Read Online The Winter Mantle by Elizabeth Chadwick - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Chadwick
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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
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
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