AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 3
Tristram sighed deeply, casting a frowning glance upon the woman who’d already fallen asleep by his side, on her belly, with her deliciously striped bottom on full display. His cock stirred, and both anger and lust mingled inside him. So he finally had the truth of it. Those years ago he’d held his lust at bay, because he’d thought Judith was unprepared for his touch. He’d honourably kept his distance, not wanting to bed an unwilling woman, although she’d pledged herself to him. But it turned out his wife hadn’t been unwilling. The heat with which she’d loved him tonight had told him plainly he now had the truth of it. In the past he’d thought to give her time to get adjusted to him, but it now seemed plain, by the unrestrained way in which she’d loved him, that she lusted for him just as much as he lusted for her. Why then had she sought an annulment? He had been unable to understand her actions and also unable to grant the annulment. Neither Henry nor the prelates of Henry’s choosing had given him a choice. And now… He raked a hand through his hair, not knowing why all those years ago she’d spurned him as she had, and recalling that once he’d sought to earn her love.
Four years ago,1170, London
It wasupon a morning that Tristram heard a voice which he would never in his life forget. It came from the garden of the royal palace, and it was the warmest, most enticing voice Tristram had ever heard. Whenever he’d conjured up mermaids in his mind, he’d thought their voices would sound just like this. The song was sung in Occitan, not Norman, yet Tristram could understand it. His ancestors were Norman and did not come from the South of France like those of Eleanor, and of those courtiers loyal to her, but he soon caught the feel and the rhythm of the song, and he found its words strangely beautiful. The song was of the love between Tristan and his Yseult, and of the honeysuckle which was a symbol of their love which was called achevrefoil. Tristram had heard the song of thechevrefoiloften sung by thetrouveresand troubadours of the court, but he’d never heard it sung quite like this. The tune and words were different and strange – warmer and more melodious than any song he’d heard in either Norman or Occitan.
Unable to stop, Tristram made his way towards the place where the voice was coming from, compelled to learn who was singing. Unfortunately the singing stopped well before he was able to reach the spot from which the sounds had reverberated, and when he finally arrived, there was no one there, and all he could stare at was a bush of briar roses. Upon a whim, he plucked one briar rose which he kept in his hand when he went to meet his best friend for sword practice.
“You’re already daydreaming, I see,” his friend, Bertran FitzRolf, told him with a smile when they at last set eyes upon each other.
Tristram smiled in return.
“I was dreaming of beauty. Of a voice I heard coming from the garden. A woman’s voice, uncanny!”
FitzRolf laughed.
“And now you’re thinking this unknown woman should be as beautiful as her voice.”
“Yes,” Tristram said, then laughed in turn. “No… I don’t know. Does it matter? Who will care even if her face is plain when her voice is so uncannily beautiful?”
“Of course, you would say so. Beside your sword, you care for naught but songs and stories,” his friend told him with a shake of his head.
“They are the best thing in this world,” Tristram replied, still musing upon his mysterious woman.
Her voice had sounded mesmerizing, yet young, and he distinctly recalled all the timbres of the voices of the women he’d met at Court. He’d always had a keen ear he prided himself in. This woman was someone he didn’t know. A noblewoman of Occitan ancestry, who was newly come to Court. And in the next days he eagerly waited to come upon her, but he didn’t chance to perceive her. It was only when he was beginning to think the whole thing had been a strange dream of his, that he had occasion to meet her one day.
It was the month of May, one filled with court entertainments, and this leisure day was one of joyous games which were well loved by the ladies and lords of the court. Tristram had always been an avid game player, and he’d grown up with three sisters. Unlike those knights who spurned the tamer, gentler games ladies enjoyed, he found great entertainment in such pastimes. Besides, he loved good-natured flirting, and thought most knights were foolish not to want to share diverting jests and joyous games with women. So he agreed to play a game of blindman’s bluff with good cheer when one of the ladies asked him.
“I’m the best at this,” he warned the lady laughingly, as she was tying the blindfold across his eyes. “And I’ll guess each and every one of you.”
“We’ll see,” the lady answered with a laugh of her own. “You said each and every one of us, remember?”
“I did,” Tristram answered, because he knew all the ladies in this game and he had no trouble recognizing a familiar voice, even when its possessor whispered or tried to distort it.
There was some laughter and low mutters from the ladies, and some feet shuffling around him, and Tristram waited patiently for the first lady to call his name.
“Come on,” he urged teasingly. “I’ll prove myself to you once again, although you know that, in this game, I’ve never been beaten.”
Nevertheless he simply stirred at the voice who next called his name. It was, certainly, a voice he already knew, but he didn’t know the name or face of the lady who’d spoken. It was his mysterious mermaid.
“Tristram,” the voice called out, and he simply loved the way his name reverberated in the garden.
“You’ve cheated, my ladies,” he said, as his heart skipped a beat. “I’ve never met the lady who’s called my name, and you already know it. It is unfair to bring a lady who wasn’t even in the game.”
He felt loath to remove his blindfold, even when several of the ladies conceded with exaggerated sighs they’d only tried to jest with him. Something inside him had been deeply moved and he did not wish to feel disappointed when he at last met the woman who had the most enticing voice in this world. When one of the ladies at last untied the blindfold, he glanced around him, seeking to see the woman who’d spoken. His eyes soon found her, the only unfamiliar face among the ladies now in the game. Her face was not, indeed, even half as beautiful as her voice, but he found his gaze roaming appreciatively on the ample curves of her body. And when he looked the second time upon her face, he found he already liked it, although it didn’t meet the canons of courtly beauty he’d been taught to set store on.
“I’m Tristram, as you already know, my lady,” he said boldly. “But I’ve not had the pleasure of learning your name.”
“It’s… Judith,” she replied, and her voice was a mere whisper when she spoke.
She seemed ill at ease among the ladies, and it appeared she’d been brought in the game rather reluctantly. Tristram soon found she was shy, and unused to courtly games and teasing, so he didn’t press upon her. Still, her voice just lingered in his mind during the next days, and he discovered he couldn’t get it out of his mind. And he not only thought of her voice, but of her, as she’d seemed so different and so apart from the ladies of his acquaintance. She had large, watchful eyes, and had just listened to the others’ talk, rather than hurrying to join in it. But, Tristram recalled, she’d been well spoken and polite whenever someone had chanced to address her.Judith. She lingered in his mind, and he even found himself asking his mother about her upon a day when they shared a meal at their London home.
“Judith of Redmore,” his mother said and nodded.
“An English name, Northern by the sound of it,” Tristram mused. “I thought she was Occitan.”
“Her mother’s family is. Fenice de Fael was her name before she wed an English lord from the North. But you already know Judith’s aunt – Edith, who’s lady-in-waiting whenever the Queen comes back to our English court.”
