LordoftheHunt (20 page)

As Douglas helped Adam exchange his tunic for the huntsman’s
green, Hugh convinced another archer to give up his garb and bow. Servants
moved throughout the party distributing green hats. The archers chosen to give
up their bows and quivers of arrows to a suitor looked disgruntled to be left
behind.

The suitors rode out first, to be placed among other,
experienced archers. The remaining members of the party would ride through the
wooded hills and help drive the deer into the V of archers deployed in a
strategic location. The archers spaced themselves within view of each other and
the fewterers held leashed running hounds nearby to track and bring down any
deer the archers shot but did not kill.

Oswald deployed as many archers and dogs as Nat. Joan, at
her father’s side, made a hand gesture Adam now recognized to settle a dog who
did not like his post.

Joan rode with a bow across her back, and Adam wondered if
she was skilled in its use. The archers were strung out across the two hills as
if they were a giant pair of arms spread to embrace the deer the bishop’s party
would soon drive toward them. As one of the archers, Adam’s task was to stand
with his back to a tree, bow half-drawn, the green of his clothing allowing him
to blend with the forest colors.

The archers who made their living at this task were trained
to stand for a long time, in silence, bow half drawn, waiting for the stag to
come to them head-on.

The archer would hope the quarry ran at him and to the left.
Such a route offered the best angle for shooting the beast. If the deer ran to
the right, the hunter must turn his whole body and the movement alerted the
deer to the hunter’s position. Shooting head-on offered the worst shooting
angle.

But as he waited, Adam’s mind lingered, not on the hunt, but
on Joan and her refusal to go to Winchester. If she did not go, there was no
one else he trusted to send.

He mused on excuses for leaving Ravenswood that would not
arouse the bishop’s suspicions. His imagination failed him. In addition, Adam
knew if he left, taking Ravenswood must happen from outside the walls. It would
be impossible to approach the castle without being seen, and even if he used
the Roman Way, it might be a long and bloody siege.

After the tournament, those inside would prepare for siege.
There would be no more pretense they were suitors. Mathilda would be wed and
the remaining men need only await their promised lands and favor from Louis.

How many other sons did Louis intend to seduce this time
around? And once it was known how easily Ravenswood had been snatched from
beneath William Marshal’s nose, others might join the French prince. England
might revert to a state of war.

The cry of the hounds and a blast of a horn told Adam the
deer, with their usual perception, had not come through the valley of the two
hills in the neat manner planned.

Hugh, not half a furlong away, grinned and shook his head.
He pantomimed to Adam that his arms were tired and he would rather be drinking.

Adam returned Hugh’s grin. Hugh might want to slip this duty
and ride back to the castle for better entertainment there—and Adam could write
down all he’d learned from the bishop’s papers. Who cared for ribbons? The game
was done.

Adam lowered his bow and headed toward Hugh. He heard a hiss
and a thwack.

Hugh swayed a moment, then fell like a stone to the ground.

“Hugh!” Adam swore and went down on his knee by his friend.

Hugh stared up at Adam in disbelief, one hand to his
shoulder. “I’ll have that man’s balls for supper,” he said.

Blood oozed around his wound. Adam drew his dagger. He
sliced open Hugh’s tunic and the linen shirt beneath. An arrow had passed
straight through the fleshy part of his friend’s shoulder.

“You have the devil’s own luck, it missed the bone.” Adam
pulled off his green tunic and shirt. He slashed the shirt into long strips,
and bound Hugh’s wound, packing it well. A cacophony of shouts and snarling
hounds told him the bishop’s party had arrived.

Mathilda shrieked and half fell from her saddle. Adam found
himself pushed away. Her hysterical, hand-wringing display allowed Adam time to
pluck the arrow from where it had buried itself in the base of a tree.

He examined the faces of those who gathered around Hugh. One
archer, who had been a stone’s throw from Adam, stood with his bow resting on
the toe of his leather boot. He, alone, did not watch Mathilda and her women or
the wounded man upon the ground. The archer’s gaze was fixed on the arrow in
Adam’s hand.

Francis and Roger joined the milling crowd. Francis wormed
his way behind Mathilda, a sulky look upon his face. He lifted a hand and
touched the sores near his mouth. On the back of his glove was a mottled stain,
shaped like a teardrop.

Roger Artois addressed Adam. “Do you remember Lord Stephen
of Gloucester? He died in just such a way.”

Adam remembered the baron. An archer trying to shoot
straight on at a deer missed, nailing the next hunter along the trail instead.

Only this time, the deer had evaded the hunters, belying the
need to shoot at all.

A hand touched Adam’s arm. He turned around. It was
Mathilda. She held a scrap of linen in her hand. She dabbed at his chest.

“Allow me, sir, you’ve a spot of blood here.” The lady rose
on tiptoe and scrubbed his shoulder. The men nearby hid grins behind their
hands, save Francis, his face looked blank, though flushed, each sore standing
out in dark isolation.

“Please, I must speak with you, ‘tis most urgent. Secretly,”
Mathilda whispered, swiping his biceps.

A sound behind them, more growl than groan, tore Adam’s
attention from her to Hugh. “Any time, my lady,” Adam said, edging around her
to go down on one knee by his friend.

“Should I lose my fortune, I shall not seek employment as an
archer,” Hugh said. The crowd laughed.

Joan and her father rode into the confusion. Mathilda fussed
around Hugh like a nervous pup as Adam and Roger helped him to his feet.

“Leave off, woman,” Hugh said when Mathilda reached for his
arm.

Mathilda’s face fell, but she did as bidden, backing away.
She leaned over and lifted Adam’s green tunic. She held it close to her chest.
“Don’t forget your promise,” she said.

Joan turned abruptly away. Adam grew conscious of how this
appeared, him standing half naked in the forest, his clothing in Mathilda’s
hands.

“May I have my tunic?” Adam asked. If he must, he would walk
away without it, though the damage was done with Joan.

Mathilda draped the tunic across his hands, clasping them
and leaning in. “Remember. I must see you.”

Bishop Gravant and Brian de Harcourt entered the confusion.

“What happened here?” the bishop demanded.

Adam took the bishop’s bridle that he might speak first.
“One of these archers mistook a man for a deer. If they be blind, they should
be set to tasks more worthy, such as holding thread for ladies.” He held up the
arrow.

The hunters laughed and the man who Adam suspected had
loosed the arrow flushed as angry a red as his master.

“Whose arrow?” the bishop asked.

The man took a step forward and bowed.

Francis clapped a hand on the archer’s shoulder. “A mere
accident,” he said.

Adam sobered. “An accident, you call it? An inch over and
Hugh would be dead. I demand the man be disciplined.”

“You overstep yourself. Is it not the hunt master’s place to
set the archers so they are not in such a straight line?” Francis asked.

Adam saw Joan’s mount rear its head as she jerked the reins.
Confusion crossed Nat’s face.

The bishop looked over the gathering. “It is indeed the hunt
master’s duty. Who placed this set of men?”

Nat opened his mouth, but Hugh answered. “I asked Oswald,
Lord Roger’s man, where I should stand. Oswald placed me, ‘tis no fault of Nat
Swan’s.”

Adam saw Oswald and Francis exchange a look. Oswald, who sat
on a fat, spotted mare, shrugged.

The bishop frowned. “Oswald, if what Quintin says is true,
you imperiled a man’s life. It was not well done. Now let us discover if there
are any deer to be driven.”

“I’ll take you back to the keep,” Adam said, hooking Hugh
under the arm. The color ran from Hugh’s face.

“Mayhap I was shot to ensure you were short a man for the
tournament,” Hugh said between his teeth.

“I saw Oswald and Francis hold a clandestine meeting the day
of the fair. They might have plotted to eliminate someone of my party so I
could not compete. Francis hasn’t a chance on the field if I am fighting.”

Hugh nodded. “No one has a chance if you compete. No one. It
could be all of the suitors conniving through Francis.”

Adam frowned. “Pray make no more than one man my enemy. I’ll
be watching not only my back but all sides as well. I’ll be driven out of my
wits.” He said it lightly, but meant it.

Was the shooting a deliberate act? Adam wondered.

Several of Adam’s men helped Hugh into the saddle, but it
was Adam who mounted behind his friend. They walked the horse, for the weight
of two men was a burden to the hunting steed.

“Have you thought,” Hugh said, “that the archer meant to
kill you, but missed?”

Adam did not speak for several moments. “I did move rather
unexpectedly. The devil take it, Hugh, I cannot have you suffer in my place.”

“I’ll have this paltry wound cauterized, and even if I’m as
weak as a new born calf, I’ll be in the saddle and fighting at your side come
tournament time.”

“You are the best of friends,” Adam said.

“I’ll exact some payment for this, you know.”

The horse faltered and jostled the riders. Hugh groaned and
swayed.

Adam tightened his grip on his friend. “What payment?”

“I’ll think of something. Mayhap I’ll demand you name your
firstborn son after me.”

Adam thought of how many times he’d spilled his seed within
his huntress. And if Hugh was right and someone wanted him dead, who would see
to Joan and her child should his enemy succeed?

“Hugh, should Joan Swan come to you for help—”

“Help? What kind of help? Why would she come to me?”

“Just swear to me, Hugh, that if Joan should come to you for
help, you will render all possible aid as if…as if it were I who did the
asking.”

Hugh’s body rippled through a shrug. “I swear it, but I’m
now so curious, I’m forgetting this shoulder hurts as if Lucifer held a brand
to it.”

Adam kicked his mount to a quicker pace. Hugh rarely
complained.

When they reached the castle, he took Hugh to the lower
level of the castle where the physician kept his herbs. As Hugh cursed when his
bandages were removed, Adam cursed he’d betrayed knowledge of the castle a mere
tent-dwelling suitor wouldn’t know.

Adam said a silent prayer for his friend. If the arrow had
been meant to kill, it might have been dipped in ordure. Recovery from such a
wound was impossible.

Mathilda arrived with a bevy of serving women behind her.
Her eyes went wide when the physician thrust an iron among the hot coals of his
brazier.

“My lady,” Adam said, “You should not be here. This is a
man’s business.”

Her eyes grew even rounder when the physician spit on the
brand to test its heat.

“My lady, he would not want you to see him—see this,” Adam
insisted. “You did say you wanted to speak with me. The time is now.”

She nodded and flitted from the physician’s chamber, the
servants scurrying after her.

Adam handed Hugh a piece of leather to bite on, then stepped
out of the chamber to allow his friend privacy for his suffering.

Hugh’s roar of pain echoed down the stone corridor. One
squeal of anguish came from Adam’s left. While searching for Mathilda, he
noticed that the harvest at Ravenswood was fat. Every chamber held stores
stacked to the roof. He found Mathilda in a chamber filled with racks of
apples.

“He’ll heal,” Adam said with a fervent prayer the arrow had
not been tainted.

“You need him to ride on the morrow. It will open his
wound.”

“Do you suggest I withdraw?”

She looked up at him. “It would be a useless endeavor, a
woman suggesting such a thing to a man.”

Adam knew ‘twas folly to answer such an accusation. “What is
it you want, my lady?”

“The ring I gave you.” She gnawed a knuckle, her attention
divided between him and the way to the physician’s chamber.

“Why?”

“I made a grievous error in giving you the ring. I must have
it back,” she said.

Adam considered Mathilda. She looked far from lovely at this
moment. Her headcovering was askew, and her right cheek looked bruised.

“I’m not sure I can find it,” he said. “So many women give
me gifts. I’m rather careless about such things.”

Even in the dim light of the storeroom, it was obvious that
her face paled.

“I’ll be in grave difficulty if you cannot find it, sir.”

He decided to test her need. “I’ll search for it…later,” he
said vaguely.

She grabbed his tunic. Tears appeared in her eyes. “Please,
I beg you. Search now.”

“Why do you need the ring so badly?” he asked.

“The bishop needs it.”

“The ring belongs to the bishop?” he asked, forcing himself
to display surprise. “And why would the bishop give an important ring to you?”

She licked her lips, catching one tear in the process. “If I
honor you with the truth, will you promise to keep it between just us?”

He contemplated the cobwebs in the corners, delaying to
raise her anxiety another notch. “I suppose I can keep your secret. Of course,
I may wish a favor of you one day.”

“Anything.”

Adam wagged his eyebrows. “I’m honored.”

“Sir, that is, I…that is,” she stammered. Her pale face
flushed a blotchy red.

It intrigued him to see how unattractive she could become
when something disturbed her placid world.

“‘Tis a jest, my lady. What I really want is simple
information. Why did the bishop give you Prince Louis’ ring?” It was best she
know he recognized the ring for what it was.

Her look of relief amused him.

“Bishop Gravant did not wish to be seen to have Prince
Louis’ seal and thought it better a woman hold it.”

“Why not give it to Lady Claris?”

“She is a gossiping, unfaithful creature—that is why. And I
could explain it away as a love token from the Prince. I met him once, you
know. He’s very…compelling.”

“And a love token is less treasonous than a ring to mark a
document in Louis’ name?” Adam touched her shoulder. She shivered, and he
wondered if this was the first time she’d considered the significance of
wearing the French prince’s ring.

Adam believed Mathilda usually did what men told her.
Selecting her husband must be a rare instance of defiance. And that defiance
would crumble when faced with some physical retribution.

He touched her cheek. “He struck you, did he not?”

She nodded.

“And now, the bishop must need to seal some document, I
suppose.”

“I don’t know why he wants it. He just demanded I produce
it.”

“Do you not fear I’ll tell someone that the bishop is in
league with the French prince?”

She cocked her head to the side, a studied posture he
imagined she often used on men. It left him cold.

“Are not all of you here because you crave the rewards Louis
will heap on you?”

So, she knew of the bishop’s plot. “And you do not care if
you serve an English king or a French one?”

She shrugged. “I’ll serve whomever my husband serves.”

Adam felt loath to cause her further distress, but it could
not be helped. “I’m sorry, my lady. I’ll not give you the ring.”

She flew at him, fingers hooked like claws. “You will. You
must. I’ll see Joan weds Oswald Red-hair if you do not.”

Adam thrust her hand away from his face. “What utter
nonsense. Joan would not have such a man!”

“Nonsense?” She smiled, but the curve of her lips held no
joy. “Oswald asked the bishop for her, and I have agreed to persuade her. Now
give me the ring or I’ll do just that.”

“You gave me the ring to bedevil the bishop and cause me
grief because I betrayed my interest in Joan, did you not?” He wanted to wrap
his hands around the woman’s white neck.

“Aye. Everyone I’ve ever wanted has wanted Joan. And she is
ugly! She is sun spotted and tall and skinny. And soon to wed and be gone from
here!”

“Why do you want her gone so badly?”

“If she goes, I’ll not need to see Brian and you and Hugh de
Coleville stare at her every moment of every day.” Her voice rose to a high,
shrill note.

“But Nat would need to leave Ravenswood as well.”

“Why? He can stay in the kennels.”

“Joan would never leave him.”

“Then she’s a fool. And if you don’t give me the ring, I’ll
see that Oswald weds Joan in the next hour.”

“You can’t force someone to wed.”

“Really? You think not?” Tears ran down Mathilda’s cheeks,
her nose ran. She wiped it clean with the back of her hand.

Adam knew it was misery that made her weep. He understood
misery. “How can you force her to wed the man?” he managed to ask in calm and
even tones.