before her father.
I left Bruce tied to a willow, where he began to munch contentedly on the stems. I led Margaret along the river while I told her of Eleanor and Sir Robert, of Hamo and Walter and the trial. She shuddered when I told her of Sir Robert’s death.
“And now,” I said, “I wish one thing of you. I have a question…I believe I know the answer, but I desire confirmation. The night last spring, when you were heard quarreling in the churchyard late at night with a man thought to be Thomas Shilton: that man was Sir Robert Mallory, was it not?”
She hesitated, then nodded “yes.”
“Do others know of this?” I asked.
“Aye. Thomas would be told…but no other.”
“Your father?”
“Nay. He has not asked. I have not volunteered.”
“Your words, in the churchyard; did you believe Sir Robert would make place for you?”
“Aye,” she hesitated. “He promised…if I was got with child, to provide. He promised a life of ease, would I be ’is mistress.” Margaret spoke in a whisper, a tear in her voice if not yet on her cheek. Perhaps there were in her no more tears to shed for this misery.
“What of Thomas?” I asked.
“You said, ‘one question,’” she replied. “That is a second. But I will answer. If the child be a girl, he will have me and rear it as his own. He will forgive my foolishness. If it be a boy, he will not. He will have only his own son inherit his holding, not another man’s offspring.”
“You are content with this bargain?” I questioned.
“Aye,” she whispered. “I betrayed him for riches and place I thought I might win with my appearance. How can I begrudge his wish for an heir of his own?”
We turned from our way at the mill. The grinding wheel and stone made continued conversation difficult, and there was little more to say. We returned in silence to the forge, where the rhythmic clang of the hammer proclaimed her father still at work.
I wished her well, retrieved Bruce from the willow he had munched so far as he could reach, and set off for the Windrush bridge and home. It was near dark when I arrived at Bampton Castle. Wilfred had closed the gate, and had to leave his quarters to heave up the bar and shove the gates open to admit me. He said he was pleased to see me home again. This I doubt, as my arrival took him from his fire into a cold January night.
A week later an ironmonger called at Bampton Castle. His was a regular visit, for he supplied Lord Gilbert’s farrier and the town smith from the stock in his heavily weighted wagon. I asked if he supplied stock to Alard, the Burford smith. He did.
“How does he?” I asked. “And his daughter, is she well?”
“Oh, aye,” he replied. “An’ Alard’s a grandfather. Margaret had a babe four days past. A fine, healthy little lass, too, she is.”
