He wanted to run to her, take her in his arms and drag her away from the bloody church; he wanted to hide her, protect her and help her heal, and if it wouldn’t have been so ridiculous and misplaced, he wanted to place her beautiful head against his chest and cradle her better. He wanted her to know that Digby was a fool, an idiot, a madman to let her slip through his fingers! And that he, Jarvis Cardy, would never hurt a hair on her head or let her down. He would make sure she understood that what he felt for her was a heart-thumping, soul-sparkling love that filled him up. And he knew he would die a happy man if he could wake and look at her face across the table each morning; happy because he knew there was nowhere else he would want to be and no one else he would want to be with. She could rely on him. He would give her the fairy story, friendship, respect and deep, deep love. He wanted to put down strong roots with her that entwined and grew deep, going all the way to the mines, where their ancestors had dug in the dark for tin.

But of course he would do and say no such thing. Because today was supposed to be her wedding day. Instead he would go gently, slowly, and be there for her as her friend.

CHAPTER SIX MERRIN

CHAPTER SIX

MERRIN

Merrin kept her eyes closed, trusting Jarvis to lift her down from the cart. The girls, again with arms wrapped tightly around her, spirited her into number one Kellow Cottages. If a close hold and whispered words of love and reassurance were enough to heal, Merrin would have skipped into the kitchen, whacked the radio on and danced her way back to happiness. If only.

Like a wobbly-legged survivor in the aftermath of an atrocity that had left the room darkened, changed, she tentatively felt her way to the window seat in the parlour and sat down, running her hand over the brightly embroidered cushion that had been there for as long as she could remember. Her dad filled the broad-based kettle and set it on the range. His morning coat lay discarded over the footstool in front of the fire. Scanning the room where she had spent the morning, Merrin felt the creep of cold over her skin, despite the warmth of the summer day. The curling tongs, her make-up mirror and the abandoned glass of gin were where she had left them. Bella picked it up and necked it. It seemed that gin, like tea, was communal in this house.

‘Merrin?’ Ruby spoke loudly enough to make her jump.

‘What?’ Merrin stared at her sister.