Chapter 10
She took two resolute steps, but at that moment the chief huntsman blew his horn. The hounds had found game. Everyone ran to their horses and headed for the sound. As she galloped along, Madeleine felt a sense of reprieve.
The huntsmen had found the best and most dangerous sport—wild boar.
Two sows and ten well-grown sounders were penned in by the snarling dogs.
A feast if they could all be killed. The men surged forward on horseback to hem the beasts in further.
The long boar spears were grabbed from the servants.
Madeleine hung back. She had no suitable weapon, and an angry boar was a dangerous beast. Its tusks were razor sharp, and it knew no fear of man.
The squealing sounders were easily speared from horseback, but the two adults would have to be taken on foot.
There was no other way to kill a full-grown boar.
Men cried out for the honor of making the kill, but the king flashed a wolfish smile at Madeleine and called on Odo and Aimery de Gaillard to make the kill.
She was supposed to view this as part of the test, but of course it was irrelevant. She was going to marry Stephen.
Both men swung off their horses and took a spear. Madeleine thought Odo looked anxious, and he had cause. Men were often killed by boar. As if to prove her point, a hound lunged in too close. Tusks slashed, blood sprayed, and the hound screamed as it was thrown aside, mortally wounded.
A huntsman quickly slit the beast’s throat.
Madeleine swallowed and fixed her eyes on Aimery. He showed no nervousness, but she was terrified for him. He was a couple of inches shorter than Odo, and lighter. His easy movements suggested agility, but she found it hard to imagine him withstanding the charge of an enraged boar.
“What fun!” Madeleine looked to her side and found Stephen there, bright-eyed and flushed with excitement. He carried a dead sounder on his spear like a trophy, blood running down onto his hand. “Perfect kill,” he announced.
What skill did it take, she wondered, to spear a piglet? “What a shame you don’t have a chance to take one of the sows,” said Madeleine, turning her attention back to the action ahead.
He laughed. “Such bloody work. Perhaps the animals will kill off my opposition, though, and here I am with you while they’re down there sweating.”
Madeleine glanced at him with a frown. She couldn’t imagine Stephen enjoying dirty, sweaty work, and that was what Baddersley would demand. She looked away quickly before she thought of anything else about him to disappoint her.
The boar were maddened by the circle of shouting men, and by the slaughter of their offspring, but hadn’t chosen a target yet.
They charged a few steps one way, then another.
Sometimes they ran at the horses, which were danced out of the way.
The horsemen were careful, however, never to leave an escape route.
The hot little eyes turned left and right, the long, wicked tusks quivered, and froth ran off their jaws.
Aimery called and shook his spear to snare the attention of one of the beasts. It worked. The smaller one fixed its gaze on him and his flashing jerkin.
It dug up the woodland floor with its sharp hooves, then charged.
But a sudden move by Odo deflected the animal to him.
Hastily, Odo lowered his spear and braced it in the ground, angled to take the animal clean in the chest. Aimery turned his attention to the other animal.
He shouted again, but it would not charge.
He stepped closer, all his attention on the beast.
Madeleine’s heart was thundering. She flicked a glance at Odo.
The raging boar was hurtling toward him.
He looked calm, but at the last moment he backed away slightly and flinched.
The spear caught in the shoulder instead of the chest. The impaled animal squealed and thrashed.
Odo hung on, but was swept sideways and crashed into Aimery.
Madeleine cried out as Aimery was knocked to the ground. The snakes on his jerkin flashed fire as he rolled through a shaft of sunlight. The other beast finally charged.
Men shouted to distract it, but the tusks were aimed at the glittering target on the ground, and the beast was deaf to all. Even as men leaped down to plunge swords into the wounded sow and still it, Aimery rolled to his knees and brought his spear between himself and the animal.
There was no time to brace it.
The spear bit true into the center of the chest. The animal’s own speed carried it squealing up the weapon to the cross bar, blood gushing from wound and mouth.
Under that force, however, Aimery couldn’t maintain his hold.
The spear burned through his grip until his hands crashed against the cross-bar, against the muscular, thrashing body.
In a final malevolent death spasm the boar tossed its head. A tusk ripped into the back of Aimery’s right hand and rose, a flashing gold bracelet captured in gory, Pyrrhic victory.
Silence, then an outcry as people ran forward.
Madeleine sat stunned. If he were dead . . . He could not be dead. Surely an animal so close to death must be weak.
“Definitely glad I missed that honor,” said de Faix cheerfully. “Shall we ride down to the river, my angel, and look for more fowl?”
Madeleine stared at him. “I might be called upon to help,” she said, only then realizing it was her duty to offer assistance. She urged her mare forward.
The group of men parted, and she saw Aimery de Gaillard on his feet, a cloth roughly wound around his hand and arm. It was heavily bloodstained, and he looked pale, but the wound could surely not be too serious. Relief turned her dizzy.
“Lord Aimery must return to Baddersley and have his wound attended to,” said the king. “His father and brother will accompany him, but will you go with him, too, Lady Madeleine? I understand you have training in medicine.”
“Of course, sire.” She could swear de Gaillard looked as if he would protest. Surely, she thought sadly, he could not detest her so much he would not let her tend a wound.
“Do your best,” said the king heartily. “I need every loyal right hand available.” With that the hunt rode off.
Madeleine reflected on the king’s parting words and wondered if it was her duty to botch her treatment so as to deprive a traitor of his sword hand.
When had she become so certain that Aimery de Gaillard masqueraded as a Saxon outlaw?
In his arms, when her senses spoke undeniable truth . . .
Leo fussed as he helped his brother onto his horse.
“Give up, Leo,” said Aimery with a sigh. “You’re as bad as Mother.” He turned to Madeleine. “It’s not a deep wound, Lady Madeleine. There’s no need for you to sacrifice a day’s sport over it.”
All her bitterness returned. He’d made himself perfectly clear earlier. “It’s no sacrifice,” she said flatly. “I am pleased to have an excuse to return to Baddersley, but your hand can rot for all I care.”
Without a word he turned his horse and headed back toward the castle. Leo moved to ride at Aimery’s side, and Count Guy accompanied Madeleine.
Count Guy was studying her. His hand went to his wrist, and she saw he had placed Aimery’s bracelet there. He pulled it open and passed it to her.
He offered no explanation, but Madeleine was disinclined or unwilling to question the strange act.
The bracelet was warm from Count Guy’s body, and very heavy.
The gold was nearly half-an-inch thick at the wrist edge, and yet it had been buckled by the boar’s tusk.
That had doubtless saved Aimery’s arm. The bracelet had been roughly cleaned but still had traces of blood on it—his or the boar’s.
“It looks old,” she said. “It is very beautiful.”
“It is old,” said Count Guy. “And valuable. And dangerous. It is an ancient jewel of Mercia, given to Aimery by Hereward, who is a traitor to the King of England. Hereward also gave him his sword, much of his thinking, and the ring he wears on his right hand. The ring on his left comes from William, to whom he has sworn absolute loyalty on the cross. His rank and most of his training come from me. He is a man struggling under too many allegiances, demoiselle. I have tried to break his ties to some of them, but it is impossible. One day they may tear him apart.”
It was as good as an admission that his son was a traitor. “Why do you tell me this?” she asked. “It does not make him an attractive husband in troubled times.”
His green eyes, so like his son’s, were direct. “As I said before, I understand nothing and I hope I am wise enough to realize it. You should know what you are dealing with.”
“I will not choose him,” she said and meant it. She would not marry a traitor.
He nodded. “That is your right. And judging from what I have witnessed, it may be wise.”
When they arrived back at Baddersley, Aimery again tried to dissuade Madeleine from tending to his hand. “This bandage has stopped the bleeding,” he insisted. “There’s no need to disturb it.”
He appeared pale and tense, which wasn’t surprising in view of the blood he had lost and the pain he must be suffering. She wondered if he was already afflicted by wound-fever, for he was making little sense. Despite her angry words earlier, she could not let a man die in her house of wound-poison.
Leo snorted. “He’s always been a terrible coward.”
“Stop this foolishness,” said Count Guy. “Let Lady Madeleine see to it. An animal wound can easily fester.”
With a foul look at his family, Aimery snapped, “So be it, but I’m not going to have witnesses when I cry. Go away.”
With humorous looks, the two older men obeyed.
They were alone. Madeleine flashed Aimery a wary glance, but he was clearly not in any state for amorous attack. She called for clean water, both cold and hot, and led him to her room where she kept her medical supplies.