Beryl. Beryl in a crimson-colored gown and a black cape.
She reined her mount to a halt near them, a fine palfrey, and her presence upon it cast a regal halo about the pair. The mare tossed her gray head and blew out her nose as if in disapproval of Padraig.
Did every living thing in Northumberland think him unworthy?
“Beryl,” Lucan said. “Good day.”
“Good day, gentlemen,” she said stiffly, but her gaze did not quitemeet Padraig’s.
“I must retrieve Agrios,” Lucan said, andthen left them.
Padraig could feel frustration flaring up in him like coals before a bellows, but he was prevented from saying anything further by a trumpet sounding near Hargrave. The hunt master was making an announcement, but Padraig couldn’t concentrate on what theman was saying.
A page approached with a courser for Padraig. He took the reins and hoisted himself in the saddle. Once he was seated, Beryl walked her horse to stand next to his.
“Give the hounds a good lead,” she said benignly, as if they were picking up an earlier conversation. “They’ll need to tire out the game before anyone gets a chance at—”
“Where were you last night?” Padraig interrupted. “You told me you’d return to my chambers. But only an hour later, you were naewhere to be found in yours. Neither at midnight.”
Beryl met his eyes at last. “I beg your pardon?”
“What is it with you and Montague? I trap either of you with an uncomfortable question and you drape courtesy before you like a shield,” Padraig accused, trying not to feel too triumphant at her obvious unease.
“I was pressed into service by Lady Hargrave. Itold you she—”
“Horse shite,” Padraig interjected. “Caris was still in the hall with the other guests. Iknow—I looked.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well push in on you and your guest, now could I?”she shot back.
Padraig frowned. “Guest? Youmean Searrach?”
“Is a nude woman in your rooms so frequent an encounter for you that you’ve already forgotten whichwoman it was?”
Padraig felt his neck heat. “Ye’ve nae fashed to push in to me chamber with yer prissy lessons any other time.”
“What’s happened to your speech?”
“My speech is bloody fine.”
The trumpet sounded again, and the hounds were released with a cacophony of baying mixed in with the shoutsof the hunters.
Beryl’s expression was no longer placid and cool as she tossed him a glare and turned her horse away from Padraig and into the trottingflow of riders.
“Hah,” Padraig shouted, kicking his mount forward after her.
The river of hunters flowed over the hill in a torrent, curving and winding up the next rise in unison, swirling to either side of an outcropping of rock as the tide recedes into the ocean. Her shining loops of hair bounced on the glistening cloak, the sunlight sparking copper and gold from its shining depths as Padraig followed her. Beryl made the awkward seat look graceful and effortless as she urged her small palfrey to pace just beyond Padraig’s larger mount.
Padraig leaned forward to gain on her through the next valley, as was at her side as the hunt circled the wood and then reined to a halt, milling impatiently at the edge of the dark, cold forest.
“I sent her away,” Padraig said to Beryl, who was again refusingto look at him.
“Who you choose to entertain is none of my concern, Master Boyd.”
“Jesus, Beryl. Lucan and yerself could be related, the way you both try to turn the point o’ the sword to suit ye.”
Her head whipped around now, and her eyes were full of outrage. “I’m not trying to turn the point of anything, and I resent your tone, Master Boyd.”
“Are you sleeping with him? Is that why neither of you can speak the whole of the truth of anything?” She continued to stare at him, increasing Padraig’s sense of overstep. But he would not back down now. “You can tell me. It’s nae as if the two of us are married. I doona care who you sleep with.”
