Lady of Hay (37 page)

Matilda followed him, her eyes fixed on his broad shoulders, and she breathed deeply and exultantly in the sharp air, almost laughing out loud as she kicked her pony on and felt the wind lifting her veil, teasing, trying to dislodge her hair.

It was a good morning’s sport. When they drew rein at midday the party was tired and hot. Richard slid from his saddle, then threw the rein to a groom and went to lie facedown on the grass beside a tiny upland brook. He grinned up at her, shaking the water from his eyes. “Come and bathe your face. It’s gloriously cool.”

Their attendants drew back into the shadow of a group of trees with the birds and Matilda, who had been watching as her horse was led away, dropped on her knees beside him and let her fingers play for a moment in the water. The mountain stream was very cold and within minutes her hands were aching with it. He laughed at her. “How improper! My Lady de Braose, paddling in the water like a child!”

She laughed a little guiltily. “I wish I could throw all my clothes off and jump in like a boy.”

“Please do, madam. I should not object.” He grinned shamelessly. She could not be angry with him. “God, Matilda,” he went on, suddenly serious. “Would that you were not de Braose’s wife.” His voice took on a new note that frightened her. She glanced up apprehensively and found him gazing at her, the message in his eyes plain. “Let’s walk in the woods a little way away from this rabble that always follows us. I must talk to you freely. Alone.”

“No!” Her voice was firm, although her heart was beating fast. She wanted so much to throw caution aside and do as he asked. “No, not again, we mustn’t. We mustn’t as long as my husband lives.” She rose, brushing the loose grass from her kirtle. “Please, don’t ever speak of it again. Many things I would dare in this world, but I must not dishonor William again.” She turned toward the trees, biting her lips miserably, wishing he had not spoken, but he had scrambled after her. He seized her hand.

“It is too late to speak of dishonor, Matilda. You are mine in your heart, and in your eyes when you look at me, and in your dreams. I know it.” Careless of who might still be able to see them, he pulled her to him, seeking her mouth with his own, caressing her shoulders gently as he pressed her against him.

She gave a little shudder of longing. “We must not,” she murmured, her lips against his. “Such love will be cursed.”

“Rubbish.” His grip was more insistent now. He bent and, flinging his arm behind her knees, he scooped her off her feet. She gave a little cry of protest, but he ignored it, carrying her down the bank of the brook and wading across the gurgling water to the shelter of some gorse bushes on the far side. There he laid her on the ground. He reached for his belt and unbuckled it, laying his sword aside, then he bent over her once more, covering her face with kisses, his hands feeling for her breasts in the low neckline of her gown. She gasped with pleasure, her arms encircling his neck, drawing him down toward her as she felt him fumbling with her long skirts. All sense of caution was gone. She did not care who saw them as he took her swiftly, bringing her again and again to the giddy climax of excitement. Once, as her back arched against him, her hips moving with his, she opened her eyes, dazzled by the brilliant blue sky above them. For a moment she stiffened as something moved—a shadow against the sun—then the thrusting excitement within her claimed her whole attention once more and she fell helplessly into the tide of her passion.

When at last Richard raised his head he was smiling. “So, my lady, you are mine.” He dropped his head to nuzzle her throat.

She stroked his hair gently, still trembling. “If I am discovered, William will kill me,” she whispered.

“William is in France. He’ll not find out,” he said, sitting up slowly. “No one has noticed our departure. If they have, we’ll say we were scouting for cover later in the day. Come.” He stood up and held out his hand to help her rise. “Let us go and eat, my lady. Love gives a man an appetite!”

They walked slowly toward the clearing. By the trees Matilda halted and beckoned the food baskets forward with an imperious wave of her hand, aware that many eyes had been watching them and had probably missed nothing of their disappearance. Aware too that Richard was looking at her with eyes that made her shiver with desire. Only the slightly heightened color in her cheeks betrayed her inner turmoil as she stood haughtily by as the cloth was laid on the ground.

She glanced at Richard again. Outwardly at least he was calm now. He sat on a rocky outcrop of the bank, his tunic unlaced at the throat, his hand held out carelessly for the wine his page brought him. Catching her eye, suddenly he grinned again and raised the cup in half salute. “To the afternoon’s sport, my lady.”

She turned away abruptly and watched as the austringers settled their frames beneath the shade. The hawks huddled disconsolately on their perches, sleepy in the heat. Around them the grooms sprawled, shading their eyes from the light that pierced the high branches of the Scots pines, chewing on their pasties. The air was heavy with the scent of pine needles and dry grass.

The riders were upon them before anyone knew it. A party of a dozen or so, wearing the light arms of the Welsh, bows strung around their shoulders, their drawn blades glinting in the sun. Their leader drew to a halt before Matilda and Richard, the hooves of his sturdy pony dancing only inches from the edge of the white cloth on the grass. He saluted and sheathed his sword with a grave smile. Behind them their startled attendants stood helpless, guarded by drawn swords.

“
Henpych gwell, arglwyddes. Yd oedd gennwch y hela da? Balch iawn yw dy hebogeu
.”
The man was swarthy. He had wavy hair and was dressed in glowing purple. “Greetings, lady; has your hunting been good?” he went on in flawless French. “I trust the sport of my mountains does me credit. I see your kill has been substantial.” He nodded in the direction of the birds that lay trussed for carrying beside one of the grooms.

He eyed Matilda slowly, taking in the tall, slim figure with the bronze hair beneath the veil. “My Lady de Braose, if I’m not mistaken? I am Einion ap Einion Clud, Prince of Elfael.” He bowed gravely in the saddle. “I was told you were in residence in Hay. May I ask when your husband is to join you there?” His eyes, green as the sunlight in the moss below the waters of the brook, were suddenly amused.

Matilda colored violently. This man had seen them. She knew it without a doubt. He had seen them make love. A quick glance at Richard showed her that he still sat, unarmed, wine cup in hand, on his rock. The set of his lips and the dangerous gleam in his eyes were the only signs that he was angered by the interruption.

“It was good of you to ride to greet us, Prince Einion,” she said, keeping her voice steady with an iron effort of will. “My husband is at present in service with the king. May I ask what you want of him? Perhaps a message could be sent.” Her face was haughty as she gazed at the man. The amusement in his face had gone. It was replaced by something hard and frightening. She refused to allow the suspicion of terror that gnawed suddenly at the back of her mind to show as stubbornly she held his gaze.

“It is a matter of a small debt, my lady. The kin of Seisyll of Gwent are unavenged. Do not think that the matter, of however little consequence, is forgotten.” His voice was level and light in spite of the irony in his words. “Think about it when you roam about my hills, and bid your men keep watch over their shoulders. I doubt if any of them could willingly lose a hand even in the defense of your gracious person.” He bowed again, mocking. She swallowed, clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking. The moor was uncannily silent for a moment, then suddenly, close by, came the harsh grating call of a corncrake. Einion’s horse threw up its head and whinnied. Instantly his mood seemed to change. He smiled a warm smile and raised his hand. “Good hunting, my lady,” he murmured, inclining his head. “I trust your sport is as rewarding this afternoon! Farewell.
Duw a ro da it!
”
He threw back his head and laughed, then with a wave of his arm he called his men to him and they turned as one and galloped up the hill in a cloud of dust and vanished over the skyline, leaving the moorlands empty.

Richard sprang for his sword, which had been resting only feet from his hand against a rock. “My God, I thought we were done for.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’d heard that he had succeeded his father. He’s a firebrand, that young man. Out for trouble. I doubt if Rhys will keep him in check for long. He honors the blood feud, it seems.”

“The
galanas
,
they call it,” Matilda repeated softly. She gazed down into the swiftly running water for a moment. “He saw us, Richard. He saw us making love.”

Richard glanced at her, his face grim. “Come, I’ll take you back. Mount up. We return to Hay at once.” He flung instructions over his shoulder at the frightened huddle of followers who waited beneath the trees. “It appears that you are not included in his particular feud,” he said quietly, eyeing her gravely as a groom ran up with their horses.

“I was there when Seisyll died, but I knew nothing of William’s plans,” she said wearily. “A Welsh boy guided me over the hill to Tretower. He said they had no quarrel with me then, but…” She shivered. “Richard, you heard what he said about the hands. It must have been his men who brought that dreadful burden to Gloucester.”

He shrugged. “As likely one as another. They are all related, these Welsh princes. They all remember the blood feud when it suits them.”

He helped her into the saddle and then swung himself onto his own horse. “But it’s a warning. Peace there may be officially, but never again should you venture into these hills without a full escort. Remember that.”

They rode swiftly and uneasily back across the moor through the bracken and the woods into the village of Clyro and down across the low hill toward the ford, the lazy good humor of the morning completely gone.

The heat haze had again obscured the mountains and a heavy thundery cloud mass was building up beyond the closer hills.

Matilda rode into the outer ward of Hay castle with relief. She slid from her horse, ignoring Richard, who had sprung forward to help her, and ran toward the children’s lodging. A terrible thought had come to her as they rode home. The children. William’s children for Seisyll’s. Would that be a fair exchange?

The elder little boy was playing in the dust with two companions at Jeanne’s feet.

“Is Will all right?” It was many months since she had felt that terrible throat-constricting fear for her eldest son.

“Of course, my lady, why not?” The old woman looked up with a peaceful smile.

Matilda gave a sigh of relief. She might be spared from the
galanas
as Gwladys, Seisyll’s wife, had been spared. But two of Seisyll’s children had died, and she knew the Welsh would be scrupulous in their revenge.

She heard Richard’s quick step behind her. “What is it? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “They’re fine.” She smiled at him. “A foolish mother’s sudden fears, that is all.” She fell to her knees and hugged Will close to her, feeling the softness of his hair against her mouth.

The little boy wriggled free almost at once and staggered a few steps away from her before sitting down and running the dust once more delightedly through his fingers. Matilda looked up smiling. Her smile faded as she noticed Jeanne’s calculating eye on Richard. The old woman’s face had contracted into a passive mask and Matilda recognized suspicion and hatred in her eyes. Abruptly she remembered the strange events of the night before. She had been inclined to dismiss them that morning as a dream. But it had not been a dream at all. It had been Jeanne. She sighed. If the magic the old woman had woven was a spell to prevent her mistress feeling the pangs of love for this tall, handsome man, it hadn’t worked, she thought sadly. For once, Jeanne, my old friend, your magic is not strong enough to save me.

She picked herself up wearily from the dust, and, shaking out her pale green skirts, she turned and walked toward her own lodgings, leaving Richard standing in the sun.

Behind her she could hear a voice calling suddenly. She stopped and hesitated, wanting to turn, but she was afraid that if she looked at Richard he would follow her inside. The voice was insistent. Someone was running after her. She felt a hand touch her shoulder and heard the soft lilt of a Welsh voice calling her…

***

“Are you all right? Come on there, wake up, my lovely. Come on.” The voice swam up again out of the shadows then receded. “You’d best go and find a doctor, Alan.” Someone was bending over her. Jo opened her eyes slowly. She was lying on the shingle near the river. With an exclamation of fright she sat up, her head swimming. The afternoon had gone. The sun was setting in a sea of golden cloud and two complete strangers were kneeling beside her at the river’s edge.

20

The blank canvas beckoned. Judy was standing in front of it, eating a hunk of cheese, the structure of the painting floating in her head, ready to be trapped and laid on the naked background. She had changed her position slightly, studying the fall of light, when something distracted her and she turned toward the door of the studio, frowning. There was someone standing on the landing outside, his weight on the creaky board.

“Who is it?” she called. She put the last piece of cheese into her mouth and wiped her fingers on the seat of her jeans.

There was no reply. Frowning, she moved toward the door. “Is there someone there?” she said. She pulled it open, irritated at the interruption.

Nick was standing, looking out of the high landing window at the sloping rooftops of the house backs. He turned slowly and looked at her without a word. “Oh, no, it’s you. What do you want?” Judy glared at him, determined he would not see the hurt and longing that rose to the surface at the sight of him.

“I thought I would see if you had got back from France safely,” he said. He did not smile at her.

“As you see, I did.” She put her hands on her hips.

“Judy—” He came toward her suddenly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that. It was a lousy thing to do after you had come out to join me. We’d had a good time.”

“Until someone mentioned Joanna.” Judy stood by the door holding it open as he walked past her into the studio. “How
is
Jo?”

Nick shrugged. “She’s gone off somewhere. Is this going to be the new painting?” He was standing in front of the blank canvas.

“No. It’s going to be a sculpture in bronze.” Her voice was sharp with sarcasm. “So Jo is missing and you decided to visit the first reserve. Dear old unfussy Judy, always there to pat your head and make a man of you again.” She was still standing by the door. “I’m sorry, Nick, but I’d like you to leave.”

He walked back toward her. “Can I have a drink first?” There was a new harshness in his voice as he pulled her hand from the door latch abruptly and hurled the door shut. “A drink, Judy.”

She took a step back in astonishment. “All right! Steady. How much have you had already?”

“Nothing. I’ve been in the office all morning trying to sort out the screw-up Jim Greerson’s made of our best account and I’m going back there this afternoon. This visit”—he waved his arm around the studio—“is lunch.”

“Then I’ll get you some food.”

“I said a drink.” His eyes were hard.

“Okay. A drink.” Judy was staring at him as she groped behind her in a cabinet and found a whisky bottle. “I’ll fetch some glasses.”

“Do that.” Nick had not moved. He was looking at the blank canvas with the same intensity he would normally have given to a painting. His head ached, and he knew he was tense and irritable and that it had been a mistake to come. He wasn’t sure why he had. His desire for Judy had gone and yet he had found himself hailing a taxi and giving her address automatically, compelled by a need to be with her that he could not define or understand.

“So what’s wrong? Apart from the office, I mean?” Judy poured half an inch into the glass and handed it to him.

He drank it quickly and held it out to her again. As she was pouring he caught her wrist, forcing her to slop the whisky until the glass was almost full.

“Careful! Look what you’ve done!” she cried.

“Shut up, Judy,” he said, bored. “One tumblerful is the same as the sum of all the prissy little doses you’re going to give me one by one.”

“I am not going to hand you little doses one by one. If you drink that lot on an empty stomach you’ll be flat on your back!”

“Fine. With you in my arms?”

“No!” She took the glass out of his hand and put it down with a bang on the table. “Please leave now, Nick.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I mean it!” She bit back sudden angry tears. “Please get out of here. Go back to your office and sort out your problems there, not in my studio.”

She pulled the door open and stood by it. “I mean it!”

For a moment he hesitated, then he picked up the whisky glass, took a couple of gulps from it, put it down, and strode past her to the door.

“I thought you wanted me back,” he said softly as he stood for a moment looking down at her.

“Out, Nick,” she repeated.

He shrugged, then, with a strangely grating laugh, he walked past her and out onto the landing.

She slammed the door. For a moment she listened to the sound of his footsteps running down the long flights of stairs, then she turned back into the studio.

“Oh, yes, I want you back, Nick Franklyn,” she said to herself softly. “But on my terms. Not yours.”

As she picked up his glass and began to pour the whisky carefully back into the bottle, she found she was shaking.

***

They took Jo to a nearby boardinghouse, the two kind strangers who had found her on the riverbank. And there she was shown to a spotless room with a mansard window, overlooking the common beyond the river. Alone at last, she lay down wearily on the bed. Her last thought as she drifted into sleep was of little Will. As he played in the dirt of the castle bailey he had fallen on the ground and grazed his knees. She had to see that someone cleaned them properly and smeared on some antiseptic; the whole place was so filthy…

***

She awoke the next morning to the smell of frying bacon. Puzzled, she lay staring around her room, looking at the pink chintz curtains blowing at the open window and the pink drapes of an unfamiliar dressing table. Her mind was fuddled with sleep. Slowly she pulled herself into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. She was still fully dressed. Someone had put a tartan blanket over her while she slept. Her bag and typewriter stood on the floor by the door and she could see her car keys on the dressing table. Vaguely she remembered giving her keys to the strangers; they must have collected her things.

The rest of it was coming back to her now too. Sitting by the River Wye, looking up at the broken silhouette of the castle, she had somehow gone into a regression; on her own and, without wanting to, she had slipped back to the time of Matilda and for two or three hours had lain on the white shingle in a trance, oblivious of the world around her. She hugged her knees with a shiver, wishing suddenly that Nick was there. Then she put her head in her hands. Had she even forgotten that? That she could never see Nick again? She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears. Nick and she were finished and Richard was far away beyond her reach. She was alone.

Standing up shakily, she glanced at her watch. It was ten past nine. She went to the window and stared out at the low hills beyond the trees. It was somewhere up there that she and Richard had ridden with their hawks.

She found she was clenching her fists violently, suddenly overcome by fear. Was it her need to see Richard that had made her regress alone and unprompted, or was it something else? Was Matilda beginning to take her over? She took a deep breath. She had been mad to come to Wales, mad to think she could handle this alone. She did need Carl Bennet’s help. He had started all this off and somehow he had to help her to get free of it again. She had to go back to him, had to persuade him to try again to make her forget, and as soon as possible.

Margiad Griffiths was in the kitchen when Jo, showered and in a fresh dark-blue cotton dress, went down. She turned from the stove and smiled. “Better, are you?” she said. “I’ve just made some coffee, or would you prefer tea?”

“I’d love some coffee, please.” Jo sat down at the kitchen table. “I didn’t realize I was so tired. I am sorry, I’ve put you to a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all.” Margiad reached down two earthenware cups from the cabinet. “The Peterses have gone, though. Sorry not to see you again, they were. They sent their best wishes.”

“I wish I could have thanked them. I still don’t know quite what happened to me by the river yesterday.”

“Exhaustion, I expect.” Margiad poured the coffee. “I usually put my guests at the tables in the sitting room, through there, if you’d rather…”

Jo grimaced. “No, I’d rather stay here, if I may. I expect all your other guests went out ages ago, it’s so late.”

Shrugging, Margiad passed her a bowl of sugar. “I’ve only the three rooms. The Peterses had one, and there was a nice young teacher in the other. Walking Offa’s Dyke, he was, but he stopped here for the books. Everyone comes to Hay for the books.”

Jo smiled. “I was here doing some research into the history of the town.” The coffee was strong and fragrant. She could feel the heat of it seeping into her veins.

“Oh, it’s an old town. The castle’s very ancient. That’s Richard Booth’s now, of course. Did you see it?”

Jo shrugged. “I’m more interested at the moment in the old castle. The first one. It was near the church.”

“Down here?” Margiad stared at her. “Well, now. I never knew that! Fancy there being another castle. You’ll be off to see it later, I suppose?”

Jo sighed regretfully. “I can’t today. I’ve got to go back to London.” She stared down with some distaste as Margiad put a plate of eggs and bacon down on the table in front of her. “I didn’t realize that was for me—”

“Go on, girl. Eat it up while I make you some toast. You could do with some good solid food in you.” Margiad was watching her carefully while behind her the frying pan sputtered gently on the stove. “Will you be coming back this way then, or have you finished all your research?”

Jo picked up the knife and fork. She cut into the top of the egg
and watched the yolk flow across the plate.

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “I think it’s a case of whether it has finished with me.”

Her walk back toward the town took her past the site of the old castle. All that remained was the motte, grass-covered and sown with wildflowers. There was no sign of the wooden keep or the bailey that she remembered, nor of the thick hedge. She stood and stared for a moment, half afraid that something would happen, but there were no ghosts, no shadows, just a cheerful black-and-white collie that loped across the grass, cocked its leg against the wall, and disappeared into the trees near the church.

It was market day and she stared in confusion at the clustered colorful stalls that had appeared around her car overnight, wondering how on earth she was going to move it. Catching the eye of the woman selling farm produce from the stall beside the MG, she shrugged and grinned apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would be market day. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, so I left the car here.”

The woman grinned back. “So. It’s not something you’ll do again, is it?” she said cheerfully, and she turned away.

Jo stuck out her tongue at the woman’s back. She threw her cases into the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. It would take some careful maneuvering to extricate herself from the crowded, noisy square.

Slowly she wound down the window and leaned forward to insert her key into the ignition. In front of her the castle walls rose high and gray against the brilliant blue of the sky. When had it been built? she wondered idly as she turned on the engine. Would she ever know now? Her eyes traversed the high walls with the empty gaping spaces where the stone arches of the windows had fallen. In one of them a white dove was bobbing to and fro in the sunlight, its throat puffed into a snowy lace cravat as it cooed. Without knowing why she found herself staring at it with total concentration as behind her the noise of the market died away. She shivered. The silence was uncanny in the midst of so many people. Uncanny and suddenly frightening.

***

William arrived unannounced one blustery autumn night. He appeared with his men and horses, exhausted, mud-splashed, and wet with rain, before the gates of Hay, angrily demanding entrance to the castle.

“The ford will soon be too deep to cross,” he growled as his wife came forward to greet him. “By Christ’s bones I’m glad to be here safe and sound. It’s not the weather for traveling.” He unclasped the brooch that held his cloak and flung the soaked garment to the floor. “How is the hunting, my lady?” His ruddy cheeks were a shade more deeply lined, she thought, and his paunch a trifle more pronounced, but he looked as fit and well as ever. “Will we kill tomorrow?”

She laughed. “So short a rest, my lord? Yes, the hunting’s good. But we have been warned out of Elfael.” She scrutinized his face closely. “Old feuds are remembered by the new prince.”

William threw back his head and laughed. “Are they indeed? Well, I’ve plans for that young man and his territory.” He threw a boisterous arm around Matilda’s shoulder, pulling her down to plant a smacking kiss on her cheek. “He splits my lands in two, does our Einion. If I held Elfael, I’d hold the middle March from Radnor to Abergavenny. But let be for now. King Henry wants peace with Rhys ap Gruffydd at present. I’m content to bide my time. There are more amusing things to do in winter than plan a mud campaign. Like hunting and bedding my beautiful wife.” He laughed again.

He was true to his word. By Yule the larders were hung with boar and venison, and Matilda knew herself to be pregnant once more. But it was not with William’s child. Her monthly courses had stopped before William came back to her bed.