His thoughts seemed to be following hers as he pulled her closer and began kissing her with that focused attention Eleanor adored. She threaded her fingers through his hair, then froze. “What’s that noise?”

Cadan sat straight and looked around. “It’s coming from the cupboard by the door.”

It was a whirring sound, with the occasional faint clunk. Eleanor scrambled up and went to investigate. She opened the cupboard door and shrieked as a mouse ran out, then looked inside. Reaching in, she pulled out a small, metal dog, its legs moving and tail wagging from side to side.

Cadan joined her. “What is that?”

“An automata. It’s probably a toy he made for Lily, or Martha. The mouse must have jiggled something and set the clockwork going.”

As she spoke, the dog’s movements slowed, then stopped and Eleanor turned it over and around, trying to find a key or switch, some clue as to what made it go. “This is why the notebooks need to be here.”

“Or these gadgets need to be at the castle.”

They couldn’t do that! How would she be able to examine them then? “They wouldn’t take them, would they?”

Cadan looked around. “They’d be better cared for at the castle, and it’s more likely there’ll be people with time and expertise to work on them.”

“But he lived in the village, they should benefit the village.” Eleanor wasn’t quite sure why this was so important.

“But what use are the Woodbine villagers going to get out of a clockwork dog, Nora? They don’t have the time to play with such things, and it’ll end up clogged full of mud and twigs from being dragged around outside by the children.”

She hated it when Cadan was reasonable. She put the dog back in the cupboard and shut the door. “What’s the point then? Why did we even come here?”

She circled the room, peering and tweaking at the machines she passed, trying to make sense of them, trying to see what they did, and why, and how, and failing at every turn. “It’s not fair. There has to be a way of making use of these and making the village better.”

Cadan watched her prowl. “The villagers are happy with Woodbine as it is. They won’t think a printing press an improvement, any more than they’d appreciate your little puppy friend.”

They would like it, they may take a little while to come around, but being able to print and sell books…

Images crossed her mind; Sarah, not interested in using the castle’s still room, or selling her concoctions in Gandry, Ingrid, reluctant to upset the apple cart with the swindling farmer and his wife, Samuel, rote-teaching letters with no view to the use or value of reading, the list went on.

She wondered how the cottage’s previous owner had managed, why he’d settled here. She continued to pace. “The Old Master, where was he from?”

Cadan shrugged. “Sundaria. Matthew says he never shared aught about his life before Clearfall though, and Lily neither.”

“Well, what was his name?”

“John Sundar.”

Eleanor was ready to scream. “That was not his name.”

“Maybe not originally, but it’s what he answered to here, although most just knew him as The Master. There was precious little he couldn’t turn his hand to.”

Why was the one villager she felt a kinship with dead, and his notebooks locked away? Why couldn’t she do something more than follow in the narrow confines of the path set by Sarah or Maggie?

She looked around her, at the room, keeping her warm, penning her in, then at the trees outside, looming above her, shielding the sky, blocking the horizon. Nothing to see, nowhere to go, trapped.

She realised she was muttering as she paced and glanced guiltily at Cadan. He’d heard, she could see it in his face, the sorrow in his eyes made her heart twist. She reached towards him. “It’s not you…”

He looked away. “We’d better get back before dark sets in.”

Snow was beginning to fall as they packed up and left the workshop, locking it behind them. Eleanor wriggled her hand into his as they walked. He held it, but didn’t look at her, and when they came to an awkward part of the trail, he let go to wrestle the handcart across and didn’t take it again.

He left her at the door of Sarah and Matthew’s cottage to return the handcart and bathe. When he came back, he brought news. “You’re to go with Evan and Martha Smith to town for supplies. You’re leaving in the morning.”

Eleanor could only stand and stare for a minute. Finally, she found her voice. “What? I can’t go into town. I have no idea what’s needed. And why is it Evan and Martha? Why not you?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m needed here.”

Matthew had followed him into the room. “You’ll have a grand time, lass, be able to visit with your parents and friends and trade news.”

Sarah added from her chair by the fire. “More to the point, you’ll be able to trade our wood for a fair price.”

“Am I allowed any say in this? Or are my concerns and opinions so worthless they’re not even allowed to be aired?”

The older couple traded worried, uncertain looks. Cadan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course they’re important, but the village needs your knowledge and skill. Evan’s taking the trip as he’s the only one who’ll know what’s needed to fix the mill but he’s no negotiator.”

“Martha can do the negotiating, she’s good enough at wheedling her way out of work around here. Or is this you looking to get rid of me? Are the Smiths expecting to bring me back again?”

In the silence that followed, Eleanor crossed her arms, bit her lip, hard, and glared at the young man now staring at her in shock.

Matthew bumbled in before Cadan could speak. “Now lass, I don’t know what that’s about, but we’d miss you sorely if you didn’t come home.”

Sarah added. “And Martha needs practice and guidance before we’ll be sending her to trade on behalf of the village.”

“And yet you’ll send me.”

Matthew looked confused. “Aye?”

“I’ve barely been here a month. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be buying. Martha loathes me and will go out of her way to make sure I bring back the wrong things, and then it’ll be all my fault when the village doesn’t have what it needs for the winter.”

Cadan said. “You just said you weren’t coming back, so what do you care?”

Eleanor tried not to scream. “I said you don’t WANT me back.”

Cadan shook his head. “I want a willing wife, not one trapped into, and by, her marriage.”

He looked at his slack-jawed audience. “I’ve work to do; I’ll be back later.”

He turned and walked out of the cottage. Eleanor stared at the door he’d closed behind him, her knees turning to water as heaving, choking sobs forced their way out of her chest. “He doesn’t want me.”

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