Not This Time

Not This Time

Prologue. Cornwall. 1960

The dog standing on her chest and licking her face forced her to consciousness.

“Alright Kitto, I’m awake.” She pushed the dog to one side and pulled up the edge of her blanket to wipe her face, removing tears as well as canine saliva. “That was a bleddy awful dream. Glad you interrupted it,” she said to the dog. As the dream came back to her, Tegan lifted the blanket again, scrubbing at her mouth till it was red raw.

“It was only a dream,” she told herself, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Rocking back and forth she repeated, “It was only a dream. It didn’t really happen.”

Outside her room the sounds of the day started – gulls calling as they winged past her window, her mother turning on the radio to listen to the morning news. The kettle whistled and there was the clatter of mugs being set on the table. It was time for Tegan to get up and get ready for her wedding.

Chapter Onan, Cornwall, England, 1360

Fourteen-year-old Tegan stood on a stool in her wedding dress. In her haste to get the fitting over with she’d ripped the hem climbing onto the stool, making more work for her exhausted mother. Kneeling before her, Mama began to sew. The needle moving in and out of the cloth with deliberate slowness, as if every stitch mattered.

Around them servants bustled, preparing the great hall of Tintagel castle for the wedding tomorrow. One maid was laying fresh rushes, another delivering ale to new arrivals, a third hurrying past with bundles of bedclothes. Tegan tore her eyes away from the activity to gaze down at her mother. Mama’s grey-streaked hair was slipping from its mantle, her gown stained. Travelling across the moors in November had involved rain and mud and more rain. Poor Mama! Here she was, Mistress Bennett, wife to a wealthy merchant and yet she looked no better than a servant today.

Mama looked up at her and Tegan forced a half-smile onto her face. Tomorrow she would belong to someone else. She wanted to throw her arms around her mother and hold on with all her might, forever and ever.

“Genni has pulled the gown so tight I can’t breathe," she said.

“It is the fashion my lovely,” her mother replied. “You look elegant, especially with the silk girdle.”

“You will have to sew me into these sleeves in the morning. It will be a terrible bother.”

“Between your mother and myself, it will take no time at all.” Their maid Genni appeared, carrying a bolster to add to their bedding. The Bennetts had been allotted a corner of the hall for their lodgings.

Mama began to cough, continuing till she had to drop the needle and press both hands over her mouth.

“Mistress, let me finish the sewing. You can sit by the fire and rest,” Genni insisted. “God knows it’s cold and damp enough in this nook where they’ve tucked us away.”

Tegan leapt down from the stool while the maid led her mistress to the hearth. “It was the drenching we got riding over, wasn’t it Mama? You’ll be well once you’re warm through. I can fetch a posset or maybe they’ve a healer that can make a poultice for your chest.”

Her mother caught her breath. “There is no reason to worry.” Patting her chest, “It would have been more pleasant if your father had not agreed to a November wedding but the Dunstans were anxious to seal the arrangements.”

“To get their hands on the dowry,” Genni muttered. Mistress Bennett shot her a look and the servant bowed her head.

“Shall I go to the kitchens and ask that they prepare you a warm drink?” Tegan asked, “and may I make a quick visit to Kitto so I can see that he is well?”

“We will send Genni on any errands and I am sure your pony is well taken care of. They have fine stables here.”

“But Genni has the gown to finish. Please let me go.” Tegan was a falcon straining at her jesses, eager to escape the confines of the wedding dress.

“It is not seemly,” Mama scolded.

Tegan wanted to argue but settled for glaring at the far end of the hall. A large tapestry was hung there to keep the wind from reaching its fingers between the crannies in the walls. It was John the Baptist’s head on a plate, made more gruesome by the rampant mould eating away his features. Between the smoking fire, the musty hangings and the tight bodice of her dress, Tegan was sure she would suffocate.

Trying another tack, she knelt next to her mother who was now settled on a rough bench by the hearth. “Tomorrow I will be wed, leaving no time to visit the stables. Kitto will think I have forgotten him.” She grasped her mother’s hand, “Please Mama, I only want to make sure he is not frightened by his new stablemates.” She shifted, feeling the prick of new rushes under her knees, “At least let me order you some refreshment.”

Tegan knew she would get her way if she persisted. The marriage pact had been made and the dowry goods - linen, silk, wine and silver plate were even now being catalogued. It was too late for the Dunstan family to change their mind and send her away, no matter how unseemly her behaviour.

Her mother sighed, “There are days I regret giving you that pony. He’s all you ever think about.” She waved her daughter away. “Go on and change out of your finery before you destroy it entirely.” Tegan skipped over to Genni, pulling her behind a privacy screen to have the maid undo the laces of the wedding dress. Back in her plain smock and kirtle, she set out to explore Tintagel, hoping that the stables were more welcoming than the castle itself.

The kitchens would have to me near the main hall. Tegan began weaving her way past a servant carrying firewood, through the trestle tables, stepping over a sleeping body that had rolled off a bench. As she came to a door her path was blocked by a man, broad of shoulder and towering in height. Tegan stepped back but he reached out pinioning her.

“Why, hello little bird.” The stranger took Tegan by the chin and tilted up her face to get a better view. She tried to pull free but his fingers gripped harder. She jutted her chin and with a swallow found her voice.

“Please sir,” for he must be a gentleman as his doublet was of quality wool and decorated with embroidery, “I’m looking for the kitchens.”

“A new servant then? I have not met you yet.” His lips curled into an appraising smile.

Tegan made another fruitless attempt to free herself. “I am not a servant sir. I am the daughter of the house of Bennett and here to be wed to the baron.”

“Are you indeed? How very interesting.” After announcing her credentials, she lowered her eyes, catching sight of her travel-stained skirt, half caught up in her muddy boot. With her free hand, she straightened her garment and waited for him to release her. But he did not. Instead, she was propelled out of the hall into a courtyard where a shaft of sunlight hit the cobblestones. They must be near the stables. Tegan could smell the mixture of hay and manure wafting towards her, making her wish she was in a stall with her pony, leaning into his smooth hide and plaiting his mane. Even more, she wished she was on Kitto’s back, trotting across the moors back home to Falmouth.

Again, the man gripped her by the chin and turned her face this way and that. Then he held her at arm’s length and examined her as a whole. “Lovely, delicate features and those unusual green eyes.” Then his lips pressed together and he shook his head, “yet such narrow hips. Birthing will not come easy to you.”

Her training advised her to be submissive though this stranger had no right to assess her like livestock. It was not her fault that her coltish frame required a few years to grow into womanish curves.

“I have the body the good Lord has graced me with and I am well thankful that it has served me with health so far.”

He let out a snort of laughter. “Indeed, little lady. You are comely enough. Your husband will not have to close his eyes on the wedding night.”

Something squirmed in her belly, a worm wriggling back to earth. “Please sir, I would find the kitchens. My mother begs a soothing infusion and I would ask for a healer to make her a poultice.”

“Is she not well?” Tegan saw his hand make the two-horned sign against evil. The devastation of the plague had not faded in anyone’s memory.

“Only a cough. We met some bad weather on the journey here.”

A knot in his temple unravelled. “Well then, let us ensure she is fit for the festivities tomorrow. I will lead you to the kitchens myself.” He took her arm in his, propelling her towards one of the outbuildings. “But first, my dear, let me see what you taste like.”

Her back was thrown against a wall, the damp stones hard against her spine. Taking her mouth in his, he began to run his hands over her young body. She froze, not even breathing. A hand exploring her backside woke her into a frenzy of struggling limbs but she could not compete with his superior strength.

“Mistress Tegan, where have you got to?” It was Genni’s voice calling from the doorway of the castle.

The interruption loosened her captor’s grip, allowing Tegan to wriggle out of his grasp. She tried to run to Genni but the man pulled her back to him. He tucked a strand of hair back into her cap and straightened her skirt.

“You will need some education. However, it should not take long to train you,” he remarked as he led her towards the kitchens.

The main kitchen was a vast space, swarming with servants chopping vegetables and sides of meat. Steam rose from pots hung over the fires and heat from the ovens wavered in the air. Tegan could feel her already flushed cheeks begin to burn. As she entered with the accoster, the servants looked up in alarm, then dipped into a curtsy or bow.

“Lord, there be a fresh, warm loaf for you ready with some cheese and ale. Do you want it in your chamber? And your bride to be, what would she be needing?” The cook, rivulets of sweat running down her forehead, turned her attention to Tegan who stood open mouthed. She managed to disentangle herself from her intended and took a step back, taking in the full picture of the man who had handled her. His tawny hair was cropped to the shoulder and ice blue eyes pierced her, lips curling in a mocking grin. Handsome yes, but no gentleman. He could not be her betrothed.

Seeing her outraged visage, Baron Dunstan chuckled. Then he reached out and pinched her cheek. “Until tomorrow my sweet.” To the cook, “I will take my repast in the solar.” With that, he left Tegan standing amidst the servants busy preparing her wedding feast.

She bit the inside of her cheek, concentrating on the pain till she could force her mind back to her errand. It would not do for the servants to see her unsettled. She looked about for the cook but the woman had hurried off to prepare fare for the master. Tegan caught at the sleeve of a girl hastening by with two necked chickens and asked if a healer could be found. The girl nodded towards a small boy sitting at the table stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.

“I’ll send the lad off to seek the cunning woman. She’ll find your folks dreckly.”

It was not possible to visit Kitto now. Fighting back tears, Tegan found herself running back to the main castle building, almost colliding with Genni.

“We were worried,” the maid said, guiding her back into the great hall. “There be many strange men about this place.”

“Indeed,” Tegan said with too much emphasis. Genni shot her a look.

“Are you well, Mistress?” Genni had been Tegan’s maid since the girls were ten, though more a playmate than servant. On cold evenings they shared a bed for warmth, whispering and giggling long into the night as young girls do. She had no secrets from Genni but was ashamed to tell her maid what had just happened. Shaking her head, she swiped at a stray tear and rushed towards her mother. If she were still a child, she could crawl into her Mama’s lap and be rocked back to safety. But she was a grown woman now and tomorrow would be marrying a man with hands too strong to resist.

“How was Kitto?” Mama asked when Tegan found her sitting by the fire, breathing in and out with a rattling sound. Her question was followed by a cough that continued until sputum was produced.

“It was as you said. He is being well cared for.” She sat down next to her mother, taking the needlework that Mistress Bennett was working. Tegan would focus on the beautiful stitches and not think for a minute. Mama was finishing a kneeler for her prie-dieu. “You’ve added Kitto, up there in the corner.”

“Your beloved pony; when you have children, he will have to take second place.”

“You will always be first,” Tegan replied, leaning into her mother’s shoulder.

“What about your husband?”

She drew away then. “I do not know where he will go at all.”

Chapter Dew: Cornwall, England 1960

“You don’t need to be all-overish Tegan. You’re marrying a cracking lad.”

Mum was checking the hem she’d stitched on my wedding gown. I’d bought it second hand off a woman whose husband had gone out for a pack of smokes and never returned. She didn’t want any reminders. Maybe not the best aura for my wedding but I didn’t have money to waste on a dress I’d only wear once. Also, the thought of me wearing a gown on its second trip down the aisle drove my future mother-in-law nuts.

“I don’t like being the centre of attention,” I said, pulling the skirt of my gown out of my mother’s hands. The crowd of people waiting to stare at me made my guts twist like an eel on a hook. I’d wanted a registry office wedding. Two witnesses were about all I could handle but Eric, my husband to be, was an actor and would settle for nothing less than a full-on production.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Mum’s brow knitted into a tight knot. How disappointed she would be if I changed my mind. She adored Eric, charmed by his posh manners and clipped vowels. He was the product of an expensive boarding school and came from a proper middle-class family in Fowey. On top of these gifts, Eric was an actor who had once done a guest role on The Archers. For my mother, who served pints in a pub, this was heady stuff. Even she wondered why this prince among men had fallen in love with me, a kennel assistant with limited social skills.

I hadn’t chased after Eric, wonderful catch that he was. In fact, it was Eric that had pursued me. And I had been caught, a deer in the headlights, though it was Mum who was overpowered by his wattage. Marrying Eric meant leaving rural Cornwall to live in London, a city where I knew no one. I was also leaving my kennel job where I worked with Gen, my best friend ever. She accused me letting Eric, ‘yank me along like a dog on a lead’ and there was truth in what she said. What she didn’t understand was that Eric needed me. Behind the charisma was a boy who couldn’t go home to an empty flat at night. There always had to be someone around to applaud him and I was the chosen one. I couldn’t help but be flattered.

Closing my eyes, I pictured my fiancé. He would be wearing a light grey tuxedo that hung on his sculpted body perfectly. His sun-blond hair would frame his face, drawing attention to his ocean blue eyes. When those eyes were turned on me, I was the centre of the universe. His concentration did flit to the next subject, like a mosquito who had his fill. But when he fed on me, I was the feast. And he always came back to me.

“No second thoughts,” I decided. “I just had a weird dream last night.” I took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

My mother put out her hand to stop me as I reached for the door handle of the limousine. “Tell me about your dream. Get it out of your system.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You finally got me the pony I’ve always wanted.” Mum frowned, confused. “I can’t remember the rest,” I lied.

“Well, I’m not sure what a pony has to do with getting married.” She gave me a smile, revealing her chipped tooth, a gift from Dad. “Maybe it means you are getting what you’ve always wanted by marrying Eric.”

Being married wasn’t what I’d always wanted. But it was what Mum wanted for me, seeing that the man offering was a different species from my father. She was my mother and hopefully knew what was best for. God knows, I hadn’t a clue.

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