‘Knows his own mind, doesn’t he?’ Alan said, and seeing Ned was intent on the baby, he offered Gwenn his hand with a gallant flourish. ‘Lady Blanche?’
Gwenn slid to the ground in front of Alan and his hands went to her waist, steadying her. Alan’s lips were framing a light, flirtatious remark, when something about the closeness of her, and the pink in her cheeks, gave him pause. For a moment he was whisked back two years to the time they had sheltered in the Locmariaquer dolmen and, as then, he felt faint stirrings of alarm. They had kissed then, they must not do so again. Carefully, Alan peeled his hands from her too-willowy waist and stepped back.
Privately he agreed with Ned, Gwenn was pretty, but Alan had never found resisting prettiness difficult; looks did not count for much. Prettiness, like flowers, soon faded. But this past day, he had seen another side of Gwenn, a side he had always suspected was there. He had watched how she put her brother and sister’s needs before her own, and he had seen the determination with which she battled on against the odds. He must repress his growing feeling for her. What would she think if she knew the way his thoughts were tending? Would she be shocked? Once or twice Alan had caught her eyes on him, and they had been glowing like dark amber. Unconsciously, he sighed. He must stop this, now, before it became too painful. He could not hurt Ned. Gwenn was Ned’s wife.
Seeing the frown darkening his brow, Gwenn misinterpreted the reason for it. ‘I’m sorry, Alan. We are making slower progress than you anticipated. It will be many days before you can rejoin your Duke.’
Gwenn’s mouth... Her lips were rosy, and slightly parted. She was flushed from the ride, and looked very desirable. Though there were at least two paces between them, Alan could feel the heat of her body. His scowl deepened while he tried to recall when he had last enjoyed a woman. It seemed an age ago. It was obviously time he found one, and the sooner the better. But would another woman’s mouth look as tempting as Gwenn’s?
‘Alan?’ Ned brought Alan back to earth with a thud.
‘Aye?’ Whatever was the matter with him? A harmless flirtation with Ned’s wife was one thing, but adultery was out of the question. It had never held any appeal for Alan, even before he had discovered the truth of his birth. Learning that the man he had adored as his father was in fact his stepfather, had only strengthened this conviction. Gwenn Herevi – no, that was wrong, she was Gwenn Fletcher now and he must strive to remember that – Gwenn Fletcher, tempting though she was, was not for him.
‘Pass Katarin down, would you?’
Moving to the mule, Alan obliged, and the little girl gave him one of her rare smiles. Under the concerned gaze of the three adults, Katarin crossed to where her brother was crawling in the leaves.
Alan heard Gwenn’s sigh, and Ned must have done too, for he put an arm round her and pulled her to his side. ‘She’ll heal, Gwenn,’ Ned murmured, kissing her ear. Gwenn coloured, and threw a self-conscious glance at Alan; and Alan began loosening his horse’s girth.
‘Alan?’
‘Yes, mistress?’ Ned’s arm was draped round her shoulders and it looked as though it belonged there.
‘Is there a village nearby?’
‘There’s nothing for at least seven miles. Then we reach Pontivy. Why?’
Pontivy was a flourishing market town, and one of the larger settlements in the vicinity, complete with small military garrison under command of the Rohan family.
Gwenn’s lips turned down at the edges. ‘I...I’d hoped to persuade you to find a physician to examine Katarin.’
‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Ned objected swiftly. ‘Malait might be hot on our trail. We should wait until we arrive at Ploumanach.’
Unhappily, Gwenn nodded. ‘I expect you’re right. But Alan could go to the town. They can’t know Alan is with us. And won’t sound silver buy us a healer we can trust to keep his mouth shut?’
‘We should keep our eyes and ears open for the rest of the afternoon,’ Alan said, remembering the Knights of St John had a hospital at Pontivy. ‘If by the time we make camp we have not seen anything to alarm us, I think a visit to the town might be in order. We’ll probably be out of food by then and will need more supplies, especially for the babe. In view of the circumstances, I agree it has to be me who ventures into Pontivy.’ It had also occurred to Alan that he could find himself a woman. The presence of the Rohan garrison virtually guaranteed that there would be whores a-plenty. He saw nothing wrong with the trade they plied. In his mind, good old-fashioned lust was perfectly natural, and no sin. Fornication between two consenting adults, both of whom knew the precautions that had to be taken – where was the wrong in that? It was adultery that was fraught with perils, that and sex that took no heed of the consequences.
‘Will we reach Pontivy by nightfall?’ Gwenn asked.
‘Unless that mule turns lame.’
‘Perhaps...perhaps you could exchange Ned’s mule in the town for something more comfortable?’
Alan looked consideringly at the mule. Without doubt the animal had seen better days. ‘That will cost you too,’ he said doubtfully, ‘and a deal more than any physician. Do you have any idea how much a horse costs? Why, I’ve seen knights forced to ride around on mules that make a prince of Ned’s beast.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Alan, I told you. We have money.’
That mouth, even when she was angry...
‘No, Gwenn!’ Ned objected, warmly. ‘This mule does me very well.’
‘Don’t lie, Ned. It does not do well at all. It’s a flea-bitten, crabby old thing, and I’d like you to have a horse like Alan’s.’
Alan laughed to hear her assume that the courser belonged to him. ‘This is not my horse, Gwenn. Firebrand is on loan from Duke Geoffrey.’
Ned took Gwenn’s chin and tipped her face to his. ‘We’re not wasting money on a horse for me.’
‘Whose money is it?’ she said, thrusting her bottom lip forwards.
‘Why yours, you know that,’ Ned answered equably. ‘And we must save it, not waste it on a horse for me.’
Like St Jerome, Ned seemed to have a limitless supply of patience and his own brand of determination. When making her marriage vows Gwenn must have sworn to obey her husband, and if Alan were Ned, he’d not hesitate to command her obedience and have done. But he was not Ned, and he was not married to Gwenn.
‘I’m off to the stream to water Firebrand, lest Duke Geoffrey string me up for neglect,’ he said abruptly and left the glade.
***
The great green forest which clothed inland Brittany was eaten into by rivers, and by the townships and settlements dotted at sparse intervals along their banks. Alan’s route had taken them to the River Blavet, and now they followed its tortuous course. They deviated from the Blavet only when it was necessary to avoid habitation. The detours slowed them further.
That night, the second of their journey, they made camp near a small tributary in a section of the forest to the south of Pontivy. Pontivy was one of the larger settlements, and the last for many a long mile where they would be a hospital. Alan was by no means sure that he could persuade a healer leave the hospital and venture into the forest, but he resolved to try. The Knights of St John, he thought cynically, despite being primarily monks who followed the order of St Augustine, had a very worldly attitude to money. However, there was a chance they might help him if he let them think a large donation to the hospital would be forthcoming. No one, not even hospitallers, did something for nothing.
Having agreed upon a suitable camp site, Alan left his companions and went into the town. He headed for the bridge and the site of St Ivy’s oratory.
He rode past a tavern, ringing with noise. The door flew open and a bright javelin of light shot across the highway. For an instant it seemed that the road was the field of a knight’s black shield with a golden band running diagonally across it. A wild, unkempt figure stared out of the tavern’s signboard – leaves sprouted from its hair. This inn was known as the Green Man. The door slammed, and the golden band was gone.