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

for the man flooding back. "I plan to travel on to Tretower, if you can spare me an escort. " She tried to keep the edge of sarcasm out of her voice. It was wasted on Poer, though.

"Spare her the minimum, de Braose. We need those men here. " He stabbed the table once more with his finger, before turning on his heel. "I can smell trouble, and I want to be prepared. "

"It seems he's worried too. " William threw down his riding gloves after Poer had stamped out, and held his hands to the fire, glancing around at the bare stone walls and the piles of unshaped stones still lying in heaps in the far corner below the dais. "You'd be best out of here, Moll. It'll not be comfortable anyway. Make your way as quickly as you can out of Gwent and into Brycheiniog. " He thought for a moment, scratching his head. "I think you must give up your idea of going to Tretower. It takes you too close to Abergavenny, just in case that woman spoke the truth. Ride the direct route through the mountains from Llantilio to Llanthony. The good fathers will give you shelter for the night. From there to the Hay should be only a day's ride, even in this weather. " He glanced over his shoulder. "Poer always was as nervous as a cat in these mountains. He doesn't believe Rhys can keep the peace in Gwent as he does in the rest of south Wales. Personally I think he still does. Just. "

Matilda shivered. She had a strong suspicion that Poer was correct in his doubts, but she kept her fear to herself. William seemed confident, and her concern was to reach her children as fast as she could. If he became too worried, he might begrudge her even the small escort he had promised and insist she remain with him. They spent the night, fully dressed, huddled on straw pallets around the fire, and Matilda left Dingestow the next morning at first light. The wind had changed as night drove in from the western hills and with it came a wet windy warmth that loosed the ice in the hard earth and turned the winding tracks to running mud.

With Matilda went Elen and her two women, Gwenny and Nan, and an escort of twelve men-at-arms. She rode fast, forgetful of her sickness, half exhilarated by the strong wind, half frightened by the brooding deserted country as their horses' hooves splashed through the shallow puddles on the hill tracks and through the deeper mud of the still, shadowy woods. In her girdle she carried a knife and, as they cantered on, she loosed it nervously in its sheath.

They paused early at the square-built tower of Llantilio, secure in its commanding position on the top of the hill, and, in spite of her eagerness to go on, Matilda reluctantly agreed that they spend the night there. She hardly slept. The sickness had passed, but her mind was in a turmoil of fear and impatience, and at first light they rode on.

They followed the old road north to where it plunged between the mountains and followed the River Honddu up the vale of Ewias toward Llanthony Abbey, the horses slipping and stumbling in the heavy rain. At midday the rain stopped at last and Matilda pushed the horses as fast as she dared beneath the threatening sky.

They passed the little church of Cwmyoy, the track leading up to it marked by one of the stone crosses that signposted the pilgrims' way through the mountains. Out of habit Matilda reined in her horse as so often she did when William was there. Then she remembered and, contenting herself with a quick prayer as they walked past, she spurred her horse onward again. The heavy clouds threatened more rain, which would make the road across the mountains impassable. Constantly before her was the image of her children alone with their attendants at Hay, with only a small garrison to guard them and the gates trustingly open so that the townsfolk could come and go.

Once Elen begged her to stop, if not for her own sake, then for the sake of their sweating horses and for Gwenny, who was sobbing with the pain of a stitch in her side, but she ignored her pleas. Silent drifting clouds obscured the still, silent mountains either side of the River Honddu. Even the buzzards had deserted the valley. The moaning of the wind in the trees was the only sound save the creaking of the leather and the occasional sucking squelch of a horse's hoof coming out of the mud. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the men escorting her had drawn their swords. The sight gave her very little comfort.

It was early dusk when the exhausted horses filed into the wind-blown orchards that lay in the deep valley south of Llanthony Priory. There were signs of much activity and building. Llanthony, so long nearly deserted during the early wars, lying as it did so close to the border, had received substantial grants for its rebuilding from old Hugh de Lacy, the Lord of Ewias, and already a magnificent central tower and the presbytery had risen nearly to their full height in nests of wooden scaffolding.

Matilda breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped from her horse. Here at least, amid the orchards, gardens, and vineyards, they were safe and might pass the night in the canons' guesthouse without fear of attack.

"So, Elen, we are halfway home. I'm sorry I made you all ride so fast. I had no feeling of being watched, yet I was afraid, out there, on the road. "

Elen snorted. "You afraid, my lady! And how is your sickness now, may I ask? Quite better, I'll be bound, while we're all as exhausted as kittens. " She gestured toward the two wilting women who had dismounted behind them.

Matilda smiled. "Poor Elen. Perhaps