She was silent for a moment, then said, “Oh, no. Crusty. She was attacked—surely bit and scratched by the dogs.”
Mal knew what she was asking without precisely doing so, and he also knew she was aware of the answer. “’Tis a shame when one loses a horse,” was all he said. “And I’m sorry for that.”
“But ’tis a greater shame when one loses a man,” she replied.
“I cannot argue with that.”
To his relief, Judith seemed willing to lapse into silence after that exchange. She turned back around and not long afterward, Mal felt her slump against him. Dead asleep, her negligible weight sagging against his chest and arm…all sweet-smelling, curvy, soft, blessedly quiet Judith. He closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself the luxury of holding her even as he berated himself for being so foolish as to even consider the thought of taking her to wife.
But, by God, the woman was lovely. And, apparently, she was intelligent and brave—if the events of the day were any indication. The cuts and scrapes on her hand and cheek from sliding down the tree trunk must hurt, but she’d not mentioned them once. Yet she was too loud and talkative for his taste. Too demanding. He could only imagine what it would be like to bed her. Would she have a running conversation, peppering him with questions about his day even as they coupled? She would want to know everything, she would want to have her fingers stirring up every part of his life, and surely—having been at court for so long—she’d want visitors at table all of the time.
Nay, Judith of Kentworth would not be a suitable wife for him.
Shortly after that, the rain promised by Nevril came. As they rode along, Mal reached behind to gather his cloak, then draped it over the front of him to cover his charge. By now, she’d turned to huddle against him and he helped her move sleepily, lifting her so both legs hung over one side.
She didn’t awaken until they clattered across the drawbridge, rattling its heavy metal chains. Then she shifted and emerged from the cloak, her hair matted down and her eyes dull and sleepy. The rain had all but ceased, yet some drizzle still chilled the air. “We’re home,” she said, her voice rusty. “I slept.”
“Indeed you did,” he replied, aware that in a few precious moments, she’d be sliding away from him…forever. “You must see to the scrape on your cheek. And your arms as well. You slipped some distance on the tree.”
She blinked as Alpha trotted across the bailey. “You saw me fall?”
“Aye.”
“I climbed up and down seven times,” she grumbled, pushing the cloak away. “And the one time I lose my footing is when it must be witnessed.”
Mal nearly laughed, charmed by her irritation—and surprised at how easy it was becoming to converse with her. But…seven times? The woman must be as agile as the monkeys he’d seen once at court, many years ago. “Why did you climb up and down so many times?” he asked, his voice still light with humor.
“I was in the tree for more than four hours,” she replied as they approached the stables. “Do you not think I tried to come down more than once? But the dogs were there every time I came into view, and so back up I went. Hoping they would lose sight of me and leave.”
“You climbed the tree in order to capture a raptor for the king,” Mal said grimly. They were at the stables now and he reluctantly turned Alpha to greet the grooms. He was dripping from the rain, but not at all chilled. “’Twas good fortune you were in the tree to begin with, my lady, else the dogs may have done more than tree you for hours.”
“Aye,” she replied, her voice quieting again. Surely she was remembering the cost of her folly.
Mal dismounted and handed his reins to the marshal, who gestured for help from a groom in case Alpha was still full of spirit. Then he turned to look up at Judith, meeting her eyes for a moment in the gray, drizzly light. “’Tis my hope, Lady Judith, that whatever becomes of your gift to the king and his queen, ’twas worth the sad events of this day.” He lifted her from the saddle, setting her none too gently on the ground as the courtyard filled with the rest of their party.
“I do not think that is possible,” she replied sadly. “Thank you, Malcolm.”
“My lady!” Tabby greeted Judith with a relieved shriek when she came into her chamber. The maid flew into her mistress’s arms as if she’d been the one lost and then found. “You are returned! I was so afeared for you, my lady, when Crusty returned and you did not!”
Judith embraced her in return, then extricated herself carefully, wincing at the pain in her arms and legs. “I am sore tired and—”
“And your face! And arms! What has befallen you?”
“I will tell you all of it, but I must have a bath. And some of your salve for my hurts. I’ve already ordered the water to be brought up.” She stopped when the expected knock came at her chamber door.
Tabby rushed over to open it. “My lord!” she squeaked in shock.
Judith turned sharply, not certain whom she thought would be there after her maid’s exclamation…but the last person she expected to see was the king.
“Your majesty,” she exclaimed, collapsing into a curtsy.
“Rise, Lady Judith,” said Henry in his low but commanding voice. “And tell your maid she need not have such a fit.”
Indeed, Tabby was fairly prostrate on the floor, her breathing coming in short, quick gasps.
“Tabatha,” Judith commanded in a steely voice, unable to fathom why on earth the king had seen fit to visit her. “Attend to…to…aught….”
“What is this? A menagerie? Is that a rabbit in yonder cage?” Henry was looking about the tiny antechamber where Bear, who had no sense of the greatness in his presence, had hardly lifted his head when the king entered the room. Unfortunately, the kitten was not so uninterested, and she stumbled from her place next to the dog and meowed up at the muscular, auburn-haired man. “And who is this?”
“Oh, my lord, your majesty, ’tis naught but a poor little cat I was nursing back to health,” Tabby managed to say, scooping up the kitten just before she began to sharpen her claws on the royal legs. Her words came out in little more than a shaky whisper and Judith took pity on her.
“The men will be here with my bath any moment. Mayhap you shall meet them in the hall so they do not…er…splash water on his majesty.” Judith turned her attention to the king, still stunned that she’d had to speak those words. “Your highness, to what do I owe this honor?”
Henry stepped into the chamber, the anteroom door closing partly behind him as Tabby went out through the main chamber door. He was dressed in informal clothing—a simple sherte and hose covered by a tunic, along with fine leather slippers. Nevertheless, his royal presence seemed to overtake the chamber, making the space shrink to just his size. “I just learned of your adventures this day, Lady Judith. I merely came to assure myself you have returned whole and unharmed.”
Judith blinked and tried to hide her confusion. If the king made it his business to personally visit every one of his subjects when they returned from a journey, he would spend more time out of his chambers than in. “Aye, my lord, as you are well able to see, I am whole and unharmed.”
“But for this bit of nastiness on your lovely face,” he said, reaching to touch her scraped cheek. It was more of a caress than an inquisitive touch, and his fingers lingered on her skin, brushing the curve of her jaw.
Her heart skipped a beat and Judith felt herself flush with heat and confusion. He was looking at her…oddly. In a manner that made her insides flutter uncomfortably. “Aye,” she managed to say, despite her dry mouth and pounding heart. “’Tis naught but the scrape of a pine tree trunk. I was…I climbed the tree in hopes of finding a baby falcon for the…for the queen.”
“Indeed,” Henry said. His hand fell away from her cheek and Judith breathed more easily. “We do hope it doesn’t leave a scar. Such a beautiful countenance should never be marred thusly.”
“You are very kind, your majesty,” she replied, curtsying again briefly. “And you are very kind to take the time to visit me here.”
“’Tis of naught account,” he said. “Our queen is everything to us, and we wish only to ensure that our Lady Falconer is able to fulfill the request we have made of her.”
“Of course, your highness,” Judith told him, a little spark of excitement flaring inside her at the name ‘Lady Falconer.’ It might not be a formal title, but she would accept the honor nevertheless. Never had a woman been spoke of in such a manner. “And this day, I was able to capture two eyases. Surely one of them will suit for your lady wife.”
“A pair of eyases? And mayhap we shall have a matching hunter for the king himself, then?” he said, his eyes glinting with pleasure.
“Indeed, my lord…if both falcons show promise. I vow it.”
“Very well, then, Lady Judith. We shall leave you to your bath.” His voice slowed and deepened on the word, and his attention skimmed the chamber. “And mayhap on the morrow, you shall tell us more of your adventures, and how you intend to train a pair of falcons for your sovereigns.”
“Aye, my lord, and thank you for your kind attention this night,” Judith said. She swept into one last curtsy, remaining thus until she saw his leather slippers turn and his feet carry him from the chamber, then out to the antechamber.
No sooner had the door closed behind King Henry than Judith collapsed onto the stool near the fire. What was the meaning of such an encounter? Her heart was pounding and her palms damp, but Judith drew in several slow, deep breaths to calm herself.
She was close enough to Eleanor to have met the king many times, but even more importantly, to have witnessed many of his majesty’s various moods. He could be fiery and commanding, ruthless and violent…but he could also be wise and judicious—and kind and gentle, as he had been this night. He cared for his people in both England and France, and despite his thirst for power and land, Henry was a good king who was liked and respected by his most powerful barons. Judith’s cousin Gavin, Lord Mal Verne, was one of the men who had the king’s ear, and, along with Salisbury and Ludingdon, was respected by him as well. Among other things, they spoke optimistically of Henry’s plans to redesign the legal system and applauded his move to institute a jury of peers in most trials.