the hawk and released him from his perch.
Ariel took him on her gloved wrist and secured the jesses. “I’ll be no more than an hour.” She went out into the yard, where the groom stood beside the roan mare and his own cob. The wolfhounds, looking very pleased with themselves, sat beside the horses, tongues lolling.
“I ought to lock you in the stables for the rest of the day,” she admonished them, but without much conviction. It was too late now to punish them. The groom helped her into the saddle; the hawk sat on her wrist, his hooded head to one side, his plumage slightly ruffled with the wind.
They trotted through the castle gates and over the drawbridge. The air was cold but clear, the sun bright in a cloudless sky, the road winding its way across the fens toward the distant spires of Cambridge.
Ariel shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked down the road. She could see only a trundling wagon. No sign of a belated bridegroom. She nudged her horse into a canter down to the riverbank, where she drew rein, unhooded the merlin, and held him up on her wrist to spy the land. A rook cawed from a copse a hundred yards away. A swift swooped low over the river, feeding on the wing. The hawk quivered. Ariel loosed the jesses, drew back her arm, and with an expert movement tossed the merlin into the air.
The earl of Hawkesmoor drew rein, looked up at the sun, and judged it to be close to eleven. The bulk of Ravenspeare Castile stood out against the skyline, no more than half an hour’s ride. Behind it rose the great octagon of Ely Cathedral.
“You’re in no hurry, Simon,” observed one of his companions. Ten men formed the cadre, ranged behind the earl of Hawkesmoor.
“I intend my arrival to be timed with precision, Jack,” Simon told him. “I’ve no desire to endure Ravenspeare hospitality a minute earlier than necessary.” This was why he was arriving only just in time to stand at the altar with Ariel Ravenspeare. Afterward he would remain for the month of wedding festivities. And while he was a guest at Ravenspeare Castle, he would have a chance to pursue some personal business. Maybe even the woman he sought.
But first things first. He nudged his horse forward along the causeway ridged with frost-hard mud. He had no mental picture of the girl who would be his bride an hour from now. He had asked for no description and none had been volunteered. If she was walleyed, crookbacked, clubfooted, doltish, it didn’t matter. He would marry her and he would remain faithful.
He glanced up at the pale blue sky to watch a soaring hawk. A plover rose from the reeds along the riverbank, then, as if alerted to the danger hovering above, swooped frantically, darting from side to side to avoid the killer now moving almost leisurely on its tail. Simon shaded his eyes and squinted upward.
“It’s a merlin,” Jack said. “No ordinary field hawk, that. Look at its flight.”
It was the most beautiful killing machine. It seemed to tease the desperate plover, hovering over it with its magnificent wingspan, before dipping lazily toward the little bird. The plover flew upward in response, but couldn’t maintain its height. It flew down, heading for the copse along the riverbank. The merlin plummeted with the force and accuracy of a lead bullet, its curved beak caught in a weak ray of sun. The plover was snatched from the air in the vicious curling talons, and the men on the road breathed again.
“Someone’s flying it along the river.” Jack pointed with his whip to where two figures sat their horses.
On impulse, Simon urged his horse into a canter, directing him off the causeway. The cadre followed him, cantering down to the riverside.
Ariel was watching Wizard. He was newly trained and had still been known to take off with his catch. So far this morning, he’d returned to her wrist, but she could sense that he was becoming impatient at handing over his well-earned prey. So intent was she on willing the merlin
Ariel took him on her gloved wrist and secured the jesses. “I’ll be no more than an hour.” She went out into the yard, where the groom stood beside the roan mare and his own cob. The wolfhounds, looking very pleased with themselves, sat beside the horses, tongues lolling.
“I ought to lock you in the stables for the rest of the day,” she admonished them, but without much conviction. It was too late now to punish them. The groom helped her into the saddle; the hawk sat on her wrist, his hooded head to one side, his plumage slightly ruffled with the wind.
They trotted through the castle gates and over the drawbridge. The air was cold but clear, the sun bright in a cloudless sky, the road winding its way across the fens toward the distant spires of Cambridge.
Ariel shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked down the road. She could see only a trundling wagon. No sign of a belated bridegroom. She nudged her horse into a canter down to the riverbank, where she drew rein, unhooded the merlin, and held him up on her wrist to spy the land. A rook cawed from a copse a hundred yards away. A swift swooped low over the river, feeding on the wing. The hawk quivered. Ariel loosed the jesses, drew back her arm, and with an expert movement tossed the merlin into the air.
The earl of Hawkesmoor drew rein, looked up at the sun, and judged it to be close to eleven. The bulk of Ravenspeare Castile stood out against the skyline, no more than half an hour’s ride. Behind it rose the great octagon of Ely Cathedral.
“You’re in no hurry, Simon,” observed one of his companions. Ten men formed the cadre, ranged behind the earl of Hawkesmoor.
“I intend my arrival to be timed with precision, Jack,” Simon told him. “I’ve no desire to endure Ravenspeare hospitality a minute earlier than necessary.” This was why he was arriving only just in time to stand at the altar with Ariel Ravenspeare. Afterward he would remain for the month of wedding festivities. And while he was a guest at Ravenspeare Castle, he would have a chance to pursue some personal business. Maybe even the woman he sought.
But first things first. He nudged his horse forward along the causeway ridged with frost-hard mud. He had no mental picture of the girl who would be his bride an hour from now. He had asked for no description and none had been volunteered. If she was walleyed, crookbacked, clubfooted, doltish, it didn’t matter. He would marry her and he would remain faithful.
He glanced up at the pale blue sky to watch a soaring hawk. A plover rose from the reeds along the riverbank, then, as if alerted to the danger hovering above, swooped frantically, darting from side to side to avoid the killer now moving almost leisurely on its tail. Simon shaded his eyes and squinted upward.
“It’s a merlin,” Jack said. “No ordinary field hawk, that. Look at its flight.”
It was the most beautiful killing machine. It seemed to tease the desperate plover, hovering over it with its magnificent wingspan, before dipping lazily toward the little bird. The plover flew upward in response, but couldn’t maintain its height. It flew down, heading for the copse along the riverbank. The merlin plummeted with the force and accuracy of a lead bullet, its curved beak caught in a weak ray of sun. The plover was snatched from the air in the vicious curling talons, and the men on the road breathed again.
“Someone’s flying it along the river.” Jack pointed with his whip to where two figures sat their horses.
On impulse, Simon urged his horse into a canter, directing him off the causeway. The cadre followed him, cantering down to the riverside.
Ariel was watching Wizard. He was newly trained and had still been known to take off with his catch. So far this morning, he’d returned to her wrist, but she could sense that he was becoming impatient at handing over his well-earned prey. So intent was she on willing the merlin
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