Lady of Hay

36

Jo pushed away the typewriter and stood up. She was too tired to work and too tired to eat. Sam had upset her, and she was angry and agitated, and her thoughts kept on going back to Nick. She wanted to see him so badly it was like a physical pain.

When the phone rang she stared at it for a moment before picking it up.

“Jo, dear? It’s Ceecliff. How are you?”

Jo’s face relaxed into a smile. “Tired and grumpy. It’s lovely to hear from you. How are you?”

“Agog to hear some more about your Matilda. Is she still with you?”

Jo managed a laugh. “You make her sound like a tenant. Yes, she is still with me.”

“Good. Then you must tell me all about her. I’m going to ask a great favor, dear. I’m coming to town tomorrow. I have to see my dentist and I want to go to Harrods. Could I possibly stretch my poor old carcass on your sofa tomorrow night? I’m so ancient these days I can’t face the journey both ways in one day.”

“Of course you can.” Jo’s spirits had lifted at her words.

“Splendid. Now, don’t chase poor Nicholas out if he’s there. I’d like to see him and I’m not naive! I’ll see you about five, my dear, if that’s all right,” and she hung up without giving Jo the chance to reply.

Jo smiled. “Naive. You!” she murmured to herself. “Never!”

She stood up and went out onto the balcony, staring down at the tub of geraniums at her feet. She had deluged the plants in water and already they were responding, the sharp, sweet-sour smell of sooty London earth filling her nostrils, as, suddenly, her eyes overflowed with tears. Don’t think about Nick. Don’t. Desperately she tried to concentrate on the scarlet petals of the flower, but they blurred and swayed before her eyes.

Before he left the Clementses’ farm he had taken her hands in his. “I don’t want to see you again, Jo. Not till this is over,” he had said. “Don’t call me. Don’t let me come near you. Not for any reason whatsoever, do you understand?”

Abruptly she retreated indoors. She turned on the stereo and threw herself down on the sofa. If only Nick were here for Ceecliff to find tomorrow. If only he were here…

She closed her eyes, trying to force herself to listen to the music. Ten minutes of Vivaldi to try and unknot the tension behind her eyes, then she would go to bed.

As they dismounted in the castle ward at Carrickfergus, Matilda found herself looking upward at the solid keep glowing ruggedly in the evening light, and she shuddered in spite of the warmth of the evening.

Word had come on Midsummer’s Day that King John, together with an army of men, had sailed from Pembroke and landed at Crook on the southeast corner of Ireland. From there he had ridden to Kilkenny and been received with all honor by the Earl Marshall.

“But what’s happened? Where’s William? Why haven’t we heard anything? Why has the king come to Ireland?” Matilda had looked wildly from Walter to his brother Hugh and back, after they had heard the news from the marshall’s messenger. In the spring King John had at last agreed William could return to Wales, where he would grant him one more audience.

“I don’t understand.” Walter rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I have a letter, my lord.” The messenger fumbled in his pouch. “I was told to deliver it secretly to the Earl of Meath and no other.”

“Well then, give it to me, man.” Walter slid his finger under the seal, a worried frown on his face. Hugh and Matilda waited in silence, watching as he scanned the closely written lines. At last he let out a deep breath. He looked up at Matilda. “It’s the worst news, I’m afraid. You’d better sit down while I tell you.”

Matilda went pale, but she did as she was told, sitting upright on a narrow stool. Hugh put his hand protectively on her shoulder. He cleared his throat nervously. “Go on, Walter. Tell us.”

Walter glanced down at the parchment. “It appears that William went to Hereford but at the last moment he refused to meet the king. Instead he began to rally men with a view to recapturing some of his lands by force.” He glanced up as Matilda drew in a quick painful breath. “The king promptly set off for Haverford as he had been threatening, where his host was already gathering for an invasion of Ireland.”

“An invasion?” Hugh repeated, appalled at the word.

“That’s what it says here. Lord Ferrers apparently tried very hard to act as an intermediary and somehow persuaded William to ride to Pembroke after the king and there William actually saw John. According to him he offered him forty thousand marks to be paid at once if the king would restore him to favor.”

Matilda gasped. “Forty thousand? He’s out of his mind. Where would we get that kind of money!”

Walter licked his lips. “I gather that’s what the king said. He also commented that it wasn’t William anyway, but you who really headed the de Braose family now.” He paused and glanced up quickly. “If anyone could raise any money it would be you and not your husband, and he intended to hold you and you alone responsible for the debt.”

Matilda closed her eyes for a moment, conscious of Hugh’s reassuring hand gently squeezing her shoulder. After another quick glance at her, Walter went on, his finger tracing the lines of writing that grew smaller and more cramped toward the bottom of the parchment. “The king offered William the chance of accompanying him here to Meath, where they could together confront you, but William refused. He has ridden to the March, intent on raising an army of his own. It seems the king let him go.”

“Courage, Mother. We’ll be safe here, you’ll see.” Will half turned, watching as his wife and children with the nurses trailed disconsolately after Walter and Margaret toward the stairway that led up into the keep at Carrickfergus.

Matilda tried to smile. “I keep thinking about your father, Will. Why did he do this to us? Why didn’t he try to make peace with the king? It is almost as if he did it deliberately to set the king against me.”

Will’s mouth was set in a grim line. “It was unforgivable of him. He must have known that the king was going to try to find you, although Hugh reckons the king was coming anyway-and”-he hesitated-“well, Father has been behaving erratically, you must admit. I’m not sure all the time that he really knows what he’s doing anymore.”

They stood watching as the last of the party climbed the wooden stairs into the keep. Only a few attendants remained hovering behind them, waiting to escort them in. The last of the horses was being led off toward the stables. Overhead two gulls, their wings pink in the last light of the setting sun, wheeled and called over the high walls.

“The king has followed us across Ireland, Will.” Matilda put her hand on his arm. “There is no safety for us here.”

He smiled at her fondly. “I know. I’ve talked it over with Reginald and Walter and they agree. We must all get to France as soon as possible. It’s the only way now. And this is a good place to embark from, so when we’ve rested a little, Hugh is going to find us boats.”

She sighed. “Oh, how I long to see Giles again. Ask Hugh to hurry. I don’t care about resting. Let us leave quickly. I don’t think he’ll take it as an insult to his hospitality.” She made a brave attempt to smile.

But it proved much harder than they had anticipated to find a boat that would carry them south down the calm, blue sea toward France. The first two captains Hugh approached shrugged and gesticulated and bargained noisily and then sailed away without them on the first favorable wind.

Anxiously they scanned the waters of the lough for vessels that might be on their way to anchor in the sheltered little harbor behind the castle and could take them off; but in the calmness of a flat, unbroken sea no boats came near them. They could see flocks of gulls hovering and diving over hidden shoals of fish but no fishermen seemed interested. Tension mounted behind the high sandstone walls as the lookouts were doubled to the seaward side, and men spent hours straining their eyes toward the opposite shore of the lough as if expecting at any moment to see the massed armies of the king forming ranks upon the beach.

But no one came. High above the keep a lonely gull wheeled, its laughing cry echoing in the silent walls over the backs of the dozing men and the horses snuffling uninterestedly at wisps of hay in the heat of the courtyard.

Slowly the sun began to sink and the shadows lengthened across the translucent water.

The horseman could be seen a mile away, galloping down the track past St. Mary’s Abbey and the houses in the little township from the direction of Bael na Farsad, the ford at the mouth of the River Lagan. Silently the guards at the main gate strung their bows and waited.

“Quickly! Quickly!” The man pulled his horse to a rearing halt, its hooves plunging into the dust of the road. “Tell the earl the king is less than a day’s march away across there.” He waved across the slowly darkening water. “He’s reached Holy Wood. Others are coming from Rath. By sea.”

“May the Blessed Virgin save us.” Will crossed himself fervently when he heard the breathless rider’s message. “What do we do now?” He looked at Hugh and then from Walter to his mother and back. They were standing on the eastern wall, feeling the light wind stir their hair in the warm night. High above, a shooting star cut a green arc through the velvet sky. Matilda strained her eyes into the distance to where Hugh had pointed, as the last fingers of the sunset reflected on the lough, but she could see no sign of lights or campfires. The distant shore was as dark as the lapping water.

Suddenly Reginald gripped her arm. “Look! A boat-and it’s coming here.”

They squinted into the dark as the small fishing boat, illuminated by the glowing brazier it carried amidships, ghosted in with the tide. Hugh waited long enough to see it round the point and head in toward the small harbor below them, then he turned and ran soundlessly for the steps.

They watched the boat nose in silently alongside the quay and the black figures of the men working on the deck swinging baskets of fish over the side to waiting hands. Matilda saw the dull gleam of silver as each load was lifted high, then suddenly she saw Hugh’s men, their swords drawn, swarming over the quay. A basket of fish went flying and the silver trail spilled across the black stones, some of them slipping back into the dark water. The fishermen put up only a token resistance as the armed men jumped aboard. From their position high on the wall, the watchers could pick out Hugh’s tall figure pointing from the quay as guards were posted, and the sailors held at sword point on the deck of their boat. Then Hugh turned away and disappeared into the shadows. The whole exercise had been managed without a sound.

“He’ll be at the postern gate,” Walter murmured urgently. “Quickly. There’ll be no time to lose. The wind is going around, it’ll be in the right quarter to take us off if it doesn’t drop.”

The boat was an old one, open and shaky, its planks badly caulked, and there was barely room, with the fishermen to sail it, for the passengers. Mattie and Will and their two babies, Margaret with Egidia in her arms and the wet nurse following, Reginald and Matilda and Walter and, last of all, Hugh with a long regretful look behind him at the great fortress he had helped to create. Four guards stood amidships with drawn swords as the mooring ropes were cast off and the boat turned silently toward the sea.

There was a splash and a sizzle as Walter tipped the brazier over the side and then complete darkness, apart from the glow of the starlight on the square of bleached canvas above their heads.

It seemed to Matilda as she watched, breathless, that they were not moving at all. The black silhouette of the castle hung above them for what seemed an eternity before at last, imperceptibly, the sail began to curve and billow and the water started to cream gently beneath the vessel’s bow.

Slowly the black coast of Ireland began to drop away into the night and they were left alone with the shooting stars and the fiery phosphorescence of the warm sea.

Jo opened her eyes, puzzled at the sudden change in light. Something dark was standing between her and the lamp. Pushing away the heavy clogging sleep, she struggled to sit up. The music had stopped and the apartment was very silent.

“So you thought you could escape by sea.” The soft voice brought her upright with a jerk.

“Nick?” Panic shot through her. “How did you get in? What are you doing here?” She tried desperately to clear her brain.

“You were talking in your sleep. You should have bolted the door, Jo.” He was sitting on the arm of the chair near her, in front of the lamp. She could see the faint, gilded halo of lamplight around his body in the shadows. The balcony outside the open door was in darkness.

“What have you come for?” She looked toward him, still frightened, not able to see his face.

“What do you think I’ve come for?” He turned sideways suddenly and she saw that he was smiling. Her blood turned to ice. It was not Nick. The man behind those steel-blue eyes was calculating and cold and full of hatred.

Without conscious thought she tried to get up, but he had anticipated her. Before she could move he had grabbed her, pushing her back against the cushions. “No, my lady,” he said quietly. “No. Let us hear the end of this story, shall we? Let us hear it together.”

“No!” She pushed at him desperately. “Nick, you’re not supposed to be here. You must go away. I don’t want to go on, Nick. I mustn’t. It’s too near the end. Please, Nick. You know I mustn’t.” She stared up at him, terrified. “Nick,” she cried. “Stop it. Don’t you see what’s happening? It’s Sam! Sam is making you do this. Please. Don’t let it happen. Don’t let Sam win!”

He frowned as he looked down at her. “Sam?” he said slowly. “There was something I had to tell Sam-”

Jo swallowed hard. “He is with your mother,” she said. “He called earlier. He wanted you to call him back.” His grip on her wrists had slackened slightly. “Go on, Nick, please call him. It’s important.” She tried to keep her voice steady, her eyes on his face.

She saw the slight flicker of uncertainty for a moment behind his eyes, then it had gone and he was smiling again. “You are very anxious I should phone him all of a sudden. I wonder why.” His grip on her wrists tightened again and he bent over her until his face was only inches from hers. “Do you think he is going to distract me from what I came to do?”

Her mouth had gone dry. “What did you come to do?” she whispered.

From outside the open French doors the sound of a car hooting in the darkened square blasted into the room. Nick raised his head slightly, but his eyes did not leave her face. “I came to see you,” he said evenly. “The woman I love.”

Jo was breathing heavily, trying to control the panic that was threatening to overtake her.

“If you love me, Nick, you won’t hurt me,” she said pleadingly. She tried once again unsuccessfully to push him away. “Please, let me go. You’re hurting my wrists-”

He smiled. “So little a pain, surely, compared with the pain you caused me.”

“I didn’t mean to cause you pain,” she cried desperately. “You must believe me, I didn’t. I love you-” Her voice cracked into a sob.

Nick did not move. His eyes narrowed cynically. “Love,” he whispered. “What love?”

After transferring both her wrists to one hand, he touched her cheek gently. A teardrop stood for a moment on the pad of his forefinger. Slowly he leaned forward and brought his lips down on hers.

“Who did you really love?” he murmured. “Was it de Clare, all the time?”

Jo stared up into the eyes so close to hers.

“It was you,” she whispered. “In the end it has always been you-” She relaxed at last beneath the iron grip on her wrists and felt at once a corresponding lessening of pressure from his hand as his mouth sought hers once more. Closing her eyes, she could feel the accustomed longing beginning to stir somewhere deep inside her. Almost without realizing it she was returning the kiss, feeling her body tremble as he reached inside her blouse. For a long moment she lay still, then frantically she tried to tear her wrists free of his imprisoning hand. Instantly his grip tightened. Leaning back slightly, he smiled. “Relax, Jo,” he said softly. “Don’t fight me.” As he looked down at her she saw a new enigmatic blankness in his eyes, then he reached forward again and touched her face. “Now,” he said, “the end of the story, I think.”

“No!” She shrank away from his touch, but she could not move as his free hand, gently insistent now, moved slowly over her forehead and down her temples. Desperately she tried to turn away, but he caught her chin, forcing her to look at him as once more he stroked her forehead, soothing her, relaxing her in spite of her sick terror.

He smiled. “That’s better. Stop fighting me, Jo. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “This is what we both want, and you know it. To find out what happened.” His fingers had not stopped caressing her temples and she lay still at last, looking up at him, conscious only of what intensely blue eyes he had. Nick smiled and, leaning forward, brought his lips down to hers once more. He was forcing her back, by sheer willpower, into the past. She was trapped and even through her fear she could feel the world around her slipping out of gear.

It was several minutes before Nick stopped the movement of his hand. He looked at her closely. Her eyes were closed and he could feel the tension leaving her body as she relaxed deeper into the cushions. Gently he released her wrists at last and, leaning over her, kissed her again.

“Now, my lady,” he said. “I want you to tell me what happened next. You were on the ship, leaving Ireland…leaving me behind. You thought you had escaped me, didn’t you?” He laughed, then stood up and walked over to the open door and looked out onto the balcony. “Come, tell me what happened next. Tell me how you fared on your voyage to freedom.”

An hour or two before dawn Matilda, huddled in a fur blanket with her little grandson John in her arms, fell into an uneasy sleep, rocked by the gentle motion of the boat. When she awoke the sky was already graying, the clouds high in front of them touched with pearly pink above the misty distance that was the coast of Scotland. The little boy in her arms stirred and nestled closer into the warmth of her cloak and she held him close, ignoring the stiffness in her shoulders and the rime of damp that covered everything in a net of droplets. The steersman sat hunched at the steering oar, an old sack around his shoulders, his eyes fixed calmly on the horizon. She could see his brown face, weathered into a network of wrinkles, and the piercing blue sailor’s eyes. He seemed oblivious of Hugh’s guard holding a drawn sword at his back.

Close beside the boat a fish jumped, its body arching into a silver flash. Automatically the man’s eyes flicked in that direction. She saw his fingers flex for a moment on the smooth oak under his hand.

“Where will we land?” She kept her voice quiet so as not to disturb little John.

The man looked at her for a moment, considering, then he jerked his head forward in the direction of the dipping bow. “Yon’s the Rinns o’ Galloway. I’ll tak’ you to the Blessed Patrick’s port, if the wind holds and we make the tide.” He squinted up at the masthead, where the blue pennant stood out strongly before the mast. “But I’m thinking the wind will drop come the sunrise.” He had a gentle, lilting voice, unhurried and relaxed.

Matilda glanced behind at the white ripples of their wake. The sea humped and rolled gently behind them, darkening toward the horizon, where the night was slowly shrinking back.

“Yon king will have no better wind than us, lady.” The old man read her thoughts with ease. “And I heard he’s a day behind you. You’ll be away over the hills long before he sets sail from the lough.”

“And I trust my constable will keep him guessing at Carrickfergus for a while.” Hugh’s voice came suddenly out of the shadows. “It might be weeks before the king realizes we’re not there. We could be in France by then. With luck.”

“Scottish William has become the English king’s man; you know that?” The fisherman spoke quietly. “You’ll not look for support from him. The Lion is old and tired. He’ll not defy England again.”

“You know a lot, old man.” Hugh chuckled. “I’ve no doubt we’ll find lords enough in Scotland to support us, even so. They’re no friends to John. Just long enough to find us a passage over to France. That’s all the time we need.”

As the old man predicted, the wind dropped as the light grew stronger. They watched the sun rise in a sea of flaming mist behind the Galloway hills as their sail flapped and hung empty. Somewhere a rope began to flap aimlessly against the mast, and one of the babies began to whine fretfully. The creaming of the sea stopped and instead the water was silent, every now and then eddying with a gurgle along the barnacled planking.

For a long time they lay becalmed, hardly seeming to move. The old skipper refused curtly when Walter suggested that they bring out the long oars. “Time enough when the tide changes, my lord,” he insisted quietly. “She’ll bring us in in God’s good time.”

Behind them the horizon hazed with pearl, remained empty of pursuing boats.

It was after noon when they at last drew in alongside the quay at Portpatrick and two waiting men, barefoot in their checked rags, caught the mooring ropes and made fast to the makeshift bollards, their eyes wide as they saw the naked swords and the women and children. The party stepped ashore, stiff and cramped, and stood together on the warm wooden quay looking around. A huddle of little huts stood back from the bay and a well-trodden road led away inland from the sea over the dry grass.

“We’ll need horses.” Hugh turned to the skipper who leaned thoughtfully on the side of his ship watching. He seemed in no hurry to slip his moorings and sail away even though the guard had left the ship and were standing on the quay. The fishermen were sitting idly on the deck, seemingly uninterested in what was going on.

The old man shrugged. “I doubt you’ll be finding any here.” He grinned across at the boy who was coiling down the rope on the quay and spoke to him volubly in the swift tongue of Ireland. The boy shook his head and shrugged. Then he pointed over his shoulder inland. “He says you’d best go to the castle,” he translated, his eyes twinkling. “But only if you’ve gold enough to pay. The laird there is no friend to landless men.”

Hugh and Walter exchanged a quick glance.

“Tell him to guide us,” Hugh commanded. “We have the money.”

“Oh, Hugh, we don’t have to walk? Not with the babies, and in this sun?” Margaret put her hand on her brother-in-law’s arm.

He hesitated. Then he turned to the boy. “Is it far, this castle?”

The sailor translated and the boy gave a slow grin. “It’s as far as it is and no further” was the enigmatic answer. Hugh gave an exasperated exclamation.

“Perhaps the women had better wait here, in one of the cottages or somewhere. Will, you stay with them. Keep two of my men. The rest of us will go and find some horses from somewhere.”

He wasted no time waiting for arguments. Matilda stood with Mattie and Margaret and watched as the men strode up the track after the barefooted boy. She stood till they were out of sight before turning to Will. “Spread our cloaks under the tree, Will. We’ll wait there in the shade. See if you can buy bread and ale at one of the cottages.” She felt almost lighthearted suddenly. Happier than she had felt since King John set foot in Ireland. At last it looked as though they had given themselves enough start over him to get away.

The sun blazed white now in the high arch of blue and the stones in the dusty road were hot to the touch. Behind them the shoulder of the hill was already afire with budding heather and from the winding, climbing dog roses and the creeping wild thyme came the hum of the scent-loving bees. The children slept and with them the nurse, her head lolling back against the knobbly boll of one of the trees, snores coming from the slack mouth, the bodice of her gown falling carelessly loose, showing a heavy brown breast with its broad, reddened nipple. Aboard the fishing boat the sailors slept beneath the shade of a sail that they had slung across the deck to save the whitened planking from the relentless heat. They had shown no sign of wanting to leave on the turning tide.

It was much later and they were all hungry and thirsty before they heard the clatter of hooves and the jingle of harness in the distance and saw men approaching at last. Will scrambled to his feet, screwing up his eyes in the glare of the evening sun, as he gave his mother his hand. “There seems to be rather a lot of people and no spare horses that I can see,” he commented at last, puzzled.

They stood beneath the clump of trees watching as the horsemen approached. There was no sign of Walter and his brother or Reginald. At the head of the troop rode a redheaded man with a scarlet chevron emblazoned on his surcoat. He reined in near them and looked down from his horse, one eyebrow raised in the thin, tanned face. “Are you good folk on a pilgrimage?” he inquired lazily. His eyes traveled from one to another, surveying them all in turn, missing nothing. Then his gaze came back to Matilda. Imperceptibly it sharpened.

“Surely it’s the Lady de Braose?” He spoke so softly she wondered if he were talking to himself. Then he bowed in the saddle, a flash of merriment showing in his green eyes. “May I present myself, my lady. Sir Duncan of Carrick.” He continued to eye her steadily and she felt herself beginning to tremble. His next words horribly confirmed her worst fears. “I only recently returned to Scotland myself. I couldn’t help hearing then about your slight altercation with my beloved cousin, King John.”

Out of the corner of her eye Matilda saw Will’s hand go to his sword hilt. She bit her lip. “I think you’re mistaken, Sir Duncan.” She tried to smile, steadying her voice with an effort.

“Oh, no, my lady, I think not.” He interrupted her before she could deny it. “And I think it would please His Grace mightily if I were to tell him where you are.” He stopped smiling abruptly and gestured over his shoulder.

The troops of men broke rank and the party beneath the trees was surrounded. Will, with an ugly oath, unsheathed his sword and the two knights from Carrickfergus followed suit, putting themselves between the women and Carrick’s men. But hardly had Will raised his arm when three armed knights rode him down, and he fell beneath their hooves, his blade flailing uselessly. Mattie screamed and ran toward him, but one of the mounted men, laughing, bent and scooped her slender body into the saddle before him as easily as if she had been a child, and held her there, her arms pinioned helplessly at her sides by his grip.

Sir Duncan sat watching as Will, his face bruised and bleeding, staggered to his feet. “Bind his hands,” he ordered curtly. Dismounting, two of his men forced Will’s arms behind him, tying them brutally tight with a leather thong. With an apologetic glance at Matilda her other two knights promptly threw down their swords, and she watched helplessly as they too were bound. “I think you will agree, my lady”-Sir Duncan bowed to her again-“that it would be foolish to resist arrest.” He beckoned forward the young man who had been riding behind him. “My esquire will take you pillion with him. Bring the others!” he ordered his other men. “We’ll return to Turnberry tonight.” He wheeled his horse and spurred it toward the edge of the quay, where the sailors, disturbed from their rest, were leaning against the side of their boat watching the proceedings with impassive interest. Sir Duncan felt for his purse and flung a coin negligently across onto the bleached planking. The old man regarded it unmoving.

“Take the news to the king that I have captured the lady he is seeking,” he commanded. “Tell him I’ll wait for his instructions at my father’s castle of Turnberry.”

The old man chewed his lip indifferently. “I’ll sail with the next tide, sir. I’ll see that your message is given.”

Matilda, from her seat behind young James Stewart, wondered if there was any pity in the old man’s eye as he watched them wheel their horses and ride away.

They rode inland as the dusk fell, following the clearly marked road across the open flats and into the woods. At Craigcaffie the men lit burning torches to light their way as they followed the track around Loch Ryan and followed the coast road north. They rode fast. Matilda was forced to cling to the waist of the young man in front of her, half conscious of the glitter of starlit water to their left, half blinded by the streaming torch held by the rider who galloped at their right-hand side. She rested her head against the broad back before her and closed her eyes; beyond the circle of light and the thundering hooves there was nothing but darkness and despair. Somewhere close to her, among the riders, she could hear a child crying bitterly and she knew it was little John. She ached to hold him and comfort him and she tried to look around, searching for Mattie, but the figures near her on the thundering horses were blurred by the streaming smoke and the bitter fumes.

Apart from one brief rest to water the horses, Sir Duncan did not draw rein until they reached Turnberry. The sweating, trembling animals trotted over the echoing drawbridge and stopped at last, their breath coming in clouds of steam as they drew up before the high keep. After sliding from his horse, he came and held out his hand to help Matilda dismount. He seemed unruffled by the long, wild ride and maintained his scrupulously polite manner. “Welcome, Lady Matilda.” He bowed low. “I trust you will think of yourself as my guest until we hear what His Grace would wish me to do with you.”

Matilda was shaking, half with fatigue and fear, half with anger. “You’re no friend of mine, Sir Duncan. If I enter your house it will be as your prisoner, never as your guest,” she flashed at him, snatching her hand from his.

He smiled. “As you wish.” He turned abruptly on his heel, barking a command to his men, and ran ahead of them into the castle.

They were hustled into the keep and up into one of the high chambers under the roof. There was no furniture and the wooden floor was swept bare. All three babies were crying now and Matilda, in the light of the candle that burned on its pricket near the door, could see that Mattie was near tears herself. The nurse was white, her eyes enormous with terror. Will had been taken away from them out in the bailey and Matilda felt sick with fear for him. It was a moment before she felt Margaret’s hand on her arm, steadying her. “Help me with the babies, Mother. We must quiet them. Perhaps nurse can give them all a little milk, if she can, even John. At least we’re sheltered here, and it’s warm.”

“He would have made us comfortable, if you’d let him,” Mattie flashed. “We could have been his guests. There would have been a fire and blankets and food. Why are you so stubborn and proud? Must we all suffer for it all the time?” She turned away petulantly as Matilda bent to pick up little John and hug him tightly in her arms.

“Hush, Mattie,” Margaret retorted warningly. “Mother did quite right to refuse. We don’t need a fire. It’s a hot night.”

The child was heavy in Matilda’s arms and she could feel them beginning to ache already, but she continued to hold him, feeling the warmth and comfort of his little body as his arms crept around her neck. Margaret had given Egidia to the wet nurse and was rocking Mattie’s little Richard, trying to quiet his fretful wails, gently loosening his swaddling bands. “There’s one thing we must thank heaven for, Mother. Walter and the others have got away. The villagers who were watching will tell them what happened and they will come after us. Somehow they’ll get us out of here. They’ll think of something.”

Mattie looked up, a sudden ray of hope in her tear-reddened eyes. “Do you think so? Oh, yes, of course they will. They’ll save us. Walter would never let you be taken a prisoner. They’ll save us and find Will.”

Matilda forced herself to smile, though her lips were dry and cracked from salt and sun and fear. “Of course we’ll all be all right. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll think of something before the king sends for us.”

Some time later as light was beginning to filter through the unshuttered windows they heard steps on the stone stairs outside. The door was unbarred and men appeared carrying mattresses and blankets. They brought in jugs of wine and plates of meat and oatcakes and a bowl of milksops for the babies, and set them down near the empty hearth. Then one of them turned to Matilda and saluted. “Sir Duncan sends his compliments, madam. If you and the ladies will accept his hospitality you will be most welcome to dine at his table tonight.”

Matilda felt her cheeks flame. “I thought I told Sir Duncan what I thought of his hospitality. Please tell him I haven’t changed my mind. I will never willingly stay a guest under his roof.”

The man bowed without comment, his face carefully neutral, and withdrew with the others, barring the heavy door behind him. As soon as he had gone Mattie burst into loud sobs. “Why? Why did you refuse him? We could have tried to change his mind. We might have escaped if we had got out of this infernal room. We might have got away!” She flung herself at the door, beating her fists in anguish against the thick unyielding timbers.

Matilda looked at her, her face set. “And leave your babies as hostages?” was all she said.