Alice emerged from the solar, her mind a whirl of confusion. Bastien’s description of his mother did not seem to fit the woman she had just encountered. Indeed, Cecile seemed at pains to make amends to Bastien. Maybe, just maybe, some chance at reconciliation between the two of them was possible.

‘My lady?’ Snared in her thoughts, Alice jumped as Mary appeared at her side. ‘I thought I had better wait for you…to show you the way.’

‘Thank you, Mary. I would be hopelessly lost without you.’ She followed the maidservant down the stairs, trailing her hand over the curving stone wall to keep her balance on the uneven steps, allowing her breathing to steady after meeting Bastien’s mother. For some reason, Cecile’s friendliness had set Alice’s nerves on edge; now, she took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling.

‘How did you find my Lady Cecile?’ Mary paused on the stairs, the hem of her simple fustian gown bunching on the higher step behind her. She nodded up at the door of the solar, indicating the source of her question.

‘She seemed very friendly.’

‘God’s truth?’ Mary’s eyes widened with surprise. She clapped a hand over her mouth, then lowered her eyes, crestfallen. ‘My apologies. I wasn’t sure how she would be, you know, after seeing Lord Bastien again. It might have opened old wounds.’ Mary’s voice dropped to a hush.

Alice smiled. ‘I think she wants to repair the relationship with Bastien.’

A look of relief passed over the maidservant’s face, and she turned to continue down the steps. ‘Come and break your fast, my lady,’ Mary said when they reached the dim corridor at the bottom of the steps. ‘The great hall is this way.’

The wooden floorboards creaked under Alice’s slight weight as she paused. ‘Have you seen Lord Bastien today?’

‘When he heard you were still sleeping, he went out.’ Mary searched Alice’s features with a lively interest. ‘Not far, I suspect, because he didn’t ask the groom for a horse. He’ll be about the gardens somewhere.’

‘I’ll find him.’

Alice stepped through the door, and out into the blustery air. Immense, rounded lumps of cloud had begun to form to the west, moving over the blue sky, obscuring it. A few random drops of rain, carried in on the wind, touched her face as she descended the steps to walk around the wide, cobbled pathway circling the perimeter of the manor. The strengthening breeze clamped the blue velvet of her gown against the slender contours of her figure, the silver embroidery sparkling in the darkening light, but Alice was oblivious to the covert, admiring glances of the few people who were at work around the place. Her head-dress tugged at its anchoring pins, and Alice, raising one hand to steady it, fervently wished it would rip from her head, fly off, and never be seen again.

The stables were situated at the back of the manor, the low, undulating slates that formed its roof as grey and dark as the lowering sky above them. Behind the stables, a narrow path led to the chapel. Huge, fat drops of rain started falling, spattering the cobbles, the slick wetness revealing a myriad of colour in each individual stone. Maids ran out from the kitchen door, on the north wall, laughing and shivering as the rain flew into the faces, bundling up the laundry that had been spread over the bushes to dry. Their girlish chattering rose into the wind, the end of the sentences ripped away, lost in the breeze.

Alice had no intention of dashing back inside. After the sour fugginess of Cecile’s chambers, the cool rain acted like a blessing on her skin, strumming at her senses, enlivening her. Through the lines of rain sweeping across the cobbles, her eyes lit on the chapel, surrounded by its own neat stone wall, two massive yews either side of the arched doorway. The wooden gate at the top of the cobbled path sat open and she walked through, the long, bending heads of grass on either side of the path brushing wetly against her skirts.

Her fingers grazed the wrought-iron latch; the solid oak door swung in silently, on oiled hinges. The musty air breathed out from the dim interior, a salvation; here, she could seek refuge from the rain, from Cecile and gather her senses before searching for Bastien once more.

The hushed air of the church clung to Alice’s skin as she stepped inside. A trickle of rain slid from her temple, an icy trail down the side of her face. She wiped it away, her eyes adjusting to the light. The church was empty, gloomy with the lowering light outside. Alice moved towards the rows of wooden pews, intending to sit for a while. She reached out to touch the ornately carved end of the back pew; under her fingers, the polished wood was smooth, silky. A small movement flickered in the corner of her eye; she stopped, suddenly, caught.

He was there.

Her breath looped, surged. Her heart thudded, noisy in the billowing silence. Every muscle, every nerve in her body stilled, tensed. She had no wish to intrude. Up at the front of the church, to the right of the altar, Bastien crouched, his big body kneeling down on the flagstones, his elbows resting on the edge of a tomb, palms pushed against his face. His dark green tunic curved around the broad frame of his shoulders, bunched on the flagstones in crumpled folds around his knees. And between his fingers, something dangled, spinning in the damp, silent air. A ring. Katherine’s ring.

Her heart plummeted, a vast sense of loss flooding her limbs; her chest gripped, squeezed suddenly in a vice of desolation. His hunched position spoke to her of a widening expanse between them, a gulf, a chasm that she couldn’t cross. She was unable to fight this, for how could she fight the dead? He was caught in a world that she could never enter. What had she been thinking—that he would forget his first, his only love, because of her? Even after they had spent that wonderful night together, he had warned her, told her of his black-hearted soul that would never change. And here was the reason: Katherine, his fiancée, his love, the girl he could obviously never forget. The clues had been there all along if she had thought about it; but she had chosen not to, ignoring the obvious. Such arrogance on her part! Slowly, tentatively, her heart swollen with grief, she began to back away discreetly, hoping, praying that he wouldn’t notice her.

Immersed in his own thoughts, Bastien failed to hear the door slide shut behind him. Exhaustion dragged at his eyes; he had been at Katherine’s tomb since daybreak. The stone pressed into his forehead as he leaned his head against the carved edge, closing his eyes, trying to relieve the scratching feeling within them. He had spent the time remembering, remembering those brief happy moments with her, the horror of her death. It was time to say goodbye. He had done the right thing in returning to Foxhayne; the dark memories that he had believed would overwhelm him if he returned to the family home had failed to materialise, and he knew why.

A newborn lightness danced around his heart, a surge of hope; the promise of a future he could never have dreamed of only a few weeks ago. And all because of one bright maid, all because of Alice. She had challenged him, back in the forest, told him he could change, but he hadn’t believed her, dismissed her words. Christ, she had even forgiven him for making love to her, and he had thrown it back in her face! But now, returning to Foxhayne, with Alice’s words ringing loud in his ears, he realised that it was possible. Between his fingers, the ring swung, the golden circle that had rested on Katherine’s slim, white finger, the leather lace that had lain all these years against his chest. It was time to say goodbye. Leaning forwards, he hung the lace with its ring around the small stone cross at the head of Katherine’s tomb.

Alice stumbled from the church, blindly, the heavy rain sluicing down her fine features. Great, gulping tears surged from her chest, from the very core of her, splinters of anguish driving deep into her heart. Where could she run, where could she hide, now, to curl up and lick her wounds in private? Maybe the stables, they were often a quiet place to go. She rounded the corner of the house, sprinting fast, and cannoned straight into a wall of solid muscle. Her hands reached out instinctively to brace herself, and she squinted up through the raindrops, her breath emerging in swift short gasps.

‘Careful now,’ a brisk, stern voice advised. A short stocky man stood before her, steel helmet tucked under his arm. His split-sided white tunic bore the distinctive arms of the Duke of York, the falcon and the fetterlock embroidered into the heavy wool. His steadying hands fell from her shoulders, and she made as if to walk past him. ‘Hold a moment, my lady.’ The soldier peered at her with interest. ‘Have you by any chance seen Lord Bastien? I have to find him—it’s a matter of some urgency.’

‘Wh-what?’ she stuttered out, her mind refusing to work.

‘Lord Bastien,’ the soldier repeated patiently. ‘Do you know where he is?’

She wanted to weep at the mention of his name, but she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to hold the tears in, to push the words out. ‘In the chapel, over there.’ As she turned to point the direction through the slanting rain, Bastien’s tall frame emerged from the low door, his blond head bright, distinctive against the stone lintel. ‘There he is,’ she whispered, wanting to run, to flee. Nay, nay! She couldn’t be with him at the moment: her whole body quaked with vulnerability, with the very rawness of the situation, as if her skin had been scoured with brambles. She had to go.

‘Excuse me.’ She stepped around the man, still intent on gaining the solitude of the stables. She couldn’t face Bastien now.

‘Alice, wait!’ Bastien called after her, his strong velvet tones punishing her with their beauty. She carried on walking, pretending not to hear. ‘Alice, stop!’

He covered the ground in great bounding steps, too quick for her to escape, ignoring the soldier trying desperately to gain his attention, catching at her fingers, pulling her back to him. ‘Stay with me,’ he murmured, the fronds of his wet hair brushing her forehead. ‘I need to talk to you.’ His lips moved close to the sensitive lobe of her ear; she quivered at the familiar thrill arching through her slender frame. Why didn’t he ignore her? Why did he have to make it so difficult for her to leave? Surely he didn’t really want her here, after the touching scene she had so recently witnessed?

‘Lord Bastien?’

Bastien regarded the squat figure of the soldier, wrinkling his straight nose with mild irritation. ‘What is it?’ Droplets of rain clung to the ends of his hair, sparkling diamonds on gold.

‘The Duke needs you, my lord. He’s at Abberley. He sent this.’ The soldier handed Bastien a roll of parchment. Releasing Alice’s fingers, Bastine unrolled the thick paper, scanned the scrawl of writing, and groaned. The lustrous green of his eyes roved Alice’s face. ‘I have to go, Alice, the Duke does need me.’ He shook his head. ‘Believe me when I tell you it’s the last thing I want to do at this moment. There is so much I want to say to you, to share with you.’

Alice frowned at the softness in his voice, the tenderness she saw lurking behind his eyes. Her heart reached out to him, even as she tried to close herself down against his devastating nearness. ‘Let me come with you, to Abberley,’ she whispered. Suddenly she longed for the predictable stability of home, the security and warmth of her father’s hug.

‘Nay, it’s too dangerous; the Duke has surrounded the castle.’

‘But…my parents?’

‘I’m sure they are safe. I’ll bring back news of them.’ The rain had eased up momentarily and he touched one lean finger to the yielding dampness of her cheek. ‘Promise me that you’ll stay here until I return. You’ll be safe.’ His lips curved into a smile, dazzling her, scraping cruelly at the open wound of her loneliness.

‘But…your mother? Will she mind?’ Alice inspected his angled face with wide blue eyes.

‘My mother will be all right. It’s me she hates, not you.’

Alice plunged her hands into the powdery flour, kneading her fingers into the softening clots of butter, amalgamating the two by rubbing them together. Pouring in a few drops of water from an earthenware jug, she brought the mixture together to form a dough.

‘Here, use this for a pie dish.’ Mary placed a clay platter on the table at her side. Hand on her hips, she regarded Alice with a smile, her small blue eyes twinkling in a rounded face. ‘You know, for a noblewoman you’re quite adept in the kitchen.’

Alice scooped up a lump of spare butter with her fingertips, began to grease the dish. ‘I enjoy it; I like to be busy.’ And it keeps my mind from dwelling on Bastien, on what he might say to me on his return, about whether I’ve done the right thing by staying, she thought. Several days had passed since his departure; the loss of his steady, vibrant presence sliced through her like a cold blade. Her misery at seeing him in the church had refused to slacken, instead heaping in great folds inside her, tormenting her, crumbling her hopes, her dreams, to dust.

‘There.’ Spreading a thin layer of loose flour across the well-scrubbed kitchen table, Alice thumped down the lump of dough, proceeding to roll it out. She laid the wide, flat disc over the dish, pressing at the smooth surface, trimming the top edge with a small knife.

‘He’ll be back soon, you know.’ Casting a sideways glance at Alice’s downcast face, Mary began to lay the chunks of apple into the pastry lining.

‘I’m not so sure,’ Alice replied doubtfully. ‘There’s nothing for him here.’

Mary blinked, her busy hands stalling on the peeled apple chunks. She laughed out loud. ‘You’re here, Alice.’

Alice wiped her hands down the front of her borrowed apron. ‘Nay, Mary, you have that wrong. His heart is elsewhere.’

The maidservant frowned. ‘But…who?’

Alice lifted trembling, flour-clogged palms to her face, trying to stop the tears from spilling. All the unhappiness that had built up since the day she had seen Bastien at Katherine’s tomb seemed to gather now in one big fist around her heart. ‘It’s no use, Mary, I saw him, I saw him at Katherine’s grave; he’s never going to forget her.’

She collapsed into vast, shuddering sobs, her small frame shrinking inwards, bundling her arms about herself in an effort for control.

‘Oh, my dear, I had no idea you were feeling like this!’ Mary pulled her into a big hug, as Alice wept uncontrollably on her shoulder. ‘You have got yourself in an awful state, haven’t you? Now, come on, calm down, I’m sure you have it wrong.’

Alice shook her head miserably in response.

‘Nay, you definitely have it wrong. Why, even the Lady Cecile noticed that he had eyes only for you. Come on, dry your eyes.’ Mary plucked a large, clean handkerchief from one of the voluminous pockets in her skirts, and Alice lifted her damp face, accepting it gratefully.

Stepping back out of Mary’s comforting arms, Alice wiped her face and blew her nose decisively. A drifting rootlessness had possessed her since Bastien’s departure, a gaping uncertainty about the future. He had asked her to stay, and stay she would, if only to be told by Bastien the words she dreaded to hear: that no future existed for the two of them together.

‘I’m sorry, Mary.’ Alice handed back the creased linen square.

‘Ah, there you are!’ Both women turned in unison at the familiar shrill voice in the doorway. Lady Cecile moved gracefully into the kitchens, her pinched smile overlaid with a trace of irritation. Her shrewd green eyes clamped onto Alice. ‘Why must you persist in these menial tasks, girl? I have enough servants to perform such duties.’ She folded her pale hands across the countless pleats that fell from the high, tightly fitted waistband of her gown.

A wan smile tugged at Alice’s features. ‘I was keeping Mary company.’ She hadn’t seen very much of Bastien’s mother in the past few days, and had assumed that the older woman preferred to be alone.

‘Well, come and keep me company. I’m sitting all on my own in the solar. If you’re intending to marry that son of mine, then I think I need to know you a little better.’

Untying her apron, Alice’s hands stilled on the linen strings. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Cecile raised non-existent eyebrows, the thin skin of her forehead wrinkling upwards like old parchment. ‘You heard me well enough, girl.’

Mary nudged her in the elbow. ‘You see, Alice. I’m not the only one to have noticed. Everyone has seen it except you.’

Except that you didn’t see him in the chapel, Alice thought limply. You didn’t see him. Even I thought there was a chance before then, a chance that we could be together. But it was obvious both Mary and Lady Cecile had made up their minds and she was too exhausted and confused to argue with them.

‘Come, Lady Alice, let’s leave this place.’ Cecile whisked a disparaging glance around the cluttered kitchens, the rank of copper pans shining from the wall next to the cooking fire, a servant scrubbing energetically at some pots in the deep stone sink. Her critical gaze moved back to Mary. ‘Tell that cook, wherever she might be, that I want to speak to her. This place needs some sorting out.’

Placing her apron on the table, Alice threw an apologetic glance towards Mary.

‘Go on,’ Mary whispered in response. ‘You’re doing her good; I haven’t seen her this happy for ages.’

Alice followed Cecile’s nimble figure down the corridor, blinking in the dim light after the brightness of the kitchens. The older woman carried herself ramrod straight, her head held high. Every detail of her elaborate attire was perfect: the tiny pearls sewn in lines across the fashionable turban headdress, the stiff, pressed edges of the high, linen collar that she wore, the knife-sharp pleats of her bodice. Alice drew level with her as they emerged into the hallway, and instinctively turned to the right, thinking they would mount the stairs to the solar. Cecile laid one bony hand on Alice’s forearm, stalling her.

‘There’s something I wanted to show you, before we go up. I think you might find it interesting.’

‘What is it?’ Alice hesitated.

Cecile tapped her nose, adopting a teasing girlish tone that sat at odds with her starched, formal demeanour. ‘Oh, Alice, I didn’t really want to spoil the surprise.’

Alice hung back, unsure. There had been too many surprises recently.

Cecile laughed, a brittle, tinkling sound echoing up to the high vaulted ceiling. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She clutched at Alice’s sleeve, her claw-like fingers digging in to the fine silk velvet. ‘You trust me. You know more than anyone how much I want to make it up to Bastien, after all these years of estrangement.’

Alice curled her toes up in her thin-soled shoes, embarrassed by her hesitation. She could hold her own against Cecile, surely? They were equally matched in height and weight. And Bastien’s mother seemed to be making a great effort to change, despite her autocratic ways.

‘I wanted to show you a place where Bastien and his brother Guillaume used to play; a special place that I thought you might like to see. I go there myself, sometimes.’

The wistful air of Cecile’s words pulled at Alice’s heart. This woman meant no harm; she was merely trying to help Alice connect with the family, with Bastien’s past. Cecile’s shoulders wilted slightly, her fingers fiddling nervously with her rings. And in that single gesture of self-consciousness, Alice’s guarded heart succumbed, went out to this poor woman, who had lost one son, and was desperately trying to win back the affection of the other.

‘I would love to see it.’

A wide, undulating river flowed steadily at the northern end of the manor, its shallow banks on the opposite side frilled with drooping willows, their leafless fronds tickling the surface of the water. The feeble warmth of the autumn day was dropping fast now, the sun low on the horizon. Cecile led Alice to the back of the manor, where the river slapped up against the steep, sheer sides of an old perimeter wall.

‘I had no idea the water came this close!’ Alice exclaimed.

‘The original castle was built on a bend in the river; it provided an excellent defence in times of attack,’ Cecile explained. ‘My two boys used to love it when they were young; they came down here all the time.’ A gentleness embraced her voice. ‘They had a little boat, which they would tie up here.’ She pointed down to the right, to an uneven flight of steps disappearing into the slopping waves of the river, to an iron ring set in the stone wall.

‘They used to argue about who would hold the oars,’ she continued, her tone adopting a sing-song musing quality. Alice shivered; despite the rays of the setting sun shining on the two women, there was no warmth in the air.

‘It’s a beautiful place,’ she agreed with Cecile, ‘but don’t you think we should go back now? It’s getting late.’

‘They used to hide from me, you know.’ Snared in her own memories, Cecile seemed not to hear Alice’s words. Her eyes acquired a distant far-away expression. ‘Look, down here.’ She began to descend the stairs, her hand moving along the stone wall to keep her balance, not noticing how the long sleeves of her gown trailed through the slippery green slime that coated each step.

The undulating movement of the black, murky water against the stone wall made a jerky, smacking sound. Apprehension washed over Alice; she wanted to support Cecile, but maybe dragging up old memories was not helping the older woman. Cecile reached out for the iron ring in the wall, pulled it, and to Alice’s surprise, a small door opened in the stone. ‘See?’ Cecile glanced up at Alice triumphantly, her face white, strained. ‘I haven’t forgotten after all these years! Oh, the times I spent calling those two scamps! And they would be hiding in here, playing their games, dreaming their dreams!’ She leaned inside the dark interior, the stiff pleats of her veil scraping against the top of the doorway.

‘It’s exactly the same, the same as when they played in there.’ Cecile withdrew from the small chamber, her expression clouded with memories.

‘I think we should go back now, my lady,’ Alice announced practically from the top of the steps. Fear grew like a hard lump in her chest. ‘Why not come back and look at it in daylight?’

Two deep creases appeared between Cecile’s high-drawn eyebrows. She frowned at her hands, studying them closely. ‘My ring!’ she gasped in horror. ‘My wedding ring. I’ve dropped it!’ She ducked her head and shoulders back through the wooden door. ‘It’s so dark, I can’t see anything.’ Encased in the stone chamber, her voice emerged as a muffled moan. ‘It’s the ring that Guy gave to me, I can’t lose it! I just can’t!’

Galvanised by Cecile’s distraught tones, Alice sprang down the steps. ‘Let me look, my lady. You’re too upset. Look, careful now, I’ll swap places with you.’

Cecile backed out carefully from the chamber, pale, distracted, visibly shaking. Tears squeezed from her eyes, already red-rimmed. ‘You’re a good girl, Alice, such a kind nature.’ She moved up one step, allowing Alice to bend her head, to look inside the dark, dank space. Her voice changed swiftly, thick and dark, guttural with hate. ‘My son doesn’t deserve you.’ With one almighty heave, Cecile pushed at Alice’s unsuspecting back, tilting her off balance, bundling her into the chamber. Before Alice had time to blink, or breathe, or wonder what in Heaven’s name had happened, Cecile had slammed the door shut, and bolted it from the outside. ‘And he’s never going to have you.’

‘Cecile!’ Alice shouted. ‘Let me out, let me out of here!’ In the rancid blackness, she twisted her body around, pummelling the thick, intractable wood with her fists.

‘Not a chance, my child.’ Cecile slumped against the outside of the door, the jewels on her head-dress fiery sparks in the dimming light. She wiped away the faint sheen of perspiration peppering her forehead. ‘I promised myself I would have my revenge on Bastien if it were the last thing that I do. And with you, I have my revenge.’ Cecile’s voice moved over her like poison, seeping into her pores, leaving a sharp, sour taste in her mouth.

‘Nay! You don’t! You have it all wrong! I mean nothing to him! He still loves Katherine!’ Incensed, Alice threw her shoulder against the door, bruising the soft flesh.

‘He loves you, Alice. I could see it. I could see it in his every word towards you, in his every gesture—he loves you. I loved Guillaume and he took him away from me. That gives me the right to take you away from him.’

‘It does not give you the right! You’re wrong about him and me!’ Fury brought Alice’s voice to a high-pitched volatile squeak. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong!’ Sobbing with frustration, Alice sank down on to the stone floor, her head in her hands.

‘Goodbye, my child,’ Cecile chanted, smiling woodenly at the bolted door. Checking that all her rings were in place, she made her way quickly up the steps, her step light. Revenge was certainly sweet.