“And he’s lazy. Outhenham could produce more stone if someone was willing to make the effort to sell it.”

“And that someone is me?”

“You can do anything—that’s the kind of person you are.”

He was surprised. Even if it was not true, he was pleased that she thought it.

She said: “Don’t blush!”

He laughed. “Thank you for having faith in me. I hope I can justify it.”

“Now, I have some news,” she said.

Ah, he thought; this will be the reason why she seemed distracted earlier.

She said: “I’m going to have a baby.”

“Oh!” The announcement took his breath away—which was strange, for it was hardly surprising that a healthy young bride should get pregnant. And he had even noticed that she had put on weight. “Baby,” he said stupidly. “My goodness.”

“It’s due in May.”

He did not know what to say. What question did people ask a pregnant woman? “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“A boy, to please Wilf. He wants an heir.”

“Of course.” A nobleman always wanted heirs.

She smiled. “Are you happy for me?”

“I am,” Edgar said. “Very happy.”

He wondered why that felt like a lie.

Christmas Eve was a Saturday this year. Early that morning Aldred got a message from Mother Agatha asking him to go and see her. He put on a cloak and walked down to the ferry.

Edgar was there, unloading stones from his raft. “Ragna agreed to give us the stone free,” he said, smiling at his triumph.

“Great news! Well done.”

“I can’t start building yet—the mortar might freeze overnight. But I can get everything ready.”

“But I still can’t pay you.”

“I won’t starve.”

“Is there something I can do for you by way of reward, something that doesn’t require money?”

Edgar shrugged. “If I think of something, I’ll ask.”

“Good enough.” Aldred looked toward the alehouse. “I need to cross to the nunnery. Is Blod around?”

“I’ll take you.” Edgar untied the ferry as Aldred boarded, then picked up a pole and pushed the boat across the narrow channel to the island.

Edgar waited at the waterside while Aldred knocked at the door of the convent and Agatha came out in a cloak. She would not let men into the nunnery, but because of the cold she took Aldred into the church, which was empty.

At the east end, near the altar, was a chair carved from a block of stone, with a rounded back and a flat seat. “A sanctuary stool,” he commented. By tradition, anyone sitting on such a chair in a church was immune from prosecution, regardless of his or her crimes, and those who flouted that rule, and captured or killed someone who had taken refuge there, were themselves subject to the death penalty.

Agatha nodded. “It’s not easily accessible, of course, here on this island. But a fugitive who is innocent will show determination.”