She feared prison with an icy fear. She feared the hulks. She feared a foreign land and slave labor—perhaps chains, perhaps whips.
She lived with terror night and day and despised herself and held herself so stonily calm and aloof that even Gran noticed and asked her if she was feeling ill.
After several days the fear subsided. But in its place came a loathing even stronger than she had felt before. She could not bear to see him ever again. She could not bear to see him alive and handsome and—yes, and suffocatingly attractive while Eurwyn was long in his grave. Though he was not even there. She did not even have the comfort of a grave to attend. Eurwyn’s remains were somewhere on the ocean floor. She could not bear to see the Earl of Wyvern and remember that she had wanted him the night he had taken her home and kissed her palms.
She even avoided chapel on the first Sunday, persuading her mother-in-law to go for a change instead. Someone had to stay at home with Gran. It was a convenient excuse. She did go on the second Sunday, but shrinking inside with dread. He did not come.
And she went to choir practice on the Thursday following. It was unlikely she would encounter him between Ty-Gwyn and the chapel. She had heard that he had had the salmon weir removed from his land. Perversely, she did not want to believe it. Or she did not want to believe it had anything to do with her or Eurwyn. She did not want him to do her any kindness. Anyway, it had come two years too late. It would not bring Eurwyn back.
Chapter 12
SINGING was a balm to the soul. She had always known it and it was proved again. Even singing to herself while she was about her daily work was soothing. But singing with other people, hearing the richness of harmony all about her and lending her voice to it was as wonderfully soothing as a bathe in the river on a hot day. More so. She prolonged the practice, singing more hymns than they needed for the coming Sunday.
No one objected.
But when she finally signaled the end of practice, Aled jumped to his feet and held up his hands for silence.
“I have something of importance to say,” he said. His face was pale and set, Marged noticed. “Those of you who do not wish to hear it may leave now. There will be no compulsion put upon anyone as there is in some other places.”
Marged’s heart leapt and began to beat uncomfortably. This was it, then. She could tell from Aled’s voice that it was not the usual news of delay that he was about to impart. She looked fixedly at him as a few people got to their feet and left the schoolroom, among them Ceris, who hurried out, her eyes directed at the floor.
“Well,” Aled said when the door had closed again, “the time has come. All is planned. The night after tomorrow. Every man who wishes to follow me should meet me down by the river after dark.”
“Gate breaking?” Dewi Owen asked. “Which one is to go, Aled? Or which ones? I am with you every step of the way, man.”
“I cannot say which,” Aled said. “The less you know the better, Dewi. I am sorry but that is the way it must be.”
“Rebecca?” Marged leaned forward in her chair. “There is a Rebecca, Aled?”
“Yes.” He nodded curtly. “We have found a Rebecca, Marged.”
“Oh, who?” She found that she was agog with eagerness.
He shook his head. “I cannot say that either,” he said. “It is safer for everyone if almost no one knows his identity.”
She was disappointed. “But he is not from here?” she asked. “No, he cannot be. But is he anyone we know? Anyone from close to here?”
“Aled is right, Marged, fach,” Ifor Davies said. “It is better we do not know. No one can squeeze out of us what we do not know, girl.”
“But is he suitable?” She could not let it alone. “He is not someone who has been pressed into it against his will, Aled? Or someone who is merely a daredevil with no sense of responsibility? Or someone who is ruthless and will do more destruction than is necessary?”
“He will do, Marged,” Aled said. “He will be the best Rebecca there has been, I believe.”
She raised her eyebrows. Aled was not given to wild enthusiasms. This was praise indeed.