, my lady!'

'Then I am glad, and it was the least I could do. Next time I see you, I hope that you will be walking.' With a nod, she went to the door. Gesturing to Simon that he would return in a moment, Waltheof hastened after Judith.

The boy gazed upon the colourful pictures spread across his coverlet. He could almost smell the crisp autumn day of a boar-hunting scene, imagine the clash of spears as Frenchman met Viking, hear the hiss of the sea beneath a longboat's keel. It did not make up for being left behind in Fècamp, but suddenly life was that tiny piece more bearable.

Waltheof caught Judith on the narrow walkway to the stairs. 'That was very kind of you,' he said in a voice that was melting with pride and tenderness.

Judith faced him, her chin bearing a slightly defensive tilt. 'It was the voice of my conscience,' she said.

He shook his head and looked slightly exasperated. 'Why can you never admit to gentler emotions?' he demanded. 'Ah Judith, you're as fierce as a goshawk.' He raised his hand to stroke her face. 'I have never known a woman like you… never wanted one so much either.'

'You should not…" she began to say, but he set his forefinger to her lips.

'I know what I should and should not,' he said, 'but knowing is not always the same as doing, is it? You realise that this is the last time we will be able to meet as freely as this.'

'Perhaps that is a good thing,' she croaked. 'It cannot be right without the consent of my uncle. If my mother knew… Oh!' She gasped, her words cut off as he pulled her against him and lowered his mouth to hers.

Twin strands of heat and cold prickled along Judith's spine as he kissed her. She knew that she ought to struggle, slap him, scream for help, but she did none of these things. She was overwhelmed to the point of intoxication by the scent of him, by the strength and gentleness of his hands, and by the disturbing but pleasurable sensations that the kiss was engendering.

The tin of his tongue lightly brushed her lips encouraging them to part. One hand slipped from her waist to lightly cup her buttocks and pull her in closer. Judith felt a hard pressure against her belly, and knew immediately what it was. Innocent she might be, but her maid Sybille was not, and she had not been slow to share her wisdom with her mistress.

'Just so long as your skirts stay down and his cock doesn't leave his braies, you're safe!' Sybille had giggled. Judith had pretended to be horrified, but behind her scolding had been avid to know more. Now the experience, the sensations were of the body, not just the curious mind. She knew that she was failing to resist temptation but found that she almost did not care. All that mattered was being closer still. Her arms slipped around his waist and her lips parted.

Waltheof groaned and the sound filled her mouth and throat, enhancing her sensations. She wanted to answer him, but held on to the impulse, afraid of what would happen if she let go. Nothing that Sybille had told her had prepared her for this. Nothing.

The kiss finally broke, leaving them both gasping for breath. Judith hastily took a back step, knowing that she had to put distance between herself and Waltheof while she was still capable.

'Perhaps it is time that your mother did know,' he said, his eyes bright and narrow. 'I must have you, Judith.'

She licked her lips, tasted him there, and felt a mingling of fear and pleasure. No man had ever made her feel like this before — but then no man had ever taken such liberties. 'I do not know if that can be,' she whispered.

'I will make it be,' Waltheof replied in a tone that was no longer light with laughter.

They both stiffened at the scrape of feet on the steps below, 'Judith?' Her mother's voice was querulous with impatience.

Judith gave a single, frightened gasp then steadied herself. Gesturing Waltheof to stay back and remain silent, she started down the steps. 'I am here, Mother,' she called. Her hands were shaking, her lips felt swollen. As she descended the steps, she was aware of slick moisture between her thighs and a dull ache in her loins, reminiscent of flux pains.

'Where have you been child?' Adelaide snapped. 'Anyone would think that you had had to stitch the hanging from the start instead of just giving it to the boy.'

I stayed to speak a few words of comfort, Mother,' Judith said more calmly than she felt.

Somewhat awkwardly, Adelaide turned on the narrow stair and descended to the courtyard. Once in open daylight, she fixed Judith with a gimlet stare. Reaching a narrow hand, she pressed it to her daughter's brow. 'You look feverish,' she said with sudden concern in her eyes. 'I hope that you are not ailing.'

Judith jerked away from her mother's touch, feeling flustered and guilty. 'There is nothing wrong with me.'

Adelaide compressed her lips. 'Even so, it might be wiser if you travelled in the wain with me. I mislike the heat in your cheeks.'

'Mother…' Judith's voice rose with dismay, but Adelaide was adamant.

'Do not seek to argue,' she snapped. 'These past few days you have been granted more freedom than a girl of your status is usually allowed. You will travel with me, and you will be content.'

'Yes, Mother.' Judith knew that arguing was futile and with a supreme effort held her tongue. Behind her silence, however, her feelings churned as she imagined lashing out in rebellion. Suddenly she wished that she had not bade Waltheof remain out of sight until it was safe to come down. Suddenly she wished she had yielded to him, and smiled darkly at the notion.

'Take that smirk off your face,' Adelaide warned. 'You are not too old to be whipped for insolence.'

Judith lowered her gaze. Waltheof had said that he desired her to wife. Even if she was not sure that she wanted him, she was positive that life as his wife would be ten times better than dwelling beneath her mother's joyless rule.

Judith threaded her needle with a single, fine strand of red-gold wool and, leaning over her embroidery frame, began to sew with swift, neat stitches. The design she was embroidering had been carefully sketched onto the linen ground in brown ink and depicted a scene of men and women riding out to hunt. Intended as a horizontal strip hanging to decorate a wall behind a dais, it was already about a third completed. The women of Duchess Matilda's household would work on the hanging when not occupied by other tasks. Since Judith was an excellent embroideress and as Adelaide had been keeping a close eye on her these past two months, much of the needlecraft was hers.

An unconscious curve to her lips, she worked upon the hair of one of the riders. It was long, unlike that of his companions who wore the shaven style of the Normans. She had outlined the man's beard in pale gold, and given him a gown of soft blue. The darker blue cloak flying from his shoulders showed a lining of white. At his side, a hawk perched on her wrist, rode a woman on a black mare.

'You like him, don't you? Agatha, Duke William's middle daughter, joined Judith at the embroidery bench and tipped a silver needle from a cylindrical ivory case. She was small and rosy with fine, fair hair and dainty little features - so dainty that Judith thought them like the sketch on this fabric - nothing without the added boldness of colour.

Judith did not pretend ignorance of Agatha's meaning. It was obvious to the most casual observer that the figure was Waltheof. 'He saved my life,' she said, 'I want to remember him… and yes, everyone likes him.'

Agatha poked among the threads, finally selecting a dark green. 'Not everyone,' she sniffed. 'Edwin says that he should never have been allowed out of the cloister.'

Judith took several swift, controlled stitches and suppressed the urge to slap her cousin. It was no secret that Agatha and Edwin of Mercia were conducting a courtship. William openly encouraged the couple to sit together in the hall of an evening, and he had dropped several heavy hints about a betrothal, but the deliberateness of the suggestions had led Judith to wonder. Her uncle was not usually so forthcoming with his designs.

'Edwin would say that,' she retorted. 'He does not want Waltheof claiming Northumbria from his brother.'

Agatha began to outline one of the horses with neat stitches, revealing that she too was an accomplished needlewoman. Her small, pink tongue peeped at the corner of her mouth. 'Waltheof is not strong enough to displace Morcar,' she said scornfully. 'He's untried and he knows naught of governance.'

'That does not mean he is incapable.' Judith objected, 'and he is the heir by blood.'

Agatha flushed. 'My father is content to let the house of Leofric keep its lands,' she said, her eyes suddenly glittering with malice. 'He will agree to my match with Edwin of Mercia long before he agrees to a match between you and Waltheof of Huntingdon.'

Judith returned Agatha's look without yielding. 'Your father desires to keep Edwin of Mercia dangling on his hook,' she said coldly. 'You would be foolish to read too much into his suggestions I think.'

'I am more than just bait on a hook,' Agatha preened. 'Edwin's well born. My father will give me in marriage to him.'

Judith said nothing but raised one eyebrow in a way that said Agatha was entitled to believe as she chose but was deluded.