cise. Polly settled down to enjoy herself. There was nothing in the least alarming. How could there be when she and the animal were so much in tune, could communicate with each other so readily?
She directed the mare into the park, knowing that she would come up with the hunt in the fields beyond the ha-ha, the deep ditch boundary that separated the park from the fields. The quarry that hawks and huntsmen sought was to be found on the flat land bordering the river. Falcons could not be flown in the woods. They must be given uninterrupted view of their prey, and an unhindered flight path.
She heard voices, clear in the still morning air, as, greatly daring, she set Tiny to jump the ha-ha. The mare gathered herself, sailed over, landing gently on the other side, the whole movement so smoothly accomplished that Polly was barely conscious of the change in motion.
"You beauty," she whispered exultantly, leaning forward to pat the long, arched neck. "How could Nick have made me ride that insensate, mindless hulk? No one could learn to ride with such a mount."
The hunt came into view when she crested a rise and could look down to the broad stretch of the river, flanked by wide green banks and open fields. Rooks circled above a spinney off to the right, and the sun, mist-wreathed, set the dew on the grass to winking so that each blade appeared jewel-tipped. The richly dressed riders and their elegant mounts made a colorful scene on this misty morning, when the promised heat of the day was for the moment in abeyance, and the land looked new-washed in its fresh greenery.
Tiny whinnied softly, becoming aware of her own kind and a sport in which she might take part. She increased her speed, but tentatively as if to be certain that her rider was content to have it so. When no restraining tug came on the bit, she broke into a full canter. Polly, after a second of fright because this canter was twice as fast as any the piebald had managed, fell in with the rhythm, found that she was in no danger of falling off, and began to relish the dashing picture she was going to present, cantering up to the hunt on her
splendid mount, in her elegant habit, insouciant and utterly confident at this equestrian business.
Thus it was that Nicholas, Lord Kincaid, looking up from securing the jesses of his newly returned gerfalcon, beheld a sight to entrance the most hardened cynic: dainty, silver-gray Tiny cantering across the meadow in the morning mist; upon her back, as firmly seated as if affixed with cement, the ravishing figure of his lordship's mistress, all smiles and sparkling eyes, her complexion rosy with the fresh air, exercise and excitement.
"I give you good day, sir," she greeted him, drawing rein with the lightest touch. Tiny came to a walk, obeying the direction to turn and range herself alongside Sulayman. Polly beamed up at Nicholas, who was staring at her, stunned. "I have decided to join you after all," she declared to the company at large. "It is such a beautiful morning, is it not? Far too beautiful for lying abed."
"Indeed, it is," the Earl of Pembroke agreed, cheerfully. "Made more so by your presence, madame." He doffed his hat graciously as he offered the compliment, before turning an experienced eye to her mount. " 'Odd's bones! But that is the prettiest filly! Beautiful lines; Arabian, I'll lay odds."
"Aye," Kincaid said, finding his voice at last.
"Ah, my lord, I must thank you for permitting me to ride her," Polly said swiftly, turning back to Nick with another smile, but this one contained more than a hint of placation and appeal. "I was overjoyed yesterday when you said I might."
Nick's lips thinned as he recalled the conversation in the stable yard. He met her anxious regard in stony silence. There was not a damn thing he could do, not here in the middle of a hunt-a fact on which Mistress Wyat had presumably gambled.
When it appeared that Nicholas either would not or could not respond, Polly dropped her gaze, turning back to Pembroke. "Pray, my lord, will you show me something of this falconry? I have yet to witness a flight."
The earl agreed with alacrity and invited her to ride with
him to the outskirts of the group, where he would loose his bird.
"My congratulations, Nick," De Winter said, watching them go off. " 'Twas pure inspiration to mount her on that gray. They make the most enchanting pair, do they not?"
Nick grunted, looking a little sick. Richard glanced at him sharply, then whistled as comprehension dawned. "Did you not give her leave?"
"No, dammit, I did not!" Nick said savagely. "At least, not for the moment. I did not consider her sufficiently skilled."
Richard continued to watch Polly. "I think you may have been mistaken," he observed. "She has a good seat, and the mare is clearly responsive. They appear made for each other."
The hunt moved off along the riverbank, and Polly kept herself out of Kincaid's vicinity. The covert glances she directed at him were not encouraging. There appeared to be no softening of his countenance. However, she was receiving her usual quantity of admiring attention elsewhere, so put up her chin and set out to play the coquette-on-horseback.
All went well for about an hour, during which falcons hovered and swooped, returning to the master's arm with their catch, yielding it up against all nature's instinct, accepting the hood and jesses again until given permission for another foray. Nick had just tossed his gerfalcon into freedom when disaster struck.
Polly, on Tiny, had fallen back a little to watch the elegance of the Earl of Pembroke's merlin as it swooped upon an unwary sparrow. The sparrow, suddenly alerted to the danger, twisted in the air to fly in blind panic toward the hunters. The merlin, hot in pursuit, swooped low over Tiny's head, clawed feet poised for the kill, the vicious beak curved in deadly intent, the small black eye gleaming malevolence. The mare reared up in fright and took off across the field in the direction of the spinney.
Polly had no time to feel fear. Her first instinct was to yank back on the reins, but she remembered Nick's warning
that the mare had a delicate mouth, which would be ruined by a heavy hand. So she concentrated on keeping her seat, leaning instinctively forward over the horse's neck, making her body follow the lines of the bolting mare, offering no unbalanced resistance, trusting that Tiny would run herself to a standstill eventually.
Nick, seeing the merlin's swoop, tensed in anticipation of Tiny's reaction. "Sweet Jesus!" The color ebbed from his face as the mare bolted. Why in hell was Polly not using the rein? But it would not help, he knew that; Tiny had gone beyond mastery. There had been but a moment when an experienced rider could have forestalled the bolt. Forgetting the public arena, he cursed Polly's obstinacy, offered a prayer to the heavens in the same breath as threatening most fearful reprisals, and put Sulayman to the gallop after the runaway.
George Villiers, newly joining the hunt, witnessed this extraordinary display of emotion, the violence of Kincaid's alarm. Kincaid had not reacted with ordinary consternation. He had gone as white as whey, had spoken in unbridled passion, and was now hurtling in pursuit as if it were a matter of life and death; yet the wench was still in the saddle and looked little likely to be unseated.
An unpleasant smile played over the meager lips as the duke was reminded of another moment when a dropped guard had hinted at a new perspective on the affairs of Lord Kincaid and Mistress Wyat. If what he suspected was, indeed, the case, then maybe he could make use of it. The Duke of Buckingham turned his own horse to follow the flying hooves of Sulayman.
Nick's heart was in his throat as he saw Tiny veer toward the spinney. Would Polly have the sense to imagine what could happen if the mare left the paths, plunging into the trees, heedless of low-hanging branches? At that speed, Polly would lose her head… break her neck… God's death! "Keep your head down!" he bellowed, with little hope that she would hear him. Sulayman was closing on the mare, but Tiny was still galloping ventre a terre, and he would not catch them before they entered the spinney.