The Wild Hunt
“She could hear the murmur of voices as she approached, one deep and hesitant, the other her mother's and breathless. Then the voices ceased. At the curtain, Judith paused, warned by some sixth sense that to clear her throat and just walk into the room would not be wise. Cautiously she drew aside the merest fold of material and peered within to assess whether she should go or stay. Set into the thickness of the wall , the room was tiny with space only for a bed, a small clothing pole and a braz...ier for use against the cold. Before the brazier, blocking it from view, her mother stood locked in Miles's embrace, her blue gown melding into the dark green of his tunic and chausses, his hands lean and brown against the snowiness of her wimple. Her mother's arms were locked around his neck and they were kissing as, only yesterday in the hall , she had seen Elflin and her husband kissing. Judith dropped the curtain, stepped away and wondered why she had not realised it long ago. There had been enough beads to make a necklace if one had the eyesight to pick them up.MoreLess
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