in tight little gaggles and cast snide glances over their shoulders; none deigned to notice her. Mérian had resigned herself to having her mother’s company for the evening when two young women approached.
“Peace and joy to you this day,” one of the young women offered. Slightly the elder of the two, she had an oval face and a slender, swanlike neck; her hair was long, so pale as to be almost white, and straight and fine as silken thread. She wore a simple gown of glistening green material Mérian had never seen before.
“Blessings on you both,” replied Mérian nicely.
“Pray, allow me to make your acquaintance,” said the young woman in heavily accented Latin. “I am Cécile, and”—half-turning, she indicated the dark-haired girl beside her—“this is my sister, Thérese.”
“I am Mérian,” she responded in turn. “I give you good greeting. Have you been long in England?”
“Non,” answered the young woman. “We have just arrived from Beauvais with our family. My father has been brought to lead the baron’s warhost.”
“How do you find it here?” asked Mérian.
“It is pleasant,” said the elder girl. “Very pleasant indeed.”
“And not as wet as we feared,” added Thérese. She was as dark as her sister was fair, with large hazel eyes and a small pink mouth; she was shorter than her sister and had a pleasant, apple-cheeked face. “They told us it never stopped raining in England, but that is not true. It has rained only once since we arrived.” Her gown was of the same shiny cloth, but a watery aquamarine colour, and like her sister’s, her veil was yellow lace.
“Do you live in Hereford?” asked Cécile.
“No, my father is Lord Cadwgan of Eiwas.”
The two young strangers looked at each other. Neither knew where that might be.
“It is just beyond the Marches,” Mérian explained. “A small cantref north and west of here—near the place the English call Ercing, and the Ffreinc call Archenfield.”
“You are Welsh!” exclaimed the elder girl. The two sisters exchanged an excited glance. “We have never met a Welsh.”
Mérian bristled at the word but ignored the slight.
“British,” she corrected lightly.
“Les Marchés,” said Thérese; she had a lilting, almost wispy voice that Mérian found inexplicably appealing. “These Marches are beyond the great forest, oui ?”
“That is so,” affirmed Mérian. “Caer Rhodl—my father’s stronghold—is five days’ journey from here, and a part of the way passes through the forest.”
“But then you have heard of the—” She broke off, searching for the proper word.
“L’hanter?” inquired the elder of the two.
“Oui, l’hanter.”
“The haunting,” confirmed Cécile. “Everyone is talking about it.”
“It is all anyone speaks of,” affirmed Thérese with a solemn nod.
“What do they say?” asked Mérian.
“You do not know?” wondered Cécile, almost quivering with delight at having someone new to tell. “You have not heard?”
“I assure you I know nothing of it,” Mérian replied.
“What is this haunting?”
Before the young woman could reply, the baron’s seneschal called the celebrants to find places at the board. “Let us sit together,” suggested Cécile nicely.
“Oh, do please sit with us,” cooed her sister. “We will tell you all about the haunting.”
Mérian was about to accept the invitation when her mother turned to her and said, “Come along, Daughter.We have been invited to join the baron at the high table.”
“Must I?” asked Mérian.
“Certainement,” gushed Cécile. “You must. It is a very great honneur.”
“Precisely,” her mother replied.
“But these ladies have kindly asked me to sit with them,”
Mérian countered.
“How thoughtful.” Lady Anora regarded the young women with a prim smile. “Perhaps, in the circumstance, they will understand. You may join them later, if you wish.”
Mérian muttered a hasty apology to her new friends and followed her mother to the high table where her father and brother were already taking their places at the board. There were other noblemen—all of them Ffreinc, with their resplendently jewelled ladies—but her father was given the place at the baron’s right hand. Her mother sat beside her father, and Mérian was given the place beside the baroness, at her husband’s left hand. To Mérian’s relief, Lady Sybil was far down at the end of the table with young Ffreinc nobles on either side, both of whom appeared more than eager to engage the aloof young lady.
As soon as all the remaining guests had found places at the lower tables, the baron raised his silver goblet and, in a loud voice, declared, “Lords and ladies all! Peace and joy to you this day of celebration in honour of my lady wife’s safe return from her sojourn in Normandie. Welcome,