Dai Vaughan straightened as he set the coffeepot in front of Jo. “Now there’s an idea,” he said cheerfully. “Why don’t I put up a picnic for the both of you. It’ll stay fine awhile yet, with luck!” He squinted out of the window. “Where would you like to go? I can lend you a map. Llangorse Lake? The waterfalls? Castles? Or why not go up to the mountains by here-Castel Dinas perhaps. There’s a fine view and lovely country, and it’s not too far.”

Jo frowned. She had been watching Nick’s face. “I don’t want to go anywhere that might remind me,” she said quietly. “Not today. I can’t cope with that. Castles make me nervous.”

Dai laughed. “Oh, it’s not a castle like Bronllys or Hay. It’s an earthwork, see. Celtic, I think it is.” He picked up the tray. “Will you be leaving this afternoon too, Miss Clifford?”

Jo nodded.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming back to London?” He tried to keep the triumph out of his voice.

She watched Dai Vaughan until he was out of the room. “No. I’m going back to Hay.”

“You’re continuing with your research, then?”

She rested her chin on her hands. “I’ve got to, Nick. I told you, I can’t let it go. Not yet.”

He scowled. “But you will let it go today?”

She nodded. “I’d like that. Let’s go and see this Castel Dinas. I doubt if the de Braoses were into archaeology.” She smiled at him suddenly, the wariness lifting from her face. “Truce for today, Nick?”

“Truce.” He leaned forward and put his hand on hers.


***

A haze had formed over the mountaintops as they parked the Porsche in a narrow lane and climbed out. Nick was holding the ordnance survey map in his hand. “I don’t think there’s much point in taking the food with us,” he said. “It may be nice now, but the weather’s closing in fast. Do you still want to go up there?”

She nodded, staring up at the gaunt shoulders of the Black Mountains rising above them, clear and sharply defined in the brilliant sunlight, save where wisps of cloud and mist touched them and drifted down into the folded cwms.

Nick shuddered. “God, what a lonely place! That must be”-he glanced down at the map-“Waun Fach. Heaven knows how it’s pronounced!”

“It’s beautiful.” Jo was staring around her. “Quite beautiful. Smell that air. Hundreds of miles of grass and wild thyme and bilberries-and just look at the hedges down here. Honeysuckle, dog roses, chamomile, foxgloves-and a thousand flowers I don’t even know the name of… Nick! ”

After dropping his map on the car hood, he had put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her to him, feeling the warmth of her flesh beneath the thin silk of her shirt as he folded his arms around her and pressed her against him, his mouth nuzzling into her hair. Jo closed her eyes. For a moment she stood still, feeling the tide of longing rising in her as she clung to him, overwhelmed with happiness suddenly, her doubts dissolving as she raised her mouth to his for a long passionate kiss, her hands automatically reaching for the buttons of his shirt, slipping inside to caress his chest.

With a smile she drew back a little and looked up at him at last.

Then she froze. The face of the man who stood staring down at her did not belong to Nick. Her stomach turned over in icy shock as recognition hit her and she remembered the blue eyes, the arrogant brow, the imperious touch, and her own body’s helpless response as this man had drawn her, long ago, against his hard body.

“No!” Jo’s eyes were dilated with fear as she pulled away from him. “Oh, no! No! Please God, no!”

She tore herself out of his arms and began to run up the lane away from him.

“Jo!” Nick called angrily. “Come back here! What’s the matter?”

But she took no notice. After hurling herself at the gate, she scrambled over it, staring up the steep grass slope in front of her. Far above their heads she could hear the lonely scream of a circling buzzard.

Nick vaulted over behind her. “Jo, wait!”

But she had begun to run, shaking her hair out of her eyes, her heart thumping in her chest as she forced herself as fast as she could up the steep ridged grass with its scattering of sheep droppings.

Nick stood for a moment watching her. His good humor vanished, he made himself take a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden wave of anger that had gripped him. In front of him Jo had stopped again. She turned, gasping for breath, staring down at him from the slope, and he could see the fear in her eyes.

Behind her the mist was drifting down across the mountain. A patch of sunlight dimmed and disappeared. It was becoming oppressively hot again. There was no breath of wind.

Slowly he began to follow her upward.


***

Jo reached the earthworks first and stood panting, staring around her at the piles of fallen abandoned stones and the ditch and ramparts of the Celtic fortress, high on its hill amid the encircling mountains. The mist was growing thicker. Blind with panic, she whirled as a quiet rumble of thunder echoed round the Wye Valley in the distance.

Nick had stopped several feet from her, breathing heavily from the climb. He was watching her with a strange half smile.

“Don’t run anymore, Jo,” he said quietly. “There’s no point.”

She could feel the blood pounding in her temples as she took a few staggering steps backward, her hands held out in front of her.

Nick…help…me…

She wanted to call out to him. To Nick. Not the other man, to Nick. But the words would not come, trapped ringing in her head by the mist and the silence and by Nick’s strange implacable smile as he began to follow her again.

Turning, she started to run once more, stumbling down the steep bank of a ditch. Around her the hills closed in; the mist lapped against the grass and once more there was a rumble of thunder in the east.

Dear God, she had been here before. This place she recognized; it came into her story and was indelibly etched upon her memory.

It must not happen here. Not in front of Nick-not now, not bring her helplessly to her knees alone here, with a man who hated her-

“Jo! Stop, for God’s sake-” His voice was irritated now. “ Jo-Jo, come back… ” It was echoing slightly in the eerie silence of the hills. “Jo…”

26

A visitor was announced as Matilda stood running her eyes down a list of accounts. She was alarmed and astonished to see the king’s brother, whom she thought to be at Gloucester with William. John was bare-headed, his color heightened from the gallop through the chilly morning.

“How is the gracious Lady Matilda this fine day?” the prince inquired with a mocking bow.

“I am honored that you should come to Hay, Your Highness. I am well.” Her voice was guarded and her hands, clasped before her, were unconsciously plaiting her girdle. She saw his eyes running down the line of her body, ever insolent, the pupils hooded by lazy eyelids.

“Good. I’ve come, my lady, from Hereford. No doubt you are aware that my brother, the king, commanded me to demand homage from the princes in Wales.” He stopped. “But of course, your daughter is married to one of them, is she not?” He smiled coolly. “Have you news of her, perhaps?”

Matilda paled and looked away. Since her worst nightmares had been realized and Gruffyd had joined his father in revolt against King Richard, there had been no news of Tilda.

“Nothing, Your Highness,” she replied firmly.

John frowned, as if suddenly aware of her distress. “She is safe, I am sure, Lady Matilda,” he said more gently. “I shall, if you wish, send messengers to inquire.” He smiled amiably as she turned to face him, her eyes alive with hope. “But for now, my lady, I had in mind to visit one of the castles in your husband’s holding, Dinas, somewhere to the west in the Black Mountains.” John took a cup of wine handed to him by a servant and drank it in a gulp. “I hear too that it has a magic spring, blessed with powers of healing.”

Matilda thought rapidly. “The building there is finished, I believe. I haven’t been there yet, my lord, and I have heard the spring has certain wonderful properties. Surely you do not need such magic, Your Highness?” She couldn’t resist the last question, but immediately regretted it, as his good humor vanished and his face became surly.

“I am interested in such places.” He was silent for a moment, the empty goblet dangling from his fingers, his eyes fixed on the wall somewhere behind her. “You have heard, I suppose,” he went on suddenly, “that my brother, the king, refuses to come and meet Lord Rhys at Oxford? I pacify the Welsh princes for him, they agree not to fight while the king is away on his crusade, and I get Rhys to come with me to pay homage to Richard. But Richard is too high and mighty to come halfway to meet him at Oxford as our father would have done.” He held out his goblet for more wine. “Lord Rhys, with all the exquisite touchiness of the Welsh, has decided now that he has been mortally insulted and he refuses to meet my brother or his envoys at all.” John drew his hand impatiently across his brow. “God’s teeth, you can’t say I haven’t tried.” He was silent again for a moment, then, his black mood passing as swiftly as it had come, he grinned at her again. “So you see, I have given myself a few hours to rid myself of my frustrations, madam.”

Matilda tried to force a smile. “I am sure I can find men to guide you into the mountains, my lord, and an escort.”

“I have an escort.” He gestured impatiently. “I need a guide and I should like you to accompany me, Lady Matilda. It is unthinkable that you have not yet visited the castle yourself. It is a duty I am sure Sir William would expect of his wife. He sends you greetings, by the way. He chose to visit Wigmore on his return to his estates. He will be back soon enough, no doubt.” He threw himself into a chair and rested his ankle casually across his knee, his mocking look once more upon her. “I hear you ride with the courage of a man, madam, so I am sure you wouldn’t refuse to come with me on such a small adventure.”