a thin white line, which began after a jumble of rocks at the base of the cliff.
She climbed over the rocks and onto the path, glancing once behind her. The village was still somnolent, only a few people appearing on the lanes, women mostly, filling water pails, collecting flour from the mill. The men were presumably treating the aching heads of dissolution, she thought, and then wondered why Ivor was not suffering similarly. He was as bright-eyed and energetic as ever. And he certainly hadnât appeared the worse for anything last night, planning for the bridal chamber, knowing all the while that there was to be no bridal night. Planning for the public proof of her lost virginity, all as cold and clear-headed as if he had never taken a drink in his life.
She thought with a sense of shock that Ivor Chalfont, this husband of hers, was a man to be reckoned with. Not just her friend and confident childhood playmate but a man who made plans and executed them to the last detail.
It wasnât that she hadnât known that about him, shethought as she climbed, swiping perspiration from her brow with the back of a hand. It was just that she hadnât seen the fact of it as it affected her own life and hadnât really taken it seriously.
She looked up. For some reason, the cliff top seemed a lot farther away than usual, and the path steeper and more treacherous.
EIGHT
B elow, Ivor stood on the wooden bridge, his hand shading his eyes, looking up at the cliff. Damn the woman. She was almost at the top. Why did Ari have to make things so much more difficult than they needed to be? Rolf would be furious that she hadnât spent the morning with the dressmakers, and he himself would look like an inept husband who couldnât control his wife.
And then that wave of jealous anger flooded him once again. She was going to her lover? There could be no other explanation.
Well, not this time.
He set off at a run through the village to the base of the path. He stepped around the rocks at the beginning of the path and started upwards. And after a few minutes, he stopped. What was to be gained by a confrontation with the poet? Ari wasnât going to run off with him; she was too practical to do something so foolhardy. His quarrel was with Ari, not Gabriel Fawcett. He turned backand found a comfortable spot on the pile of rock. She would have to come back this way eventually. He would be waiting.
Ari reached the top and hauled herself up the last few steps to the grassy summit. She stood up, regaining her breath. Maybe, just maybe, Gabriel had left something for her under the stone. Some indication of where he was going, what he was going to do. He hadnât had much time to make plans since their parting just yesterday afternoon, but it was possible heâd left her some communication.
Without a backwards glance down the path, she raced across the grassy meadow to the gray rock that seemed to jut out of the grass like a beacon. Kneeling, she lifted the stone. A folded piece of paper was tucked deep into the indentation. He had left her something.
Her fingers shook a little as she lifted it out and unfolded it. My dearest, I will follow you to the ends of the earth. Oh, my dearest Ari, I will hold your heart in my breast every second we are apart, and pray God we will be united once more. Look for me in London. Dear one, think kindly of me always.
Ariadne folded the sheet again and tucked it into her shirt to nestle in the cleft of her breast. Look for me in London.
He was going to follow her to the capital. Her heart lifted, but only for a moment. By leaving here, Gabriel would escape one danger, but in London, there wouldbe many others. How could she possibly make sense of this marriage to Ivor when she was constantly afraid for Gabriel and constantly looking out for him to appear around every corner? What would Ivor do if he came face-to-face with the man he felt had cuckolded him? The man his wife still
She climbed over the rocks and onto the path, glancing once behind her. The village was still somnolent, only a few people appearing on the lanes, women mostly, filling water pails, collecting flour from the mill. The men were presumably treating the aching heads of dissolution, she thought, and then wondered why Ivor was not suffering similarly. He was as bright-eyed and energetic as ever. And he certainly hadnât appeared the worse for anything last night, planning for the bridal chamber, knowing all the while that there was to be no bridal night. Planning for the public proof of her lost virginity, all as cold and clear-headed as if he had never taken a drink in his life.
She thought with a sense of shock that Ivor Chalfont, this husband of hers, was a man to be reckoned with. Not just her friend and confident childhood playmate but a man who made plans and executed them to the last detail.
It wasnât that she hadnât known that about him, shethought as she climbed, swiping perspiration from her brow with the back of a hand. It was just that she hadnât seen the fact of it as it affected her own life and hadnât really taken it seriously.
She looked up. For some reason, the cliff top seemed a lot farther away than usual, and the path steeper and more treacherous.
EIGHT
B elow, Ivor stood on the wooden bridge, his hand shading his eyes, looking up at the cliff. Damn the woman. She was almost at the top. Why did Ari have to make things so much more difficult than they needed to be? Rolf would be furious that she hadnât spent the morning with the dressmakers, and he himself would look like an inept husband who couldnât control his wife.
And then that wave of jealous anger flooded him once again. She was going to her lover? There could be no other explanation.
Well, not this time.
He set off at a run through the village to the base of the path. He stepped around the rocks at the beginning of the path and started upwards. And after a few minutes, he stopped. What was to be gained by a confrontation with the poet? Ari wasnât going to run off with him; she was too practical to do something so foolhardy. His quarrel was with Ari, not Gabriel Fawcett. He turned backand found a comfortable spot on the pile of rock. She would have to come back this way eventually. He would be waiting.
Ari reached the top and hauled herself up the last few steps to the grassy summit. She stood up, regaining her breath. Maybe, just maybe, Gabriel had left something for her under the stone. Some indication of where he was going, what he was going to do. He hadnât had much time to make plans since their parting just yesterday afternoon, but it was possible heâd left her some communication.
Without a backwards glance down the path, she raced across the grassy meadow to the gray rock that seemed to jut out of the grass like a beacon. Kneeling, she lifted the stone. A folded piece of paper was tucked deep into the indentation. He had left her something.
Her fingers shook a little as she lifted it out and unfolded it. My dearest, I will follow you to the ends of the earth. Oh, my dearest Ari, I will hold your heart in my breast every second we are apart, and pray God we will be united once more. Look for me in London. Dear one, think kindly of me always.
Ariadne folded the sheet again and tucked it into her shirt to nestle in the cleft of her breast. Look for me in London.
He was going to follow her to the capital. Her heart lifted, but only for a moment. By leaving here, Gabriel would escape one danger, but in London, there wouldbe many others. How could she possibly make sense of this marriage to Ivor when she was constantly afraid for Gabriel and constantly looking out for him to appear around every corner? What would Ivor do if he came face-to-face with the man he felt had cuckolded him? The man his wife still
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