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“My lord, this is most un—”
He smacked her raised bottom with such a heavy hand, the sting of it travelled through her skirts and onto her unsuspecting bottom. She howled and kicked.
“There.” And with the same speed, he turned her about and sat her on his lap.
She panted, aghast. “That’s it?”
“You want more?” His eyes twinkled.
“No, I mean, of course not...” She hung her head. “Naturally, it’s not for me to say, is it.”
“You’re mumbling.”
She cleared her throat. “I thought you were with another woman, that’s my justification for intruding.”
“So not only did you venture into my room unwelcomed, you accuse me of adulterating my bed?” He tapped her chin. “Matilda,” he said sternly.
“It was on my mind. But not now,” she added hastily.
“A falsely accused lord is permitted to seek atonement. It is a serious accusation you make, my girl.” He rested his hand on her knee, ruffling the skirts with his fingertips.
“It is.” She risked much, for now she knew he was infected with a beast, she courted both man and it whenever she stoked his fires. But she was desperate for his attention. She recalled his member, the size and potency, and she didn’t fear it, as she had done last night. Now, with him roused beneath her bottom, she yearned for it.
“I shall not punish you now. For it is my time to hunt... and be assured, I only hunt the creatures of the forest, and it is necessary. You understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” A little hunt was probably a poor substitute for what he craved, but now she understood why he ventured out every day.
“Later, we’ll train Artemis and Diana.”
She smiled. “That pleases me.”
“And after supper, we shall retire. First to the tower, where I shall prove to you the dungeon is empty, then I shall punish your sweet arse as befits your wrongful accusation. And having atoned the man, you will meet the Zalim.”
She tensed. “Where?” In the Spartan tower? The perilous forest? Where would he seek what he claimed?
“In my chamber.” He laughed, and realising how foolish her imagination had become, she joined in heartily. “I suggest you take a nap. You’ll need plenty of energy for later.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
He drew his bow back and held the shaft steady against the string. The arrow aimed straight for the heart of the hare, a large buck. It fell, twitching, then still. Ivan bounded over and retrieved the corpse. Gervais slung it across the rump of his horse along with the rest of his takings. He wiped his brow, feeling the feverish heat, knowing it was nothing to do with sunshine or illness. He craved her each moment of the day, and worse during the night. Hunting barely touched the ache of that longing.
What he sought could not be found in the murky depths of a forest. No creature, however meek and mild, would slake him again. He turned his horse and left the woods, hoping that summer sun might lift his spirits. For though she had offered him the opportunity to prove himself worthy of her, he was gripped by the fear she would reject him at the last moment. One month was all he had to convince her he was in control of the ferocious thing that consumed his waking dreams. Was she as adaptable as she believed?
He thought back to their first encounter in the earl’s castle, how he had berated her for her rudeness and wondered if she was so haughty and selfish that she might not have the ability to change her ways. How quickly she had convinced him when placed in his care. For what he had witnessed with the boy Edgar was her true nature, and what she showed to her servants and dopey followers was an echo of what she might have become if left unschooled. Her mother, who had influenced Matilda’s early life, had been forgotten now that she was mad, and Lord Barre had entrusted the convent to complete the task his wife had begun, then abandoned. So who was at fault for Matilda’s bad habits? It had to be herself, which meant Gervais was justified in disciplining her, and would continue to do so until her new pattern of behaviour was fully established.
Heartened by his reasoning, he returned to the keep. After a brief luncheon, he greeted his betrothed with a smile, reminding her of the falcons waiting to be flown. She eagerly hurried to ready herself, and they collected their birds from the mews. With the falconer guarding the perches, she accepted Gervais’s offer to help her up into the saddle. She clucked her tongue impatiently at the groom fumbling with the stirrups. Then when Sara insisted she took a cloak because she believed a storm brewed, Matilda snatched it out of her maid’s hands.
“If you say so. I can’t see the reason for it,” Matilda huffed.
The humid heat was oppressive, and Sara was correct in her forecast—clouds would gather soon. Gervais privately rolled his eyes in disappointment: there were still moments when Matilda reverted to her lesser self.
“Boy.” She snapped her fingers at the groom. “Bring a flask of wine for me to take, and hurry up, snail-legs, we’re missing the day.”
“Gaston,” Gervais said sharply, “there is no need to bother. I have a flask already on my saddle. It will suffice for both of us.”
/> The boy bowed low and let go of the palfrey’s reins.
Under the shadow of the gatehouse they rode and it was at this point, in the dim light, he drew closer to her light-footed horse.
