dive as she pulled out of descent, wings neatly folded. Towering sheer cliff walls of the nearby mountains echoed the impact of her hitting her quarry at full speed, a sharp cracking sound.
The falcon, Domini que knew, would stoop, or dive, toward the quarry, her spurs laying open for the prey. Then her talons would squeeze the weakened prey until it ceased to struggle.
Baldwyn's leonine head canted. "Do you hear her bell, my lady?”
Dominique stilled, listening for the sound of the bell attached to Reinette’s tail. The bell monitored both the falcon’s activity and location and could be heard more than half a league away, depending on the weather. She heard not the bell's tinkle but the faintest crushing of leaves underfoot.
At the rustling of underbrush directly behind them, both she and her retinue whirled. Paxton of Wychchester stepped into the leaf-shadowed glade. The guard John Bedford had saddled her with sheepishly sighed his relief. Baldwyn relaxed his vigilance. Her young cadger released his death grip on the cadge, her falcon's rectangular perch for field use.
She did not move. She knew neither she nor Paxton had forgotten the meeting of their wills and philosophies during the challenging conv ersation in her library days before. His education was extensive for that of a mere soldier.
His predatory gaze locked on her. She felt as though the two of them stood in empty space, beyond middle ground and solid objects. She could see he was experiencin g something unusual, also. His expression was that of a warrior who expected an attack— extreme alertness, registering everything that goes on around him without being distracted by it for an instant.
"You wi shed something, my Lord Lieutenant?” she got out at last, her tone like lye.
"Merely t o witness your expertise at falconry.”
Her lids narrowed. She was not certain if he ridiculed her. What was his purpose here? Her eye took note that the hunter's green of his tunic countered well his monotone coloring. All brown. The brown of his sun-and-wind weathered skin; his straight, short hair; his darker eyes. Brown, like winter grass. Brown, the absence of life. No, only the dormancy of life. Black was the absence of life. Black was the center of his eyes, and at that moment she was caught in his stare like a bird in hunter’s lime.
Pushing aside the brush, he entered the glade, and she noticed only then that his captain and Hugh followed upon his heels. “ I have had little opportunity to learn the sport, mistress.”
Still, he addressed her by that common term! "Naturally, for I am told the knaves of England are permitted only the useless kestrel with which to hunt."
Baldwyn flashed her a warning glance. The usually smiling John Bedford shifted nervously. Her gaze darted back to the lieutenant. His face had darkened, and the aura of his wrath was almost tangible. The forest sounds were muted by the moment.
"As you hav e quite clearly received an education, I would have imagined you have been taught Latin, mistress,” he said, his voice almost conversationally pleasant. "As such, you must be aware that in the Scriptures the word 'witch' is of the feminine gender, is it not?”
No idle observation but a warning, she knew.
The cacophony of the forest erupted again, with the falcon's bell tinkling wildly overall. She whirled and hurried in that direction— without asking permission to take her leave.
Twigs scratched her face, as she pushed deeper into the forest. The tinkling led her to a patch of dense sc rub oak. Softly, she called, "Reinette,” and the bird of prey fluttered from the underbrush to regain her outstretched fist. Her critical eye examined Reinette's plumage, damaged by the thickets.
"My Lady C ountess?” At her side, her cadger proffered from the falconry bag the jesses that secured the creature’s yellow-scaled gaiters.
Coming upon her, the others rejoined her as she def tly slipped the hood over Reinette. "What have you
The falcon, Domini que knew, would stoop, or dive, toward the quarry, her spurs laying open for the prey. Then her talons would squeeze the weakened prey until it ceased to struggle.
Baldwyn's leonine head canted. "Do you hear her bell, my lady?”
Dominique stilled, listening for the sound of the bell attached to Reinette’s tail. The bell monitored both the falcon’s activity and location and could be heard more than half a league away, depending on the weather. She heard not the bell's tinkle but the faintest crushing of leaves underfoot.
At the rustling of underbrush directly behind them, both she and her retinue whirled. Paxton of Wychchester stepped into the leaf-shadowed glade. The guard John Bedford had saddled her with sheepishly sighed his relief. Baldwyn relaxed his vigilance. Her young cadger released his death grip on the cadge, her falcon's rectangular perch for field use.
She did not move. She knew neither she nor Paxton had forgotten the meeting of their wills and philosophies during the challenging conv ersation in her library days before. His education was extensive for that of a mere soldier.
His predatory gaze locked on her. She felt as though the two of them stood in empty space, beyond middle ground and solid objects. She could see he was experiencin g something unusual, also. His expression was that of a warrior who expected an attack— extreme alertness, registering everything that goes on around him without being distracted by it for an instant.
"You wi shed something, my Lord Lieutenant?” she got out at last, her tone like lye.
"Merely t o witness your expertise at falconry.”
Her lids narrowed. She was not certain if he ridiculed her. What was his purpose here? Her eye took note that the hunter's green of his tunic countered well his monotone coloring. All brown. The brown of his sun-and-wind weathered skin; his straight, short hair; his darker eyes. Brown, like winter grass. Brown, the absence of life. No, only the dormancy of life. Black was the absence of life. Black was the center of his eyes, and at that moment she was caught in his stare like a bird in hunter’s lime.
Pushing aside the brush, he entered the glade, and she noticed only then that his captain and Hugh followed upon his heels. “ I have had little opportunity to learn the sport, mistress.”
Still, he addressed her by that common term! "Naturally, for I am told the knaves of England are permitted only the useless kestrel with which to hunt."
Baldwyn flashed her a warning glance. The usually smiling John Bedford shifted nervously. Her gaze darted back to the lieutenant. His face had darkened, and the aura of his wrath was almost tangible. The forest sounds were muted by the moment.
"As you hav e quite clearly received an education, I would have imagined you have been taught Latin, mistress,” he said, his voice almost conversationally pleasant. "As such, you must be aware that in the Scriptures the word 'witch' is of the feminine gender, is it not?”
No idle observation but a warning, she knew.
The cacophony of the forest erupted again, with the falcon's bell tinkling wildly overall. She whirled and hurried in that direction— without asking permission to take her leave.
Twigs scratched her face, as she pushed deeper into the forest. The tinkling led her to a patch of dense sc rub oak. Softly, she called, "Reinette,” and the bird of prey fluttered from the underbrush to regain her outstretched fist. Her critical eye examined Reinette's plumage, damaged by the thickets.
"My Lady C ountess?” At her side, her cadger proffered from the falconry bag the jesses that secured the creature’s yellow-scaled gaiters.
Coming upon her, the others rejoined her as she def tly slipped the hood over Reinette. "What have you
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