harness in the distance and saw men approaching at last. Will scrambled to his feet, screwing up his eyes in the glare of the evening sun, as he gave his mother his hand. “There seems to be rather a lot of people and no spare horses that I can see,” he commented at last, puzzled.
They stood beneath the clump of trees watching as the horsemen approached. There was no sign of Walter and his brother or Reginald. At the head of the troop rode a redheaded man with a scarlet chevron emblazoned on his surcoat. He reined in near them and looked down from his horse, one eyebrow raised in the thin, tanned face. “Are you good folk on a pilgrimage?” he inquired lazily. His eyes traveled from one to another, surveying them all in turn, missing nothing. Then his gaze came back to Matilda. Imperceptibly it sharpened.
“Surely it’s the Lady de Braose?” He spoke so softly she wondered if he were talking to himself. Then he bowed in the saddle, a flash of merriment showing in his green eyes. “May I present myself, my lady. Sir Duncan of Carrick.” He continued to eye her steadily and she felt herself beginning to tremble. His next words horribly confirmed her worst fears. “I only recently returned to Scotland myself. I couldn’t help hearing then about your slight altercation with my beloved cousin, King John.”
Out of the corner of her eye Matilda saw Will’s hand go to his sword hilt. She bit her lip. “I think you’re mistaken, Sir Duncan.” She tried to smile, steadying her voice with an effort.
“Oh, no, my lady, I think not.” He interrupted her before she could deny it. “And I think it would please His Grace mightily if I were to tell him where you are.” He stopped smiling abruptly and gestured over his shoulder.
The troops of men broke rank and the party beneath the trees was surrounded. Will, with an ugly oath, unsheathed his sword and the two knights from Carrickfergus followed suit, putting themselves between the women and Carrick’s men. But hardly had Will raised his arm when three armed knights rode him down, and he fell beneath their hooves, his blade flailing uselessly. Mattie screamed and ran toward him, but one of the mounted men, laughing, bent and scooped her slender body into the saddle before him as easily as if she had been a child, and held her there, her arms pinioned helplessly at her sides by his grip.
Sir Duncan sat watching as Will, his face bruised and bleeding, staggered to his feet. “Bind his hands,” he ordered curtly. Dismounting, two of his men forced Will’s arms behind him, tying them brutally tight with a leather thong. With an apologetic glance at Matilda her other two knights promptly threw down their swords, and she watched helplessly as they too were bound. “I think you will agree, my lady”-Sir Duncan bowed to her again-“that it would be foolish to resist arrest.” He beckoned forward the young man who had been riding behind him. “My esquire will take you pillion with him. Bring the others!” he ordered his other men. “We’ll return to Turnberry tonight.” He wheeled his horse and spurred it toward the edge of the quay, where the sailors, disturbed from their rest, were leaning against the side of their boat watching the proceedings with impassive interest. Sir Duncan felt for his purse and flung a coin negligently across onto the bleached planking. The old man regarded it unmoving.
“Take the news to the king that I have captured the lady he is seeking,” he commanded. “Tell him I’ll wait for his instructions at my father’s castle of Turnberry.”
The old man chewed his lip indifferently. “I’ll sail with the next tide, sir. I’ll see that your message is given.”
Matilda, from her seat behind young James Stewart, wondered if there was any pity in the old man’s eye as he watched them wheel their horses and ride away.
They rode inland as the dusk fell, following the clearly marked road across the open flats and into the woods. At Craigcaffie the men lit burning torches to light their way as they followed the track around Loch Ryan and followed the coast road north. They rode fast. Matilda was forced to cling to the waist of the young man in front of her, half conscious of the glitter of starlit water to their left, half blinded by the streaming torch held by the rider who galloped at their right-hand side. She rested her head against the broad back before her and closed her eyes; beyond the circle of light and the thundering hooves there was nothing but darkness and despair. Somewhere close to her, among the riders, she could hear a child crying bitterly and she knew it was little John. She ached to hold him and comfort him and she tried to look around, searching for Mattie, but the figures near her on the thundering horses were blurred by the streaming smoke and the bitter fumes.
Apart from one brief rest to water the horses, Sir Duncan did not draw rein until they reached Turnberry. The sweating, trembling animals trotted over the echoing drawbridge and stopped at last, their breath coming in clouds of steam as they drew up before the high keep. After sliding from his horse, he came and held out his hand to help Matilda dismount. He seemed unruffled by the long, wild ride and maintained his scrupulously polite manner. “Welcome, Lady Matilda.” He bowed low. “I trust you will think of yourself as my guest until we hear what His Grace would wish me to do with you.”
Matilda was shaking, half with fatigue and fear, half with anger. “You’re no friend of mine, Sir Duncan. If I enter your house it will be as your prisoner, never as your guest,” she flashed at him, snatching her hand from his.
He smiled. “As you wish.” He turned abruptly on his heel, barking a command to his men, and ran ahead of them into the castle.
They were hustled into the keep and up into one of the high chambers under the roof. There was no furniture and the wooden floor was swept bare. All three babies were crying now and Matilda, in the light of the candle that burned on its pricket near the door, could see that Mattie was near tears herself. The nurse was white, her eyes enormous with terror. Will had been taken away from them out in the bailey and Matilda felt sick with fear for him. It was a moment before she felt Margaret’s hand on her arm, steadying her. “Help me with the babies, Mother. We must quiet them. Perhaps nurse can give them all a little milk, if she can, even John. At least we’re sheltered here, and it’s warm.”
“He would have made us comfortable, if you’d let him,” Mattie flashed. “We could have been his guests. There would have been a fire and blankets and food. Why are you so stubborn and proud? Must we all suffer for it all the time?” She turned away petulantly as Matilda bent to pick up little John and hug him tightly in her arms.
“Hush, Mattie,” Margaret retorted warningly. “Mother did quite right to refuse. We don’t need a fire. It’s a hot night.”
The child was heavy in Matilda’s arms and she could feel them beginning to ache already, but she continued to hold him, feeling the warmth and comfort of his little body as his arms crept around her neck. Margaret had given Egidia to the wet nurse and was rocking Mattie’s little Richard, trying to quiet his fretful wails, gently loosening his swaddling bands. “There’s one thing we must thank heaven for, Mother. Walter and the others have got away. The villagers who were watching will tell them what happened and they will come after us. Somehow they’ll get us out of here. They’ll think of something.”
Mattie looked up, a sudden ray of hope in her tear-reddened eyes. “Do you think so? Oh, yes, of course they will. They’ll save us. Walter would never let you be taken a prisoner. They’ll save us and find Will.”
Matilda forced herself to smile, though her lips were dry and cracked from salt and sun and fear. “Of course we’ll all be all right. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll think of something before the king sends for us.”
Some time later as light was beginning to filter through the unshuttered windows they heard steps on the stone stairs outside. The door was unbarred and men appeared carrying mattresses and blankets. They brought in jugs of wine and plates of meat and oatcakes and a bowl of milksops for the babies, and set them down near the empty hearth. Then one of them turned to Matilda and saluted. “Sir Duncan sends his compliments, madam. If you and the ladies will accept his hospitality you will be most welcome to dine at his table tonight.”
Matilda felt her cheeks flame. “I thought I told Sir Duncan what I thought of his hospitality. Please tell him I haven’t changed my mind. I will never willingly stay a guest under his roof.”
The man bowed without comment, his face carefully neutral, and withdrew with the others, barring the heavy door behind him. As soon as he had gone Mattie burst into loud sobs. “Why? Why did you refuse him? We could have tried to change his mind. We might have escaped if we had got out of this infernal room. We might have got away!” She flung herself at the door, beating her fists in anguish against the thick unyielding timbers.
Matilda looked at her, her face set. “And leave your babies as hostages?” was all she said.
37
Nick stretched slowly on the bed and looked up at the sunlight sliding through the curtains and playing on the plaster frieze around the bedroom ceiling. He smiled. It was a long time since he had awoken at Jo’s on a Monday
