Alys kept her head high, her eyes steadily flicking around the watching field, the smile unwavering on her mouth. Never could she catch someone speaking. Always their faces were blank and fearful. There was no one she could name as her slanderer. However quickly her gaze went from one stubborn face to another the whisper preceded her. Underneath her arms she could feel the gown growing damp. She nearly stumbled as she reached the bower like a criminal running to sanctuary. Then she checked. There was no chair for her. David and the old lord were sitting down.

'I will trouble you for your chair, David,' she said bluntly. 'It was hot in the sunshine and I wish to sit.'

For a moment, for half a moment only, it seemed as if he would refuse her.

'Let the wench sit,' the old lord said irritably. 'She's carrying my grandson in her belly.'

David rose reluctantly and went to stand behind the old lord's chair.

'What was all that about?' the old lord asked.

Alys sat still, her hands quietly in her lap, her face composed. 'Country gossip,' she said. 'They envy me, those who knew Morach and the nasty little cottage. They cannot understand how I should move from there to here. They make up fancies of witchcraft and then they frighten nobody but themselves. That fat old shrew, Goodwife Norton, has taken it into her thick head that I have bewitched the young lord and supplanted Catherine. She sought to insult me.'

The old lord nodded. Out in the field Hugo had stripped off his thick, costly jacket. A pretty girl with brilliant golden hair had stepped forward and was holding it for him. As they watched she held it to her cheek. They heard Hugo's flattered laugh. Farmer Norton handed him a scythe. Hugo rolled up his white linen sleeves, spat on both palms, and took it in a firm grip. There was a ragged cheer from the crowd. Hugo was popular this year, with high wages for the labourers at his new house and his wife pregnant.

'Strange how the word "witch" follows you,' the old lord said. He was watching Hugo scything down the grass. The young girl carrying his jacket and Farmer Norton and the other haymakers walked slowly behind him, laughing. The mood had lightened. The musicians had started playing a ragged tune with a thumping beat, a lad was singing. Alys said nothing.

'It's a bad word to have hung around your neck,' the old lord said neutrally. 'It looks bad. For you – but not only for you. For me and Hugo also.' 'It's gossip and nonsense,' Alys said shortly. 'Perhaps they heard of the ordeal?' David suggested helpfully. 'Or of Alys' dream of her and Hugo? Or maybe they suspect her learning – unusual in a girl from a country hovel? Or the sudden drowning of old Morach? I heard a rumour that she was a witch and drowned while running away.'

The sun on the field was very hot, but Alys in the underwater green of the arbour shivered as if she were cold.

'I am carrying Hugo's son,' she said steadily. 'I am the second woman he has ever got with child in all his life. If anything were to happen to Catherine or her child then my baby would be your only grandchild, my lord. I do not think it befits us to gossip like common people about witchery and sorcery and nonsense. Hugo and I are lovers, and I am the mother of his child. If an old fool like Good wife Norton wishes to make a scene and spoil a day why should we have our peace disturbed?'

The old lord nodded. 'No wonder it is to be a long pregnancy, Alys, since this baby protects you from all ills. Thirteen months by my reckoning?'

Alys smiled. 'He has told you then,' she said easily. ‘I have begged his pardon for my mistake. It was a natural mistake. I wanted Hugo's child so much that I mistook the signs. But I am sure now. You will see me growing soon. But never growing, I hope, as big as the Lady Catherine!'

The old lord chuckled. 'Vixen,' he said without heat. 'Don't scratch at her. There can never be too many sons. There is room for you both.'

Hugo had reached the end of the line. He stooped and picked up a bunch of the grass and the spindly sweet-smelling flowers. The blonde girl ran forward with his jacket and held it out for him to slip it on. As he put it on he turned around and put his arm around her shoulders, kissed her heartily on both cheeks, and tucked the flowers into the neck of her gown. The girl leaned back against his arm and smiled at him. She was young and bright, dressed in her best gown of bright blue, cut very low and square across her creamy, plump breasts.

'Looks as is you have lost your flowers, Mistress Alys,' David observed.

Alys stood up and smiled at him. "Then I shall make Hugo pick me some more,' she said recklessly.

She turned her back on both of them and walked out into the bright sunlight, smiling. All around her people were spreading white cloths on the newly cut grass, the scything gang were raking the hay into long rows to dry in the wind and the sun. Jars of ale were opened and earthenware mugs thrust forward for filling. Alys walked towards Hugo across the field with her flat belly thrust forward to make it look bigger, smiling, gambling on her power. And as she came close, the girl with the flowers stuffed in the bodice of her gown twisted out of Hugo's careless grip and fell back to avoid Alys' glance, and then slipped away. 'Alys,' Hugo said grimly.

'You have thrown away my flowers,' Alys said. The smile was still on her face.

Hugo bent to the heap of hay at his feet and picked up a swatch of grass mixed with flowers. 'Here,' he said ungraciously. 'Take these, I am going to open the dancing.' 'With me?' Alys asked.

Hugo's face was grim. 'Since you have started a storm which I shall have to calm, I shall dance first with you and then with every wench in this field, until they are all content.'

Alys' smile never wavered. She took Hugo's outstretched arm and together they walked towards the musicians. Other couples fell into place behind them. But they moved quietly, as if they were bound to dance and too obedient to refuse.

Alys stepped back and faced Hugo, waited for the music to begin, and froze. Behind Hugo's shoulder was a face she knew.

It was Tom, and a hard-faced woman hanging on his arm beside him.

Alys' face never flickered. Her eyes went past him without a glimmer of recognition, her clear bright smile impartial, unchanging – Tom brushed his wife Liza off his arm and came towards the dancers. Alys' face was a lighthearted mask, her head on one side, listening to the music, her foot tapping to the beat. Tom, unbidden, walked unstoppably forward. 'Alys!' he said.

Hugo spun round. Tom was standing immediately behind him, but he did not even look at the lord, did not uncover his head. He ignored him as if he were a post in the hayfield. All he could see was Alys in her new green gown, her green and gilt ribbons plaited into her golden-brown hair, heartbreakingly lovely. 'Alys,' he said again.

Alys looked at him as if noticing him for the first lime. She put her head on one side as if she were viewing some strange specimen. 'Yes?' she said interrogatively.

Tom gulped. 'I will take you away,' he said, in a sudden awkward rush of speech. ‘I will take you, Alys. I will take you away. I've heard what they said of you… It's not safe for you here. I will take you now.'

Alys threw back her head and laughed. A clear brittle sound like breaking glass. She tossed her head and smiled at Hugo.

'Who is this?' she asked. 'Is he simple? Does he mistake me for someone?'

Tom blenched as if she had struck him. 'Alys!' he said in a hoarse whisper. Hugo tapped him on the shoulder, his face grim. 'You interrupt the dancing,' he said. 'Go your ways.'

Tom seemed not to feel the touch, he did not hear his lord. He did not take Hugo's warning. His eyes were fixed on Alys' bright, unconcerned face.

‘I want to save you, Alys!' he said desperately. 'They have called you a witch – you are in danger. I'll take you – I'll take you away, cost me what it will!'