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“I wrote that willingly,” she said indignantly. Admittedly, with a shaking hand for she felt a little grief for Geoffrey. However, once the letter was dispatched, she had forgotten all about it.
“We must leave through the forest.” He hurtled down the steep path.
“For God’s sake, let me sit before you.”
He halted the steed. “You’ll not jump off?”
She hesitated. She had all intention of escaping his jealous clutches, but since she was only wearing a night robe, and nothing beneath, she had little option to stay put until she judged it safe to dismount and find help.
He helped her up, and she settled on the front of the saddle, with her legs on one side. Her slippers were soaked but had managed to stay on. Infuriated by Geoffrey’s silly plot to remove her from Gervais, she held her head high, and tried to persuade Geoffrey to release her.
“This will end badly for you, Geoffrey. My lord is a great warrior, and he will not rest until he has me back.”
Geoffrey directed the horse not toward the road that would take him home, but the forest path and the densely packed foliage. It was the slowest way, and the hardest to track especially away from the path. Geoffrey had chosen it for a purpose, or so he thought.
“He’ll not find me in here. He is a terrible huntsman. He rides at the back, picking off the easy kills, bored and useless.” Geoffrey laughed heartedly.
Gervais was not a typical hunter. Matilda smirked to herself finding humour in a private, unspoken joke. If only Geoffrey knew the truth, she thought, he might give up his foolhardy plan, but she stayed quiet. She must not hint at Gervais’s innate hunting skills and reveal his secret.
“He rescued you when you fell, you stupid knave,” she retorted, and ducked her head under a low branch. “This forest is his; do you not think he knows his way through it?”
“Maybe, but he’s asleep. So are all the castle folk. Drunk and sleeping. I shunned the beer and kept my wits, watching you with that other pretty woman, talking the night away. My head has been burning hot with an angry fire since he took you from me. How many times has he defiled you? He did last night, did he not, forced himself upon you, and I saw you emerge, ravaged and weak, ready for my protective embrace.”
She clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists. Geoffrey’s fertile imagination had gone too far. The story he was concocting was so set in his mind, she doubted she could budge it.
“And if he had, then by law I am his. My virginity I gave him, my soul and heart, too. You will suffer for this, Geoffrey. Please, let me go, and I shall say nothing. I shall say I went for an early morning walk, and that I got lost. He will not question that.”
Geoffrey’s stiff body refused to yield, and she remained trapped between his straight arms, the horse beneath her trotting heavily in the ruts of the path, which rose into the highest parts of the forest, away from the gullies. It did not matter where they went because the trees shadowed everything, leaving the forest floor dark and the sky hidden. The early sunlight was lost, too low to penetrate. It would be an hour or so before the forest was comfortably bright. She had to slow him down so that she could run.
“Please, Geoffrey. I am thirsty, can we not stop, and I need to... relieve myself.” She rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. The gesture caught his attention, and he relaxed a fraction, so she stroked his leg.
“Very well.” He drew the horse up and swung out of the saddle, then he helped her down.
She wrapped her robe tight around her body and surveyed the small grove. There was some light, enough for her to see that she was surrounded by thickets and impenetrable brambles. It was no use; she could not make her escape here.
“There’s a stream nearby, I can hear it. I ca
n bathe and drink.” She pointed further up the path they were following.
Geoffrey pursed his lips. “I hear nothing. I have a flask.” He fetched the sealed bottle and offered it to her.
She swallowed greedily, for she was thirsty. “I’m hungry too.”
He sighed and retrieved the loaf he had stolen. Tearing off a chunk, he handed it to her. “There, you see, I can provide for you.”
“With my dowry,” she reminded him.
He scowled. “It’s not the reason; I want you to be mine, and you know it.”
She chewed a morsel; she wasn’t hungry, she felt sick at heart. The young knight deserved a loving wife. “I believe you, but hearts can change, and mine has. Gervais is the man to match my passions. I fear yours, although strong and true, are not beating to the same rhythm as mine.”
He shook his head. “He’s corrupted you. That’s your problem, Tilda, men corrupt you. First that priest, now Baliol. He’s spent too long in bad company. I, you know, am an educated man from good stock.”
She smiled sweetly. “You are,” she agreed wholeheartedly. “But I am not. I am a wicked girl, who likes to be corrupted, and you will find me a handful. And it will make you mad trying to tame me. I fear you will end up shunning me rather than do battle with my wits. I can be quite cunning, facile, and devilish.”
He ran his finger down her cheek. “Not you, Tilda. That is what others think of you, I don’t.”
She crushed the soft flesh of the bread in her hand. It was no use trying to argue with him. However, he need not know he was defeated. “Let’s go, then. For it’s a long ride.”
