Gregory was minded to put her feelings to the test.
“Kenneth,” he replied with significant emphasis, watching her closely.
The mirth faded from her eyes, and they took on a grave expression that added to their charm. But Gregory had looked for fear, leastways deep concern, and in this he was disappointed.
“What of him, father?” she asked, approaching.
“Naught, and that's the rub. It is time we had news, and as none comes, your uncle goes to seek it.”
“Think you that ill can have befallen him?”
Gregory was silent a moment, weighing his answer. Then
“We hope not, sweetheart,” said he. “He may be a prisoner. We last had news of him from Worcester, and 'tis a week and more since the battle was fought there. Should he be a captive, your uncle has sufficient influence to obtain his enlargement.”
Cynthia sighed, and moved towards the window.
“Poor Kenneth,” she murmured gently. “He may be wounded.”