No. I had wakened in the night. What had awakened me? Some instinct? Some premonition? And then I had looked and seen the ship.

Or had I dreamed it? There had been such talk of ships on the previous night; those men—and particularly the young man—had forced themselves into my mind so that I could not forget them. Perhaps it had been a dream. But of course I had awakened. I had seen the ship. But because of the pictures those two men had conjured up in my mind had it seemed so grand and glorious?

I knew of course what I had seen, but I was not going to mention it. Honey and Edward would think I had been too impressed by the Pennlyons and that was the last thing I would admit.

At Trewynd I rode a frisky little mare. I had been completely at home on a horse since I was a child. We were all taught to ride at an early age, for if one were to rely on one’s legs one would never get far from home.

I liked to ride out every day and alone. I hated to be accompanied by a groom, which I suppose I should have been. My little Marigold knew me well; she had traveled with me from the Abbey; we understood each other and the sound of my voice could both soothe and command her.

On that morning after the Pennlyons’ visit I rode out, but as I left the stables I heard Jake Pennlyon’s resonant voice. So he had called already. I congratulated myself on having escaped him. I loved the countryside; it was different from that around the Abbey. Here there were steep hills, winding paths, pinewoods and the foliage was more lush because it was warmer than in the southeast and there was so much rain. I imagined what flowers there would be in the springtime, and was looking forward to that season when I asked myself if I intended to stay away from home for so long.

While I was musing I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs behind me, and turning my head, I saw Jake Pennlyon galloping up, riding a powerful white horse.

“Oh,” I said flatly.

“They told me you had gone out, so I trailed you.”

“Why did you do that?”

“To have speech with you, of course.”

“We talked only last night.”

“But we have a great deal to say to each other.”

“I did not think that.”

“Well, mayhap it is I who have a great deal to say to you.”

“Perhaps some other time.” I pressed my heels into Marigold’s flanks and she started off, but he was beside me; I knew at once that Marigold could not outdistance his powerful steed.

“A sailor can’t afford to beat about the bush. One thing he is short of … is time.”

Realizing that I could not escape him, I slowed up.

“Well, pray say what it is and I will continue my ride.”

“We can chat comfortably as we continue our ride.”

“I did not ask you to accompany me.”

“What matters that? I asked myself.”

“You don’t hesitate to press your company even though it may not be wanted?”

“I don’t hesitate when I’ve made up my mind that I want something.”

“And what pray do you want now?”

“You.”

I gave a short laugh. “You have strange desires.”

“Very normal ones, I do assure you.”

“I know you scarcely at all. We have met but once.”

“Twice,” he corrected me. “Have you forgotten our encounter on the Hoe? That was when it all began.”

“I was not aware that anything had begun.”

He seized Marigold’s bridle. His face was grim, cruel suddenly. “You must not deny the truth to me, Mistress,” he said. “You know what has begun.”

“And you it seems know more of me than I know myself—or so you would have me believe. I am not one of your friends who comes when you beckon and pants with glee when you whistle her as you would your dog.”

“I should always call you by your name and you could always have a higher place in my estimation than that I reserve for my dogs.”

“When do you sail?” I asked.

“Two months from now.”

“So long?” I asked.

“So short,” he replied. “There is much to be done in those two months. I have to victual my ship, overhaul her, make her seaworthy, get my crew and woo a lady … all at the same time.”

“I wish you good fortune.” I turned Marigold toward the Trewynd estate. “And now I will bid you good-bye, for I am not going your way.”

“Indeed you are, for your way is my way.”

“I am going back to the stables.”

“You have just ridden out.”

“Nevertheless, I am going back,” I said.

“Stay and talk with me.”

“I must say good-bye.”

“You are afraid of me.”

I looked at him scornfully.

“Then if not,” he retorted, “why won’t you stay and talk with me?”

“Certainly I am not afraid of you, Captain Pennlyon. But pray say what it is you have to say and I’ll be gone.”

“I was taken with you the first time I saw you and I don’t think you were unaware of me.”

“There are several ways of being aware.”

“And you were aware of me in many ways.”

“I thought you insolent … arrogant…”

“Pray don’t spare me,” he mocked.

“The sort of person I have no great wish to meet.”

“And yet whom you cannot resist.”

“Captain Pennlyon,” I said, “you have too high an opinion of yourself and your ship.”

“My ship at least is the finest that sailed the ocean.”

“I saw a finer last night,” I was goaded to say.

“Where?”

“In the bay.”

“You saw the Rampant Lion.”

“She was there, but there was this other which dwarfed her and was twice as magnificent.”

“You may mock me but pray not my ship.”

“I mock no one. I merely state a fact. I looked from my window and saw the most beautiful ship I have ever seen.”

“The most beautiful ship you have ever seen is the Rampant Lion.”

“No, this was indeed more majestic and fine. She was so tall and lofty … like a castle afloat.”

He was looking at me intently. “Did you see how many masts she had?”

“Four, I think.”

“And her decks … were they high?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so. She was so tall … I did not know ships could be so tall.”

He seemed to have forgotten his interest in me. The ship of the night had driven all other thoughts from his mind.

He questioned me avidly. I answered as best I could, but my knowledge of ships was sparse. He made no protest as I walked my horse back to Trewynd stables; he merely kept pace with me, firing questions at me, exasperated because I could not describe in detail the ship I had seen.

He burst out suddenly: “It could not be. But by God’s Death, it would seem that you are describing a Spanish galleon.”

I had not realized how fervently religious Edward was. At the Abbey my mother had never instilled one doctrine into me rather than another. Her ideal had been tolerance and I knew that she did not think that the manner of worship mattered so much as that one lived as Christian a life as was possible. She had once said to me: “It is in people’s actions toward their fellowmen that we perceive their religion. What virtue is there in praising God if one is cruel to His creatures?”

Few people were in agreement with her. The last Queen and her ministers had burned people at the stake not because they had robbed or murdered but because they did not believe according to Rome.

And now we had turned around and the religious laws which had existed in Mary’s reign were abolished and those of her predecessor’s time were restored. The Protestant religion was in the ascendancy and although there might not be a recurrence of the Smithfield fires it was dangerous to go against the spiritual domination ordered by the Queen.

Whether our Queen was firm in her views or not, I could not be sure. The dangerous years when she had come close to losing her head would be remembered by her; then she had prevaricated, although perhaps she had leaned toward the Reformed Faith; and indeed had she not, she might not be on the throne this day.