Read Judith Merkle Riley for Free Online Page A

unhappy for even a moment,” said the charming stranger, flashing us an ingratiating smile.
    “We really cannot overstay—” Annibal was saying.
    “I have a new peregrine I want to try at ducks. Do you like falconry, Monsieur d’Estouville?”
    “I am tempted. After all, we can’t weary Monsieur de Damville’s new prize stud with forced marches, now, can we? A day more—tell me, what lure do you use in this part of the country?”
    “For hawking at the brook? Mallard wings, and only mallard wings—so did my father and grandfather before him.”
    “The wisest course—the weight of them is more satisfactory. So, Annibal, your father has tempted me to stay another day. The ducks—and this wonderful wine here. Where did you say it was from?”
    “From a vineyard I have south of Orléans—not so far from Blois, actually. Perfect soil.”
    “Ah, you can always tell the soil.”
    “And the sun. The weather, this year, perfect for grapes. So tell me, M. d’Estouville, which bird would you find more profitable to train, one with a good conformation and bad plumage, or a bad conformation and good plumage?”
    “There are those who’d be fooled by the plumage, but I’d take the bird with good conformation—it will have more staying power—”
    “I had one once that simply refused ducks. Not that good-looking, either. I sold it to a neighbor who fancied it and thought he could train it. The first time it perched; the second time it raked off and was never found. Monsieur de La Tourette it was; have you heard of him?”
    “La Tourette? Is that in the duchy? What is his family name?”
    “Villasse.”
    “Villasse. Ah, I see…” His voice dripped scorn.
    But my ever-busy imagination had been set to dreaming about the little peregrine, circling, circling above Villasse while he sat on his horse, first summoning the bird with his glove, then shouting in rage, as she realized that nothing held her, and she flew blithely to freedom. I never heard the rest until Annibal said, “Sibille, Sibille—you will go with us, won’t you?”
    “What? Oh, yes,” I answered, without even thinking.
    “How splendid to have the ladies join us,” said the gorgeous Philippe d’Estouville, flashing his absolutely charming smile at me. I did not sleep all that night.
    ***
    We were away when the letter from Villasse was delivered to mother. I imagined her putting her hand to her heart when she received it, and turning a little pale. But we were splashing into the reeds by the pond at full canter, sending the ducks scrambling into the air, where the falcons, already loosed, were waiting, flying in circles until the game should be sent up to them. Bright silver water flew in every direction, Laurette laughed and turned pink, and Annibal pointed up into the bright azure above.
    “Look, she’s got one!” Father’s peregrine dove suddenly, catching a mallard in her claws, the force of her dive sending her into the water with the flapping, screeching duck.
    “I told you she’s a bold one,” said father, riding into the water to save the peregrine, as it clutched tenaciously to the still living duck. With a thrust of his finger, he broke the skin of the duck and pulled out its heart as it convulsed in its death agony, feeding it to the falcon. Sunlight glistened on the leaves of the trees at the far side of the reedy pond. Already the ducks were returning to the water there, far from our horses, where the peregrines did not dare to pursue them. As if in a dream, I saw Annibal retrieve his bird, which had brought a mallard to earth in a flurry of feathers and hard-beating wings, as the mallard fought back with all its strength.
    “There’s a sweet little bird,” said the stranger, riding up beside me, his eyes catching me with a knowing, sideways glance. Somehow, it didn’t seem to me that he was talking about birds. I lowered my eyes suddenly, and my face felt hot. Something inside me was trembling all over.
    “My brother