It was from the embracing shadows that her husband’s hand came, taking hers in comfort, while his voice murmured, “Just an eclipse, my sweet. Don’t look directly, but it’s nothing to be frightened of. It is, I think, the moon that blankets the sun. But they say the moon always loses and light always returns.”
“The moon is – so dangerous?” Emma blinked hard, rubbing her eyes. “I never knew. I thought it beautiful – in its rightful place.”
“I’m no astrologer, my dear. I know only that with an eclipse the sun must dominate in the end, and those who study such things can predict them.”
And she said, “But is it a portent, then? My father’s priest says the Lord speaks to us by means of heavenly signs.”
“I doubt the Lord would take such pains to speak to me, nor ever has,” said Nicholas. “I’ve had no helpful warnings in my life before.”
“The warnings aren’t always helpful. Perhaps someone has died.” Emeline smoothed her palfrey’s mane, soothing it.
“There is always someone, somewhere, dying,” said Nicholas.
Chapter Eleven
The lights of the great house awaited, dozens of flaming candles and the fires roaring across the hearths. A white linen cloth lay over the smaller table in the narrow vaulted hall, the platters set, spoons and cups of polished pewter ready for a late supper.
Sysabel stood prim to greet her guests, Adrian behind her. A finger’s breadth taller, stocky and plain dressed, he wore no fur trimmings to his sleeves and no fur collar in spite of the winter weather, and although his thighs were solid muscle, they were snug not in knitted silk but in close ribbed wool. He was frowning. Behind him Aunt Elizabeth tottered to her feet, but having risen, decided the effort outweighed the necessity and sank once more to the cushioned settle beside the window’s alcove.
“My dear Emeline.” Sysabel reached for her hand. “We had expected you some hours ago, and were worried.” Then frowning at Nicholas, “Or were you simply not bothered to get yourself from your bed until midday, Nicholas?”
“Perhaps you were delayed by that dreadful black shadow that wiped out the sun this morning?” Aunt Elizabeth wavered from her shadows. “Father Joseph took to his knees in the chapel for half an hour or more and has proclaimed imminent disaster.”
Nicholas smiled into the candlelight. “The eclipse.”
Tapping his pointed toe to the boards, “Don’t attempt to educate us, Nicholas. We are all well aware of the phenomena.”
“Clearly Aunt Elizabeth was not. Didn’t you choose to enlighten her?”
“Something so absolute, the sun so completely blackened, is hardly common,” Sysabel said. “I have never seen anything like it before.”
“A harbinger,” croaked the aged lady from the window side, dabbing emotion from her eyes with her kerchief. “Certain death and destruction.”
“I thought the same at first.” The steward had taken her cloak, and now Emeline pulled off her riding gloves. “Nicholas doesn’t agree.”
“Nicholas,” sniffed Sysabel, “never believes in anything uncomfortable.”
Nicholas tucked his gloves into his belt, shook out his sleeves and wandered over to the fire. “The eclipse set us back very little, and my squire had already warned me something of the sort was due according to astrologers.” An elbow to the lintel, he turned his back to the fire’s heat and regarded his small audience. “But when we stopped for dinner near Barrow, there was a great pile up of over turned carts in the road, horses frightened perhaps, and that kept us dawdling some time. Now we’re little more than hungry pilgrims.”
“No altar here, cousin. But if you’re ready to do penance –”
“Thank you, Adrian. But sadly I have little to confess. Our pilgrimage is simply an attempt to satisfy our more wholesome appetites.”
“I am,” admitted Emeline, “awfully hungry. Starving, in fact.” She hovered mid chamber, one eye to the waiting table and its empty platters. “Though we are, of course, only here for your most congenial company.”
“My wife,” Nicholas informed his cousins, “is permanently hungry. A challenge to the castle’s depleted kitchens.”
Emeline stretched the saddle weary miles from her back and her fingers to the fire’s warmth. “Nicholas wouldn’t let me stop for a proper dinner and I’ve eaten no more than a crust at that miserable tavern outside Burton. And that was hours and hours ago!”
Sysabel, a sudden whirl in mahogany damask, took her hand and brought her to the ready table. “How vilely misused, Emma dear. I may call you Emma? Then we’ll have supper served before everything congeals in its dishes.” She turned back a moment to Nicholas. “And it’s a pleasure to see you both so comfortable now, in each other’s company.”
“Finally accustomed to my lovable self,” explained Nicholas, still enjoying the warmth of the fire. “If I remember rightly, last time we saw you, my dear wife was covered in soot and no doubt planning to stick a knife in my back.”
Emeline blushed and sat quickly. But Sysabel frowned and said, “One day I shall have to face marriage myself of course. I do not – welcome –”
“Enough nonsense.” Adrian snorted, stepping immediately to the table. “My sister’s tongue is frequently undisciplined. I hope you forgive her immaturity. And now – before it is entirely wasted –”
Nicholas wandered to the window, offering his arm. Aunt Elizabeth clutched his elbow and hoisted herself upwards. The train of her gown rustled across the woven reed mats. “All this tittle tattle. Talk, talk. Oh, the energy of youth. I am exhausted already.”
“Discussion. The joy of great intellectual conversation, my lady.” Nicholas seated his aunt, then sat himself as the serving boys entered with three tepid platters of buttered chicken livers, curdled cream cheese with floating wafers and a sad eyed mackerel beneath a cinnamon rash. Two candles on the table almost extinguished in a flurry as Adrian muttered a semblance of grace.
Then the trenchers were filled and flagons of wine emptied as Sysabel said quickly, “You’ll take Adrian hunting tomorrow I hope, Nicholas, leaving me free to make friends with dear Emma.”
“But who is the bait, and where the trap, I wonder,” murmured Nicholas, helping himself to a slice of mackerel.
Emeline said in a hurry, “I could not dream of anything – nicer.”
“In fact she dreams of anything and everything,” Nicholas informed the mackerel, “and mumbles constantly in her sleep.” He looked up at Emeline, regarding her with faint amusement across the table. “Much like a demented mouse. Though it’s a shame,” Nicholas was chewing thoughtfully, “about the food. Did your cook die recently, Adrian?”
“Simply that the guests,” Sysabel pointed out, “arrived at least three hours later than expected.”
“Stop muttering, dear,” called Aunt Elizabeth from the other end, “and speak clearly or not at all. Not a word any of you young people utter makes any sense whatsoever.” She tapped her spoon on the table. “Where’s the boy? Where’s the wine?”
“But at least it’s a decent Malmsy.”
“Which is all you would know all about, Nicholas.”
“But we appreciate it – the invitation – very much. Don’t we, Nicholas?” Emeline mumbled, a little lost. It was not the style of conversation she was accustomed to. Nicholas was grinning at her over the brim of his cup.
“Since the castle is no more than a stinking heap,” Adrian said, pushing away his half-filled platter, “I had little choice. I believe in doing my duty. Unlike others.”
Nicholas appeared unoffended. “I’m strangely sorry to see the castle so ruined,” he said, drinking slowly, as though thoughtful. “But I might take my bride to London in a week or so, once my legs obey me and I can face a longer journey.”