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.’
‘Oh, Raymond. I’m sorry.’ She had not considered the wedding from his point of view. Being a girl, with no inheritance to worry about, she had not thought what would happen to her brother if the baby was male. ‘Do you remember how lovely Katarin was when she was a babe?’ she said.
To her relief, Raymond’s face softened. ‘Aye, but she’s a girl.’
‘This new baby could well be a girl. And then you will have got yourself stewed up over nothing.’ She gave him a straight look. ‘Don’t spoil today, Raymond. Mother has longed for this for years.’ She took his hand. ‘Think. You’ll gain nothing but Papa’s anger. Try to calm down, Raymond, please. For Mama’s sake.’
‘I’ve put a lot into Kermaria,’ he said, and Gwenn sensed he was weakening.
‘You have. I know that, and don’t you think Papa appreciates your efforts? He’s a fair man, Raymond, he’ll see you’re looked after. Don’t spoil the wedding, please.’
A dubious smile lifted a corner of his mouth.
‘Come on, Raymond, let that smile break through. And then we can go in and dance at our parents’ wedding.’
The smile broadened. ‘You’re a witch, Gwenn, but you’re right. I’ll try and smile today, and I’ll bite my tongue.’
Gwenn looked warmly at him. ‘And pray for a girl?’
He shot her a sharp look. ‘And pray for a girl.’
Chapter Fifteen
By the time August was almost over in that same year of 1185, three months of strong sunshine had baked the earth as hard as fired clay. The sun’s harsh rays had been beating relentlessly on the marshy waters around Kermaria so that the pools dwindled, shrinking almost out of existence; and the waterfowl that lived in the wetlands were forced to congregate on shrinking and ever more crowded patches of water. Fish swam sluggishly in the stagnant waters, easy prey for the herons and divers who gorged themselves till their bloated bodies could hardly take off from the water. Against all predictions, the heatwave continued. The lakelets began to smell, and the time came when the gasping fish could no longer survive in the murky shallows. When this happened the herons and divers left.
It had been the hottest summer that Yolande could remember.
In a rare moment of idleness, she was sitting in the window seat on the first-floor solar, gazing dreamily at the bridge and marsh beyond the village. One hand rested on her burgeoning belly, and with the other she shaded her eyes. She rocked her body to comfort herself, for the heat was distressing her. A pile of sheets sat on the window seat opposite. However hard she worked, there was always more to do. Yolande threw the linen a half-hearted scowl – she was too tired to be more than half-hearted about anything in this heat. Leaning heavily on the stone window ledge, she succumbed to the feeling of lassitude that she had been wrestling against all day. It was well in to the afternoon, and she’d done enough to warrant a brief respite.
This pregnancy had not been easy, and she still had a month to go. Yolande knew she had nothing to worry about, but she wished she did not feel quite so huge. It was five long years since Katarin had been born, and it was strange how easily one forgot the discomforts a pregnancy could bring. She had no recollection of feeling so swollen with her other pregnancies. A ridiculous idea came to her, that if this baby should grow any more, she must surely burst. The idea took root in her mind and, shaking her head to dislodge it, she pushed the shutter wide. She must increase the draught through the solar. In winter she spent all her time keeping out the draughts, but at this moment she’d exchange her eye teeth for a whisper of wind. The incessant heat was making her breath come in short, shallow gasps, but she knew the babe was well. And, as if the child in her womb could read her thoughts, it moved vigorously. Yolande smiled. There was nothing wrong with this one. If only it would not push so hard against her ribs and lungs.
‘You’re not helping,’ she gently admonished the child in her womb. ‘You should leave room for me. You can’t manage without me, remember?’ Another twinge – a kick? – was all the answer she got, but it satisfied Yolande.
A blow-fly, huge and drunk with the heat, buzzed in through the window. Yolande followed its flight, too drowsy to attempt to swat the nuisance. The fly lurched out again, and her gaze wandered out over the landscape. The flies had hatched in their thousands that summer. Great swarms of mosquitos hung in the air. She could see shadowy drifts of them, floating over what was left of the marsh, twisting slowly in the fetid air like fragments of a gossamer veil hung out to dry. Shimmering dragonflies hovered over lily pads. Everyone had slowed their pace. The abundance of insects made even the swallows lazy, and they skimmed across the patchy pools so slowly it was miraculous they stayed airborne.
The dark, holly green of the tunic her husband was wearing caught her gaze. Jean was with her brother-in-law on the bridge, presumably inspecting the tower’s defences. The natural protection of the moat, formed by marsh and stream, had gone, dried up along with the rest of the water, and this was causing Jean no little concern. What they all needed was rain. The water in the well had turned cloudy that morning; the garderobe stank, and she couldn’t spare the water to have it swilled out lest the well went completely dry.