Page 23

‘Good afternoon, Rhiannon. Good afternoon, Erin. How are you both?’

Erin – the younger of the two – nervously flicks a glance at Rhiannon, then stares hard at the ground. She mumbles a greeting, the words muffled into the rough of her woollen collar. Rhiannon, however, simply watches Linette with steely eyes.

‘Well enough, mistress.’

Her gaze slides to the doctor then back again. She says nothing else.

‘This is Dr Talbot, our new physician.’

Linette gestures to him. The doctor doffs his hat. Rhiannon’s pointed jaw clenches.

‘I know.’

A statement, harmless enough. Why then does it feel like an attack?

‘We’ve just come from Tomas Morgan’s bedside,’ Linette tries in a lighter tone. ‘Will your father be able to spare some milk for him? Dr Talbot says it will be curative.’

Erin looks taught as harp strings. Rhiannon’s eyes darken.

‘I’m sure we can spare some. But for Tomas’ sake. Not his.’

The last words are said with derision, and Linette swallows as her suspicions are confirmed.

Rhiannon Einion is only a few years younger than Linette. Not old enough, not really, to take the rumours to heart. Yet her grandmother had been well-loved in Penhelyg and though – like Linette – the girl never knew the woman, the memory of her has been passed down, the tragic tale with it. Still, it has no bearing on Henry Talbot and Rhiannon should know that.

They all should.

‘For Tomas’ sake,’ Linette says now, forcing a smile. ‘It is all I ask.’

For a moment Rhiannon stares. Then she turns up her nose, rises from the bench; Erin stumbles up with her.

‘Very well,’ she replies, and looks at Dr Talbot once more, a vicious gleam in her dark eyes. Then, with not one word further, Rhiannon brushes past Pryderi’s legs. The horse huffs; Linette presses her heels to steady him. Erin – with a shy, apologetic glance – hurries after her, skirts spilling dust, and Linette watches them go with a deep sense of unease. Next to her, Dr Talbot clears his throat.

‘I do not need to understand Welsh to know that we were not well met.’

Linette sighs, turns now to look at him. His expression reveals no upset, no derogatory manner, but she hears the reserve in his voice just the same.

‘I’m sorry. I do not know …’ She trails off. Cannot lie. ‘Your presence here will take some getting used to. That’s all.’

Something flickers in his face.

‘Will it?’

Linette opens her mouth, shuts it again.

No, she cannot bring herself to lie. Instead, it is better to say nothing at all.

They are nearing the fork at the gatehouse when the shot comes. It splits the air with a deafening crack, causing an explosion of birds to scatter high into the trees. Linette hears the splinter-break of impacted wood, but she has no chance to see which tree has fallen victim to it for beneath her Pryderi rears up with a loud whicker, and Linette clings on to his reins, digs her heels into the cob’s flanks to keep him steady. Gwydion’s cry is louder – the horse’s scream pierces her ears, and Linette is vaguely aware of the new doctor clinging desperately on as the cob throws his head.

‘Pwyll,’ she says now, leaning forward into Pryderi’s ear, ‘steady now.’

The horse snorts deeply, paws the ground, and Linette takes that opportunity to reach out for Gwydion’s reins swinging wildly at his neck. Her companion has his fingers buried in the horse’s coarse black mane, white-knuckled – it is only when Linette calms his mount that he releases his grip.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks, breathless.

The doctor is ghost-pale. Visibly he swallows.

‘I think so, yes. Yes,’ he says again, more firmly, as if to assure himself of the fact.