He needed, as they all knew, the de Burgh power behind him. But, in the event, the de Burgh marriage had been fraught with delay, and it had been only a short while before that Reginald had married his Irish heiress, with his brother Giles officiating at the ceremony.

Among the first favors John had granted after his accession had been the installation of Giles as Bishop of Hereford. She thought back to how William had watched so proudly his tall, copper-haired son, who now sported mitre and cross with much grave dignity. The young man’s calling unnerved William, and filled him with superstitious awe that annoyed and puzzled him, even as he bathed in the glory that his son’s position brought to him.

Matilda smiled quietly to herself. They had been so lucky, on the whole, in their children. Isobel and her husband, Roger Mortimer, had presented Matilda with two grandchildren. Margaret, married five years before, wrote long letters regularly from Ireland, where she now spent most of her time and she too seemed very happy, although the girl did have one sorrow, unskillfully hidden in her letters. This was that no child had as yet been born to her marriage with her beloved, handsome Walter, the Lord of Meath.

“I have vowed, Mother dear,” her latest letter had said, “to found a nunnery to the blessed memory of the Virgin Mary, if she grants my great desire to have a son. And Walter too has made the same vow. He has expressed the longing to found an abbey somewhere in the shadow of Pen y Beacon, perhaps at Craswall, where he holds tenure. Pray for me, Mother dear, that my own prayers may be answered. I hope we may return to Ludlow soon, so that I can see you-”

Only the thought of Tilda brought real sadness. Widowed now for four years, after Gruffydd had died of some sudden, virulent fever, she had helped bury him in his father’s abbey at Strata Florida, but when Matilda wrote to suggest she return to her family, she sent a snubbing reply that it was her intention to bring up her two boys as true sons of Wales and when that task was done she would be content to lie at the side of her husband. There had been no exchange of messages after that, and Matilda nursed her hurt in secret, showing that final letter to no one before she held the parchment in the flame of a candle and watched it blacken and curl in her fingers.

And now Will’s wedding had arrived and with it a new honor for William, for King John, the threat of invasion by Philip of France at last over, had agreed to attend the marriage.

Matilda bit her lip. So once more they shared the same roof together, the three men who so ruled her life: William, the king, and Richard de Clare.

She had been shocked by Richard’s appearance. He had grown thin and stooped since their last meeting, and his skin strangely sallow. His eyes were the same though-as searching and powerful in their hold over her as ever.

He had arrived alone at Bramber with Mattie and his son, Gilbert. It was five years since he had, at last, separated from the embittered Amicia, and she had chosen not to come to her daughter’s wedding feast, a fact that had caused Matilda to send up a prayer of thanks.

Behind her, one of her women appeared and cleared her throat loudly. “My lady, Sir William has asked for you again. His Grace is impatient to proceed.”

Slowly Matilda turned. She smiled. If her eldest son and Richard’s daughter could be happy together, then perhaps, after all, there would have been some point to their own impossible love story.

Too soon the ceremony was over. The chapel was hot and stuffy from the candles and incense and the press of people. As she knelt for the mass following the nuptials Matilda glanced sideways at Richard, who was beside her, and he turned at once, instantly conscious of her gaze. At the altar Giles was the celebrant, attended by his own chaplain from Hereford and the castle chaplain and the priests from the neighboring church at Steyning, all clustered around him like so many highly colored butterflies.

“Are we now brother and sister, my love?” She heard Richard’s whisper over the slow sound of the chanting. They were kneeling so close to one another she felt him stir and then his fingers feeling for hers hidden by the stiff folds of her kirtle.

A happy warmth filled her heart. “For always, Richard,” she murmured back, and for a moment they looked at each other again. On her other side William, unaware of anything but the mystery before him, knelt, his eyes fixed to the altar. In front, the newlyweds shared a faldstool together, solemn-faced, intent on the words their brother was uttering, while the king also knelt on the purple velvet of a cushion to one side of the sanctuary steps.

Matilda’s happiness was so complete it was a shock to find John’s gaze not on the mass but fixed on the place where an embroidered fold of damask hid her hand as it lay still gently clasped in Richard’s.

Slowly John raised his eyes to hers and she saw the hardness in them masked only by a slight speculative frown.

33

The Porsche turned cautiously up the steep lane following its bumpy twists and turns as Nick peered through the windshield and then down at the ordnance survey map on the seat beside him. He was very tired.

After drawing the car up next to Jo’s at the top of the lane, he climbed out at last, staring at the view in silence. Then something made him turn.

Jo was standing behind him in the doorway to the farmhouse. She was far more tanned than he remembered, her face and arms burned like a gypsy, her long hair caught back on the nape of her neck. She was wearing a simple white dress and low-heeled sandals and looked, so he thought with a pang of strange fear, almost supernaturally beautiful. Slowly he swung the car door shut.

“How are you, Jo?”

She still had not smiled. “How did you know where I was?”

“Someone told me you were back in Wales so I drove to Hay. Margiad said you were up here.” He had not moved.

She watched him warily. His face was thin and there were lines of fatigue beneath his eyes and around his mouth, but he was still in her eyes the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was wearing an open-necked blue shirt and cords. “You’ve seen the article?” she said softly.

He nodded.

“Is it true?”

For a moment he didn’t reply, then slowly he nodded. “I think it probably is.”

Behind her Ann had emerged from the low shadowed building. She looked at them in silence for a moment, then she held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Ann,” she said.

“Nick Franklyn.” Nick moved forward at last and gripped her fingers for a moment. “I’m sorry to arrive unannounced. I meant to call from Hay, then I thought perhaps I’d better surprise you-”

“In case I ran away?” Jo said.

“Under the circumstances I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.” He forced himself to smile at Ann. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding-”

“You’re not. I’m glad you’re here. And you’re in perfect time for a drink. Ben has promised we can resort to gin tonight after inflicting home brew on Jo all yesterday, so you picked your moment well.” Ann turned. “Jo. You promised Bill and Polly you would build one more sandcastle before they went to bed.”

She watched as Jo disappeared into the farmhouse. “She said she never used to like kids,” she said reflectively, looking after her. “Till she had six of her own.” She gave a wry little laugh. “Now she’s great with them. Better than me.” She linked arms with Nick and led him toward the stone wall that bounded the garden at the western end. They stopped and leaned on it, staring at the mountains in the distance. A smoky haze was beginning to shroud the valleys round their feet.

“Jo has told us something of her story,” Ann said reflectively after a moment. “She has asked me to help her, and I want to.”

“I gather she has decided to stop the whole thing.”

“She can’t stop, Nick.”

Nick sighed. He said nothing, his eyes on the distant view.

“She showed me the article about your experiences,” Ann went on after a minute.

Nick slammed the palm of his hand down on the top of the wall. “My ‘experiences,’ as you call them, were not genuine,” he said forcibly. “Most of that article was a load of rubbish.” He swung to face her. “It has to have been!”

Ann looked at him seriously, trying to read the expression in his eyes-the anger, the frustration, and, yes, the fear. It was all there for a moment before the shutters came down and she saw his face close.

“Most?” she said softly. “Then some of it was true?”

He leaned against the wall, facing her now. “I find it strange she should confide so completely in people she barely knows,” he said with sudden harshness, ignoring her question.

Ann smiled. “There’s a reason. I do know something about hypnosis-and about past life recall-but I hope it’s more than that. I hope we have become her friends as well. I can’t take the credit for it if we have, though. That’s Ben. Everyone trusts Ben.” She glanced away almost shyly. “I hope you will too.”

As if on cue, Ben appeared from behind the house carrying a basket loaded with vegetables. He raised an earthy hand and disappeared in through the front door.

Ann stood up. “Come and meet him, then we’ll get you that drink. Jo must be about ready for rescue from our kids by now.”


***

They ate outside by candlelight beneath a luminous sky streaked with shooting stars. In the valley they could hear the yap of a hunting owl and, closer at hand, the thin whisper of upland crickets.

Ben pushed back his plate. “That was lovely, Annie. You excelled yourself, my dear.”

She smiled at him dreamily. “And my reward? Will you fight the filter, just this once?”