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

"When did you write this?"

"What?" Judy slid onto the bed beside him and lay down, her arms above her head, her legs slim and tanned on the white candlewick cover.

"Carl Bennet. Why did you write his name here?"

She sat up. "To hell with him. You're supposed to be thinking about me!"

"I am thinking about you, Judy. " Nick's voice was suddenly hard. He pushed her back, leaning over her, his face taut with anger. "I am wondering why you have written his name down. Where did you hear it?"

For a moment Judy contemplated lying. Her brain was moving like lightning. If he found out the truth later he would blame her. Better tell him. Softly she cursed herself for writing the name at all—a stupid absentminded, automatic reaction to having a pencil in her hand....

"Jo rang yesterday, " she said softly. She smiled, reaching up to kiss him, winding her arms around his neck. "She thought you might be here, that's all. It didn't sound important. "

"What did she say about Bennet?" Unmoving, he stared down at her and for a fleeting moment she felt a pang of fear.

"She said she was going to see him. Nick, forget her—"

"Did she say when?"

"Today. I told you, forget her—"

"When, Judy?" Nick caught her wrists and disengaged himself violently from her embrace. He sat up. "She must not go there alone!"

She grabbed the bedspread and pulled it around herself as Nick stood up. "You're too late. She'll be there by now. "

Without a word Nick strode past her into the studio. He picked up his shirt and dragged it on, groping for his shoes. Behind him Judy stood in the doorway, still swathed in candlewick. "Nick, please. Don't go. "

He turned. "I'm sorry, Judy. I have to be there. I have to stop her if I can!"

The long train of horses and carts that heralded the arrival of William de Braose and his retinue began to assemble in the outer bailey of Brecknock Castle on the first day of May. The serfs and townspeople, out from dawn about their ancient rites, tending the Beltane fires on the moors despite the threats from the priests, returned to find the castle full of men.

Matilda sat in her solar listening with Margaret to the clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels below, longing to hide. She dreaded the meeting with William, try as she might to remember Gerald's reassurances, and when her husband's arrival was at last announced she took a deep breath to still her wildly beating heart and walked slowly down into the brisk spring sunshine to greet him. Dismounting, William looked up at his wife as she stood on the steps above him, his face impassive. He was splendidly dressed in scarlet and green, his mantle clasped by a great cabochon ruby, his fringed beard neatly trimmed. He strode up the steps two at a time and kissed her hand ostentatiously, taking in with one quick, satisfied glance the swell of her belly beneath the flowing lines of her gown.

"How are you, my lady? I meant to be with you long before this but the king kept me with him. "

She raised her eyes from the floor to look at him, expecting to see anger and resentment there, but his eyes, behind the sternness of his face, were indifferent.

She forced herself to smile. "I am glad to see you, my lord. Very glad. " Her gaze met his for an instant. He straightened his back, pulling his cloak higher up on his shoulder, and when he followed her back into the hall it was with a confident swagger. The moment of nervousness he had felt under the scrutiny of his wife's cool green eyes with their strange amber flecks had passed. He stuck his fingers jauntily into his girdle. He owed her no explanations; nor any man, save the king.

She herself poured the mulled wine that was awaiting him and stood beside him in silence while he drank. When he handed her back the goblet with gruff words of thanks he stood awkwardly for a moment looking at her as though about to say something else. But whatever it was, he changed his mind abruptly. He turned away, shouting commands to his men, and left her alone by the fire.

It took only a day for the castle to be transformed by the comforts carried in William's baggage train. Hangings appeared on the walls of the great bedchamber and cushions and fine sheets and covers replaced the rougher wear lent by the Benedictines from the priory. Two men were sent at once with the archdeacon's best chair, up the winding track to his house at Llanddeu.

Matilda continued without interruption her running of the castle, calling before her determinedly one by one the officers of her husband's household and making it clear that, while they should all continue their duties, she intended to oversee their activities herself in future as the mistress of the household, and that the servants she had taken on were to be assimilated into it. To her intense disappointment Jeanne was not among the train, and she did not like to ask William why the old nurse had chosen to remain at Bramber. She couldn't prevent herself from crying about it in the secrecy of the great bed, however. She had so much wanted Jeanne to be there when the baby was born. Jeanne could comfort her and help her, and would know what to do if anything went wrong.

Of William she saw little. He was constantly busy, riding to outlying castles or closeted with his scribes, writing endless long-winded letters that, according to Hugh, kept the clerks so busy that William had to pay them extra money to finish them. At night William slept in an upper chamber above hers. She was heavy and lethargic now, with the baby so close, and had dreaded that he might try to force his attentions on