Echoes on a Cornish River, page 26
His look is incredulous. ‘It is not wise to be abroad in the forest.’
Her thoughts go into freefall. With sudden, shocking certainty, Ellinor realises what she’s stumbled upon and she tries hard to rein in her emotions. She’s about to speak when footsteps thunder by and Richard clamps a gloved hand over her mouth. Feeling faint, Ellinor shrinks back and concentrates on even breathing through her nose. She cannot have a panic attack now! More shouts. But all at once, as quickly as they had intruded in on the tranquillity of the woodland, the sounds fade into the distance.
‘I beg your forgiveness,’ Richard says, removing his hand from her face, ‘but we must not be found.’
‘I understand,’ she says quietly.
He stares at her, his expression revealing a mix of high anxiety and determination.
‘Bodrugan’s men search for me,’ he explains gravely.
‘I know,’ she says. ‘Fill your cap with stones and throw it in the water. His men will think you’ve drowned while attempting to escape via the river.’
His eyes widen. ‘Mistress, you have read my exact thoughts!’
She smiles weakly. ‘Do it now.’
His hands sweep the ground, searching for suitably sized rocks. Finding some, he removes his cap and wraps them in it.
With one last peek through the foliage, he turns to her. ‘If I make it to freedom you will be handsomely rewarded, Mistress Eleanora.’
‘Go,’ she whispers, ‘and may the gods be with you.’
She wonders if that’s the right thing to say – is a belief in the gods blasphemous in fifteenth-century England?
Without hesitating, Richard slips silently from the bush and makes his way precariously down the hillside towards the water, and Ellinor is left alone in the hiding place with a pounding heart and the blood roaring in her ears. A minute later, she hears a splash, followed by a series of urgent shouts, and she cowers as four soldiers rush by. Standing at the edge of the plateau, they peer down into the murky river. They’re so close, she can smell the stench rising from their bodies. Desperate not to gag, she covers her nose with her hand.
‘Look!’ one of the men exclaims. ‘Over there! A cap.’
Keeping as silent and as still as a hunted mouse, Ellinor watches wide-eyed through the bush as the foot soldiers lean over the edge of the embankment and scan the swirling waters below. In broad Cornish accents they discuss whether Richard Edgcumbe is attempting to escape by swimming to safety. But eventually, with no signs of the wanted man, they give up their search.
‘The traitor must have drowned,’ one soldier proclaims.
‘Good riddance,’ says another. ‘Saves the cost of an execution.’
‘I was looking forward to that!’ retorts another.
‘God has done us a favour,’ adds the fourth man.
Turning away from the river, the soldiers head off into the surrounding woodland and Ellinor lets out a long, shuddering breath. As the enormity of what she’s just witnessed kicks in, adrenalin courses through her body and she starts shaking again, and she remains hidden in the thicket for a long time, too cautious to venture out. The hiding place feels insubstantial and Bodrugan’s men may still be searching the woodland. It wouldn’t do to be discovered. But after a while, realising she can’t stay here forever and with cramp setting in, she moves.
‘And what have we here?’
It takes a moment for the man’s voice to penetrate through to her brain, but when it does, she freezes. As the point of a sword is thrust into the bush, parting the branches and exposing her, Ellinor looks on in horror at the dark shape rearing above her, like some demonic figure.
‘A handsome maid indeed, and all a-tremble!’ The man’s accent is thick and regional.
Pressing the tip of his blade into the skin beneath her chin, he forces her to tilt her head and look up. Ellinor’s eyes open wide in terror as they meet his, and memories of the incident that so easily could have ended in disaster come flooding back. The helmeted figure towering over her is none other than the deranged assailant on board that flight. But how is he here? Has fear caused this hallucination?
‘Maybe I’ll have my way with you before I run you through.’ He gives a callous laugh as he puts pressure on the hilt of the sword. ‘Come, my pretty. On your feet.’
Ellinor winces as the blade presses her skin to breaking point. Desperately, her eyes search for an escape, but with a twitch of the sword the man forces her to scramble up from her crouching position, despite the excruciating cramp in her right leg. Madness lurks in his eyes, and as his free hand fumbles with the buckle of his belt, he swears loudly. She wonders if this is enough of a distraction to give her the chance to run, but the next moment he slides the sharp edge of the sword’s blade from her chin, teasing it over the soft skin of her neck, and pointing the tip at just below her ear … at the top of her scar. As if he knows its position!
What Godforsaken nightmare have I landed in? And how the hell am I going to evade this man’s obvious intentions? No burly rugby player is going to come to the rescue this time.
Relishing the tease, the man moves the sword slowly down her scar and as the blade bites deep, the wound reopens. Suddenly realising what he’s doing, she lets out a shriek.
‘Shh … my pretty!’ he says with a grin. ‘Don’t spoil the fun.’
Ellinor feels sick, and as the blood flows down her neck and her stress levels rise, she experiences a terrifying sensation of ice sliding into her bowels. Automatically, her hands protectively cover her stomach. She can’t lose the baby! Feeling powerless against her adversary, she tries to remember all the calming techniques her therapist had showed her, but however she considers her predicament, it is dire. But she cannot die here. What would happen to her body in her own time? Would it be found and her death simply written off as unexplained? She must not die! She has too much to live for. She cannot leave Simon, not when they’ve only just rediscovered each other. And she certainly won’t allow this deranged assailant to threaten her liberty again.
The man grunts as he makes clumsy attempts to remove his trousers, and cursing loudly, he glances down. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration, Ellinor tries to escape but immediately his eyes snap back to her.
‘So … a feisty mare. Just as I like ’em.’
Removing his helmet, he takes a step towards her and Ellinor screams. The sound echoes chillingly around the dark woodland and she hears the raven call a harsh warning signal. And then, from some way off, a loud and insolent whistle. As the man glances in the direction of the noise, a cold rush of air darts past Ellinor’s right ear.
‘What the––’ But her assailant’s sentence is cut short.
Uncomprehendingly, Ellinor looks on as his lascivious expression turns to one of utter astonishment and shock. As the sword drops from his hand, the man’s eyes open wide and a trickle of blood oozes down the centre of his face from where the arrow has found its mark, embedded deep in his forehead. Gloved hands flail as they try and fail to grasp the shaft of the weapon, and his body sways. Suddenly his eyes roll back into their sockets, and moments later the man keels over backwards, and straight as a ramrod, he crashes to the ground. As the life drains from his twitching body, Ellinor’s hand flies to the wet scar on her neck. It throbs badly and blood oozes between her fingers, and all at once her legs buckle. Collapsing to the forest floor, she gulps back sobs and tries to quell her terror.
‘Ellinor!’
Hands reach for her and William’s face swims into focus, as she glances up through misted eyes.
‘The bastard hasn’t injured you, has he?’ His voice is harsh with concern.
The lump in Ellinor’s throat makes it impossible for her to answer, and she simply reaches for him. Anger pools in William’s eyes, as he notices the blood on her hand. But as soon as his fingers close around her wrists, the surrounding woodland fades and the scene slides to an undulating, watery world. She tries to hold on to him, even though she knows it’s pointless, because there’s nothing she can do to prevent him from disappearing.
‘William,’ she mouths silently.
His look turns from anger to frustration, and then despair, and as the swirling greyness encroaches, she hears his words.
‘I promise you, my beautiful Ellinor. Even if it should take many centuries, I will find my way back to you.’ His eyes bore into hers, as unwittingly she is pulled away.
Ellinor cries out. Closing her eyes, she lets out a sob.
‘It’s OK, Elli. I’ve got you.’
Instantly her eyes snap open and she gazes up into Simon’s smiling face.
‘Can’t have you disappearing down that mudslide into the water.’
As nausea and keen yearning claim her, she bends over and retches.
‘Are you all right?’ Simon asks with concern. ‘I saw you fall.’
She retches again. It’s as if her body tries to expel all that it’s been through. If only her mind will expel it too. Clinging to her husband’s firm grip, she glances towards the river meandering untroubled some way below. The ground where she sits is scuffed and disturbed, as if an animal has either scrambled up the bank or slid down to enter the river.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asks in bewilderment.
‘You said you were visiting the chapel, so I thought I’d come and look for you.’ Simon pulls her to her feet.
Ellinor gazes at the little stone building sitting peacefully in its tranquil setting. On the slate roof standing sentinel next to the Celtic cross is the raven.
‘Prruk-prruk,’ it croons softly, looking her straight in the eye.
‘Are you OK?’ Simon asks, brushing mud from her jeans.
Her hand flies to her neck.
‘Does your scar hurt? Here, let me take a look.’ He gently prises away her fingers. ‘It’s very raw. We should put some aloe vera on that.’
‘Is it bleeding?’
‘No, but it looks angry and red.’
So, the reopened wound hasn’t accompanied me into this timeline.
‘I’m OK, Si,’ she says, resting her hands on his shoulders. ‘But I’d like to go back to the farmhouse now.’
Epilogue
As her pregnancy progresses, Ellinor experiences no further timeslip episodes to that other world. Whether it’s due to hormonal changes or something else, she’s unsure; it’s as if she’s lost the capacity to visit that time. But sometimes, in dreams, through a heavy veil she catches glimpses of William, and occasionally – in the moments between sleep and waking – she hears his voice.
‘Never fear, my love. Whatever may come, I will always walk with you on distant paths.’
Each time she wakes to keen longing, but she soon refocuses on the present. Watching the changes to her body is exciting, and because of her medical history Ellinor attends many appointments with various health professionals, which keeps her firmly in the here and now. She also picks up a paintbrush again and is surprised at how her paintings have transformed. No longer are her canvases and sketchbooks covered in dark, jagged, brutal images, full of anger, but, instead, peaceful, pastoral scenes of the surrounding Tamar Valley countryside. One day, while cajoling Rufus and Rusty to pose for her, she further surprises herself by discovering a talent for creating whimsical animal characters, full of charm.
Comfort Wood Orchards officially launches its cider and the business takes off, with interest coming in from many different quarters – not only Michelin-starred restaurants in the county, but also countrywide. Simon sets up a successful meeting with the head of Harrods Food Halls, and based on the number of crates the company orders, he brings forward his departure from his marketing job in London and decamps full-time to Cornwall. Both he and Ellinor agree not to hurry their decision over the Surrey house, and they have no trouble renting it out through an executive letting agency.
‘OK, Mrs Forrester. How shall we do this?’ Simon asks with a grin.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I have to carry you over the threshold of our new home.’
‘No way!’ she exclaims. ‘You’ll give yourself a hernia getting this Heffalump into the cottage. And anyway, that’s for newly-weds.’
‘But I insist,’ he says, attempting to sweep her off her feet. ‘And it is as though we’re newly-weds. It’s a new start for the both of us.’
She laughs. ‘You’ll do yourself a mischief.’
Valiantly attempting not to drop her, Simon staggers a few steps towards the door before admitting defeat.
‘Maybe I was being a tad optimistic,’ he says, carefully putting her down.
‘Told you so.’ Ellinor laughs again. ‘But you do realise you’ve created a rod for your own back, Simon Forrester. Now that you’ve shown your chivalrous side, I expect to see it more often.’
He pulls a mock-horrified face.
Spotting something over her shoulder, he says, ‘Look, Elli. Branok’s brought a friend to welcome us.’
She turns and smiles. Hopping into the centre of the clearing is the raven, and with him is another.
‘Did you know they pair for life?’ she remarks.
‘As I’ve said before … you, dear wife, amaze me with your newfound knowledge.’
Ellinor turns towards him. ‘I hope they stick around.’
‘I can’t imagine for one moment that Branok will let you out of his sight.’
As they enter the cottage beneath the granite lintel – its witch marks clearly displayed – Ellinor stops and glances around. A huge smile lights her face as she takes in the white-washed walls, the honey-coloured wooden flooring and the substantial oak beams spanning the room. It’s cosy, comforting and homely – just as she’d envisioned it would be once the build was complete. Jake and his army of men pulled out all the stops so that the cottage would be ready in time for Christmas; they’ve even managed to finish with a week to spare. Glancing at the enlarged inglenook, Ellinor crosses over to it, remembering how she and William had stood in this very spot, and, together, carved the fertility witch mark into the granite lintel when it had spanned the smaller fireplace. Suddenly Simon’s arms encircle her.
‘I can no longer touch my fingers around your middle!’ he teases, dropping a tender kiss beneath her ear.
She smiles. ‘See, I told you I’d morphed into a Heffalump!’
‘And a blooming beautiful one at that.’
Her smile broadens.
Tonight will be the first time they’ve stayed in their new home, and tomorrow they will put up Christmas decorations in the cottage and the connecting glassed living area. After all, being seven months pregnant won’t stop her from throwing the ‘open house’ she’d promised Jake back in the spring. Ellinor fingers the restored Celtic love-knot pendant and amber stone, which she wears all the time, now that she has a plaited green-leather necklace for it.
Simon drops his arms. Walking to the far end of the room, he opens the door to the kitchen and peers in at the bespoke wooden kitchen units.
‘The craftsmanship in this place is second to none. Jake has really come up trumps for us, hasn’t he, Elli?’
‘He certainly has,’ she replies, noticing that someone has thoughtfully laid a fire in the hearth, just waiting to be lit. ‘If it hadn’t been for his numerous trade contacts, I’m sure we’d still be relying on Ian and Pippa’s generosity to provide a roof over our heads.’
Simon gazes down the room at his wife. ‘It’s curious how things have fallen into place. I mean, I hadn’t planned on being here until next spring but with the cider business taking off so spectacularly, it seems as if I was meant to be here sooner.’
‘All things happen at the right time,’ she says quietly, listening to the sound of her husband’s footsteps crossing the wooden floor to the front door.
‘This old granite lintel looks brilliant here at the entrance.’
Ellinor smiles to herself. ‘I agree.’
‘May the road rise up to meet you; may the wind be always at your back; may the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields; and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.’
His voice sounds muffled, as if coming from a very great distance, and a sudden tingle teases its way up Ellinor’s spine.
She turns. ‘What was that?’
‘Oh, it’s an old Celtic blessing,’ he says, running his hand over the witch marks.
She stares at her husband’s back. ‘But you don’t know any Celtic blessings … Or at least, I didn’t think you did.’
He turns towards her. ‘Oh, there’s much to discover about me.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asks in bemusement.
‘Don’t you remember?’ He walks towards her, eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘I once made a promise that if it should take a thousand years I would find my way back to you, my beautiful Ellinor.’
‘Simon!’ she exclaims, deeply searching his bright blue eyes.
He holds her gaze.
As incredible possibilities gallop through Ellinor’s mind, like the synchronising cogs of a wheel, a fantastical idea falls flawlessly into place.
‘William?’
Did Ellinor and William’s timeless love story take your breath away? Then why try Into a Cornish Wind – another heartwarming romance set on the Cornish coast by Kate Ryder. Available now!
And make sure you keep reading for an exclusive extract…
Acknowledgements
When I started writing this book, I had no idea what a Herculean task I had set myself. The amount of historical research and necessary fact-checking was quite something! I am in awe of those authors who write historical fiction and I hope that I have done justice to this period.
Huge thanks to Team Embla for their ongoing dedication in producing and marketing my books. To my editor, Melanie Hayes, for not only providing excellent constructive criticism and teasing out the best in this novel, but also for her understanding and flexible attitude during a time when my health was not at its best; Emma Rodgers for the enchanting cover design that so cleverly captures the essence of the story; Emily Thomas, copy editor, for her thorough and proficient suggestions and guidance; and Michelle Bullock and Robin Seavill for their eagle-eyed proofreading. As always, many thanks to my agent, Hannah Todd, of the Madeleine Milburn Literary & TV Agency – serendipity was certainly at play the day our paths crossed.
