Shadows at Stonewylde

20



On the Village Green, the young men were practising their marksmanship with the bow. Several groups had gathered in the bright sunlight and a gaggle of girls stood around watching and making a lot of noise. The scene was quite idyllic with the Village Green surrounded by mature trees, mostly skeletal in mid-winter, but displaying their different textures and colours of bark in the low winter sun. The Great Barn stood behind them like a massive mother, golden and ancient, a haven and gathering place for all. The smaller building, the Jack in the Green, nestled close by and all the cottages clustered nearby like chicks around a hen. Smoke trickled from most chimneys promising cosiness inside and something tasty bubbling on the range. A woman walked by with two small children in tow, all wrapped up warmly in bright woollen jackets and thick felt hats. A youth pulled along a great trolley of logs and a man clattered by on a horse, whilst a crowd of children played on the cobbled street in the wide area outside the Barn, chasing each other and laughing.

The targets had been set up at the far end of the ancient clearing in front of the trees, just as they’d been for centuries and centuries – great woven circles of thick straw with a small star made of card in the centre marking the bullseye. The air was full of the sounds of arrows being released from the powerful bows, zinging through the sunlight to thwack into the straw. Each youth had a quiver on his back, a special belt with a socket for the arrow to be loaded, and a leather glove to protect his firing hand. Edward was over-seeing the practice, signalling when the latest volley of shots had been completed and the excited boys could run to their group’s target to see the evidence of their marksmanship. Stars that had been pierced were proudly removed and labelled as proof of expertise, although there were few of these for the central star was small and difficult to hit.

Kestrel was in his element. He was a strong archer, very accurate, and at eighteen this was his final year to compete for the honour of being the Archer of Imbolc. He’d done it last year and fully intended to win again this year. He was an almost archetypal figure, tall and strongly built, handsome and youthful. His powerful arms pulled back the string and made an extended line with his tilted jaw. His back rippled with sinew and muscle; legs apart and slim hips twisted, his chest opened up when he aimed and his blue eyes held the gleam of victory. He loved the attention of the girls watching and the admiration of the other boys. He wasn’t showing off – he knew he was the best there and was merely enjoying his position of supremacy.

Not all the youths took part as some were no good at archery and others just not interested. Sweyn and Gefrin were two such as this, but they stood with Kestrel’s group watching and praising him. Jay and Swift were taking part, both being reasonably adept if not in Kestrel’s league. Jay found failure difficult; if his arrow missed the straw target altogether he’d become angry and abusive and find some excuse for missing.

Swift was a better sportsman and accepted his poor shots with equanimity even though success mattered to him. He was very aware of the crowd of girls hanging around his archery group and knew they must find Jay’s aggressive bluster very trying. So Swift only laughed if he missed, flicking his fringe and looking sideways at the girls, and going for their sympathy. Kestrel caught one such exchange and thought again that he must watch Swift, who was becoming a bit too popular for his liking.

‘Stop showing off, Swift!’ he said loudly. ‘And where’s Sorrel anyway? You shouldn’t be making up to all these girls, not when you’re walking with someone. These little beauties are all mine, aren’t you, girls?’

There was much giggling and wriggling at this, all eyes back on Kestrel again which was how he liked it. In fact most of the girls watching had been his at one time or another and they all knew it. Swift gave him a long look, his grey-blue eyes slightly narrowed.

‘Sorrel’s helping her mother set up the lunch for us,’ he replied. ‘And I’m not walking with her – we may do in the future but not at the moment.’

‘Oh go on, Swift!’ said one of the girls. ‘You know she’s mad about you and you went with her at Yule for your Rite of Adulthood. She thinks you want to walk with her.’

‘I might do. I’m thinking about it,’ he replied, smiling charmingly.

‘You should,’ said Kestrel. ‘She’s good and I should know – broke her in myself.’

‘Kes!’ shrieked the girls.

Swift eyed him carefully then pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocking the fletching into the bowstring.

‘So you did,’ he said evenly. ‘And what a good job you made of it.’

‘Naturally,’ laughed Kestrel. ‘It’s what I do best, isn’t it, girls?’

Jay scowled at the pair of them; no girls were interested in him at all. He was too belligerent and his clumsy, arrogant overtures made girls run off in alarm. He’d had slightly more success at college where he wasn’t so well known but Stonewylde girls were very wary of him, particularly with his family history.

The practice was drawing to a close and the boys had been given ten minutes’ notice of lunch in the Barn; after that would come the actual competition to determine the Archer. The youngest boys there, at fourteen, knew they wouldn’t be picked but it was good to practise now to improve their chances when they were older. Just to get one arrow in the star was a great achievement and the little cards were pinned on display in the Barn until after Imbolc for all to see. The group of girls went off to help in the Barn and Edward blew the whistle for the archers to stop firing and go to collect all their arrows, making sure their quivers were full for the competition later.

As they strolled towards the targets Swift regaled them with the latest news of Magpie.

‘He was screaming this morning, Father said – making that awful screeching noise. Apparently he’d trodden on a dead rabbit outside the front door when he went out.’

Jay roared with laughter, his bullet head turning almost crimson with mirth.

‘I knew that would set the bugger off!’ he shouted with glee.

‘You put it there?’ asked Gefrin. ‘That was a good idea.’

‘Yeah, I caught six of ’em yesterday, too much for even my fat Auntie Starling to eat. So I took one round last night for the half-wit and left it by his door step. I knew it would get him going.’

‘Be careful though,’ warned Swift. ‘Cherry and Marigold are on the look-out for you anyway.’

‘Do you think I care? I like winding ’em up, stupid old bags.’

‘Yes but they’ll tell my father and then he’ll have to have a go at you.’

‘So?’ said Jay belligerently. ‘What’s he going to do?’

‘Well if you won’t take it from him, he’ll probably tell Yul.’

‘And? What’ll Yul do – banish me? I don’t think so!’

Swift shrugged. He’d warned Jay – he couldn’t do anymore. They’d reached the target and Jay began to pull his arrows from the straw boss.

‘Looks like you missed the star again,’ teased Kestrel, pulling a couple from the ground that had missed the straw target altogether.

‘Yeah, it’s these arrows – they’re shit.’

Kestrel laughed. ‘My father gave me these at my Rite of Adulthood,’ he said, tapping the quiver on his back.

‘Well I ain’t got a father, have I? Some bugger had him killed off – some bugger set a crow on my father!’

His face darkened with anger and his eyes bulged, glaring at them all.

‘Too bad, isn’t it?’ nodded Sweyn in sympathy. ‘Mine choked on a bit o’ cake and never got over it. Had a stroke, he did.’

‘At least that were an accident – mine wasn’t. One day I’ll get my revenge. My father didn’t deserve to die.’

‘I thought he’d killed your mother?’ said Swift mildly. Jay turned on him, looking for someone on whom to vent his aggression.

‘He didn’t mean to! My Granny Vetchling said it were my mother’s own fault. She went on and on at him, nagging and whining all the time until one night he snapped and tried to shut her up. Remember she was that cow Marigold’s daughter and we all know how she goes on. That’s why the old Magus brought him back, Old Violet said, ‘cos he knew my father were innocent. Alright?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ said Swift. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘Too right I’m right. So don’t say anything against my father again!’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Yes you—’

‘Enough!’ said Kestrel. ‘For goddess’ sake, let’s talk about something else. The Maiden, for instance – have they picked her yet? Anyone know who it’s going to be?’

They all shook their heads. Every year a girl was chosen for the Imbolc ceremony as it was the festival of the Maiden, celebrating new growth, purity and femininity. The girl had to be under sixteen and would partner the Archer in the ceremonies. All the little girls of Stonewylde took part too, and each one dreamed of one day being chosen to be Bright Maiden.

‘I reckon it’ll be Tansy,’ said Sweyn.

‘Or Honey.’

‘No,’ said Kestrel. ‘Not Honey – it’s her Rite of Adulthood at the ceremony. She told me herself and we all know why.’

‘Maybe Bryony?’ suggested Jay. ‘She’s fifteen.’

‘What about Leveret?’ said Swift.

‘Her?’ laughed Sweyn.

‘She’ll be fifteen too, won’t she? It could be her.’

‘They wouldn’t choose a scrawny little bitch like her,’ sneered Gefrin. ‘No, I think Bryony too.’

‘It could be Leveret,’ said Kestrel speculatively. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘Goddess, can you imagine it?’ groaned Sweyn. ‘She’d embarrass us so much, the stupid little cow. I don’t think it’ll be her – it’s always someone really pretty.’

‘She is really pretty,’ said Swift. ‘I got the shock of my life at the Outsiders’ Dance when I saw her.’

‘She’s not pretty!’ scoffed Jay. ‘She were just tarted up, that’s all. It made me want to slap her, showing off to everyone like that. I was itching to bring her back down to earth with a thump. But I hear you were interested, Kes?’

He nodded and shrugged. ‘Yeah, I was surprised at the difference. She’s pretty in a different way to all the others. But no big deal – she’s just another unripe apple at the moment. This time next year and I’ll consider her of course.’

‘Eugh!’ cried Gefrin. ‘Not even you would have her, surely? That’s horrible!’

Kestrel laughed at this reaction and Swift smiled at her brother’s naivety. He was sure they’d choose Leveret as the Maiden – she’d be perfect.

While the boys and men down at the Village Green competed to be named the Archer, Maizie and Miranda went together to see Sylvie to discuss the forthcoming ceremony and choose the Bright Maiden. They found her sitting all alone in the huge room in the window seat staring out over the trees, a piece of embroidery for the quota untouched on her lap. She regarded the two women with weary eyes, her face pale and drawn. She’d had a bad night with Bluebell who’d woken screaming that someone was standing by her bed watching her. Terrified, Sylvie had turned on the lights to banish the shadows, which had then woken Celandine. They’d all three moved into the great four-poster for the rest of the night but sleep had eluded Sylvie. She was too frightened to relax and then she’d started worrying about the business with Buzz. By morning she was thoroughly exhausted and irritable.

Now, with the girls out of the way in the Nursery, she was trying to do some work but failing miserably as she just couldn’t concentrate. She hadn’t seen Yul at all since dinner the night before when they’d barely spoken, and he rarely ate breakfast with them anymore. When her mother and mother-in-law turned together up her heart sank – the last thing she wanted today was to face these two. But it had to be done so the three women sat around the table in the grand apartments and began to discuss suitable girls. There were several of the right age to choose from and Maizie was pleased when Sylvie mentioned Leveret. Miranda, however, frowned at this.

‘But she’s been dreadful recently, hasn’t she?’

‘No, ‘tis all sorted out,’ said Maizie comfortably. ‘She’s as good as a gosling now.’

‘But Yul was furious with her.’

What Miranda was really remembering was the rude flick gesture Leveret had made at her.

‘Well ‘tis all fine now.’

Maizie was hoping desperately that her daughter would be chosen but couldn’t be seen to favour her – it would’ve been an abuse of her position.

‘I think Leveret would be a good choice,’ said Sylvie warmly, remembering the poor girl’s sadness and the way her daughters had discovered a sweet side to her. This may be just what was needed to boost her self-esteem.

‘But what about … you know … about the mushrooms at Quarrycleave?’ asked Maizie.

‘That’s all in the past now, gone and forgotten,’ said Sylvie.

‘But surely it sends the wrong message if we pick her. Do something silly like that and you’ll get chosen as Maiden,’ said Miranda, frowning. She was anxious not to offend Maizie and this was a delicate matter, but she had genuine concerns about choosing Leveret.

‘I think the fact she was so unhappy as to even contemplate taking her own life, along with that strange boy Magpie, is all the more reason to choose her,’ said Sylvie. Maizie glanced at her gratefully, surprised at her support.

‘I still think it’s giving other girls the wrong idea – bad behaviour rewarded.’

‘Hardly bad – more like desperate,’ said Sylvie. ‘Poor Leveret has been through a terrible experience and this would be a good way to make her feel valued in the community. I choose Leveret.’

Miranda sighed and looked at Maizie questioningly.

‘Well, o’ course I’d love her to be Maiden but I can’t favour her.’

‘Fair enough – we’ll have Leveret then, if you both think she’s the best choice. You know Kestrel’s the Archer again?’

‘He’s a fine young man, Edward’s son,’ said Maizie, beaming with joy. ‘He’ll be a good partner for Leveret. The ceremony will be lovely.’

‘And Celandine has a special solo part in the dance,’ said Sylvie, smiling at the memory of her daughter’s excitement and dedication to making her performance perfect. ‘Apparently all the women in the Nursery were so impressed by her dancing that Rowan arranged it specially, which was kind of her.’

‘Goddess bless her, dear little soul! ‘Twill be a very special Imbolc for us mothers, won’t it? Just a shame Rufus isn’t quite old enough to be Archer yet. Well, I’d better get sewing then,’ said Maizie. ‘My girl must look beautiful. I’ll go down to the stores now and get some o’ the best white linen. She were going to wear last year’s Imbolc dress with a little alteration but if she’s to be Maiden I need to make her a new outfit altogether. Harold’s blooming quotas will have to wait.’

Sweyn, Gefrin and Jay were not impressed that Leveret had been chosen as the Maiden. They discussed it one evening in the pub when Jay had returned from college, Gefrin had come back from the fields and Sweyn had finished his work in the tannery.

‘I’m on my way to visit the three biddies,’ said Jay. ‘I’m dying for a smoke. Now that bastard cousin of mine has moved out I have to chop firewood for them every night and get the water too. It’s no bloody joke, I can tell you.’

‘We still do it for our mother,’ said Sweyn.

‘Yeah, well there are two of you. And anyway, Magpie’s always done all the heavy work – it’s all the thick git’s capable of. Why should I have to start doing it? Come and give me a hand, would you? I’ll get ’em to give you a pipe too.’

The brothers agreed and they left the pub and walked along the lane towards the dirty cottage down at the end.

‘What about your sister being the Maiden then?’

‘Stupid bloody choice!’ muttered Sweyn. ‘Goddess knew why they chose her – she’s going to be so cocky about it.’

‘Then we need to put her in her place,’ said Jay. ‘We’ll have to plan something good and we never did follow through after Yule, did we? She must think she got away with it.’

‘What shall we do?’ asked Gefrin excitedly. ‘Something terrible – something that’ll really show her up.’

‘But no one must guess it’s us,’ said Sweyn, ever mindful of Maizie.

‘Let’s ask the crones,’ suggested Jay. ‘They’ll think of something awful.’

The two old women cackled with glee at being asked to help and put their evil minds to the task of finding something nasty for Maizie’s daughter. Having finished their supper they were sitting smoking their pipes when the boys arrived, whilst Starling finished off the day’s bread with a big bowl of gravy. Everyone was entitled to fresh bread daily and she liked to finish the loaves every evening, along with the milk and anything else left over. Food wasn’t rationed in any way and she could collect as much as she wanted from the stores each day. She sat like a great hog bent over the bowl on her lap, a huge hunk of bread clutched in her fat hand, the gravy greasing her lips and chin as she dunked and ate, dunked and ate. Sweyn and Gefrin watched her in fascination for a while, finding the sight of such compulsive eating quite compelling. Finally it was all gone and she sat back replete. She sighed with contentment and let out a long and loud burp. Gefrin in particular found this very amusing.

‘’Tis Imbolc – the wells and springs are sacred to the Maiden. There’s something there,’ said Old Violet.

‘Aye, sister, something there alright,’ piped Vetchling with her reedy voice. ‘Put her down the well! That’d be a fine to-do – Maiden in the well!’

‘It’s a bit public,’ said Sweyn. ‘It has to be secret so nobody knows we did it.’

‘Don’t see why! Meddling girl – ‘twas her fault they took the boy away.’

‘Aye, all her fault. She took him up Quarrycleave to poison him and now they’re making her Maiden! ‘Tis all her fault and we’re going to set her straight. Meddling, that’s what she is.’

‘Why don’t you poison her then?’ suggested Starling, reaching for her pipe now that her belly was finally full. She shifted her huge bulk to pass wind, like a low rumble of thunder. ‘She wanted poison so let’s give her poison.’

‘We can’t kill her!’ said Gefrin, balking at going that far. ‘We just want to hurt her or do something nasty to upset her.’

‘Poison don’t have to kill,’ mused Old Violet. ‘Poison can just make you feel like your guts are turning inside out, or make your mind wander and stray. ‘Tis a good idea, Starling. I’ll think on it, lads. Who wants a pipe now?’

They sat in cosy companionship, the three women in their rocking chairs and the boys on pieces of log that served as stools. Jay drew on his pipe with expertise, savouring the heady experience that he thought of with longing most afternoons. It was worth keeping in with the crones just for this – nobody else at Stonewylde mixed a pipe like they did. Sweyn and Gefrin coughed and spluttered on the strange mixture of dried herbs and plant material that Vetchling had tamped into the bowls of the clay pipes, but then it started to take effect and they relaxed into a haze of gratification. Starling sent Jay to get the cider from the kitchen and they all indulged in this pleasure too, their tankards being topped up at regular intervals.

‘I remember your father,’ mused Vetchling, looking at the two visitors in their midst.

‘Aye, I remember Alwyn,’ added Violet. ‘A fine figure of a man he were.’

‘A real man – you’re like him,’ said Starling, regarding Sweyn’s heavy, flushed face.

‘Terrible what happened to him,’ said Violet, sucking on her pipe. ‘He were cut down in his prime like corn not ready for the harvesting.’

‘Aye, sister, cut off afore his time and we know who’s doing that was.’

‘Aye, we know. We know ‘twere dark work afoot there.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Gefrin, his head reeling with the smoke and alcohol.

‘He choked,’ added Sweyn, equally addled. ‘Our father choked and had some sort of stroke, Mother said. He held on for months but he never got his health back and he were a Death Dancer at Samhain that year.’

The crones cackled at this.

‘Aye, my good lads, he choked alright. But there were dark work afoot.’

‘Aye, meddling and dark work and poor Alwyn were cut down before his time.’

‘Are you saying it weren’t an accident? Someone killed him?’

The old women looked at each other, their toothless mouths puckered in their attempts at a smile.

‘Aye – someone hexed him. And apart from us there were only one other it could’ve been,’ said Starling, regarding them over the mound of her stomach spread hugely before her as she relaxed back in her chair.

‘Who?’ cried Gefrin. ‘Who hexed him?’

‘Old Mother Heggy!’ said Jay. ‘Who else?’

‘And we know why, don’t we, sister?’

‘Aye, we know why. Alwyn did a good job on the bastard in his midst. Kept him in his place, kept him down where he belonged.’

‘You mean Yul?’

The crones spat into the fire in unison.

‘Aye, we mean him. Alwyn treated the boy hard, as he deserved. Whipped him and beat him regular. What man wouldn’t, forced like a cuckold to raise another’s as his own?’

‘But then that bitch Heggy had to meddle, her and her scrying and her prophecies. She were the one who hexed your father.’

‘Aye, sister, and she didn’t work alone. She got the dark-haired one to aid her, do her bidding. He were the one who carried out her hex.’

‘I don’t understand! You mean Yul did it? Yul killed our father?’

‘Yul didn’t kill him,’ said Starling. ‘But he did Heggy’s bidding and made it happen. ‘Twas down to him the hex worked.’

Sweyn jumped up and almost toppled into the fire. He stood there swaying, huge and sweating, his fists clenching and unclenching. Starling regarded him admiringly. He was as fine a figure as his father had been – pity he was so young.

‘I’ll kill him!’ the boy cried. ‘I’ll avenge my father!’

‘And me!’ said Gefrin, his rat face twisted with bitterness. ‘All these years we thought it were an accident!’

‘’Twas no accident, be assured,’ muttered Old Violet. ‘But steady, lads – not so hasty.’

‘No, not so hasty. It must be done right. There’s other things to be thought of.’

‘You won’t succeed if you rush in,’ said Starling. ‘You must listen to the old ones, lads. Bide your time and be patient.’

‘’Tis not yet time,’ crooned Old Violet. ‘But it will be soon, and then we’ll be ready. The dark-haired one will be cut down and the silver one put in his rightful place.’

‘Aye, sister. The Magus is silver, not dark. We know the ways, we know how it should be.’

‘Why can’t you just hex him now?’ asked Jay. ‘Why have you let him rule us for so long?’

Old Violet spat into the fire again, the hiss making Gefrin jump.

‘He’s shielded. There’s protection, with his love binding him safe and making a ring around him. Him and that Outsider girl – pah! She may be Clip’s daughter but she don’t belong here. We know.’

‘Aye, we know. The darkness and the brightness were strong together but there’s trouble brewing, dark trouble enough to break the shield.’

The crones cackled in unholy unison.

‘You lads be ready, and we’ll help you with that sister o’ yours.’

‘Aye, we’ll help for she too must be broken. We know of her, we been watching as she’s grown. Another cuckoo in the nest but we’re ready for her. She’ll be no match for us.’

‘Nay, no match for us. We’re the old ones, the wise ones, and we know the ways. She knows nothing yet nor ever will.’

They cackled again and offered the boys another pipe.

‘I’m not happy about the choice of Maiden,’ said Yul, watching his wife across the table. They were eating dinner, candles and silver on the white cloth, food on the plates. Their daughters slept further down the wing and they were alone. This had become the only time of the day when they had any real contact and even this was fraught with uneasiness. Sylvie looked up at him, the candlelight flickering on his honed face and casting shadows under his cheekbones and brow. His deep grey eyes gleamed as they regarded her. He lifted his wine glass and drank the ruby liquid.

‘The choice of Bright Maiden is for the women to decide,’ she said neutrally, trying to keep annoyance from her voice. ‘Maizie, my mother and I chose Leveret together. It’s not something the magus gets involved with – you know that, Yul.’

‘Nevertheless, you should’ve consulted me. She’s my sister and you know the trouble she’s been in recently. It’s not right that she should be given this honour when she doesn’t deserve it.’

‘That’s what my mother said.’

‘Ah, so it wasn’t unanimous then? Of course Mother would push for Leveret – she’s running around after that girl as if nothing’s happened, desperate to keep her happy and it makes me angry to see it. I might’ve known my mother would drag you along with what she wanted. You need to learn to stand up to people and stop being so soft all the time.’

‘How dare you!’ cried Sylvie, feeling cold fury rising inside her. ‘I make my own decisions, as you well know! Actually it was my idea to choose Leveret.’

The twitch of his mouth showed his disbelief.

‘And don’t you get any ideas about changing our choice! We’ve announced it now and it can’t be altered. Leveret will be a lovely Maiden.’

‘It was very ill-considered, if it really was your choice and not something you’d been manipulated into. You need to think these things through carefully, Sylvie, and not make poor decisions that only reflect badly on you.’

She glared at him, unable to belief his arrogance. He stared back coldly, watching the emotions playing on her face. He was pleased to have finally penetrated the shell she now wore, keeping him at bay from her inner as well as her outer self. Maybe if he could break it down altogether they could start again, with no secrets or hidden agenda. He knew she was keeping something from him but had no idea what it was.

Yul poured himself some more wine which he savoured as he sat watching her across the table. He’d finished his dinner but she’d barely touched hers. She was getting thinner again and he didn’t like it; another reason to get this sorted out.

‘And one more thing, Sylvie. I know you’re sleeping badly, you look exhausted and you’re losing weight – I’m not sure you’re actually up to this Imbolc ceremony at all.’

‘What? Of course I’m up to the ceremony! It’s the only one I lead and you’re not muscling in on this as well!’

‘No, not me of course – it must be led by a woman. I thought maybe Miranda could lead it this year as you’re looking so weak. We can’t have you overdoing it – you know where that might lead.’

‘I am not ill! How many times do I have to tell you that? Yes, I’ve been sleeping badly, having nightmares, and so has Bluebell which makes it worse. But I’m perfectly well. And if I’m losing weight it’s because you put me off my food. I was quite enjoying this meal until you started having a go at me. That’s your fault!’

‘Are you saying you don’t want me to eat dinner with you any more? Finally cut off the last contact we have? Is that what you’re saying, Sylvie?’

‘No! Yes … no, I do want to have dinner with you but only if you get off my back and stop haranguing me!’

To her utter dismay Sylvie burst into tears which wasn’t how she felt at all – she was furious. She rose swiftly and turned away from the table, going to stand by the fire where she sobbed quietly into her hands. Yul watched her from the table then drained his glass and poured out the last of the wine, knowing there was another bottle waiting in his study downstairs. He too stood and quickly tipped back the last of the rich contents, then crossed to the fireplace and took her in his arms. She stayed hunched up and resisting, not wanting his comfort. Not when he’d upset her in the first place with his arrogance and bullying. But he firmly unclenched her arms and put them by her sides, enfolding her in a large, safe embrace, gently stroking her hair until eventually she started to relax.

‘Come and sit on the sofa,’ he said softly. ‘Come on, Sylvie, stop fighting me. There really is no need.’

He led her to the sofa and pulled her down next to him with her head on his chest. He felt her resistance but continued stroking her hair, tracing the contours of her face with coaxing fingers until gradually she let go and began to unwind. Yul had a sure and compelling touch and knew her of old. He found her proximity difficult to bear as it had now been quite a while since they’d made love properly. He couldn’t count the failed attempt after her return from Bournemouth which he’d brought to an end, much as he’d regretted it later as he lay alone in the darkness of his study. But Yul knew he mustn’t rush this tonight; he must take it slowly and carefully until she was completely ready. She was vulnerable and must be handled very delicately.

‘You know I love you, Sylvie,’ he murmured, running her silky hair through his fingers. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong between us but never forget how much I love you. You’re my whole life, you know.’

She snuggled into him, the worries and fears receding a little. This was what mattered; this was how it should be. He continued his caresses and she started to loosen under his touch, letting go of the anxieties that kept her tied in knots. He knew how to make her feel so good. In the soft lamplight and the flickering firelight Sylvie could see him clearly, his beloved face so handsome and full of want. His eyes gazed down at her lovingly as slowly his fingers smoothed and admired every curve and angle of her, until neither of them could hold back any longer. As one they rolled onto the soft rug in front of the fire and forgot their recent troubles, forgot their differences, and remembered only the joy and passion of each other’s bodies.

Later as they lay in each other’s arms on the sofa once more, both feeling infinitely more content than they’d done for a long time, he risked broaching the subject of their estrangement.

‘Is it something to do with the bedroom itself?’

She gazed into the fire, and nodded.

‘You’ve been having nightmares, you said? Is it all linked to that?’

‘Yes, I suppose so – kind of.’

‘But in here you feel better?’

‘It’s not … that’s too simplistic, but partly, yes.’

He smiled above her head – that was easily sorted out then, and it explained her passionate kiss downstairs in the entrance hall too when she was leaving for the ballet.

‘Shall I still sleep downstairs tonight? I will if you prefer it – I just want to make you happy, Sylvie, to get back to how we used to be. This rift between us is killing me. I love you, my angel, you know that, don’t you?’

She nodded again, feeling relaxed and at peace now. Maybe it would be alright after all.

‘And this business about Imbolc …’ he began, feeling her tense up again ready to fight him. ‘Do whatever you think best, Sylvie. If you want to lead the whole ceremony, that’s fine – I don’t want to upset you. It’s just that I love you so much and I’m worried you’re over-doing it. I only want what’s best for you.’

‘What’s best for me is not being bossed about or controlled by you,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t think you realise how much you dominate. You exhaust me, trying to stand up to you all the time. Just give me space and don’t crowd me, don’t try to control me.’

‘Alright, I’ll try harder not to. I really don’t know I’m doing it.’

‘I think you do, Yul. You know I’ve never taken it from you and you’re using my past illness as a way to bully me into doing what you want. We’re equal – we’re a partnership.’

‘Of course – the darkness and the brightness.’

‘Exactly! In balance, not one overpowering the other.’

They were silent then, both thinking how they could make it work and neither wanting a return to the bleakness of the past couple of months. As Yul stared dreamily into the flames he felt a great rush of love for the woman lying against him, her silver hair spilling over his chest. She was the only one, the only woman he’d ever wanted, and he knew in his heart that part of it, part of his desire and need for her was her refusal to let him take over. The balance must be right if there was to be harmony between them. He sighed, tracing the bones in her shoulder, and knew he must rein himself in and let her come to the fore. Stonewylde needed them both working together, not against each other. Together they were strong and powerful, able to hold the centre together and keep the whole community in harmony and accord.

Neither of them saw the shadows thickening behind the sofa nor felt the presence of another in the room. Neither had any idea of quite what they were up against. They were both thinking things would start to get better now – they didn’t realise their troubles had only just begun.