House of Shadows by Nicola Cornick Page B

made no attempt to entertain her or to chatter inconsequentially as so many courtiers did. Elizabeth wondered what it felt like to be him; to be so reckless of his personal safety that he would fight without reserve, without fear. It was no wonder that her sons admired him as a hero. They were uncomplicated boys, fired with the zeal to regain their inheritance. They wanted to be soldiers, understoodnothing of politics and cared even less. A man of such straightforward convictions as William Craven commanded their loyalty.
    ‘You have not yet told me the news from Munich,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I heard that my husband supped with the Duke of Bavaria.’
    ‘And wished you present, madam, to add beauty to the proceedings,’ Craven said.
    Elizabeth laughed. ‘Frederick’s words, I’ll wager, not yours, Lord Craven. You are not known for your courtly address.’
    ‘As to that, madam,’ Craven said, ‘I can vouch that there are no beauties in Bavaria other than the scenery.’
    They were still laughing when the first of the hunting party broke through the trees into the dappled clearing. Elizabeth felt a wilful urge to wheel her horse around and dig her heels into its flanks, leaving them standing. Then she saw Charles Louis, his expression hovering on the edge of mutiny at the prospect of his mother outrunning him again, so instead she reined back and allowed them to surround her, chattering, and rode forwards decorously out of the shadows and onto the open hill.
    From here there was a beautiful view of the little town of Rhenen, clinging to the hillside, and the curl of the river to the east. The sunlight twinkled on the gables of the hunting lodge Frederick had built, finished only the previous year. They’d had so little time to enjoy this place together before war had come again. Elizabeth felt a chill premonition that they never would.
    The servants were spreading out a meal on a plateau inthe shade of the trees. They scurried around unpacking boxes, setting rugs and cushions. There was glazed ham and pastries, roasted meats and red wine. Craven had gone to fetch a glass for her. She was about to dismount – Billingsley, her Master of the Horse, had come forwards to help her.
    ‘Why such a long face?’ she asked him, knowing full well it was because she had chosen to ride ahead with Craven leaving him to watch over the princes.
    Billingsley flushed. He did not have Craven’s easy way of responding to her comments, whether they were teasing or serious. He was too stiff and formal, conscious of his status and of hers too. She supposed William Craven ought to show a similar deference but he never did and she had given up expecting it of him. Besides, something about Craven’s uncomplicated approach was refreshing. He told her the truth as he saw it. He could be blunt, but he was never disrespectful.
    There was a sudden crashing sound of a branch falling and shouts from across the clearing where the Princes were playing hide and seek, climbing trees, their irrepressible high spirits toppling over into dangerous risk-taking. Elizabeth spun around in the saddle.
    ‘Don’t let them—’ she said to Billingsley, but it was too late, one of the trees was rotten. The falling branch had been a precursor and now the whole trunk shook and with a roaring sound like the tide rushing in it fell, the branches clashing together. Some fool screamed. Elizabeth’s horse took fright, rearing and taking her by surprise. She lost the reins and made a grab for the mane as the horse bolted, plunging back into the trees the way they had come.
    Elizabeth saw a jumbled vision of images flash past: Craven, running for his horse, Billingsley, his mouth hanging open in shock, the servants frozen to the spot, the boys pausing in their shrieks of excitement to stare after her in horror. Then all hell broke loose behind her with screams and shouts, but all she could do was cling on for dear life, crouched low as the trees whipped overhead and