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had written. But how had Lucie received the news? Would she close the shop and allow herself time to mourn her father? He prayed that the letters had found her well. And the children.
    A servant stood at the edge of the group with the air of someone waiting to be noticed. Owen asked his business.
    The young man begged Owen’s pardon for interrupting, but he had been sent by Archdeacon Rokelyn. ‘My lord the Archdeacon of St David’s invites Captain Archer to sup with him.’
    Rokelyn was second in command to the bishop in this holy city. Owen doubted the archdeacon craved his company. What now?
    ‘I shall attend him,’ Owen replied evenly. The lad should not get a red ear for the message he brought.

Three
    FREYTHORPE HADDEN
     
    I n the end, Roger Moreton’s new steward did accompany Lucie to her father’s manor. York was abuzz with tales of outlaws on the roads and Lucie had to agree that though Harold Galfrey was not trained as a soldier he looked sufficiently strong to be threatening. His presence reassured Tildy, Lucie’s nursemaid, never a willing traveller, but determined to help Lucie during this difficult time. Lucie had confided to Tildy that she feared Phillippa might collapse at the news – though her aunt had always been a robust woman, she was getting on in years and had been devoted to her brother. Tildy could be trusted to keep the household at Freythorpe together while Lucie saw to her aunt. The company riding out from York also included Brother Michaelo, who had kindly offered to tell Phillippa all that he had told Lucie. His offer required neither sacrifice nor permission from the archbishop for he would easily continue on from Freythorpe Hadden to Bishopthorpe, where Archbishop Thoresby was in residence.
    It was a beautiful spring day. Lucie wished she might enjoy this ride, this brief moment in the midst of all her duties. There would be tears enough at Freythorpe. But she had awakened with a yearning to see her father once more so that she might tell him how much she had enjoyed his company in his last years. She had told him so on his departure, but she wondered whether she had said enough. She lifted her head to the sun, shining round puffs of cloud. A gentle breeze set the spring leaves trembling against the blue and white sky. The meadows were already blooming. Labourers sang in the fields. ‘God’s blessing is on this day,’ she said.
    ‘God is certainly smiling on the land,’ Harold said beside her.
    Lucie started. She had not noticed he rode so close. ‘Do you fear I shall fall off my mount?’
    He had a hesitant smile, as if uncertain it was appropriate to a steward. ‘In faith, Mistress Wilton, you seemed so lost in thought I feared you paid little heed to keeping your seat.’
    ‘Do I look like an inexperienced rider?’
    ‘Not at all. Forgive me.’
    They rode in silence for a while.
    ‘I am the one who should apologise,’ Lucie said. ‘I was steeling myself against the task before me. It will be difficult for my aunt.’
    ‘Made more difficult by a stranger in your midst.’
    ‘You must not think of it. You are here at my request, and I am grateful.’
    ‘I was thrust upon you.’
    ‘I am quite capable of refusing Master Moreton.’
    Harold smiled with more assurance. Lucie fell back into her thoughts of her aunt. Phillippa had been widowed within a few years of her marriage. She had come to Freythorpe Hadden at the invitation of her brother, who was then unmarried and needed someone to represent him at the manor he rarely visited. Phillippa had been straight-backed and strong, with her feet squarely on the ground and a determination to order the world around her to her liking. As far as Lucie knew, Phillippa had nothing from her marriage. Sir Robert had mentioned his sister’s husband only once that Lucie could recall, referring to him as a man too fond of his ale. Phillippa’s only child had died in the same year as her husband. But God had looked after her. When