without really seeing her action or feeling the luxury beneath her caress.
The midday meal had been more elaborate than their customary bread, cheese and watered wine, the flustered cook having organised additions of roasted pigeons, mutton in pastry coffins, herrings seethed in milk and sprinkled with almonds and small honey cakes, crusty with chopped nuts and dried fruit.
Judith did not know if it was fare fit for an earl, but it was the best she could provide at such short notice. Certainly her uncle had not complained.
Indeed, he had settled to the meal with a hearty appetite which was more than could be said for her husband, who had attacked the wine as voraciously as others attacked the food, seeming set to drink himself beneath the table in as short a time as possible. Barely a morsel of food had passed his lips and every time his cup neared the dregs he would signal the lad serving to replenish it to the brim. He had begun to slur his words and his voice had grown over-loud.
Robert de Belleme had watched Guyon's
disintegration with a contemptuous eye and a scornful smile. No more than a cupful of wine had flowed over his own tongue, which remained mellifluous and precise.
Judith's tentative plea to her husband had met with a snarl to mind her distaff, and a half-raised fist. At this juncture she had begged leave to retire, having no desire to bear the humiliation of a public beating. She could remember only too well how it had gone with her father in the past.
He would drink. Someone would make a remark that he misliked and the blows would fall , cutting if he happened to be wearing rings.
Steeped in misery, she sat waiting now for she knew not what and wondered what had happened to drive Guyon over the brink like this. Her uncle was owed a large sum of money. Guyon had been thoughtful about that for some time, deeply thoughtful and busy, but certainly not depressed.
She knew he enjoyed the taste of good wine, but in three months of marriage she had yet to see him merry, let alone drunk. It was beyond her to fathom the reason for such deviation and her fear was all the more potent for her lack of understanding.
There was a sound outside the door. Melyn, coiled in a warm ball upon the bed, popped her head erect and uttered a soft greeting miaow.
Judith dropped the sables and hastened to the door, unbarring it to admit Eric and one of the serjeants bearing Guyon's upright weight between them. Stinking of hippocras, he swayed on the threshold.
'Traitors!' he bellowed for all and sundry to hear, taking a wild swipe at Eric and almost overbalancing as he staggered into the room. 'I'm sober 'nough to see my guests on the road ...
Lemme go!'
He continued to utter loud protests as they manhandled him to the bed. Judith watched him, her fingers at her throat, her whole body tensed to avoid him if need be.
Eric glanced at her and gave her of all things a wink and a smile. 'Don't you worry, mistress, he'll sober up quicker than you think,' he said comfortingly and, his grinning companion in tow, left her alone with her dread.
Melyn leaped on to Guyon's wine-drenched chest and kneaded the spoiled cloth with splayed claws. Guyon scooped her up and, depositing her on the coverlet, sat up.
'God help me,' he grimaced, pulling the garment over his head. 'I stink like the morning after in a Rouen brothel!' He slung the richly embroidered wool across the room and followed it with his shirt.
Still standing near the door, Judith's eyes were round with astonishment. 'You're not drunk!' she said.
'Sober as a stone, Cath fach .' Going purposefully to his clothing chest he rummaged among the contents. Sunlight rayed obliquely through the shutters and gilded his skin. It picked out the scar from the boar hunt on his arm and the marks of stitches neatly made.
'But why?' she enquired in bewilderment. 'Why did you want us all to believe that you were sodden drunk?'
'You did not have to pretend your responses and they were
The midday meal had been more elaborate than their customary bread, cheese and watered wine, the flustered cook having organised additions of roasted pigeons, mutton in pastry coffins, herrings seethed in milk and sprinkled with almonds and small honey cakes, crusty with chopped nuts and dried fruit.
Judith did not know if it was fare fit for an earl, but it was the best she could provide at such short notice. Certainly her uncle had not complained.
Indeed, he had settled to the meal with a hearty appetite which was more than could be said for her husband, who had attacked the wine as voraciously as others attacked the food, seeming set to drink himself beneath the table in as short a time as possible. Barely a morsel of food had passed his lips and every time his cup neared the dregs he would signal the lad serving to replenish it to the brim. He had begun to slur his words and his voice had grown over-loud.
Robert de Belleme had watched Guyon's
disintegration with a contemptuous eye and a scornful smile. No more than a cupful of wine had flowed over his own tongue, which remained mellifluous and precise.
Judith's tentative plea to her husband had met with a snarl to mind her distaff, and a half-raised fist. At this juncture she had begged leave to retire, having no desire to bear the humiliation of a public beating. She could remember only too well how it had gone with her father in the past.
He would drink. Someone would make a remark that he misliked and the blows would fall , cutting if he happened to be wearing rings.
Steeped in misery, she sat waiting now for she knew not what and wondered what had happened to drive Guyon over the brink like this. Her uncle was owed a large sum of money. Guyon had been thoughtful about that for some time, deeply thoughtful and busy, but certainly not depressed.
She knew he enjoyed the taste of good wine, but in three months of marriage she had yet to see him merry, let alone drunk. It was beyond her to fathom the reason for such deviation and her fear was all the more potent for her lack of understanding.
There was a sound outside the door. Melyn, coiled in a warm ball upon the bed, popped her head erect and uttered a soft greeting miaow.
Judith dropped the sables and hastened to the door, unbarring it to admit Eric and one of the serjeants bearing Guyon's upright weight between them. Stinking of hippocras, he swayed on the threshold.
'Traitors!' he bellowed for all and sundry to hear, taking a wild swipe at Eric and almost overbalancing as he staggered into the room. 'I'm sober 'nough to see my guests on the road ...
Lemme go!'
He continued to utter loud protests as they manhandled him to the bed. Judith watched him, her fingers at her throat, her whole body tensed to avoid him if need be.
Eric glanced at her and gave her of all things a wink and a smile. 'Don't you worry, mistress, he'll sober up quicker than you think,' he said comfortingly and, his grinning companion in tow, left her alone with her dread.
Melyn leaped on to Guyon's wine-drenched chest and kneaded the spoiled cloth with splayed claws. Guyon scooped her up and, depositing her on the coverlet, sat up.
'God help me,' he grimaced, pulling the garment over his head. 'I stink like the morning after in a Rouen brothel!' He slung the richly embroidered wool across the room and followed it with his shirt.
Still standing near the door, Judith's eyes were round with astonishment. 'You're not drunk!' she said.
'Sober as a stone, Cath fach .' Going purposefully to his clothing chest he rummaged among the contents. Sunlight rayed obliquely through the shutters and gilded his skin. It picked out the scar from the boar hunt on his arm and the marks of stitches neatly made.
'But why?' she enquired in bewilderment. 'Why did you want us all to believe that you were sodden drunk?'
'You did not have to pretend your responses and they were
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