'What brings you this time, John, welcome as you always are? I trust it is not only ships and trade that lead you to call upon me!'
John took her hands and pulled her close to him. 'I confess that I have been talking to Angerus de Wile, but that was just an excuse to come to see you.'
Hilda drew back gently. 'Do you need an excuse to visit me, John?' she said softly.
He looked at her lovely face, her sweep of golden hair and the slim body in its sheath of pale blue linen. With a groan, he slid his arms around her and kissed her passionately, almost roughly. Those familiar lips responded eagerly and her hands reached up around his neck, holding his head in an almost desperate embrace. When they came up for air, one of his hands found her breast, and as they writhed against each other their lips and tongues joined together once more. Just as John was scanning the floor from the corner of his eye, looking for a place to lay her down, Hilda broke free and stepped back gasping, her hands up in defence.
'No, John! This is not right. Please, consider what we are doing!'
Aroused and frustrated, he stood breathing heavily, his empty arms still held out for her. Slowly, they drooped, as he gained control of himself.
'Hilda, why not? We both lost our virginity together so long ago. We are very special to each other, are we not?'
The elegant woman backed away and felt for a chair behind her, her eyes still upon his. 'We are indeed, John! There is no other man in the world like you, but we cannot hurt others to satisfy our own cravings. Sit down, I beg you.'
Reluctantly, he lowered himself on to a padded stool and crouched with his hands on his knees, regarding her intently. He had come very near ravishment and his heart was still pounding in his chest like a water-hammer in a forge. With an effort, Hilda fought to bring her own feelings under control and, to cover her agitation, turned to pour some wine that Alice had provided in a jug.
'Take this and behave yourself, dear man,' she said with an attempt at levity as she handed him a pewter cup. 'We are no longer a wayward lass and a wild young lad frisking in the tithe barn at Holcombe!'
Simmering down, he grinned sheepishly. 'It is your fault, Hilda, for being so damned lovely. What man could resist being inflamed by you? You should veil your face to avoid temptation, like the Saracen women do in Outremer.'
As the emotional temperature dropped, Hilda wisely cooled it even further by enquiring about John's wife and mistress. He told her about the latest machinations of Matilda and her retreat into Polsloe once again.
'If only I knew whether she was serious this time — or just provoking me,' he glowered. 'It may be possible to get the marriage annulled if she actually takes her vows, though that will take a year or two and possibly an appeal to Rome.'
Hilda gazed at him steadily, her blue eyes fixed on his. 'And if that comes to pass, will you then marry your Nesta?'
He shook his head decisively. 'She never would do that, I know. She is very devout in her own way and thinks that the wedding bond is for life. Apart from which, she considers herself a lowly foreign Welshwoman, an ale-wife in a different world from a knighted Norman law officer!' he added cynically.
Hilda shrugged. 'And what am I, John, but the Saxon daughter of a village reeve? Until your brother gave him his freedom, my father was a serf, toiling in the fields.'
De Wolfe snorted. 'You are a queen amongst women, Hilda, wherever you came from. And now you are also a rich woman, with a fine house and a partner in a thriving business!'
She smiled sadly, offering him more wine. 'And a lonely woman, John! I admit I miss Thorgils, even though he was at sea for more than half the year.'
De Wolfe was not sure how to take this. Was it a hint that she needed his company more often? But after her pulling him up short a few moments ago, it seemed hardly likely that she was now encouraging him. Confused, he did not know whether to voice his concerns to Hilda about Nesta and the new arrival on the scene, the stone carver from Gwent. Then he decided that he was being a fool — all he had seen was his unfailingly kind mistress bringing a wounded fellow countryman a basket of food and some consoling conversation. It was ridiculous, he thought, for him to make that into a potentially amorous affair and to mislead Hilda into thinking that he was on the road to breaking off his long-standing liaison with Nesta.
With an effort, they managed to bring their conversation down to more mundane matters, and John told her about the problems he had in Axmouth and the murder of the Keeper of the Peace. 'It affects us in a way,' he added. 'Our new venture with the ships could be in jeopardy if piracy threatens more vessels plying across the Channel.' He told her of his plans to raid Axmouth and then go across to Rouen to seek the support of Hubert Walter and perhaps even the king, in dealing with the growing problem of seaborne murder and theft. '
'Be careful, John. The back of a horse is a safer place than the sea,' she warned, mindful of the loss of Thorgils.
'Roger Watts will look after me,' he reassured her. 'And I'll have Gwyn with me to guard my back as usual.'
Abruptly, he stood up to take his leave and remove himself from further temptation. Hilda rose with him. Tall as he was, her slender figure came to his chin as he held her gently and gave her a single chaste kiss on the forehead. 'I'll see you when I return from France,' he promised.
Impulsively, she reached up to give him a quick but fervent kiss on the lips and then stepped back to avoid provoking his desire. 'Take care, John. I will pray for you.'
She saw him to the head of the staircase, where the child Alice was sitting on the bottom step, as if ready to rush to her mistress's defence if this tall dark man should fall upon her.
He strode out into the street, still feeling the softness of her mouth on his and the feel of her body under his hand. She was lonely, she said. He feared that soon she might seek someone else to assuage that loneliness, but what could he do about it?
CHAPTER NINE
That evening in the Bush, Nesta was full of her latest visit that day to the priory to see Owain ap Gronow. As John sat with Gwyn and Thomas at his table near the firepit, she prattled on about the Welshman, especially the increasing number of acquaintances and distant relatives that they shared. She spoke in English in deference to Thomas, and the others began to appreciate the homesickness that she must be feeling. The previous year, John had taken her on a short trip back to Gwent, but it seemed that this had heightened her longing, rather than having relieved it. Nesta had first come to Exeter with her husband Meredydd, but when he died she had been left isolated in a foreign city.
'Is he recovering well?' asked Thomas solicitously.
'Very well indeed. Brother Saulf said that he can leave the day after tomorrow. I will put a mattress filled with new straw for him up in the loft.'
'A wonder you don't fill it with swans' down!' said John. He tried to make it sound jocular, but there was an undercurrent of sarcasm in the remark, which passed over Nesta's head.
'And the first night, I'll make him some good Welsh cawl to build up his strength after his injuries.'
She looked flushed with excitement this evening, but John was somewhat reassured, as she was more like a little girl with a new toy rather than a woman with a potential new lover. Cuddling up to his side on the bench and reaching over to take a sip from his ale-pot, she seemed happy and affectionate.
Soon, Thomas' changed the subject to that of Matilda, as John had confided in his friends about his latest problem. 'Is there any news of your wife, sir?'