A Convenient Wedding. Lucy Gordon

gale, across the water,

      Came one night a rich man’s daughter.

      Eyes like jade, hair of ebony,

      To marry the lord and save the family.

      Meryl stood quite still in the dark corridor, listening to the wind that tore at the castle with powerful fingers and made the windows rattle.

      ‘How long has this been written here?’ she asked at last in a voice that sounded strange to her own ears.

      ‘Oh, hundreds of years,’ Hannah said. ‘It was written after the fifth viscount married a French heiress. The lord’s minstrel made a song of it and sang it at their wedding, and then someone wrote it up here.’

      ‘And she had “eyes of jade and hair of ebony”?’

      ‘Well, they say her eyes were greenish,’ Hannah admitted, ‘but her hair was more a dark brown. You can see her in the Picture Gallery. He said ebony because it was the closest he could get to family.’

      ‘So it really happened?’ Meryl asked. It was absurd and superstitious to be so relieved, but for a moment she’d felt as though eyes were peering at her out of the darkness. ‘It’s about the past, not the future?’

      Hannah didn’t seem to hear the question, for she strode on, calling, ‘Your room’s just along here.’

      Meryl hurried and caught up as Hannah threw open the door to a large apartment with a wooden floor on which a few scattered rugs tried unsuccessfully to look adequate. The tall windows were shielded by heavy curtains of dark red brocade, and in the centre of the room stood a four-poster bed, also with dark red curtains.

      ‘A real four-poster!’ Meryl exclaimed with delight. ‘But I would have thought the curtains would be green. After all, it’s called the Green Room, and I can’t see anything green in it.’

      ‘Probably the last curtains were green,’ Hannah said vaguely.

      ‘That must have been a hundred years ago, then. These look as if they’d fall apart if I touch them.’

      ‘They’re sturdy enough, and they’re grand for keeping out the draughts.’

      The warmth of the coal fire didn’t seem to reach this part of the room. Meryl shivered and went closer to the grate. ‘I suppose you don’t have such a thing as central heating?’

      ‘In a place this size?’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘When I think of what that would cost—and him not having a penny to bless himself with! But there, I suppose central heating is what you’re used to, isn’t it?’

      Meryl nodded. ‘It is a bit chilly,’ she said.

      ‘Never mind,’ Hannah told her consolingly. ‘You’ll soon get used to it.’

      She went out, leaving Meryl aghast. Get used to it? No way!

      Soon Hannah returned with supper and a nightdress of thick flannel, patterned with huge roses.

      ‘One of my own,’ Hannah confided. ‘It’ll keep you nice and warm tonight. And so will these.’ She produced a pair of thick socks. ‘They’re the master’s,’ she said. ‘But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. We all sleep in socks until summer, and sometimes even then. Now sit down and I’ll give you the tray.’

      The meal was solid and comforting, with a bottle of wine to wash it down.

      ‘Did he put arsenic in it?’ Meryl asked, tasting the red liquid with care.

      ‘As if I told him!’ Hannah said. ‘What I do in my kitchen is my affair.’

      ‘But he’s the “mighty lord”. Aren’t you supposed to “serve and obey” him?’

      Hannah gave a snort that showed what she thought of that notion, beefed up the fire, announced that she’d return later, and marched out.

      The excitements of the day, plus jet lag, were beginning to catch up with Meryl. It was cosy here by the fire, and tempting to look into the heart of the red glow, feeling the comfortable warmth enfold her, and let her thoughts drift.

      They began to float through her mind in an unbroken stream, so that the dark moor blended into her first confrontation with Jarvis Larne, barring her way, being thoroughly rude to her—but then he too slipped away and she was in the icy water, struggling from the car to be hauled out of the water by a man who lifted her as if she was a feather. And the hardness of his broad chest had felt good.

      None of the men she knew made her feel good. They were focused, self-conscious, measuring every word, dressed in elegant suits. They charmed her and were pleasant company, but there wasn’t one she would have gone to with her problems.

      But why should she? She was the fabulously wealthy Meryl Winters, who bought whatever she wanted and had no problems.

      After a while she yawned and stretched, thinking how inviting the big four-poster looked. She unhooked the curtains and drew them about the bed, discovering that they did indeed shut out the draughts. Perhaps there was something to be said for medieval life, after all.

      But she changed her mind when she climbed onto the medieval mattress, which seemed to be stuffed with medieval turnips.

      This must be where they put their guests when they don’t want them to come back, she thought. It would be the first thing to change—if I was going to stay here.