The Silent Touch of Shadows

by Christina Courtenay

  Their love-making was explosive, each one moving as if they knew exactly how to please the other. His fingers found her most sensitive spots at exactly the right time and she returned the favour, making him sigh with pleasure.

  ‘You’re the only woman who exists for me, the only woman I’ll ever want,’ he whispered, and Melissa believed him. She felt the same about him.

  She’d never experienced anything like the sensations Jake created in her, and tried to concentrate her mind on the here and now. She didn’t want to leave herself open to any of Roger’s tricks, but it became increasingly difficult. She could sense him hovering on the fringes of her awareness, and she looked deep into Jake’s eyes and whispered his name, over and over again to keep the ghost away. As they reached the final frenzy before the world exploded, the name Sibell echoed round the inside of Melissa’s head with frightening clarity, but she kissed Jake fiercely, ignoring Roger. She wouldn’t let anyone spoil this special moment, especially not someone who had been dead for six hundred years. She was making love with Jake and no one else.

  As the aftershocks died down, however, the uncertainty returned and tears hovered on her lashes. For a long time she lay quietly in Jake’s arms, but her mind was elsewhere. Jake noticed, of course.

  ‘Was it difficult, love?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Yes. He was there, but I tried to ignore him.’

  With a groan of frustration Jake pulled her closer, hugging her fiercely. ‘I would do anything for you, Melissa, but I can’t fight a ghost. It seems only you can do that, but I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

  ‘Thank you. At least it’s nice to know that I’m not alone. I just wonder if Roger will ever give up?’

  ‘Perhaps together we can make him?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The minty freshness of spring had given way to the darker greens of summer, and still the marriage contract had not been signed. With barely concealed frustration, John of Ashleigh set off to confront the lion in his den, taking two of his sons with him to Sir Fulke’s manor. The other two, Simon and Godwin, remained to guard their sister and, unfortunately for her, took their duties seriously for once.

  ‘I can’t move an inch without tripping over one or other of them,’ Sibell grumbled to Roger when at last she managed to give them the slip one afternoon. ‘Father has promised them all some sort of reward if they help to marry me off safely. Even Godwin, who is usually kind to me, won’t let me out of his sight. He knows it would be more than his life is worth.’

  They were lying on a soft grassy mound by the river and she glared at the sky as if it was responsible for all her troubles. Roger nodded and chewed absently on a blade of grass.

  ‘You are singularly unfortunate in your brothers,’ he agreed.

  ‘Half-brothers,’ she interjected.

  ‘They are like terriers with a rat, and just as pugnacious.’ He sighed. ‘I wish I could help you, sweeting, but my situation hasn’t changed. I’d hoped Sir Gilbert would have relented by now, but he refuses to give me even a hint as to who my father might have been. No one else is willing to divulge anything to me.’

  Roger had confided his reason for coming to Idenhurst in the first place to Sibell, since he didn’t want there to be any secrets between them. He told her of his mother, the beautiful Lady Emma, who had kept the name of Roger’s father a secret all his life. It was only on her deathbed that she’d hinted to him about a possible connection with the Presseille family. Roger had lost no time in trying to find out more, but without Sir Gilbert’s help he had no chance.

  ‘I feel sure he has the answer, but he stubbornly refuses to tell me.’ Spitting out the grass now, Roger rolled onto his side to look at her and added vehemently, ‘If only I had more to offer you than one paltry manor, and that not until my uncle dies, which could be many years from now. We could be married and I would take you away from here.’ He caressed her cheek with loving fingers, touching the freckles reverently one by one, then pulled her close. ‘I love every inch of you.’

  ‘Roger, I don’t care about your possessions or lack of them. Marry me anyway, please! Let’s be gone from here before my father returns.’ She beat her fists against his massive chest in sheer frustration. He captured her hands and kissed each finger in turn, but his face was serious.

  ‘No, you know I can’t leave Idenhurst until I have finished training Sir Gilbert’s men. I gave my word.’ He gathered her close again and dropped butterfly kisses onto her nose and cheeks. ‘But if you’re sure, then there is no reason we can’t be married. In secret.’

  Her eyes flew to his, wide with joy. ‘Really? How would we do that?’

  ‘It would be simple enough. We can both read and write, so we’ll draw up our own contract of marriage and plight our troth in front of two witnesses. Even if the ceremony isn’t blessed by a priest, it will be legal and binding. That’s the law. We can have a church blessing at a later date. Is there anyone you can trust to vouch for you? Lady Maude perhaps?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t involve her. It wouldn’t be fair. But …’ She thought for a moment. ‘I believe old Ingirith would help us. She has no liking for my father and was fiercely devoted to my mother because she was her personal maid. I know she can at least write her own name, I’ve seen her do it before.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll draw up the document and bring Hugone. The lad is literate and loyal to me. When can you escape your gaolers next?’

  Sibell hesitated, thinking furiously. ‘Perhaps on Wednesday? I overheard them talking about a hunt they didn’t want to miss. They’ll probably lock me in, but Ingirith might contrive to let me out if I take her into my confidence.’

  ‘Very well, Wednesday it is then. Meet me by the oak tree next to the river, the one with a hole in the trunk.’

  ‘But, Roger?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this? You’re not just feeling sorry for me because I am bound to marry Sir Fulke?’ She still couldn’t quite believe that a man like Roger could possibly want her enough to marry her. And without a dowry too, for she had no doubt her father would withhold her portion if she took this step.

  He laughed and pulled her closer still. ‘Don’t you know by now that I love you more than life itself? I always will, I swear on my honour. For all eternity.’

  Sibell breathed a sigh of relief. All would be well. She didn’t need to be afraid of Sir Fulke any longer and her child would not be born a bastard. Soon she would tell Roger, when she was absolutely certain.

  ‘Ouch!’ Melissa stubbed her toe on the loose floorboard in her bedroom for at least the third time, and glared at the offending piece of wood. ‘That’s it, I’m going to nail you down if it’s the last thing I do.’ She set off in search of hammer and nails.

  Hammer in hand, she knelt down on all fours to have a closer look. It seemed the whole board had come loose. She was gripped by a sudden urge to look underneath it and without thinking she lifted the wood to peer down into the cavity below. She couldn’t see much, however, and gave a muffled shriek as a fat spider bustled out of his hiding place.

  ‘Ugh, horrid thing! Out of my room this instant.’ The spider scurried away, as anxious to put distance between them as she was. She shuddered.

  Resolutely grabbing a torch which Dorothy had left for her by the bed – in case of power cuts, she’d explained – she had another look under the floor and noticed something sparkling in a corner. Melissa didn’t like the thought of sticking her hand down into the hole, just in case any of the spider’s friends or relatives were lurking there, so she found a pencil with which to poke around. To her surprise, she dislodged something glittery that rolled into the beam from the torch, and she picked it up to inspect it more closely. It was a ring.

  Although it was dusty, it seemed to be made of pure gold and was quite solid. It was in the shape of a dragon biting its own tail and along the inside was an inscription of some sort, which she couldn’t make out. The dragon’s eyes were m
ade of green gems, possibly emeralds, and Melissa thought she had never seen anything so lovely. She caressed the little head lovingly.

  ‘Wow, you’re a little beauty, aren’t you?’ She polished the grime off with the bottom of her T-shirt and held it up to admire its sheen in the sunlight.

  She tried the heavy ring on various fingers and found that it only fit on the ring finger of her left hand. A marriage ring. The thought echoed around her head, and as she slipped the ring onto the finger again she shivered and sucked in her breath sharply.

  Roger had said a ring would help her somehow. Was this it? But how could it possibly help her? She stared at the beautiful object, deep in thought for a while. She now had one answer, but also more questions.

  Finally, she slipped the ring off and had another look at the inscription. Perhaps this was the clue, but she couldn’t decipher the writing. She’d have to find someone who could.

  Mr Smythson, the jewellery expert at Sotheby’s in New Bond Street, kindly agreed to see Melissa at short notice when she called him and explained what she’d found. When she was ushered into his office, she discovered he was a tall, jovial man in his mid-fifties, with a shock of salt and pepper hair. He shook her hand enthusiastically.

  ‘Have a seat, Ms Grantham, please.’ He waved her into a chair opposite his desk. ‘Now, let’s have a look at your little find, shall we?’ He sank into his own chair.

  Melissa had thought it safer to wear the ring rather than carry it about in her handbag, and she now peeled the little dragon off her finger with great care. She handed it to Mr Smythson and he took it with an expression that reminded her of an eager schoolboy. Then he extracted a magnifying glass from his desk drawer.

  ‘As I told you, I found this under the floorboards of my bedroom,’ she said. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me anything about it and, in particular, whether you can decipher the writing inside and also perhaps figure out how old it might be.’

  He examined it closely from every angle, muttering to himself all the while, before looking up at her with a radiant smile.

  ‘My dear Ms Grantham, this is a rare find. A rare find indeed.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Yes. This is a Viking ring, exquisitely crafted, as you can see. They were masters at creating jewellery of all kinds, but this is one of the finest examples I have ever seen, incredibly detailed. It’s impossible to date it exactly, but I would guess ninth or tenth century. It may have been made here in England, or it may have come from Scandinavia. Their designs were similar and the dragon is, of course, a typical motif.’

  ‘A Viking ring?’ Melissa had to try really hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Then it couldn’t have anything to do with Roger. Or could it? She remembered the words she’d heard in her mind when she first put it on.

  ‘Now as to the inscription, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it means. I am, unfortunately, not an expert on runes. But I think I know of someone who might be able to help us. Let me just copy the inscription down on a piece of paper and I’ll let you know what I can find out.’

  ‘Thank you, I’d really appreciate it.’

  He studied the runic characters and copied them down carefully. ‘Of course, I have no idea which ones come first,’ he laughed, ‘but it looks like there is a slightly larger gap between these two here,’ he pointed, ‘so I’ve started with the second one of those.’

  ‘I’m very grateful for your help.’

  ‘Not at all, it was a pleasure to see such a fine example of Viking craftsmanship. If you should ever wish to sell it, do come and see me again. You would be able to charge quite a large sum for such a rare piece of jewellery.’

  ‘Thank you, but I don’t think so. I want to keep it forever.’ As she said the words, Melissa knew they were true. She could never sell the ring. It belonged in her family, she was sure of that.

  As Mr Smythson ushered her out of his office, he said, ‘I’ll give you a call when I hear from my friend regarding the inscription.’

  He was as good as his word and rang the next day. Melissa had been on her way out of the house and grabbed the phone in passing.

  ‘Hello?’ She was slightly out of breath.

  ‘Ms Grantham? It’s Michael Smythson here. My friend has come up trumps about the inscription I faxed him yesterday, so I thought I’d ring you straight away.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. That was quick! And very nice of him. So what does it mean?’ She found it hard to stand still, excitement and anticipation buzzing through her.

  ‘Well, as to that, I’m afraid he can’t say for sure. It seems to be a lot of runes chosen at random which don’t really mean anything specific.’ He paused and Melissa drew in a breath of disappointment, which she let out on a long sigh.

  ‘What a shame. I had so hoped it would say something important. Never mind, I’ll …’

  ‘Hold on a minute, Ms Grantham, that wasn’t quite all he said. Apparently runes weren’t just used for writing with. I don’t know if you’ve heard this – I hadn’t – but they were also used for divination and fortune-telling. My friend thought that in this case these runes were put together in a particular way for some magical purpose. In other words, the inscription on your ring is either a spell or a curse.’

  ‘Really?’ Melissa was astonished and looked at the dragon on her finger. The tiny eyes twinkled up at her. ‘I see. Well, thank you very much, Mr Smythson. You have been extremely helpful.’

  ‘Not at all. Don’t hesitate to call on me again if you should find anything else of interest under that floor of yours.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’

  A magic spell or curse. Melissa stared at the ring. Was that the clue Roger had been talking about? But how could it be? There was no such thing as magic. But then I didn’t believe in ghosts until recently either …

  She sighed again in frustration. ‘Oh, Roger, why can’t you just give me a straight answer?’ she grumbled. ‘I’m no good at guessing games.’ The hallway stayed eerily silent. Roger obviously wasn’t going to reply.

  ‘Okay, fine. Maybe it’s time for some more concrete evidence then.’ With renewed determination, Melissa dialled the number of the Kent History Centre and asked for Jenny.

  ‘Melissa, hi, how are you? Sorry, I haven’t got back to you before, but it’s been really hectic round here. Everyone went down with some kind of flu.’

  ‘No problem. I don’t want to hassle you, I just wondered if there was any progress with that manor court roll yet? Have they managed to unravel it any further?’

  ‘Not yet no, sorry. I checked with them yesterday, and as it’s not really on their official work schedule, they haven’t had time to look at it.’ Jenny giggled and confided, ‘But I think one of them has a crush on me and he’s promised to do it soon. I sort of hinted that I might consider a date if he did …’

  ‘You wicked woman, you.’ Melissa joined in her friend’s laughter, but inside the frustration was building up again. ‘You will let me know as soon as you hear though, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, I promise.’

  Melissa hung up and looked round the hall, trying to find some inspiration. What next? What had she not investigated yet? ‘Oh, yes, Idenhurst.’

  It was time to call Colin again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Here I take thee Roger to my husband, to have and to hold, until the end of my life and to this I plight thee my troth.’

  The heavy ring slipped easily onto Sibell’s finger and fit perfectly. Roger kissed her and old Ingirith wiped a tear from her eye. It was done. Happiness welled up inside Sibell and Roger’s fingers tightened their grip around her own.

  ‘Congratulations, Mistress Sibell.’ Ingirith hugged her fiercely. She’d told Sibell how pleased she was that there was someone at last who could protect her from her brute of a father. ‘And you sir, I wish you both well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Roger clasped the older woman’s hand. ‘I shall be forever grateful for your support thi
s day.’

  ‘It was nothing, sir. I’m happy to help Mistress Elinor’s daughter in any way I can. Such a kind, gentle lady she was.’

  It remained only for them all to sign the marriage contract, wrap it in oilskin and hide it inside the trunk of the old oak tree. ‘It will be safer there for now,’ Roger said, ‘that way it can’t be found until we are ready to face the world as man and wife.’ Sibell agreed and bent to sign her name.

  As she finished with a flourish, however, she heard Roger swear under his breath. She looked up quickly, fear tearing through her gut. Had her brothers arrived after all to ruin everything? Surely, they were too late?

  But it was neither Simon nor Godwin who emerged from the shadow of the trees, but Lady Maude and her daughter, Katherine. As they approached, the wedding party waited in tense silence, the only sound to be heard that of the swiftly flowing river and the birds singing in the branches of the oak tree. When at last they came to a halt before the wedded couple, Roger bowed and Sibell swept a curtsey, and to their immense relief Lady Maude smiled and then clasped them both to her bosom.

  ‘So you’re married?’ she asked. Sibell nodded. ‘Excellent. I thought something was afoot when Sir Roger came asking for parchment and quills. I said to myself, this one bears watching and so I set Katherine to spy on you. I hope you’ll forgive me? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’

  Sibell felt light-headed and unable to do anything but laugh with joy. Roger was more practical. ‘You mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone, my lady. Please? It’s too soon.’

  Lady Maude nodded. ‘I know, but I can make sure there’s no doubt as to the validity of the marriage. Hand me that parchment and we will sign it, too. Come, daughter, do your duty by your brother. He deserves no less.’

  Roger drew in a sharp breath and blinked. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, it’s there for anyone to see who has eyes in his head. My pig-headed husband might not want to acknowledge you yet, but I’ll find a way to make him, see if I don’t.’