Carol Townend - Leaves On The Wind

“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.

Judith stood up abruptly. The chamber was hot and airless. She felt suffocated. She crossed to the window, flung open the wooden shutter, and cooled her forehead on the white plaster of the window embrasure. There were no bars on the window.

Judith was weary right through to her bones. She could not have slept properly in weeks. First she’d been captured in the Chase, and then there’d been the voyage in that stinking hell that was the hold of the slave ship. Sheer terror had held her imprisoned in a ghastly limbo that was neither waking nor sleeping. She’d not rested for fear of what she might find when she awoke.

She glanced at Rannulf over her shoulder. He was watching her. She trusted him, but there was something that made her uneasy…something that she had not yet fathomed…She yawned. It was a miracle that she could still stand up, a miracle she had kept herself going so long. And now, all at once, her head was whirling with fatigue. There was a rushing noise in her ears. The dark chamber blurred. It was as though she’d taken another of Zoe’s potions.

She peered through the gloom at Rannulf. Her eyes refused to focus and his face remained an unrevealing blur. She wanted to sleep. Summoning up the courage to express her need, she stared out of the window. She did not think she could stand any more mockery.

Her tired eyes registered the view spread out below, as greedily as a wound soaked up a healing balm. Judith stared, her mind drinking in what her eyes were seeing. It was beautiful. “You can see the sea from here!” She roused herself. “We’re overlooking the bay!”

Balduk’s house was built on top of a narrow promontory jutting out into the Mediterranean. The sky was liberally sprinkled with stars, and a crescent moon rode majestically among them like an emperor surrounded by his subjects. The ocean was gilded silver-bright. The moon’s rays gleamed on black rocks, bleaching yellow sands to white. Judith watched the sea rise and fall beneath her, rocking, rocking. A warm sea breeze caressed her cheeks. Their chamber was very high up.

“So that is why the window is not barred,” she murmured, smothering a yawn. “There’s no way out.”

Behind her, she heard Rannulf move. She tensed.

He pushed Judith gently on to the window seat and gazed out past her at the sea. He was smiling. His teeth glinted in the moonlight. Out at sea, a weak glimmer betrayed the position of a fisherman’s lonely vigil.

Judith found her eyes drawn, not out to sea, but to Rannulf’s profile: straight nose, lips gently curving, disordered mane of hair…

His head turned towards her. She couldn’t breathe. He took her by the shoulders. Judith waited for him to speak, understanding all at once that this strange, stifling, breathlessness she felt was caused by Rannulf, and not the airless chamber.

His voice was very low, almost a whisper “Is it me you fear? Or this place? Or is it yourself? Are you…afraid of being a woman?”

His questions jerked her from her sleepy state. Every nerve was suddenly awake and tingling, almost too awake. She could feel his eyes on her—when he looked at her, her cheeks stung.

He touched her hair delicately with one finger. “So soft,” he murmured. “Why do you wear it short, Judith? To deny your femininity?”

“N…no.” Her voice came out in an undignified squeak. She cleared her throat and swallowed.

“An illness then?” he suggested.

“No.” Her voice was husky. She realised she’d been staring at his mouth. She looked out at the view, too shy to meet those searching eyes. Her heart thumped low and hard against her ribs.

His breath warmed her cheek. She wanted to run…

“’Tis a crime to wear such hair cropped,” Rannulf muttered.

She forced a laugh, noticing with surprise that his voice was husky too. “Aye, ’twas indeed crime that cropped my hair,” she said unsteadily.

A confused look flickered briefly across his face, and then it was gone. And he was staring at her. And that intent expression was back in his eyes. It overrode all else.

Judith’s heart was hammering now. Rannulf shifted his grip. He was going to pull her closer, and she did not know what to do. As his hold on her shoulders tightened, she ducked, managed to free herself, and grabbed at the window-ledge. She held hard.

“Judith, look at me,” Rannulf commanded softly.

“N…no.”

The fishing boat out on the sea had been joined by another. Two lights now rocked in the cradle of the sea.

Judith did not notice them; she might as well have been gazing at a closed shutter. Every fibre of her being was concentrated on the man who stood behind her.

“Judith.”

She felt a light touch on her neck, felt warm hands on her shoulders, turning her, drawing her towards that lean body. He must have cast a spell on her, for the rest of the world faded to nothing.

“Judith.” His hands slid down her arms and his fingers closed over hers.

It was a spell. Her arms tingled, where he’d touched her. Her hands rested quiescent in his. Their eyes locked. Had she been offered all of the gold in King Rufus’s treasury, she could not have broken free.

Their lips drew together, barely touching, but the sensation was so powerful and so unexpected that Judith gasped and drew back. Her eyes were wide and startled. Her hands were still fast in his. She felt no fear.

“That was not so terrible, was it?” Rannulf murmured. A tiny smile hovered on the edge of his mouth.

Judith could not find her voice. She shook her head.

His grip tightened. “Again,” he prompted, and lowered his head.

The charm he had woven was too strong. It was irresistible. Instead of refusing him as she intended, Judith found herself leaning towards him, lifting her mouth to his.

That first kiss had gone some way towards preparing Judith for the havoc Rannulf could create within her. His lips felt warm. The gentle pressure increased. This time she did not pull away. They were standing very close. His hands were firmly linked to hers, his lips were moving gently over her mouth, but that was all. There was no other contact. Their bodies were not touching, but the muscles in her stomach tensed, and a warm, sweet tide of feeling flooded her senses. It made her toes curl. Judith shut her eyes, and her lips began to move in shy, untutored response.

Rannulf lifted his lips from hers. Judith knew her cheeks were burning. She tried to hide her face. But Rannulf caught her by the waist and tugged her towards him. Judith felt stifled. Her knees had gone weak. She barely managed to step towards him.

She could feel his body against hers, from her breasts to her thighs, through the fine materials of their clothes. Slender fingers nudged her chin round. She risked a glance. Green eyes smiled into hers. His face was tender.

She gave a little murmur and hid her face in his shoulder, glad that the weak light must hide her flushed skin. She felt as though she was on fire. She was afraid of what he should read in her eyes, afraid he should see how deeply he had affected her. Afraid he should think…

“Judith?” He sounded concerned.

Cool fingers pushed her chin up. She assumed a calm face. She could not afford to lose control. She must be clear headed.

“Rannulf?” She smiled. But her voice betrayed her, for it cracked. She forced herself to meet his eyes, became uncomfortably aware that one of her arms had found its way around his neck. She dragged it clear, and drew back.

Rannulf caught her hand. He kissed the tips of her fingers. Judith stared, and tried to breathe normally. Even a small kiss like that seemed to burn her skin. She was melting…

She took a hasty pace backwards. She must not let him realise the power he had over her senses. She must put some distance between them.

Rannulf released her without even a murmur. He leaned his shoulders up against the whitewashed walls, and stood watching her. His brows drew together in a frown.

Judith took her bottom lip between her teeth. He looked almost angry.

“Rannulf? What is it?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that? What have I done?”

The frown vanished. Rannulf shrugged. ’Tis not you, my sweet. I’m angry with myself,” he admitted.

“Angry? Why?”

“I should not have kissed you. You need my help. You are bound to respond for fear I might refuse you. I’m sorry.”

Judith took a deep breath. Words still seemed elusive. “Th…there’s no need to apologise,” she told him. “I do trust you.”

Rannulf stood in front of the window, a dark shadow silhouetted by the moonlight. “Do you? I hope you’re not put to the test too soon,” he said.

“Rannulf?” He sounded very cynical.

He moved impatiently. “Forget it.”

Judith opened her mouth.

“Forget it!” he said curtly.

Judith’s mouth snapped shut. She wrapped her arms about her middle.

Rannulf saw her shoulders droop. He gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “Hell’s teeth! I’m sorry, my princess,” he said, making “princess” sound like an endearment this time, so Judith did not mind it. “I’m tired. Let’s try and get some sleep,” he suggested in his old, more gentle voice. He gestured towards the couch. “You must have that, of course. I surmise that your recent accommodation has left you with a need that is greater than mine. Am I right?”

Judith nodded. “The ship was Hell,” she admitted.

“Rest then.”

Too weary to consider where Rannulf would take his rest, Judith staggered to the couch and collapsed on to the downy mattress. She dragged the light sheet over herself, for modesty’s sake, and her eyelids began to droop. Her limbs relaxed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rannulf had returned to kneel in the window seat, gazing out to sea.

She tried to force her mind back over their recent, confusing conversation. He implied she did not trust him. But why? Apart from her brother Saewulf, he was about the only man she did trust. Four years ago her instincts had told her he was trustworthy, and they had not let her down. She yawned and settled herself more comfortably in the bed.