Sir Robert.’
Robbie couldn’t contain his excitement any longer.
‘I will be Sir Robert,’ he said, facing Rowenna. ‘Father has secured me a place as a squire. I shall have to serve two years as a page so I’ll be fifteen rather than fourteen before I become squire.’
‘Are you going to go?’ Rowenna asked quietly.
‘Of course,’ Robbie exclaimed. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Rowenna pouted. ‘You’ll become Lord Danby anyway one day. You could just stay here.’
‘I can’t just wait here until I inherit my title. I need to earn it. I want to serve in another household.’
‘Then I’m very pleased for you. It’s what you’ve wanted for as long as I can remember!’ Rowenna was beaming, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Where will you be going?’
‘Wentbrig. To Sir John Wallingdon, who owes fealty to De Lacy of Pontefract.’
‘That’s so far,’ Rowenna breathed with excitement. ‘The same distance again as from here to York.’
Robbie looked towards the beck, even though it was too dark to see the moor or stream. His whole life had been spent in Wharram Danby or Ravenscrag. The furthest he had been was to York, when Uncle Hal stayed in his town house and invited Roger’s family to visit. When he had to leave, a part of his heart would be torn from his chest, remaining in the home he loved.
Rowenna’s eyes shone with dreams. ‘I wish I could go with you. You’ll get to see the whole country while I have to stay here.’
He took her hand and was surprised by the strength in hers when she gave his a squeeze in response. He cared a lot for her, for all the trouble she caused.
‘I’ll miss you most of all,’ Robbie said. ‘I’ll write to Father and get him to tell you everything I say.’
‘Perhaps I’ll work harder at learning my letters so I can read them myself,’ she replied. ‘Father wants me to read and write as much as Mother nags me to learn to sew and sing. I’ll have to if I’m to ever become a lady and satisfy Lady Stick. “A bastard’s daughter who can’t behave might as well be a dairymaid”,’ she said, mimicking Lady Danby’s cold tones. ‘I’ll have to catch a husband somehow.’
Robbie couldn’t imagine his best friend as a grown woman. She would for ever remain a wild, unruly girl who joined in with the village children kicking a blown-up bladder through the beck, or dirtying her skirts playing Blind Beggar Catch. For that matter he could barely see himself as the knight he hoped to become. He pulled Rowenna to her feet to stand opposite him. She smiled and her hand tightened on his, causing the hairs on his arms to rise. She was quite pretty, really.
‘I would marry you,’ he declared nobly.
She burst into peals of laughter. ‘Yes, we should get married! Can you imagine what fun we’d have?’
Robbie blinked. He didn’t think marriage was supposed to be fun. It should be passionate to the point of mortifying onlookers like his parents’, or serious and prickly like his grandparents’. He couldn’t marry Rowenna. Once more it struck him how unfair it was that she was a bastard’s child. She couldn’t help who her father was.
‘Perhaps I’ll meet a lord who will marry you and you will be Lady Rowenna after all. Lady Dumpling.’
Robbie ducked his head to avoid the playful swipe of her hand and they stared at the sky in silence. The stars pricked the blackness like gems on a velvet cloak. He plucked a rosebud and held it out to her.
‘We’ll always be friends, even if I become a noble knight and you’re still hurling yourself out of trees,’ he said.
She unwound the ribbon from her hand and held it out to him. ‘Here. You asked for a favour earlier. Take this. I hope it brings you more luck than the pear did.’
Robbie coiled it around two fingers, then slipped it inside the pouch at his belt.
‘I’ll be returning to Ravenscrag tomorrow morning with Mother,’ Rowenna said. ‘Will you come visit us before you leave?’
‘Of course.’
Father had said he could leave as soon as he liked, but he might delay for a few weeks. He lifted Rowenna’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles lightly in the manner he had been taught, bowing low with a flourish. Her face grew uncharacteristically serious.
‘Promise you won’t forget me.’
Robbie put his sore hand to hers, palm to palm. They linked fingers and another rush of fondness for Rowenna filled him.
‘I promise. We’ll always be friends.’
She smiled widely, then unexpectedly leaned close and kissed his cheek. The sensation lingered long after she had darted back inside the house.
Roger was sitting in the kitchen when Robbie returned home. He looked up when Robbie entered.
‘We need to talk.’
He gestured to a chair. Robbie sat, unnerved by the serious tone. Roger had poured two cups of wine and was turning one between his fingers. His hands were mismatched: one pink, smooth and hairless. Robbie had never asked why.
‘Is something wrong with Mother?’
‘Lucy is well. She’s sleeping. This concerns you. What I am about to say must never be spoken of to another,’ Roger continued. He stood and paced around the room. Robbie’s heart began to pound a slow drumbeat.
‘I have considered how to tell you and there is no easy way of doing it.’
‘Tell me what?’ Robbie urged.
Roger poured himself another cup of wine and drained it in one gulp.
‘Robbie, I am not your father.’
The world folded in. Robbie lifted his cup to his lips, but it was as if someone else was drinking the wine because he tasted nothing. He thought about protesting that his father was jesting, or there was a mistake, but the look in Roger’s eyes told him it was futile.
‘We always wondered if you would remember the time before I met your mother, but you never did.’ Roger twisted his cup between his hands and bowed his head.
‘And now you have told me, you are s-s-sending me away?’
‘You are not an exile,’ Roger said. ‘You want to go.’
Robbie stared around. He could remember nothing before this stone house full of laughter and affection, but now the walls trapped him.
Robbie’s throat seized with an unspeakable pain. It was not in his nature to shout or rant, and experience told him that he stuttered worse when he did.
‘Why are you telling m-me now?’ he asked in a
