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.
Polly heard the shout but not the words. All her energies were concentrated now on keeping in the saddle. She maintained a nonstop flow of soothing words as she clung to Tiny's neck, hoping that her reassurance would communicate itself to the petrified animal, locked in its own world of pure instinctual response. Polly saw the danger from the tree branches just in time. She ducked her head below the level of Tiny's neck as the branch snapped overhead. A nut of nausea lodged in her throat at the thought of what could have happened; she clung grimly to the mare's mane, deciding that the fun had gone out of this adventure. But she could sense that the horse was beginning to lose the spurt. Her neck was lathered, her breath coming in great tortured sobs.
They broke out of the spinney into the meadow beyond. Sulayman drew level with the mare; Nicholas swung sideways, catching the bolter's rein above the bit. Hauled thus unceremoniously to a stop, Tiny reared up; Polly, her precarious balance finally overset, flew from the mare's back to land with an agonizing, jarring thud on the base of her spine.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded on an angry sob, tears of pain and frustration welling in her hazel eyes. "Everything was all right until you did that!" Her hat had shot from her head under the force of her fall. Her skirts were heaped about her as she sat upon the hard ground, every bone in her body groaning in complaint under the jarring that made her head ache and her behind throb with the bruising. She glared up at him, tears running down her face, weeping with pure anger that Nick should have caused this fall, and so proved her incapable of managing anything more lively than the sluggish piebald.
"She was going to stop in a minute, anyway," she wailed, dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I knew exactly what I was doing-"
But Nicholas had swung himself from Sulayman in the midst of this impassioned tirade and put a stop to it by seizing her upper arms, yanking her to her feet. "How dare you frighten me like that!" he raged. "Those trees would have
broken your neck!" He shook her with all the frenzy of a terrier with a rat, giving vent to the pent-up anguish of the last minutes. "You are my life, Goddamn it! Never have I been so afeard!"
"P-please stop!" Polly begged, when it seemed as if her head would leave her shoulders, and her body, already shaken to its core by the fall, screamed its protest at this further assault.
Nick pulled her against him, wrapping her in his arms in a convulsive hug that was as violently expressive of fear and relief as the shaking. "God's grace, Polly. How could you do that to me?" he whispered into the fragrance of her hair.
"But it was all right, love," Polly cried against his shirt-front. "There was nothing to be afeard of. It would have been perfectly all right if you had left well alone. Tiny was tiring; she would have stopped soon enough. I did not want to draw back roughly on the rein in case I hurt her mouth."
Nicholas paused as the world settled again on its axis. The sun still shone, the river still flowed, hawks flew, and the earth continued on its accustomed circuit. Tiny was windblown, catching her breath in sobbing gasps, but she would recover. Polly was whole, pliant, and warm beneath his hands. She had given him the fright of his life, but he, too, would recover.
He drew back to look at her, her hair tousled, eyes wide, glistening, tears streaked on that flawless complexion, mouth opened to continue her indignant defense and accusations. "Are you hurt?" he asked in his customary calm tones. "That was quite a tumble."
"My arse," Polly muttered with a sniff, rubbing her aching rear. "It is all your fault."
"It seems that there is natural justice in this world, after all," Nick said, a tremor of laughter in his voice. "You'll not be up to sitting a horse again for a while, in that case." He turned from her to remount Sulayman. Reaching over, he took Tiny's bridle, drawing it over her head to hold it loosely with his own. " 'Tis to be hoped your injuries do not
preclude your walking," he observed. "It cannot be above four miles to the house."
Polly stared, for the moment speechless, as he turned both horses and set off homeward. "You bastard!" she yelled, then followed the insult with the more colorful examples of the vocabulary that had informed her growing. Nick's only response was to doff his hat, waving it in cheerful salute as he rode way. She picked up her own hat from its resting place on a spiky thornbush, dusting it off vigorously against her skirt, before cramming it back on her head. Then she limped after the fast-disappearing rider and horses, muttering curses and imprecations with all the vituperative malice of an entire coven of witches.
George Villiers, motionless within earshot, hidden by the screen of trees at the edge of the spinney, remained in seclusion for a good five minutes after the close of that fascinating and enlightening confrontation. It was always pleasing to have one's suspicions confirmed. It was with a most satisfied smile that he rode back to join the hunt.