‘I know it’s worthless.’ Gwenn saw a pulse beating in Alan’s neck, ‘but I would like it. Where is it?’ The grindstone creaked to a halt.

‘Locmariaquer. In one of the temples.’

Gwenn caught her brother’s arm. ‘Go that way today, Raymond. Please. I’d love to have it back. It means even more to me now Grandmama is gone.’

‘I’ll see. I’ve a mind to explore the forest.’ Raymond didn’t want to commit himself, but observing his sister’s crestfallen expression, he relented. ‘If I don’t fetch it today, I’ll fetch it soon. Agreed?’

Gwenn nodded. ‘You’re a beast,’ she said, with a grin.

Raymond grinned back, unrepentant. ‘I know.’

***

A month slipped by. Alan’s leg was all but healed and his splints were removed. Yolande and Gwenn decided that the time was ripe for them to set the wheels in motion.

It had rained all night and ragged, wind-bitten clouds chased across the sky, but Gwenn was determined that this was the day she would ride to Locmariaquer and reclaim her statue. A few paltry raindrops were not going to stop her.

Despite Raymond saying that he would collect the Stone Rose, he had not yet done so, nor had he taken her riding. Today, Gwenn’s laggardly brother was going to be made to fulfil his promise. Gwenn began wheedling as the family was eating their early morning crust. The men-at-arms were on a separate table, nearer the door. ‘Raymond, may I ride with you today?’

‘No,’ Raymond mumbled, through a mouthful of bread.

Prepared for this response, Gwenn edged along the bench till her shoulder touched his and dimpled up at him. ‘What excuse have you today, Raymond? Yesterday you were too busy hunting; the day before that you’d a wager with Denis; the day before that you were writing for Sir Jean...’ She let her voice trail off, noticing the pebble grey eyes of Alan le Bret resting on her. Turning her back on the mercenary, she smiled at her brother and wondered what excuse he’d produce today.

‘My apologies, Gwenn,’ Raymond flashed her a smile that she recognised was as charming and meaningless as hers for him. ‘I have been busy. Sir Jean lacks a clerk, and I’ve been helping out. I’ll take you tomorrow, I swear it.’

‘Always tomorrow,’ Gwenn muttered.

‘What’s wrong with today?’ Yolande said, entering the conversation.

‘I’m to help Sir Jean with plans for the guardhouse,’ Raymond informed them importantly. ‘It’s much more to my taste than the clerk’s task I’ve been lost in, and I want to prove my worth, else Sir Jean will have me play the clerk for ever.’

Yolande and Gwenn exchanged dismayed glances. They had hoped that between them they might have persuaded Raymond to go to Locmariaquer.

Jean set his cup down. ‘I do need Raymond, Gwenn,’ he confirmed, wiping droplets of wine from his moustache with his sleeve. ‘I’m planning radical alterations to the fortifications. He will assist.’

Gwenn let slip a groan of disappointment, reached for a loaf, and broke off a large chunk. She wanted action, and today. ‘He promised me he’d fetch Grandmama’s statue nigh on a month ago.’ Her dark brows formed a discontented line. ‘The men in this household only honour their promises when they are made to other men. Women don’t count, do they?’

Jean’s eyes filled with reproach. ‘Don’t be ungrateful. You are allowed your say far more than most young ladies.’

Gwenn bristled until she read affection in her father’s expression, and then she grinned. ‘I’m a nuisance, I know. But I would like the Stone Rose back. Raymond swore to Grandmother that he’d see it in my hands, and that was six weeks ago.’

‘She has a point, my love,’ Yolande said, taking her part.

‘I don’t know what all the whinging is about,’ Raymond threw in. ‘Not only is it worthless, but it’s a dreadful, ugly carving.’

‘I agree.’ Alan le Bret’s eyes were boring holes in Gwenn’s shoulder-blades. ‘But since it belonged to Grandmama, I would like it.’

‘It’s a small thing Gwenn asks, my love, and it means so much to her.’

‘Where is the damned thing, Raymond?’ Jean demanded.

‘Locmariaquer.’

Gwenn sat very straight.

‘Not too far,’ Jean observed. ‘But, no, Gwenn, I cannot spare Raymond.’ His daughter’s spine sagged, and he winked indulgently at her. ‘But if mademoiselle has set her heart on it, one of the grooms can take her.’

In a flash, Alan hoisted himself upright and limped across. ‘I’ll accompany your daughter, Sir Jean.’ Gwenn covered her mouth with her hand to hide a delighted smile. ‘I’m not much use as a soldier yet, but the exercise will put some strength back into my leg.’

‘No, Jean!’ Yolande grasped her lover’s hand. It was no part of her design that Gwenn should ride off alone with the routier.

Jean tugged doubtfully at his moustache.

‘If your son furnishes me with the direction, I shall be pleased to escort your daughter,’ Alan pressed, pleasantly.

Gwenn turned a blind eye to the frantic looks Yolande was firing across at her. ‘Oh, please, sir, let me go. I’m longing for a ride.’

‘She’s not that good on a horse, Papa,’ Raymond said, dampeningly. He could see that his mother was concerned, and he did not trust the fellow either.

‘I doubt that I’d be that skilled a horseman myself at the moment,’ Alan admitted, ruefully. ‘I’ll take it quietly, Sir Jean. I’ll look after your daughter.’

‘Oh, let me go with him, sir.’ Gwenn smiled at Yolande. ‘It will be alright, Mama. I can manage.’

‘But Gwenn...’ Yolande lifted a despairing hand, and words failed her. She was not prepared for this contingency. It had never occurred to her that her daughter might ride off with Alan le Bret, but without betraying the whole, she could say nothing. And Gwenn, dreadful child, knew that.

‘Please, sir.’

Jean did not want to spend the morning discussing trifles. Time was pressing. He relented. ‘Very well. Be back before sunset.’

‘My thanks, sir!’ Gwenn skipped round the table and hugged him. ‘My thanks!’

Yolande said nothing. Her headstrong daughter was too sure of herself for her own good. Sweet Jesus, look after her, Yolande prayed, for my hands are tied.

***

For Alan, the ride to Locmariaquer was purgatory.

Surprisingly, the girl was not a thorn in his side. She did not assault his ears with ceaseless chattering; on the contrary, she rode placidly next to him, only occasionally throwing him the odd comment. Nor did she seem to expect any response from him. For these small mercies Alan was grateful. His leg, however, was another matter. For the first half-hour he was able to persuade himself that it was back to normal; in the next half-hour it had begun to throb; and by the time they were into the second hour of the ride, he was gritting his teeth and could barely keep his mind on their route. As they progressed, his pain intensified. Like a snail retreating into the shell that protects it, he shrank deeper and deeper into his capuchon and kept his face from the girl.

Her saddle creaked as she turned to him. ‘I can smell the sea. Do you think we’re almost there?’ Her father, probably with her welfare in mind, had mounted her on a lazy nag that needed some encouragement to make it move at all, and she had snapped off a birch stick for a goad.

Alan emerged unwillingly from his hood. ‘This path hugs the coast. We should be very close. Your brother mentioned a stone farmhouse.’

‘We past one half a mile back.’

Alan swore. ‘Did we? I confess my mind was wandering.’

The look she gave him was understanding. ‘Mine wasn’t, my leg isn’t sore. Raymond described a lane which runs to the left between two hawthorn hedges.’ She used her birch whip to point. ‘Do you think that’s it?’

‘Could be.’ Alan guided his horse to where road and lane met. The ground was soft and speckled with fallen blossom that great hoofs had pounded into the mud. A wind had sprung up, and a stormcock was singing its heart out from its perch among the flowering hawthorn. Wondering what they were wandering into, Alan eyed first the ground and then the sky. One way or another, a storm was brewing.