She had determined to discover the facts of what had happened. She knew he had been in the service of the king. She had used her connections at court, called in a favour from a wine merchant who had business in London, and generally pressed into service anyone who could follow the trail that would lead her to the life he had before he died. She was not, naturally, surprised to find out he was a knight, for that would always be his given role. She was deeply saddened to learn he had been betrayed and died not in battle, as he might have wished, but at the hands of thieves and traitors who had killed him for reasons no-one entirely understood. Beyond the fact of having once again lost the part ofher heart that travelled with Tudor, the most moving thing for Rhiannon had been learning of his wife and child. She was not jealous. Nor was she surprised. She wanted his happiness above all else, even her own. If they were never to meet in this lifetime of his, better he should have the companionship, yes, think it, the love, of a good wife, than be alone. Better he should know the joy of being a father. Yet now, that wife, that child, they had lost him too. They, like her, would be grieving. Unlike her, they had also lost their provider.
So it was, when she saw the humble home his widow and orphan now inhabited, Rhiannon knew they would not have the means to support themselves. It was as she knew it might be: they would be adrift, at the mercy of a landlord and would be suitors, with no other hope of a provider. She had known at once what she should do. It was why she, her maid, a stable lad and two guards had made the journey to this quiet corner of Gloucestershire.
‘Stay here,’ she said to her men as she dismounted. She passed the reins of her horse to Owain, remembering for an instant the time when she and his grandfather had ridden to Gloucester to petition the king all those years ago. Now, in this little house, she had a more personal but equally important mission. Before she reached the end of the garden path, the front dooropened. The woman who emerged was pretty, shapely, with sad eyes made all the more sad by her recent grief. A little girl, no more than two years old, Rhiannon thought, peered around her mother’s skirts.
‘Are you Maryanne Tudor?’ Rhiannon asked.
‘I am,’ the woman replied, an unmistakeable catch in her voice at the mention of her husband’s name.
‘I am Lady Rhiannon of the Black Mountains.’
‘We have not met before, my Lady?’
‘We have not. My father, the late Lord of Cwmdu, was a friend of your husband’s family,’ she explained, delivering the white lie she had prepared. ‘Rhys Tudor, his great uncle, was an ally to my father. I remember him saying, shortly before he died, that he was in the man’s debt. My father would not wish that debt to go unpaid.’
Maryanne looked confused. ‘Forgive me, my Lady. I did not know Tudor’s family beyond his mother, who has been dead some years now, God rest her soul. At least she did not live to see her son die,’ she added, her eyes filling with tears.
‘I am sorry for your loss. Truly, I am. I am come here in the hope that you may be able to help me.’
‘Me, help you?’
‘Yes, you see, it troubles me that my father is left indebted, and has done so ever since he died. I now see away I might repay that debt on his behalf. But to do so, I require your help.’
Maryanne looked tired from the effort of polite and unexpected conversation with a stranger. The strain of her grief was already taking its toll. ‘I will help you if I am able, my Lady,’ she said quietly.
‘I do so hope you will. My dearest wish is that you and your daughter will accept my offer of hospitality. I have a comfortable house in a pretty valley, two days west of here. If you will agree, I would have you join me there. I have need of another maid, you see, my most trusted one having recently left my employ to marry.’ When Maryanne looked as if she might reject the idea out of hand, Rhiannon went on. ‘And of course, your sweet child will have schooling with the other children of the village.’
‘Schooling?’ The thought of such an unusual offer was clearly tempting.
‘Oh yes, I feel very strongly that all children should learn to read and write. They should also learn to sew and sing. And we have a church in the village. And a stream full of quick, clever fish.’ She crouched down to look the little girl in the eye. ‘Do you like to tickle trout, my dear? Would you like to help my shepherd raise his lambs? There are two other girls almost exactly your age who would be so happy to have a newfriend to play with. Would you like that?’ She waited, treating the child to one of her warmest smiles.
To her mother’s surprise, the child slipped from her hiding place and went forward. As Rhiannon held out her arms, the little one fell into them, letting her hold her close. Rhiannon closed her eyes, her heart bursting at the thought that she was embracing Tudor’s baby. When she looked up, Maryanne’s face brightened by joy, as if she could see that there could be a happy future for both of them.
‘Will you come, Maryanne? Will you make your home with me?’
Biting her lip to hold back tears of relief, she nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, please, my Lady!’ she whispered.
Rhiannon smiled again. ‘All will be well,’ she said, standing up, and reaching out her hand to take Maryanne’s. ‘All will be well.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
London, 2019
Emily had nearly finished packing. She was annoyed at herself for being so bothered by what her father did. After all, she was nearly an adult, and he was no longer married to her mother. But she did care. She cared a lot. It was one thing for him to be seeing someone new and letting that get in the way of spending time with her. It was another thing altogether to discover that person wasn’t new at all. That person was the woman who had basically put the nail in the coffin of her parents’ marriage. She knew she didn’t have the right to tell him how to live his life, but she didn’t have to stick around to watch it either. It was as if she was just another of his clients, to be locked up safe somewhere while he did whatever. Well, she wasn’t that. And she had a perfectly good home of her own. The shine had worn off the fancy apartment pretty quickly. Probably somewhere around the second time that he had left her alone there because of work. Only work had turned out to be Deborah Chowdhury. Again.
‘Ouch, damn it!’ she cursed as she bent a nail back while stuffing things into her bag. She sucked thefinger, tears of hurt and frustration, not entirely focused on the nail, pricking her eyes. She took a breath. ‘Sod him,’ she muttered. ‘Sod all men.’ She slammed shut the case and hauled it off the bed, dragging it through to the living area. The wheels sounded super loud over the polished wood floor. She strode for the door in a hurry, so that she actually gasped when the electronic lock on it beeped and the latch clanked before the door swung open. Expecting to see her father and ready to explain to him why she was leaving, she steeled herself.
Charlie stood in the doorway.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he asked, though not without a smile.
Emily was thrown by the sight of the good looking youth but wasn’t about to show it.
‘You weren’t supposed to be here,’ she said levelly.
‘This is my flat, remember? Again, same question?’
‘It wasn’t my idea. My dad…’
