Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,164

at the fancy glossy horses prancing past on the road with bells tinkling on their harness. Her own fortitude was about to be severely tested by the arrival from Cirencester of Robert of Gloucester and his entourage. Providing food and lodging for such numbers was no simple matter and she loathed all the pomp and ceremony.

“How long will the empress stay?”

“For as long as she has need,” Brian said, giving her a sharp look. “She is entitled to all the help we can give her.” Maude said with quiet conviction, “She will destroy you.

I can see the hunger in your eyes.” Brian gave her an impatient look. “No,” he said. “You do not understand. She is what keeps me alive.”

“Then you should find other sustenance before it is too late,” Maude retorted and, the dog in her arms, walked briskly from the hall.

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Brian watched her leave and clenched his fists. He did not want any other sustenance and it was already too late. Either she would feed him, or he would die, and be glad to do so.

ttt

Three days later the snow was still thick on the ground, but the wind was less cold and there had been no fresh falls. Standing in the outer bailey Matilda studied the selection of horses milling in the enclosure, their winter coats plush and thick and their breath clouding the air.

“Choose any you want,” Brian said.

She perused the animals with a keen eye. Most were in the slack condition of winter stalling, but she considered the underlying conformation. She wanted a horse that had stamina, a good pace, and even temper.

“Just one?” She gave him a half-smile.

His mouth curved in reply. “You may have them all, but you can only ride one at a time.”

Matilda indicated a mare with a rich golden coat and pale mane and tail. “That one,” she said Brian had her tacked up and fitted with a lady’s saddle. Matilda mounted from the block in the yard and took the horse on a circuit of the training ground. The mare was smooth-paced and strong, but tugged to the right and Matilda felt her spine twist and jar. Unsuitable for a long journey, she thought. Returning to Brian, she accepted his aid to dismount and, stepping out of his grasp, indicated a grey gelding. “Now this one,” she said.

Brian gave a wry smile. “So you do intend to try them all?” He gestured to the groom and the men set about changing the tack.

“At least until I find the right one.” She gave him a sidelong look.

Brian was relieved to see that sudden gleam. Oxford had taken so much out of her. Despite all the sleep she had had, her eyes were still ringed with exhaustion. The look she had given 407

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him was at least a sign that somewhere deep within her spirit still burned.

Matilda tried out several horses, but finally returned to settle on the grey. “Definitely this one,” she said, riding back to Brian and patting the horse’s neck. “The roan is too headstrong. A man might say such a horse can be mastered with whip and curb, but why ride something unruly when you can have a good mount that will not cause you trouble?” Brian patted the grey and ran his hand down its shoulder. “A pity this horse is not England.”

“Indeed,” she agreed.

Taking the bridle, Brian led the grey back to the stable with Matilda still mounted, then he tethered the horse to a post and helped her dismount. For an instant they stood pressed closely together with his hands either side of her waist. She touched the side of his face, and he turned so that his lips kissed her palm. He grasped her fingers to hold her there.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Brian,” she whispered.

“Dear God…” She tugged her hand free and pulled away from him. Her limbs felt weak and heavy. She wanted to kiss his mouth and the place beneath his ear where his hair lay in a vulnerable curl, but knew it was crossing a boundary, and once it happened, there would be another step and another on the forbidden side and no turning back. Already they stood on the cusp of scandal.

“This can never be,” she said. Making a tremendous effort, she turned away and walked swiftly towards the keep.

“I wasn’t tempting you,” Brian said wretchedly to the space where she had been. “I was torturing myself.”