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

Climbing numbly to her feet, Matilda crossed to the window and pulled down the shutter. A mist swam outside, lapping the mountains, condensing like rain on the sill of the embrasure. She shivered.

The great hall had been cleaned. A fire had been lit in the fireplace and a makeshift table was already standing on the dais. At it sat John, finishing his breakfast. He half rose when she appeared, giving her a mocking bow, then he continued eating. His eyes were cold and uncompromising.

Matilda stood for a moment watching him, fighting her revulsion and terror as she pulled the hood of her cloak more closely around her bruised throat.

"Come, join me for breakfast, my lady, " he called, not looking up. "You must be hungry after so disturbed a night. " He beckoned a servant from the shadows and indicated his empty goblet.

Summoning every shred of dignity to her aid, Matilda walked toward him across the floor. By the dais she dropped him a haughty curtsy. The castle seemed full of people this morning as, reluctantly, she took her place beside the prince. A shame-faced servant brought her bread and mulled wine, while another scattered fresh rushes on the floor. From somewhere in the bailey came the sound of hammering. John looked up again.

"Where is the castellan?" he snapped to the man with the rushes. "Now that Lady de Braose is here, bring him at once —let us hear the reasons for the state of this place. "

The servant bowed and ran out, returning almost at once with a tall man dressed in his hauberk and fully armed. He fell on his knees before Matilda. John, seemingly uninterested, continued eating.

Matilda swallowed painfully. "Well, " she said with an effort, "what have you to say?"

The man's face was gray. "I am Bernard, my lady. Forgive us. " He clasped his hands pleadingly. "This castle is a terrible place. No man can stay here and keep sane. I've begged for a transfer, but no one comes to relieve us. " He glanced at the prince. "My lord, have pity. "

John snorted. "Pity. When you can't take a little discomfort!"

"It's not the discomfort, sir, no indeed. " The man leaned forward earnestly.

"What, then?" John looked scornful. "Have the Welsh prince's men been frightening you, then?" He put on a singsong voice full of sarcasm and scorn.

"No, sir. We're not afraid of the Welsh. " Bernard was indignant. "No, my lady, it's something else. " He dropped his eyes suddenly and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one knee to the other.

"What?" John demanded unsympathetically.

"It's the old ones of the castle, Your Highness. " His voice had fallen to a whisper. "They walk the ramparts beside our men. They tramp the ditch, they ride on the hill. They are everywhere in the dark. " He crossed himself fervently and they saw him finger the amulet that hung at his throat.

Matilda glanced at John, shivering in spite of herself.

"What nonsense is this you talk?" he asked. "What old ones of the castle? There's no one in these hills but shepherds and warring Welsh tribes. "

Beside him, Matilda's fingers were pressing white on the goblet in her hand. A little hot wine slopped on her wrist.

"They're shadows, Your Highness. Castel Dinas was theirs a thousand years ago. Maybe more. Before Our Lord was born this land belonged to them. We find their belongings in the foundations. The ditches and ramparts were dug by them. Their gods still rule, my lord. Christ is not welcome here. The walls of the chapel fall each time we begin to build. ... " He was speaking quickly now, his hands pressed together, beads of sweat standing out on his brow.

John stood up and leaned toward him across the table.

"God's teeth! Are you telling me that this garrison is reduced to total terror by a pack of ghosts?" His voice was icy.

The man lowered his eyes. "They're real, my lord. I've seen them. Spirits, maybe, from the old days, but they're real. My lady, please release us. The only way is to abandon the castle to them. " He turned to Matilda at last, his hands pressed together in supplication.

"How dare you suggest such a thing?" John's voice cut through the man's pleading like a whiplash. "The punishment for desertion is known to you, no doubt. I think you had better consider well before you suggest abandoning a strategic point such as this. "

"That is enough. " Matilda rose painfully to her feet and tried to clear her throat. "You may go for now, " she said wearily. "There will be no punishments until messages have been sent to Sir William. You will see to it meanwhile that the building goes on and that there is no more drunkenness. "

The man scrambled to his feet and, bowing low, fled from the hall.

John turned to her. "What, no floggings, Lady Matilda? Do you feel that they're justified being lazy good-for-nothing hounds because they can tell a good ghost story?"

She colored. "Perhaps they're right, my lord, " she said defiantly. "There is something evil about this place. "

"Apart from me, you mean?" His voice was heavy as her clear green eyes sought his and held his stare for a moment. He looked away first.

"It's lonely here certainly, " he said at last, rising to his feet, goblet in hand still, and walking over toward the hearth, "and it's eerie in all this mist. "

She watched him as he stood looking down into the glowing ash. His handsome face was pale and drawn, and there was an almost feline tautness about his muscles as he flexed his fingers slowly around the stem of the earthenware cup. She shuddered violently.

"The mountains are often eerie to the sensitive, Your Highness, " she said softly. "I believe the men here are right.

The old gods still walk these hills. This place is theirs and they will protect their own. "

He swung