Leaves On The Wind. Carol TownendЧитать онлайн книгу.
woke to hear a low whispering close by. Even as she strained to hear it, the muttering ceased. It was replaced by the unmistakable chink of coins being counted out on to a hard surface. She swallowed. She knew what that meant. She wriggled her fingers experimentally and sought mastery of her limbs. Another faint murmur spurred her efforts. Silks swished across marble tiles. A door clicked shut. She made out the scraping of a bolt being shot home. She’d been left with one of Balduk’s patrons, and she’d only the strength of a kitten to help her resist.
Judith waited, eyes shut fast, every nerve stretched to the limit. The silence was so absolute it was unnatural. At length, hoping against hope she’d been granted a reprieve, she forced her eyelids open.
She found herself lying on a couch in a pool of light. The rest of the chamber was black as sin. She could see no one else. The light was provided by two wall sconces, and a flickering oil lamp on the table in front of her. A brass ewer winked out from amid a host of ceramic dishes all overflowing with food. She licked her lips and frowned. She was so thirsty. Dared she drink?
She heaved herself up on one elbow and reached for one of the two goblets. Her hand froze in mid-air. Two goblets?
Something rustled in the shadows beyond the table. Judith snatched in a breath. Her hands gripped the edge of the couch and she strained to see across the chamber. Her heart began to pound. She steadied herself. She knew a little about fighting; he’d not be expecting that. She’d not make it easy…
“Don’t be afraid.”
A bitter laugh slid from Judith’s lips. English! The man who’d paid for her body spoke English! Her eyes pierced the gloom beyond the table and she recoiled. He was sitting in the window-seat opposite the couch. His white robes made him almost invisible against the whitewashed walls. A flowing head-covering and the shadows combined to mask his features.
She wanted to run, but knew her leaden limbs could not carry her. Zoe’s evil brew had seen to that. Even if she made it across the room, she doubted she could budge that in her present condition.
“The door is bolted to keep them out, not to keep you in.” The robed figure spoke up, reading her mind with uncanny ease. He had a pleasant voice, and somehow that made it worse.
Impotent fury freed Judith’s tongue. “You swine! You bastard!” she flared. “I suppose you want complete privacy while you…while you…” She floundered to a halt, chest heaving. She tried again. She’d not submit to this lecher. “What kind of a man are you that you need to come to a place like this? You sound English. What are you doing here?”
The man rose and Judith watched in paralysed horror as he strolled towards her.
“Keep away!” she choked.
The robed figure drew nearer. “Don’t be afraid,” he repeated.
His tone was gentle. Judith shrank back. Was this some ploy to win her confidence? He was not fooling her. She raised her hands to ward him off. It was all she was capable of doing. She noticed, wild with despair, that they were shaking. She bunched them into fists so he would not see.
He stopped at the table. “I am English,” he confirmed. “I have no intention of hurting you.”
Judith wanted to believe him. She wished she could see his face, for his voice was sincere. As yet he had not made any attempt to touch her, scarcely the actions of a man who had paid for his pleasure…But until she could look into his eyes, read his expression, she could not be sure.
“Then why in Hell’s name are you here?” she demanded, employing one of Eadwold’s curses in a vain attempt to revive her wilting spirits.
She thought the man raised a brow, and smiled as if amused. Blast the inadequate light! His voice…there was something about his voice. It nagged away in her mind, reminding her…Judith’s eyes widened. An impossible hope flared in her breast. She forgot to breathe.
“I had business at the harbour this morning,” he said, and his voice sent shivers racing down her spine. “They hold slave markets there, and today I found myself watching…”
Judith bit on her forefinger…that voice…that voice…
“Normally I would not have given the market a second glance. Trafficking in human flesh is an abhorrence in the eyes of God. But today, I saw someone from home. I watched. One of the women slaves reminded me of a Saxon girl I once met. Her name was Judith.”
Judith made a convulsive movement. She began to breathe again.
The voice continued. “I thought that Judith was dead, was just a memory. But then today, at the slave market…” He whipped off his headdress, crossed to the couch and knelt before her.
He reached out. Judith did not flinch. He took her chin in his hand, his fingers were cool and firm. Her face was angled gently up to the light. Forest green eyes held hers.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Rannulf whispered, smiling.
He released her, and gently trailed a finger across her cheek. His hand dropped to rest on the edge of the bed.
Judith sagged with relief, and put out her hand. He steadied her.
“So it was you! I could not believe it. Rannulf!” Clinging to his hand as though it were a lifeline, Judith stared at him. His face was leaner, browner. Trembling, she touched his cheek, where a faint white line marked the place a whip had scarred him four years ago. She had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life.
“Why did you let them buy me?” she frowned.
“You saw how much our friend Balduk paid for you. I do not carry so much with me—”
“Could you not have given him your bond?” she asked in a small voice.
Rannulf was looking at her cropped hair. He shook his head. “They’d not accept the word of a crusader. Besides, I do not believe in one person owning another.”
Judith gaped. “You didn’t let them buy me out of principle, surely?”
His eyes gleamed.
“You do not mean it!” she realised, striking him on the chest. “’Tis no laughing matter to me, Rannulf, to be owned by that man and put in this place,” she said sombrely, and let go of his hand.
Rannulf relaxed back on to a cushion and reached for the polished ewer “Here, you must be thirsty after what they gave you.” He poured a generous measure and offered it to her.
“I’m not touching that!”
“’Tis quite safe,” he assured her, grinning. “They warned me how wild you were, and when I told them I would not be needing any potions to tame you, I think they thought me a madman. But they took me at my word. ’Tis plain fruit juice.”
Judith searched his eyes and accepted the goblet. She risked a small sip. There was no bitter aftertaste. She drained it dry.
“When did you last eat?” Rannulf had removed one of the silver covers from a dish, and was dipping his fingers in to taste the contents. “This is good.” His lips curved. “And as I have paid highly for this, we may as well eat.”
“They fed me when I was brought here,” Judith told him. “But I think I could manage some more. It must be hours since then.” Judith climbed unsteadily to her feet and walked round the table. She plumped down on to one of the embroidered cushions opposite Rannulf. She still felt lightheaded, as though she were dreaming, and she was not really hungry.
He appeared to be starving, and transferred his attention to the food. Grateful that she could watch him unobserved, Judith picked at some flat bread. She needed time to absorb everything that had happened.
Rannulf ate with neat economy. Slim brown fingers hovered over the bowls, selected spiced fish and meat and carried them to his lips. His tanned skin made his eyes seem greener. In parts his hair was lighter, streaked blond by the Mediterranean sun, but otherwise it remained as she remembered