cobblestones.
Prince John, dressed splendidly in brocade trimmed with ermine, was mounted on a tall raw-boned chestnut stallion two hands too high for him, but he reined it in savagely as it plunged beside the other horses. Already William was there beside the prince, and she saw John turn and grin at her husband and shout some good-humored jest when he was not preoccupied with staying on his horse. It seemed the boy had taken a fancy to William, and she saw scowls among the prince’s friends as de Braose took the coveted position at John’s side.
Then they were off, horses, hounds, riders, and foot followers pounding out of the gates and across the bare ground to the west of the town that separated the castle from the outskirts of the forest. The pace increased to a gallop. Matilda bent low over the mare’s neck, excited at the prospect of the chase, intent on keeping up with the leaders as they plunged into the cool leanness of the trees. Almost at once the hounds found a scent and their excited yelping turned to a full-throated roar. The huntsmen picked up the notes on their horns and the horsemen thundered after them down the grassy ride.
It was the first day of the season and they killed plentifully before turning their tired horses at last for home. The main party of riders split up into small groups as they walked back through the leafy glades dappled with the evening sunlight. Matilda was exhausted, and she had allowed her mare to drop behind the others a little and pick her own way quietly over the soft paths between the trees, when there was a thunder of hooves behind her. As she turned to draw out of the way of the hurrying rider, she found Prince John at her side. He reined in and grinned at her.
“A good start to the season, my lady. I trust you enjoyed your day?” His surcoat was stained with blood and the blade of his knife sheathed carelessly in his girdle showed an encrustation of gore.
She returned his smile cautiously. “It was a good day’s hunting, Your Highness. I’m glad you were at Winchester. William always says there is some of the finest hunting in the land here.”
“Ah, yes, the good Sir William.” The boy eyed her thoughtfully. “He’s a fine man and good with his bow, and he’s a lucky man too, to have so beautiful a wife.” He glanced at her sideways.
The ride narrowed and as the horses jostled for position his thigh for a moment brushed against hers. She felt a surge of repugnance. Was the silly boy trying to flirt with her? She forced herself to smile. “You are very flattering, Your Highness, thank you.”
After a few paces, to her relief, the path broadened and she was able to guide the mare away from him a little.
“Sir William keeps you too much in those border lands of his,” John went on thoughtfully. “You should come to my father’s court with him.”
“Oh, I stay on the estates because I want to. I hate court.” Matilda was thinking wistfully of the times she had chosen not to go rather than risk meeting Richard; not wanting to see the king. She paused abruptly, seeing the prince scowling furiously, and cursed herself for her tactlessness. “But of course,” she hurried on, trying to cover her mistake hastily, “I am much honored when I have a special invitation…”
“Honored but not pleased, it seems,” he interrupted, his tone sarcastic. He stood up in his stirrups, reaching for a leafy branch and pulling it down as he rode under it. His horse shied, and John laughed. He seemed to make up his mind to try a different tack. “You’re a lady who knows her own mind, I think.” He reined his horse close to hers once more, “And too young and beautiful to be content with so coarse a husband. I wonder if perhaps a lusty prince would be more to your liking?” He leaned across and put his hand on her thigh.
Matilda was overcome with anger. Not stopping to think, she raised her whip and thwacked him smartly across the wrist with the handle. “I don’t think you realize what you’re suggesting, my lord,” she flashed at him. “Do you wish to dishonor the wife of one of your father’s most loyal subjects?”
Her fury dissolved suddenly at the sight of his red, discomfited face, and she tried to suppress a gurgle of laughter. He was, after all, but a boy. “I am sorry, my lord prince. It is just that you were only a child when last I saw you, and now-” Her words died on her lips at the sight of his face.
It was white with fury as he groped blindly for his reins, spluttering as he tried to speak. “God’s teeth,” he managed at last. “Not so much of a child, madam, that I don’t know how to deflower a woman or father a brat, I assure you.”
He pulled his horse to a savage halt, which sent it rearing and plunging sideways against the bushes at the edge of the path, and, giving her one murderous glance as he turned, he sent his horse galloping back down the ride.
Matilda let her mare stand for a moment as she realized, with a shock, that she was shaking from head to foot. She knew she had been a fool. She could have put him off tactfully without making an enemy of him. “An enemy for life.” She murmured the words to herself, watching the mare’s ears twitch at the sound of her voice, and she shook her head, trying to throw off an irrational feeling of fear. How stupid, to let a little incident ruin a beautiful and exciting day. Taking a deep breath, she gathered up her reins and turned once more to follow the sounds of the other riders, slowly making their way back toward Winchester.
She told William what had happened when they were alone together in their guest chamber that night. To her surprise he threw back his head and laughed.
“The young puppy!” he said. “The runt of the litter and he fancies his chances with my wife. You should be very flattered, my dear. Prince John has an eye for a pretty woman.”
“But he’s only a child,” she burst out. “If it wasn’t so funny, it would be disgusting.”
“I’d bedded women and plenty by his age.” William unfastened his mantle and threw it down. “Take no notice, Moll. Think of it as a compliment. He’s spoiled and, as the king’s son, few women refuse him. It’s about the only benefit he does get from his position, poor lad. He’s not yet learned enough discretion to know whose wife he can wheedle and whose he can’t. He’ll know next time.” He laughed again.
For the remainder of their stay at Winchester John ostentatiously ignored Matilda and as obviously courted the attention of her husband. The sturdy baron was constantly required by his side, instructing, joking, even lecturing the boy, clapping him on his shoulders and laughing uproariously at his comments. Matilda watched silently as John listened and smiled, never totally unbending, but always allowing William to feel he had his confidence and his friendship, and she found herself wondering if the boy was quite as naive as William thought.
On the next hunting expedition she took care to remain in the center of a crowd of women followers, not once allowing her weary horse to drop back alone. She need not have worried. John went out of his way to avoid her, remaining constantly with his lords and William and the leading huntsmen.
When they left for Bramber Castle John bade William an almost affectionate good-bye. To Matilda he extended a cold, hostile hand, and when she curtsied and murmured the appropriate words of farewell he turned away without a word.
“Has madam finished?”
Jo stared up with a start. The waiter was standing beside her, his hand on her plate. The food on it was practically untouched.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was very good. I’m just not hungry.”
She looked across at Nick. He was watching her through narrowed eyes, twisting his empty glass thoughtfully between his fingers.
“You hypnotized me!” She gasped.
He shook his head. “I did nothing. I merely sat here and listened. Two coffees, please, and the bill.” He looked up at the waiter. Then he turned his attention back to Jo. He smiled faintly. “You were what I believe is called scrying, seeing pictures in the candle flame. No doubt you could see them in a crystal ball as well. You must be psychic!”
Jo had gone white. “That’s nonsense-”
“Is it? It’s more common to see the future than the past, I suppose, but either way, three hundred years ago you would have been burned at the stake for less.”
“And today I could make my living telling fortunes. Oh, God!” She put her head in her hands. “I’m frightened, Nick.”
“Why?” He picked up the bottle and poured the last of the wine into her glass. “You obviously have a gift. And if you are going to persist with researching into the past, the ability to do it yourself will at least save you Bennet’s no
