They rode out of Hay away from the sweeping escarpment of Pen y Beacon, which rose sharp as a knife against the sky, back across the shallow Wye, this time turning north toward the meadows that bounded Clyro Hill; the grooms and austringers with the precious hawks, Richard’s chief falconer-some dozen horsemen altogether- clattered after them along the stony track, and another dozen or so men on foot. In the distance a curlew called.
All at once from a bed of reeds nearby they put up a heron. With an exclamation Richard pulled the hood from the bird on his wrist and tossed her into the air. They reined their horses in and watched as the humped figure of the heron flew low and lumbering for the river, but it was too late. The hawk struck it down within seconds. Excited, Matilda turned and called for her own bird, a small but swift and deadly brown merlin. She grinned at Richard. “I’ll match you kill for kill.” She pulled on the heavy gauntlet and reached down for the bird, feeling the power of its talons as it settled itself, bells jingling, onto the leather on her fist. She gripped the jesses and kicked her pony on.
Gradually the path began to climb, and after a while it plunged into the dry woods that cloaked the southern side of Elfael. Then the trees cleared and the moors rose bare before them. They waited as the beaters with their dogs scattered into the tall bracken. Richard’s horse shifted restlessly beneath him as he turned to Matilda with a smile, soothing the glossy peregrine on his wrist. “We should have some good sport up here. It’s early yet, and not too hot.” He tensed suddenly as the beaters flushed a snipe from a marshy cwm. After slipping the hood from the bird’s head again, Richard flew her and they waited, eyes narrowed against the glare, as she climbed high into the blue, towering above the quarry, ready for the deadly swoop.
His eyes gleamed with excitement as the bird plummeted down. “A kill,” he murmured exultantly under his breath. He urged his horse forward into the breast-high bracken, the winged lure dangling from his fingers.
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.
“
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
