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“Nothing of any matter,” Tristram replied tersely.
“She has the look of a witch,” Isidore now muttered.
And Tristram felt the blood rise within his temples, and that same sickening feeling which had seized him whenever he’d caught his cousin glancing upon Judith. Nell Tyler was right. His cousin was sheer evil.
“She’s none of your concern. Nor is my wife. Not any longer. I want you gone at first light!” he said, laying stress on every word.
Isidore cast him a long look which held vexation mixed with wonder.
“I never understood why you let yourself be flogged for a woman who spurned you. He must be mad, I thought. Or perchance she is a witch – a northern witch, just like the one we saw!”
In but an instant, Tristram’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. He held his cousin’s gaze, meaning him to see the menace in his eyes.
“You think all women are witches. I wonder why you hate them so? Nevertheless, it’s no longer my concern. I warn you! You are to go from Redmore and never set eyes on Judith or this village ever again!”
Isidore bristled.
“You’re threatening me? Your own cousin? A man of the Church?”
“I am,” Tristram said in a resolute voice, still holding his cousin’s gaze.
Isidore soon lowered his eyes, yet before he did so, Tristram perceived the gleam of fear which now shone there.
“You’re lost! Your soul is lost. You’ve doomed yourself already,” Isidore snarled, but his voice sounded trembling and defeated.
“You are the one who’s lost. And I shall pray every day never to set eyes on you again,” Tristram countered.
When their horses had been fetched, they rode to Redmore in utter silence. Come evening, Isidore went to the chapel for his prayers, while Tristram joined Bertran for a cup of wine in the Hall. His friend would accompany Isidore to report to King Henry on how things had gone at Redmore. And FitzRolf certainly meant to share with his king the forged letter Judith had shown them. Tristram supposed he should feel relieved his wife’s treachery had not been such as he’d thought, yet he did not. He felt forlorn and hollow.
“Still sleeping in the Hall on a pallet?” Bertran asked Tristram with a cocked eyebrow.
Tristram only nodded.
“She turned you away from her bed, huh? Still angry over the spanking you bestowed?” Bertran went on.
“Nay.Inow choose not to share her bed,” Tristram said pointedly.
Bertran smirked.
“You are a fool!”
Tristram sighed deeply and cast his friend a reluctant smile.
“Over her, aye. Always!”
“But have you ever told her you love her?”
Tristram closed his eyes in full bitterness.
“Yes. Years ago. She spurned me.”
“But it’s not spurn I see in her eyes whenever she looks upon you. It’s plain to everyone that she…”
Bertran closed his mouth shut, not finishing what he’d meant to say, and muttering instead, “A blind man would see it, yet, plainly, not you.”
Tristram looked at his friend in sheer wonder.
“What?”
