Мериел Фуллер – Innocent's Champion (страница 2)

‘My lady...?’ One of the knights dismounted. ‘I should come with you...’ he offered dubiously, his gaze sliding quickly over Katherine’s stomach bulging out beneath the waistband of her gown.

Honestly, these men, thought Matilda, noting the young soldier’s reddening features. They treated pregnancy as if it were a disease! Something to be ashamed of, despite the fact it was the most natural thing in the world. She knew that the growing baby increased the amount of times Katherine needed to visit the garderobe, and when there was no garderobe available...well, the shelter of the trees and shrubs would have to do.

Leaning into the litter, Matilda seized her bow, shouldering the quiver full of arrows. She caught the glancing grin of a servant as he eyed the curved wood of her weapon. Let them think what they like, she thought irritably. It never hurt for a lady to know how to defend herself, especially one with her own precarious domestic arrangements.

‘No need, we’ll not be long. We’ll go over that little bridge, into that ruin behind the trees.’ Matilda pointed out a low-lying packhorse bridge spanning the river’s swift flow and the tumbled stones of a collapsed tower. She tucked her arm through Katherine’s and the two sisters walked together with a laboured, ambling pace through the soft, swaying grasses of the riverside.

Their progress up the steep cobbled surface of the bridge was slow; Katherine’s face reddened, sheened with sweat. ‘This heat, this heat affects me so,’ she gasped, as she reached the apex of the bridge. Pausing, she bent forwards, pressing one hand against the rickety parapet, her scalloped-edge sleeve falling in a graceful arc against the warm stone.

‘Why not take your cloak off?’ Matilda suggested, eyeing the rectangle of red silk-velvet that fell back from Katherine’s shoulders. It matched her own cloak of light blue, fastened across the neck with a fine silver chain and secured with a pearl clasp on one shoulder.

Katherine shuddered, fixing her sister with a horrified glance. ‘To be seen in public without a cloak? Are you out of your mind? Really, Matilda, you have no sense of propriety!’

Matilda shrugged her shoulders. ‘I only thought it would make you cooler,’ she replied. ‘You shouldn’t be travelling at all, at this stage of your pregnancy. I’m surprised that John—’

‘It was he that insisted upon it!’ Katherine interrupted. ‘You know what he’s like...’

Yes, thought Matilda. She knew what John was like. Arrogant and overbearing, with a short, irascible temper, he was unbearable at the best of times and ten times worse if things didn’t go the way he wanted. On his marriage to Katherine, he had made no secret of his joy at inheriting one half of the Lilleshall fortune: the castle at Neen and its vast tracts of fertile pasture. Now, it seemed, this was not enough for him; he had begun to drop very large hints about how he should be controlling the other half, the manor and estates of Lilleshall itself, still in the possession of Matilda and Katherine’s mother.

As Matilda steered her sister carefully down the other side of the bridge and into the shadowed privacy behind the toppled stones of the tower, Katherine clutched at her arm, her long fingers surprisingly strong. ‘You will stay with me, Matilda? Until I give birth? I need you to be there with me at Neen...do you promise?’

‘Katherine, you know I have to return to Lilleshall... I cannot promise that I will be there all the time.’

Lifting her skirts above the fallen stones to pick her way through the jumbled mass, Katherine pinned angry eyes on her sister. ‘Only because our useless mother refuses to do what she’s supposed to do!’

‘Katherine, that’s not fair! You know how she’s been since Father died.’ Matilda raised one hand to an errant curl of dark chestnut hair, tucking it back behind her ear. ‘I have to go back, to make sure the estate is running properly. You know that.’

‘Aye,’ Katherine whispered, her lumpy figure lurching with a curious side-to-side motion across the moss-covered stones. ‘I’m sorry, I know how our mother suffers. It’s only that I’m so worried about this baby...’

‘I will stay with you as much as I can.’ Matilda patted her hand. But to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow. There was so much to do at Lilleshall at this time of year; although the crops had been planted and were growing well in this hot weather, she now had to turn her attention to the early harvests.

‘Can they see me?’ Bunching her skirts about her knees, Katherine made her way awkwardly into the undergrowth behind the tower, bristly thistles scratching at the delicate embroidery of her skirts. Butterflies fluttered lazily through the wild, verdant growth: the feathery purple grass heads, red sorrel gathered in scrappy clusters, the yellow-fringed hawkbit flower.

‘Wait. Let me check.’ Leaving her sister, Matilda placed one foot on a crumbling staircase that ran diagonally upwards across a section of wall, and peeked out at their escort. Two of the servants had taken the opportunity to sit on the dried earth, setting their tired backs against the framework of the litter. One chewed idly at a piece of long grass, drawing the freshness from the end of the stem. She caught a ribald chuckle from one of the knights, his head bent as he listened to the other, no doubt telling some bawdy tale.

‘They can’t see us.’ Matilda laughed softly, tripping gracefully back down the steps. ‘We’re well hidden here.’

Squatting down, Katherine closed her eyes in relief.

Matilda helped her to her feet and Katherine adjusted her gown. ‘How do I look?’ Katherine asked once she had straightened up, her eyes narrowing across the bulk of her belly.

Matilda set her head on one side, a teasing smile lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘How do you look? You’re asking me?’ she declared in mock horror. ‘Since when do you trust my judgement on appearance?’

Katherine drifted one wan hand across her forehead. ‘Don’t tease, Matilda. You know how John likes me to look my best. Is anything amiss?’

‘You look perfect, as always,’ Matilda reassured her. Her sister’s sable hair maintained a neat, rigid parting, twisted into two identical knots either side of her head. All the buttons that secured the tight neck of her gown were in place, straight. Not a speck of dirt, leaves or travel dust stained the finely woven red material of Katherine’s gown. It was a source of constant surprise to their mother that, despite being so physically similar, the two sisters could not have been more different in character and their approach to life. Where Katherine was neat, Matilda was messy, untidy. Where Katherine was demure, simpering, Matilda was argumentative, stubborn.

A shout split the air: the outraged roar of a man.

Shocked by the harsh, guttural sound, Matilda grabbed Katherine’s arm, listening intently.

Then came a sickening sound of splintering wood, of clashing metal. From the other side of the river, the knights cursed, rough voices raised in alarm.

‘Oh, God!’ Katherine sagged in Matilda’s hold, her eyes wide and fearful. ‘What’s going on?’

Through the dry, heavy air came the distinctive whirr of an arrow. Then another, travelling straight and true. Matilda knew the sound, was familiar with it. Icy fear slicked her heart.

‘Wait here!’ She skipped up the steps once more, cloak and gown trailing behind her, the lightweight silk dragging against the coarse-cut stone. From the vantage point at the top, leaves casting dappled shade across her pale, worried face, she watched in horror as one knight toppled sideways from his horse, gripping his shoulder in agony. Blood poured from between his fingers, soaking his surcoat. Wheeling his horse around, the other knight drew his sword, flicking his eyes around, searching for their attackers. The servants, realising what was happening, started shouting and running around haphazardly, delving frantically in the litter for the one or two weapons they had brought to defend themselves.

‘Matilda...? What is it?’ Katherine was on her feet now, standing at the bottom of the steps, one arm bent protectively around her stomach.

‘Ssh! Stay down!’ A horrible weakness sapped the strength in Matilda’s knees; her fingers drove into the shattered limestone of the tower, searching for purchase, for equilibrium. She spun away from the open space that had once been a window and flattened herself against the wall, heart thumping in her chest. ‘The knights... They’re being attacked!’ she whispered urgently. ‘Katherine, get away from here! You need to hide!’

‘But you...?’

Matilda held up her bow. ‘I will hold them off as long as possible. You must get away from here, Katherine. Now. Find somewhere safe.’

* * *

With a practised flick of the reins, Gilan, Comte de Cormeilles, slowed his gleaming destrier to a walk, urging the animal towards the group of knights gathered at the river’s edge. Beneath the heavy metal breastplate, his skin prickled with sweat. He longed to rip it off. Steel plates dragged at his muscled arms; his fingers itched within his gauntlets. Pulling them off, he threw them to the ground, then lifted his hands to unstrap his helmet, resting it on the horse’s neck. The quiet breeze sifted through his hair, lifting the bright, corn-coloured strands, cooling his hot scalp. His piercing, metallic gaze swept the area where they had stopped, eyes set deep within thick, black lashes.