“Perhaps she took a handsome bribe to set it up,” Mallen joked, laughing.
“I would not put it past her,” Maximilian replied, also smiling. “She invited the Whitingtons to spend a few weeks with us at the castle. Naturally, she posted the invitations before telling me. I wish I could cancel the entire affair, but that would be the height of rudeness.”
“Just remember no one can force you to the altar,” Mallen said. He pointed to a pair of rabbits frisking in the heather not far away. “If those blokes do not arrive soon, we might miss our chance at a fine rabbit stew tonight.”
Maximilian gestured for the servants to stop, and only the falconer approach. They obeyed him, while the master of birds walked up the hill, a bird perched on each fist. Silent, he lifted them up to their masters, then retreated. Maximilian gently took the hood from his merlin and gazed into its fierce eyes. He stroked his finger down its head and neck, then glanced at the rabbits.
“Off you go,” he murmured and tossed the merlin toward them. Mallen also threw his falcon up, releasing the bird’s jesses. The pair instantly saw the rabbits, who broke and fled for cover of the thickets. But the birds stooped too quickly and brought the rabbits down in a flurry of feathers and fur. Maximilian and Edmund whooped like boys and galloped their horses down the hill.
Dismounting, Maximilian cautiously approached his merlin and encouraged it to perch on his fist. With a piece of meat from his pouch at his belt, he rewarded the bird and straightened. The servants hurried down the hill to take the dead rabbits from them, and the falconer reached for his merlin.
“No, I will keep her with me,” Maximilian said, replacing the hood over the merlin’s eyes. He gave the man the bird long enough to mount his horse, then took the merlin back. “Shall we ride north a bit, Mallen?”
His friend glanced up at the oppressive clouds lurking low overhead. “For a short time, I expect. I do believe we are in for more rain.”
“Then we best not waste any more time,” Maximilian said, urging his mare into a canter. “Two coneys are hardly enough for a decent stew.”
The pair caught three more rabbits, as Maximilian’s merlin missed its quarry when the rabbit escaped into a hole in the ground. She returned to his fist at his whistle, and he rewarded her with a piece of meat. Both handed their birds back to the falconer, then turned their horses’ heads toward the distant castle, high on its hill.
“Make sure those get to the cook immediately,” he told the servants. “My guest at supper wishes for a nice rabbit stew, and that is what he shall have.”
The footmen bowed. “Certainly, Your Grace,” they murmured as one.
Picking up the canter, Maximilian felt the damp chill on his face and knew Mallen’s prediction of more rain in the immediate future was correct. “I will be quite ready for a sherry once we return,” he said. “I do believe it has gotten colder.”
“This chilly this early in the autumn means a cold winter,” Mallen replied. “Mark my words.”
“Your weather sense is incredible, Mallen,” Maximilian commented, dipping his chin once. “Have you ever been wrong?”
Mallen shrugged. “Once or twice. Maybe. When I was a wee lad.”
Laughing, Maximilian failed to notice the half-hidden rabbit warren just ahead of his mare’s hooves. Striking a deep hole, the horse stumbled, pitching Maximilian onto her neck. His sudden forward lurch caught her off balance, and she fell, pitching onto her chest. Legs flailing, she rolled helplessly over her rider. Maximilian caught a fleeting glimpse of the heather rushing to meet his face, then he knew nothing more.
Chapter 4
He woke in the near darkness, lightning flashed through the windows. Thunder grumbled on its heels and vibrated the glass even as rain pounded against it. When he turned his head, agonizing pain ripped through it, setting his neck on fire. He closed his eyes against the pain and felt nausea climb from his stomach to his throat. In opening his eyes again, everything around him appeared blurry. He blinked rapidly to cleared some of his vision, but with little light, he saw only the bed drapes and his body under the coverlets.
“You are awake.”
Wincing ahead of time, Maximilian gingerly rolled first his eyes, then his head on the pillow. Mallen sat in a chair beside the bed, a book in his lap and a pipe between his teeth. The dimly lit lamp sat on the table behind him; thus his friend’s face lay in shadow. He saw nothing of what lay beyond the bed and wondered how he had gotten there.
“What happened?” he rasped, his mouth and throat dry as dust.
“Your horse tumbled and took you with it,” Mallen said, removing the pipe from his lips and turning to set it on the table behind him. “Your head took a bit of a crack, but your physician seems to think that you will be fine in a day or two.”
At Mallen’s words, a memory floated up – seeing his face headed into the heather, then nothing. “I remember now. How is my horse?”
“Good. With a crack like that, it is possible you would not remember. The mare is fine and obtained only a few scrapes on her off fore for her trouble.”
“May I have some water?”
“Certainly.”
Mallen rose from the chair, set his book down and poured from a pitcher into a cut crystal glass. Bending, he held the cup to Maximilian’s lips as though he were an invalid until Maximilian drank the entire cup. “More?” he asked.
“No. Thank you. Why are you attending me instead of the physician?”
“Your illustrious stepmother called him away,” Mallen replied, sitting down after picking up both book and pipe. “It appears her vapors are far more important than your head.”
