“We have an audience?” Geraint asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Not to my knowledge,” Aled said.
“But there may well be certain people set to keeping an eye on me and all with whom I associate,” Geraint said. “I’ll be brief, Aled, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Trouble?” Aled frowned.
“One might say so.” Geraint gave a brief summary of the story Idris had told him an hour before. “Rebecca and Charlotte and perhaps some of the children from hereabouts are going to have to go early to the Cilcoed gate, Aled, to destroy it and to rescue Mrs. Phillips. Hector will doubtless burst a blood vessel when he arrives later.”
“It will be dangerous, Ger,” Aled said.
Geraint grinned. “When was this game not dangerous?” he asked.
“And you are loving every moment.” Aled’s frown deepened.
“Regrettably,” Geraint said, “this is going to have to be our swan song, Aled. Rebecca and Charlotte are going to have to disappear without trace after tomorrow night. We will have to hope that we have accomplished what we set out to do, which was to attract enough attention that something will be done to change the system here and make it more fair to the ordinary man and woman—and child.”
“Our swan song,” Aled said, shaking his head. “And then the swan dies. But you are right. Tomorrow night’s scheme has to be thwarted. Foster is to be there, then, to observe the chagrin of the second Rebecca?”
“I thought he might enjoy observing both,” Geraint said. “Rebecca will send to invite him to come a few hours earlier than originally planned. All will be over tomorrow night, Aled. I cannot say I am sorry. You will pass the word around here as usual? But not quite as usual. I think this is too dangerous for women. You will neglect to let Marged know?”
Aled nodded and Geraint turned to leave, anxious not to stay too long and perhaps arouse the suspicion of anyone who was set to keep watch in the village. Though he did not believe there were any spies at the moment. He would have sensed their presence.
There was someone else walking along the street, though. Marged had just stepped out of Miss Jenkins’s shop and they met outside the chapel. As luck would have it, the heavy clouds that had threatened all morning had just decided to drop their load in a miserable drizzle. And he had an umbrella—a large black affair—while she did not.
“Marged?” He acknowledged her with a nod as he put the umbrella up. “You are going home?”
“Yes,” she said, that tight, angry expression she reserved exclusively for him descending on her face. “Alone, thank you.”
He turned, nevertheless, and offered his arm and raised the umbrella over her head. “I could not allow it,” he said. “Take my arm and I shall escort you.”
But he knew that today was not the day to tell her the truth, after all. The truth must wait another two days.
Chapter 27
MARGED clamped her teeth together. It was almost impossible to get the man to take no for an answer. She always felt helpless before the power of his will—and she hated to feel helpless.
There was nothing formidable about a two-mile walk home even though most of the journey was uphill. And there was nothing so very uncomfortable about walking through rain. Rain was the norm in Wales. They had had an unusually dry spring so far. And it was not even a downpour, just a steady drizzle.
And yet here she was being escorted home beneath a large black umbrella. Her arm was linked through his and she was compelled to walk close to his side. The umbrella was almost like a tent, creating an illusion of intimacy. She could smell his cologne. As usual, she was very aware of him physically, and as usual she resented the fact.
This morning, before walking to the village, she had finally admitted to herself that there was a strong possibility she was pregnant. After five years of barrenness as Eurwyn’s wife it was hard to believe, but it must be so. And she had also made the decision that if nothing happened within one week from today, she was going to tell Rebecca. Not that she would try to force him to marry her—though her mind shied away in panic from the alternative. But he had a right to know, to plan their child’s future with her if he wished.
She had walked to the village on a very slim pretext and despite the fact that her mother-in-law had warned her of the impending rain. She had needed to be alone, to have time to adjust her mind to what seemed to be inevitable. She had not even called on her father, though she felt guilty about the omission.
And now this. She was going to have to walk all the way home at Geraint’s side—very much at his side—beneath his umbrella. And she was going to have to feel the pull of her unwilling attraction to him while in all probability she was with child by another man—the man she loved.
“There is no need to walk all the way home with me,” she said hopefully when they were at the end of the village street. “You will get wet.”
“Marged,” he said. “Soon you and I are going to have to have a serious talk.”
He was not going to let it drop, then, what she had told him the morning Ceris had been arrested. He was going to exact a price. “What about?” she asked him. “We have nothing to say to each other.”
“I believe we do,” he said. “We were fond of each other as children, Marged. More than fond. We fell in love when we were older. I believe it happened to both of us. Perhaps it would have deepened into something else if you had not been so very innocent and I had not been correspondingly gauche. And now? There is still something between us. I know I am not the only one to feel it. One can sense such things.”
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, wishing she could shut out this whole absurd, impossible situation. How dare he! But he is right, an unwelcome voice said inside her head. She wished that he was not approximately the same height and build as Rebecca. Perhaps that was what so confused her. With her eyes closed she might almost imagine . . .
She opened her eyes resolutely. They had reached the turnoff from the river path to the hill track.
