Using both hands, she slid the blade from its scabbard. The effort brought colour to her cheeks. ‘How bright it gleams. When did you last use it?’
‘Against the Moors in Spain.’
‘That long ago. A blade as fine as this should be drawn more often.’ She breathed on it, looking up at him from under her plucked brows, and rubbed the steel with the cuff of her gown. ‘Let me feel the tip. Oh, how keen it is. Look how it’s pricked me.’
Vallon held out his hand. ‘Your husband wouldn’t be pleased to learn that you’d taken harm from my sword.’
‘I promise I won’t tell him, no matter how deep you thrust.’
The faint baying of the hounds rose to a demented yodelling.
‘The hounds have found,’ Vallon said, taking back the sword. ‘You don’t want to miss the chase.’ He went and stood at the parapet and watched the wood. Some of the hunters had taken up positions around it.
‘Some would call your manner intimidating.’
‘I’m sorry my society disappoints you.’
‘No, I admire a man who suggests strength rather than flaunts it. Besides, I suspect you aren’t as unfeeling as you pretend.’
‘The stag,’ Vallon said.
It emerged from the forest and plunged down a ribbon of snow, the hounds pouring after it. Drogo headed the field, lashing his horse.
Margaret traced a line down the back of Vallon’s hand. ‘I’m sure that given time, I could bring you to bay.’
He trapped her hand. ‘A beast at bay is dangerous.’
She brushed against him. ‘Risk adds to the pleasure.’
Vallon stepped away. ‘You forget I’m your lord’s guest.’
She pouted. ‘Perhaps there’s another reason for your coldness. I’ve seen the way the Greek youth follows you with his great mooning eyes.’
Vallon looked into her face. ‘Why don’t you tell me your real purpose.’
For a moment it seemed that she would continue her pretence. Or perhaps her flirtation was genuine. But then she turned and crossed her arms as if the air had grown chilly. ‘I own land in Normandy. I’m prepared to use it as security against a loan to finance an expedition to the north.’
Vallon made no response. The stag was keeping to the valley rim. So far, the hounds hadn’t closed the gap.
‘I want you to command it.’
‘No.’
‘Think of it as a trading expedition. You can use any surplus to buy furs, ivory and slaves. Any profit you make is yours. For my part, all I want is my son safe at home.’
‘It’s not worth the gamble.’
‘It’s a more rewarding proposition than the one that brought you here in rags.’
‘I’m not talking about
‘Your word. I’d trust that from a man who travelled so far on Walter’s behalf.’
‘I’ve never met Sir Walter. I was never in Anatolia and first heard the name Manzikert weeks after the battle. Your son’s welfare is of no interest to me.’
Margaret’s lips whitened. ‘You mean he’s dead?’ She clenched her hands.
He caught her wrists. ‘The documents are genuine. Your son survived the battle. As far as I know, he’s still alive.’
She sagged against him, her voice muffled by his chest. ‘Why did you come here? What game are you playing?’
‘No game. Let’s just say that I was caught up in one of fate’s eddies. I won’t be sucked into that pool again.’
She pulled back. ‘I would still trust you. If you planned to cheat me, you wouldn’t have admitted your lie.’
‘Mother love is blind.’
Margaret stamped her foot. ‘If I repeat what you’ve told me, Drogo will kill you on the spot.’
‘He plans to kill me anyway.’
The stag reached a high hedge and broke right, towards the milecastle. By the time it realised its error and leaped the obstacle, it was close enough for Vallon to see its backward staring eye. The hounds poured over the hedge in a hysterical wave. They were going to catch it, Vallon thought.
‘I can help you escape.’
Vallon turned.
‘Strong drink will flow tonight,’ she said. ‘By midnight almost everyone will be unconscious. If you leave when the matins bell chimes, you’ll find the gate open.’
Vallon put Margaret’s larger scheme out of his mind. There would be time enough to consider it once they got clear — if they got clear. ‘That will give us only a few hours’ start. Drogo will catch us before we reach the next valley.’
‘Take the falconer. He knows every inch of this country.’
Vallon focused on practicalities. ‘Horses?’
‘I can’t arrange that without exciting suspicion. Besides, speed won’t save you. Guile and good fortune are your only weapons, and you obviously have guile.’
Vallon was thinking fast now. ‘We’ll need provisions. It will be days before we can risk going near habitation.’
Margaret pointed at the basket. ‘Food and blankets.’ She reached into her cuff and produced a purse. ‘Enough silver to get you to Norwich.’
‘Is that where the deeds are to be handed over?’
‘The moneylender’s called Aaron. The king brought him to England from Rouen, not far from my estate. My family’s done business with him before. I’ve prepared letters to send to him. They’ll be in his hands by the time you arrive.’
Vallon watched the hunt. The stag was tiring and the hounds were closing on it. Riders converged from different directions.
‘Richard will be going with you.’
‘No! My servant’s enough of a handicap as it is.’
‘Richard’s not such a fool as he looks. He helped me hatch this scheme. He acts as my attorney. He’ll present the deeds and seal the contract. Besides, his presence will give you safe conduct. If you’re challenged by Norman patrols, Richard will show them documents vouching that you’re carrying out a commission on my behalf.’
‘Does the Count know?’
‘He suspects. Don’t worry, I know how to soothe his anger.’
‘Not Drogo’s, though.’
‘He won’t harm me in his father’s house.’
The stag entered the ruined fort. Confused by the maze of walls and trenches, it headed one way then the other. It scaled a section of tumbled rampart, saw a vertical drop on the other side, and ran along the wall until it reached a dead end. Cornered, it turned to face the oncoming pack and lowered its antlers. The nearest riders raised their horns to blow the mote and recheat, signalling that the stag had been bayed. Drogo rode up and leaped off his horse. The hounds closed on the stag and swirled around it.
‘If you knew Walter, you would gladly do as I ask,’ said Margaret. ‘I know he lied to you — I mean, I know he lied — but you must understand his motives. He’s not like Drogo. He has charm and grace. Even the Count favours him over his natural son.’
One of the huntsmen darted behind the stag to cut its hamstring. Drogo advanced through the heaving mass of hounds, his sword drawn. Vallon saw the hart stagger and go down. The hunters blew the death, and the refrain was taken up all along the valley.
