always polite to her, as he should be. A freeman, he was invariably poverty-struck, always grateful for the offer of a cup of ale or loaf of bread, so although Mary was a serf and he was free, her status as daughter of a miller meant Os was deferential.
Poor Os. Wherever she went, he followed her with a hound’s eyes, and what made his affection for her more difficult to bear was the way that he ignored Flora, Mary’s sister, who treated him with a reverence she usually reserved for the figure of Jesus in the church. Flora was utterly besotted with Os, a ridiculous passion in Mary’s mind, but there it was. Other girls often had these grand loves. At least Os was better than some.
It was dreadfully difficult. Life was always confusing, but love she found the most distressing emotion of all, because she didn’t feel that way towards any of the men in the vill. Here was Os, a good, kind man, if penniless, who adored her, and she had no feelings for him. Meanwhile, her sister, little Flora, whom she loved, craved Os’s affection more than life itself, but he never noticed because he only ever had eyes for Mary.
Even though Mary did not fancy Os, she couldn’t help but like him, and she favoured him with a smile as she drew near, although his instant beaming grin in return made her regret it.
The gruff voice from inside the mill was a welcome distraction. ‘Mary, my little angel! Where have you been?’
‘Hello, Father,’ she said happily.
‘That’s no way to greet your old man, is it?’ he roared cheerily. He swept her up in his arms, a genial, powerful man with a bushy beard that all but concealed his face. Lifting her high above him, just as he had always done ever since she was a child, he smiled up at her contentedly. She could see his happiness, and she felt her own heart swell in response. When he threw her up and caught her, she put a hand on each of his cheeks and kissed him heartily. Only then did he enfold her in a great bear-hug, before setting her down on the ground and walking away, laughing.
‘He is always happy,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Os replied. ‘He has a good mill, money to keep his children and wife, low rents, two daughters a man could be proud of. What more could he want?’
She had noticed the tone of his voice when he mentioned the daughters, and daren’t look at him. A woman always knew when a man eyed her a certain way, as though he was peering beneath the clothes rather than at them, and although she liked Os as a friend, that was different from wanting him as a husband. Kindly he might be, but that was no substitute for… What? Excitement? Riches? What did she actually want? She had no idea.
‘He is a good man,’ she said a little distantly, deliberately ignoring his compliment.
‘But fearful of the Lord.’
She cast a look at him. Os was gazing absently after her father.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Sir Ralph was here a little while ago,’ Os replied. Suddenly he reddened and shot her a look. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to insult your father.’
‘No, I am sure you weren’t. But what about Sir Ralph?’
‘He came here on his horse, puffed up like a cockerel, and walked straight into your home without a by your leave. Left your dad out here with his horse like a common hostler.’
She smiled at his hot tone. He sounded like a child who had been caught thieving apples and had been thrashed for the theft, who was later trying to explain that
he
was the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator. ‘He has been good to us.’
‘He is always after more from all his peasants.’
‘So is every lord, but at least he has helped us. Did you know he introduced my father to my mother? If he hadn’t worked to see them married, I might not be here. He doesn’t treat us so badly.’
‘You don’t think so?’ he snapped. ‘Your father was offended today, and so was your mother. She was upset by his visit. It’s not
Poor Os. Wherever she went, he followed her with a hound’s eyes, and what made his affection for her more difficult to bear was the way that he ignored Flora, Mary’s sister, who treated him with a reverence she usually reserved for the figure of Jesus in the church. Flora was utterly besotted with Os, a ridiculous passion in Mary’s mind, but there it was. Other girls often had these grand loves. At least Os was better than some.
It was dreadfully difficult. Life was always confusing, but love she found the most distressing emotion of all, because she didn’t feel that way towards any of the men in the vill. Here was Os, a good, kind man, if penniless, who adored her, and she had no feelings for him. Meanwhile, her sister, little Flora, whom she loved, craved Os’s affection more than life itself, but he never noticed because he only ever had eyes for Mary.
Even though Mary did not fancy Os, she couldn’t help but like him, and she favoured him with a smile as she drew near, although his instant beaming grin in return made her regret it.
The gruff voice from inside the mill was a welcome distraction. ‘Mary, my little angel! Where have you been?’
‘Hello, Father,’ she said happily.
‘That’s no way to greet your old man, is it?’ he roared cheerily. He swept her up in his arms, a genial, powerful man with a bushy beard that all but concealed his face. Lifting her high above him, just as he had always done ever since she was a child, he smiled up at her contentedly. She could see his happiness, and she felt her own heart swell in response. When he threw her up and caught her, she put a hand on each of his cheeks and kissed him heartily. Only then did he enfold her in a great bear-hug, before setting her down on the ground and walking away, laughing.
‘He is always happy,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Os replied. ‘He has a good mill, money to keep his children and wife, low rents, two daughters a man could be proud of. What more could he want?’
She had noticed the tone of his voice when he mentioned the daughters, and daren’t look at him. A woman always knew when a man eyed her a certain way, as though he was peering beneath the clothes rather than at them, and although she liked Os as a friend, that was different from wanting him as a husband. Kindly he might be, but that was no substitute for… What? Excitement? Riches? What did she actually want? She had no idea.
‘He is a good man,’ she said a little distantly, deliberately ignoring his compliment.
‘But fearful of the Lord.’
She cast a look at him. Os was gazing absently after her father.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Sir Ralph was here a little while ago,’ Os replied. Suddenly he reddened and shot her a look. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to insult your father.’
‘No, I am sure you weren’t. But what about Sir Ralph?’
‘He came here on his horse, puffed up like a cockerel, and walked straight into your home without a by your leave. Left your dad out here with his horse like a common hostler.’
She smiled at his hot tone. He sounded like a child who had been caught thieving apples and had been thrashed for the theft, who was later trying to explain that
he
was the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator. ‘He has been good to us.’
‘He is always after more from all his peasants.’
‘So is every lord, but at least he has helped us. Did you know he introduced my father to my mother? If he hadn’t worked to see them married, I might not be here. He doesn’t treat us so badly.’
‘You don’t think so?’ he snapped. ‘Your father was offended today, and so was your mother. She was upset by his visit. It’s not
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