Several minutes later, when [ passed among the guests to fill their empty cups with wine, I found him standing at my shoulder.

'You'll wound my pride,' he warned me softly, 'ignoring me so.'

I flicked him a look that was only half-impatient. 'I must not speak with you, by my uncle's own instruction.'

'And when have you obeyed instructions?' He held out his own cup to be filled, his mouth curved in amusement. 'Besides, your uncle is engaged at present, with a most serious gentleman. If he should look this way, I've only to duck my head.'

'You are impossible, my lord.'

'Ay. And your good humor is lacking, madam. What is it that has so offended you?' I bent my head, frowning. 'I am sorry, my lord, but this day has soured my stomach. How could you have brought Evan here?'

His voice was calm. 'We were invited.'

'Rachel is desolate enough, without being reminded of the happiness she once knew, and it does not help that he seems scarcely inconvenienced by her marriage.'

Richard's eyes followed mine to the tall, silent figure of Evan Gilroy, lounging against the wall by the fireplace, one boot propped insolently on the cold hearth.

"Tis no marriage at all,' Richard objected with a faintly wicked smile, 'until it be consummated.'

My uncle turned at that moment, and saw us, and despite his earlier promise Richard de Mornay did not duck his head. Instead he lifted his cup, and his rich voice boomed from the rafters as he called upon the company for a toast.

'To His Royal Majesty, King Charles!'

'The king!' All assembled raised their cups in reply, draining the contents in a single draft. My uncle joined the toast, but his eyes were narrow and hard when he lowered his drink.

'To the bride and groom!' someone shouted, from the back of the room, and again the great refrain rang out and the cups were lifted.

'To love,' Evan Gilroy proposed in a crisp, level voice, not stirring from his position by the mantelpiece. For a third time, the voices echoed the sentiment and the toast was drunk. Richard kept his eyes on mine while he drained his cup, then set it down again with a wink.

'Mark you remember how I drank that toast,' he told me, before moving away.

The sack posset was brought out shortly afterward, a warmly intoxicating blend of curdled milk and Spanish wine and spices, and when it had been merrily consumed the lamps were lit and a fire kindled in the upstairs chamber, where the great bed lay prepared to receive the bridal couple.

Caroline and I accompanied Rachel to the bedchamber, to help her undress. In a few moments the entire company of guests would follow, as custom demanded, to fling the bride's stocking and see the newly married couple into bed. Rachel clearly did not relish the prospect, but she sat stoically beneath our ministrations.

'You must look cheerful,' Caroline chided her younger sister, pinching Rachel's cheeks to raise the colour in them. ' 'Tis not a wake. Jabez has wedded you to a rich and respectable man, and you should show your gratitude more plainly.'

'I am exceeding grateful,' said Rachel dully.

Caroline fussed with Rachel's hair, clucking her tongue reprovingly. 'You do not appear so. You must smile, and say—'

'Oh, leave her be, Caroline!' I snapped, my patience strained, and the fussing stopped. I met Rachel's eyes in the looking glass. 'Would you have us stay with you?'

She shook her head, slowly. 'I think I would like a moment alone, if neither of you mind. 'Twill give me time to collect my thoughts, and ...' She paused, smiling at her sister. 'To pray that God see fit to make me a good and obedient wife.'

She rose and hugged us both, pale and lovely in her flowing nightdress. 'I shall miss you,' she whispered beside my ear, clinging to me with the desperation of a frightened child.

'I will visit you often,' I promised, my voice unsteady. 'You will have no cause to miss me.'

She merely shook her head, her eyes bright with tears, and hugged me again. I withdrew with a troubled mind. Downstairs, the celebration had grown boisterous with toasts and song, and the guests were all high-flown as they gathered to escort the bridegroom to his marriage bed. I had not the heart to join them, and when they finally mounted the stairs I lingered in the hallway miserably, hoping I would not be missed.

I was only vaguely aware of the hum of voices breaking, then changing, growing more discordant. The people seemed to be returning, pouring down the narrow staircase in an excited, trembling stream that spilled to every corner of the hall, and in the midst of it all my uncle stood, looking blacker and more dangerous than I had ever seen him.

'Take horse!' he ordered those around him. 'They shall not get away with this. By God,' he thundered, standing very tall, 'they shall not get away with this!'

The air around me filled with agitated, eager whisperings. 'Gone ... did you ever hear ...?... through the window, of course ... Gilroy, my dear, from the manor house ... never suspected anything ...'

Elias Webb, shaking with rage, plowed through the press of bodies toward me. 'Open the door!' he ordered, and I obeyed automatically, then flattened myself against its surface to let him pass. Several men followed him out onto the lawn, spreading purposefully in all directions. Instinctively, I looked past them to the spot where Evan had tethered the horses. Navarre stood alone in the moonlight, a ghostly gray shape with his head turned in the direction of the distant hills.

I pulled my gaze away and looked behind me. Richard de Mornay was standing halfway down the stairs, one shoulder propped against the wall behind, his arms folded casually across his chest. Above the sea of wondering faces his eyes met mine, and he smiled.