"Sara Douglass - Crucible 2 - The Wounded Hawk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Douglass Sara)

PART ONE
Margaret of the Angels
I'll father no gift,
No knowledge no thrift.
тАФThomas Tusser,
Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandrie




CHAPTER I
The Feast of the Beheading
of St. John the Baptist
In the first year of the reign of Richard II
(Monday 29th August 1380)




MARGARET STOOD in the most northern of the newly harvested fields of Hal-stow Hall, a
warm wind gently lifting her skirts and hair and blowing a halo of fine wheat dust about her
head. The sun blazed down, and while she knew that she should return inside as soon as
possible if she were to avoid burning her cheeks and nose, for the moment she remained
where she was, quiet and reflective, her eyes drifting across the landscape. She turned a
little, catching sight of the walls of Halstow Hall rising in the distance.
There lay Rosalind, asleep in her crib, watched over by her nurse, Agnes. Margaret's eyes
moved to the high walls of the courtyard. In its spaces Thomas would be at his afternoon
swordplay with his newly acquired squire, Robert Courtenay, a likable fair-faced young man
of commendable quietness and courtesy.
Margaret's expression hardened as she thought of the banter the two men shared during their
weapon practice. Courtenay received nothing but respect and friendship from ThomasтАФ
would that she received the same respect and friendship!
"How can I hope for love," she whispered, still staring at the courtyard walls, "when he
begrudges me even his friendship?"
Margaret might be Thomas' wife, but, as he had told her on their wedding night, she was not
his lover.
Margaret had never imagined that it could hurt this much, but then she'd never realized how
desperately she would need his love; to be the one thought constantly before all others in his
mind.
To be sure, this was what they all strove forтАФto force Thomas to put thought of her before his
allegiance to the Church and the angelsтАФbut Margaret knew her need was more than that.
She wanted a home and a family, and above all, she wanted a husband who respected her
and loved her.
She wanted Thomas to love her, and yet he would not.
She turned her head away from Halstow Hall, and regarded the land and the far distant
wheeling gulls over the Thames estuary.
These had been pleasant months spent at Halstow Hall despite Thomas' coolness, and
despite his impatience to return to London and resume his search for Wynkyn de Worde's
ever-damned casket. The angels had told Thomas that the casket held the key that would
see the demons who thronged earth cursed back into hell. As an ex-friar and a cold,