Chapter Seven

“Are your eyes still closed?” Robert’s voice trembled with anticipation.

Constance clutched his arm for balance. Shades of black still claimed her vision. “They’ve been closed since we left the gatehouse. ’Tis a wonder I haven’t tripped.”

“I would’ve caught you if you had.”

“Are we behind the motte?”

“Aye, and a short way beyond.” He halted, so she did too. “Now you may look.”

She opened her eyes. They stood on a broad, dirt path bordered by two rows of huge oaks, one lining each side. The trees on both flanks reached out to each other, forming the semblance of a high, vaulted ceiling.

She smiled. “’Tis like a natural cathedral.”

“Right you are. But look closer. Compare the branches on one side with those on the other.”

Tilting her head back, she studied the trees. The complex network of branches. The corresponding lines. The greener than green leaves. ’Twas a marriage of symmetry too strict to be true. Yet it existed.

“Wondrous,” she breathed. “Each side mirrors the other.”

“Down to the tiniest branch.”

She lowered her gaze to meet his. “How is this possible?”

He shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’ve been here several times, on previous trips to Druid’s Head, and it never loses its charm.”

“Miraculous.” Her gaze traveled the length of the passageway. Up ahead, water shimmered in the sunlight. “Show me everything.”

They strolled to the end of the path, to the open edge of a pool lined with trees and shrubs, except at their present location and a bare patch on the opposite shore. Beyond that shore, dense woodland stood sentinel.

“Woden’s Pond,” Robert said.

A sense of peace, not unlike the energy at Woden’s Circle, enfolded her. “Lovely.”

He pointed. “Look over there.”

A ways to the right, the pond narrowed. A small, stone bridge arched above it. Plant life crowded around and nearly hid the bridge’s entrance and exit.

She couldn’t stop smiling. “Let’s go thither.”

They rounded the pond and started across the bridge, pausing at its midpoint.

Robert hitched his thumb in the direction of the forest. “That’s the Long Wood. The path continues all the way around the pond, in case you find yourself craving a good stretch of the legs.”

“’Tis good to know.” Her gaze dropped to the rippling water. If I lay on my stomach, I could almost reach it.

He cleared his throat. “Recognize anything?”

She looked up and out at the view. “Oh! The tapestry.”

“The very same prospect.” He turned to her. “So you like your surprise?”

She beamed up at him. “I love it.”

His dimples took shape. “’Tis all ours.”

Her heart fluttered as she stared into his eyes. “Ours.”

He moved an inch closer. “I must tell you, you’ve impressed me.”

“I have? How?”

“By your charity. The compassion you showed Godwin’s sister.”

She turned toward the pond. Light danced on the surface. “You showed it, too.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re a good person.”

“And you’re an angel.”

Her heart twisted. “Hardly.” She turned back to him. “I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”

“In your case, I’ll make an exception.”

I don’t deserve the reverence in your eyes. “Again, you surprise me.”

“Then there’s hope for me?”

“Hope?”

“That I’ll become the man you want me to be.”

Her pulse quickened. “Already, you are more than I could’ve wished for.”

Much more. Too handsome. Too appealing. Too…stirring. None of those qualities buttressed a spiritual marriage.

His expression grew more intimate by the second. She had to change the subject. “Lady Ravenwood’s grandmother must’ve frequented this spot. Her tapestry is a perfect likeness of it…which makes no sense, now that I think on it. The trees and shrubbery would’ve been younger, smaller in her time. Yet her work reflects what we see today. All that’s missing is a swan.”

He glanced at the pond, then grinned. “You were saying…”

She followed his gaze and gasped as a lone white swan glided into view. “Incredible!”

The bird swam from right to left. The sunlight created a perfect reflection of it in the water, so there appeared to be two identical, white halves moving in unison.

The sight triggered her memory. The blissful dream-kiss she shared with her husband. The sense of freedom—born of her merger with the swan—that allowed it.

Her heart grew heavy. Oh, to feel so free again. To step outside myself and be something else.

That accursed day in York had changed everything. She’d lost her way, her sense of self. Nowhere felt like home. Not Lincoln. Not Newcastle. There were times she chafed in her own skin.

Would Druid’s Head be any different? I pray it will.

“How peaceful she looks.” Robert’s voice was soft, filled with awe. “So at home on the water.”

Constance frowned. “But we only see the surface. Perhaps she’s kicking hard beneath it, fighting with all her might to stay afloat and move forward, and seem poised while doing so.”

“Is that how it is for you?”

I’ve said too much! She hadn’t meant to. The words just flowed from her mouth like blood from an open wound.

Searching her mind for the right reply, she turned to face him. But the kindness in his eyes inspired candor. “Often.”

“Constance, I want to help you. I know there’s something unspoken between us. What I can only guess. When you’re ready to speak it, I’m ready to hear.”

The knot in her chest loosened. He didn’t pry or push. He simply opened the door. “Thank you, Robert.”

In companionable silence, they regarded the pond. Oddly content, Constance smiled. The swan was gone, but mayhap it left a little grace in its wake.

****

The following fortnight brought a torrent of activity. Constance spent most of her time organizing the help-ale, overseeing the kitchens, and acquainting herself with the bailey, the keep, and their inhabitants. In addition, she devoted one day a week to almsgiving in Preostbi’s church. She and the village priest, Father Leof, offered food, healing, and companionship to the sick and the poor.

Robert inspected the land and the buildings atop it. He hunted, hawked, supervised the soldiers, instructed the squires, and pored over the accounts with Godwin.

He saw Constance only in passing, except at board and at bedtime. During meals, they discussed work and the daily affairs of the people; in bed, little more than “good morrow.” “Good night” was out of the question, for she was always asleep—or at least appeared to be—by the time he reached the bed. He’d come to regret the arrangement he himself proposed, that he dress and undress in the solar while she used the bedchamber. His goal was to make her comfortable, not send her to sleep!

The fortnight’s end found him and Meg in the solar after supper. Constance was in the bailey with Godwin, completing last-minute preparations for the help-ale.

Lifting his gaze from the chessboard, he shook his head and gave Meg a rueful smile. “Again, you best me. What is your secret?”

She shrugged, then leaned back in her chair. “I have a good head for games. That’s all. Or perhaps you let me win, just to make an old woman happy.”

“Ha! I’m not a glutton for failure.”

“No, but you’re a glutton for the meals your wife plans.”

He rubbed his belly. “I cannot help myself. Her mother’s recipes are inspired, as I learned when I dined at Nihtscua. I really must meet the woman someday.”

She chuckled. “I’m sure your appetite will impress her.”

He sobered. “A man satisfies his hunger where he can.”

“I suppose he must.” Folding her arms, she gave him a knowing look. “Talk to me, Robert.”

With a sigh, he glanced at the lifeless hearth. “I want more…from Lady Constance.”

“You knew the deal when you married her.”

“I didn’t expect to be locked out for life.”

“Two weeks do not a lifetime make.”

His gaze sought the open window. “Perhaps not, but it feels that way.” He regarded her again. Her violet eyes glittered. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Much.”

“But why—”

“All in good time.” She unfolded her arms. “Now, as you were saying…”

He nodded. “We’re more acquaintances than friends. And as far from lovers as two can get.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Do I?”

Meg flashed a smile at him. Her teeth were impossibly straight and white. “’Tis part of your charm.”

“Charm? Welladay! It must be sorely lacking, or my wife would stay conscious in bed, at least long enough to bid me good night.”

“’Tis possible she feigns sleep.”

He frowned. “That occurred to me. But why? Am I such poor company? Do I offend? Does she see me as some rank, louse-laden, toothless, bespawling—”

“Whoa! Slow down and take a breath. You cannot claim even one of those attributes, and well she knows it.”

“Does she? In sooth? Because—”

“I’d wager my life against it.” Meg grabbed her cup from the table and took a sip.

“Be careful what you wager.”

“She likes you.”

He sat a little straighter. “How do you know?”

“Her gaze follows you when you walk by.”

“My gaze followed a hedgehog in the meadow yesternight, but I’m not about to declare my love for it.”

Her lips twitched as she placed her cup on the table. “We’re not talking about love…yet.” She sighed, long and loud. “Have a little faith.”

He sifted through a fortnight of memories. “There were moments when I saw something in her eyes.”

“Not the hedgehog’s, I assume.”

He made a face. “Funny.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “Forgive me. So her eyes disclosed something. Desire?”

“Not quite. But perhaps a herald of it.”

“There. You see?”

He leaned forward, then slumped against the back of his chair. “All I know is I’m tired of tiptoeing around her sensibilities. We’re supposed to be friends, right? Well, friends can undress in front of each other. They belch. They fart. They might even visit the garderobe together.”

Her expression turned droll. “Romantic acts, indeed.”

“I only meant—”

“I know what you meant. Believe me, I want to see the two of you together. Why do you think I arranged for you to share a bedchamber that first night?”

He grinned. “You’re a sly one, Meg.” Then he knit his brow. “But we cannot escape the fact that she’s afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Not ghosts. That I know. By the way, have you seen aught of our alleged specter?”

She stared at the static chessboard. “A few times, I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye. But when I turned, I saw naught.”

“And the servants? Have they told you anything?”

“A little. Our ghost appears to be a woman, but no one has seen her face. What about you?”

He shook his head. “I’ve nothing to report. Except…”

She laced her fingers together. “What?”

“Our first morning here, someone opened the shutters while we slept. The latch was perfectly sound, and Alice denied doing it. ’Twasn’t you, was it?”

She gave him a pointed look. “As if I’d creep into your chamber while you slept.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think so.”

“So maybe the ghost came to call.”

“Not likely.”

“Then why did you mention it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why. But back to my wife. Her behavior confounds me.”

Meg looked thoughtful. “’Tisn’t as if she has a curse hanging over her, as Emma had.”

“True. Yet William tempted his bride in spite of it. I would I could tap some of that prowess now.” He rubbed his jaw. “Hmm. Which of his tactics could I use? It must also show her she can trust me…”

A memory flickered, then burst into a flame of inspiration. His pulse quickened. He looked at Meg, whose wide, luminous eyes mirrored his.

Simultaneously, they spoke. “I have an idea!”