Free A Passionate Magic by Flora Speer

or whatever – had run along the base of Rough Tor in a
swirl of white fabric was no doubt caught in the rain, too.
    Emma did not speak of what she had seen. Once
she was in the stillroom emptying the baskets of plants and
lichens, cleaning and preparing the day’s findings for drying, she
began to wonder if that glimpse of flowing white was only an
invention of her imagination. Neither Blake nor Hawise had noticed
it. Perhaps, like the foreshortened perception of distance Blake
had mentioned, the object was only a trick of the light.
    All the same, she was unable to erase the
memory of what she thought she had seen, and she tucked the image
deep into her mind, holding it there in case she should ever see
anything similar in the future. She looked for but did not see the
mysterious white object when she and her companions returned to the
moor the next day, nor did she see it on the day after that.
    On the fourth day of Dain’s absence Sloan
informed Emma that he had chores for Blake to do, and Hawise was
complaining of a sore knee, so they did not ride to the moor.
Instead, Emma spent the morning working in the stillroom.
    It did seem a shame to waste the fine weather
by staying indoors, so after the midday meal she decided to
discover what plants she could find along the cliffs. In answer to
her persistent questioning, Sloan had told her about a steep but
relatively safe path that led down the face of the cliff to the
beach. According to Sloan, the path was regularly used by the
lesser members of the kitchen staff, who were sent there to gather
mussels and seaweed for the cook, and by a few men-at-arms who
liked to fish.
    On this sunny afternoon there was no one else
on the cliff or on the path. Emma kilted her skirt up above her
knees, tucking the extra fabric into her belt and pulling the belt
tight to secure it. Picking up the basket that she was making a
habit of carrying whenever she left the castle walls, she stepped
onto the path. She was wearing her sturdiest pair of boots and she
went down the path with surefooted grace.
    When she reached the beach she discovered the
sand was soft and white, in stark contrast to the rather sinister
black height of the towering cliffs. Above her on the left rose the
walls of Penruan Castle, seemingly carved out of the cliff itself.
Gazing up at it, Emma marveled at the imagination of the architect
and the skill of the builders. From where she stood she could see
the double windows of the lord’s chamber and, directly below the
castle, the jagged rocks on which the surf pounded without ceasing,
the sound that filled her ears each night.
    At the moment the sound of the waves was
muted, for the tide was low and a wide strip of wet sand was
exposed. Shells and long strands of seaweed lay scattered across
the damp area. After being washed in fresh water and dried in the
sun, seaweed could be stored for months. Later, it could be boiled
and used in making jellies. Emma decided she would gather some of
the green sea-plant to give to the cook. But first, she wanted to
explore.
    The cliff curved inward from the headland
where Penruan Castle stood, the curve forming the sandy cove where
Emma was. To her right the high black rocks turned toward the sea
again. Emma struck out for the point that jutted closest to the
sea. It wasn’t far away and she quickly reached it. When she peered
around the point of rock she discovered another cove, deeper and
much narrower than the one directly below Penruan. This second cove
boasted a stream that ran from the bottom of the cliff and flowed
across the beach and into the sea.
    Looking northward, beyond yet another
out-thrust point of high cliff on the far side of the cove, Emma
could see a long, gleaming white beach. A few small boats were
drawn up on the beach and several more boats were in the water.
Figures in the boats were doing something with a net.
    “Fishermen,” Emma said aloud, realizing that
Trevanan village must lay over there, behind the