Morwen had always been able to close her mind to the things she didn’t want to think about. There had been a small report in The Informer about the incident at Truro summer fair, when Mrs Morwen Wainwright had so gallantly come to the rescue of Mrs Harriet Pendragon and saved her from a trampling under the vicious hooves of a gypsy horse. It had been a small report, recorded with verve, and Morwen had screwed up the paper and thrown it on the fire. There had been no word of thanks from the lady herself. If there had, Morwen would have scorned it.
Besides, a week or so later, she had far more distressing things on her mind than the whims of a woman clay boss. She had Emma to worry about. By now, all Luke’s spare time was taken up in being taught to ride the small pony Ran had finally bought him. And Emma had fallen sick.
She had looked like a little waif for a few days, and with what appeared to be no more than a heavy cold. Then the angry red spots had begun to appear, covering the whole of her body so rapidly that she seemed to change overnight from pale to red. Morwen discovered it when she went to waken her one morning, and Emma’s small puffy face had peered from the bedclothes, her eyes almost closed and complaining that the light was hurting them.
‘Mammie—’ the child croaked.
Morwen rushed to her bedside and put her hand on her brow. It was burning, and Emma seemed to have difficulty in breathing. Her throat was sore, and a harsh, dry cough punctuated her words. Thoughts of diptheria or chickenpox swept through Morwen’s mind, but she dismissed them instantly. She knew what this was. She had seen it before, and she knew how deadly it could be.
Frantically, she rang the bell pull by the side of Emma’s bed, and Mrs Enders came hurrying into the room.
‘Call my husband straight away,’ she said. ‘And send Gillings for the doctor. Tell him it’s urgent, and that I believe Emma has a severe attack of measles.’
‘Dear Lord,’ she heard the woman breathe, and Morwen snapped at her, not wanting to see fear on the housekeeper’s face, in case it reflected her own. Measles could be a killer. It had killed so many in the past, including her brother Sam’s wife, the mother of Walter, Albert and Primmy…
‘Please don’t waste time, Mrs Enders, and see that someone brings me a bowl of tepid water and some cloths to bathe Emma. See to it that Luke keeps away from the bedroom. And there are to be no visitors admitted to the house.’
Luke was so sturdy that he may not even catch it, and in any case they had suspected a mild attack when he was younger. But Emma… Emma had always seemed so frail and ethereal, and Morwen had always been aware of that strange sixth sense that she was only loaned to them by the grace of God… she smothered a sob, for if ever she cursed the insight she was born with, it was now.
Dear Lord, she prayed frantically, don’t take this lovely child from me; from us. Don’t tear our family apart still more…
Ran came hurrying into the room, going straight to Emma’s bedside and cradling her small hot hand in his.
‘Have you had the measles, Ran?’ Morwen said swiftly.
‘I don’t know. I think so,’ he said irritably. ‘What the hell does it matter—?’
‘It matters, because it can so quickly become an epidemic. If you were to catch it you could take it to the clayworks—’ she swallowed, not wanting to remember the small cottage on the moors where Dora had died, leaving three orphaned children. ‘Years ago the doctor said I was probably immune to it because of all the times I’d helped with other sick children.’
She spoke jerkily, too concerned with her own child to rightly recall just who it was she had nursed and comforted with her healing hands. Some folk were just too frightened to do it, but Morwen Tremayne had never been afraid of anything. Until now.
‘Then I’ll not go to the clayworks,’ Ran retorted. ‘And why should you think I would, when Emma’s so poorly? Do you think I have so little concern for my own daughter?’
She looked at him dumbly, not understanding how their mutual concern should be making them act like enemies. But fear did that, she thought. Fear enclosed each person in their own little self-contained world, just when they most needed to reach out and help one another.
One of the maids came into the room, her eyes like saucers, a bundle of towels and washing cloths over her arm. She set down the jug of tepid water on the washstand and gave a quick bob, backing towards the door.
‘I ain’t had the measles, Mrs Wainwright, Ma’am,’ she said nervously.
‘It’s all right, Clara, I shan’t ask you to do anything more. But you musn’t leave the house until the doctor says it’s all right to do so, do you hear? Everyone must stay here until Emma’s properly well again.’
‘Can’t I even see me ma? She’ll be that bothered—’
‘We’ll see that she’s informed, but no one must go into the towns until we’re clear of infection here,’ Morwen said clearly, feeling a mite of her own strength return at taking charge. ‘I know the doctor will say the same thing.’
‘Just so long as I don’t have to do no nursin’ then,’ Clara whimpered. ‘I ain’t no good wi’ sickness.’
She fled from the room as Mrs Enders came back.
‘The doctor’s sent for, and will be here directly. Will the little maid be wanting breakfast?’
‘I just want Mammie,’ croaked Emma.
Morwen knelt by her bedside, stroking the fevered brow. ‘I want you to drink lots of water to help cool you down. And I promise I won’t leave you, sweetheart.’
‘Nor will I,’ Ran said gruffly. All this time he had watched and listened silently, as if he was the onlooker in a play, and Morwen knew instantly how helpless he must feel. While she had always been so adept at dealing with illness, he was not. She looked anxiously at her daughter now, but her words were for Ran.
‘We’ll both be here, my darling. We’ll sit each side of your bed. When I’ve bathed you to make you more comfortable, I’ll hold one of your hands and Daddy will hold the other, so that we’re linked together.’
As if obeying orders, Ran brought two chairs to the bedside, and Morwen squeezed out a soft cloth in the tepid water and began sponging down Emma’s feverish body. She was horrified to discover how densely the spots covered her, and how pathetically small Emma looked. Without her usual bright spirit, she seemed to have shrunk overnight, and Morwen willed away the thought. When the comforting sponging was done, she lay a damp soothing cloth on Emma’s forehead, and the mother held one of the child’s hands, while the father held the other, as she had promised.
Ran seemed to have run out of words to say. Morwen ached for him, knowing he was suffering as much as herself, but at such a time he had always seemed emotionally constricted from putting feelings into words. They sat in virtual silence for an hour, broken only by the harsh dry coughs from the child in the bed, and then at last the doctor came, and confirmed what Morwen already knew. He was a new man that she hadn’t seen before, but nonetheless thorough.
He gently peered inside Emma’s mouth, where the telltale bluish-white raised spots on the inside of the mouth and cheeks further confirmed the diagnosis. Emma looked at him dully for a few moments, and then simply closed her eyes and lay still. The doctor looked grave.
‘You’ve obviously done all the right things, Ma’am,’ he said. ‘And I’d advise you to keep the curtains drawn across, so that the light doesn’t hurt the child’s eyes. There’s little more I can suggest, except to keep her warm and comfortable until the fever breaks. And see that she has plenty of fluids.’
It was like reliving her own thoughts. She knew all that; she had done all that; and she felt an impotent anger raging through her. Why couldn’t someone invent some miracle cure, to rid them of this childhood scourge?
‘I’ll send a nurse—’ the doctor said.
‘There’s no need. I’ll nurse her myself.’
‘But you’ll need your rest, dear lady, and this could go on for some days. You need professional help—’ and his unspoken message was that they could obviously afford such luxuries. Morwen looked at him coldly, her eyes large and penetratingly blue.
‘I shall nurse my daughter myself, Doctor Daker,’ she said again. ‘But I would be grateful if you would continue to visit her as often as necessary.’
Their gazes locked, and the doctor’s was the first to fall away. He spoke shortly, but this lady’s reputation had already reached his ears, and he gave a small shrug.
‘Naturally I shall call on you daily, Ma’am.’
‘Thank you.’
Ran had been standing by while the doctor examined Emma, but now he prepared to see the man out.
‘I intend to stay at home until my daughter recovers,’ he said shortly. Morwen knew at once that he didn’t like the man, but it mattered little to her which doctor attended any of the family, as long as they got well again.
‘A wise decision, my dear sir,’ she heard Doctor Daker gush, and she knew Ran wouldn’t like that either. She turned to her daughter as Emma’s cough started up again, and instantly forgot such trivial concerns.
‘Will you bathe my face again, Mammie?’ Emma whispered. ‘I’m so hot.’
She did as she was bidden, and when Ran returned he informed them he’d sent word to all the family to keep away until the infection was over. It simply wasn’t worth the risk, and it isolated them in a world of their own. New World.
By the end of the day, Morwen realized she had eaten nothing, and that hunger pangs were gnawing at her. She agreed to go downstairs for some food when Emma fell into a fitful sleep, and Ran continued the vigil. When Morwen came back, Emma was sleeping more deeply, and her throat filled at the anguished look on her husband’s face. She returned swiftly to her chair on the far side of the bed, linking them all together again.
Although it was still light outside, the bedroom was darkened to soothe Emma’s eyes, and the tension in the room was palpable. They spent the next hours in uncomfortable silence, hearing only the intermittent coughing and scratchy breathing, and it was long into the night before Ran finally found the words he’d been unable to say.
‘If we lost her, I couldn’t bear it,’ he said in a low, tight voice. ‘She’s everything to me, just as you are, Morwen. You’re one and the same in my heart. I find it hard to display my emotions in words, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t have any.’
‘I know, dar,’ Morwen said softly. ‘But we won’t lose her. God wouldn’t be so cruel.’
She closed her eyes as she said it. But she had to believe it. If you lost faith and you lost hope, then you lost everything. She felt Ran’s hand reach for hers across the bedcovers, and now the link was truly complete, she thought, an unbreakable circle.
‘I love her so much, Morwen,’ Ran said. ‘And I love you too. Nothing ever changes that, and nothing ever will.’
‘I know. It’s one of the wonderful things about love. If it’s real, it’s eternal.’
And if you take that to mean that my love for Ben Killigrew is as constant as my love for you, then so be it. Love never changes, but there’s room in my heart for more than one love. It was so simple a fact of life, she wondered why everyone couldn’t see it.
Was she becoming light-headed?, she wondered. She had hardly moved from Emma’s side for hours, and she was stiff and aching. Ran must be the same, and neither of them would do Emma any good if they collapsed from exhaustion.
‘Ran, why don’t you go and sleep for an hour or so, and then come back?’ she said numbly.
‘Only if you promise to do the same later. We’ll take it in turns.’
‘We’ll see,’ she said, knowing that she had no intention of doing any such thing. Her healing hands were needed. Almost feverishly, she repeated the words to herself like a litany.
The next day, and the one after that, Mrs Enders brought various food trays to the bedroom at intervals, though Emma still refused to eat, and Morwen only picked at the fare. Both she and Ran were red-eyed from lack of sleep now, and Morwen knew that being banished from the bedroom on several occasions hadn’t helped Ran at all. She caught herself up with a little shock. She hadn’t banished him… but something occurred later that day that made her examine her own feelings still more.
Mrs Enders came bustling into the room, all of a fluster, her face red and indignant.
‘I told ’er you weren’t seein’ visitors, Mrs Wainwright, but she insisted and ’ouldn’t take no for an answer. ’Tain’t right, I told her, when the little maid’s near to death’s door, and the parents’ feelings should be respected—’
‘Who is it, Mrs Enders?’ Morwen said sharply, shutting off the woman’s invective.
There was a rustle of skirts behind her, and Morwen blinked in the shadowed room as Jane Askhew came towards the bed and knelt down beside Morwen’s chair, taking her cold hand in hers.
‘Morwen, darling, I had to come, to see if I could help. You look so exhausted—’
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Morwen said jerkily. ‘You can’t risk taking the infection back to Cathy and little Theo. You should have known better—’
The hand that held hers gripped it even tighter.
‘Morwen, why will you never let anyone help you, when you’ve always helped others so much?’ Jane said, her voice as soft as ever. ‘Have you forgotten all those years ago when Cathy was so ill with the measles, and I felt so useless? You were so wonderful, and I went to pieces. Let me help you in return, my dear, in whatever way I can.’
Morwen looked at her dumbly. Yes, she had forgotten.
Because of her insane jealousy over Ben’s fondness for Jane, the woman had been a thorn in her flesh all these years, and she had always been the one to hold off any attempt at friendship between them. Yet time and again, Jane had offered friendship, only to have it spurned.
‘I’ll fetch Mrs Askhew a chair,’ Ran said, and then, as if to make Morwen feel even more ashamed of her feelings, he said: ‘Everyone needs friends at a time like this, even though my wife believes she can hold the entire world together by herself.’
Morwen looked at him in astonishment.
‘I do not!’ she said. ‘What a stupid thing to say!’
‘No, it isn’t, honey. You shut everyone out, even me, and you give yourself the luxury of retreating into your own little world where no one can reach you.’
Whatever she might have said to that was halted as they realized Emma had woken, and immediately it seemed terrible to Morwen that they’d been on the verge of a row while Emma was so ill.
‘Mammie,’ the child said feebly. ‘Can Mrs Askhew stay with me? I like her, ’cos she smells like the rose garden.’
Jane smiled gently, accepting the child’s compliment without comment, and ignoring the adults. ‘I’ll stay as long as you want me to, precious.’
As Morwen went to fetch more cooling cloths to place on Emma’s brow, she saw Jane take her place near her daughter, and fought to smother the pang it gave her. It was like an unwelcome little cameo picture. Jane, and Ran, sitting opposite one another, with her daughter between them… dear God, she thought furiously, would this jealous madness never leave her? But at least it told her she was still alive, still capable of loving and wanting her husband…
Emma was rambling a little now, asking for a story, and Jane began telling her about a ball she had attended, at which there were lords and ladies and even royalty, and Emma absorbed it all through those poor sore eyes. And memory instantly took Morwen back to when the tiny Cathy Askhew had rambled in her measles delirium, asking for stories about the clayworkers’ boots.
Morwen hadn’t thought of the incident for years, but she remembered now how Cathy had adored hearing how the clayworkers’ long boots were especially made for each man by the local cobbler, so that each man could be identified by his own footprint. She had even made up a tale about the fearless clayworker who had led a group of lost children to safety over the mist laden moors. Cathy had been calmed and charmed by the tale, just as Emma was now, at hearing about lords and ladies and royalty.
Morwen swallowed, and moved to the bed, putting her hand on Jane’s shoulder as she saw Emma’s eyes droop.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re a true friend, Jane.’
‘So take a friend’s advice, both of you, and take a rest together,’ Jane said quietly. ‘I’ll sit with Emma, and if you’ll permit me, I’ll be happy to stay for a night or two.’
Her eyes didn’t falter as she looked at Morwen for her approval, and finally it came. For the first time ever, Morwen leaned forward and kissed Jane Askhew’s soft cheek.
‘I’d be honoured to have you stay,’ she said, and she moved quickly away before she could burst into unrelenting tears. ‘I’ll let Mrs Enders know – but you’ll be sure to call me the minute you think I’m needed?’
‘Of course.’
Ran assisted her out of the room. Part of her wanted desperately to stay, but she knew how exhausted she was, and by now she’d lost count of the days and nights she’d sat up with Emma. Even though Doctor Daker was quite satisfied with her progress, Morwen still couldn’t rid herself of the fear that was like a sickness inside herself.
Was this a punishment for all the sins of the past? The ultimate wickedness in what she and Celia Penry had done in ridding Celia of an unborn child? The jealousy and hatred she had felt for Miss ‘Finelady’ Jane Askhew over the years, and who shamed her now by showing such generosity of spirit towards her? The passion she and Ran had shared while her husband Ben was under the threat of death? The love they had acknowledged, even while Ben was still alive, and couldn’t ignore…
Had these sins come back to haunt her by threatening to take another, sweet daughter from her, the way they had taken Primmy to the other side of the world, and removed Charlotte from her care…? Her imagination had taken her down this road before. But with Emma, this was the cruellest way.
She tried to smother her rising panic. She needed sleep, but she doubted that sleep would come, even when she was held in Ran’s arms. But he couldn’t understand how she felt. How could he understand, when she couldn’t tell him…?
As she tossed and turned, her body felt so fiery that she even wondered if she herself was succumbing to the measles… in her mood of self-condemnation, she knew it would be a just punishment…
She suddenly realized that Ran’s shoulders were shaking, and, aware that she was awake, that he was speaking in muffled tones. She couldn’t hear him at first, but then she felt a great and extraordinary calmness of spirit as she realized what he was saying.
‘Why won’t you let me into your thoughts, Morwen? Why must you always try to bear everything alone, always shutting me out, when Emma’s as much mine as she is yours? I grieve for her too. Do you think a woman has the monopoloy on grief?’
He had said something of the kind before, but never with such passion, such pain. And it didn’t lessen him in her eyes to know that he was weeping. She held him close, kissing his face where the tears were damp on his cheeks.
‘I know she does not, my darling, and I know I’ve been selfish,’ she whispered. ‘Will you forgive me?’
‘Don’t I always?’ he said roughly. ‘But you always seem so strong, when sometimes I just want you to lean on me—’
‘Oh, my love, I’m not strong. I’m just a woman who foolishly wants the whole world to be always sunny, when I know it can’t be. And I’m filled with so much fear now—’
His arms tightened around her slender body. ‘We have to have faith that Emma will get well, my love.’
‘Then – you don’t think it’s a punishment?’
He held her away from him for a few seconds, not understanding. And she knew it had to be told: all the foolish fears and superstitions that made her what she was, and tormented her so. When she had finished, Ran didn’t scoff at her fears, but spoke quietly and logically, as only he could. And if she didn’t feel cleansed, at least she felt as though all the shadows were lifting at last. She felt closer to him than she had in many months, and at last she slept.
She awoke with a start, to find someone tapping her shoulder, and her thoughts leapt to Emma at once. But it was to find Ran, already fully dressed, smiling down at her.
‘She’s come through it,’ he said. ‘The fever’s down and her eyes are brighter, and she’s asking for food.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ Morwen said weakly.
‘I think you should thank Jane as well,’ he said. ‘She’s been awake half the night, sponging Emma down, and telling her stories. She’s been a good friend, Morwen.’
His eyes challenged her, but there was no need. Donning a dressing gown, Morwen went quickly into her daughter’s room, to see the healthier looking child and the exhausted woman. She squeezed Jane’s hand tightly.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I won’t forget your kindness.’
Jane nodded tiredly. ‘I was glad to do it. We’ve travelled a long way together, Morwen, however distant we may have seemed at times. But now the corner’s turned, and I must go home.’
‘Won’t you at least stay and have some breakfast?’ Morwen said, but Jane declined. Then Emma spoke.
‘Will you come and see me again, Mrs Askhew?’
Jane looked at Morwen, who responded quickly.
‘Mrs Askhew is welcome here any time,’ she said.
Once the doctor had pronounced Emma well and free of infection, one by one the family came to visit, and she was petted and spoiled with so many presents that Luke howled that he wished he’d had the measles too.
His Grandma Bess told him not to be so wicked, and Morwen knew she’d be remembering Sam’s wife, but it was said with good humour, knowing the boy hadn’t meant anything by the remark. And Ran reminded him that it was all due to Emma being so ill and their normal lessons being suspended, that he’d had all the extra tuition on his pony, so that he already had the makings of a fine young rider.
But by now Morwen could see that Ran was becoming restless at being at home all this time, and she told him it was time he went up to Killigrew Clay. The autumn orders would soon be ready for despatch, some to go to the port, and more stacked in readiness for the all-important long journey north by wagonload.
It seemed odd to think that road wagons were to be used for transporting the clay blocks again, when Ben Killigrew had been so proud of his little railway that took them from the works to the port. And yet it was also right. The northern contact had been Ran’s achievement. Morwen felt her heart gladden as she saw his face lighten. He was as much a part of the clay now as she ever was, and how could she ever have doubted that?
She put her arms around him and kissed him, and as he breathed in her sensual, musky scent, it was as if her inborn optimism was transmitted to him.
‘I need to talk with Walter and the pit captains, anyway,’ he said. ‘I want nothing to go wrong at this stage.’
‘Nothing will,’ she said softly, and he smiled at her.
‘Is that more Cornish intuition?’
She shook her head. ‘Just faith,’ she said.
It was good to see his enthusiasm return, Morwen thought thankfully, but he stayed to entertain Emma for the rest of that day after all, deciding to return to the clayworks the following morning. He was up and away early, even before Charlotte came bursting into the house. Like the rest of the family, she had quite rightly stayed away until all risk of infection was passed, since she had her own small charges to care for at the Pollard mansion. But she was eager now to see her small sister, and had brought her toys and sweets. But first of all she wanted to see Morwen.
It was an unusually early hour for her to have come all this way, and Morwen felt a brief anxiety until she saw the glow on her daughter’s face as she rushed into the drawing room where Morwen was writing letters to the more distant family members, assuring them Emma was well on the way to recovery now, and that all danger was over. It would be a tussle to persuade her to stay in bed until later in the day, but the doctor had insisted on it until she recovered her strength. And now here was Charlotte, her eyes glowing, and her supple young body practically quivering with excitement.
‘Have you seen the newspaper, Mammie? Oh, please say you haven’t! I wanted so much to be the first to show it to you!’ she said, almost squealing in her excitement.
‘Of course I haven’t! I’ve hardly had time for such frivolous things lately!’
Nor to care about whatever scandal it might be that Tom Askhew was delving into now, she thought. But Charlotte gave a triumphant whoop as she drew out a copy of The Informer from her bag. It was folded so that one of the inner pages was prominent, and a large item had been heavily ringed around.
‘Read it, Mammie,’ Charlotte said, almost choking with excitement now. ‘I know how much this will mean to you, and if I have to read it aloud myself I shall simply burst out crying, I know I will!’
Mystified and urged on by her agitation, Morwen quickly read the several paragraphs inside the ringed item. And then she read them again, trying not to let the words dance crazily in front of her, or to wonder if it were really true, or if she was dreaming. And maybe Charlotte couldn’t read it aloud, but she had to do so, just to make herself believe it.
‘To all whom it may concern,’ she read, ‘Notice is hereby given that Harriet Pendragon refutes any and all interest in the property and clayworks known as Killigrew Clay, now and in all perpetuity. This declaration is legally binding, and has been made and witnessed before Messrs Showering and Ball, solicitors of Bodmin, and may be inspected by any interested parties. The said Harriet Pendragon is currently putting her property on the market, together with all the Pendragon clay holdings, such sale which is also in the hands of Messrs Showering and Ball. All communications shall be made through them, as Mrs Pendragon will be removing to London immediately, and is unavailable for comment.’
Morwen felt her eyes prickle with shock and relief. They were rid of that woman for good, and with no logical reason that she could think of. Except that there was a certain familiarity in the wording of the announcement, ‘…refuting all interest in Killigrew Clay in all perpetuity…’ surely it was the way Ran had worded it…
She felt Charlotte shaking her, impatient to get a reaction from this apparently stunned silence.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything, Mammie? It’s all because of you, of course. It’s because of what you did at Truro Fair, and this is her way of thanking you.’
The girl’s face came into focus. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Of course! Everybody’s saying so.’
‘Everybody doesn’t know yet! Ran doesn’t know!’
She suddenly came alive again. ‘Charlotte, can you stay a while with Luke and Emma? I have to tell Ran myself. I have to go to Killigrew Clay—’
‘Of course. But I’ve something else to ask you, Mammie. Vincent wants to come here tonight to speak with him. Will it be all right, do you think?’
She looked so anxious, just as if Morwen couldn’t guess exactly what it was that Vincent wanted to ask. And it would be more than all right. It would be perfect. A wedding in the family was just what was needed to restore all their spirits. Life went on…
But there would be time enough for that later. Once the children were settled with Charlotte, and Gillings had saddled her horse, she rode like the wind with the precious newspaper item. Just as Charlotte had been bursting to show it to her, so she was bursting to show it to Ran, and she prayed that no one else had got there first. It was unlikely. Walter was in the habit of buying a copy on the way home in the evenings, and Ran didn’t always bother with the scandal rag.
She rode the horse hard, and both of them were breathing fast by the time they had slithered over the grassy slopes of the moors, fragrant and beautiful with its carpet of late summer foliage now. The white clay tips were ahead of her. They glinted in the sunlight as brightly as if they were diamond studded, symbols of all that the Killigrews had been, and all that they were, whether or not they had been born Tremaynes or Wainwrights.
Morwen felt a sudden choking in her throat, because their fortunes had never been stable, but for now, at least, they were safe. And she couldn’t wait to tell Ran as much.
She saw him before he saw her, tall and virile, and so very dear to her, striding towards the linhays where the clay blocks were drying in the sun, ready for despatching. She called his name, but her voice was choked with emotion and carried away by the summer breeze. He couldn’t have heard it from that distance, but he turned instinctively.
She saw his face change, and he dropped the sheaf of papers he was carrying and ran towards her as she slid from her horse. He grasped her hands, and spoke swiftly.
‘What is it, dar? Is it Emma? Dear God, don’t tell me she’s worse—’
‘It’s not Emma,’ Morwen stuttered, speechless for once, now that the moment was here. ‘She’s improving by the minute. I’ve got some good news to tell you—’
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards Walter’s little hut. Walter was nowhere around, but in any case, Morwen didn’t want him now. This was too stupendous a moment, too private, too intimate, to be shared, even with her beloved Walter. Inside the hut, Ran kicked the door shut behind them, and she blinked to accustom her eyes to the dimness after the brightness outside.
‘So tell me your news,’ he demanded. ‘After giving me that little scare, it had better be really good!’
He was masculine and arrogant in his relief, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered but that they were free of all worries. But, just like Charlotte, she was unable to speak, and she held out the newspaper mutely, letting him read it for himself. Joy almost exploded out of him when he’d finished, and he swept his wife into his arms.
‘This is all your doing, honey. Your instincts did this, in pushing that woman out of harm’s way.’
‘Charlotte said as much, but my instincts are not always to be trusted,’ she said shakily. ‘They almost scared me to death when I thought fate was going to rob us of all our daughters.’
‘Sometimes you can be a crazy woman,’ he said, with a small indulgent shake of his head.
But his arms were around her now, and love flowed between them like a tide. His hands were in her tangled hair, and to him she was as spectacularly beautiful as the day he’d first seen her, so many years ago, when she belonged to someone else, and he’d wanted her so much.
‘I’m sorry—’ she mumbled.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he said. ‘Nothing matters except that we have each other.’
She leaned into him, drawing on his strength, and so glad to relinquish her own.
‘Oh Ran, I do love you, and no matter where else my wild imagination takes me, I can’t imagine life without you.’
His kiss was gentle on her lips, but with all the passion she knew was hers for the taking.
‘You don’t have to,’ he said softly.