LordoftheHunt

by Anonymous Author

  With regret, he thought of Joan’s refusal to carry his message. If only he could remain at Ravenswood, see the tournament through, and be the person to let the men he’d stationed nearby into the castle through the Roman Way and take the castle by stealth.

  His men outnumbered the suitors’ troops by at least one hundred. He thought of the many fewterers and huntsmen of Roger Artois’ party. How many of them could or would wield a sword? Such men might shoot an arrow at a living target, but rarely wished to fight close in with a sword. ‘Twas not their weapon.

  Adam looked over his letter to William Marshal’s man. Even if every one of Roger’s hunting stable raised arms, Adam believed surprise more than tipped the scales.

  Surprise from within.

  As he finished his letter, he knew it to be a futile wish. Instead, he must ride openly up to Ravenswood’s gates and lay siege—if William Marshal assigned him the honor at all.

  John d’Erley’s words, “A siege is to be avoided at all costs,” tormented him. A siege looked inevitable, and Adam knew he must admit failure.

  Who would lay the siege? Would another be given the task, and later, the rewards if the castle eventually capitulated?

  Regardless, Adam wrote all that might be helpful. He wrote of the full storerooms from a fat harvest, of the two good wells within the walls, and of the simple manner in which Gravant had taken one of England’s finest castles. If necessary, Adam knew William Marshal would order those fine castle walls brought down to oust Gravant’s men.

  When Adam went to seal his letter, he saw the sheet of Greek writing from Brian de Harcourt’s chest. He folded it around his letter to John d’Erley.

  It seemed less and less likely to have aught to do with anything, but as long as he could not read it, he must suspect it. He sealed the package and tucked it into his tunic.

  He shook his head over the business. Easier to give Mathilda the ring and wed her at the end of the week.

  Joan, beautifully naked, hair tumbling down her back, visited his imagination. He began to laugh. He must wed no woman but Joan.

  “I believe I would live in a hut in the woods with my huntress, if that was the only way to have her.” He shot to his feet. “That is equal madness. Whatever else may happen, I must see the de Marle banishment lifted.”

  Saying the words reminded him of his duty, but a tinge of uncertainty tainted his resolve. “I am simply weary. I need sleep.”

  Douglas stuck his head into the tent. “Did ye call me?”

  Adam shook his head. “Nay.”

  “Anything ye need?”

  Adam considered his squire’s grin. “Aye. Take a message to our lady, would you?” He drew a sheet of paper to him and penned two lines.

  Upon reflection, I have decided to retain your token. It is precious, a reminder of all you mean to me. A

  Adam sealed it and handed it off. With pity, he thought of Mathilda’s reaction. And the bishop’s.

  He flung up the lid of his coffer and drew out his hauberk.

  When Douglas returned, his eyes went round. “What’re ye doing?” He hastened to buckle Adam’s mail shirt.

  “I’m off to Portsmouth,” he lied.

  “Whatever for?”

  “A lady, my friend.”

  Douglas’ face reflected his sour thoughts. “There’s plenty of fine pickings in the village. Why must ye go to Portsmouth?”

  Adam didn’t answer.

  Douglas shook his head and handed Adam his sword. “Ye’ll not be back in time for the tournament. Ye’ll be worth nothing and neither will yer horse.” He tidied the table and angrily folded the bed furs. “And I so wanted to pick off that Roger Artois’ horse right from under ‘im. And what’m I to say if anyone asks after ye?”

  “Exactly what I said, I’m in Portsmouth seeing a lady.”

  They walked to the stable together and Adam waited outside, impatient to be gone. He hoped Douglas spread the story about that he rode to Portsmouth for physical pleasure, lest anyone suspect him of another destination.

  Adam stood in the stable doors and stared up at the high stone towers of Ravenswood. The sun shone on the bishop’s pennants. “They will come down,” he promised.

  * * * * *

  Joan saw Adam by the stables. She lifted her hem and ran, heedless of what anyone might think. “Adam, may I speak to you?”

  He nodded and led his horse behind them as they walked through the busy bailey. Only Oswald, directing a carter with straw for the kennels, paid them any attention.

  Adam held up a hand to Joan; she fell silent in mid-sentence. He lifted a brow and stared at Oswald until the man turned away, scurrying like a rat into the kennels.

  “Now, he is gone, what is it?” He tried to soften his tone.

  “I’ve thought of nothing but our last conversation all through the hunt,” Joan said. “It shames me that you asked me for help and I said no.”

  “Don’t fret, Joan. Listen to me and listen well. There may be trouble here in a few days. I want you to take Nat and go away. Go anywhere, but not to Winchester or Portsmouth.”

  Her dark eyes grew wide. “Go away? What trouble?”

  “Trust me. Trouble often accompanies a tournament. And this one, with Mathilda the prize at the end, just smells like trouble. I wish I could escort you to safety.”

  Her brows drew together. “I cannot leave Ravenswood. Not now. And I owe you an explanation,” she could not quite look him in the eye, “considering all that is between us. I owe you that at least.”

  “Come. You can tell me your tale as we walk. It will provide less amusement to Oswald.” Adam mounted up and walked his horse toward the gates; Joan walked at his side, with one hand on the horse’s bridle.

  She looked up at Adam and said, “Nat is not so young as he used to be. Sometimes he makes mistakes. I fear if I leave him, he might anger the bishop, who is most intolerant—”

  “You feared the bishop might dismiss Nat?”

  “Aye, the bishop has been at Ravenswood for almost a year. He’s a hard taskmaster, but lately, he has dismissed workers for no reason, turned off tenants as well.

  “Nat has served all his days at Ravenswood, risen from a kennel man, his father a huntsmen here as well. He deserves to end his days here, not be driven off to look for work in his old age. I cannot leave his side.”

  “Is that why you signal the dogs?”

  A pain, one that had throbbed dully for many months, eased; then alarm filled its place. “You noticed.” She wrung her hands. “If you noticed, then—”

  “Don’t be afraid.” He leaned down and touched her shoulder, then withdrew as if remembering it was not appropriate to touch. “I believe only I have noticed your command of the dogs. I’m right, am I not?”

  “Aye. I’ve needed them more and more, especially when the bishop is about and Nat is forgetful.”

  Adam smiled. “You mean he might be telling a story to one of his men and not see that the dog carters need an order to move the hounds out?”

  She smiled back. “I have no signals for the carters.”

  “If the bishop were gone, you would not have this burden.”

  “The bishop is the burden. He has no kindness, no patience.”

  “I knew a priest once who was much like Nat. ‘Tis but old age. We will all be there one day.”

  “Aye.” They passed through the gate and over the drawbridge. When wood and paving stones gave way to the dirt road, she stopped and held his bridle, lest he ride out of her life without an explanation.

  “The men know their business. No one bothers if Nat forgets something now and again. Their respect for him and their training allow them to just do as they should. We’ve all been in harmony for years. Now, Roger and Oswald are here. If Roger wins Mathilda, we must leave, but if another wins her, we could stay. But if the bishop finds fault—”

  “And that’s why you cannot leave.” Adam dismounted. He stood by his mount, stroking the horse’s neck. “Mathilda told me
Oswald asked for your hand. It would solve your problems.”

  “Never,” she said. “Never will I wed the man. How could you think such a thing? The hounds don’t trust him. Never. I will never wed him.”

  He watched her face. She met his gaze with wide, guileless eyes. She said naught of her feelings for him. When he left, he might not see her again if the bishop prevailed. He longed to gather her in and kiss her breathless. And ask her why she gave the dogs as an objection to Oswald, but not him.

  An idea bloomed in his mind. “What if I learned your signals? Would the hounds obey me?”

  “Why would you want to?”

  “If I knew the signals, and stood in your place, I could correct any vagueness of Nat’s orders, and be here to take the tournament field. I could delay…certain events that might arise. Would you then go to Winchester for me and stay there until I called you back?”

  “If you could command the hounds, I would go.”

  Her statement was so simple, so assured, he felt a knife edge of guilt that he could not tell her his true reason for sending her to Winchester.

  He skimmed his fingers along her cheek. “You would do that? Help me?” he said.

  “You would protect Nat.”

  It was not a question. “Aye, I would protect Nat for you.” And Joan would be in Winchester out of harm’s way if hostilities broke out before he could effect a solution to the army already in possession of Ravenswood.

  He looped his horse’s reins over the branch of a low bush near the castle road. He took her hand, held it briefly, then let it go, wanting to take her into his arms and express the gratitude that filled him. “Come, teach me the hand signals,” he said instead.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth and laughed. “Oh, you must have the hounds to do the teaching. They’ll need to know you, learn your smell. See that I trust you.”

  “You do trust me, do you not?”

  There was only a heartbeat of hesitation. But it was there. “How could I not?” she said. She turned away from him and rubbed his horse’s nose. “You showed me the Diana chamber. Were you not offering me your trust then?”

  They agreed to meet in the fields outside the castle in the first hour after Matins. She would leave at dawn with three of her father’s huntsmen for protection and ride for Winchester if he was able to control the hounds.

  “Will Nat object?” Adam asked.

  She shook her head. “Nay. I’ll tell him the truth, that I’m carrying a package for you, and you are rewarding me handsomely.”

  Adam nodded. “Aye, remind him I paid his gaming debts to Lord Roger and that carrying my package will more than repay the favor. Tell him I’m paying you ten pounds and traveling expenses for the work.”

  “Oh, too much! Make it less, or he’ll be suspicious.”

  “The amount of his gambling debts? And traveling expenses?”

  “Perfect. Now, you must get some sleep. You may be out all night if the dogs prove leery of you.”

  She slid her hand down the horse’s neck and across his fingers. He shivered. The gentle caress felt as if someone had drawn a silken cloth over his skin. His voice sounded thick when he spoke. “I’ll want more than lessons when we meet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Adam stood on the river bank, near his swimming spot, where no guards on the ramparts could see him, and watched Joan come across the fields toward him with the stride of a woman who had no pretensions, who knew where she belonged, and with whom. Adam wished for such surety in his own life.

  Behind her trotted a troop of hounds: greyhounds, a lymer, several alaunts, and running hounds.

  They met on the river bank, by a flat rock. She smiled, but did not touch him. Instead, she held her hands very stiff at her side, fingers together. The dogs sat like sentinels at a mystical gate, stiff and straight.

  Joan turned from the dogs to where Adam stood. Dark clouds roiled across the sky, snuffing the meager light, casting him in shadow. Wind whipped her skirt and snapped her mantle against her legs. Something, turbulent as the storm that tossed the river water to a frothy mix, swept through her as well.

  He put out his hand in a signal as ancient as any man had devised. She slid her fingertips across his warm palm. He pulled her close, then crushed her against him.

  His mouth was as hungry as it had been the first time. She burrowed into his mantle for his warmth. I love you, she wanted to say, but held silent. He must say it first.

  He ended it, setting her off with two firm hands on her shoulders, and turning toward the waiting dogs.

  “I’ve brought the most important dogs,” she said, trying to sound as efficient as possible lest he doubt her abilities. “These dogs lead the others. Most of my commands are hold and release orders. Sometimes Nat is telling a story or studying the flight of a hawk and forgets to release them. I do so with a signal.”

  “The huntsmen or fewterers don’t know when to let them loose?”

  “Oh, aye, but the huntsmen always look to Nat for their orders. But if the dogs go, the men go.” She smiled and shrugged. “It is just so. Nat can fail to give the order, but the huntsmen will move if the dogs move.”

  And so Adam’s lesson began. Within an hour, he had Joan’s signals by heart. The hounds knew them already, so it was just a matter of teaching him. The hounds gave him their instant allegiance, perhaps because Joan’s scent and his were so entwined.

  A short while later, Joan pointed at the milling dogs who now ran and frolicked by the water’s edge. “Give them the signal to gather.”

  Adam did so. When one hound caught the signal, he woofed and the others drew around.

  “Now release them,” Joan said.

  Instead, when she turned her head, he gave the signal for them to sit like statues. The dogs lined up and stared at her.

  “Oh, dear. What’s wrong?” Joan held his sleeve. “It was going so well.”

  “I guess we’ll need to continue. We have a few hours more.” But he couldn’t help smiling.

  “You’re teasing me.” She tucked a few strands of hair back into her plait. “That will not do.”

  “I wanted more time—for us.” He tugged on the leather thong that held her hair. The wind whipped it loose in glorious disarray about her shoulders. Blood sang in his veins to see her so.

  “You have as much time as you wish.” She looked down, the leashes wrapped about her fist. “I could take the hounds home…then come back.”

  * * * * *

  Adam sat on a rock at the river’s edge and waited impatiently. He felt as if half the night was gone, precious hours he could never reclaim. Then he saw her.

  A low mist lay on the fields and it parted before her in an eerie swirl. She looked like an ancient goddess in the silvery light. Coming to him for one purpose only—to lie in his arms.

  He stood up slowly and waited for her. She walked straight into his embrace. Her cheeks were cold and he threw his mantle about her, drawing her to the spot where they could climb to the caves.

  “See that stack of rock?” he asked.

  “Oh, aye.”

  “If you climb it, you will come to the entrance of the Roman Way just about where the water has stained the rocks.”

  Joan followed where he pointed. “I see the mark.”

  “It is not so easy to get lost once you have found the opening, and I’ve left the trap door in the crypt unlocked, should you ever need it. Come, we’ll see if you can navigate your way up there.”

  “I cannot imagine why I would need to,” she said.

  The climb was easy once you knew the route. When they reached the top, Joan felt her stomach begin to dance about. She had returned to make love with him. She’d tried to deny it as she’d put the hounds to bed, but once she crossed the field and saw him waiting, there seemed little point in denial.

  “I want you to promise to seek Hugh de Coleville should you ever find yourself in danger.”

  “You are so solemn. What ails you?”
>
  “A tournament melee is dangerous. Men as able as I have fallen there.”

  “I’ll not see the tournament—”

  “Have you ever made love in the open air?” he asked abruptly.

  “Foolish question,” she whispered as he drew her close.

  “Aye. I should know, shouldn’t I?” He kissed her forehead. “If you are with child, I will see to it, I promise.”

  Her belly churned a bit.

  “You say nothing.” He lifted her chin. “You surely know that we cannot lie together as we have and not make a babe.”

  “It will be as God wills.”

  “And will you take a mercenary to husband, if need be?” His words were whispered across her lips, yet she felt their import deep within her body.

  Could she wed a mercenary? One who’d risen through the very Flemish company that had orphaned her?

  He lifted her chin. “Joan. Three men are responsible for your family’s deaths. Only three. Not a company. Not every man who followed after them.”

  Her throat hurt. “I know you’re right.”

  “‘Tis said you have one passion—the hatred of mercenaries.”

  Joan heard the urgent need in his voice to know her heart. “That was true—once. Nat helped me make peace with what happened. Nat and helping with the hounds. But I remember sometimes. I cannot help it.”

  “Could you wed a mercenary?”

  “Are you saying you’ll want to wed me if I’m with child?”

  “I will want you even if you are not.”

  How warm was his body, how strong his arms. She relaxed against him and knew he felt as aroused as she.

  When he spoke, his breath was warm on her temple. “You may return from Winchester to find Roger or possibly Francis has been chosen by Mathilda. If so, if ‘tis Roger, you might want to reconsider Oswald’s proposal. It would protect Nat in a way I cannot. Yet, I ask you if you’ll wed me.”

  She leaned back, looked up into Adam’s face, and gave him only half an answer. “I cannot lie with Oswald.”

  It was an equivocation. Could she take Nat away from Ravenswood to one of Adam’s manors? Should she wed Oswald to see Nat happy? Had she been lying to the bishop and herself when she’d said she would never wed the man?