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pointed at the millstones currently out of use. ‘It’s a good while since Alfwold was here and until he dresses the stones, they’ll only get worse. Where is he? Wasn’t he due a month back?’
    Her father gave her a sly grin and pinched her cheek. It wasn’t a loving gesture and it hurt.
    ‘Longing to see your betrothed, are you?’
    ‘No!’ She swallowed. ‘Normally, Alfwold comes to dress the stones before May Day. Has anything happened to him? Shouldn’t he be here by now?’ Rosamund didn’t want to see Alfwold, but she knew it was inevitable. She’d rather know when the meeting was to be, than have it sprung on her when she wasn’t braced for it.
    Osric grunted, he was frowning as he moved the weights on top of the runner, first one way, then another. He didn’t seem to have heard her. It struck her that he had grown almost ugly. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one to suffer the consequences of her father’s excesses, he looked completely wrecked. He was over-weight and his chins wobbled when he shook his head. He was unusually pasty today, though she had seen those jowls darken to purple when he was enraged. There were great lines and wrinkles in his forehead – lately he seemed to be wearing a permanent frown. His eyes were shifty, but that wasn’t surprising given what Aeffe had him do. Rosamund couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen his eyes look clear. He hadn’t always been like this...
    Osric looked up from the runner. ‘Where’s Aeffe?’
    ‘Still abed,’ Rosamund replied, giving him a tentative smile.
    The smile was a mistake. Osric’s face darkened. ‘Watch your lip, girl. Your stepmother had a busy time yesterday, she’s resting.’ He bent over the stones.
    With his back stooped and his belly hanging over his belt, her father was round as a wheel. What had happened to the tall man who walked through her memory? What did Aeffe see in him?
    Aeffe was a pretty woman – she might have had almost any of the village freemen for her husband. But she had chosen Osric. Rosamund thought she knew why. Looks had nothing to do with it, nor a good nature. It was money Aeffe craved. Her father’s pilfering of the villagers’ grain – a handful here, a handful there – kept her well supplied.
    ‘Bone idle, that’s what you are. Bone idle,’ he muttered.
    ‘Father, that’s not true! I’ve been sieving the grain, so it would be ready when-’
    ‘Blast this stone!’ His voice was tight with anger. ‘And blast Alfwold. He swore blind he’d be here at daybreak. Where the hell is he? If I’ve managed to get to my feet, then by Christ, so should he!’
    Rosamund’s heart cramped. ‘Alfwold’s in Eskdale?’
    ‘I thought that news might wake you.’
    Rosamund’s father knew she had no particular liking for Alfwold, the betrothal had been Aeffe’s idea. It was a business deal, pure and simple. As far as Osric was concerned, his daughter didn’t need to like the man. What mattered was that Osric liked him. They had something in common – Alfwold knew how to put back his ale. Aeffe liked Alfwold too, she enjoyed hearing the stories he’d picked up on his travels. That was enough.
    If Osric and Aeffe could put up with the thought of Alfwold sharing the upper chamber with them, that was what counted. Rosamund’s likes and dislikes were considered irrelevant. Petty. Business was business, and her father had said more than once that Aeffe was right to put it first. He was nearing forty, he was already old. With no son he needed someone reliable to take over the mill. Aeffe had pointed out to him most clearly that he should be thinking ahead.
    Osric had never chastised his wife for forcing him to ponder on the problems that befell a man in his declining years. He had said he wasn’t afraid to think about dying. In his view, Aeffe was quite right, someone did have to think about these things, it wasn’t the least bit morbid. Aeffe was so much younger than he. Osric had smiled