She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. She looked at him gravely and squinted. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide.
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