Barbara Erskine 3-Book Collection: Lady of Hay, Time’s Legacy, Sands of Time. Barbara Erskine
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 towards 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 towards 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 which made her shiver with desire. Only the slightly heightened colour 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 round 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.
‘Henpych gwell, arglwyddes. Yd oedd gennwch y hela da? Balch iawn yw dy hebogeu.’ The man was swarthy. He had wavy hair and was dressed in glowing purple. ‘Greetings lady; has your hunting been good?’ he went on in flawless French. ‘I trust the sport of my mountains does me credit. I see your kill has been substantial.’ He nodded in the direction of the birds, which lay trussed for carrying beside one of the grooms.
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 coloured 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 which 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 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 would willingly lose a hand even in the defence 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 aroda 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 honours the blood feud, it seems.’
‘The galanas they call it,’ Matilda replied 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 shoulders 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 towards the ford, the lazy good humour 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 towards 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