Ann of Cambray by Mary Lide Page B

no time for more. I felt him nod and tense at the same time. For the boar had come clear out; the hounds closed about it but it thrust them aside in a welter of blood. Now it was upon us, foam flying, tusks spread. I felt Raoul bend, the flimsy stick in his hand thrust upwards. My hands were about it, too—we held it loosely so it would run full tilt. Raoul had leaped to one side. The great mouth and hot breath and tusks were on me. The wooden stave sunk deep into its chest so that gouts of blood flared up. The butt of the wood held firm against the tree. Then my hands were torn off. Men rushed to jerk me aside. I saw a long knife flash once, twice. There were other men, dogs snarling, more blood, and the sun full in my eyes.
    ‘A kill, a kill, my lord,’ they were all shouting. The clearing was suddenly full of horses and people. Under a tree, a great bulk jerked and heaved but could not rise.
    ‘By the Rood, lady,’ Lord Raoul said, pleasantly enough, although his breath came in great gasps and his face was pale. ‘You held that reed like a huntsman born. I drink to your health.’
    He was smiling, his face streaked with sweat and dirt, but his eyes were cold, unsmiling.
    ‘God’s wounds, wench,’ he glinted at me, so none could hear. ‘What fool’s trick is this?’
    I dropped him a curtsy with trembling limbs that would scarce let me stand.
    ‘My thanks to your lordship,’ I said. ‘I did but ride with you as you bade.’
    ‘We must hunt these woods more often,’ he was saying. To me, ‘Who set you on such a steed? Who bade you ride so far ahead?’
    ‘It was my pleasure, my lord,’ I said, still aloud.
    ‘Will you seek death before them all?’ he said to me. ‘Keep your voice down. What folly made you take such risks?’
    ‘I did but take what is my own,’ I said, with a coolness I was far from feeling.
    ‘Your own!’ he said, his voice breaking with rage. He moved closer, wiping his sleeve across his face so that the words came muffled. ‘Then for your life, which you hold so cheap, do you mount another horse to ride back with me. I will take that one, with or without your leave.’
    He lifted up the wine they had given him and faced the others.
    ‘Ride on,’ he said. ‘The Lady Ann wearies of the sport. Change me that horse there, ho. Thank God that although she is slow at drawing sword, she can pluck forth dagger in haste.’
    There was a flurry of laughter, easing the tension as he doubtless intended. One of his men helped me to another horse, the grey was brought round, and Lord Raoul swung himself upon it. I marked how it stood for him as I could never make it. And saw for the first time the gash from his hip to his knee, running red.
    He raised one hand in salute, gathered up his reins and mine with the other, and urged us out of the clearing, taking the fastest way back to Sedgemont. Behind us his guard scrambled for their own horses. The rest of the hunt waited, chattering and curious.
    ‘I can ride without help, my lord,’ I said furiously, the more so that I was not sure I could, for I still trembled so. I was forced to hang on to the saddle, or be bounced out of it. Presently, when the castle came into view and we entered the home meadows, he dropped back to a walk and I could catch my breath. Only then did I venture to say what was most on my mind, although it galled to acknowledge it.
    ‘I have not thanked you, my lord, for my life.’
    ‘Thank me not,’ he snarled. ‘Save the thanks that I did not give way to my first impulse and let you be run through. Then would I be rid of much trouble.’
    ‘You speak unjustly, my lord,’ I said. ‘What have I done so amiss? I did but ride my horse. And if you had given me word what game we hunted, I should have kept well out of its way.’
    ‘Or look to be thrust through with a thistle,’ he snarled again. ‘Or be trampled at a fence or drowned at a ditch. Ill luck favours you, lady. Did you not