Duarte's Child

One of his medieval ancestors had murdered his unfaithful wife and got off scot-free because it had been regarded as an act of cleansing the family honour, rather than a crime. Duarte could not contemplate ever laying rough hands on any woman, even his estranged wife, no matter how enraged he was by her shameless behaviour. Then, Duarte never lost control in any field. He would deal with the situation as he saw fit. Walling her up alive would not have given him the slightest satisfaction and he could only assume his ancestor had been a seriously sick pervert.

There were other infinitely more subtle ways of controlling women. And Duarte knew all the ways. Duarte had never practised those arts on his seemingly innocent and shy little wife. So she was in for a surprise or two in the near future…

‘I just don’t understand why you have to move on,’ Alice Barker confessed. ‘I can drum up enough eager learners to keep you employed right through the year.’

Stiff with tension, Emily evaded the older woman’s questioning gaze. Small in stature and slight of build, she wore her long curly red hair in a sensible plait. ‘I don’t usually stay anywhere for long—’

‘You have a six-month-old baby. It’s not so easy to stay on the move with a young child,’ Alice pointed out. ‘I need a permanent riding instructor and the job’s yours if you want it. My stables would profit from you staying on just as much as you would—’

Feeling the dialogue had gone far enough when there was not the smallest chance of her changing her mind about leaving, Emily lifted her bright head. Her aquamarine eyes were troubled and embarrassed, for she hated to turn down an offer that she would have loved to accept. However, telling the truth about why she had to refuse wasn’t an option. ‘I’m sorry, but we really do have to leave—’

‘Why?’ The older woman’s weathered face was set in stubborn lines.

Emily’s fair complexion was flushed with discomfiture. ‘I guess I’m a rolling stone—’

‘I don’t believe that. I know travelling folk and you don’t have that restlessness. You could have a comfortable home and job here with friends—’

‘You’re making this very difficult for me, Alice—’

The older woman tilted back her greying head and studied Emily with wry eyes. ‘Maybe I’m hoping that you’ll come clean and admit that you’re running from something or somebody…and that the only thing keeping you on the road is fear of that somebody or something catching up with you!’

Emily turned very pale at that disturbingly accurate assessment.

‘Of course, I suspected that you might be in some sort of fix,’ Alice Barker admitted with a sympathetic look. ‘You’re too reserved and, by nature, I’d say you were a much more relaxed person. You’re also too nervous of strangers.’

‘I haven’t broken the law or anything,’ Emily responded in a strained undertone. ‘But I’m afraid that’s as much as I can say.’

But even as she made that assurance, she wondered if it was still true. Had she broken any English law in what she had done? How was she to know when she had not taken legal advice? She’d been on the run for eight months and she’d not got back in touch with her family or indeed anyone else during that period.

‘Are you trying to shake off an abusive boyfriend?’ Alice was keen to get to the root of Emily’s problems. ‘Why don’t you let me help you? Running away never solves anything.’

Dismayed by her companion’s persistence, Emily muttered in a rush, ‘You’ve been really great to us. I’ll never forget that but we have to leave first thing tomorrow.’

Recognising the sheen of tears in Emily’s eyes, Alice sighed and gave the younger woman an awkward hug. ‘If you change your mind, there’ll always be a bed here for you.’

Closing the caravan door behind her, Alice trudged back down the lane to the stable block to lock up for the evening. Emily drew in a slow, deep, shaken breath. One thing that Alice had said had hit Emily on a very tender nerve. Running away never solves anything. That was so horribly true, Emily conceded heavily. Nothing had been solved or settled. It was eight months since she had left Portugal. She had run home to her family for support but her family had treated her like an escaped convict.

‘Don’t think that we’re going to get involved!’ Emily’s mother had pronounced in furious dismissal. ‘So please don’t embarrass us with the details of your marital problems.’

‘Go home to your husband. You’re not staying here with us,’ her father had told her in outrage.