'I heard about you from the Prince last time he was here. "Never play tables with anyone from Flambard's household, or with Guyon FitzMiles," he said. "They'll strip you naked in less time than it took you to dress in the first place!"'

'That's untrue!' Guyon protested, laughing. 'I'd leave you your braies for decency at least!'

The old man dismissed him with a disgusted wave. 'Nay, but you're not as pretty to look at across a trestle as your niece here and I've a close interest in her, since she's likely to be future family. Take your wife above and show her the rooms awhile.'

Simon, not about to miss the opportunity to study Christen's dainty profile, drew up a stool so that he could watch her as she played.

Judith and Guyon went outside and climbed the wooden outer staircase to the rooms above.

'What did he mean about the Prince?' Judith asked as Guyon opened the door and drew aside a heavy curtain.

'Oh, Henry occasionally stays here, or he used to before the new palace was finished.

Sometimes he games with old Walter to humour him.'

Judith examined the room with renewed interest. The wall s were plastered and illuminated with seasonal scenes - hunting, ploughing, reaping, women dancing at a feast, a man catching fish. The colours were rich and vibrant.

There was a brazier in the room and in a niche in the wall stood a small alabaster statue of the Virgin. There was a bench, an oak chest and a long trestle table.

'He would hold meetings here sometimes,' Guyon said, glancing round at the familiar surroundings. 'That mark on the table is where he propped his feet with his spurs still on.'

'Dicing, wenching and carousing?' she said archly.

'Not often. There are places on the Southwark side for that kind of sin.' He followed her through the second curtain into the slightly smaller bedchamber, which was empty of its main item of furniture. 'I expect Henry's had the bed transferred to Westminster, but I dare say we can find one from somewhere.'

'One?' Judith looked over her shoulder at him.

'As the need arises,' he answered with a shrug, as if the matter was of no consequence.

Judith examined the rest of the room. The windows, like Richard's, were glazed and the wall s as in the first room were plastered and illuminated. Rushes strewed the floor, scattered with lavender, and on a coffer was a folded blanket that was obviously a bed covering. She looked down at a second tableboard set upon a cloth-covered trestle and uneasily moved one of the polished jet counters.

'We can remain with Richard and Emma if you'd prefer,' Guyon said, picking up one of the other counters, tossing it in the air and catching it on the back of his hand as if playing knucklebones.

She shook her head, eyes stubbornly lowered, fingers toying desperately with the smooth, cold lump of jet whose twin was lodged in her stomach. 'You have seen how cramped we are.

Emma will not thank us if we refuse and it would be a discourtesy to Simon and his grandfather.'

Guyon studied her for a moment, then set his counter down and tilted her face on his fingertips.

Judith raised her eyes, feeling hot and weak and frightened, and wished that they had stayed downstairs.

'That is their preference, not yours,' he said gently.

'It is mine too,' Judith stood her ground as he traced the line of her jaw until he reached her ear, skirted it and feathered his fingertip down her throat. Her scalp prickled.

'There is nothing to fear,' he said softly. 'I won't hurt you. You know that, or you should by now.'

A chill ran down her spine. The finger became a hand that slipped slowly down to her waist, curved there and drew her lightly against him. He brushed her temple with his lips, her cheekbone and jaw, slanting to seek her earlobe beneath her braid and nibble it gently. Judith gasped and arched at the sensation.

He nuzzled the sensitive hollow behind her ear, kissed her throat, returned to her face, his lips light as a butterfly travelling the same path again to return to her earlobe. He held her loosely, not compelling her to the embrace, stroking her as he might stroke Cadi or Melyn, soothing her while enticing her to want more. At length, he moved his other hand from her back and slowly took it up the side of her ribcage to the small , neat outer swell of her breast. Softly he touched her lips with his own, applying no demand, then moved on, kissing her chin, trailing the tip of his tongue over her throat.

Judith began to respond. One hand came up tentatively to rest on his belt, the other, palm flat, smoothed the dark wool tunic on his back. She moved closer. Guyon forced himself to a patience he was far from feeling. His body, responding to instinct and abstention, was eager for release. It had been a long time since Earl Hugh's hunting lodge, but Judith was so edgy and afraid that one step too soon or too clumsy and he would lose all the ground he had thus far gained. Besides, a hasty coupling on the floor with one ear cocked for a tread on the stairs was hardly the best method of initiating a frightened virgin and, while it might satisfy his current appetite, it would do nothing for his abiding need.

Judith's lips parted beneath the gentle insistence of his own. She felt as if she was drowning beneath flowing warm waves of sensation. Her breasts tingled. Her loins were moist and aching, her whole body a boneless supple mass.

Downstairs there was a shout of laughter from the old man and loud exclamations from his two young companions. The spell shattered. Judith leaped like a doe and Guyon's arms involuntarily tightened to hold her. Judith struggled and tore free, her eyes wide, a gasp catching in her throat.

Guyon slowly let his hands fall to his sides. He was breathing hard, as if he had just run up a tower in full mail. 'You see what happens when you stir a banked fire,' he said ruefully. 'I've been wanting to do that for a long time.'

Judith swallowed. He was melting her with that burning brown stare. Their relationship was paused on the brink of another plane and it terrified her. Snatching hot chestnuts from the fire indeed!

Guyon paced to the window, braced his forearms on the thick wooden ledge and looked down at his hands gripping the dusty edge while his blood cooled. He had seen the fear in her eyes and did not know how to deal with it aside from schooling himself to further patience. There were remedies of course, none of them satisfactory. There was no pleasure in drinking water when it was wine you wanted.

Judith hastily sleeved her eyes as Simon walked into the room, grinning broadly, a half-eaten apple in his hand. Christen had just defeated his grandfather in a move that was as much a surprise to herself as it had been to the old man. 'Is it all right?' he asked, nodding around the room and taking another bite of the fruit. 'Don't worry about the bed. Grandfather says he knows where he can get hold of one.'

His back turned. Guyon muttered something at his spread hands and then laughed without humour.

'It belongs to the Abbess of St Anne's,' Simon added, brow cocking curiously. 'It's got a feather mattress and silk hangings and everything else. It was part of her dowry, but the Bishop says she has to give it up ... What's wrong, Guy, have I said something funny?'

'No,' Guyon said, turning round. 'It's not funny at all . Do I have to say grace before I get in?'

'Depends on what you have in mind,' Simon said. 'For what we are about to receive and all that.' He smiled round at Judith. She turned pink and, choking an excuse, she gathered her skirts and hurried from the room.

'I didn't think that she would take offence. I'm sorry,' Simon said, staring at the still moving curtain with a perplexed frown on his face.

'How many Hail Marys does it take to work a miracle?' Guyon asked wearily.

CHAPTER 17

Judith lifted the goblet. It was made of the finest silver gilt delicately incised with a scroll work pattern of vine leaves. The wine within was sweet-sharp and cold from the well in which it had been chilled prior to being brought to table.

The King's new hall of Westminster blazed with rich colour, the wall s painted in a bold, angular design that glowed red and blue, gold and shadowed matt black. Banners sparred the wall s in vivid primary colours. Candles flamed and dripped, cream and gold, reflecting the napery on the long trestles. The high barony of England glowed like a mobile, flowing tapestry.

Judith sipped her wine and watched the weaving men and women - her uncle Arnulf de Montgomery, as objectionable as ever; her maternal uncle William Breteuill was with him and they were talking amiably enough, although the frequent flicker of their eyes betrayed their mistrust. Her most notorious relative, Robert de Belleme, was not here at this gathering, preferring to hold his own court in Arundell prior to taking ship for Normandy, but Arnulf, among others, was his informant as to the happenings at court during his absence.

Further down the room Gilbert de Clare, lord of Tunbridge, was deep in conversation with his brother Roger and with Robert FitzHamon of Gloucester who had been at her wedding. Guyon himself stood on the edge of the group that included them, having just arrived from the direction of the latrine. He was resplendent in a gown of garnet-red wool embroidered with thread of gold. The tunic, unlike the ones worn at knee length for the rigours of everyday life in the marches, swept the tops of his ankles. He was a lord of some importance and at court, if nowhere else, had perforce to dress as one, even down to the heavy rings encumbering his fingers.