Chapters (50)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- The Pengarron Sagas
- The Harvey Family Sagas
‘You’ll have to marry that one,’ Harvey returned to the original theme. ‘Don’t reckon she’s the sort to lie down for anyone this side of the church.’
Morgan made no reply, settling himself into his own thoughts.
Hal was worried. Morgan didn’t lay women at random, more than one at a time, like the rest of them did. He waited between bouts of celibacy for a woman to take his fancy and then nothing would set him on a different course. Seducing the quiet young lady up in Polgissey House, whom Hal had noticed pined after her cousin, would mean trouble, without a doubt.
Luke Pengarron might appear soft, with some silly notion about writing plays, but Hal sensed he was as hard as a ship’s nail and he had never witnessed a man as protective of his kin and his servants. Then there was his father to think about. Sir Oliver Pengarron lived far away, but even before Hal had seen the baronet at the big house, he had heard of his reputation for hardness and revenge on anyone hurting his family. It was legendary.
‘Wonder how come that Jack Rosevear’s got himself such a fine wife? A bit of quality there, if I’m not mistaken. Mighty strange,’ Malachi ruminated. ‘She’s quite a beauty. Got a full belly too.’
‘Congratulations to the steward then.’ Harvey raised his tankard of ale in a toast in Morgan’s direction. ‘The other young lady will shortly be joining her, eh, brother?’
Eighteen
It had been an overcast day and would soon be dark. The winds for the month of June were unusually fractious. Chilled through and nervous, Kerensa shivered inside a small private building on the Tolwithrick estate.
Once a gamekeeper’s cottage, about to be demolished, Rachael Beswetherick had ordered its ostentatious renovation and turned it into a hideaway for herself where, as mother of fourteen surviving children, she sat and sewed or read or played the spinet. Everywhere there were embroidered cushions and tapestries and hangings on the walls, and piles of the fashionable Lady’s Magazine, a sixpenny monthly.
Rachael had offered the cottage to Kerensa soon after the day of the baptism. This was Kerensa’s first time here. The place where she had chosen to meet Clem.
Unlike Rachael, she could not rest. Pacing up and down, her heart jerking, her stomach churning, she avoided looking at her reflection in the many showy mirrors. When she thought of Oliver she headed towards the door. When she thought of Clem she turned in the opposite direction towards the moulded fireplace.
‘What am I doing here?’