Anson leads Wynna away

It had not been Wynna’s idea, but as she often did, she came along.

Osgyth’s mother seemed to think that the girls were less likely to misbehave when Wynna was with them, and Colburga’s father simply didn’t allow her or Wynna to go out alone, as if two fifteen-​year-​old girls could be chaperones for one another. Thus it was that Wynna Hogge, who had scarcely had three such ideas of her own in all her life, could often be found doing something she shouldn’t. But so far she had not yet been found.

This was an important evening: the end of the Saint Bartholomew’s Fair. Only Midsummer Eve was so looked forward to by the young men and women—and perhaps Bartholomew’s more, for the morning after Midsummer Eve was Saint John’s Day, and there would be Mass to attend. On Saint Bartholomew’s Day, Mass came in the morning before the fair, and attendance was not so strictly demanded. Thus there was the fun of the fair; the greater fun of the evening, after the children and adults had gone home to bed; and nothing to do the next morning but ordinary work.

Colburga had convinced her father and Wynna’s mother that the two were staying at Osgyth’s house, and Osgyth her mother that she was staying with Colburga and Wynna. Though it was a simple arrangement, it was not always as easy to organize as it would seem. But tonight young Eadgard Ashdown had eaten himself into a moan-​worthy belly-​ache, and Lady Sophie’s baby had come down with the summer fever just in time to distract his grandmother, so both households were glad to count their number smaller that night.

Wynna did not know where they would in fact sleep, but the problem seemed to bother the other girls so little that she had decided she would not worry about it until the question posed itself.

And upon her arrival at the far end of the market ground, where the bonfire already burned, she saw something that made her forget all of her other problems.

There was Anson, whom she had hoped to see, and for whose sake she had come out that night, though she was feeling rather tired and sick from the fair herself.

But Anson was already dancing. Anson was dancing with another girl. That in itself might have been excusable—in these modern times two young people could dance together without being a couple—but he danced with the one girl Wynna could not bear.

The girl’s back was turned to her, but Wynna could have recognized her anywhere, having so often run into her when she sought to have a word with Oswald of the Birch Hill. She recognized that curvy, caressable little body, that lavender dress, and most of all those abominable pigtails—as if by disguising herself as a five-​year-​old the girl could comport herself as she pleased and still come off with an innocent air!

It was Anna, the tiler’s daughter.

Worse still, Anson had seen Wynna arrive. Anson had seen her, and looked directly at her with those green eyes, and yet he continued dancing. And Anna danced with him, oblivious to the heart that was breaking behind her, though Wynna was certain she would have laughed if she had known.

After everything they had said to one another! He hadn’t quite told her he loved her, but she had thought it was because he didn’t dare believe she loved him. And after everything they had done together! After she had let him unlace the bodice of her dress and slip his hand inside! And then opened it entirely to his lips! And after she had let him talk her into touching him in ways that still made her wipe her hand nervously on her apron when she thought of what she had done—and of what her mother would think—

After all of that, to dance with that slut, whom he himself had said he despised, and whom he knew she could not bear!

And he could dance! He had a dance that no one else could follow, but which made everyone else rise up to try. The musicians could not play fast enough for him. The girl could not be lithe enough for him. But slender, nimble Wynna had come close, and he had always said she was his favorite partner. It had always been the pride of her heart to dance with him.

But now he danced with Anna. Wynna knew how it was to dance with him: he sprang on his legs as lightly as a colt, and his arms snapped like whips, and his head turned and turned until it made his partner dizzy. But always there would be those green eyes under the dark brows, and their gaze was sharp enough and steady enough to hold his partner transfixed at the end of it, held up and dragged along to dance with him by the force of his eyes.

In spite of the speed of the music and the hot, hurrying roar of the bonfire, Wynna felt that time had come nearly to a stop, and the seconds passed like slow water dripping from icicles. She wanted to turn to run, but she could not. She wanted to fall down and faint, but she could not. She stood as if transfixed—

She realized she was. Anson was not looking at Anna. His sharp and steady and green gaze was focused on her. He was looking at her over Anna’s shoulder and smiling slyly at her. Such insolence could not be borne, but she bore it because he would not look away and let her flee or fall.

He danced with Anna closer and closer to where Wynna stood impaled. As he approached, the glare of his eyes grew stronger and broader, splitting her asunder like a wedge. She felt the tears come rushing out of her.

And then, in a leap that seemed like the crowning glory of his dance, Anson sprang past Anna and caught Wynna in arms that snapped tight and held her like ropes.

He kissed her passionately but not cruelly, and it was a sudden relief to be held only by his arms and not his eyes. She slapped at his back with her hands because she knew her feeble slaps would not matter. She felt herself melting all at once like an icicle held over a fire.

“Wynnie, Wynnie girl,” he murmured. “I thought you would never come.”

“Is that why you thought you could dance with Anna?” she sobbed.

“I had to dance, Wynnie. But she can’t dance like you.”

Wynna did not know whether Anna had heard this exchange, but she stood by and glowered at them, furious at the snub, and too surprised as yet to realize she was only making herself look ridiculous.

“That didn’t stop you,” Wynna snapped.

“Wynna! Do you think I wanted to dance with her? Do you? Do you think she’ll ever dance with me again after what I just did? Do you think any of these girls will?”

“I am certain some of them would,” she sniffed.

Anson released her from his embrace and tried to take her hands, but Wynna yanked them away. If it had been any girl but that insufferable Anna…

“Wynna,” he pleaded. “Come dance with me. That was just dancing, and never mind the girl. Now I want to dance with you. That’s not just dancing.”

“I don’t feel like dancing,” Wynna mumbled.

“Wynna! You don’t even want to dance with me! I thought you only wanted me so you would have someone to dance with, but now I see you don’t want me at all.”

“But, Anson…”

Anson fell to his knees before her, too gracefully and too grandly to appear humble, but Wynna was nevertheless moved. Anson was not a man to kneel before anyone.

“She won’t have me!” he cried loud enough for all to hear. Even the musicians stopped their playing when Anson spoke aloud. “I tried dancing with other girls, but it’s not dancing. I think I shall never dance again, if the girl I love won’t dance with me!”

Silence.

A few of the girls giggled nervously, but everyone was impressed. Anson had never been known to declare his love to any girl—certainly not before a few dozen witnesses. It would have been a grand gesture on the part of anyone, but from proud Anson it was like a consecration.

“Dance with him, Wynn!” Colburga laughed. “Don’t make the boy grovel!”

“At least dance with me, if you don’t love me,” Anson said softly to her alone.

“But I do love you,” she whispered. She was crying still, but they were happy tears.

“If you love me, you will dance with me.”

“Dance with him, Wynn!” another girl called. “I don’t think we’ll have any music until you do!”

So reminded, the young musicians began to play again, faster than ever, and it seemed to Wynna that they were playing for her and him alone. He rose in a bound that was already part of the dance, and she bounded after him, dancing with him, and laughing so that she nearly choked on her happy tears.

Wynna thought she could have danced all night, but Anson stopped her in the middle of the second dance and pulled her close to him with a swoop of his arm.

“I only want to hold you, girl, and you keep hopping away from me.”

“We’re dancing, Anson!” she laughed.

“Come sit with me a while and let me hold you instead.”

“Oh, but Anson…”

“I declare!” he cried, and after a few faltering notes the music quieted again. “I declare that I shall never sit again unless the girl I love comes and sits with me!”

This time everybody laughed—except, to Wynna’s great satisfaction, Anna.

“Sit with him, Wynn!” his friend Hennuf said. “I think his feets must be sore by now.”

“And the rest of us want to dance for once,” one of the girls whined.

Wynna looked to Colburga as she often did, and as she often did, Colburga only smiled knowingly at her.

Anson did not wait for her to reply but only began walking back to the shadows behind the market stands. Wynna trotted hesitantly after him, and as she passed Colburga, her stepsister drawled, “Take your time. We’ll be here a while.”

“Let’s take our time,” Anson echoed when he had pulled her down to sit beside him on a log. He kissed her before she had a chance to speak, and he spoke first when he lifted her head away from his. “Where were you all evening, girl?”

“I had to stay with my family.”

“Tedious!”

“I know, but, Anson?” she squeaked.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“What do I have to do to prove it to you?” he asked with an easy laugh. “That Anna girl will hate me forever because of you. None of those girls will dance with me again, because I’m a fool for you. Didn’t I say I did in front of all of those people?”

“You didn’t say it exactly.”

“I said you were the girl I love, exactly.”

“You didn’t say I was, exactly.”

He laughed softly. “I love you, Wynnie. There? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Exactly,” she giggled, and this time it was she who tried to kiss him, though she felt awkward about it. She realized she had only ever been kissed.

Anson did not quite allow her to kiss him—at least, he did not make it easy for her. “Take your time,” he murmured against her lips. “How much time do we have?”

“What?”

“How late can you stay out tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “My mother thinks we’re at Osgyth’s, and Osgyth’s mother thinks we’re all at my house. I don’t even know where we’re going to sleep. Maybe we’ll stay out all night!”

“Wynn!” he gasped and pulled her tightly against him. “Come home with me.”

“Anson!” she squealed.

“Come home with me.”

“But—your father!” she blurted.

“It’s my father’s week to sleep at the stable.”

“But—but what about your brother?”

“My brother?” he laughed. “If my brother can find his way home after all he drank tonight, it will be by miracle and the Good Lord lighting the way. It’s my brother’s night to sleep in the ditch!”

“But…”

“Come home with me, girl. No one’s home. Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed about what it would be like to sleep beside me, and wake beside me,” he teased and tapped her nose with his finger.

Wynna could only giggle foolishly at him and be thankful for the night that hid her blush. It was the truth, but…

“I know I have,” he murmured.

“Oh, Anson!” she sighed. This confession moved her more than anything, even more than the sight of him on his knees before her, even more than hearing him speak those three words she had so longed to hear, and for so long.

“Come home with me, girl.”

“But, Anson…”

“Wynnie,” he said with a wicked grin, “don’t make me go back over there and declare that I shall never sleep again unless the girl I love sleeps with me.”

“You wouldn’t!” she gasped in horror.

“No, I wouldn’t, silly girl, because you won’t make me, will you? Come home with me tonight. I can’t marry you until I have a house of my own, but we can pretend for one night.”

He had said the one word she had not yet dared to hope he would say. She had not yet dared to say it herself.

His brows were lifted in a gentle arch rather than his masterful dark scowl, but beneath them, twin spots of reflected fire blackened the green of his eyes. He slung his dark gaze over her and held it like a slack rope, scarcely felt, leading her away.