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Chapter Thirty-Seven
The hunt was on.
At midday, the falcons were back on their perches, their task complete—two pigeons and a wood fowl were trussed together on Lionel’s saddle. What followed the daily ritual of hawking was a ride in the forest.
Gervais always gave her a decent head start. She rode her palfrey to the highest point of the forest, then dismounted and set off on foot.
This was not the hunt of a Zalim. She wasn’t bare fleshed or scrambling desperately in any direction. She chose a path, picked wildflowers, and avoided the stinging nettles. The embracing cloak was thick enough to fight off the brambles and her shoes suitable for wet grass. She kicked a few pinecones and hummed to herself.
Gervais never took long to find her. He too dismounted, and carrying his bow, just in case he spotted a good-sized rabbit or an angry boar, he tracked her. Usually he found her by a babbling brook or under the shade of a large oak. There, he would lay his cloak on the ground, unstop his flask, and offer her a drink. They would talk a while on matters that most lords and ladies discussed: food supplies, taxes, and holes in the roof. When the business was completed, she lay on the cloak and closed her eyes. The sounds of the forest danced around them: birds singing, leaves rustling tunelessly.
She waited, and presently, he lay next to her, his hand surrounding hers.
The Zalim was still there, always. But Gervais’s contentment no longer came from wild hunts and debauched couplings in the undergrowth. In tune with her needs, he practised a different kind of lovemaking, one that suited them both, and it had borne fruit. She was with child.
“So, little bird,” he said, “shall we dally here a while longer, or return to the feverish castle?”
The bells had rung out that morning with the news, and the folk were already making merry. The marriage was a great success, according to everyone she entertained. She was well-liked by all, including the servants, who considered her kind, if occasionally a little petulant. Gervais dealt with such matters briskly and she respected his judgement.
She pondered his question. The sun was warm and the air fresh—what could be better for what grew inside her belly?
“Let’s stay here, just until the sun dips lower.”
He squeezed her hand gently and caressed it with his thumb.
“And then we’ll hunt again?”
“Yes, my lord. We’ll hunt again.”
The End
