Lady of Hay by Barbara Erskine (reading an ebook TXT) 📕

He sat forward on the edge of the table, hooking his forefinger into the knot of his tie and pulling it loose while behind him the sky was losing its color, the sunset fading as the glare of streetlights took over outside the open window.

"And now, Nick, " he went on after a pause, "you and she have been born in another century and in another world, and this time you are not a child. This time she sees you as a man, a man she finds attractive, a man to whom she has submitted. But you cannot trust her. Your hate remains. You have not forgotten, Nick. And you have not forgiven. You swore vengeance against Matilda de Braose eight hundred years ago and you are pursuing it still. "

He stood up abruptly and turned away from his brother. "And this time, my friend, " he murmured, "when she calls on her husband for help, it will be there. I shall not let her down again. I have waited for the chance to make amends, and now at last I have it. Now at last we are all once more on the stage together. " He turned. "You will love the role I've given you, Nick. You always were a conceited little bastard —so self-assured. So clever. So sure every woman will fall for you. And they all do, don't they? But Jo is beginning to see through you. She has tasted your violence now. She no longer trusts you, and if you hit her again, Nick, she will come to me. She will always come to me, I shall see to that. And I shall comfort her. She'll return to you for more because there is something of the masochist in Jo. Violence excites her. She may even tempt you to kill her, Nick. But I shall be there. " He smiled evenly. "And this time I shall be the one in charge. This time I shall have men to help me. And you will crawl away, my liege. You will lick your wounds and beg for forgiveness as William did to his king, and I shall have you sent away, not to hide in France to die a whimpering shameful death like William had to, no, I shall have you committed, brother mine, to an asylum. The sort of place they put people who live in a world of make-believe and pretend that they are kings. And Jo will come to me. Jo will be mine. She will repent that she slighted me and beg for forgiveness and I will console her as a husband should. "

He walked toward the tray and poured himself half a tumbler of whisky. He drank it down at a gulp and then poured another.

"Have you been listening to me, Nick?" He turned slowly.

For a moment Nick gave no sign of having heard, then slowly he nodded.

"And have you understood what I have told you?"

Nick licked his lips. "I understand, " he said at last.

Sam smiled. "Good, " he said softly. "So, tell me what your name was, Nicholas, in this past life of yours. "

"John. " Nick looked at Sam with alarming directness.

"And you know what you must do?"

Nick shifted in his chair. He was still staring at Sam but there was a clouded, puzzled look on his face.

Sam frowned. He put down his glass. "Enough now, " he said slowly. "You are tired. I am going to wake you soon. You must ask me to hypnotize you again, little brother. You find that hypnosis is soothing. It makes you feel good. You are going to forget all that I have told you today with your conscious mind, but underneath, slowly, you will remember, so that when you are next with Jo you will know how to act. Do you understand me?" His tone was peremptory.

Nick nodded.

"And one other thing. " Sam picked up his shirt and began carefully to straighten the sleeves. "A favor for a friend. Before Jo comes back you must go and see Miss Curzon. Make your peace with her, Nick. You like Judy, remember? She's good in bed. She makes you feel calm and happy. Not like Jo, who makes you angry. Go and see Judy, Nick. Soon. " He smiled. "Now I want you to relax. You are feeling happy now and at ease. You are feeling rested. That's good. Now, slowly I want you to count from one to ten. When you reach ten you will awake. "

Slowly Nick began to count.

"Abergavenny, Crickhowell, Tretower, " Jo murmured as she swung the MG onto the A40 next morning. She glanced up at the line of hills and then at the gleam of the broad Usk on her left, and she shivered, remembering the icy feel of the water, the snow beneath her bare feet, and the silence of the hills. Thankfully she concentrated as a tractor swung out onto the narrow road ahead of her. She leaned forward and turned on the car radio. She could not look at the hills now, not as well as hold the car on the road. She turned the station up loud and, hooting at the tractor, tore past him north toward Hay, refusing to let herself think about the vast empty area of moor and mountain far away on her right.

The approach from Talgarth was along the foot of the small foothills that hid the huge shoulders of Pen y Beacon and Twmpa—the Black Mountains that David had showed her on his map—but she could smell them through the open roof of the car, the sweet indefinable smell of the mountains of Wales, which she remembered from her dream.

The town of Hay, nestling in a curve of the Wye, was a maze of little narrow streets, crowded and busy, which clustered around the gaunt imposing half ruin that was the castle. As she drew into a parking space in the market square immediately below the castle, Jo