Текст книги "The Stone Rose"

Автор книги: Carol Townend

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Waldin considered Gwenn. He had seen spoilt knights’ daughters by the waggonload on his travels, and most of them had their heads stuffed so full of their own consequence that they only counted the hearts they had broken. Had his brother bred another of these? He wanted to think there was more to his pretty niece than that.

Waldin did not view the Saxon’s lowly birth as being an impediment in the way his brother did. Waldin was no snob, far from it. He had seen many a low-born lad start life as a servant and work his way up to squire. A select few attained the dizzy heights of knighthood, and Waldin saw nothing wrong in that. Tested men often made better knights than those born to it. However, it was becoming clear that Ned Fletcher was unsuitable for his niece, although it was for none of the reasons Yolande and Jean had put forward.

‘I don’t believe in hiding things, you see,’ he said, rubbing his disfigurement as though it were a badge of honour. ‘I like them out in the open.’

A frown nicked Gwenn’s brow. ‘What do you mean, Uncle? You sound as though you’re trying to score a hit. Are you?’

Waldin grinned. He liked people who were quick off the mark. A swift glance assured him that Ned Fletcher had not reappeared on the battlements, and he plunged straight in. ‘What do you intend to do with Sergeant Fletcher?’

‘Do? Do I have to do anything?’

‘Aye. I think so.’

She looked puzzled.

‘I’m taking the liberty of telling you this, my dear, because I like you. But the way you have that young man on a leading rein man on is nothing less than a scandal.’

‘L...leading rein?’ Her mouth fell open. ‘But, Uncle, I’ve done nothing!’

Waldin impaled her with his hard gaze. ‘That’s not quite true, my dear, and if you give it but a moment’s thought, I think you’ll agree.’ Gwenn spluttered, but Waldin took no heed and thrust his point home. ‘I know you are young, and I know you are innocent. But unlike your parents, whose love blinds them to your faults, I see you clearly.’ Once more he ran his hand over the back of his head and gave her a wry grin. ‘As I said, I like things out in the open. And fortunately God blessed me with a few brains as well as brawn. That’s why I survived so long on the circuit. That’s why I see you so clearly. It’s no use your using your youth as a shield and hiding behind it.’

‘But, Uncle!’ Gwenn’s small bosom heaved, indignantly. ‘I am innocent, I swear.’

‘Not so innocent that you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re playing with that lad. Leave Sergeant Fletcher alone. He’s not for you.’

Her eyes smouldered. Her lips formed a resentful pout. ‘You’re beginning to sound like my father.’

‘I’ve not done, my girl. When I’ve had my say, you can have yours.’

She subsided, simmering.

‘Sergeant Fletcher’s not for you,’ Waldin allowed an understanding smile to lift one side of his mouth, ‘and the reason has nothing to do with his birth, and everything to do with the fact that you would swallow him up in one bite. Forget your pride, Gwenn. Let the lad go. Let him find someone more suited.’

‘Hell’s Teeth!’ Gwenn borrowed one of her brother’s curses. ‘What has pride to do with it?’

The smile reached the champion’s brown eyes, warming them to a rich mahogany. ‘Don’t swear, Gwenn. It doesn’t look pretty on you.’

‘Because I’m a girl,’ she said, nettled, ‘and girls mustn’t swear.’

Waldin was not tempted to go skirmishing down that blind alley. ‘It doesn’t look pretty on you. Think, Gwenn. Pride has a lot to do with it. Admit it. You love Ned Fletcher–’

She choked. ‘What?’

‘Hold your horses. You love Ned Fletcher’s being in love with you. You don’t love Fletcher himself, I’m well aware of that. It’s play to you.’ He leaned closer and took her arm, eyes serious. ‘But it’s not play to the Saxon. The lad truly loves you. Don’t hurt him. Find someone more like yourself to flirt with, someone who sees it as you do, as a game. Ned Fletcher doesn’t know the rules. You, however,’ the smile was back and with something approaching real affection Waldin flicked her nose, ‘were born knowing them.’

Gwenn swallowed, and Waldin had to hold down a laugh. He could see the struggle going on within her while she debated whether or not to be offended. He grinned. ‘And if you toss your head at me, I swear I’ll have you in that trough.’

She beat a hasty retreat. ‘Uncle, you wouldn’t!’

He raised an impudent brow. ‘Try me.’ Her shoulders began to shake. Her hand came up and hid a smile. She would do, he decided; a sterling girl.

‘Wretch!’ The sterling girl let out a throaty giggle. ‘And to think I expected my famous uncle to be the perfect, chivalrous knight.’

Waldin sighed hugely. ‘Life can be disappointing.’

‘It can. But your criticism is just,’ she admitted with admirable candour, and groped to express exactly how she felt. ‘I like Sergeant Fletcher, but as for loving him...’

‘There’s something missing, isn’t there?’ Waldin supplied gently. The look in her eyes told him he had hit the target.

‘Aye. I like his looks, his manners, his...everything, but,’ she spread slim hands, ‘perhaps the bit that’s missing doesn’t exist, except in my own mind?’ She looked to him for an answer, but Waldin didn’t have one to give her. She must find her own answers. ‘I’ll let Ned alone. You’ve helped me see how wrong I have been.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘But life will be tedious, Uncle.’

‘No it won’t. Pick someone else to play with.’

She made an impatient noise. ‘Who else is there? Ned is the only man around here who’s half way personable.’

Her uncle looked pained and struck his deep, barrel chest. ‘What about me? Ah, Gwenn, your insult cuts me to the quick. I’m standing before you, and you don’t even see me.’ He kept a straight face. ‘Look at me, Gwenn. I won’t make the cardinal sin of taking it to heart. I know it’s a game. I’m your uncle. You’d be safe with me.’

‘But you’re so...’ She flushed.

‘Ugly?’

Gwenn’s colour deepened, and she lowered her eyes. ‘My pardon, Uncle.’

Unperturbed, Waldin went down on one knee. ‘Fair lady,’ he said with a splendid flourish. ‘I beg you to grant me the honour of being your chevalier.’ He rolled his eyes in idiotic longing.

Gwenn felt a bubble of laughter rise within her.

‘I dream,’ Waldin was warming to his role, ‘of your long, dark tresses; of your eyes, dark and deep as pools in the wood.’

This last was too much. Frantically, she bit her lips, but a giggle escaped. ‘This is ridiculous.’

Waldin got up and dusted his knee. ‘But amusing? Not boring?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘So, my niece. You see how it can be fun, even with an ugly old bear like myself. And now that we have that settled, I want you to tie your favour round my arm, and I’ll take you, my lady,’ he bowed so low his forehead almost touched the ground, ‘for a ride.’

Obediently, Gwenn pulled a ribbon from one of her plaits and wound it round a well-muscled arm. ‘About the ride, Uncle, I had other plans.’ Gwenn had no liking for Waldin’s brutish warhorse, Emperor. He was a big devil whose coat shone like polished ebony. He terrorised the other horses in the stable, and broke his fast by taking chunks out of the grooms. Gwenn valued her skin enough to stay clear of him.

‘Surely a brave girl like you is not afraid of a horse?’ Waldin asked, innocently.

‘Afraid?’ About to deny his accusation, Gwenn caught the knowing gleam in her uncle’s eyes. ‘I’m not afraid of horses in general, but aye, I’m afraid of Emperor. That one is more dragon than horse, and I’d not go near him if I was offered all the gold in the duchy.’ Her chin inched up, daring him to mock her, but instead she saw approval in his eyes.

‘It takes courage to admit to fear,’ he said. ‘And I would far rather have a courageous girl as my niece, than some prissy little mademoiselle who lies through her teeth.’ He buckled on his sword. ‘You’re a saucy baggage. I like you, but you’re a saucy baggage.’ And chucking her with rough, ungallant affection under the chin, he marched to the stables and ducked through the door.

Gwenn rubbed her chin and grimaced. Waldin did not know his own strength. Remembering what she had come out to do, she crossed to the iron gateway which led into the churchyard. She was going to the wood to gather flowers for her mother. The bluebells were out, and the great yellow buttercups; and in the hidden, secret places, sweet violets, with purple, velvety petals, and lightly veined wood anemones. There was hawthorn and blackthorn too, but she would not pick those for her mother’s posy, since they were unlucky.

Jean had reclaimed some of the land the trees had engulfed since his father’s time, cutting back the undergrowth on the northernmost margin of the glebeland and turning it into an orchard. The saplings were young and spindly, but the sap was rising and they had burst into blossom. Gwenn loved the forest, but was not permitted beyond St Félix’s Monastery without an escort. Her father had warned her about the dangers both from outlaws hiding out in the woods and from wolves and wild boar that were known in the area.

As she walked through the churchyard towards the apple trees, a woodpecker drummed deep in the forbidden reaches of the forest. Nearer to hand, two squabbling sparrows flew tight circles round each other above the church roof, tumbling over each other as they somersaulted down the reed-thatched roof – furious, chirping balls of flying feathers and pecking beaks.

Dew-drenched grass tugged at her skirts. The cool, woody fragrance of the apple trees soothed her senses. Leaving the orchard behind her, another, more pungent smell wrinkled her nostrils. The wild garlic was out, too. A faint smile flickered across her lips. ‘No garlic for Mama either,’ she thought aloud, ‘I want only sweet smelling, lucky flowers. My mother deserves the best that there is, for today is her day.’

Chapter Fourteen

The wedding took place at noon. Being a brief ceremony performed at the church gate by Prior Hubert who had been winkled out of his sylvan retreat, it was over almost as soon as it had begun. The prior was invited to the celebration afterwards but, a hermit at heart, he was unused to worldly folk and had a strong dislike of crowds and noise. Politely, he declined the honour. Yolande pressed him into taking a gift of food to share with his brothers, and after some gentle persuasion the prior accepted her bounty. And no sooner had his duty as priest been discharged, than the holy man sketched a cross over the heads of the assembly and scuttled back into the safety of the cool, slow-moving shadows in the forest.

It was expected that the feasting would stretch on well into the night. Everyone was welcome; and because it was not only the lord of the manor’s wedding but May Day also, it promised to be an uproarious event. After the austerities of Lent, the household had been looking forward to it. None doubted that it would be remembered for years to come.

The St Clair family processed from churchyard to hall. The first to follow them was Denis the Red, who pushed his way to the front of the retainers. He drew up in the doorway, greedy eyes popping like a horse that had chanced on a field of pink clover. The trestles were clothed in spotless linen. Swags of shiny green ivy decked the cloths, and tucked into the ivy were dainty bouquets of bluebells and sprigs of apple blossom. It was not the foliage however, that caught the soldier’s eye; it was the sheer quantity of food. It quite took his breath away. There was roast beef, steaming gently from the fire; a suckling pig with an apple in its mouth; a showy dressed peacock which Denis knew looked better than it tasted. There were duck and geese by the score. There were jellied eels, loaves by the dozen, large round cheeses, saladings, custards, sweetmeats. A grin of delight spread slowly across the plump, freckled face. Denis’s hand crept to his belt and deftly he undid it a notch or two.

‘When you’ve quite finished drooling,’ Ned said in his ear, ‘you might move along.’

Eyes glazed, Denis the Red stumbled to a bench. It was Paradise, and he hardly knew where to begin. A tower of trenchers was stacked at one end of the table. He took the top one.

Ned, as Red’s sergeant, should by rights have taken the upper crust, but no slight had been intended and Ned let it pass. Settling beside Red, he reached for a wine jar and poured himself a measure. ‘You must find Lent an ordeal,’ he said, glancing at the festoons of flowers, which he knew to be Gwenn and Katarin’s handiwork, for he’d seen the girls at work that morning.

Pained folds creased the plump cheeks. ‘Don’t mention Lent,’ Red groaned. ‘You’ll give me indigestion. Lent’s Hell on earth.’ He stuck his fingers in the waist of his braies, which since he had undone his belt, hung in loose, baggy folds. ‘Look, I’m a shadow of the man I was. That’s what Lent does for me. My breeches are falling off.’

Sir Jean had given the signal for everyone to begin. Ned tasted the wine. Since leaving England, he had learned a thing or two about wine. This one was a good Burgundy, rich and mellow. St Clair was generous with his men. Ned glanced towards the knight, sitting on the special high dais that had been made expressly for today’s festivities. Sir Jean happened to be looking in his direction. Smiling, and careful to keep his eyes from Mistress Gwenn, Ned raised his cup in acknowledgement of the wine and the compliment St Clair paid his men that day. It was an open-handed gesture that not many men in his position would have bothered to make, especially when one considered that there was not likely to be a sober head among them in half an hour’s time, not sober enough at any rate to tell the difference between good wine and vinegar. ‘Aye,’ Ned murmured softly, ‘Lent’s over for another year.’ Casually, he twitched a cluster of the apple blossom from the ivy and tucked it into his sleeve.

Later, when bellies were full – most of them over-full – Ned judged that enough wine had been downed for no one to care where his eyes wandered. Inevitably his gaze was pulled to the top table. Lady St Clair, as Yolande Herevi must now be called, sat between her husband and his brother. Her gown was of cream silk brocade trimmed with gold braid. She was laughing, her face was alight with happiness. Ned had never seen her looking so well. As was the custom, Gwenn, in the bright blue she favoured, was further down the board, sharing her meats with her brother. Her cheeks were flushed with the good burgundy wine, and her head was flung back. She was laughing too, at something Sir Waldin had said. Her veil, held in place by a slim circlet of flowers, was slipping. The champion leaned across the trestle and gave one of her thick, brown plaits an affectionate tweak. Favouring her uncle with a slow smile, Gwenn twitched her hair out of his hand and tucked it demurely beneath her veil. Ned felt his stomach twist and gulped down another mouthful of wine. What he wouldn’t give for the right to sit at her side.

‘Pretty, isn’t she, Ned?’ Red nudged him in the ribs, a knowing expression in his eyes.

Ned coloured to the roots of his hair, but he drew himself up. Ignoring Red’s snatching the top trencher was one thing, but he could not let this pass. ‘Sergeant Fletcher to you, Red,’ he said, more sharply than he had intended.

Red raised a russet brow. The wine had made him careless of the fact that he was Ned’s subordinate. ‘Hark at you.’ He grinned familiarly. ‘You’ll be trying for a knighthood next.’

Ned ground his teeth. Red was impertinent, but it was all the more galling because there was a grain of truth in his remark. Ned did dream that perhaps, if he won favour, he might better himself. It flashed in on Ned that his cousin Alan le Bret would not stand for such insolence. Alan would have had a man flogged for less. Aware that he had supped a drop more wine that was wise, and that his command of his temper was slipping, Ned sucked in a breath, and counted to ten. Today was meant to be a celebration, and he was not about to sour it. He moderated his tone. ‘In any case, you’re wrong.’ A white lie might put Red off the scent. ‘I was looking at Lady St Clair. She looks about sixteen.’ This last was no less than the truth. She did look sixteen, her eyes were sparkling every bit as brightly as her daughter’s.

Red crowed. ‘I’m not the clod you take me for, Ned...Sergeant,’ he amended, with the understanding but insensitive smile of a drunk unable to recognise when he was going too far. ‘Come on, we’re none of us blind moles. No one need follow the direction of your eyes when you wear that dreamy expression. Every man in the guard knows who holds your heart in her keeping.’

Feeling his temper heat up, Ned flung Red a look that was all daggers.

A temperate man would have heeded the warning. But Red was not temperate, the wine was flowing freely in his veins and it had driven caution from his head. ‘It is May Day...’ He made a lewd gesture.

Ned could not stomach this. He’d not sit around listening to bawdy suggestions about Mistress Gwenn. Standing precipitately, his bench rocked, and one of his neighbours pitched into the rushes. A chorus of slurred complaints reached his ears, but Ned ignored them. ‘Your tongue wags too freely, soldier,’ he said, using a voice that was a cold copy of one he’d heard his cousin employ. ‘Take care lest it wags once too often.’ Turning on his heels, he stalked out.

Denis the Red’s jaw sagged as he watched the sergeant slam out of the hall. ‘Well, well. I must really have touched him on the raw for him to storm off like that.’ His gaze still on the door, he blinked in astonishment for Ned was not the only one to be leaving the hall. Mistress Gwenn was sailing serenely towards the door. He leered. ‘The dice have finally rolled in Sergeant Fletcher’s favour.’

Ned was not in the yard when Gwenn reached it. All that morning, she had meditated on the conversation she had had with her uncle, and she saw that it would be wicked to let matters drift as they had been doing. She must tell Ned that though she liked him, her liking did not match his.

The churchyard gate was open. Concluding that Ned must have gone that way, she went through the glebeland towards the wood. A few minutes later she found him, sitting on a tree stump in a pool of sunlight a little way from the main path. His head was bowed, he was staring at the ground, a sprig of apple blossom in his hands. ‘Ned?’

Ned started, and the blossom fell to the ground. ‘Mistress Gwenn! I thought you were at the feast.’ He stood up clumsily, and while the too-ready colour flooded his cheeks, the wine Ned had drunk made it easier for him to speak to her. ‘Will you sit and talk with me?’ he asked, halfway between a request and a command.

Gwenn seated herself on the bole of the tree and shook out her sapphire skirts. The sun’s rays streamed through a gap in the leafy canopy. Ned’s corn-flower blue eyes blazed with love. He moved closer. Gwenn held her back stiff as a post. Ned was never devious, but he was not usually so bold. This was going to be more awkward than she had anticipated. She hauled in a breath and launched in. ‘I’m glad I found you, Ned. I wanted to speak with you.’

‘You did?’

Ned’s voice was breathless and so full of hope that her heart contracted. Waldin had made her see that sometimes one had to be cruel to be kind. So, because she realised she must, Gwenn hardened her heart to the pain her words would bring. And in order that Ned might be spared some dignity, she turned her head away from him, so the sun played on her cheeks. She did not want him to think she was willing to witness the hope dying on his face.

‘Ned...I must tell you–’ He took her hand. She tried to pull free. ‘No, Ned. No.’ He held her hand gently, but firmly, and without an unseemly struggle, which Gwenn was not prepared for, she was unable to free herself. A cloud threw a chilly shadow over her shoulders. Strange, one part of her mind found time to think, she never would have guessed that so fine a day would turn dull.

‘Gwenn... May I call you that? Gwenn...’

To add to her confusion, he dropped to his knees, and for the second time that day she had a man kneeling at her feet. Only this time it was no jest. This time she did not laugh.

‘No, Ned. Please. Listen to me.’ But Ned shook his head and gripped her fingers fiercer than ever. He touched her cheek. His hand was trembling. Gwenn felt tears prick behind her eyes. ‘Oh, Ned,’ she said, despairingly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

The shadow was growing longer. Everywhere as far as she could see, the dappled sunspots winked out one by one. She shivered. The birds fell silent. The leaves stopped rustling. It was eerie. It was as though all life in the wood was suspended, and everything – birds, animals, trees, shrubs – had stopped breathing. The hairs rose on the back of her neck. ‘Ned,’ she whispered, urgently. ‘Ned, something’s wrong.’

Reluctantly, Ned tore his eyes from her face. The bright colour ebbed from his face. ‘You’re right.’ He jumped up, pulling her to her feet. ‘Something is wrong.’

The light had taken on a dusk-like quality, and it was growing darker and more like night by the second.

‘A storm?’ Gwenn asked optimistically, though in her heart she knew it was no such thing.

‘No. Not a storm.’ Ned’s hand crept to the reassuring solidity of his swordhilt.

The darkness was still thickening, it hung like a pitchy awning over the glade.

Vainly Gwenn tried to see beyond the gloom gathering in the gaps between the trees. It was like twilight. ‘Ned, I’m scared. I’ve never heard such a silence in the forest.’

Ned was scared too, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He should protect Gwenn, but he was damned if he knew what he was meant to be protecting her from. Valiantly trying for lightness, he threw a swift grin over his shoulder. ‘You can’t hear silence, Gwenn.’ His witticism was ignored. He heard her move closer; he felt her fingers curl round his belt. Her breath fanned the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and steeled himself from turning and taking her in his arms.

‘Ned?’ She was clinging to him as though he were a lifeline. ‘Holy Mother, it’s the end of the world!’

He whirled about. Gwenn’s head was tipped upwards, her eyes so dilated with terror, they were solid black. She was staring through a gap in the leaves.

‘Look,’ she pointed, ‘look at the sun!’

Ned looked and wished he hadn’t. One moment he could see its brightness, and the next he could not. The sun was snuffed out. Gwenn’s panic fuelled his, and the boundaries of his world tilted. God and His Angels must be at war with the forces of the Devil. Order was fighting chaos, and chaos had triumphed. They were enclosed in a dark, quiet world and the only sound was the sound of their heartbeats and their flurried, frightened breathing. Then, because Gwenn’s slight body pressed trembling to his, and because he had pledged himself to her and wanted to comfort her, Ned pulled her into his arms

It felt the way it did in his dreams. She was warm, and soft, and clinging to him. He held her tenderly, as though she might break. He was afraid that if he held her too tightly, she would melt into the air as she did in his dreams.

‘Ned?’ Brown eyes looked at him, and they were no longer afraid. ‘Don’t worry, Ned. It’s an eclipse.’

‘Eclipse? Will the sun come back?’ His voice shook, but whether from fear or emotion, he could not have said.

‘It will come back quite soon.’

Ned rested his cheek against her head and wondered how long eclipses lasted. How soft her hair was. How slim her waist. However long it lasted, it would not be long enough. Marshalling his dazed senses, he reminded himself that he came of peasant stock while the blood which coursed through her veins was finer, purer stuff.

She was watching the sun, angling her head towards that dark slash in the leaves. Ned wasn’t interested in the eclipse, he was too busy observing the play of expression on her face. He wanted to watch her while he could still hold her. He might have a minute or two longer. He let his eyes drink their fill. He loved the delicate line of her nose, and the freckles which the spring sunshine had scattered across her cheekbones. He loved the curve of her cheeks, the shape of her mouth, the small, white, even teeth. Hoping she was too absorbed to notice, he pressed a swift kiss on her temple. He loved the scent of her. A heady mixture of rosemary and Gwenn.

‘Gwenn.’ He bit his lip, foolishly he’d spoken aloud. She stirred in his arms and instinctively, for he wanted to prolong the moment, Ned tightened his hold.

Fortunately, Gwenn was oblivious of him and conscious only of the wonder she was witnessing. ‘It’s getting brighter. Look, Ned, it’s as though God’s drawing back a curtain. Ned?’

He would have a second or two...

‘You’re not looking!’ she said, and understanding that his taste of heaven was over, Ned slackened his hold and obediently tipped his head back to follow her pointing finger.

The first shaft of sunlight slanted through the trees, and as the rays strengthened, the spots of light jumped back into place. A breeze rattled the leaves, and the sunspots shimmered and twirled about the clearing. A blackbird flung back its head, opened its orange bill, and a phrase of song floated out. The bird hesitated, but only for an instant, and the song was completed on a confident ripple of sound. A bluetit flew to a perch on an overhanging branch, and blinked at them with eyes like shiny glass beads.

‘It’s over,’ Ned said, regretfully.

Gwenn’s eyes were as bright as the bluetit’s. ‘It was incredible. I’ve never seen an eclipse before.’

‘Incredible.’ Ned swallowed. It was all he could manage. He wondered miserably if he’d ever have Gwenn in his arms again. She was looking down the path to Kermaria.

‘Ned, you don’t think it was an ill omen, do you?’

‘An ill omen?’

Pearly teeth worried an almond-shaped nail. ‘You don’t think God is angry with my father?’

‘Why should God be angry?’

‘Because...because of the wedding.’

‘I should think God would be pleased, wouldn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s too late to make amends. Perhaps He does not approve of Mama.’

Gwenn’s expression was unhappy, and Ned’s arms ached to hold her, for her comfort and for his. ‘I don’t believe that,’ he said stoutly. ‘Your mother’s a fine lady.’

‘I agree with you. But does God? Remember what happened in Vannes?’ Recalling his involvement in that, Ned felt sick. ‘Remember what the townsfolk said about her? Perhaps God will not forgive someone like my mother. Do you think God forgives great sins?’

‘He must.’ Ned moved closer, pinning his arms to his sides to prevent himself from taking her hands. ‘Gw...Mistress Gwenn,’ now the eclipse was over he must remember to address her formally, ‘we cannot be the only people who witnessed the eclipse. Why should such a phenomenon be directed solely at your parents? If God had a message for your parents, wouldn’t He find a more personal way of delivering it? And now, Mistress Gwenn, we should be getting back. Your parents will be wondering where you are.’ He waved her ahead of him.

She could only have proceeded ten paces when she halted. ‘Ned, I...I... There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.’

‘Mistress?’

Gwenn twisted her hands together, and her cheeks went the colour of a dark rose. ‘Ned, I...I wanted to tell you how much I like you, and how much I value your friendship, b...but...’ She stammered to a halt, and her brown eyes gazed helplessly up at him. Her flush deepened.

She was embarrassed, and Ned thought he knew why. He swallowed, and tried to ease her mind. ‘It’s alright, mistress. You don’t need to worry. I know I shouldn’t have held you. It won’t happen again. I know my place.’

‘No. No, Ned, it’s nothing to do with place. It’s just that I don’t feel that way about you. Do you understand?’

‘I do.’ The hollow feeling in the pit of Ned’s stomach told him he understood only too well. But that didn’t mean he would have to stop dreaming. Perhaps, one day...

She smiled her bright smile. ‘Thank you, Ned. I knew you’d not make difficulties.’ She straightened her veil and circlet of flowers and walked on.

‘Mistress Gwenn?’

‘Aye?’

‘You won’t forget your father’s orders, will you?’

‘Orders?’

‘Concerning your mode of addressing me.’

‘I won’t forget, Sergeant Fletcher.’

Ned intercepted her smile and sent her one from his heart. He could smell apple blossom. They had reached the orchard.

‘Gwenn! Gwenn!’ Raymond Herevi was striding towards them. ‘Did you see it?’

Gwenn hastened towards her brother, while Ned turned towards the iron gateway which led to the yard.

‘The eclipse?’ Gwenn said. ‘Yes, we saw it.’

Raymond took his sister’s arm in a purposeful grip and marched her into the chapel porch, and out of Ned’s sight.

‘Gwenn, come with me, will you?’ Raymond said. ‘I want your views on something.’

‘You want my views, Raymond?’ Gwenn asked, as they stood in the calm, cool of Kermaria chapel. ‘It must be serious, you never normally ask my opinion on anything. What is it?’

‘It’s Mama,’ Raymond said abruptly. ‘And dear Father, of course.’

‘You sound cross, Raymond. What’s the problem?’

‘The problem is our parents’ wedding.’

‘That’s a problem? I rejoice for them.’

‘You might well. I don’t,’ Raymond said baldly. ‘Why do they have to marry?’

‘Mama’s having a baby, you know that.’

‘Aye. I do know. But she’s had babies before and they never saw fit to marry.’

Gwenn bent her head. ‘They think to legitimise the child, Raymond, so it will not have to bear the burden we do.’

‘Quite.’ Raymond’s green eyes glittered with a fierce anger. ‘The child will be legitimate, but we, dear sister, will remain bastards.’

‘Don’t be bitter, Raymond. They can’t undo the past. But they can help this babe.’

‘Holy Christ!’ Raymond bit out. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you? You haven’t thought about the implications.’

‘Implications?’

‘For years our dear father wouldn’t acknowledge us openly, and then we come here and he does acknowledge us. At last, poor Raymond thinks he has a chance of an inheritance. Then this sham of a wedding ruins everything. If the child Mama is carrying is a boy, Gwenn, I’ll lose all I’ve gained since coming here. I’ll be of no account, and I’ll have to bow down to some snivelling little brat who’s no better than me, but who happens to be born in wedlock.’