The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [28]
Hugh de Martell did not move but he chuckled. ‘Did I startle you?’
‘I …’ She tried to get her breath. She could feel herself blush wildly. Her heart was palpitating. ‘Oh, mon Dieu. Yes.’
‘My apologies. I can move softly. I thought you were a thief at first, in this light.’ He still had not shifted. The space between them seemed only enough for a shadow.
She realized suddenly that she was only half dressed. What could she say? Her mind would not focus. ‘A battleaxe?’ It was the last word she seemed able to remember.
‘Yes. We Normans are all Vikings, after all. He was a big, red-headed man.’ He smiled. ‘I get my dark hair from my mother. She was from Brittany.’
‘Oh. I see.’ She saw nothing, except his leather jerkin and the sleeve of his long arm. She was aware, only, that there was a pause before he spoke.
‘You’re always exploring, aren’t you? First the Forest, now here. You have an adventurous spirit. That’s very Norman.’
She turned her face up towards his. He was smiling down at her. ‘Aren’t you adventurous?’ she asked. ‘Or perhaps you don’t need to be.’
His smile went, but he did not look angry, only thoughtful. He had understood her, of course: the settled manors, the rich wife; her little challenge to suggest he had lost his Viking ancestors’ spirit. ‘I’ve plenty to do, as you see,’ he answered quietly. There was a sense of calm authority, of power that emanated from him as he spoke the words.
‘I am put in my place,’ she replied.
‘I wonder where your place is.’ His look of amusement had returned. ‘Normandy? England?’
‘Here, I think.’
‘You are going to Winchester. That’s a good place to find a husband. So many people go there. Perhaps we shall see you again in this part of the country.’
‘Perhaps. Do you go to Winchester?’
‘Sometimes.’
He took a step back now. His eyes, she realized, had automatically taken all of her in. He was about to turn away. She wanted to say something, anything to keep him there. But what could she say? That he had married a rich woman unworthy of him? That he’d have been better with her? Where, where on God’s earth could anything between them possibly lead?
‘Come.’ He was offering to escort her out. Of course, she should go and dress herself properly. She did as he indicated, walking in front of him towards the light at the door. Only just before she reached it did she feel him take her hand, firmly raise it and brush it softly with his lips.
A courtly gesture in the shadow. Unexpected. She turned to him. Something like a pain seemed to stun her across the chest. For just a second she could not breathe. He bowed his head. Like a sleepwalker she went through the door into the bright world outside, almost blinded by the light. He had turned to lock the door. She walked on, not looking back, into the manor house.
The rest of the day passed quietly. Most of it she spent in the company of the Lady Maud. When she saw Hugh de Martell, he seemed polite but somewhat cold and aloof.
And when she and Walter parted from him the next morning to make their way to Winchester he remained formal and unapproachable. But at the top of the ridge she glanced back and saw his tall, dark figure, still watching after them until they passed out of sight.
Autumn comes with kindness to the Forest. The long light of summer slides into September; the spreading oaks are still green; the peaty humus of the heath retains a soft, seaside warmth; the air smells sweet and tangy.
In the world outside it is a mellow time. The harvest is done, the apples are ready to fall, the mists on the bare fields a damp reminder to men to gather in all they can as the sun begins its gradual recession towards the ending of the year.
But in the Forest nature takes a different form. This is the season when the oaks shed their green acorns and the forest floor is covered with their falling. Men like Pride turn out their pigs to eat the acorns and beech nuts – the mast as this feed is called. It is an ancient right, which even the