“Stay with me tonight,” she said. “Edward will sleep in his own room. Catharine, tomorrow you must return to your mother. This man is dangerous.”

What a night that was. I could not sleep at all. I kept thinking of Jake Pennlyon in my room, ready to spring on me. I could hear his cry of exultation when he caught me as I entered the room; I could hear the key turn in the lock, I could feel his great powerful body crushing mine. It was so vivid in my imagination that I seemed to live it.

It was not until dawn that I slept and then I was late waking.

Honey came into the room. “If he was here he has gone now,” she said. “His horse is not in the stables.”

I went cautiously to my room. The sun was streaming in; it showed my bed—empty but tousled. He must have slept there.

Fury possessed me. He had dared sleep in my bed. I pictured him there, waiting for the bride who did not come.

When I stood gazing at my disturbed bed, I was overcome with a sense of powerlessness. I felt like a hunted animal with the baying of the dogs coming nearer, knowing that the relentless huntsman was bearing down on me.

So far I had escaped. I kept thinking how easily I could have stepped into that room last night to find myself trapped.

He was the sort of man who so far had always won. I knew that. But he should not do so this time. I knew that I must slip away and return to my home. But would that deter him? He must sail in six weeks’ time, but I might well be carrying his seed at that time. I felt that if I allowed him to subdue me I should despise myself forever; and in a way so would he. It must not happen. I must go on fighting.

I couldn’t remain in the house. I guessed he would shortly be riding over. I must make sure not to be alone with him.

I went down to the stables. Honey had seen me and followed me there.

Her brow was furrowed. “You are going riding … alone?” she asked.

“I have to do something quickly.”

“We should never have let it get to this.”

“He was in my room last night. He must have waited there for me to come back. He slept in my bed.”

“What … impudence!”

“Honey, what am I going to do?”

“Wait there,” she said. “I’ll ride with you. Then you won’t be alone. We’ll talk about it.”

I went back to the house with her while she put on her riding habit and we took our horses and rode out … in the opposite direction of Lyon Court.

I said: “I must go home.”

“I am sure you are right.”

“I’ll have to slip away secretly. Perhaps in a day or so.”

“I shall miss you sorely. Jake Pennlyon is determined, but at least he will marry you.”

I laughed. “Can you imagine marriage with such a man? He would try to reduce one to a slave.”

“I don’t think you are the stuff that slaves are made of.”

“Sometimes I feel I’d like to make him understand that.”

She looked at me oddly.

“Are you a little attracted by him, Catharine?” she asked.

“I loathe him so much that I get satisfaction in thwarting him.”

“I think his wife would not be a very happy woman. He would be an unfaithful, demanding husband. I have heard stories of his father. There is not a girl in the village who is safe from him.”

“I know that well. Such a man would never do for me.”

We had come to the crest of a hill and were looking down on the little village of Pennyhomick, a charming sight with the little houses cluttering around the church.

I said: “How peaceful it looks. Let us ride down.”

We walked our horses down the steep hill and as we came into the winding street with its gabled houses almost meeting over the cobbles I called to Honey to stop, for I had seen a man crouching in a doorway; and there was that about him which was a dire warning.

“Let us go back,” I said.

“Why so?” asked Honey.

“Look at that man. I’ll swear it’s plague.”

Honey needed no more than that. Swiftly she turned her horse. At the foot of the hill we saw a woman coming toward us; she carried panniers on her shoulders and had clearly been to a brook for water.

She shouted to us: “Keep off, good folks. The sweat has come to Pennyhomick.”

We rode up the hill as fast as we could, and only at the top turned to look back at the stricken village.

I shuddered. Before the night was out there would be bereaved households in that little hamlet. It was a sobering thought. And as we rode off the idea came to me. I realized then that I did not want to go home. I wanted the satisfaction of outwitting Jake Pennlyon and the stricken Pennyhomick had given me this idea.

I said: “Listen, Honey, if I go home he can take two courses of action. He can follow me and perhaps catch me. Or he may have his revenge on you. He is cruel and ruthless. You can be sure he would show no mercy. I’ll not run away. I’ll stay here and I’ll outwit him at the same time. I am going to have the sweating sickness.”

“Catharine!” Honey had turned pale.

“Not in truth, my dear sister. I shall pretend to have it. I shall stay in my chamber. You will attend me. We have been to Pennyhomick, remember. We are infected. You will nurse me and my illness will last as long as the Rampant Lion remains in the harbor.”

Honey had pulled up her horse and stared at me. “Why … Catharine … I think we could do it.”

I laughed. “Even he could not come where the sweat was. He dare not. He has to sail away with the Rampant Lion. He could not risk carrying the infection on board his vessel. I shall stay in my room attended only by you. From my window I shall watch what goes on. Oh, Honey, it’s a wonderful plan. He’ll have to sail away without submitting me to his hateful lust. I shall die of laughing.”

“It seems like tempting Providence.”

“I would never have thought the great-granddaughter of witches would be so lily-livered. You shall make me some concoction—a mixture of buttercup juice and cinnamon and a paste. I shall look ill and I’ll appear at the window. If he passes by he will quickly fall out of lust with me.”

“No one must know except Edward and the two of us.”

“Honey, I can’t wait to begin. I shall go straight to my room, complaining of a headache. I shall go to bed and send Jennet for a posset. Then you will come in and from then on I have the sweat and no one must come near me except my beloved sister, who was with me at the time I was in Pennyhomick and may therefore be another victim.”

We returned to the house. As one of the grooms took our horses I said: “I have such a lightheaded feeling and pains in my head. I shall go to my room.”

“I’ll send up a potion,” said Honey. “You go and get into bed.”

And that was the beginning.

The news traveled fast.

Ten people had died in Pennyhomick and the dread disease had crept into Trewynd Grange. The young mistress of the house was nursing her sister, with whom she, with great ill luck, had gone into Pennyhomick and they had brought the sweating sickness to the Grange.

Honey had ruled that no one was to penetrate the turret wing of the house to which I had moved, the better to isolate myself. Food was brought and placed in a room at the foot of the spiral stairway; Honey would descend and bring it to my room.

Edward did not come to us; for him to have done so might have betrayed us. We had to act as though I were in truth suffering from the sweating sickness and was being nursed by my sister, who might also be affected.

The first day I found exciting because it was not long, as I had guessed, before Jake Pennlyon came riding over.

Honey had ready the paste we had prepared and we coated my face with it. I looked into the mirror and did not recognize myself. I lay in my bed, the sheet pulled up to my chin. I heard his voice—resonant, suited to giving orders on the deck.

“Stand aside. I’m going up. Sweat! I don’t believe it.”