Lady of Hay Barbara Erskine (reading books for 7 year olds TXT) 📖

cracked hysterically. "There's nothing wrong with my daughter. Nothing wrong between her and the prince; just wedding-night nerves. She's going back to her husband directly. Lady Matilda will take her back to the royal tent. "

Whispering uncomfortably, the women slipped one by one into the darkness, leaving Matilda and the countess looking at each other. Quietly Amicia brought a sable rug and placed it gently over her sister's shoulders with shaking hands. Then she too crept away.

Hawise stood looking down at her daughter and suddenly her tears began to fall again. "The disgrace. The humiliation! She has betrayed us before the whole world by running away from him. " She groped for a lace kerchief and pressed it to her streaming eyes. "How can the silly chit have done such a thing? What was he thinking of to let her?"

"What happened?" Matilda spoke gently in the girl's ear. "Can you tell your mother or me?"

But Isabella shook her head. As she pressed closer to her Matilda could feel the warmth slowly coming back to the girl's taut body.

"Your mother is right. You must go back to your husband. It is not so bad, what happens, you know. You will grow accustomed to it. " She smiled sadly. "You may even grow to like it, my dear. But whatever happens it is your duty to go to him. Come. " She took the girl's hand and raised her gently to her feet. Isabella stood submissively before her, her eyes on the ground, her sumptuous bedgown bordered with golden embroidery falling in full pleats around her. It was, Matilda noted with a strange feeling of relief, untorn and unsullied.

Gently she led the unresisting girl out toward the royal pavilion, skirting the damped fires and the rows of sleeping tents. The guards at the entrance came to a salute as they passed through, their eyes curiously taking in the details of the two women in their nightclothes, and Matilda, her arm firmly around Isabella's shoulders, escorted her quickly from their gaze. John's servants, bowing, held back the heavy tapestry hangings that covered the entrance to the sleeping area.

"Go to him, " Matilda whispered. She glanced around nervously, not wanting the prince to see her, but as she spoke a small plump woman appeared from the inner room and curtsied. "There you are, Your Highness, " she addressed Isabella, who stared at her blankly. "The prince your husband told me to come to keep you company and fetch you a hot posset. " She held out her hand and guided Isabella through the curtains. "His Highness has gone for a ride. He said he doubted if he'd be back by morning, so you may sleep undisturbed tonight. " The woman was careful to keep any expression out of her voice, but she glanced over Isabella's head at Matilda and made a wry face that Matilda guessed was intended to mean that the prince had in fact said a great deal more than that and at some length. She sighed, and gave the girl a gentle push. "Good night, Isabella. Sleep well, love. "

She watched for a moment as the woman hustled about fetching a jug of steaming, fragrant liquid and a goblet and then as Isabella climbed, still moving as in a dream, into the high bed, Matilda turned and pushed her way out of the room, suddenly stifled by its oppressive heat.

She made her way quickly and nervously back to the de Braose tents, half afraid she would be once more waylaid by the prince, conscious suddenly of the black shadows behind the circled tents, of the grove of trees, the leaves unstirring in the windless air, and of the motionless encampment guards half dozing as they leaned on their swords.

But it was Richard who waylaid her. He stepped from the shadows, his finger to his lips, and beckoned her after him into the shelter of the trees. "I could not leave like that, " he whispered. "Not without just one more moment alone with you. Dear God! Why did we not meet each other in time!" The wind teased the streaming torch on the edge of the encampment near them and she saw the shadows playing on his face.

"It was not to be, love. " She put her hands on his shoulders. "Maybe, one day—"

He seized her hands, enfolding them in his own, holding them pressed against his chest. "One day!" he echoed bitterly. "When you belong to de Braose and when the prince has already marked you for his own!"

"That's not true!" She pulled away from him violently. "John is nothing to me and I am nothing to him. Nothing!"

He was looking down at her, his eyes gleaming strangely in the torch light.

"Nothing?" he echoed.

"Nothing. I swear by all I hold sacred!"

He shook his head. "Don't swear. You don't know what may happen. The prince has power, Matilde. " He touched her hair gently. "Dear God! I want to throw you on my horse and gallop away with you. Take you for my own!"

For a moment she felt a blind excitement as the power of the passion in his voice flooded through her. If he had asked her then she would have gone, but his hands fell slowly to his sides and he shrugged. "I am to be brother-in-law to the prince, it seems. "

Her eyes filled with tears. "As befits a great earl, " she whispered. Forcing herself to smile, she looked away. "I must go in, Pochard. "

"Of course. " He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "I'll see you again. Soon. "

She nodded dumbly, then she turned away, pulling her cloak around her as she dodged past the flare and into the darkness.

When Tim came upstairs it was already dark. He had walked some four miles down the valley and back, shrugging off the heavy warm spots of rain, and he was tired. He pushed open the door quietly and glanced into the bedroom.