Chapter 4
Alex speared a piece of smoked salmon with his knife and popped it into his mouth, savoring the salty, somewhat oily taste before washing it down with ale. A few days had passed since the contests and he had finally recovered from his celebration, his appetite returning full force.
His mother, dressed in a ruby-colored gown, glided toward his table and he welcomed her to the seat beside him.
“Do you go to the practice yard this morning?” she asked.
“I cannot avoid it. Rory and Guy want a rematch from yesterday’s practice and some of the men-at-arms are itching to have a chance to trounce the three of us.”
“I shall have a busy day myself. Aethel and I are taking herbs to the village women,” she said as she accepted the bowl of gruel a servant set before her.
“Sir Alain’s wife knows much about herbs and such.”
“She does and they count upon her knowledge. Lora will be joining us a bit later.”
All the while he ate, his eyes kept straying to where Merewyn sat at the next table with Lora, planning their day, no doubt.
Since that afternoon in her chamber, now a vague but pleasant memory, Merewyn had been avoiding him.
Had he really lain beside her? Held her?
Kissed her again? He who, since coming to manhood, had never missed a woman’s presence was missing this one’s.
Truth be told, it bothered him greatly. He’d not had a woman since returning home and he was beginning to suspect the cause was Merewyn.
The day after he’d wandered into her bed, Lora had moved into Merewyn’s chamber, saying the two wanted to spend time together before Merewyn left for London.
He had to wonder if Merewyn had sought Lora’s company to protect herself from him.
Surely she knew he would never harm her.
He had not meant to stumble into her chamber, had he?
He’d been drunk as a villager after harvest, but even floating in ale, some part of his mind must have known whose chamber it was.
Had he hoped she might welcome him? It was hardly noble to entertain such thoughts about a woman who had once sought his protection, but then she had been a girl, now she was a woman grown.
As much as he tried, he could not deny the attraction between them.
He was certain she had returned his kiss, at least for a few moments.
Even with the ale, he remembered the enticing taste of her and her scent.
Letting out a sigh, he reached for the dish of wild strawberries, popping one into his mouth. The taste of it was sweet. Just like Merewyn.
As far as he could determine, she spent her mornings with Lora and her afternoons with Talisand’s archers. When she donned her bowman’s garb and headed toward the archery field, little Cecily trailed behind her like her shadow.
At one time Alex and Merewyn had been friends.
The year before he’d gone to Rouen, she was always close by, her eyes large and adoring.
’Twas why he had looked for her the moment he’d heard she was back, curious to know what had become of her.
In all the years he’d been away, he had never forgotten the beguilingly beautiful girl with her blue-hazel eyes, fragile features and golden hair.
No longer adoring in her gaze, her manner was wary.
But he sensed an inner strength in her that matched the beast in him.
Her skill with the bow only made her more fascinating.
She was making him think differently about other young women, too.
No longer did he see them as merely potential bed partners.
With Merewyn re-entering his life, he had to consider other women could be as intelligent and skilled.
He rose from his bench, belted on his sword and bid his mother good day. He was just about to reach the door of the hall when Merewyn and Lora passed by. Holding the door for them, he asked Merewyn, “Will you take part in the hunt this afternoon?”
She paused, allowing him time to peruse her simple gown of blue linen that brought his attention to her unusual eyes. “I might. It would be my first with the men of Talisand.”
“Good. I shall look for you as we depart.”
“I should never like to hunt,” Lora said. “I am content to tend the herb garden and wait for the hunters to return.”
“There is place for that, too, my lady.” He bowed and watched the two women walk arm in arm from the hall, so very different. He had new respect for each of them, but only one had the courage to hunt with a wolf.
* * *
By the time the hunting party formed in the bailey, Merewyn had donned her archer’s clothing and Ceinder was saddled and waiting.
She grabbed the pommel and slid her foot into the stirrup.
Lifting herself into the saddle, she made sure her bow was secure and her quiver was at her right shoulder where she had only to bend her elbow to fetch an arrow.
The hounds, excited for the hunt, barked and howled as the men made ready to depart.
Lady Emma’s husband, Sir Geoffroi, kept large sight hounds, offspring of Emma’s beloved Magnus she had brought from York.
One Christmas, Sir Geoffroi had given some of the pups to Talisand’s lord and now their offspring hunted with him.
In Wales, Rhodri had hunted with rough-coated hounds that bayed to alert the hunters when game was sighted. She and Ceinder had hunted together in Wales but this would be the first time she would hunt with Talisand’s men, the first time she would hunt with Alex.
A dozen riders, including Jamie, Alex, Rory and Guy, waited for the signal from Talisand’s lord. Merewyn could not take her eyes from Alex, sitting atop his great black horse. He wore only a tunic and hosen, but he was still every bit the knight, armed with sword, spear and knife.
Chasing after the deer with him presented a test, for she must concentrate not on Alex but on the hunt, avoiding the men’s horses and spears while she loosed her arrows. Some of Talisand’s archers had gone ahead on foot to await them in the woods. She would have to avoid them, too.
Since that day in her chamber, her mind strayed many times to the handsome heir of Talisand.
Alex might not remember that afternoon as drunk as he’d been, but her memories of his body pressed into hers and his kisses trailing down her neck were all too real.
Alex had awakened a desire in her that had once been only imagined.
Now it was all too easily brought to mind.
She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep her mind on the hunt.
She no longer thought of him as an arrogant beast, but he was still a man.
When the signal was given, the score of riders spurred their horses to a canter, the knights in the lead, following the dogs.
She chased after the men, keeping to their pace.
Trees rushed by as the hounds howled and the horses crushed the dense undergrowth beneath their hooves.
She was thankful that Ceinder had an eye for obstacles and a steady gait that made riding to hunt with bow and arrow easier than it would be on a larger, bolder horse.
Merewyn slowed, guiding Ceinder around branches that jutted from trees blocking her path.
Shouts echoed through the woods, followed by the hounds’ baying. Deer had been sighted. Ceinder’s reins were already knotted. Now she laid them at the base of the pony’s neck, reached for her bow and rode on.
In the distance, three deer leapt from the cover of the woods and raced across the meadow. The men galloped after them.
In front of her but behind the men, a hart sprang out of the woods, crossing her path. Seeing no other archer, she nocked an arrow, raised her bow and loosed the arrow.
The deer leapt high, as if trying to take wing, and then went down in a flailing tangle of legs.
Slowing Ceinder, Merewyn dropped from her pony and carried her bow to where the deer lay, wanting to assure the animal a quick death.
The deer lay quiet and unmoving, its tongue lolled out, its red sides still.
A clean shot. She smiled to herself. Tonight they would dine on venison.
Hunting was not merely sport, but necessary to add to their store of meat and she was proud that she could contribute to the meal this eve.
July was a hungry month when grain stores were low and the people foraged, waiting for August’s harvest.
She straightened, her eyes searching the woods for a servant who might be following the hunt.
Before she could summon help to lift the deer, she heard a snorting sound from the bushes.
Turning, she glimpsed a brown snout rising above the green underbrush less than twenty feet away.
On either side of its hoary snout were wicked curved tusks as long as her hand.
A whiff of musky taint hit her nostrils.
Oh God, a wild boar in rut!
Heart pounding, Merewyn reached for Ceinder’s reins, but the normally calm pony rolled her eyes, showing the whites, and backed away, blowing and snorting.
With a guttural sound, the beast stepped from the brush, sniffing the air. Ceinder let out a high-pitched scream. The boar’s tiny eyes glittered as it snorted and pawed at the ground, agitated by the pony’s panicked dance.
The beast let out a fearful squeal sending chills up Merewyn’s spine. What should she do? Her arrows would not stop a charging boar. Afraid she might only madden the animal if she wounded it, she began to back away. The boar squealed again and charged.
Ceinder fled and Merewyn ran, terrified. She could never outrun the wild beast gaining on her.