conversation. I cannot hear any words over the streamâs murmur, but their lips are moving.
âHey!â William leaps past me like a roebuck, his short sword drawn and brandished. âIâll see the lot of you in the stocks for a seâennight!â
One of the men shouts something in tongue-pull and they scatter in six directions. William is knee-deep in the stream when theyâre all out of sight.
âBastards,â he mutters as he wades out. He slams his sword into its scabbard and squishes up the bank.
I crane my neck, but naught remains of the men save swaying branches and trampled mud.
I hurry to catch up with William. âI agree with you. Welshmen should all be put in the stocks.â
He shrugs, but his face is still dark. âMen who follow the law ought to be left to their business. Those who break it must pay.â
âStanding on a riverbank is unlawful?â My father certes does not want to see the inside of Justice Court again.
âIt is for Welshmen,â William replies grimly, âshould they gather in groups. Twice over, should they be armed. As that lot was.â
All at once the world seems very large, away from the castle and town walls and armed sentries who incline their heads.
Emmaline does not seem shaken. She even hums as she spreads a blanket where the grass is dry and bids the maids set out pasties and apple tarts and slices of cold meat and cheese. Piles and piles of everything, straight from the kitchens of Croesus de Coucy.
I drop to my knees and pick up two pasties and a tart. Evilbeth puffs out her cheeks like a pig. I take a third pasty and stick my tongue out at her ere I can stop myself.
Aline is still standing, her arms cinched tight as a girdle. âItâs not safe here. Letâs go back.â
âTheyâre gone, love,â William tells her. âHalf a league from here by now. Welshmen want no part of the law, believe me.â
âThey were here,â Aline insists. âThey might come back.â
William eats a pasty in two bites. âNot today.â
âYou donât know that. Who can know what theyâre capable of?â
If Gwinny is any indication, the Welsh are quite capable of airing linen and laying fires and scooping dog leavings onto the midden.
âCome now, Aline,â Emmaline says. âSurely youâve seen Welshmen ere this. Youâve been staying in Shrewsbury for months.â
William sighs. âReally, love, Emâs right. You may as well fear the cattle.â
âYouâre cruel to mock me.â Aline wrings her hands in her sleeves. âBoth of you. I would go home. Not just Shrewsbury, either. Home to England.â
I grab two wedges of cheese and another tart. Iâve not even put my feet in the water and this whiny little mouse would drag us back to the sweltering town merely because she fears her own shadow.
William takes her hand kindly. âI should never have allowed you to come. The fault is mine. But Belvero and Whetenhale would never spare me to bear you home to Warwick, or even to our lodgings in Shrewsbury. The part of the fifteenth we collected back at Easter was barely adequate, so the October sum must make up for it.â
âIâm weary to death of hearing of this fool tax!â Aline shakes off Williamâs hand and folds her arms like an ill-mannered child.
Iâm weary to death of hearing her fool voice, but Iâll not be rude about it.
William selects the biggest apple tart, gently untangles Alineâs arms, and tucks the pastry into her hand. Her surly pout cracks, then she cuts her eyes to him and takes a bite. He grins and plants a smacking kiss on her cheek.
If we were still at Edgeley, there would be ten kind, comely souls like William lined up outside the door, every man of them begging for the chance to become the heir to a well-run manor like Edgeley.
But weâre not at Edgeley.
I shove the last of a