Kate Sedley - The Wicked Winter

'You're back, then,' she remarked without turning her head.

'I'm back,' I agreed, putting down my pack and cudgel with a sigh of relief and looking around for my daughter.

At the sound of my voice, Elizabeth had picked herself up from the floor, where she had been playing with an old rag doll made of cuttings of unbleached wool, and came toddling unsteadily towards me, her little arms held out in expectation. She was not disappointed as I swung her high above my head, watching her face crease into smiles of delight and hearing her excited chirrupings. When I lowered her, the arms wound themselves tightly about my neck, and a soft cheek rubbed itself against mine.

Margaret Walker did deign to look up then, and nodded briefly. But, 'The prodigal's return,' was her only comment.

I set my daughter on her feet and took a handful of coins from the pouch at my waist, laying them on the table.

'A worthwhile journey,' I wheedled.

She snorted, but was slightly mollified.

'Where did you hole up,' she asked, 'during this dreadful weather?'

'A place called Cederwell Manor.' Foolishly I added, 'On the estuary and some good few miles north of Woodspring Priory.'

She was interested at once. 'The friar was on his way to Woodspring. Did you by chance see anything of him?'

'We… did fall in with one another,' I reluctantly admitted.

'A wonderful preacher! We need more of his kind in the world. Morals are too lax nowadays. It needs someone with the courage to speak out against the King and his court, the fountainhead of all such corruption.'

I made no reply and fortunately Margaret asked me no more questions, busying herself instead with putting food on the table and fetching ale from the cask. Elizabeth climbed on my knee to share my meal, her soft mouth opening and closing around the tasty morsels like that of a little bird.

I felt a sudden and unaccustomed glow of contentment. I was home with two who loved me and one of whom thought me the most perfect being in the world. The fire burned on the hearth and the door was closed against the wintry weather.

Evil and wrongdoing were as remote from that cosy haven as the moon and stars were from the earth.

'I shan't be leaving you again for a while,' I assured Margaret Walker, but she only smiled.

'Perhaps not for a month or two,' she agreed. 'But when the warmer breezes blow and the days get longer, when the spring comes, then it will be a different story. The wanderlust will take you by the scruff of the neck and shake you as it always does.' She stopped spinning and slewed round on her stool to look at me, her face serious. 'I've told you, you should think about marrying again. I'm a lot older than you. I shan't always be here to take care of Elizabeth. Besides, a man needs more than one child if he can beget them. A man needs a son to carry on his line. So think about it.' I had not heeded her former words, nor intended to marry again so soon. I was young and selfish and wanted to enjoy my freedom. I had mercifully been delivered from the bonds of matrimony after being enmeshed against my will, and until now had seen no good reason why I should voluntarily embrace them for a second time. Later, perhaps, in a year or two, or maybe three, I might be tempted. But, stupidly, reprehensibly, I had not considered what would happen to Elizabeth if Margaret were to die; the responsibility which would fall upon me, the curtailment of freedom.

It was a consideration which continued to haunt me over the ensuing months; a thought which made me nervous and jumpy each time my mother-in-law coughed or complained of an ague. Once or twice I remembered Audrey Lambspringe, a gentle girl who would no doubt prove biddable enough were I to return to Cederwell and offer her marriage. But I did not love her any more than I had loved Lillis, and I resolved that next time, for my bride's sake as well as my own, there must be more than mere liking between us.

Moreover, I knew that I could never go back to Cederwell for any reason whatsoever. I was unable to dissociate the place from the evil spell which, for me at least, Raymond Shepherd had cast upon it. I knew nothing of what had happened after I left. I had made no inquiries and was happy to remain in ignorance. Meantime, spring lay just around the comer and every day the need to be up and doing, to be on the road again, grew ever stronger. I saw Margaret Walker watching me, an anxious expression in her eyes.

I knew that I must marry again, and soon.