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Merlin’s eyes lit. Sarah revised her idea of his age downward. His hands were not gnarled with years, she noticed, though they were work worn and the nails bitten down.
“And I see you have a teapot,” Cecelia said.
“With naught to put in it but well water.”
“We can remedy that.”
Sarah admired the way Cecelia spoke to him, as if he was a morning caller or newly met neighbor instead of…whatever he was. Of course he couldn’t be Merlin the legendary wizard. Though how marvelous it would be if hewas. Catching Kenver’s look, she was certain he was thinking exactly the same thing.
The hamper was fetched. The blankets they’d brought were spread beside the luxuriant vegetable garden. The tea was brewed at the kitchen fireplace and brought out. Food was spread before them. Sarah half expected Merlin to eat like a starving animal. He was certainly skinny. But his manners were avid but acceptable.
The duke was surveying the house. “The first thing to do is to pull off all this ivy,” he said. “Then we can see whether the roof is sound and so on.”
“You can’t take it off,” said Merlin.
He received a haughty look with raised eyebrows.
“Place’ll fall down without it,” he claimed.
“Indeed? Have you tried?” The duke’s tone was very dry. Sarah wouldn’t have cared to be its target.
“The aerial roots might have damaged the old mortar,” said Kenver. “Which is all the more reason for it to be removed. As they will go on doing so.” He rose and went over to pull a handful of vines off the house.
“Is there damage?” asked Cecelia.
“It doesn’t look bad that I can see. Not here, at least.”
“Ivy works its way into any cracks though,” said Cecelia.
Kenver nodded.
Sarah was watching Merlin’s face through this exchange. He must be afraid of losing his home, even though the house wasn’t actually his. But she didn’t see much fear. “How long have you been living here?” she asked him.
He turned to look at her.
Realizing that she hadn’t been introduced, Sarah added, “I am Sarah M…Pendrennon.” Her new name still sounded foreign in her ears.
“Eh? Pendrennon?” Merlin frowned at her.
“Kenver’s wife.”
Now he looked thoroughly startled, though she couldn’t imagine why. His eyes—theyweregreen—drilled into her before he dropped them. “Been here a while,” he said.
He didn’t wish to say, she concluded. In fact, he didn’t want them to know anything about him. It made sense. Sarah supposed he could be brought to book for trespassing. She glanced at the duke. What did he mean to do about Merlin? And if he ordered the man to leave, would he go?
“Sarah.” She turned to find Kenver gazing at her. “Care for a stroll? Take a look at the garden?” he asked.
“That’s mine, that is,” said Merlin.
“We won’t disturb it.”
Sarah stood up at once and took Kenver’s offered arm. He led her over to the tidy rows of vegetables. “Peas,” he said in a bland tone. “Past it now. Carrots. Potatoes, I believe.”
“Very well kept,” Sarah replied, equally impassive.
They looked at each other, silently came to an agreement, and moved on around the ivy-covered corner of the house. A path in the vines led somewhere. Sarah didn’t care where.
“We are actually alone,” Kenver said.
