Chapter Twelve

It was just unlucky, I suppose. Unlucky and unfortunate, that my plan to slip out of the house after dark and make my way alone to the river was completely ruined by Lady Anne’s last-minute decision to take the whole household down to the water for an outdoor supper. A torchlit picnic under the trees, to mark the eve of midsummer. For she recognized the unease, the suspicion and mistrust among her people. This was her attempt to jolt them out of themselves, to lift their spirits, to get them talking again. It was a good idea. A great strategy. For me, it spelled disaster. I spent most of the day agonizing about whether to go with them, or whether to feign illness again, and try to slip down later, unobserved. I had no idea where my brothers would come, but Conor, I supposed, could see things as they were and might guide them to some place of relative safety. If I were at the river before dusk, if I could get away from the others without attracting notice, perhaps they could fly to where I waited alone, and I could warn them. Perhaps. My spirit shrank to think that Richard would be there, so close. Ben had watched over me like an anxious mother with a delicate babe. Even Margery had given me a wan smile the other day. But still I felt alone, so alone; the path was indeed a hard one, and full of dangers.

If Red had been there, he would have engaged his uncle in some complex debate about boundaries or allegiances. If Red had been there, he would have ensured I was surrounded by those whom he trusted, protected from prying questions and suggestive looks. But Red was gone; and his uncle made himself my close companion as the household walked down the avenue of poplars to a broad green expanse of riverbank, that warm summer afternoon. It lacked but a short time until dusk. Not long. Not long enough. Lady Anne had provided me with clothing fit for my new status as her son’s wife. I had chosen the plainest and most demure of these gowns, dark green in color with a high neckline and sleeves to the wrist. But still he made comment, with a sidelong glance and an insinuating lift of the brows. His fair beard was trimmed neat as a privel hedge after the first autumn pruning. His black tunic was immaculate, the neckline finished with a thin line of silver thread.

“Well, my dear.” He looked me up and down, taking his time. “Quite the lady, I see. You surprised us all. Hugh surprised us. Never thought he was one of those men that think with their loins first and their head later. Not our Hugh. Monumental blunder. Still, it may be short-lived enough.”

I walked on, grimly suppressing the urge to kick him. Before and behind me, people carried blankets and baskets, chattered and laughed. Lady Anne had sound instincts. Where was Ben? I thought I glimpsed his blond head somewhere in front.