evening to you, Father.’
The tension lifted. Robbie dropped Roger’s hand and turned back to Rowenna. She could not read his expression.
‘You devious wench! You gave me no idea my family was here also.’
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ she said. It had seemed such a good idea, but now she was not sure.
Robbie crossed the room and took her face between his hands, turning it up to him, his marble expression softening. Her skin began to prickle with the anticipation that he was about to kiss her, but he only laughed.
‘That you did.’
For the first time they were looking properly into each other’s eyes in the light. She examined Robbie’s with interest. They were greenish brown with flecks of a darker shade that reminded Rowenna of the burnt-sugar syrup her mother made to drizzle over Lent cakes. She licked her lips at the thought of them. Robbie smiled, creating tiny half circles at each side of his mouth. Rowenna wanted to dip her fingernails into them and trace the shapes.
She became aware that they were being watched. All four parents were standing by, observing Robbie holding her in such a familiar manner while she gazed at him like a newborn calf at its mother. An unfamiliar feeling of self-consciousness overcame her and she stepped back hastily before she inadvertently let anyone guess that her thoughts were careering off in wild directions.
If anyone noticed her reaction, it was her mother alone. Joanna Danby called Rowenna through to the storeroom to help serve the wine.
‘Robbie is looking well, isn’t he?’ Joanna remarked as she placed cups on Rowenna’s tray. ‘He looks so much like Lucy it’s quite startling.’
If this was a hint that Rowenna should spill out her thoughts of how well Robbie had grown, she was determined to ignore it. The strength of the feelings that had assaulted her on seeing him again was something she wanted to consider in private.
‘He’s grown too tall to be Lucy’s son,’ she said gaily. ‘He even towers over Uncle Roger. They look nothing alike.’
Joanna looked at her daughter thoughtfully and it seemed as if she was about to speak, but Rowenna was well practised at holding her mother’s gaze with an innocent expression and Joanna said nothing more to her. Rowenna bustled back through with cups of wine to discover that already the men were already arguing.
‘By unorthodox means, but de Quixlay is better for the city than Gisbourne was!’ Her father clapped his hands together loudly in emphasis. ‘He’s less corrupt and the fines he imposes are fairer.’
Uncle Roger strode towards Rowenna and scooped up a cup with a nod of thanks, then turned back to his brother. ‘That wasn’t the tune you were dancing to when the Common Hall was stormed last year!’
Hal glowered. ‘Of course not! Only a fool would welcome violence in the streets, but Gisbourne had been minting his own coin and ruling by means that…’
Rowenna never discovered what means he had been ruling by, because her mother marched to the centre of the room in a flurry of skirts and held her hands up.
‘I will not have this argument again!’
Joanna folded her arms over her chest and Rowenna knew the matter was finished. Her mother was a short woman, wide-hipped and buxom, who had raised four children and could command attention from everyone in the building with a single frown. She gave such a look to her husband and brother-in-law, who both became intensely interested in the contents of their wine cups. Joanna smiled.
‘Not when we have guests and this should be a night of celebration. Rowenna, bring your cousin a cup of wine and we’ll toast his safe return.’
Rowenna did as bid and squeezed beside Robbie on the settle beside the hearth. It was her father’s house, but Hal held his hand out, palm upward, and invited Roger to speak. Roger formally welcomed Robbie back and wished him well in the tournament. Everyone cheered. Aunt Lucy sniffed. Roger slung his arm around her and kissed her full on the lips, which caused his daughters to protest loudly with embarrassed groans and Lucy to swat him away with a hand. Despite her outward disapproval, she leaned against him and rested her hand on his waist, Rowenna noticed. The argument was forgotten and the mood was merry.
‘Do our fathers quarrel often?’ Robbie asked quietly.
‘Oh, all the time. They never fight in a serious manner, but more so since the unrest in the city last year,’ Rowenna replied, taking a sip of wine. She wrinkled her nose, never much liking the sickly burning sensation in this particular wine. ‘Both of them are as determined to be right as they always were.’
Robbie looked across at his father and his expression darkened a little. Did that explain the unexpected coolness between them?
‘I remember. It seems there is unrest everywhere,’ he said with a frown.
‘Oh, don’t say that or they’ll start off again. You have no idea how persuasive I had to be to get Father to let me come to York this week! He thought I should stay safely in Ravenscrag in case there was any more trouble. I have to behave or he’ll never let me attend the feast at Midsummer and I can’t bear to miss that.’
Robbie gave a deep-throated laugh and tilted his cup towards her in salute. ‘I can imagine you could persuade anyone if you got it in your mind to do so.’
Rowenna leaned back contentedly, wriggling the brightly coloured, padded mats into place behind her. The settle was small and her leg and arm were squashed slightly against Robbie’s, which Rowenna was more than happy with. The room was slightly stuffy and she felt a little sleepy. It would be so nice to rest her head on Robbie’s shoulder and drowse beside him. Joan went to bed, complaining she could not stay up. Anne and Lisbet sat with Ralf and teased Simon the puppy and two of the young cats that had slunk in. Her father and uncle had taken seats beside their wives on the settle opposite Rowenna and Robbie.
The evening passed far too quickly. Robbie obligingly answered question after question about his life in Sir John’s household, though Rowenna could tell he found speaking so much a trial.
‘I m-must leave now,’ he said eventually.
It was a signal for everyone to go to bed. Rowenna began to gather the cups and took them into the storeroom. Robbie followed, bringing the jug. She stowed it back on the shelf and turned to go back into the room, but Robbie caught her hand to hold her back. She was startled when she saw how serious his expression was.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘Dare I tell you?’ he asked, more to himself than her, glancing back to the noisy room they had just left.
‘Tell me what? You know you can always tell me anything.’
‘When Sir John talked of us m-marrying earlier, what did you think he meant?’
Rowenna tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘I suppose he thought that as cousins we might be expected to wed. I haven’t really given it much thought.’
‘What if I told you I do plan to m-marry? That is, I hope to…’ he said, his voice low.
He looked hesitant, his warm eyes filling with a light that could only be described as adoring. Rowenna blinked. The conversation had taken an unexpected, but not unwelcome, turn. Her heart began to race, drumming a beat beneath her ribs that felt violent enough to break them.
‘Tell me,’ she breathed.
She would accept him, of course. For years she had idly daydreamed that Robbie would return and marry her since his jest the night before he had left. She had never met another man she preferred and she would be able to enjoy her stay in York without the task of trying to find a husband who would marry a bastard’s daughter.
‘Her name is M-Mary.’ Robbie’s eyes burned with passion.