Page 7 of A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden 4)

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p; Someone handed the boy his sword as he picked himself off the ground. From the amount of dirt on his tunic and chausses, it was clear it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a spill.

“Better luck next time, Rike,” the other boy said jovially. But even from where she stood, Judith could tell he was trying hard not to smile.

She looked away quickly, for fear Rike would see her watching and be even more mortified. But at the same time, her mind was working. He needed someone to train with—someone who knew what he was doing and could teach him how to move his too-long legs and control his awkward arms. Mayhap she would ask Hugh to take him under his wing, or—nay. Not Hugh. Malcolm.

Nay, Warwick. She must remember to think of him as Lord Warwick now.

But it was a good thought, no mater how she named the man in her mind. How many times had Mal—Warwick—ended up accidentally dropping his sword or tripping over its tip when he was younger? Judith had oft seen it happen when he was fostering with Gregory. Once, he’d tried to do a spinning lunge and ended up flat on his face, his sword bouncing across the dirt, his own shield cutting him across the cheek as he fell. If anyone could advise Rike, ’twould be Warwick.

She kept walking, frowning in thought. But would he even be willing? Did he have the temperament? During their brief conversation last evening by the mews, she’d sensed impatience and discomfort fairly rolling off him. Whether it was caused by herself or nay, Judith didn’t know. But she must find out before putting any plan into action. The poor boy didn’t need any further bruise to his ego, that was certain.

By now she’d reached the mews. Tessing was there of course, his sparse white hair standing in soft, curly tufts at the back of his head like the underdown of a baby merlin. His watery gray eyes were bright as he looked up from sweeping to greet her.

He preferred to sleep on a small pallet in the falcon house, and Judith didn’t dissuade him. He liked to be among the feathers, he told her, for they didn’t talk back to him. (That had been a veiled reprimand to her in remembrance of Judith’s stubbornness and saucy tongue when she was younger and just learning her way around the birds—thinking she knew better than he. How soon she learned otherwise. ) And ’twas good for the birds to be around men as much as possible. As well, Tessing’s presence also protected them from any cat or other beast—including a two-legged one—that might wish to partake of the valuable hunters.

By the time Judith finished checking Hecate’s foot and feeding her and the three other falcons, what was left of the anemic yellow sun had turned gray. She stayed with her birds for another few moments, settling them one by one in turn on a leather-gloved fist and speaking quietly while they ate a small treat, just as her father had taught her to do. When she finally came back out of the mews, the clouds hung thick and heavy. The scent of impending damp filled the air.

Nevertheless, Judith took her time wandering back to the hall. She’d missed mass, but there was another at terce and she could always go to confession if she missed that one too. Since she was bound to be closed up the rest of the day if the clouds were any indication, she wanted to enjoy the fresh air—and she suspected God might appreciate that sentiment as much or more than her presence at daily mass. At the least, she hoped so. She certainly wasn’t brave enough to raise the question with Father Anselm.

Some of the men were still training, and Judith slowed her pace without appearing to do so. She looked around for Rike, wanting to assure herself he wasn’t moping in a corner of the yard—or, worse, tumbled on the ground again or cut by his own blade. At first she didn’t see him, and Judith slowed even more.

Hugh caught sight of her and paused mid-battle, swiping a forearm over his perspiring forehead. He grinned and waved, then charged back toward his opponent, who was no match for Hugh’s quick feet.

She returned the hail and finally caught sight of Rike. He was standing near the edge of the training yard, away from the others, but he wasn’t alone. Malcolm of Warwick stood there, speaking to him, gesturing with his large, broad hands, and the younger man was nodding earnestly. Malcolm towered over the boy just enough that Judith suspected Rike might grow as tall as he some day, for he was well on his way there.

Well. Mayhap they’d both had the same idea. Judith smiled to herself, determined to find out if that was the case.

“And what does such a lovely woman find so amusing on this dreary day?”

Judith halted in her tracks, then sank into an efficient curtsy. “My lord,” she said, her voice directed toward the ground due to her pose of obeisance. She could see the fine leather shoes of the king just outside her field of vision. When he took her hand to draw her to her feet, she looked up to find him smiling down at her.

“Well, Lady Judith, what is it that brings such a beautiful smile to an already lovely face?” he asked again.

“Good morrow, my lord,” she said, trying to gather her scattered wits. She’d spoken with the king numerous times, and she was a confidante of his wife. The mere royal presence wasn’t enough to set her mind to the wind; it was that he’d come upon her so quickly and intruded upon her thoughts. Thoughts which she preferred not to share. “I was merely thinking about…a jest Lord Hugh made last evening, at the expense of the jongleur,” she manufactured quickly.

“And pray what was that?” pressed the king. His attention was focused so heavily on her Judith found it difficult to breathe.

“Naught but his assertion that if the man could shave his face, then why could he not cut his hair?” Hugh had said that about Warwick in an almost admiring fashion, but the king didn’t know that and Judith needed an answer.

“Indeed,” replied Henry. He stroked his reddish beard, a darker, duller shade than Judith’s own hair. He hadn’t released her hand, and Judith felt an odd tripping of her heart as she became aware of this. “Hugh is a witty man, ’tis true. Lady Judith,” he said, command replacing his conversational tone, “’tis our good fortune to have come upon you this morrow. Had we attended mass as Becket suggested, in the stead of coming to view our men, we shouldn’t have had such a happy moment. ”

“Ah,” Judith replied, managing to slip her fingers from his grip under the guise of adjusting her girdle, “I wonder what the archbishop would say on that, knowing you chose the task of war over that of worship. ” She kept her tone light, knowing the king appreciated jests. “But mayhap you could convince him your intent was to worship amid God’s natural house on this cloudy day, and not mention that it was in the same yard as your fighting men. ”

Henry chuckled, his blue eyes lighting with humor. “Beautiful and witty. ’Tis no wonder our queen admires you, Lady Judith. ”

She relaxed. She’d misunderstood the warmth in his eyes and the too-long clasp of her hand. Even the king wouldn’t tread upon his wife’s ground. “Not nearly as much as I love her, your majesty,” she replied.

“And pretty with the compliments as well,” he acknowledged. “Well, then, Lady Judith, let us tell you of the thought we’ve had. The queen has just informed us of her news—that she expects another confinement in seven or eight months. So soon after Joan’s birth, aye? But I daresay, ’tis not only the fault of the queen. And mayhap you are already aware of this,” he added with a twinkle in the eye.

Judith wasn’t certain whether to acknowledge that she was, indeed, aware of the queen’s condition and so she remained silent with a vague smile curving her lips.

“We now tell you—if she produces another son and heir for us, his name shall be John. But if she is blessed with a daughter, her name shall be Mary. ’Tis no matter now…but the reason we wish to speak with you is simple. We wish to gift her with a fine, well-trained falcon, fit for a queen, in celebration of this news. And we know of no other lady who should be the one to find and train this huntress bird. ”

“Oh my lord, you honor me,” Judith said, sweeping into another curtsy. Inside, she was alive and fairly bouncing with enthusiasm. “I would be very grateful to take on such a task! It would give me such pleasure to do so for her majesty—and for you as well. I thank you. ”

“Please, rise, my lady,” he said, pulling her to her feet again. “We have great confidence in your abilities. You may begin this task this day—if,” he added as a large raindrop splashed onto their joined hands, “the weather allows. ”

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