The Mer- Lion (23 page)

Thanks to his planning, the Queen Dowager was just the slightest bit late arriving in the courtyard. When she did, de Wynter came forward with her horse as if he'd done this all his life. "I was right. Green is your color," he said.

Effortlessly he gave her a hand up into the saddle, gathered the reins, and placed them in her gloved hands. When her son rode up to her side, he looked terrible.

"Well, madam, if you're ready," he said in a voice heavy with sarcasm. Without waiting for her reply, he gave the signal to ride out. Amid the clatter of hooves on cobblestone and full forty hounds baying and straining at their couplings, the hunters gave rein to their mounts and headed out over the moat and down toward the river's edge. Fording at the shallowest spot, they set their horses at full gallop to the forest edge.

Within the trees, the hounds were loosed, scattering in all directions with their noses to the ground. The riders tried to stay close, waiting for the hounds to pick up the scent. Now a smallish hound cried the scent, and the senior huntsman bugled the rest of the hounds to the spot, giving them the correct track and signaling them to be off.

De Wynter stayed near the front of the riders, but not at the very

fore. He had long ago learned that the first few horsemen tend to override the track when the sly fox doubles back. He picked out one or two of what he believed were the more reliable hounds and closely watched their every move, letting his horse pick its footing and direction.

Soon the fox was in full sight, the hounds going wild and switching instinctively from scent to sight. When Reynard broke at right angles, the baying horde would cut across and take the shorter distance, gaining rapidly on their prey with every stride. The fox headed straight for more difficult terrain, knowing he could slow both dogs and riders in rocky footing and heavy bush. First within sight and then out of it, he drove the hounds crazy while, horses and riders straggled.

The chase was well into an hour long when de Wynter sensed that the dogs were confused and had even possibly lost the quarry. For the past week, he had made close acquaintance with this terrain. Surveying the landscape around him, he reined sharply right along a hedgerow and kicked his mount into full gallop. But quick as he had been, Reynard was quicker. A full ten leaps in front of de Wynter he emerged from the hedge going cross-country away from the hounds as fast as his short legs would take him.

De Wynter gave out the yell: "There he runs, ahoooooo!" An alert bugler picked up the cry and signaled the rallying call in the new direction. Dogs soon were driving past de Wynter's mount, albeit in full gallop, and the hunt slowly organized anew. Again de Wynter dropped back and let others, including the king and his mother and their flank of crack huntsmen, lead the way. They seemed not as sure as de Wynter that the hunt would settle down to a long chase, with the sly red prey wheeling and dancing and doubling back.

Well after midday de Wynter thought he saw what he had patiently awaited all morning. The riders were now closely bunched on the -heels of the baying hounds, still on the scent and an occasional sighting. He wheeled his mount sharply left around a small hillock, drove hard down a natural draw, and made his stand directly in the face of the oncoming horde. He had only to guess correctly at what point the fox would break from the thicket and thrust his sword point

into his chest before the surprised animal could wheel and be off in another direction.

' In an instant his eyes picked out a hole in the thicket rounded by the regular passage of fox or rabbit. And in another instant he was dismounted, his feet planted firmly, with sword in hand. Reynard never knew, how his strategy failed him. He knew only sudden fear as he leaped from the thicket and directly onto de Wynter's sword. . Quickly he snatched the red beast by the tail and held it aloft just as the first of the hounds came bounding up. With one foot he fended off those who jumped the highest, all the while swinging the carcass to keep it just out of reach.

The king and a handful of other horsemen burst through the thicket and reined their mounts into a circle around the melee. Those who had horns blew them insistently, those who didn't added to the din with lusty "halloooooos." When all were gathered, they dismounted, patted each dog on the head as they could get near them, and generally kept up the cacophony to make the thrill of the catch last as long as possible.

To the victor went the honor of skinning the prey. While two eager hunters spread-eagled the red beast by grasping all four legs, de Wynter took his "mercy" from his belt and slit him stem to stem. The hounds were now in a frenzy, knowing that the reward for their hard work was at hand. De Wynter quickly and neatly, despite the best efforts of the dogs, made incisions down the hind quarters and the forelegs, connecting these with the slit down the belly. Then, breaking the tailbone and adding a few deft slices around the base of the long, red tail, he sheathed his knife and grasped the tail. While the hunters holding the hind legs braced themselves, and were held around their waists for extra support, de Wynter gave a tremendous tug, skinning the carcass from tail to nose. As he held the pelt aloft amid wild cheering and horn blowing, the holders heaved the carcass to one side, where the hounds fell on it, fighting for pieces until the last bit of meat was consumed, the last bone carried off, and the last drop of blood licked from the well-trampled ground.

The congratulations extended to de Wynter were many and sincere. He wondered, as he had in the past, whether or not the back thumpings and rib pokings were worth it. Almost, he'd rather let the

fox go to hunt it again another day. James was not among the well-wishers, he having stayed mounted through the entire melee.

Mentally, de Wynter shrugged the whole thing off as the king's prerogative. He had no time to think of the male member of the royal family. The distaff red-haired version had arrived, taken in the situation at one glance, and staked her claim. De Wynter's mount in tow, she urged her horse forward into the midst of the throng. He looked up at her, the pelt in his bloody hands, and smiled that smile that sent shivers of excitement down her back.

"The lady in green needs a touch of red on her costume," de Wynter said. Holding the pelt up, he added, "Perhaps a muff of _ fox?"

She pretended female dislike of the bloody pelt, but leaned over and whispered. "I already have a muff of red hair."

"I know," he said and winked. Then, slinging the red pelt over his pommel, he vaulted into the saddle. And with the Lady Margaret at his side, he led the hearty band back to Castle Dolour, alternating between a slow trot and walking, the horses being well lathered from the chase. But whenever the horses moved slowly, the Lady Margaret took the opportunity to brush her leg against his, or to lean over and allow her hand to rest possessively on gloved hand or broad shoulder or muscular thigh. No one could fail to notice. Not king, nor court, nor the Lady Islean. What de Wynter's mother thought of his so disporting himself with a woman her own age, no one could tell. However, if Seamus had been there, he would have taken one look at her eyes and warned his fellow servants to stay clear of the Lady Islean. Evidently de Wynter got the message on his own, for he made no effort to approach her now or later that day. Quite the contrary. He seemed to avoid her.

The hunt the day before, followed by the carousing in the kitchen and then today's lengthy exercise, left the court somewhat subdued. Most were happy to eat a light supper of venison, and, with a cup at hand, sit and talk about hunts of the past. De Wynter, lounging in the chair at Margaret's side, played with his glass and wondered if the evening would ever come to an end. Margaret thought much the same thing but for a different reason. The Lady Islean wondered if she'd ever get her private talk with James. Lord Campbell, off to one
side, was making a hearty meal. The cold meats his wife had packed for him on the hunt were not enough for a man of his huge appetite. The Lady Ann, seated at the king's left, was too young to recognize honest fatigue as contentment. Instead, she thought her guests bored and racked her brain for some amusement. The pipers had left this morning, so there could be no dancing: Gaming was out if she had her way; Campbell was a bad loser, but a large wagerer. She'd go without new clothes next season if he lost heavily. Then she remembered the one lute the castle possessed and had the instrument delivered to de Wynter.

Margaret was delighted. What a clever girl, she thought appreciatively and smiled one of her most regal, approving smiles on the young hostess. Unfortunately, Lady Ann did not see it, but Campbell did and he preened himself in his wife's reflected glory. So what if she'd slept he didn't know where the night before. One night of sleeping alone is a cheap price to pay to hobnob with royalty.

"Sing us a French song," Margaret commanded.

But de Wynter shook his head. "No, I'm in Scotland now, let's have a good Scots tune." And before she could remind him that her wish should be his command, he launched into song:

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank:

A ferlie he spied we' his e'e;