Torn. Karen Turner

take up the space beside me.

      “Recognise her, Zan?” Simon nodded toward the bar where the comely young woman was furtively tugging her bodice lower.

      I shook my head. “Should I?”

      “That’s Molly Starling, Jack’s daughter. Remember they used to sell vegetables at the kitchen door? She was a child then.”

      Molly was approaching and, at close range, I recognised the abundant black hair escaping in thick tendrils from her servant’s cap, and the broad nose common among her family. “‘Ullo, Sir Simon,” she said pleasantly, and her gleaming black eyes slid slyly in Pat’s direction. “Wha’ can ah be gettin’ yers?”

      Simon ordered three mugs of mulled wine and a plate of bread and cheese, and was rewarded with an inviting smile. I snorted but it went unnoticed as Molly turned to address Patrick. “An’ this’d be M’lord Thorncliffe if ah guess araight. They’s bar-wenches at ’Orse n ’Ounds been a-talkin’ ’bout ahs like emeralds – no mistakin ’em they says.” She nodded approvingly. “They says other things ’bout yer too,” she added mysteriously.

      Patrick’s composure was unwavering. Lounging comfortably on the bench beside me, he returned her bold stare. “Do they indeed? How intriguing.”

      “Yer calls me if there’s summat yer want,” she went on, and the proposal in her voice was unmistakeable.

      Pat regarded her appraisingly, “I just might do that,” he drawled, and his mouth moved into one of his slow smiles. I watched, with growing annoyance, my companions following the swing of the girl’s hips as she sashayed towards the kitchen.

      “You two are –” I began but they both laughed.

      “Settle down, Zan. Your hackles are showing.”

      “But she’s so … so … overt and you’re –”

      “Don’t worry Li’l Sis,” said Patrick placatingly. “Harmless sport but I do believe our brother here may be tempted.”

      “Give over,” Simon said, with a smirk.

      Patrick laughed. “Ah, don’t be so coy. Molly there casts a shadow over the quality of companionship you enjoyed the other evening.”

      “In my own defence, perhaps my perceptions were distorted by the bottom of the ale jug.”

      “Never a truer word have you spoken – ah, here’s our delightful maid now.”

      I was slightly appeased by the sight of the food, for even though the inn was crowded, we had waited only minutes. The laces of Molly’s bodice had mysteriously unravelled to expose large fleshy mounds that threatened to spill free as she leaned further than necessary across the trestle. I heard Patrick’s appreciative intake of air and I glowered at the girl without effect.

      Molly took her time arranging the plates and mugs before us, and when finally she straightened, her eyes settled on Pat in blatant invitation. “I’ll be o’er at t’ coun’er M’lord, if yer needs owt.”

      Patrick responded pleasantly. “Thank you, Mistress Starling.”

      The girl’s face broke into a broad grin and giving a blatant wink, she returned to where a waiting customer was served considerably less cordially.

      “I’d say from that little … er … exhibition,” Simon said with amusement, “she has set her cap firmly in your direction, your Lordship.”

      Patrick sipped his wine, “So it would appear. Perhaps I’ll enquire as to what time she finishes her work.” He glanced in my direction and offered a mock grimace in response to my glare, “Or perhaps not.”

      “You are rude and lewd,” I said.

      He shrugged. “And we receive prompt service – no harm. In any case, I’m more discerning than Sime. It’s not my behaviour you should be concerned with.”

      “Bah!” Simon said playfully. “She could be just the type our young Thorncliffe here is looking for – marriageable age, child-bearing hips …”

      “Ample and willing, more to the point,” I grumbled and sipped my wine. It was deliciously warm and fragrant, and smoothed my frown somewhat.

      “Undoubtedly the best attributes,” Patrick agreed. “But you, my dear Li’l Sis, have been mercilessly exposed to the more boorish qualities in your brothers’ characters, for which Simon profusely apologises.”

      I gave a bark of laughter. “Simon apologises?”

      He leaned back and draped a casual arm across the back of our seat, letting his hand lightly brush my thickly coated shoulder. “I shall apologise for nothing.”

      My eyes widened and he grinned wickedly. “Apologies are expressions of regret – a concept that implies a person embraces more than a passing regard for the consequences of their actions. I have no such vice. I shall love where I will and give my heart to no-one. I shall enjoy to the full my essentially selfish life and sleep well at night – sated with good food, excellent wine, and affectionate wenches – like our Molly over there.”

      I stared incredulously at him but he merely took a long pull from his mug, his eyes sparkling merrily over the rim. Across the table Simon was watching with a curious look on his face. As I met his gaze, he cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

      Something in the mood of our banter had changed. “Surely you’re not so shallow,” I said quietly, inexplicably disturbed, my eyes drifting to where Molly leaned on the bar watching steadily.

      “He’s teasing you, Zan,” Simon said, soberly.

      Patrick suddenly laughed – a reckless sound – and in brotherly fashion, pulled me against him in a brief hug. “Arguable, but ‘tis no concern of yours Li’l Sis, so drink up and eat your lunch.”

      I stood on the porch steps beside Gerrard in the brisk, dawn air. Mother, in queenly fashion, had bidden Simon farewell the previous evening from her bed. Patrick had neither visited nor been expected to.

      Maeve stood with her forehead pressed into her brother’s chest. “Come now silly, you’re wetting the front of my coat. It’s not forever.”

      “But it’s so far away,” she sniffed.

      He gently unwound her tentacles from his waist and she ran to her father who put an arm about her slim shoulders.

      I clenched my jaw as a myriad of emotions worked within me. If only I could go with them, be educated, and live the experience of that wonderful university town. For the first time in my life I was aware of my deficit of choice, and I envied them their freedom, their male birthright.

      More than this, rising up and threatening to overwhelm me was grief, for Simon was going away, and the thought distressed me more than I’d anticipated.

      He held me tightly against his scratchy, woollen coat, and I knew that despite his excitement, he also was moved. I stood on tiptoes and whispered, “We’ve not been parted before.”

      He nodded solemnly, “I know,” then took my face between his hands and kissed my forehead. “And it might be a while before I’m back – more than a year I should think. Pat wants to spend next Christmas at Devon.”

      I drew a long shaky breath. Anne was weeping noisily behind us and he turned to her now.

      “S … Simon, you will write w … won’t you?” she sobbed.

      “Of course I won’t write! I’ll be far too busy cavorting and drinking – oh, and studying, of course.” He hugged her quickly, and held his arm out to Maeve. “Come, Naughty Puss, and kiss me goodbye.”

      A flash of movement caught my eye. Patrick had swung into Equus’ saddle and I hadn’t said my farewell. I knew a