Echoes on a Cornish River, page 24
A hundred yards further on, she heads down the track leading to the site. The early morning dawn chorus is all around her, and from somewhere deep in the forest she hears the muffled sound of a woodpecker.
Perhaps it’s not a woodpecker. Maybe it’s William chopping wood.
The thought makes her stomach tighten, and again she’s aware of a flutter deep in her belly, although this time it’s more intense. With increasing excitement she picks up her pace. Soon, she turns onto the newly formed driveway leading to the clearing and the raven flies high into the air, away over the treetops. As she reaches the edge of the forest, Ellinor stops and listens. All is silent and disappointment swamps her, but suddenly she senses a tremble of air through the trees, and a flash of grey morphs into the Irish wolfhound loping towards her.
‘Branok,’ she calls softly, as the dog comes to a halt in front of her.
And then she hears the sound again, resounding around the clearing in evenly spaced intervals. She frowns.
What is that noise? It’s not the drumming of a woodpecker. It’s heavier and deeper.
Smoke rises from the chimney of the simple thatched cottage, and Ellinor notices the leaves are turning golden and russet. She glances up at the sky. Heavy cloud cover – and there’s a sharpness in the air. Rubbing her arms and sternly dispelling any dark notions, she emerges through the trees, feeling the crunch of fallen leaves beneath her feet. As she steps onto the grass and sets off across the glade, she’s aware that Branok falls into step beside her.
Reaching the far corner of the building, Ellinor peers round. At the far side of the clearing stand three tripods made from long branches bound together with hemp, and with large rounds fashioned from straw and other natural materials securely tied to each. A movement to her left makes her turn. William draws back an arrow, the muscles of his right arm taking the strain and displaying high strength. Perfectly toned and balanced, his concentration is intense. Although his body is turned towards her, his eyes face forward, focused on the target. Suddenly he releases the arrow and it flies through the air with a whoosh, quickly followed by a deep thud as it finds the centre of the round of straw. Without taking his eyes from the adjacent tripod, William reaches into his leather quiver, extracts another arrow and positions it on the bow. Drawing back his arm, he releases it. Again, the arrow slices through the air and its tip buries deep in the target. Ellinor watches in awe as William reaches for yet another arrow, and then another; she counts twenty, drawn in quick succession, in less than a minute. When his quiver is empty, William looks over in her direction.
‘Ellinor! How long have you been there?’
‘Not long.’
Glancing briefly at the arrow-filled targets, he walks towards her. ‘That’s enough for now.’
Sudden, acute anxiety besieges her and she smiles weakly. ‘Are you preparing, William?’
‘It’s required of archers to practise every Sunday, but it’s wise to put in the extra work. My lord’s army leaves for Exeter in a few days.’
Ellinor’s face falls and her anxiety turns to fear.
He draws her to him and kisses her softly. ‘Worry not, my love. All will be well.’
‘But it won’t, will it, William? And look!’ She points up to the sky. ‘The weather turns.’
He frowns. Without saying a word, he takes her hand and leads her to the entrance of the cottage. As soon as they enter, Branok lies down across the threshold. William hangs the longbow and empty quiver on a peg on the wall, and removing his leather finger tab and bracer, he throws them onto the top of the wooden chest before approaching her. Urgently, he draws her to him. His kisses are deep and filled with passion, and she can’t resist. His body is battle-ready, and she knows the hardness of him.
‘William,’ she says breathlessly. ‘You must persuade Richard to abandon the uprising. You just have to …’ But again she realises she cannot change the course of history, and her voice trails away.
‘I have done all that I can,’ he says, with a sad smile.
From out of the corner of her eye she notices Branok get to his feet, his hackles raised. Softly he growls. She peers through the open doorway as William walks to the door. Stepping outside, he glances around, but after a few minutes he places a reassuring hand on the hound’s neck.
‘It is nothing, Branok, though it’s good to be vigilant.’
‘What was it?’ Ellinor asks.
‘I thought it may be wolves or wild boar, but it was only the wind in the trees.’
Wolves! Wild boar!
She, too, must be vigilant when she finds herself in this alternative world. Ellinor gazes anxiously out of the open door, but as Branok settles once more, she turns back to William.
Crossing over to the sack cloth and drawing it aside, he rummages in a small wooden box before walking over to her. In his hand is an object that makes her draw in a sharp breath. Dangling between his fingers, in pristine condition, is a length of dark green plaited leather on which hangs the silver Celtic love knot and amber gemstone pendant.
‘I had this made for you,’ he says, ‘as proof of my devotion.’
Ellinor gazes up at him and it’s all she can do to whisper, ‘Thank you.’
She holds up her hair as William fastens the pendant around her neck.
‘I offer you true, steadfast and virtuous love, which will never wane,’ he says in a low voice. ‘And I pledge to defend your honour and be loyal to you to the end of my days. You have my heart, beautiful Ellinor. This I wish you to know.’
A sharp pain stabs at Ellinor’s own heart and she blinks back tears.
‘Don’t cry, my love.’ Gently, William cups her face and lovingly strokes her cheek.
She can hardly breathe. This man, so strong and yet tender in equal measure, is the embodiment of Simon. Is it coincidence, or are she and William destined to continually find each other?
‘William, I am humbled by your words,’ she says, gently fingering the pendant. ‘This is beautiful and I shall cherish it always.’
He smiles down at her. ‘Now, let us eat.’
Much later, oblivious to the lumpy, straw mattress, they lie together in contentment. Their lovemaking has been urgent and full of passion, yet tinged with a longing that Ellinor instinctively knows will never be satisfied … not in this lifetime.
‘William,’ she says softly, as she teases her fingers through the hairs on his chest.
‘Yes, my love?’
She bites her lip. Is it wise to tell him, or should she let history unfold?
When she doesn’t answer, he opens his eyes and glances at her. ‘What troubles you?’
She has to tell him. She takes a deep breath. ‘I found out more about what happens to Richard Edgcumbe after the unsuccessful rebellion.’
William’s brow furrows.
‘He returns to Cotehele,’ she continues quickly, ‘pursued by Richard III’s agent, Henry Trenowth of Bodrugan, who places him under house arrest.’
William’s frown deepens.
‘But Richard escapes by killing a sentry, and he finds a boat that takes him to Brittany and Henry Tudor.’
‘That’s hopeful,’ William says. ‘Sir Henry de Bodrugan is a powerful man. He has a fierce reputation and is notoriously brutal.’
Ellinor shivers. ‘In two years’ time, when Henry Tudor is crowned King, Richard is knighted and ordered to arrest Bodrugan. Historical accounts record that Sir Henry is chased to the edge of the cliffs near his home, where he leaps off and manages to get to a ship sailing to Ireland. Many of his lands and houses are forfeited and, subsequently, some are given to Sir Richard, who is elevated to the Privy Council and becomes a trusted member of the new King’s court.’
William turns to her with a troubled expression. ‘Your foresight puts you in grave danger, Ellinor. Do not repeat what you have told me to anyone, not even Philippa or Ian.’
She shakes her head. ‘I only share my knowledge with you, William, in the hope that it may help you in some way.’
He regards her for a long moment and then kisses her lightly on the tip of her nose. Suddenly rising from the bed, he pulls on his loose-fitting trousers.
‘Are you getting up?’ she asks in surprise.
‘Yes. This is the first sleep.’
She frowns. ‘What’s that?’
‘The first sleep,’ he repeats, as if she should know. ‘Don’t you do this in your time?’
‘No. We sleep through until morning.’
‘There is much to learn of the twenty-first century.’ He shrugs on his shirt and proceeds to lace up the front. ‘This period is called the Watch, and is followed by the second sleep.’
Walking over to the fire, he prods the embers with a poker and throws on a couple of logs.
Ellinor extends out an arm from under the blanket and instantly recoils. As the cold air bites and goosebumps prick her bare skin, she reaches for her jeans and sweatshirt and hurriedly puts them on.
Crossing to the wooden counter, William pours ale into a cauldron and hangs it on an iron hook over the fire.
‘Something to warm you,’ he says, glancing at her.
‘It’s a bit on the cold side!’ she says with a grimace.
He laughs, and her heart squeezes at the sound.
‘Come here,’ he says.
As she walks towards him, he picks up a sharp-edged stone and starts to score the right-hand side of the granite lintel. It’s only then that Ellinor notices the difference between this rubbing stone and the one in her cottage – one of the witch marks is missing. As William works away at the granite, a horizontal line slowly appears. With a sudden rush of recognition, she realises he’s making the inverted triangle – the mark she’s compelled to touch each time she’s anywhere near the granite stone.
‘What are you inscribing?’ she asks.
‘The symbol for Earth,’ he says. ‘It draws attention to nourishment, endurance, the body and nature.’
She watches in fascination. He stops briefly to pour warmed ale into two tankards and passes one to Ellinor, but as the end of the Watch draws near, an inverted triangle is plain to see.
‘Now you,’ William says, holding out the sharp-edged stone to Ellinor. ‘Inscribe a horizontal line towards the lower end of the symbol.’
Now she understands why she’s instinctively drawn to the carving – she had a hand in its creation! As she concentrates on scoring the line, William moves behind her and wraps his arms around her. Tenderly, he places his hands over her stomach and she leans back into his embrace, aware of a deep fluttering sensation beneath the warmth of his palms.
‘We draw this symbol as a prayer to the divine feminine,’ he says softly, ‘and pray for the gift of motherhood, fertility, growth and life.’
Suddenly Ellinor lets out a gasp, as all becomes crystal clear.
Forty-Four
As she turns in William’s arms, the room beyond distorts into a realm of swirling greyness and her heart plummets. She knows only too well what that means.
‘No!’ Ellinor moans. ‘Not yet, please.’
She tries to hold on to William, but even as her hands grab at his shirt sleeves he loses clarity and definition, and as if trying to grasp something as insubstantial as sand running through her fingers, she finds herself clutching at thin air. Wildly, she stares around at the cottage’s timber framework, now enclosed by weatherboarding, and in despair she turns back to the chimney. The hearth is bare and clean, and shows no signs of a recent fire having been lit. As her rational brain kicks in, Ellinor notices the fireplace has been extended and that a substantial oak beam now spans the widened opening, replacing the former granite lintel that had graced it for centuries.
‘William,’ she says with a heartfelt sob, ‘I wasn’t ready to leave.’
A sudden noise puts her on high alert.
‘Ellinor? Is everything OK?’ Jake’s voice comes from someway behind her.
Composing herself, she plasters a smile on her face and turns. ‘Yes, all fine. I see you’ve found a replacement for the granite lintel.’
Leaving the entrance, he crosses the room towards her. ‘I found it in one of the sheds on Father’s farm and cleaned it up. I think it looks good here.’
Ellinor agrees. Sensing that he still eyes her with uncertainty, she quickly moves the subject on to the newly installed weatherboarding.
‘Doesn’t take long, once the framework’s up,’ Jake says. ‘I’ve got a couple of roofers arriving later in the week and the solar panels can be installed. We’ll soon have the building watertight and then we can start on the internals.’
She nods. ‘That’s good.’
He frowns. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ To divert his attention she glances at her watch. ‘Gosh, is that the time? I must be on my way.’
She doesn’t want Jake to scrutinise her too closely. Her heart is breaking and she’s not sure how much longer she’ll be able to keep her emotions in check.
Ellinor exits the building and steps out into early morning sunlight. She never gets used to the fact that when she time travels she can be away for hours and lead a completely different life, and yet she always returns to the exact moment she was transported from, as if time is suspended. Her hand flies to her chest, but the Celtic love knot necklace isn’t there. At least she has it in safe keeping at the farmhouse. It may be battered and worn down by time, but it’s in her possession once again. She glances back at the timber-framed cottage. Even with the newly installed weatherboarding it still looks skeletal, as if it’s a temporary building quickly erected for the purposes of a film set. No doubt, once the roof is on it will appear more substantial. But, oh how she yearns to see that other, older thatched cottage with William at the door and Branok lying across the threshold. She sighs. Yet another reminder that although the past feels forever near, however dear it is to her, all she can do is hold the memories close to her heart.
Ellinor is still standing at the edge of the forest when Jake appears in the doorway. Seeing her there, he strides across the grass towards her.
‘Glad you haven’t gone yet.’ He beams at her. ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got something in the car for you.’
A small frown puckers her forehead as she accompanies him to the Range Rover. Opening the passenger door, Jake extracts a battered leather-bound book from the glove compartment.
‘After you questioned me the other day about my ancestors, I spoke to the family and Great Aunt Maud handed me this. It was her late husband, Ted, who carried out the research, and even though I say it myself he did a fantastic job. He wasn’t a historian, but he was a damn fine amateur and he’s made loads of notes. Fascinating reading … for me, at least. Not sure how interesting it will be for you, mind! But you never know, it may throw some light on what you’ve been searching for.’
Ellinor’s heart pounds. ‘That’s so kind of you to do this for me,’ she says, taking the well-thumbed notebook from him. ‘I promise to take great care of it.’
‘I have no doubt of that.’
‘And I’ll let you have it back as soon as I’ve read it.’
‘Sure,’ the big man says. ‘If there’s anything you want to know about any of the entries let me know. It goes way back to Saxon times. As I said, Great Uncle Ted did a sterling job.’
Turning away, Ellinor hugs the book close to her chest, and it’s all she can do not to break into a run. As she hurries back to the farm, she can hardly contain herself. Her heart races at an alarming rate and she can feel the blood fizzing through her veins.
Maybe … just maybe … today I will have some answers.
Ellinor turns up the drive leading to Comfort Wood Farm. As she enters the courtyard, a couple of swallows swoop low over her head and disappear through the open door of the old cowshed, where Pippa suddenly appears.
‘Hi, Elli. You’re up early!’
‘I went to the cottage for a catch-up with Jake.’ Ellinor colours at the memory of what had really taken place. But she had caught up with Jake, so it’s only a teeny white lie.
‘All OK down there?’ Pippa asks.
‘Great. The roofers are in later this week,’ Ellinor replies. ‘How are your plans for the farm shop shaping up?’
‘Oh, you know me. Brimming with ideas and ideally wanting it done yesterday. However, dear husband – voice of reason – has pointed out a few logistical problems in using this old barn, so we’re rethinking the location. We may get Jake to build a log cabin affair in Penrose Orchard and use that … Once he’s finished building your place, of course.’
‘That sounds a good idea,’ Ellinor says supportively. ‘I thought I’d visit the orchard and read this.’ She holds up the notebook. ‘Jake’s lent it to me. Apparently, his great uncle researched the family tree and his findings are in here.’
Pippa smiles. ‘That’s great. It’s a beautiful day to sit amongst the apple trees and blossoms. I’ll rock by at lunchtime with a picnic if you’re still there and share a glass of wine or two with you.’
‘Perfect!’ Ellinor gives Pippa a wave as she sets off across the yard towards the orchards.
‘See you later,’ Pippa calls out, turning back inside the barn.
Ellinor opens the wooden five-bar gate and walks up the grassy track, pausing to look across the traditional orchard. The mid-morning sun is warm and the chickens scratch for grubs beneath the boughs of the shady trees. As she gazes out over the valley towards the river that snakes unhurriedly through the picturesque landscape towards Plymouth in the far distance, she spots a barn owl flying silently and low over the peacefully grazing sheep in the adjacent field, a vole gripped in its claws. Perhaps it has young to feed, and she wonders if it’s the one that lives in the hayloft next to the farmhouse.
The air is clear and the panoramic vista is in sharp detail. The sea beyond the city shimmers a deep blue, and on the opposite side of the valley, the tors of Dartmoor rise majestically skywards. How different would the landscape have been in the fifteenth century when Richard Edgcumbe escaped house arrest and fled to France in a boat? Ellinor considers the type of vessel it might have been, and for a moment – a trick of the light – she envisages a three-masted sailing ship making its way down the central channel, its rigging glinting silver in the sun. But with a blink of the eye, the vision evaporates, and she knows that in reality it was probably a small boat that had taken him downstream.
