by Anna Kendall
The woman led us out of Glory and to a village several miles away, where Joan Campford lived with our small son as her own. On reflection, I realized that there was no one – or, at least, no one left living – whom I would have trusted as much. We spent a month in that cottage, and then journeyed east to the coast. Joan came with us, as little Tom’s nurse. I had seen in that fortnight that much as she loved her son, Maggie would never be happy as a lady cottager waited upon by another woman. She needed to direct, to organize, to create. And I still feared being recognized that close to Glory.
So, thanks to Stephanie’s money, we travelled comfortably to the far coast and bought two large cottages side by side. We live in one. The other Maggie has turned into the Red Boar, the best inn in this seaside city. Through the rainy window I can see the harbour, where ships come and go constantly with cargo from Benilles, from Gorwen, from a dozen other exotic ports. Running this prosperous inn is completely different from our poor alehouse in Applebridge. Here there is always news, interesting people, something happening. And there are no sheep.
The argument over the dirty cloth, so relished by all three parties, gives way as Maggie notices Tom. ‘He’s spilled ale on himself! Joan, why were you not watching him?’
‘A little ale never hurt a babe,’ Joan says. She lifts Tom off my lap. ‘Let me take him, Roger.’
Tom clings to me for a moment, but then catches sight of window rain gleaming in the light from the bright fire on the hearth. He stretches his chubby fist towards the pane. ‘Da!’ Joan bears him off to be changed into fresh clothing, and I scrub at my ale-soaked tunic with the disputed cloth, which does not look all that dirty to me.
I am happy, although I know it is ‘despite’. Despite the deaths of Tom Jenkins and Mother Chilton, of Lady Margaret, Alysse and Nell. Despite the loss of my hand. Despite the rumours of war, since Tarek son of Solek son of Taryn still claims to be the husband of Queen Stephanie. Perhaps that is what happiness always is – ‘despite’. I do not know for certain.
‘Roger,’ Maggie says, ‘can I bring you anything?’
I shake my head and smile at her. One thing I do know for certain: I will not cross over again. There is no need. Everything I want is here.
The door opens, and I rise to greet our first patron of the evening.
Copyright
An Indigo eBook
Copyright © Anna Kendall 2012
All rights reserved.
The right of Anna Kendall to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by
Indigo
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2012 by Indigo.
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 78062 074 9
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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