Far down the road, the unmistakable sounds of horses began to permeate the air, echoing off the forest canopy. Lyle boosted David into a tree, high enough that he would have an unobstructed view of his target, yet not so high that a quick escape would be impeded. When David settled himself confidently, Lyle ducked behind a sturdy trunk.
Slowly, the de Rydal party passed through the corridor of pine. Tad was at the head of the group astride his magnificent charger. His visor was up on his helm and his expression was nothing short of hostile. Obviously, he was still smarting from being evacuated from Lambourn and, as his manner suggested, he was not taking the rejection well.
The day was beginning to wan and the tall trees were casting long shadows along the road. Tad was gazing at the path ahead, paying little if any attention to his surroundings. His mind was still back at Lambourn, dwelling on the fact that he had been deprived of a glorious evening of young women and fine foodsimply because Richmond le Bec had managed to place himself in the path of his moving stick.
He picked his nose as he rode, disgusted with the entire day. First came the Lady Arissa’s rejection, followed by le Bec’s timely arrival and subsequent challenge. Then came the archery match, which he refused to recall in detail because he had lost that contest, too. And then the Stick and Ball game, resulting in le Bec’s injury.
He snorted softly with humor, wiping his finger on his tunic. He had possessed a perfect opportunity to whack le Bec across his dumb face when the man had stooped down to pick up the ball. One clean stroke, as hard as he could manage, and le Bec had gone down like a stone. Sweet, sweet revenge.
To his right, a flock of birds soared noisily into the winter sky as if suddenly startled from their branches. Tad gave them nothing more than a passing glance, still lingering on le Bec and the entire de Lohr family. He hoped he would never again be forced into the company of the Earl of Berkshire and his brood. Any father who pledged his only worthy offspring to a convent was a peculiar man, indeed.
A smile came to his lips as his charger passed under a low-lying cluster of branches. His thoughts were shifting from Lambourn to Goring Hall and a certain young serving wench that he was particularly fond of. He would be home in an hour or two and began to look forward to the evening ahead. A hot meal, a full wench, and he just might forget about the horrors of Lambourn and Richmond le Bec.
But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a searing force suddenly slammed into his shoulder. He felt himself teetering, sliding from the saddle and unable to steady himself. As a consuming pain devoured the entire right side of his body, he met the road with a hard, agonizing crunch. Somewhere, he heard yelling, the shouting of his men as they moved for cover.Indignantly, he realized that not one of them was moving to assist him.
Cowardly bastards. He’d take a tassel whip to them when he could move again. Fact was, he was not entirely sure why he couldn’t seem to function. Only that there was a great deal of pain and warmth that seemed to touch every part of him. Everywhere, there was agony and a fluid lethargy.
A peculiar bliss settled over him and he did not fight it, staring up at the sky as a mist began to cloud his vision. The mist grew into a fog, and the fog began to blacken. He wondered where the fog had come from. He wondered if it had anything to do with the pain. Even as he watched, it continued to grow until there was only darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As the eveninghour approached, most guests had retreated to the monstrous hulk of Lambourn to prepare themselves for the night’s festivities. The heavy smells of roasting meat filled the compound, the smoke from three large pits just outside of the kitchens casting a thick gray haze over the grounds. Up on the battlements, soldiers called out their rounds as dusk descended.
Arissa had missed evening Vespers whilst tending Richmond’s wound. Now in her bower preparing for the great feast in her honor, Penelope and Emma kept her company as she toyed with her hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. In the hour since she had left Richmond, she could think of nothing else but their encounter and her distraction was obvious.
“Did Richmond require stitches, Riss?” Penelope asked.
She nodded, securing the front section of her hair at the back of her skull with a bejeweled clip. It was the third attempt. “I told you already.”
“You told us that he was fine,” Emma said, observing Arissa’s collection of girdles. “You never said if he needed stitches. Riss, do you think this silver belt goes with my blue surcoat? I like it better than the gold I am wearing.”
Arissa glanced over her shoulder, stroking her raven hair with a horse bristle brush. “As do I. Wear my silver.”
Delighted, Emma disengaged the gold girdle in favor of the silver. Penelope opened her mouth to continue on the subject of Richmond when two horn blasts pierced the outdoor air. Strolling to the window as the sun set, she gazed out over the bailey in time to note the arrival of a single rider. It was a manshe had seen before, more times than she could recall. A man who was Richmond le Bec’s shadow.
“Gavan is here,” she murmured casually, turning away from the lancet window. “I wonder where he’s been?”
Arissa shook her head, finally finished with her hair. Dipping a single finger into a small alabaster vial at her elbow, she proceeded to smooth the ocher-tinted beeswax on her lips. “Mayhap in London. Truthfully, I do not know. I was surprised when Richmond arrived without him.”
Emma sighed dreamily. “Sir Gavan Hage. The man of my dreams.”
Penelope smiled, shaking her head. “Every man is the man of your dreams.”
Emma thrust her chin up, away from her tormenter. “Untrue, you little chicken. It has always been Gavan, more than any other. Although I will admit, I have been distracted on occasion.”
A faint smile crossed Arissa’s lips as she pinched her cheeks to bring about a spot of color to her face. “On occasion? Sweet St. Jude, Emma, you are a fickle character.”
“What do you mean by that?” Emma asked, her eyebrows raised.
Arissa turned away from the polished glass mirror. “I mean, all you could speak of today was Tad. And now you are ready to sink your teeth into Gavan Hage. Control your lust, woman.”
Emma’s cheeks mottled a faint pink, embarrassed. “I do not lust. I simply…. simply get distracted by other men when Gavan is away. Now that he’s returned, however, I plan to devote my time to him entirely, starting with the evening feast.”
Arissa rose from the stool, straightening her green-on-green surcoat. “Sweet St. Jude, do not throw yourself at his feet and beg for the opportunity to share his trencher like you did the last time he was here.”
Emma looked away. “You shall never allow me to forget, will you? One small, insignificant incident and I am branded a desperate female.”
Penelope snorted, picking up Arissa’s brush and running it through her blond hair. “You are a desperate female. When you practically tied Gavan to his chair in hopes that he would share his meal with you, I nearly died of embarrassment. I have never seen anyone so eager for a man.”
