He said: “We have a long ride ahead of us, Mistress.”

“I wish to go with all speed.”

We did not speak as we rode along and took the road along the coast.

“It is some fifteen miles,” he said. “You see we are not such distant neighbours.”

“More’s the pity,” I retorted.

My mother was safe. I believed that and because I need not fret about her I could think of the enormity of this thing which had happened to me.

I was not the first who had had such an experience. Many men such as he was did not bother to drug their victims first. At least I had been spared consciousness. Whatever he might say, I could not remember what had happened. There were only those vague uneasy stirrings of sensation within me … only the knowledge that I had changed.

The day was bright and sparkling. The wrong sort of day for my mood. It should have been grey, sombre. He broke into song once or twice—they were hunting songs. It was as though he were so pleased with life and himself that he could not suppress his pleasure.

I said nothing except when he spoke to me and then I replied as curtly as I could.

When we had ridden some miles he said our horses should be refreshed and so should we be.

We found an inn and stopped there. He rode into the yard in his bombastic manner which, however, brought him immediate attention. Then while the horses were being looked after we went into the inn parlour, where ale and great pies were set before us.

We were alone in the inn parlour, a fact which did not please me. I would rather someone had been there so that I did not have to talk to him.

“Do not be so downcast,” he said. “A girl should not mourn the loss of her virginity. It’s not all that precious, you know. It is only those who fear they are never going to lose it who have such a high regard for it.”

I was silent.

“You are foolish, my girl. I will not call you by that ridiculous name.”

“I am no girl of yours.”

“But indeed you are my mistress. You know that.”

I rose to my feet and lifted my hand to strike him. He caught it.

“Steady,” he said. “We do not want to make a noise, do we? What if mine host came in? What should I say? She shared my bed last night and now regrets it.”

“You lie.”

“It is you who lie. I speak the truth. I’ll say more. I have a fancy for you … a fair fancy. I’ll marry you.”

“I would never marry you.”

“You might find it right to do so.”

“Right to marry you!”

“’Twas such a night,” he said, staring into his ale, “a rare night. What if you should be with child?”

I stared at him. “It is not possible.”

“We shall see. ’Twould not surprise me. I’d say you were a lusty wench. You’ll breed … you and I together. I’d swear that we had started already.”

“No,” I cried shrilly. “No. Let us go now. I cannot endure any more of your company.”

“Then we shall go. I will take you back to your father’s house.”

“The sooner I am rid of you the better.”

As he went out he said: “Do not hesitate too long. Who knows, I might find someone else to my taste. I am ready for a wife and I am not known for my patience.”

“I shall commiserate with her when the time comes.”

He laughed. “Let us hope it is yourself. Commiserating with oneself is a more frequent habit than with others. My little bird. Pah! Linnet! More like an eaglet I’d say. To me you shall be Girl until you become Wife.”

“I am of the opinion that after today you will never have an opportunity to call me anything.”

“We shall see,” he said.

We rode onward and I was never more pleased to see the familiar portico with the lions on either side. My mother had heard our approach and came running out of the house. Jennet was with her and so was my little sister Damask. I jumped from my horse and threw myself into her arms.

“Dearest child,” she murmured. “Oh my darling Linnet. What a terrible night it has been.”

It was so wonderful to see her before me that I forgot everything else but that we were together. She kept looking at me and I knew what terrible anxieties she had suffered until she had word that I was safe. I trembled to think what she would suffer still further when she knew what had happened to me.

Then I was aware of him. He stood there, his legs wide apart, watching us with an almost benign expression as though he had given us to each other. I wanted to run into the house and hide myself. I saw that he was watching me sardonically. Was he waiting for me to denounce him as my seducer that he might tell them that I had offered no resistance? Did he think they would believe him in preference to me?

Those moments in the courtyard seemed to go on for a long time. It was as though time was waiting for me to act. I could denounce him. What then? My father was not here but when he came back he would kill Colum Casvellyn. Or he might be killed himself. There was no sense in that. What was done was done.

I was amazed at myself. Was I reconciled already? I longed to get away from him and think what I must do. I must wait, brood on what had happened, ask myself what I should do about it.

My mother was saying: “It was good of you to send word that my daughter was safe and again to bring her home as soon as was possible.”

“I only did what any gentleman would do,” he said, inclining his head.

I was hard pressed not to shout at him and denounce him for the wicked creature he was, but I saw that it would only upset my mother more.

“Come into the house and refresh yourself,” said my mother.

She led him into Lyon Court. He complimented her on the charm of the house. “So modern,” he said, “compared with Castle Paling. They built spaciously in the old days but without the same view to comfort. Of course we improve on the Castle from time to time but it is not the same as doing it all in the best possible way first.”

“Old houses are so fascinating though,” said my mother.

“Oh yes. So much has happened in them. When I contemplate the villainies of my ancestors I begin to think the castle must be populated with evil spirits.”

My mother took him into the small room which led from one of the galleries. Damask looked up admiringly at Colum Casvellyn. He must have seemed like a giant to her. He lifted her up and held her high above his head. I was annoyed that she showed her adoration so blatantly.

“Damask has taken a fancy to you,” said my mother.

“And I to Damask. What an unusual name. You have original names in this family.”

My mother looked pleased. She did not see that he was sneering.

“Damask is named after her grandmother. She was born the year Dr. Linacre brought the damask rose to England.”

“And Linnet?” he said, smiling blandly at me.

“We thought she would be a boy and we had decided to call her Penn—a family name. At the last moment we had to change that and she was so like a little bird …”

I felt sick with shame. What had happened to my mother’s good sense? Did she not realize that this man was an enemy? Of course she did not know how he had treated me. She saw him only as my rescuer. I wanted to shout the truth. I had a feeling that he was waiting for me to do so and in fact was rather hoping that I would, but something warned me. Wait, I cautioned myself. Do not act rashly. Think about this.

I was longing for him to leave that I might go to my room. I wanted to take off my clothes, examine my bruises, wash and put on clean clothes. As if I could make myself clean again … ever.

“My dearest Linnet,” said my mother, “you are quite exhausted.”

“I would like to go to my bedchamber and wash and rest …”

“But of course.” She smiled at Colum Casvellyn. “You will understand. But pray do not hurry away. I regret my husband is not at home. We can have a room prepared for you. You will wish to rest a while after your journey.”