They did not turn onto the third side of the green and so back in the direction of the church. Rather, he veered off, and Gwyneth followed him onto the bridge over the river. He stopped halfway across, and they stood side by side looking along the water. There was a hint of yellow in the trees. Soon the leaves would be multicolored and there would be that desperate feeling of beauty that must be enjoyed to the fullnowbefore winter descended and stripped it all away.
“But spring always comes,” she thought, and then felt very foolish because she had actually spoken the words aloud.
“Does it?” he said, and it seemed to her that there was a bitter sort of cynicism in the brief question.
He folded his arms along the top of the stone balustrade and leaned against them. “I thought you would be married by now, Gwyneth,” he said.
“No,” she said. “Not yet.” Had he hoped she was married and gone from here? Did it matter to him either way? Didshematter? But how could she? There had been that one day. Sometimes she chastised herself for having made so much of it.One dayout of all the days of her life.
He nodded.
“What happened?” she asked, desperate to change the subject, though then she wished she had not asked something so personal.
He turned his head her way, and she looked into the rough hardness of his scarred face. She tried not to remember what he had looked like on that one day when they had been in love with each other.
“Here?” he asked, indicating his scar by moving one finger diagonally in front of his face. “I did not step back from an enemy saber quite soon enough for it to miss me altogether. I do not look nearly as pretty as I did as a young man, do I?” His tone was mocking. His eyes searched her face. “You, on the other hand, are prettier than you were. Did you dance about the maypole at the fete this year?”
He did not know? “There was no fete,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Bad weather?” he asked.
“There has been no Ravenswood fete for six years,” she told him.
He gazed at her, his look inscrutable. “And the Valentine’s treasure hunt?” he asked. “The Christmas ball?”
She shook her head. “Only the children’s party on Christmas Eve,” she told him.
“And the village assemblies and the children’s drama nights?” he asked, frowning.
“There have been dances in the assembly rooms above the inn,” she said. “There will be one next week, in fact, to celebrate the harvest. The church has proved big enough for special school events.”
He continued to gaze at her, nodding slowly. If it was possible, he looked harder than before, his eyes colder. He really had not known, she realized. The past six years were a blank to him as far as this part of the world was concerned.Oh, Devlin. Why did you do that to yourself?
“I do not suppose I have been very popular in these parts if I am blamed for all these changes,” he said, a curious twist to his lips that was not quite a smile. “Or was it my father who was blamed?”
She stared at him mutely, but he held up a staying hand before she could frame an answer. “That was altogether an unfair question,” he said. “I beg your pardon. Why are you not married, Gwyneth? I cannot believe no one has ever asked you.”
She could feel her cheeks grow warm. For he ought to remember that one man at least had asked her. Six years ago, not even a mile from here. And she had said yes. But really, how dared he ask such a question? It was none of his business. She answered anyway.
“I have had a number of eligible offers,” she told him. “None of them suited me.”
“Waiting for love, are you?” he asked.
Oh, his eyes! And his lips, with that curious twist to them that was not a smile. Could this possibly be Devlin? This man with his ill-mannered, intrusive questions? Was hetryingto hurt her? Or annoy her? Or... orwhat? But she was not going to quarrel with him. Or simply walk away back to the church.
“I am waiting for someone with whom I can be comfortable,” she told him.
“It sounds dull,” he said.
He was definitely trying to provoke her. But why? Because he now disliked her? But surely dislike would merely breed indifference. Because somewhere deep inside this strange, stony exterior, then, there was pain of some sort? It was impossible to know, and she did notwantto know. Oh, shewishedshe had stayed in her pew.
“Comfort is never dull,” she said. “It is—” But there was nowhere to go with that sentence.
“Comfortable?” he suggested.
“Yes,” she said, and then she was horrified and definitelynotcomfortable when they both smiled at the same moment. A real smile on his part. Not just that twist of his lips.
Her stomach felt as though it had turned over. For during that moment he had looked just like... Devlin. Though Devlin had not often smiled—except on that last day, which she would really rather not remember.
