Free In Pursuit of the Green Lion by Judith Merkle Riley Page A

end of the solar. Widow Sarah had taken the girls to see the new kittens in the stable, the laundresses had come through and gone off, lugging a large basket of filthy linens between them, and Hugo, the squires, and the groom had gone to join in the hunt that Sir Hubert never missed on the days that he was home. It was dark and dank inside, and I was brooding about the difference between a marriage of the body and a marriage of hearts. The dismal sound of dripping water on stone sounded like tears. My own, maybe, except that mine were secret.
    I couldn’t help but think of Master Kendall, that day, and the way he had of chasing off sadness by saying something wise and funny that would distract your mind. How I missed his generous soul, and the web of kindness we had knitted between us! I wish you were here, I said to myself. In return, I heard a soft puffing sound like breathing, and felt a gust of cold air prickle the back of my neck. The Cold Thing was back again. I was beginning to get used to it. I blessed myself, and it passed by, making a sound like rustling.
    As I looked in the direction of the vanishing sound, I saw a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway, and my heart gave a leap. Gregory! But then it sank when I saw the expression on his face. More bad news.
    “Gregory? Have you come to sit with me? I never see you anymore.”
    “Oh, Margaret,” he said, still standing. “I don’t know whether to be pleased or not that you still call me that.” He looked tired, but I could see his heart in his eyes.
    “Would you prefer Master de Vilers? That’s the proper way. I always called Master Kendall ‘Master Kendall’ like a proper wife.”
    He shook his head, and smiled. “I’d like to tell you that you’re as silly as ever, but I know that you know what I mean.” He came closer. I couldn’t help admiring the way he looked. It wasn’t just that he had such a fine figure, once he wasn’t wearing that shabby gray robe he used to go about in. It was the elegant way he walked, all even and connected, without even knowing it, and the way he looked at things, and the light of intelligence on his face that showed he really saw them, and understood everything that was going on. Some women admire clothes and jewels on a man, or the way they turn a pretty compliment, but I’ve never thought much of that. Those things can wear out, but a wonderful mind never does.
    “Margaret,” he said, and looking as though he could see what I was thinking, his voice changed ever so slightly. “I’m afraid we’ll be leaving day after tomorrow. The Duke holds court at Kenilworth, and Father’s got to see him.”
    “See the Duke now? Whatever for? Can’t you just stay with me and let them go alone?”
    “It can’t be done, Margaret, because it’s about your lands, you see. It has to be settled before Father leaves on campaign, and the Duke’s the only one to do it. There’s some friar who’s laid suit on the manor at Thorpe, claiming he’s the legitimate heir, and it was sold to Master Kendall illegally. He’s left his order to take up residence there, and your steward’s driven him off twice. But the worst is the estate at Withill. The very day he heard Master Kendall was dead, the Earl drove off your cattle and began trying to collect your rents. When we filed suit against him, he sent his men to occupy the manor. Not only is he too powerful for anyone in the area to say no, but he’s bribed the local magistrate, who backs him on it. So you see, only the Duke can handle it, and it may very well take more than the law. We haven’t enough men here to smoke him out, even if we could outbribe him in the courts.”
    “Still, couldn’t you stay for just a day—a half day—even just an hour—and join them later? It would be lovely with you here and them gone.”
    “Really, Margaret, for a woman who ought to be clever, you do act dense sometimes. We’re mired in deep, and sink deeper every day. We’ve borrowed