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 it, an unruly brown tangle. Superficially he looked much the same to Judith as he had done back in Mandeville Chase four years ago. And yet…

He glanced up and sent her a smile which brought a flush to her cheeks, and set off a peculiar tightening sensation in her stomach. It was not unpleasant.

She nibbled at her bread and continued to study him covertly, crumbling her portion in her fingers. His flowing white robe was firmly belted round his waist. His frame was not large, he carried no extra weight, and with a trained fighter’s eye Judith guessed he would be no easy man to best in combat. There was a hidden strength about him, a tension, a feeling of power held in control. And if it was unleashed?

Judith would not wish him to be her enemy.

An enamelled knife with a wicked, curving blade hung at his belt. No wonder she had failed to recognise him. His attire was nothing like that of the young English poacher who had helped her escape the Norman tyrant and his knights.

“Have you finished shredding that bread, or are you going to destroy the whole loaf, Judith?”

She started. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.” She looked askance at the crumbs she had scattered over board and floor.

“Murderous thoughts, by the look of what you have done to that innocent loaf!”

“I…I was wondering…”

“Aye?”

Judith coloured She crushed the crust to nothing. “In…in Mandeville Chase, when we last met, did you ever come back to the hide? I often wondered.”

“Aye. I did. I’d snared a plump hare for us to feast on. But you’d gone. I saw other tracks around the shelter, but no signs of a struggle, so I assumed your brothers had found you. To be certain, I followed the tracks for about a mile and then I found…”

“Go on,” Judith urged.

“I found evidence that you’d been murdered.”

“But, Rannulf, as you see, I wasn’t murdered.”

“Aye.” Rannulf reached across the table and peeled her fingers from what was left of the loaf. He raised them to his lips.

Judith’s fingers felt strange. Hot all over, she wrenched them away. “Don’t do that,” she scowled. She knew she had nothing to fear from Rannulf. But he unsettled her.

Four years surviving as a youth in Mandeville Chase had taught Judith how to fight and claw for her life, but she’d learnt nothing of what it was to be a woman. She was all but naked in the gossamer silks that purported to clothe her, and felt desperately vulnerable.