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emptiness that had seemed to lodge in the pit of her stomach.
    Owen laughed scornfully. “It is hell down there,” he said, gesturing with his head first at the ironworks and then at the coal mine. “We work like slaves, Siân, and the likes of Craille rake in the profits. The English. Robbing the riches of our valley. Our country. Though we are much to blame. We stand for the poor treatment we get and console ourselves by saying it is all God’s will—the Reverend Llewellyn’s favorite phrase. He is as much our enemy as Barnes and Craille, if we but knew it.”
    â€œDon’t,” she said. “Soon you will be talking about unions and strikes and the Charter. Don’t spoil the evening. I have been hearing too much about last night’s meeting.” And she knew too much. More than any of the unsuspecting men. She felt sick suddenly with worry for Owen.
    â€œSuch things have to be talked about,” he said. “Especially the Charter, which is to be presented to Parliament any day now and will bring equality and freedom to the common man. To us, Siân. Once we can vote, we can have some say in the condition of our own lives. We will no longer be slaves. All the men of the valley have to be persuaded to sign it and to force its passage through Parliament. This is no time for fear of how our masters will punish us.”
    Siân felt coldness in her nostrils and the beginnings of dizziness in her head. This was worse than last night.
    Owen stopped talking to wrap an arm about her waist and turn her against him. He kissed her hard and long. She set her arms about his neck. Life would be good with Owen. He had a skilled, secure job and the rarity of a house of his own since his mother’s death the year before. He was respected by the other workers. He was handsome. She would be able to give him sturdy children and would be able to get out of the mine. Except that it all seemed a little calculated. She had been determined to be one of her people. Was she now trying to force her way to the top just so that she could be more comfortablethan most of the others? If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she did not love Owen as she had always dreamed of loving a man. But then she had not loved Gwyn that way either. Perhaps there was no such thing.
    And perhaps there was no such thing as a comfortably secure future with Owen. Perhaps they had no future together. How long would it be before the Marquess of Craille made his move? Should she warn Owen to run away? But he would not go. She knew he would not. She tightened her arms about his neck.
    â€œMmm.” He nuzzled her neck. “We will go up the mountain, then, will we, Siân?”
    It was a question he had asked twice before. All the town courtships were conducted on the hillside. It was tradition. There was nowhere else to find any privacy in the crowded houses and narrow streets of the valley. Advanced courtships proceeded on the mountainside, higher up, where there was more assurance of being quite alone. She had been up on the mountain once with Gwyn a week before their wedding. It was where she had lost her virginity, as she had known she would when she had said yes. That was what going up on the mountain meant. The ground had been hard and cold. She had been almost unable to breathe beneath Gwyn’s weight.
    â€œNot tonight, Owen,” she said, wanting to go, wanting to settle her future once and for all, wanting to forget her sick fears. Owen was a chapelgoer despite his frequent criticisms of the minister. If he took her up the mountain, he would marry her afterward. Asking her to go was just one way of proposing to her. She wanted to go with him—part of her wanted to go. “Not yet.”
    â€œA tease are you, then?” he said. “Your kisses say yes, Siân. Very gentle I will be if you come with me. You think I cannot be gentle because I am big?”
    She kissed