Telepathy of Hearts (11 page)

She must be sorely frit for her breathing is most l
a
boured and her heart it doth pound something terrible.

Trying to steady her, afraid she might faint, he tightened his grip on her wrist and put his other hand on the small of her back.

She was melting beneath him;
only his hands stopped her from hitting the floor. She muttered, lowering her head to escape those eyes as she replied,
“If only you would search me.
”

“Sorry, my Lady. I may have heard you wrong. Search where?
” Matheus frowned as he spoke, misunderstanding her.

“With respect, my Lord you chided me for disciplining her. I did try to tell you. Eleanor is a wicked child. She took off on her grey to the lakes, knowing full well your advent was today.
” Lowering her eyes, a little embarrassed, Lady Bruce continued.
“I am afraid she even rides astride just like a boy, with no stockings upon her legs or slippers on her feet. Without the threat of the birch I could not control her.
”

Matheus told his men to make merry and sleep off some of the journey in the barn. He took Richard aside. Matheus was cursing Eleanor in his head, unwilling, perhaps emba
r
rassed even to share his disappointment.

Unwise Mistress, unwise. For damnation of the devil I will seek and I will find.

Teeth clenched and temper returning the tick of his cheek he hissed.
“I will make her my quarry, hunting her down and bringing her back strapped to my horse if I have too. For God is my witness, this maid has played my p
a
tience too long. If I have to punish her to protect her, then punish I will.
”

* * * *

Richard watched as his Matheus rode off. They had been friends since childhood and he knew Matheus
's temper.

He knew that Eleanor of Lancaster would soon return with her noble butt strapped onto the back of Matheus
's sa
d
dle. Muttering,
he said to no one in particular,
“Dear God, if the King decides on a bride for me, may she be a widow woman
g
rateful for a warm bed and a gentle hand, for love Eleanor as I do, untouched maidens seem to be as wild as boar.
”

Lady Bruce heard. Her eyes glittered.
“There are plenty the strings of a young bow that have been broken upon the back of an old fiddle, my Lord Sline.
”

Richard Sline grinned back at her.
“I play well my Lady, the sound as I stroke it doth send shivers through me
…the fiddle I mean.
Perhaps you would lend me your back?
”

* * * *

Matheus rode his destrier hard in temper, stopping only when the froth of sweat had patterned his black steed with a blanket of white. The time he took to make the great lakes had not stilled his spirit for on h
is arrival he was still e
n
raged, s
houting her name in damnation.

“Eleanor
,
where are you? Tell me now, for hunt and find you I will. Best for you to declare where you hide and speak not
,
fo
r damnation
I will punish you!
” The mount
ains seemed to be in agreement as his eyes clouded from stormy blue to the cloudy
grey cloak
ing
summit
s
shrouded in
l
ave
n
der mists
.

There was no doubt that Matheus was a skilled knight. But as a hunter there was no better. Noticing signs that ot
h
ers would
have
miss
ed, Matheus as always
focused. Yes, his prey had passed this way.

There was a length of grey horse tail that had caught in the brier. On open ground, the fern was parted toward the lake. With no other trail, he knew Eleanor had ridden through. Looking across the moorland there was a copse of trees. Nestled aside the lake track was a likely place for a horse to shelter as the wind was bitter, and he would gamble his purse Arthur would be there, butt against the wind. He journeyed there and was proved right.

King Arthur was a big mount for a lady. He was sixteen hands of dapple grey destrier. Trying to shelter against the wind, he stood just as Matheus imagined. Head low and butt to the wind. The copse did not provide the horse much she
l
ter; the bulk of his body was exposed to the gusts. As the Old Earl would say
,
Arthur had a leg in each corner, a solid horse who had proved his worth in battle, retiring from the field only because a blow to his head in a joust had taken an eye.

Matheus dismounted and pulled the scarf from his neck. Walking up to Arthur he soothed him. Talking to the horse so as not to startle him and stroking the grey
's neck he said,
“Hello old boy, where is your lady, eh?
”

Arthur kept silent and Matheus praised him for it.
“Good lad, a true soldier will never speak of where their master or mistress hides.
” Giving Arthur an apple from his saddle bag he patted the horse. Matheus took his neck scarf and tied it to the horse
's stirrups. He secured them to the pommel so the horse would not spook.

“Now then, these will not chaff you or bang your flank when you make for home. Oh and Arthur if my men come looking ,prey tell them
'tis their knight
's scarf and I have found my kill, for if they have drunk too much good ale
,
they will believe the words of a talking horse above the sight of my scarf.
”

Matheus chuckled as he slapped Arthur
's back to e
n
courage him to go. But the horse stood fast awaiting his mi
s
tress. It took several attempts for he hated striking a horse.

“
Strike horse nor woman
,
Matheus
,
unless the hand of fate forces ye,
”
his dad had always said.
“
Upon their backs and in their hearts they will carry your body and save your soul in ways you
'll never understand. Man is often a burden that they are not deserving of.
”

But eventually after a slap to his flank the large beast cantered off toward the
Castle.
“Now my little deserter
,
where are you?
” he muttered.

Following the newly trod path down to the lakeside, he stopped. Matheus
's chest rose, and his shoulders stiffened. His body stood quite rigid, viewing his discovery. Grunting, he vocalised the displeasure that crept over his face. He was pained, his brow pinched and his lips pursed into a tight
line
. His gaze followed, narrowing to a cruel glare. There lay a pile of exquisitely embroidered clothes upon the stony edge. Silently he fumed.

Unless there is another noble woman running wild as a welsh pony, these clothes are Eleanor
's.

This fuelled his temper even more. Out loud he be
l
lowed.
“For the love of God, what is it with this maid? She
…Holy mother of God
…I
—
”

Scoring
his hands throu
gh his hair to keep them busy enough to keep from
draw
ing
his sword and strik
ing
som
e
thing, he continued to growl deep from his guts. In pure fru
s
tration, he sucked air through his teeth to prevent hi
s
screa
m
ing
bloody murder
. Striking the air with his fist and kicking sods and stones up from the ground he yelled.
“I
…Oh hell and damnation! You, Eleanor of Lancaster, could test the p
a
tience of Job. Damn you, woman, where are you?
” His fru
s
trations remained unheard for there was not a soul about, not even Eleanor.
And i
t was turning to dusk.

The magic of the eve pattered the sky with opal colours of fire and gold. The lateness of the hour found the low lazy sun kissing the horizon
,
tipp
ing it
with pink and bronze. The only disturbance was the geese flying overhead, calling as they made their journey home.

The world just stilled. The sound of his heart was dea
f
ening. There was not air enough in his lungs to breath let alone talk. Silently he spoke to her.

“Dear lord, I have no words, you are exquisite. If I were a poet, I would write prose about you and if I had a palette my hand would nay be ever skilled enough to paint you, for I doubt any master of ink could.
”

His temper cooling and his heart captured, Matheus backed into the boughs. They were hanging low and dark like widows
' weaves over the lake side
,
and he was easily concealed
.
Not able to look away
, h
e was bewitched.

Eleanor rose
from
the water. The pure female form of a woman with the presence of a goddess. There was something almost otherworldly about her. Matheus
's eyes followed her delectable womanly curves. From the indent of her belly bu
t
ton to the peaks of her full breasts, she was so beautiful. Everything that was male in him growled a carnal sound. His senses ignited, blood burning as it pulsed through his veins, the very soul of him searing with heat.

Need grew in him, a
n insatiable hunger only she could sate.
He f
east
ed
on the sight of her
;
feeding on her charms was sustenance for his aching heart.

Bewitched be damned, she owns me
.

Eleanor dipped her head below the water.
Coming back up
, she gasped the mewl of a woman delighted. She was a
t one with her body, at one with the water.
Combing her bright tresses with her fing
ers, s
he opened her mouth and started to sing. The most incredibl
ly
pure
,
bell-
like voice rang out across the lake. The natural acoustics of mountains and water helped the sound travel, echoing across the e
x
panse.