Hawksmaid Read Online Free PDF Page A

boldness had increased with the value of the goods he plundered. First eggs, now pigs’ feet, and before that deer from the royal forest. He was no longer satisfied with a small prize. He left that for the boys. Rich was fairly good with a slingshot, and Will Scarloke could sneak up on a sheriff’s man in a crowd on market day and relieve him of a pouch of gold coins without disturbing as much as a thread on the fellow’s cuff. What they stole by and large was small, but they were as cunning as any London street cutpurse.
    Matty knew that the recent deer was not the firstFynn had taken, even though his father was a forest warden. Her family as well as others had been the recipient of prime cuts of venison that mysteriously appeared in their larders. She laughed at the memory of Fynn’s face when she had caught him in her larder during a downpour when no one in their right mind would have been abroad.
    Hunting in the royal forest was punishable by imprisonment or worse. Often the culprit was tortured and the torture might include the chopping off of a finger or two. The sheriff’s men and the royal foresters particularly delighted in separating a hunter from his bowstring finger. Still, she knew that nothing she could say would discourage him.
    He looked enormously pleased with himself as he flashed her a dazzling smile. “You have to admit, Matty, I’ve got style.”
    â€œYou’ve got gall is what you’ve got, Robert Woodfynn.”
    Â 
    They set off down the hill. They were near the bottom when Matty felt Moss peck gently at her ear. She scanned the tall grass. Just above it two grouse were rising. Quickly she pushed up her sleeve and raised herarm to the command position, curling her hand into a fist. Moss moved from Matty’s shoulder and set down gently on the leather falconer’s glove that sheathed her arm.
    It was known throughout Barnsdale that Lord William, the best falconer in the region, passed his skills on to his daughter. Many said that Matty now surpassed him. The summer before, the villagers had even taken to calling her the Nut Brown Girl, for she roamed the countryside so constantly with her hawks that her skin had turned as dark as that of the peasants who tilled the fields. But Matty felt the truth in her bones. She would never be better than her father until she had reared a merlin. She had read what was known about the shrewd, stubborn birds in his spare book on falconry.
    Thinking all this, Matty unleashed the jesses. A husky sound came from the back of her throat. “Chahh!”
    Moss spread her wings and lifted off in flight.
    Quickly the peregrine’s wings became a blur as she skimmed after the grouse. The hawk anticipated their rate of ascent perfectly. Matty could almost feel Moss’s muscles tighten for the kill. And then there was a flashas the peregrine went into a dive at a stupefying speed and snapped a grouse from the air. In a split second, drops of the grouse’s blood flared against the pale sky. “Amazing!” Fynn whispered as Moss banked steeply to return with her catch.
    The peregrine landed and dropped the bird at her mistress’s feet. Matty crouched, speaking unintelligible words in a low, husky voice. Quickly severing the grouse’s head, she put it in front of Moss, who puffed up her feathers greedily, stood on one leg, and then seized her prize. The rest Matty put in her cloth bag. Again she felt Fynn’s eyes upon her.
    Hubie Bigge had roused Fynn’s temper the other day when he said that Matty was as good with a hawk as Fynn was with a bow. It pleased her as she recalled Hubie’s praise. Was Fynn thinking about what Hubie had said now?
    â€œCome on,” Fynn said impatiently. “Let’s join the boys. They’ll be waiting.”
    Â 
    â€œAh, the feathered murderess and her accomplice have been at it again!” Will Scarloke said cheerfully as he spotted the bloody bag hanging