The hall was dark-it was well past midnight-and he wended his way back toward the chamber set aside for several of the nobles such as himself.
Reginald D'Orrais. . . 't could be worse, had the king leaned toward Kilharten, or any of the other lascivious or stupid men who made up the court. At the least, D'Orrais was gentle with his horses-something that was a sure indication of his propensity toward others. And he was not stone dumb.
Madelyne appeared to have some fondness for the man. He seemed always to be at her side. . . and had even escorted her to her chamber on two occasions, as Jube and Rohan had reported. Gavin supposed he would be considered handsome to a young maid such as Madelyne-most especially to one who had had little interaction with men due to her days in the abbey.
He rounded the last corner, thinking little about where he was going, but focusing his attention on what could be wrong with D'Orrais-and why he would not be a prime choice for Madelyne-and hurtled straight into a warm, soft person.
"Lord Gavin," murmured a familiar voice. "What a pleasant surprise. "
"Therese?" he responded, refocusing his thoughts. "What are you doing out of your chamber at such an hour?"
She placed her hand on his arm, smoothing it up toward his shoulder. "I had hoped you would return this evening that we might have some moments to. . . talk. "
"Talk?" Gavin repeated in confusion. Then, her very insistent hand moved over his chest and, tugging his arm, propelled him toward her.
"Nay, you are correct. Talk is not what I would prefer from you," she murmured, pressing her lips against his.
It was a testament to his confusion and distraction that Gavin did not feel the weight of the eyes staring from behind him as Therese pulled him into a dark alcove.
"There! 'Tis off through that underbrush!"
Gavin bent low over Rule's neck as the destrier thrashed through bushes and bramble in the wake of the dogs and a wild boar that was now their quarry. Thomas's mount nosed up beside his, and he could hear the crashing of the others just behind them.
Gripping his lance tightly, Gavin shouted, "I'm to the left!" and Rule veered off toward that direction in response to the pressure of his thighs. A low-hanging branch whipped toward him, and Gavin ducked in time to feel only the scrape of twigs over his bare head. Wearing a helm during a hunt was uncomfortable, but distaining one left a man vulnerable to being toppled from a mount or having a scratched face.
Gavin rose slightly in his saddle as Rule pounded through the wood, the stallion relishing the chase as much as his master. The baying of the hounds echoed shrilly in the air, and he saw the dark rump of the boar as it leapt over a small creek.
Some of the others in the party had split off to follow Gavin, while the main group continued on in the boar's path. "There! Again!" shouted Lord Ferrell, coming up from behind.
"Aye!" Gavin gave a short wave, bending low in the saddle, and feeling the exhilaration surge through him. Even if he didn't get a shot at the boar, the thrill of the ride and the wild danger was enough to satisfy him.
Ferrell's horse took a leap over a small bush and dashed ahead of Gavin and Rule, its rider throwing a white-toothed grin as they passed. "First!" he called back, letting Gavin know th
at he would take the initial shot and his friend should be prepared to follow with a second.
"Go!" Gavin shouted. He didn't need to kick Rule to urge the horse faster. They were bounding over fallen trees and between thin saplings at breakneck speed. Green and brown blurs passed on each side, broken only by splashes of bright sunshine where it streamed down into the forest in erratic patterns.
The hunt was dangerous-most especially for those in the lead, and even more so when it was a cornered boar they sought. Riding at top speed, dodging the pitfalls of a forest, and clutching a lance at the same time made it as hazardous as fighting a battle. The boar itself could be erratic and fast, and Gavin had seen more than one fatal swipe of a horn gouge man, horse, or dog.
The cry of the hounds grew more urgent, and he knew that the boar had been cornered. Shifting his lance, Gavin stood again in his saddle as Rule careened toward the noise and the scent of fear.
Just as Rule, nostrils flaring and breath streaming in hard pants that matched Gavin's own zeal, leapt over a fallen log, Gavin felt his left leg give way. In an instant, the world tilted and he was falling, rolling, crashing, out of control. A shout registered in his tumbled mind, pain seared along the shoulder and arm on which he'd landed, and a high-pitched squeal that meant danger to his ears shocked him to continue rolling back to his feet.
Dizzy, out of breath, Gavin groped for support at the log over which Rule had leapt and found himself facing a red-eyed, well-horned black boar. His fingers closed reflexively, but the lance was long gone during his tumble, and the boar was already charging.
Shouts and the thudding of hooves penetrated his mind as Gavin reached for a heavy stick. He swung at the tiny-eyed, black-bristled face as it barreled toward him. He connected with the flat nose that was close enough he could see water dripping from it, and an enraged squeal rent the air as Gavin stumbled away from its flailing hooves and overpowering stench.
Just as he hauled himself upright, another shout and a shriek of rage echoed in the clearing. . . followed by a second shriek that became almost a moan at the end. Thomas rode up at that moment, tossing Rule's reins to Gavin. "Are you hurt?" he asked as his friend heaved into the saddle.
"Nay," Gavin replied, breathless, as he gathered his wits about him enough to look at the scene before him. The boar lay on his side, shuddering its last breath, with three lances piercing its hide. The dogs sniffed eagerly, and were being called back by the masters even as the hunters clustered in more closely.
"What a fall!" Ferrell loped over on his mount. "What happened?"
Gavin suddenly remembered and slid off his saddle. "I felt the stirrup give way as Rule jumped," he told them, and held up the broken leather stirrup. "If I had not been standing for the leap, I'd likely have kept my seat," he frowned. "But it could not have broken on its own. "
"Could you have sliced it with your lance?" asked Lord Michael d'Gloetherin.
"What fool do you think I am?" he snapped, suddenly feeling the pain in his shoulder and arm. "I manage my weapons and would not make such a foolish mistake. And, if I'd been so careless, or someone else had been close enough to be so, would not Rule have been cut as well?"