why else had he turned away from her bed? Why did he make excuses not to go to church? Why had he agreed to make this sword a pagan sword; how else would he have known the spells and the charms to be recited over the blade as he forged it in the fire?
She sighed. The gods of their ancestors had been powerful gods. She found herself thinking suddenly about Frige, the goddess her great-grandmother had worshipped, the goddess who made marriages fruitful, whilst now, she bit her lip thoughtfully, though she prayed often and fervently to the Blessed Virgin, her own marriage to Eric was still childless.
‘Edith?’
Lost in her dreams she hadn’t seen the figure appear in the doorway. Eric stooped and came in, pushing the door closed behind him, shutting out the light. ‘Eric!’ She threw herself at him and for a moment they clung together. She nuzzled his neck, and pulled his face to hers, seeking his lips with something approaching hunger. ‘Have you finished the sword?’ she whispered. ‘Have you come home?’
For a moment longer he held her close against him then slowly he pushed her away. ‘I’m sorry. Not yet. But it won’t be long, sweetheart, I promise.’
Bereft, she stood for a moment, her eyes closed, fighting her tears, then she straightened her shoulders. ‘Why are you here then?’
He didn’t answer for a moment, then gave her a sheepish grin in the twilight shadow of the small house. ‘I thought you would be in the weaving house with Lady Hilda.’
‘Which is where I should be.’ She waited but he said nothing more. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then he turned to the door and lifted the latch. ‘It won’t be long, I promise, my darling.’ However long it took to engrave the magical runes, the special symbols, the words of power which would make this sword unique.
She watched as he strode away towards the edge of the village where the tithe barn hid his forge and workshop from her view, then she turned back to the fire. Overhead the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling rustled gently, disturbed by Eric’s passing.
‘I’m sorry. I was rude again, wasn’t I?’ Leo was standing on the back doorstep. He was empty-handed this time, his hair blowing in the stiff breeze, dressed in a heavy blue Guernsey and faded jeans. ‘Can I apologise?’
Zoë stood back and nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Five minutes. It’s my turn to be busy. I am just going into Woodbridge.’ Now that she was used to the scars on his face she could see what a good-looking man he must have been. She led the way into the kitchen where her handbag and shopping basket were sitting side by side on the worktop with her car keys.
He grimaced. ‘Bad timing. My trademark. Just like you.’ He followed her in and stood by the table. ‘I just thought a word might be timely about our mutual neighbours. I dare say you’ve noticed that they are here for half-term.’
‘I noticed but I haven’t spoken to them yet.’
‘The youngest kid, Jade, she’s a good mate of mine. Something she said rang alarm bells. I think there might after all be a plan to try and scare you both. Playing ghosts. Weird noises in the night, you know the sort of thing. They are a malicious bunch and their idea of a joke might not be yours. Or mine, for that matter.’
‘So the whole ghost thing is a scam?’ She heard her voice rise at the tightness in her throat. She exhaled sharply. ‘It’s all a joke?’
‘Not all of it, no,’ he said quietly. He glanced at her face then looked away again. ‘Sorry. But as they are here, and they appear to be in malicious mode, you might be in for an escalation of events for a few days.’
‘They weren’t here, though, when the noises started, were they?’ Her moment of relief disappeared as soon as it had come.
‘No they weren’t.’
‘So all the door banging was real.’
‘Might have been the wind.’
‘And last night,’ she was silent for a moment, trying to make up her mind whether to tell him or not, ‘we came back tired after the most god-awful sail I have ever had and I was upstairs, looking down over the balcony and I thought I saw, heard, horses, quietly munching their hay, scraping their hooves. Maybe I didn’t actually see or hear them. I just sort of sensed it.’ She shook her head, embarrassed, sorry she had mentioned it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. ‘Don’t laugh at me. I expect I was hallucinating. I was so tired.’
‘I’m not laughing. I am sure horses have lived in here on and off over the centuries. Buildings hold memories. You were tired; your mind was relaxed, open.’ He hitched up to sit on the corner of the work station, one leg swinging. ‘So, what was so awful about the sail? I got the impression you were seasoned mariners.’
‘Ken is. He loved it. We were out in the sea, it was a bit rough, I suppose, and he decided to come back and we touched the bottom and suddenly I realised I was scared. Really scared, more scared than I have ever been in my life.’ She put her hands to her face for a moment.
‘We all get scared from time to time.’ He spoke with an unexpected gentleness. ‘That’s what gives the adrenaline.’
She shook her head violently. ‘No. Not like this. It is supposed to be fun. And yes, exciting, but not so deeply, deeply frightening.’ She looked at him for a second and then shook her head again.
‘Why did you let him drag you up here if you hate it?’ he asked after a moment. ‘The move wasn’t for your benefit at all, was it?’
There was a long pause. ‘I don’t hate it. I thought it would work. It was a challenge.’ She held his gaze defiantly.
‘And sailing, is that a challenge too?’
She walked across to the window and stared out. ‘I can’t live my whole life afraid.’
‘It strikes me that you would be afraid of very little,’ he said thoughtfully.
She grimaced. ‘But then you don’t know me very well. Perhaps afraid is the wrong word. In a rut, then. London was comfortable and safe.’
‘And sailing isn’t safe.’
‘We sailed before.’ She hunched her shoulders defiantly. ‘It was fine. It is fine.’
In the distance the river water was dull, sluggish, creeping in, creeping up between the banks. She could feel the cold tiptoe across her shoulders and deliberately fought the reflexive shiver. The kitchen was warm.
‘It was partly because of his enthusiasm that we came here, of course it was. Our life together has always been like that. He’s the match, and I smoulder into flame.’ She broke off and it was a moment before she laughed. ‘But this time the flame hasn’t caught. Or not the way I expected. I thought I would like it here. I did – do – love it here. But something is wrong.’ Why was she confiding in him like this?
‘Does Ken know how you feel about all this?’ he said after a long pause. He had been watching her while she spoke.
She nodded.
How could she explain the complexity of their relationship? It was
