A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [186]
“This is not wrong. You know it. Now you have to know that you can trust me, too.” I laced my fingers through his and gave him time to think. But I didn’t let go.
“I’ll take you hunting,” Matthew said at last, “provided you don’t come near me and don’t get down from Rakasa’s back. If you get so much as a hint that I’m looking at you—that I’m even thinking about you—turn around and ride straight home to Marthe.”
The decision made, Matthew stalked downstairs, waiting patiently each time he realized I was lagging behind. As he breezed past the door of the salon, Ysabeau rose from her seat.
“Come on,” he said tightly, gripping my elbow and steering me downstairs.
Ysabeau was only a few feet behind us by the time we reached the kitchens, where Marthe stood in the doorway to the cold-foods larder, eyeing Matthew and me as if watching the latest drama on afternoon television. Neither needed to be told that something was wrong.
“I don’t know when we’ll be back,” Matthew shot over his shoulder. His fingers didn’t loosen, and he gave me no opportunity to do more than turn toward her with an apologetic face and mouth the word “Sorry.”
“Elle a plus de courage que j’ai pensé,” Ysabeau murmured to Marthe.
Matthew stopped abruptly, his lip curled in an unpleasant snarl.
“Yes, Mother. Diana has more courage than we deserve, you and I. And if you ever test that again, it will be the last time you see either of us. Understood?”
“Of course, Matthew,” Ysabeau murmured. It was her favorite noncommittal response.
Matthew didn’t speak to me on the way to the stables. Half a dozen times, he looked as though he were going to turn around and march us back to the château. At the stable door, he gripped my shoulders, searching my face and body for signs of fear. My chin went up in the air.
“Shall we?” I motioned toward the paddock.
He made a sound of exasperation and shouted for Georges. Balthasar bellowed in response and caught the apple that I tossed in his direction. Mercifully, I didn’t need any help getting my boots on, though it did take me longer than it took Matthew. He watched carefully as I did up the vest’s fastenings and snapped the chin strap on the helmet.
“Take this,” he said, handing me a cropped whip.
“I don’t need it.”
“You’ll take the crop, Diana.”
I took it, resolved to ditch it in the brush at the first opportunity.
“And if you toss it aside when we enter the forest, we’re coming home.”
Did he really think I would use the crop on him? I shoved it into my boot, the handle sticking out by my knee, and stomped out into the paddock.
The horses skittered nervously when we came into view. Like Ysabeau, both knew that something was wrong. Rakasa took the apple I owed her, and I ran my fingers over her flesh and spoke to her softly in an effort to soothe her. Matthew didn’t bother with Dahr. He was all business, checking the horse’s tack with lightning speed. When I’d finished, Matthew tossed me onto Rakasa’s back. His hands were firm around my waist, but he didn’t hold on a moment longer than necessary. He didn’t want any more of my scent on him.
In the forest Matthew made sure the crop was still in my boot.
“Your right stirrup needs shortening,” he pointed out after we had the horses trotting. He wanted my tack in racing trim in case I needed to make a run for it. I pulled Rakasa in with a scowl and adjusted the stirrup leathers.
The now-familiar field opened up in front of me, and Matthew sniffed the air. He grabbed Rakasa’s reins and brought me to a halt. He was still black with anger.
“There’s a rabbit over there.” Matthew nodded to the western section of the field.
“I’ve done rabbit,” I said calmly. “And marmot, and goat, and a doe.”
Matthew swore. It was concise and comprehensive, and I hoped we were out of the range of Ysabeau’s keen ears.
“The phrase is ‘cut to the chase,’ is it not?”
“I don’t hunt deer like my mother does, by frightening it to death and pouncing on it. I can kill a rabbit for you, or even a goat. But I’m not stalking a deer while you