“They will not leave us in peace for very long, and the hours will be precious. Come.”
Martin shut his eyes for a moment. He could not forget that vision of her with her dark hair clouding about her body. But the vision was sacred.
“You see, the bridge is broken.”
He had to pretend his innocence.
“And there is no boat?”
“It is rotting in the mud.”
They went down to the water’s edge, and Martin tied the horse to one of the willows. He paid homage to her forethought in the bringing of those tools.
“We shall have to build a bridge.”
Already she was pushing her way through the scrub, and Martin followed her. There were two gaps to be dealt with, one where the arch had fallen, and a second where the drawbridge should have served.
“The trunks of a few young trees thrown across.”