lost three fingers and an ear and the hall was completely wrecked.'
'God forbid,' he said.
'You should watch Walter de Lacey today,' she warned. 'I suppose you know that he offered for me before Papa died and he is one of Uncle Robert's friends.'
'I did not think your uncle Robert had any friends.'
Glancing round, she saw that he had begun to assemble his clothing. His eyes, although bleary were fully open now.
'Do not worry, I know well he is one of the Cwmni Annwn. I will be on my guard.'
'The what?'
'Hounds of hell ,' he translated, tugging on his shirt. 'The Wild Hunt. Damned souls who hunt in perpetuity and never come to rest. Appropriate, would you not say?'
His flippant tone was a barrier. His father would have recognised it immediately and cut straight beneath it. Judith stood blocked, unsure what to do. She watched him dress, setting aside his wedding finery for a warm, fur-trimmed tunic of green plaid wool, thick hose and tough, calf-hide boots.
Abandoning Judith, Melyn leaped on to the bed and began to wash. Judith's eyes followed the cat and then settled on the linen undersheet. White as the snow that had fall en in the night. Pristine.
Unstained. She gave a gasp of panic. Any moment now they were likely to be disturbed by their guests and the first task of the morning would be to display that sheet to all , stained with the sanguine proof of her virginity ... or lack of it.
Startled, Guyon left off buckling his belt. 'What's the matter?'
'The bed ... the sheet. They will think that I am impure, or else that you were unable.'
He gaped at her.
'There is no blood!' she almost shrieked at him.
Enlightenment tardily dawned and with it a glint of amusement. 'Ah.' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'I don't make a habit of deflowering virgins.'
He shot her a sour grin. 'I wonder which choice they would settle upon.' Pushing Melyn gently to one side, he drew his short eating knife from the sheath at his belt and, forcing up his left sleeve, made a shallow cut upon the inside of his forearm. As the blood welled in a thin, bright line, he smeared it over the centre of the sheet.
'Self-inflicted,' he remarked with wry humour as he stanched the bleeding on his shirt sleeve. 'I beg a cup of valerian to mend my disordered wits, and a pot of honey to smear this slit in my hide.'
Judith handed him the jar of nettle salve. 'This will serve just as well for the nonce.'
His tone was self-mocking. 'And have all the women condemn me for a clumsy oaf and risk your mother's censure? I have a reputation to keep up, you know.'
Judith blushed, for she had not thought of how others would misconstrue the finger marks in the ointment.
'It's a scratch, don't concern yourself.' He rolled down his sleeve and grinned at her. 'I dare say it is not the last wound I'll take defending a lady's honour.'
Before Judith could decide how to reply, Cadi began to bark outside the entrance curtain and a woman cried out in anxiety. On the bed Melyn became a stiff horseshoe of growling orange fur.
Guyon tugged a strand of Judith's hair, gave her an encouraging wink and went to draw aside the curtain and wish good morning to his mother-by-marriage, the small entourage of female wedding guests in her wake and the plump maid bearing a ewer of warm, scented water and a towel.
Cadi greeted her master boisterously. He commanded her down, but although she obeyed him, her forepaws danced on the floor and her whole body quivered with precariously subdued enthusiasm. Alicia returned Guyon's courtesy with a tepid nod and entered the room. At her side an older woman, a second cousin or some such as he remembered, fastidiously brushed white dog hairs from her dark blue gown.
Alicia's gaze went from the bloodied sheet to Judith who was clutching the salve pot in her hand. Judith flashed a dismayed glance at Guyon, caught her under-lip in her teeth and quickly put the salve down, but the damage was already done. Alicia's mouth tightened.
Frightened by
'God forbid,' he said.
'You should watch Walter de Lacey today,' she warned. 'I suppose you know that he offered for me before Papa died and he is one of Uncle Robert's friends.'
'I did not think your uncle Robert had any friends.'
Glancing round, she saw that he had begun to assemble his clothing. His eyes, although bleary were fully open now.
'Do not worry, I know well he is one of the Cwmni Annwn. I will be on my guard.'
'The what?'
'Hounds of hell ,' he translated, tugging on his shirt. 'The Wild Hunt. Damned souls who hunt in perpetuity and never come to rest. Appropriate, would you not say?'
His flippant tone was a barrier. His father would have recognised it immediately and cut straight beneath it. Judith stood blocked, unsure what to do. She watched him dress, setting aside his wedding finery for a warm, fur-trimmed tunic of green plaid wool, thick hose and tough, calf-hide boots.
Abandoning Judith, Melyn leaped on to the bed and began to wash. Judith's eyes followed the cat and then settled on the linen undersheet. White as the snow that had fall en in the night. Pristine.
Unstained. She gave a gasp of panic. Any moment now they were likely to be disturbed by their guests and the first task of the morning would be to display that sheet to all , stained with the sanguine proof of her virginity ... or lack of it.
Startled, Guyon left off buckling his belt. 'What's the matter?'
'The bed ... the sheet. They will think that I am impure, or else that you were unable.'
He gaped at her.
'There is no blood!' she almost shrieked at him.
Enlightenment tardily dawned and with it a glint of amusement. 'Ah.' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'I don't make a habit of deflowering virgins.'
He shot her a sour grin. 'I wonder which choice they would settle upon.' Pushing Melyn gently to one side, he drew his short eating knife from the sheath at his belt and, forcing up his left sleeve, made a shallow cut upon the inside of his forearm. As the blood welled in a thin, bright line, he smeared it over the centre of the sheet.
'Self-inflicted,' he remarked with wry humour as he stanched the bleeding on his shirt sleeve. 'I beg a cup of valerian to mend my disordered wits, and a pot of honey to smear this slit in my hide.'
Judith handed him the jar of nettle salve. 'This will serve just as well for the nonce.'
His tone was self-mocking. 'And have all the women condemn me for a clumsy oaf and risk your mother's censure? I have a reputation to keep up, you know.'
Judith blushed, for she had not thought of how others would misconstrue the finger marks in the ointment.
'It's a scratch, don't concern yourself.' He rolled down his sleeve and grinned at her. 'I dare say it is not the last wound I'll take defending a lady's honour.'
Before Judith could decide how to reply, Cadi began to bark outside the entrance curtain and a woman cried out in anxiety. On the bed Melyn became a stiff horseshoe of growling orange fur.
Guyon tugged a strand of Judith's hair, gave her an encouraging wink and went to draw aside the curtain and wish good morning to his mother-by-marriage, the small entourage of female wedding guests in her wake and the plump maid bearing a ewer of warm, scented water and a towel.
Cadi greeted her master boisterously. He commanded her down, but although she obeyed him, her forepaws danced on the floor and her whole body quivered with precariously subdued enthusiasm. Alicia returned Guyon's courtesy with a tepid nod and entered the room. At her side an older woman, a second cousin or some such as he remembered, fastidiously brushed white dog hairs from her dark blue gown.
Alicia's gaze went from the bloodied sheet to Judith who was clutching the salve pot in her hand. Judith flashed a dismayed glance at Guyon, caught her under-lip in her teeth and quickly put the salve down, but the damage was already done. Alicia's mouth tightened.
Frightened by
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