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

his smiling face. It would be good to celebrate her arrival. Her weariness and depression began to slip away. She turned to Jeanne.

"Go to the children. They need you now, I don't. I can rest later. "

"My lady, you're most unwise. You must rest. " Stubbornly Jeanne remained at her elbow.

"I said you can go, Jeanne, " Matilda rounded on her. "Lord de Clare and I have much to talk about. "

Jeanne hesitated, her hands braced stubbornly at the front of her full black skirts, then reluctantly, muttering to herself, she left them, vanishing behind the screens at the end of the hall.

"She watches you closely, that one, " he whispered as she left.

Matilda turned to follow his gaze. Then she laughed. "She was my nurse before she was my children's. Sometimes I think she forgets I'm grown up now. Now, my lord, tell me all the news, and cheer me up. I command it. " She clapped her hands to summon her page. "Bring lights, and food and seats, Simon. Let's see what kind of food those Hay fires can provide. "

Richard, one foot on a stool near the fire, gazed at her for a moment, head to one side. "We'll have music and poetry and good wine and conversation in that order. Will that cheer you?" He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "If it doesn't, I'm sure I can think of one or two other things that might appeal. " He looked down at the rushes for a moment. When he looked up she could see that the color in his cheeks had risen a little. He caught her eye and for a moment, as they stood together in the center of the bustle of preparation, they gazed at each other without speaking. She felt a stab of excitement running up her body, and swallowed nervously. He feels the same, she thought, and she felt herself beginning to tremble. She looked away first.

"William joins me here soon for the autumn hunting. " Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Autumn is a long way away, my lady. " He took her hand and raised it almost to his lips. Then he let it fall. "Come, where is that music? We must have music while we eat. "

Matilda lay awake a long time that night, listening to the owls hooting in the yew trees below the Login Brook. She could feel the touch of Richard's hand on hers and sense the message in his eyes as, sitting next to her, he had shared her dish as they ate and listened to the boy who piped one dance tune after another for them. The firelight had played on his face as he leaned back in his chair and she had seen him watching her, his eyes never leaving her face. She lay still and fought back the longing that overwhelmed her, trying to think instead of her two baby sons, asleep with their nurses.

The river was lapping gently over its stones, murmuring peacefully beyond the bailey wall. The castle was silent. She gazed up at the ceiling over her head and the rail from which her bed curtains hung, and stared, near to tears, into the darkness.

Somewhere in the blackness of the room beyond the curtains a board creaked. She moved her head slightly, trying to see between the heavy folds of material. Perhaps one of her women had stirred in her sleep? Not a breath of wind moved in the trees outside. She stiffened. A slight scraping noise caught her ear, followed by profound silence. It was as though someone else too were listening in the dark.

She swallowed nervously, trying to forget the sudden awful memory of the shadow outside the walls of her tent at Gloucester. The entire garrison was within earshot if she screamed, and there could be no enemies within the castle. She shut her eyes, her fingers clutching the thin sheet up around her face.

Then distinctly she heard the slight rattle of a curtain ring. Someone was touching the curtains of her bed. Her mind flew to Richard. Surely he would not be so stupidly reckless? She lay tense, waiting, not daring to open her eyes.

The curtains were eased back a little more and she felt a slight pressure on the bed as someone leaned over her. Little prickles of panic were beginning to chase up and down her back and she fought desperately to remain still. Something wet fell on her hair, then on her face and her shoulder. A light mist like spring rain. Then she heard whispered words. She strained her ears trying to hear, wondering what prevented her still from crying out. It was a woman's voice, intoning softly. It sounded like a prayer. Or a spell. She felt herself grow cold. It was Jeanne; Jeanne was casting a spell on her. She tried to sit up, to shout at the old woman, to scream for Elen or the guards, but a black silken web seemed to be holding her down. She opened her mouth, but no sound would come. The voice was silent and she heard the curtains being closed gently once more. The old woman had gone. Whatever her spell had been, it was complete. It was too late to fight it. Matilda tried to raise her hand to make the signs against evil and the sign of the cross but her hands were too heavy to raise. Surely, she told herself sleepily, Jeanne could mean her no harm. Slowly her eyelids dropped. Her sleeplessness had gone. Relaxed and at peace, she turned over and was instantly asleep.

She rose at dawn and Elen dressed her in her gown of pale green; she twisted her heavy hair up beneath a simple veil, held in place by a woven fillet. It was too hot for a wimple or barbette, or even a mantle, and she did not send for Jeanne. There had been no sign of the old woman. Richard