“No hunting today?”
“Is that why you’ve come?” she replied, glad for the distraction—yet a little confused. Why was he here? Then she looked Hecate, who hadn’t flown in two days because of Judith’s trip. “Her weight is down,” she said thoughtfully. “She hasn’t started molting yet. Do you wish to hunt?” She tried to keep the eagerness from her voice, but likely didn’t succeed. Yesterday had been an unhappy day, attending to the death of her man Piall as well as the loss of Crusty. A hunt would be an excellent diversion.
“Na—” Malcolm began, then seemed to change his mind. “Aye. ’Twas not the reason I came, but I could hunt.” He shrugged easily, but his eyes lingered on Judith long enough that her insides gave another little flutter.
Pleased at this turn of events—but uncertain as to precisely why—she immediately began to make preparations, leaving the raptors in the mews while she did so. The supplies and tools she and Tessing used were in an adjoining room so as not to distract the falcons.
“The eyases I took from the nest are doing well,” she told Malcolm, pulling on the heavy glove she wore over the fist where Hecate was trained to sit. “But ’twill be some time before we determine whether they’ll suit for hunting. They still have their baby down, and to be taken from the nest so young, they may learn to screech. But if I had left them there, they surely would have died.”
“Screech?” he asked, watching her as she tied the jesses to her glove.
“When a human comes near. ’Tis a bad habit, and makes for difficulty in training them if they screech and cry whenever a man—or woman—is about. So we leave them alone as much as possible, only visiting to quickly feed them two or three times per day. When they get their adult feathers, they can learn to fly freely, going out of the hack house and coming back for food. For we know they’ll return to their nest.”
“Until they become older and stronger. And then one must take the time to man them.”
“Aye,” she said, her cheeks warming. Babble on, my lady. “Mayhap you’ve trained falcons afore?”
“Nay.” His lips curved in something like a smile. “’Twas a guess gleaned from other conversation. I hunt with raptors, but I have ne’er trained one. I’ll call for Gambert. He’ll accompany us.” He went to leave, then paused. “Shall I arrange a mount for you, my lady?”
Judith’s heart gave a pang over the reminder of Crusty but she nodded. “Aye. I shall have Hecate ready to go in a moment. Shall I bring a falcon for you, my lord?”
“Nay. ’Tis enough to watch your bird.”
Though the day wasn’t brilliantly sunny, there was no sign of rain as they rode out several minutes later. Wispy clouds streaked a light blue sky, and a gentle breeze ruffled the rich green meadow grass. A hooded Hecate was settled on Judith’s leather-covered fist. She rode along next to Malcolm and Sir Nevril, along with Sir Holbert, who also had a falcon on his hand, and they discussed the imminent hunt. Gambert followed close behind.
Not far from the walls of Clarendon, they rode down a gentle slope into the field bordered by a stand of trees. After they halted the horses, Malcolm dismounted and offered Judith his assistance. She slid to the ground so smoothly Hecate hardly ruffled a feather.
When Judith removed the leather hood to reveal the new surroundings, Hecate bated. But her mistress was prepared, holding her fist far from her body, and the falcon’s wings flapped harmlessly while she remained on her perch.
“The hood is a new fashion,” Judith told Malcolm. “We’ve been using them only for two summers now, but ’tis a wonderful invention. Tessing learned about it when he met a falconer who’d been in the Holy Land. Apparently, they have been using hoods for many centuries in the Far East. It keeps the bird calm, as you have surely noted, even whilst riding to the hunt.”
“She seems eager,” Mal said. “And strong. What will she take, do you think?”
Judith couldn’t hold back a smile of pride. “She’s taken a partridge in the past, but as she is still recovering from an injury to her leg, I would be pleased with a fat hare.”
“Do you not allow your maid to hear you say that,” spoke up Nevril. “My lady,” he added hastily, looking utterly abashed. With a glance at Malcolm, he pulled at his forelock and gave a brief bow. “My apologies.”
But Judith wasn’t insulted. “You know my maid, Sir Nevril? I was not aware of it. How know you Tabby?”
“Aye, my lady,” the man replied, taking obvious care with his speech this time. She noticed the red line of an old scar along his jaw, from beard into the edge of his hair. “I came to know her on the day you went missing. She was protecting a rabbit in the meadow and I came upon her—”
“Ah! So ’twas you who ruined my maid’s day,” Judith interrupted, laughing merrily. “I trow you rue the day you crossed paths with Tabatha, then, Sir Nevril.”
“Nay,” he replied. “She is a pretty wench, despite her sharp and loose tongue.”
“I cannot imagine where she might have learned such,” Malcolm muttered.
Judith swore she heard Sir Holbert choke back a chuckle, but when she turned to look at him, he was innocently adjusting his mount’s bridle, his face studiously blank of emotion. “Indeed,” was all she said, still watching her master-at-arms. “Well, Sir Nevril, her loose tongue had plenty to say on you.”
“I am not surprised. What is her arrangement with the marshal Bruin?” he asked, to her surprise. “Are they wed or betrothed?”
“Nay,” Judith replied, now becoming more thoughtful. “But do you not look in her direction, Sir Nevril. For you must return to Warwick, and I, like the queen, shall never allow my serving woman to leave me. Although…if you were set on the maid, mayhap your lord would be less rigid.” She cast Malcolm a teasing glance.
“Ah, my lady, I did not look at the wench so very closely. ’Twas a simple question is all,” he said quickly. But Judith noticed he kept his gaze averted from his master.
“Very well, then,” she said. “Let us hunt!”
They had no dogs with them to roust out any prey, but Gambert offered to ride about in the meadow and act the part.
“First you scheme to keep my master-at-arms here at Clarendon, and now my squire is becoming a hound,” Mal said dryly to Judith. “Mayhap this hunt wasn’t my best decision.”
She laughed up at him, catching herself from touching his arm just in time. He’s not Hugh, she had to remind herself. Not as loose or informal. But she surely enjoyed his company.
He was looking at her when she laughed, and their eyes met for a moment. His gaze was intense and warm, surprising her—and Judith’s mouth went dry. Her insides flushed with a sudden heat and she felt her heart trip a little.
Then abruptly he looked away. “Well, lady, shall we hunt or nay?”
A little unsettled by her strong reaction to Malcolm, Judith turned her attention to Gambert. He was galloping across the field in zig-zag formation as if he never wished to stop. Holbert helped her untie Hecate’s jesses, which was difficult to do with one hand.
Then she looked at Hecate and said, “Off!” She thrust her hand high and her falcon pushed up into the air. She felt the gentle dig from the raptor’s claws from the effort, thankful for the thick glove to protect her from being footed. She had enough scars on her other hand from irritated falcons.
“I never tire of watching them soar,” she murmured, looking up as her raptor circled the meadow, fast and high and free. And then without warning, Hecate dived. “Hie!” Judith cried, straining to see what had been flushed out. “A quail!”
Without being asked, Malcolm slung her back into her saddle and she kicked off, riding toward the bird and its prey. The others followed, and by the time she reached the area where Hecate had snatched at the quail, Mal was on Judith’s tail.
She dismounted quickly and whistled for her bird, who returned promptly to her fist. Judith took the piece of raw meat Holbert had readied for her, giving it to Hecate as a reward for her catch. The raptor must be rewarded immediately after catching its prey, or on the next time, the bird might eat it before Judith could be there.
They hunted for another hour, with Hecate finding a small rabbit, and Holbert’s falcon snatching up a squirrel and a vole.
“’Tis time to return, I trow,” Mal said, squinting up at the sun. “It has been a good hunt, my lady.”
“Aye,” she replied, herself satisfied with the results. And the company. She cast him a look, acutely aware of the constant awareness she had of him. It was so different from how she felt around Hugh, when she teased and flirted. With Hugh, it was naught more than a way to pass time. But it was different with this sober man.
As they rode back, she and Mal led the way and the others fell behind. At first, they trotted along in silence. But after a short time, Judith’s curiosity got the better of her.
“And so…if you did not mean to hunt,” she asked as they neared the walls of Clarendon, “what brought you to the mews this morrow?”
He looked straight ahead. “I merely thought to see how your injuries were. And to share my sorrow over the loss of your mare.”
“Ah. Thank you,” she replied. They rode in silence for a moment, then, ready to think about aught other than the loss of Crusty and Piall, Judith said, “I bethought you might wish to compare my list of potential wives to that of the queen’s.” When he looked at her, startled, she added cheekily, “Beatrice of Delbring? Truly?”
Malcolm didn’t seem to know how to respond, for his face was filled with consternation and his cheeks turned ruddy.
“The queen—and I—believe you could make a better match. And although her majesty has included Gladys of Darvington and Winifred d’Alsineaux on her list of candidates, you have already been warned away from them by me, have you not? I cannot imagine you wishing to face either of them at table day after day for years, for they are both miserable and unhappy women.”
