A Lily on the Heath

Although Malcolm and Gregory had been peers and trained together as pages then squires before being knighted, they had never been particularly close friends. Gregory had a slick way about him Mal didn’t care for, as well as an overly critical tongue. Aside from that, he’d been betrothed to the beautiful, wealthy young woman who was a favorite of Queen Matilda—a far sight different from Malcolm, whose father had selected a plain, if not biddable, wife for him whose dowry was only a small chest of gold coins and a pair of warhorses.



Still, he would never have wished Gregory harm. And to be slain by his betrothed wife’s cousin was no happy occurrence, regardless of the reason for it. Judith must have been overset and distraught, although clearly she had come to terms with his death.



Malcolm wasn’t able to extricate himself from the company of King Henry until long after the platters and trays had been cleared away, the bottles of wine emptied, and the dancers pled exhaustion. Many of them, including the fiery-haired Lady Judith, left the hall. When Duchante the jongleur sat himself up on a stool to sing a final ballad for the night, Mal couldn’t have been more relieved.



As soon as the song ended, he begged leave of the king and queen, citing the need to check on his horse in the stable.



Outside, Mal breathed in the fresh night, glad to be quit of the loud, crowded hall with its heavy, smoke-filled air. The enclosed yard, or bailey, was fairly empty except for men-at-arms taking their turn standing watch on the walls above and an occasional serf or other figure rushing off somewhere. Flickering torches studded the turrets and were assisted by a full, pearly moon and a swath of sparkling stars. The night was very well lit.



He had to ask directions to the particular stable where Alpha had been taken, and was told by one of the marshals “’tis the low yonder one, on the way passing the hawk mews.”



Of course that direction put him in mind once again of Lady Judith, and as he strode toward the stable, he wondered if she kept any of her raptors with her at court. Or if she even hunted any longer. And he wasn’t certain why he continued to think of her.



“Malcolm?”



The voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing him to a sharp standstill.



“Lord Warwick?”



As if he’d conjured her up with all of his musings, suddenly there was Lady Judith standing at the shadowy doorway to what was presumably the mews.



“Lady Judith,” he said. All at once, he felt tense and uncomfortable, which irritated him even more than…well, than the whole idea of being here. Away from Warwick. And Violet.



“My pardon, my lord, I shouldn’t have greeted you thus. Until this night, I didn’t realize you were Warwick now,” she said, stepping closer and into better light.



“Good evening Lady Judith,” he said, pausing reluctantly. “It has been a long time since we’ve spoken.”



“Aye,” she said, and from behind her, he heard movements inside the mews. “I’ll return in a moment, Tessing,” she called into the building.



Mal had a sense of relief she wasn’t out of the keep in the middle of the night without company. Still, if Tessing was the same falconer who’d worked with Judith at Kentworth, the man must be near sixty by now, hardly a deterrent to any drunk or rapacious man-at-arms who meant to cause mischief—or worse. “Where is your man?” he asked. “Are you here in the bailey alone?”



“Alone but for my constant companion.” She produced a slender glint of metal in the form of a dagger. “And Tessing. As well as Sir Holbert. I’m not foolish enough to go about without him or Sir Piall, even in the king’s yard.”



Mal nodded and realized his mind had gone irritatingly blank. He’d never had much to say to Judith—not that her busy tongue would have allowed him any opportunity to speak—and part of the reason was still terribly evident: he found her to be utterly, intimidatingly beautiful. Limned by silvery moonlight, her veil slipped carelessly down to her shoulders. With her elegant, perfectly formed nose and high cheekbones outlined by the pearly light, she appeared even more comely than he recalled. Her brilliant red-gold hair blazed even in the gray night. He forced himself to look away, settling his attention onto the relative safety of her shoulder.



“I hope you are well, Lord Warwick,” she said, stepping even closer. Now he must look at her lips, curved into a soft, welcoming smile, and the shape of her eyes—like that of a perfect peach pit. She gave a little laugh. “It feels odd to name you so; for I have still and always did think of you only as Malcolm, a friend of my—of Gregory’s.”



“I care not if you call me Malcolm,” he said with a shrug. Then, realizing she’d given him an opening, he added, “’Twas a tragedy, Gregory’s death. I have heard….” He hesitated. “Is it true Mal Verne slayed him?”



She nodded, her smile fading slightly. “Aye. ’Twas even before Gregory and I were able to marry. But Gavin has overpaid his penance for the deed—and ’twas an unfortunate circumstance all around. Gregory was involved in an ugly scheme—one he should never have been part of. Thus, I hold no grudge against Gavin, and he has finally come to accept that. He is well now, and recently wed. And tell me of your father. Lord John? What happened?”



The pang of grief still nudged at him, though it had been years. “A growth overtook his belly, and he died in his bed after a long illness. ’Twas five years past.”



“I’ve heard you only arrived in Clarendon this day. What brings you so far from home?” she asked, and Mal wondered if she meant to keep him conversing all the night.



Why did he feel so itchy, so impatient? So…unsure of himself? ’Sblood, he wasn’t the awkward, green boy he’d been when last they met. His irritation with himself grew and he responded more bluntly than he meant. “I’ve come to petition the king, for I’m in need of a wife.”



The moment those words left his lips he realized that for the first time ’twas a possibility—although a far-reaching one—that Judith of Kentworth could be his wife. As soon as the thought formed, a heady rush of heat flooded his body, making him light of head…then was followed immediately by a sharp chill that left him feeling slightly ill. Nay. He wouldn’t even consider the prospect. She was…not suitable for him.



“Did you not wed Sarah of Glawstering?” she asked, seemingly insistent on learning every event that had overtaken his life in the last seven years. Would she soon ask him how many moons it had been since he last saw his mother? Or how many times he’d gone to a shire’s faire?



But despite his desire to end the conversation and get away from the woman, he must respond. “Lady Sarah and I were wed as planned, but a fever claimed her four summers ago.”



“I’m very sorry,” Judith said, her eyes so very large and steady, fastened upon him. Although he couldn’t see their color, he knew they couldn’t have changed from the clear blue sapphire hue they’d been when he and she were younger. “Did you have any children?”



A daughter. But he didn’t say it aloud. “Lady Judith, do you not allow me to keep you from your business,” he said, gesturing to the mews. “I am certain we shall speak again while I’m here at court.” But as little as possible for the duration of my visit. For he didn’t care for the unsettled way she made him feel. As if he were a young, green, awkward boy again. “Mayhap I should allow you to continue with your task so Holbert can be relieved before the moon rises too high.”



Judith looked at him speculatively, but to his surprise, she merely nodded at his suggestion. “I’m certain Sir Holbert will appreciate your conscientiousness. I’ll be certain to tell him of your concern.” Her eyes danced, yet her words sounded sincere.



Malcolm was fair ready to be on his way and he cared little whether she was jesting with him or nay. “Very well then, my lady. I bid you good evening.” And he hurried off toward the stable, determined to take a different route when he returned to the keep.



TWO



The next morning, as was her habit, Judith rose just after the sun filtered through the narrow slit of her window.



As a favorite of the queen and a permanent resident of the court, she was granted the luxury of a private chamber for herself and her maid, Tabatha, who slept on a thick pallet in a small antechamber just inside the door. In a pile of rags next to her pallet snored a decrepit dog named Bear and another unidentifiable ball of fur.



“Good morrow, milady,” Tabatha said, already digging in one of Judith’s trunks as she hummed softly. She straightened, holding a dark red bliaut that glittered with gold embroidery at the hem and cuffs. “Will this suit for today?”



“Aye.” Judith was already unplaiting her thick braid in preparation for the maid to comb it out and fashion it into a more complicated style. She sat in her plain, linen kirtle by the fire, which needed to be naught more than a small, whimpering blaze on this warm June morning. Though in summer the stone walled chambers of the keep could feel damp and cool, a roaring fire was hardly necessary.



The activity in the chamber prompted Bear to stir. He gave a deep, annoyed groan that clearly bespoke his opinion of early risers. The ball of fur curled up next to him unrolled into the fluff of an amber-striped kitten, who stumbled sleepily from his resting place.



“Lotty is so steady on her feet already,” Judith said as the small cat padded over toward her. “She’s healed more quickly than I’d imagined. ’Twas good of you to bring the poor mite here, Tabby.”



Her maid smiled in affection at the little creature, who was batting at the hem of Judith’s shift with a tiny white paw. “Aye, look at her now. ’Tis hard t’believe she was only a scrawny, bloody little thing just a se’ennight past.”



“You have a gift for healing animals, that’s certain,” Judith said as she stood and pulled off the kirtle in which she slept. “Even if your patients tend to overrun my chamber betimes,” she added drily.