“Ce fut en mai
Au douz tens gai
Que la saisons est bele,
Main me levai.”
Eleanor smiled, slightly shocked at the images that sprung into her mind. She walked across the echoing courtyard, hearing hooves ringing from the cobbles and the echo of smiths, farriers and grooms. As Eleanor held the ring in her pocket, she could feel Andrew’s presence as the boy gradually grew into a man. She saw him fishing in the River Tyne, as Thomas had fished in the Tweed in the balmy days before the war. She saw him learning to ride on the heather plateau of Lammermuir, and she smiled as she saw him with his first woman.
Still smiling, Eleanor entered the chapel, a small room with a vaulted ceiling and a space at one side where the altar had stood.
She clutched the ring in her hand, imagining the scene
