He stared at her in disbelief. William de Braose was a vicious, ill-bred man at least twice her age, with a reputation few men would envy. Even the thought of the brute’s hands touching her made the blood pound in Richard’s temples. “And you would prefer your husband’s company to being bored?” he echoed incredulously.

She raised her chin a fraction, a mannerism he was beginning to know well. “I did not ask your opinion of him, just as I did not ask you to escort me to him.”

“No, I offered.” He took a deep breath. “So-I shall tell him also,” he went on, “that an invitation to this Christmas banquet we hear he is to give for Prince Seisyll tomorrow is the only reward I shall ask for all my trouble. I shall wave aside the gold and jewels he is bound to press on me for my services in escorting you. I shall nobly ignore his passionate outpourings of gratitude and praise.”

Matilda made a small grimace, all too well aware of her husband’s reputation for tight-fistedness. She frowned, glancing at Richard sideways. “Supposing he’s furious with me for coming?”

“So you have considered that possibility at last!” Richard squinted into the wind. “He’ll probably beat you and send you back to Bramber. It’s what you deserve.”

A racing shadow in the trees distracted him for a moment. He scanned the surrounding forest, his face set. They were passing through a clump of junipers, thick and impenetrable: the ideal hiding place for an ambush. Secretly he suspected that his men, however well armed, would be no match for the leaping, yelling Welsh should they choose to attack. He had heard that they could sweep down, cut a throat, rip open a horse’s belly, and be away again before a man ever had the chance to draw his sword. He shuddered every time he thought of the dangers on the route that Matilda had so confidently decided she and Nell could ride on their own.

“Is that what you’d do to your wife?” She peered at him, wiping the rain from her eyes as they trotted on again, side by side.

“What?”

“Beat her and send her home.”

“Of course. Especially if she turned up with a good-looking fellow like me.” He forced a smile, his eyes still narrowed as he gazed through the icy sleet.

Matilda glanced at him, then changed the subject, turning in her saddle. “Poor Nell. She’s still keeping up.” The girl was white-faced and rode slumped in the saddle, her eyes fixed determinedly on her shiny knuckles as they clutched the cold, wet reins. She was obviously near to tears, oblivious to the halfhearted banter of the knights around her or the tired baggage animals who jostled her horse constantly with their cumbersome packs. Matilda grimaced ruefully. “She started this adventure so well with me, but she’s regretting every step now. Ever since we crossed out of Sussex, even with you there to protect us, she’s been scared and weepy. Seeing that poor man will be the last straw. She’ll spend the night having the vapors.”

“Don’t tease her.” Richard leaned forward to slap his horse’s steaming neck. “She had a lot of courage to come with you. You didn’t feel so brave yourself when you saw that corpse. And don’t forget, no one else would come with you at all.”

She frowned, and dug her mare indignantly with her heels, making it leap forward so that she had to cling to the saddle. “Most of the others were Lady Bertha’s women anyway, not mine,” she said defensively. “I didn’t want them to come. I shall ask William for my own attendants as soon as we get to Abergavenny.”

Richard suppressed a smile. “That’s a good idea. Go and ride with Nell now. I’m going to scout ahead and check all is quiet.” He did not give her the chance to argue, spurring his horse to a gallop.

The very stillness of the forest worried him. Where were the woodsmen, the charcoal burners, the swineherds, the usual people of the woods? And if not theirs, then whose were the eyes he could feel watching him from the undergrowth?

Sulkily Matilda reined in and waited for Nell to draw level. The girl’s china-blue eyes were red-rimmed from the cold. “Are we nearly there, my lady?” She made an effort at smiling. “My hands are aching so from the cold, I’m drenched through to my shift, and I’m so exhausted. I never imagined it would be so many days’ ride from Bramber.” Her voice had taken on an unaccustomed whining note that immediately irritated her mistress.

“We’re almost there, Nell.” Matilda made no effort to hide her impatience. She was straining her eyes ahead up the track after Richard as the trees thinned and they crossed a windswept ridge covered in sodden bracken, flattened by the rain. There was a movement in some holly bushes on the hillside to the right of them, and she peered at them, trying to see through the glossy greenery. Her heart began to pound. Something was hidden there, waiting.

Two deer burst out of the thicket and raced away out of sight up the hill. Richard cantered back to her side. He was smiling, but there was a drawn sword in his hand. “I thought we were in for trouble for a moment,” he called. “Did you see? Shall I send a couple of men after them? Then we can make our own contribution to the feast.”

They plunged into the thickness of the forest again, their horses’ feet padding in the soft wet leaf mold beneath the bare trunks of ash and beech. From time to time the cold waters of the Usk appeared in the distance on their left, pitted gray with raindrops. Sometimes the track ran straight, keeping to the line of the old Roman road, then it would wander away over the curving contours that followed, among the trees, the gently sloping hills. Slowly dusk was coming on them through the trees, up from the river valley, and with it came menace.

The escort closed more tightly around them and, at a command from Richard, the men drew their swords. Matilda saw his face was concentrated and grim and she felt a sudden shiver of fear.

They rode on in silence through the darkening forest until at last in the distance through the trees they glimpsed the tall white keep of Abergavenny Castle, swimming in the mist that had gathered over the river.

Richard’s face grew more taut as he saw it. The castle meant sanctuary from the threatening forest. But it also meant facing de Braose and relinquishing to his care the beautiful child-woman who was his wife.

They rode as fast as they could through the half-light across the deserted fields that clustered around a small township, past the church, and up the track that led to the drawbridge and the high curtain walls of the castle. It seemed that they were expected, for the drawbridge was down and the guard stood to attention, allowing them to clatter through into the castle ward unchallenged. There, shadowed by the towering walls, darkness had already come and torches flared in high sconces, lighting the faces of the men of the garrison with a warm unreal glow.

As soon as they were across it the drawbridge began to move, the cumbersome clank of the rolling chains signaling the disappearance of the cold forest as the gates closed and the castle was sealed for the night.

William de Braose was waiting for them on the steps of the great hall. He was a short man of stocky build with a ruddy complexion set off by his tawny mantle, his dark-gold hair and beard catching fiery lights from the torches in the wall sconces behind him. He watched the men and horses milling round for a moment, then he slowly descended the steps and approached his wife, his hand outstretched to help her dismount. His face was thunderous.

Swinging off his own horse, Richard saw with a quick glance that for the first time Matilda looked afraid.

“In the name of Christ and all His saints, what are you doing here?” William roared. He reached up and pulled her violently from the saddle. When standing she was several inches taller than he, a fact of which he was obviously painfully conscious. “I couldn’t believe it when my scouts said that you were coming through the forest. I thought I forbade you to leave Bramber till the spring.”

“You did, my husband.” Matilda tried to sound contrite as she pulled the furs more closely around her in the chill wind. “But the weather seemed so good this winter and the roads were passable, so I thought there wouldn’t be any danger. I hoped you’d be glad to see me…” Her voice trailed away to silence and she could feel her heart beginning to thump uncomfortably beneath her ribs. How could she have forgotten what he was like? The hostility with which he always treated her, the cruelty in which he took such pleasure, the rank smell of debauchery that hung over him? In spite of herself she shrank from him and abruptly he released her arm.

He swung around on the circle of men that had formed around them, listening with open interest to the exchange. His face flushed a degree deeper in color. “What are you staring at?” he bellowed. “See to your horses and get out of my sight!”

Matilda turned, blindly searching for Richard among the men. He was standing immediately behind her. Gently he took her arm. “Let me help you in, Lady Matilda,” he said quietly. “You must be tired.”

William swung around, his head thrust forward, his fists clenched. “Leave her, Lord Clare,” he shouted. “My God, you’d better have a good reason for bringing my wife here.” He swung on his heel and strode toward the flight of steps that led up to the main door of the keep, his spurs clanking on the hollow wood. Halfway up he stopped and turned, looking down on them. “You are not welcome here, either of you.” His face was puce in the flickering torchlight. “Why did you come?”

Matilda followed him, her cloak flying open in the wind to reveal her slim, tall figure in a deep-blue surcoat.

“I came because I wanted to be with my husband,” she said, her voice clear above the hissing of the torch beside her. “My Lord de Clare was only going as far as Gloucester, but he insisted that it was his duty not to let me travel on my own. We owe him much thanks, my lord.”