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like they did at Imbolc.’
    Sweyn chuckled at the memory. ‘Yeah, do you remember it? That were such a good day, especially when Yul asked us to take Lev off for a walk and get her to drink something! I’ll never forget that. Pity she’s not about today.’
    ‘Maybe she’ll come down later,’ said Gefrin, nodding across at the girls who were staring his way. They burst into loud peals of laughter at this and he blushed scarlet. ‘Do you think Meadowsweet likes me?’
    ‘I don’t know!’ said Sweyn. ‘She’s as daft as the lot of ’em. What are they laughing about? Is it me?’
    ‘No,’ said Gefrin glumly. ‘I think it’s me. I don’t understand. At the farm she’s as nice as pie to me. It’s all “Ooh Gefrin, this” and “Gefrin, that”. She’s always coming out to find me and talk to me. But now, when all her mates are with her . . .’
    ‘Who cares?’ said Sweyn gruffly. ‘They’re all bloody stupid, the whole herd.’
    ‘Not Meadowsweet!’ said Gefrin. ‘She’s alright. I just wish they’d stop laughing at me.’
    Later in the day, Martin stood in a corner of the Barn, his arms folded, surveying the scene. He’d always been a dour man, not given to smiles or softness, but lately he’d become even more grim. The ceremony in the Stone Circle last Samhain had been the start of a new regime, a turning point in the recent sorry history of Stonewylde. Since then things hadn’t moved fast enough for his liking, but he recognised that changes were afoot and had been ever since that wild, terrifying night when he and the others had dared to meddle with the Otherworld.
    Martin was a patient man and had bided his time. But this year would see the end of the travesty that Stonewylde had become. This year, the rightful leaders would take their place again and the dark-haired bastard-brat would be out, along with his shrew of a wife and her bossy ginger mother. Order would be restored, and Stonewylde would once again enter a golden age. Martin knew the part he must play in all this and relished it.
    His slate-grey eyes darted about, missing nothing. There was Yul storming around and upsetting folk, in another of his foul tempers again. But Martin knew why and he chuckled to himself , his bitter mouth twisting with mirth. He had personally assisted the bitch-wife and her spawn in moving their things down to the Village, despite her protestations. He’d ordered the horse and cart from the stables and made a big show of getting youngsters to help carry downstairs the wicker baskets of children’s toys and woven bags of clothes and shoes. If she’d hoped to sneak out quietly with her tail between her legs, he’d ruined that plan. Thanks to him, everyone had seen what she was up to – leaving her husband. And now she was out of his master’s beautiful rooms that she’d destroyed with her stupid remodelling and redecorating, and down to the Village where she belonged. Or rather, didn’t belong, because if Martin had his way she’d be out of Stonewylde in a flash. And those who rightfully should be in charge would finally take the reins.
    Martin’s face twisted further as he thought of the years of misrule they’d all had to endure. But not for much longer! As he thought this, he noticed his mother, aunt and cousin arriving in the Great Barn, accompanied by Jay. Where was Swift? He should be helping his grandmother too – no need for Jay to get all the perks that came with being favoured by Violet and Vetchling. For all his cleverness, Swift was getting a bit too high and mighty lately, Martin thought with a frown. In the old days he’d have given his son the strap and sorted him out in time-honoured fashion. That was all youngsters needed to bring them back to heel. But of course that sort of natural behaviour – a parent disciplining his child as he saw fit – was banned, thanks to Yul. And that was one of a very long list of reasons why Martin would be over the moon to see the end of the