Free River of Destiny by Barbara Erskine Page B

his teeth. ‘Of course, my lady.’ He walked out after her. ‘You have a new horse, my lady. I haven’t seen her before.’ He waited as she gathered the reins.
    ‘I’m thinking of getting my husband to buy her for me. I would have asked your opinion, but I see now you know nothing of horses.’ She glanced at him, her mouth curved with disdain.
    ‘I am a smith, my lady, not a groom,’ he said calmly.
    She smiled. ‘Of course. I must remember that.’
    He stooped to take her foot in his hands and tossed her up into the saddle; this time she was wearing a habit of Lincoln green with a lace jabot. The horse braced itself and shook its head as she looked down at him. ‘Tell me, was that your wife who was here before?’
    ‘It was, my lady.’
    ‘She’s expecting your child.’
    ‘She is, my lady.’
    She raised an eyebrow haughtily. ‘Then she should take care not to overexert herself. It would be sad if she were to lose her job in the dairy. She does work in the dairy, I assume?’
    ‘Yes, my lady, she does.’ Daniel stood away from the horse and folded his arms. He looked up and met her eye.
    She smiled. ‘I will see you soon, Daniel.’ She tapped the horse with her whip and trotted past him, pulling the animal so close he had to leap back out of her way.
    For several minutes he stood still, looking after her, a deep frown on his face, then he turned and walked out of the yard. He followed the path across the field towards the woods; there, out of sight of the barns, he stopped and leaned back against one of the tall ancient pines in the lee of the oak woods and, taking a deep breath to stop himself shaking with anger, let the soft scent of the needles envelop him. Below him the river, swollen with the tide, glittered like silver, criss-crossed with ripples in the sunlight.
     

     
    ‘Did you enjoy your bath?’ Ken looked up at Zoë as she walked into his study. He had been standing behind his desk contemplating the darkness outside.
    ‘Yes, thank you.’ She was wearing a towelling wrap and her hair was still wet, standing on end as she rubbed at it with a towel.
    ‘I am sorry if you were frightened, darling. There wasn’t any real danger, I knew what I was doing out there.’
    ‘Did you?’
    The heaviness of her voice startled him. ‘You know I did.’ He sounded wounded. He turned his back on the window and looked at her. ‘What are we having for supper?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Are you feeling all right?’
    It was a moment before she replied. ‘Tired.’
    ‘Shall I make you something?’ He put his head on one side and gave her a small hopeful smile. ‘To cheer you up? Boiled egg and soldiers?’
    ‘I’m not a child, Ken,’ she snapped.
    For a moment she wondered if she was going to hit him but somehow she managed to restrain herself. ‘Sorry, I’m still feeling a bit frazzled,’ she went on at last. ‘An egg would be nice,’ and she headed back onto the landing. Below her in the shadows of the living room something moved and just for a second she thought she heard the chink of a horse’s harness and the scrape of a hoof on cobbles.
    ‘Ken!’ It was a whisper. ‘Ken, come out here.’
    He didn’t hear her. Already he had become immersed in the screens on his desk. He had probably completely forgotten her. She stood leaning on the balcony’s wood and glass balustrade, looking down. There were horses down there, and with them a man; shadows, imprints in time. She could see them, sense them, hear them, then they were gone.
     

     
    Edith threw down her spindle with a groan and walked across to the door of the cottage. She ought to be waiting on the Lady Hilda in the weaving house with the other women, but she had dawdled at home, hoping and praying that her husband might appear even if for only a short time. She had made him a new leather jerkin, stitched with waxed thread; it hung from a peg even now, catching her eye as it swung to and fro in the draught. She missed him