Leaves on the Wind Read online

  Judith stared at it. Her mind was spinning thoughts so fast she couldn’t take them in. She did not believe any of this was happening.

  Her mother’s keening stopped abruptly. Judith’s skin chilled. A horse blew through his nose. A harness jingled. And her mother? Judith moaned and struggled to see.

  The house was burning furiously. It crackled and spat. Flames streamed from it like golden pennants fluttering in the breeze. The roof ridge sagged. There was a dull crash. The main beam had collapsed, and a shower of bright sparks went spiralling upwards in the twilight air. Her mother lifted a grief-ravaged face and stared blindly at the wreck of her home.

  Desperate to reach her parent, Judith lashed out. Her captor held fast. She opened her mouth, but the wretch read her intention, threw her dagger aside, and clamped a firm hand round her mouth. A piece of burning thatch rolled off what was left of the roof and landed in the grass at Judith’s feet. She was whipped clear.

  “We’re not safe here,” the voice muttered from behind her. “That wall is about to fall. We’ll hide in the Chase.” He began to drag her into the wood.

  Judith fought to hold her ground. She clawed. She kicked. She bit. Her captor yelped, and snatched his hands away. She’d drawn blood. Revolted, she spat it out. She faced her captor and backed to where her dagger lay. Eyes on the young man, she caught it up. “Go and skulk in the forest, coward!” Her voice shook. “I go to help my mother!”

  As Judith’s scornful words penetrated, the tanned face hardened. Green eyes dropped to her dagger and came back to look into her eyes. Judith frowned. She did not want to strike him…

  He stepped towards her.

  Judith brandished her dagger. She hesitated. It was a grave mistake. A swift hand flicked out, and clamped on her arm. The young man twisted lithely, and suddenly Judith was dangling over his shoulder like an unwieldy bundle of sticks. He made straight for the cover of the trees.

  “Put-me-down!” Judith shrieked, legs flailing. The Chase seemed to be swinging up and down. It made her dizzy. She could not see straight. “Let-me-go! I-must-help-my-mother. Please, please, put-me-down!” The words jerked from her mouth in time with her abductor’s running steps. She was wasting air. Her captor did not even falter and she needed all of her breath, for it was being bounced from her with every step he took. Her hair swept the forest floor. A few strides, and her already loosened braids unravelled completely.

  Judith clenched her fists and tried beating them against the young man’s leather-clad back, but it had no effect. She thought of her mother and let out a strangled moan.

  Suddenly the jarring stopped. The young man bent his knees and Judith was tipped into a drift of red leaves.

  She pushed herself to her knees, twitched a leaf from her face and watched him through the golden tangle of her hair.

  “We’re far enough away. I don’t think they saw us. You’ll be safe now.” He was breathing heavily, but his voice was low and pleasant. He smiled.

  Judith saw him wince. His hand rose briefly to touch his damaged cheek, and continued upwards to rake back his hair.

  Judith was in no mood to respond to an easy smile. She glared at him from her ignominious perch among the leaves. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What gives you the right to carry me off like this? Did you not see what they did to my father? And my mother. I cannot desert her. What kind of a man are you to run off and leave a helpless woman to face those…those bastards?”

  Her eyes ran over him, and a frown creased her brow. She could not make him out. He was no serf. No serf she knew ever possessed a fine leather over-tunic and trousers like his. His belt was a good one. It boasted a silver buckle, but it was not elaborate enough to mark him as noble. Her gaze dropped to his hands. They were fine-boned and unscarred by manual labour.

  A sob rose in her throat, Judith held it down. A ghastly suspicion was taking root in her mind, and she knew she’d gone white. “Who are you?” she repeated. “And what are you doing in the Chase?” Her stomach twisted. She threw a harried look over her shoulder. Was he alone?

  There was only one reason that she knew of for a stranger to be lurking in the Chase…

  “My name is Rannulf. I was hunting.” He shrugged easily. “What else is a chase for?”

  Again that persuasive smile. Judith mistrusted it. She had to find out. She’d never be able to help her mother if her supposition was correct. She sat back on her heels and decided to try a direct attack. “I’m told the slavers are back in the Chase,” she said, bluntly.

  “Slavers?” The young man called Rannulf looked startled.

  That had wiped the smile from his mouth. He had not been expecting that. Perhaps she might trust him…

  “Aye, slavers,” she said. “Where have you been that you’ve not heard the warnings?” Again she watched for his reaction.

  He looked utterly bewildered, utterly at a loss. He was no slaver.

  “So,” Judith freed a trembling breath. “You claim you’re a hunter?”

  Rannulf was frowning at the ground, muttering. “Slavers,” he mumbled, and nodded absently in answer to her question.

  That explained the leather jerkin he wore, but not his presence in the Chase. “For whom do you hunt?” Judith demanded. “This wood belongs to the Baron de Mandeville. He was leading those brave warriors who just murdered a helpless old man.” She sobbed. “Do you hunt for him?”

  Suspicions crowded back, curdling the food in Judith’s belly. She edged away from this man, Rannulf, feeling like a cornered hind facing the hounds. It appeared she had escaped one trap, only to find herself in another. She shot another look over her shoulder. If she could run very, very fast perhaps she could lose him in the dense undergrowth…

  His green eyes were watching her. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he recommended drily. “I know every inch of Mandeville Chase. I would soon catch you.” He dropped to his knees, and held out a hand palm uppermost, as though she were a wild beast that needed gentling.

  Judith shrank back. “You did not answer,” she prompted.

  “What?”

  “Do you hunt with the Baron’s men?”

  His lips curved, and Judith felt her stomach tighten. He had very white teeth.

  “I?” He seemed to find that amusing. “Hunt with the Baron’s men? Never!” He fingered the red weal on his cheek. “I hunt for myself. Do not fear that I shall take you to him. He did ever like to break things, and I will not give you up to him. Did I not snatch you from under his nose? I did that to save you. Why should I deliver you to him now, having winded myself in getting you away?”

  His hand remained outstretched towards her. Judith hesitated, wanting, but not daring, to trust him. She took refuge in scorn. “You think to reassure me by such words?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well you do not. If you are not in the pay of de Mandeville, you must be an outlaw.”

  “Must I?” Rannulf smiled.

  “Why else be hunting in the Chase? “Tis reserved for that nest of Norman vipers. Anyone else caught hunting here is hanged as a thief, and if you don’t mind taking that risk you must be desperate indeed. A man with a price on your head. What would an outlaw want with me?”

  Rannulf’s lips curved. “What indeed?” he murmured, eyeing her. Then, seeing her worried look, he relented. “Don’t look so worried, I’ll not harm you. I give you my word.”

  “The word of an outlaw is meant to reassure me?”

  “I begin to think I have rescued a shrew,” he sighed. “Perhaps I should have left you to Hugo’s men. They’re hot blooded enough to knock some sense into you, though I doubt that you would benefit from the lesson.” Rannulf rose to his feet and swung away.

  It seemed to have gone very dark in the wood. The trees loomed in on them, like twisted bars in a prison cell. Judith shivered. She did not want to be abandoned here.

  She scrambled to her feet, ran to Rannulf, and touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry, R…Rannulf. Don’t leave me. P…plea
se, take me with you.”

  Rannulf’s hand closed over hers. It felt warm.

  “I won’t leave you. I know where you can stay the night, and tomorrow—”

  “Tomorrow?” Judith bit on her lips to stop them trembling. Her voice broke. “I never want tomorrow to come. My father is dead. And my mother…Oh, God! What has happened to my mother?”

  Rannulf grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. His eyes were as green as the Chase in high summer. “Listen,” he said. “We’ll get you safe, and then I’ll go back. I’ll see to your mother.”

  Judith clutched at his arm. “You will? Oh, Rannulf—”

  “Trust me?”

  Judith nodded and swallowed.

  “Come on, then,” Rannulf said briskly. “We’re wasting time.” He waved towards the thick of the Chase. “That way.” He offered his hand for the second time, and Judith put hers in his.

  Rannulf had been gone from the shelter a long time. Judith pulled the folds of the fur-lined cloak he had lent her more tightly about her body, and willed him to return.

  She could hear the night-time stirrings of the forest rise and fall outside the hunter’s hide. That was the sound of the wind in the dying dew-damp leaves, and that was the shriek of an owl baulked of its prey. It was black as pitch.

  Judith huddled further into the small bower, wondering what protection it would offer her should a wild boar or a wolf come across her scent and decide to investigate. She fumbled for the branches of her refuge, and shook them to test their strength. She was not reassured.

  Two large wattle hurdles were leaning against each other. Tied tightly at the top, they left an opening at either end. Two pieces of leather served as doors, and the outside was camouflaged with turves and leaves. It kept the wind off, but it was not designed to protect its occupant from other, more tangible enemies.

  A twig cracked outside the bower and Judith’s breath caught in her throat. Rannulf had returned her knife to her. She groped for it.

  The leather curtain was drawn inside. “Judith?”

  Rannulf’s voice. Judith dropped the dagger. “M…my mother?” she asked at once, moving to make room for him.

  He found her hand. “Judith, I’m sorry—”

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “Judith,” Rannulf hesitated. “Judith, I don’t know.”

  Hope flared. “What do you mean?”

  “I went back, as I promised. Your father was lying as we last saw him. Your house was no more than a smouldering pile of ashes, but your mother was not there. I looked everywhere. She has gone.”

  “My brothers!” Judith exclaimed. “My brothers must have got her away. They must.”

  “Brothers?”

  Judith nodded before she remembered the darkness hid her face. “Aye, I’ve two of them. They are both older than I. They will have her. I know they will.”

  “I pray you are right.”

  “Tomorrow I will find them,” Judith declared. “And tomorrow we will…we will bury my father.” She sniffed and dashed away a tear. She’d not cry before a stranger.

  “Judith?” Rannulf’s voice came softly through the blackness.

  “Aye?”

  “’Tis no shame to weep.”

  Judith sniffed again. A silence fell over them. She could hear the wind soughing in the branches above them.

  Rannulf shook her hand. “You must rest. You will need your strength tomorrow.”

  “I won’t sleep. How could I?” she asked, rousing herself with an effort to speak.

  “If you cannot sleep, at least you can be rested. Come. Lie you here. And my cloak, thus. There. I will stand guard over you. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Rannulf. My thanks,” Judith whispered, and settled down into the softness of his ermine-lined cloak.

  The Normans had thrust a knife in her heart. They were twisting it. The pain was not to be borne.

  Judith screamed and woke. She did not know where she was. Memory flooded back. She groaned aloud.

  “Judith, Judith, hush.” Warm arms enfolded her, comforting arms. Childlike, she clung.

  “Rannulf?” She gave a dry sob.

  “You are not alone,” he said. “Cry. ’Tis better to grieve.” Rannulf stroked her hair from her face. The gesture was oddly reminiscent of her mother.

  The dam broke. Tears flooded, and streamed scalding down her cheeks. Judith did not hear Rannulf’s murmured words, did not notice the hand that caressed her. She burrowed closer into his arms. She needed comfort and here was its source.

  At length the sobbing eased. Rannulf’s arms fell away.

  Judith lifted her head “Hold me tight. It hurts less when you hold me.”

  “Judith.” Rannulf hesitated. “’Tis late. We should sleep now.”

  “Aye.” Judith made to pull him down beside her. She could feel his body stiffen, resisting her. “What’s the matter? Rannulf?” She was annoyed that he should hold back from her. She needed the comfort he gave her.

  “’Tis not seemly,” came his stiff rely.

  “Not seemly?” Judith was astounded. “Not seemly? But you are far older than I!”

  “I’m twenty-one—” amusement entered his voice “—is that such a great age? Those knights were older still, and that would not have saved you from them!” he pointed out, more soberly.

  “But they are monsters,” Judith said. “Invaders. Normans. I wish a thousand plagues on them. You are not like that. You are no Norman.”

  “Judith, I must tell you—”

  “Just hold me. Please, Rannulf. I hurt so.”

  Rannulf could not see Judith through the gloom, but his ears were those of a hunter. They were trained to be sensitive to the slightest of sounds. He heard the quaver in Judith’s voice and capitulated. “Very well,” he replied lightly. “If you’ll try to sleep. Give me some of that cloak; I’m freezing out here.”

  Light glimmered faintly from the east. A bird high in a tree cried out a note or two of his morning song.

  Judith surfaced slowly from a deep sleep. She was warm. Unconsciously, she shifted closer to the body next to hers, and hugged it to her.

  Deep in the Chase a dog barked. Another bird joined in the song.

  Judith lifted her head, and turned curious eyes on the reassuring presence in whose arms she lay. Rannulf was still asleep. One strong arm fitted neatly around her waist. She discovered she was holding his other hand. She had no desire to move.

  A grey light seeped round the edges of the leather curtain, and Judith studied Rannulf’s features. His brown hair was wavy and tousled. He wore it shorter than either of her brothers, but longer than was favoured by the Normans. A shadow of overnight stubble marked jaw and chin. His nose was straight, lips well shaped, and slightly parted to reveal strong, white teeth. He had the tanned skin of one who had spent most of the summer out of doors. To Judith’s uncritical eyes, he looked as handsome as a prince in a harper’s tale.

  Only the red mark disfigured him. Judith slipped her hand free of his. Curious, she ran her finger the length of the weal, from cheekbone to dark stubble on his chin. Though her touch had been as light as the kiss of a butterfly’s wing, his eyes opened. He smiled. Judith’s cheeks burned.

  “You’ve managed to appropriate all of the cloak,” Rannulf grumbled drowsily.

  His eyes were startling at close range. Fringed with long, charcoal lashes they were not pure green, but were flecked with tints of brown and gold. Judith’s stomach tightened.

  “I’m sorry.” She fumbled at the heavy folds of the cloak.

  “’Tis early yet,” Rannulf yawned, and reached for her. He pulled her back into his arms, as casually as though he woke every day of the week with a strange girl in his arms. “Sleep awhile longer,” he murmured lazily. “I’ll go and catch us something to eat later.”

  Judith was jerked into full consciousness by a rough hand shaking her shoulder.

  “Judith!” a familiar voice called. “Judith! My God, Eadwold,
she’s alive!”

  “Saewulf!”

  Judith looked into the clean-shaven face of her nineteen-year-old brother, smiled at the relief she saw written in his blue eyes, and threw herself into his arms. The resemblance between them was very marked.

  Another voice, rougher than Saewulf’s, bawled through the opening.

  “Out you come, sister. Have you no greeting for your eldest brother?”

  Judith scrambled out of the hide, wondering where Rannulf had gone. He must be checking his snares—he’d said he’d go and find food. She hoped the Baron would not catch him poaching.

  A dazzling shaft of morning sunlight pierced through the leafy canopy and fell on her face. She blinked up into the stern features of Eadwold. She made no effort to embrace him as she had her younger, best-loved brother.

  “You’re unharmed, sister?” Eadwold demanded, hands on hips. “They didn’t…hurt you, did they?”

  “Nay. They didn’t even see me. I was in the Chase. Have you seen Mother? Is she safe?”

  “Safe enough. We took her to the Abbey.”

  “Thank God,” Judith breathed, and the black misery that had her in its grip eased a little.

  Eadwold’s face darkened.

  Judith’s spirits plummeted again. Her giant of a brother was gazing past her, eyes narrowed in the way she recognised meant growing anger. She turned to see the cause of his wrath.

  Saewulf emerged from the shelter, Rannulf’s cloak in hand. It was on this garment that Eadwold’s eyes were fixed.

  Judith could see Eadwold assessing the worth of the cloak, hazarding a guess as to the identity of its owner. It did not look like the cloak of a Saxon…

  Eadwold rounded on his sister. He was scratching his beard, face like thunder. Judith’s stomach began to churn—Eadwold was best avoided when he was in one of his rages.

  “So…you were not harmed, sweet sister?” Eadwold ground out. His grey eyes chilled her to the marrow. “Found yourself a protector, did you?”

  “Eadwold, I—”

  “What fee did he claim, this protector of yours? What was the price of your safety?”

  “Eadwold, Judith is but a child,” Saewulf protested, his face echoing the dawning horror on Judith’s.