the bed and picked up his portfolio. “I have a meeting to go to now. I suggest it might be better for both of us if you pack your stuff and clear out before I get back.”
“Nick!” She threw herself at him and clung to his arm. “Nick, please, I’m sorry. I really am. I won’t mention her again.”
“I am going back to London tomorrow anyway, Judy. To Jo.” Nick’s face softened slightly as he saw her stricken expression.
“But she doesn’t want you. She keeps telling you she doesn’t want you.”
“Whether she wants me or not, I want her.” He spoke with enormous force, his eyes hardening.
Judy felt a sudden shiver. He was looking not at her but through her. She backed away from him. “I believe you’re as crazy as she is,” she whispered. “You can’t force a woman to love you.”
He stared at her, his attention fully on her again now. “Force her?” he echoed. “I won’t have to force her.” He laughed grimly. “I must go. Don’t worry about your bill, I’ll settle it. I’ll see you soon, Judy.” Gently he touched her cheek-still reddened from his slap-then he turned and left her alone.
Judy did not move. She stared around the room. The crumpled copy of the
Sam was standing with his back to the window, his arms folded, listening as, hesitantly, Jo began to talk. Matilda had regained her strength slowly after the birth, but the day came at last when, accompanied by Sir Robert and four armed horsemen, she mounted for the first time the little bay mare William had given her. They rode out of the castle and turned northeast, following the rocky bed of the Honddu through a field silver and green with ripening oats and plunging almost at once into the woods.
“Llanddeu is up there, my lady.” Sir Robert pointed up a hill to their left. “About three miles, I reckon. We’ll go there when you’re stronger if you like.” But Matilda shook her head. Gerald had gone to St. David’s now, confident he was to be its new bishop, and Llanddeu had lost its interest.
She was amazed to find how stiff she had become, but she gritted her teeth and pushed the bay into a gallop behind Sir Robert as they followed a well-worn track through the heavy, dusty woods. They had slowed again to a trot when suddenly Sir Robert pulled to a rearing halt in front of her and drew his sword. “Stop,” he shouted. The four men with them closed around Matilda protectively at once, their swords raised and ready. She could feel herself shaking with fear, and the mare plunged nervously away from the horse next to her, sensing the danger. But, straining her eyes, she could see nothing in the heavy greenery all around them. She could hear nothing but the thudding of her own heart.
“What? What is it?” She looked around wildly.
“See, a rope.” Sir Robert had dismounted. With one slash of his sword he severed a rope that had been tied across the track at the height of a man’s neck as he rode on a horse. It fell, green-stained and invisible, into the grass at their feet.
“If we’d been going any faster or if I’d been distracted, it would have had us all off our horses.” Sir Robert hit the undergrowth with the flat of his sword. “See, here. The rogues have gone. They were hiding behind these bushes. They must have fled before we arrived. They could be anywhere in the woods by now.” A broken area of trampled greenery showed where several people had been crouching behind the thick holly.
“Were they robbers?” Matilda was still trying to soothe her horse, stroking the sweating neck, wishing she herself weren’t shaking quite so violently. She knew it was as much exhaustion as fear, but nevertheless she felt weak and frightened.
Sir Robert nodded silently. He had stopped to pick up the rope and was coiling it over his arm. “Outlaws of some kind, I’ll be bound. I’ll have a word with Sir William. I doubt if the Welsh would set up a trick like that if they were after reprisals. No one knew which way we were coming.” He swung the rope over his saddle and remounted.
Matilda noticed he didn’t sheathe his sword.
“Reprisals?” Her heart began to hammer again at the word.
“That’s right. They’re bound to come some time.” He turned his horse. “We’ll go straight back, my lady, with your permission. I was a fool to come out with so few men. In future when you ride, I will see to it that you have a full escort.”
She followed, relieved to be cutting short the ride. The thought of Welsh reprisals had become remote in the months at Brecknock, distracted as she had been by the baby and by William’s arrival with all his men. The Welsh she had met in the county of Brycheiniog were friendly toward her. None had seemed to bear any grudge. She shivered. Outlaws. They must have been outlaws of some kind, bent on robbery. She refused to let herself believe that they were men from Gwent.
Nevertheless, it was a relief to be back inside the castle. Although William sent search parties out to hunt for the men who had set up the rope, no trace of them was ever found. They had melted into the forest as silently and efficiently as if they had never been.
“That was foolish, to ride so far the first time out after the baby,” Sam said softly. He had seated himself next to Jo again. “But if you are well enough to ride, you are well enough to resume your wifely duties.”
Jo drew in her breath sharply. “It is too soon,” she whispered.
“No,” Sam said, “it is the right time. Look at me, my lady. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Jo had been staring toward the far corner of the room. Now, slowly, she turned to him and her eyes focused on his face. He held her gaze unwaveringly. “I am your husband,” he said. “You do recognize me, don’t you, Matilde”- he pronounced her name lightly, in the French manner-“I am your husband. Come to claim you.”
“Please. No!” Jo edged away from him. “My lord, I told you, it is too soon.”
Sam smiled. He put his hand out and caught her chin, forcing her face to his. Then he bent over her and kissed her on the lips. She went completely rigid, but she did not struggle. Sitting up, he looked down at her and saw her eyes were closed. “Look at me,” he said threateningly. “Look at me!”
Her eyes flew open. They were scornful and cold.
Sam felt a sudden surge of anger flow through him. Oh, yes, that had been the way she always looked at William. So superior, so dismissive, so beautiful and remote that her disdain had unmanned him, but not this time. This time he had absolute control of her body and her mind.
He levered himself off the sofa and stood looking down at her, forcing himself to be calm. She was watching him docilely enough, her eyes still mocking, but he thought he could see fear as well, hidden, but there, as she stared at her husband and waited.
He smiled grimly. “Stand up, Matilde,” he said slowly.
Hesitantly she obeyed him and stood quite still. He looked at her for a moment, then he turned to the tape deck in the corner. From his pocket he produced a cassette, which he slotted into the machine. He switched it on and listened as the first strains of an unaccompanied flute began to play in the room, then he sat down on the chair facing Jo. She had not moved. Her head was held at a defiant angle, her eyes watching him with cool disdain as he sat back and folded his arms.
“Now, my lady,” he said softly. “I want you to show me some wifely obedience.”
Matilda stared at her husband in horror. Behind him the blind flute player was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the window embrasure. She could hear the everyday noises of the castle all around them; any second someone would walk into the solar. She heard feet pattering down the spiral stairs in the corner and the swish of skirts on the stone. They hesitated then ran on down toward the lower floors, the sound dying away into the distance.
“Take off your mantle and gown, wife.” He repeated his order.
She glanced at the musician who played on as if he had heard nothing.
