The Silent Touch of Shadows

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘Mum, you won’t believe it. There’s a swimming pool outside. A huge one!’ Jolie turned to Dorothy. ‘Can I go for a swim, please?’

  ‘In February? Goodness, no, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until May at least,’ Dorothy laughed. ‘I can’t afford to heat that monstrosity.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jolie looked disappointed, then brightened up again. ‘So can we come back in May, Mum?’

  ‘Perhaps you should just wait to be invited back?’ Melissa replied pointedly, and shook her head at Jolie.

  ‘Oh, yeah, right.’ Jolie flung herself into a deep armchair near the fireplace and stared into the flames.

  Melissa sighed inwardly, but at least Jolie seemed to have forgotten that she didn’t want to spend the weekend in the country ‘with a stuffy old aunt’. She’d gone off to explore the enormous garden of the manor house with her canine companion, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  ‘Of course you’re welcome any time, dear.’ Dorothy stood up. ‘Now I expect you’re thirsty after all that exercise. I’ll get you some squash, shall I? And some biscuits, perhaps? You youngsters are always hungry, I understand.’

  ‘Er, do you have Coke?’ Jolie looked mildly offended to be offered a drink she considered fit only for babies.

  ‘I’m sure Jolie could find her way to the kitchen to fetch something for herself,’ Melissa protested. Since her divorce from Jolie’s dad the previous year, she’d been trying hard to make her daughter more self-reliant. ‘And water is fine, thank you.’

  ‘No, no, it’s no bother. I shan’t be a moment and I’ll see what I can find.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ Jolie nodded and, as soon as Dorothy had left, she whispered, ‘Your aunt is really nice, Mum, I like her. And I like this house, too.’

  ‘Great-aunt,’ Melissa corrected automatically, ‘and yes, I think I like her, too.’ She felt it was early days yet and she didn’t really know Dorothy well enough, but at least they had made a start. ‘She might like you better if you take your shoes off next time you come in from the garden, though.’ She glanced at the rapidly drying mud on the carpet.

  ‘Oops.’ Jolie grinned and Melissa couldn’t help but smile back.

  She shook her head at her daughter. ‘You’re impossible.’

  ‘But you love me anyway,’ Jolie shot back with a cheeky grin, her red curls bouncing. Her hair was of a particularly vivid shade of red, unlike Melissa’s own which was more a warm auburn.

  ‘Hmm,’ Melissa said, but they both knew she found it hard to be stern and she loved Jolie to bits.

  She took a deep breath and tried to relax again, soothed by the peaceful setting. It really was an amazing house, she had to agree, although a slight feeling of unease still lingered in her mind. ‘It must be wonderful to live here,’ she said, ignoring a little voice inside her which insisted that somehow she knew exactly what it was like. ‘Aunt Dorothy is a lucky woman.’

  As she prepared for bed that night in the guest room she was sharing with Jolie, Melissa thought about the odd sensations she’d been experiencing all day. Was she just imagining things, affected by the unusual surroundings? If not, what else could be causing them?

  Dorothy had confirmed that neither Melissa, nor her parents, had ever visited Ashleigh, so she definitely couldn’t have any real memories of the place. There must be another explanation. Had her grandmother told her tales of the house when she was a little girl, perhaps? But she couldn’t recall Grandma ever doing anything except tell her not to put her sticky fingers on her furniture.

  It was a mystery.

  With a sigh, she crept into bed and listened to Jolie’s soft breathing. She was glad now that her daughter had insisted they share, even though Dorothy had offered them a room each.

  ‘I’d rather stay with you, Mum,’ Jolie had whispered. ‘Just this first time.’ Melissa knew what she meant as waking up in strange surroundings was always daunting.

  She closed her eyes and as she drifted off to sleep her mind filled once more with bewildering images. Images that teased at her brain, tantalising, beckoning her. Melissa concentrated hard. She wanted to remember more, much more, but someone was calling her …

  Chapter Two

  Ashleigh Manor, Kent – 1460

  ‘You are to return by this afternoon or I’ll fetch you myself, girl!’

  Her father’s bellow echoed through the hall as Sibell scurried to the door. She bit back a sharp retort while fumbling with the latch in her haste to escape his presence. ‘Girl’ he called her, even though she was a woman grown and a widow to boot. Not that it made a difference to him, she thought, she was still his chattel to dispose of as he wished. She gritted her teeth in frustration and a sigh of relief hissed out of her as she finally slammed the sturdy front door shut.

  For the moment, at least, she was safe.

  ‘Freedom!’ The very word was an exclamation of joy. Although she only dared whisper it, Sibell savoured the feel of it on her tongue. She gulped in huge lungfuls of the clean, sweet country air, and revelled in the warmth spread over her face by the late February sun. Its feeble rays caressed the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and probably highlighted the pallor of her translucent skin. Forgetting herself, she laughed out loud with sheer pleasure, then clapped a hand over her mouth. She glanced back towards the house in fear and froze for an instant.

  All remained quiet. No one had heard.

  Sibell set off towards the lane at a brisk walk, but soon had to slow down. Three days with only meagre rations of food had sapped her energy and she was still sore from the beating she’d received before being locked in. Out of sight of the house she stopped to catch her breath for a moment before continuing. The track, which passed for a road in this part of the world, was unbelievably muddy. Sibell’s wooden pattens made a slurping noise for each step she took, and became heavier by the minute as the thick substance stuck to the soles. Normally she would have ridden her docile mare, as befitted a lady, but this luxury had been denied her today since she was in deep disgrace.

  She had to reach her destination. It’s my only hope. This thought spurred her on and after a quick glance over her shoulder, she began to trudge along the lane.

  ‘Your pardon, mistress, but could you direct us to the manor of Idenhurst, please?’

  The question, although civil enough and asked in a reasonable tone of voice, made Sibell jump. Her euphoria at being outside the confines of her chamber evaporated in an instant as she became aware of two horsemen who had halted just beside her. They were staring down at her from the intimidating height of their steeds. How could she possibly have missed hearing the approach of two riders? These were dangerous times and she needed her wits about her. She scanned her surroundings surreptitiously, but there was no one within sight who could come to her aid.

  ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ The deep voice was gentle and soothing, but as Sibell squinted up at the man, shielding her eyes from the light with one hand, her breath caught in her throat. A shard of fear stabbed her sharply. She swallowed hard. It seemed to her that she had exchanged one peril for another.

  Seated on a giant war horse of shimmering grey was a huge warrior. Golden hair fell to his shoulders, where it brushed the top of his cerulean blue cloak. Strength and power radiated from every taut muscle and the determined set of his jaw indicated that he wasn’t a man to be crossed. Sibell had no doubt he was dangerous; no doubt at all.

  As he raised an eyebrow in amused enquiry, however, the feeling of terror subsided. She recalled that he was expecting an answer. His horse champed at the bit and pawed the ground with a massive front hoof, as if he too was tiring of the wait.

  ‘I-Idenhurst?’ she stammered, embarrassed by her lack of courtesy. ‘I am going there myself and it’s but another few miles along this track.’

  ‘My thanks.’ The man smiled, showing even white teeth, and adjusted his seat in the saddle. Sibell blinked. He had the most incredible smile and she couldn’t help but sta
re, though she knew she shouldn’t.

  He continued, ‘Since we are travelling the same way, perhaps you’d care to ride with me and save your skirts from the mire? It’s the least I can do for such a beautiful lady.’

  Sibell’s eyes widened and she felt the heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. He had paid her a compliment. But … ride with him? Only an arrogant stranger would think to ask a lady such a thing.

  ‘No, I thank you, sir. I am enjoying my walk. Truly, it’s not far.’ Although her voice sounded far from convincing to her own ears, she resolutely ignored the chafing of her dress against the sore welts across her back. Likewise, she did her best to ignore the sea of mud in which she was standing. The offer of a ride was most tempting, but she couldn’t possibly accept.

  She managed an awkward curtsey intended as a dismissal, but when she straightened up, the riders hadn’t moved an inch. The golden-haired one was staring at her with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t used to having his invitations refused, Sibell thought. Most ladies would likely have jumped at the chance to ride with him, but not her. I dare not. She flushed again and looked pointedly at the ground, waiting for their departure.

  ‘Oh, I see what the problem is,’ she heard him say smoothly. ‘I haven’t introduced myself and of course no respectable lady can ride with a stranger.’ Against her better judgement she looked up as, half-standing up in the saddle, he bowed to her. ‘I’m Sir Roger of Langford and this is my squire, Hugone.’ He indicated the second rider, a gangly youth with straight, dark hair whom Sibell had almost forgotten. The squire had faded into insignificance next to his master, but she now saw he was goggling at her with his mouth open. He blushed at the introduction and bowed low over the neck of his horse.

  She inclined her head in his direction before dropping another curtsey to his master. ‘And I am Sibell of Ashleigh, but …’

  ‘I won’t listen to any refusals, mistress.’ The knight held up his hand to stop her from arguing. ‘My conscience will not allow me to leave a lady by the roadside, alone and unprotected. These are dangerous times,’ he added, unconsciously echoing her earlier thoughts. His tone was haughty now, that of a man used to having his orders obeyed, she guessed.

  But conscience? Sibell doubted very much he possessed such a thing and the only person she needed protection from was him. She was about to say so when she noticed a distinct twinkle in his eyes. Could he be laughing at her? She tossed her head and drew herself up to deliver a scathing retort, but he forestalled her once more.

  ‘As you see, you are suitably chaperoned by Hugone, who wouldn’t dream of allowing a lady to come to any harm.’ The young squire cast a look of confusion at his master, who ignored him and continued. ‘So let us be off, for I have urgent business with Sir Gilbert Presseille at Idenhurst.’ Sibell’s protest was cut short by another devastating smile and she found to her consternation that her mind had stopped functioning. The intended reprimand died on her lips.

  Sir Roger had thrown down the gauntlet of a challenge. He stretched out his hand peremptorily, daring her with mischievous eyes to refuse once more.

  Rebellion suddenly stirred within Sibell and a treacherous voice in her mind asked, ‘Why shouldn’t I ride with him?’ Hadn’t she vowed to fight her father with any means at her disposal these last few days? She must have paced her bedchamber a hundred times at least, cursing him and his edicts. Well, here was her chance to defy him.

  Her mind made up, she put her small hand in Sir Roger’s large one without further hesitation. She felt the strength of his fingers as he pulled her up behind him. She was lifted effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing at all, and found herself sitting on the huge rump of his war horse. He nudged the destrier and the animal set off at a slow walk.

  ‘His name is Snowflake.’ Sir Roger patted the horse with affection as they ambled along the lane. ‘His white mane and tail and gleaming coat made it the only choice of name for him, so what could I do? I had to bow to the inevitable.’ The knight laughed, a rich, glorious sound that sent vibrations of pleasure shooting through Sibell. ‘It’s not really a name to inspire awe in my enemies though, you must agree, but I try to keep it a secret. You’ll not tell, mistress?’

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes twinkling. At such close quarters she noticed that his otherwise regular features were marred by a long scar running from the tip of the left eyebrow down towards his firm jaw line. An old wound, neatly healed, the puckered welt wasn’t ugly or frightening. Sibell wasn’t in any way repelled by it. In fact, strangely enough, she found it attractive, although she had no idea why that should be so.

  She shook her head, unable to speak. He was trying to put her at ease, but she was too aware of him as a man to relax in his company. Of necessity she had to hold on to his lean waist in order to keep her seat, but she tried to keep her touch as light as possible. Even so, there was a strange tingling in her fingers every time she felt him move with the horse. She could have sworn she heard a smile in his voice when he said, ‘Hold on tight, Mistress Sibell. We wouldn’t want you falling off.’ Could he read her mind?

  The morning was cold, despite the best efforts of the sun, and the warmth from Sir Roger’s steed was very welcome indeed. Sibell wasn’t convinced that riding with him was good for her peace of mind, but she had to admit it was definitely preferable to plodding along muddy tracks on foot. As long as no one sees me. Her father wouldn’t approve of her so much as talking to this man, let alone riding with him. Sibell shivered with remembered pain and concentrated on her surroundings.

  A pox on her father, she thought defiantly.

  A searing pain in her back woke Melissa abruptly in the middle of the night, dragging her out of a dream, which faded away even though she struggled to hold on to it. With a sigh, she turned over and tried to go to sleep again, but her back was very sore and she couldn’t get comfortable. She wondered what was wrong with it and grimaced as she tried to stretch.

  Slowly, she became aware of a pungent smell in the room – horse or farmyard if she wasn’t mistaken. It would be impossible to imagine such a strong odour, so it had to be real. Perhaps there’s a farm nearby? That might explain it. It was a far cry from the noxious exhaust fumes outside her London flat, and strangely enough she found it less repellent. For some reason, it made her feel at home.

  Still hurting, she sat up and felt her back to determine the cause of the pain, but it was subsiding rapidly now. Within seconds it had disappeared completely. Puzzled, she fumbled for the light to have a proper look, then remembered she was sharing the room with Jolie. She would have to look in the morning. Irritated, she lay down again.

  The timbers of the old house creaked and she heard the wind whistling down the chimney in the tiny fireplace. The sounds didn’t disturb her. On the contrary, they gave her a feeling of security. She burrowed deep under the cover once more. If she closed her eyes, perhaps she could imagine how it must have been to live here hundreds of years ago, when there was no electricity or central heating. Only open fireplaces, horses and bold knights roaming the countryside. Bold knights …?

  ‘Isn’t this much better than walking?’ Sir Roger asked cheerfully after they had been riding for a while. ‘We’ll be at Idenhurst in no time.’

  Sibell didn’t know how to reply. It seemed to her he was going incredibly slowly and she wanted the journey over with in case they were seen. On the other hand, she enjoyed his banter and it made a nice change to be treated as though she was of consequence for once. Lately, she’d been ignored so often it felt as if she didn’t exist.

  She heard the sound of horse’s hooves in the distance and turned swiftly to scan the surrounding area.

  ‘You don’t fear robbers, do you, mistress?’ He kept glancing over his shoulder at her.

  ‘What? Oh, no.’ Sibell sighed. Robbers – if only it was that simple.

  A tress of hair had escaped her headdress and impatiently she tried to push it back underneath the li
nen, then froze as she heard Sir Roger’s sharp intake of breath. She saw him stare, mesmerised, at the red colour of her hair. Embarrassed, she turned away. He was probably as appalled by its fiery hue as she was, she thought, but he recovered quickly and looked away.

  ‘I can assure you I’m well able to defend you against all but an army of men.’ He patted the lethal-looking sword dangling at his waist and Sibell glanced at the weapon. She didn’t think it an idle boast. Most men would likely think twice before challenging someone like him. With another inward sigh, she decided to tell him the truth. No doubt he’d hear all about her anyway if he stayed in these parts.

  ‘No, it’s not outlaws I fear, Sir Roger, but my father,’ she admitted.

  ‘Ah.’ Sir Roger nodded slowly, comprehension dawning in his eyes. ‘Is there perhaps another route we could take where the chances of meeting anyone would lessen?’

  ‘Why, yes.’ She was grateful for his quick understanding and gave him directions and they soon turned off the track into a small forest instead. ‘It’s only slightly further this way. You don’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all, it’s a fine morning for a ride after all.’ He grinned at her. ‘And with such lovely company, how could I complain?’

  Sibell felt her cheeks turn rosy yet again. It had been a long time since anyone had teased her in this manner and she wasn’t used to the attentions of men such as he. The horse’s gait was soothing, however, and eventually she relaxed in his company and even managed to smile back as Sir Roger continued with his banter.

  ‘There, I knew it,’ he exclaimed, casting a triumphant look over his shoulder. ‘You do indeed have dimples. A face as perfect as yours had to have them, it was a foregone conclusion.’

  ‘What nonsense.’ A giggle escaped her before she could stop it. ‘I can see you’re practised in the art of flirtation, sir, but I shall ignore you. No doubt you speak that way to every female you encounter.’