Lady of Hay

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.”