Emlyn smiled a little, and shrugged her broad shoulders, muttering something that would have angered Thomas if he could have heard it, as Cicely went off to join Christopher, who called to her from another room.

She found him adding up figures on paper, a very different Christopher to the broken man they had rescued from the dungeon, though still much aged by the terrors of the past year and just now looking rueful.

“See, Sweet,” he said, “we should give a marriage portion to Emlyn, who has earned it if ever woman did, but where it is to come from I know not.  Those Abbey lands Jacob Smith bought from the King are not yours yet, nor Henry’s either, though doubtless he will have them soon.  Neither have any rents been paid to you from your own estates, and when they come they are promised up in London, while the Abbot’s razor has shaved my own poor parsimony bare as a churchyard skull.  Also Mother Matilda and her nuns must be kept till we can endow them with their lands again.  One day we, or our boy yonder, may be rich, but till it comes there are hard times for all of us.”

“Not so hard as some we have known, Husband,” she answered, laughing, “for at least we are free and have food to eat, and for the rest we will borrow from Jacob Smith on the jewels that remain over.  Indeed, I have written to him and he will not refuse.”

“Aye, but how about Thomas and Emlyn?”

“They must do as their betters do.  Though there is little stock on it, Thomas has the Manor Farm at low rent, which he may pay when he can, while Jacob put a present in the pocket of Emlyn’s wedding dress.  What’s more, I think he will make her his heir, and if so she will be rich indeed, so rich that I shall have to curtsey to her.  Now, go make ready for this marriage, and as you have no fine doublet, bid Jeffrey put on your mail, for you look best in that, or so at least I think, who to my mind look best in anything you chance to wear.”

Then while he demurred, saying that there was now no need to bear arms in Blossholme, also that Jeffrey was away settling himself as landlord of the Ford Inn, the same that the Abbot had once promised to Flounder Megges, she kissed him, and seizing her boy, who lay crowing in the sunlight, danced with him from the room.  For oh, Cicely’s heart was merry.

There were many folk at the marriage of Emlyn Stower and Thomas Bolle, for of late Blossholme had been but a sorry place, and this wedding came to it like the breath of spring to the woods and meads around, a hint of happiness after the miseries of winter.  The story of the pair had got about also.  How they had been pledged in youth and separated by scheming men for their own purposes.  How Emlyn had been married off against her will to an aged partner whom she hated, and Thomas, who was set down as a fool, forced to serve the monastery as a lay-brother, a strong hind skilled in the management of cattle and such matters, but half crazy, as indeed it had suited him to feign himself to be.