The WHITE HIND

Orphan Matilda was offered a chance to transform her life – but at what cost?

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Christmastide, 1305 It was early afternoon, but already the damp, green-tinged air suggested twilight was near. The wintry woodland was cold and quiet. Leafless branches, scattered with abandoned crows' nests, stretched forlornly towards leaden skies.

The snow that had fallen earlier was now delicately patterned with animal tracks, but the creatures themselves had slipped by unseen.

Birds were hunched and silent, and only the occasional scuffle beneath the ground cover of dead leaves suggested a hungry animal had stirred itself to leave a warm burrow.

In a clearing near the woodland's edge, a twist of smoke rose from the thatched roof of a flint cottage. It was a small, sturdily built dwelling with a pleached hawthorn hedge surrounding its border. Behind the house, snow had highlighted the patchwork of herb and vegetable beds, which still showed a few hardy green stalks above the frozen ground.

The path to its wooden door had already been swept of snow, suggesting it was not a home where disorder was tolerated.

This was well understood by the fresh-faced young boy walking up to the cottage. He was 14 years old, but tall and well made, with dark curls and bright blue eyes. He carefully closed the gate behind him, picked up the stray twigs that had fallen from the bundle of kindling he carried, and glanced at the animal prints in the snow. Then he straightened his cap and stamped snow from his leather boots before knocking at the door.

'Tis me, Edward,' he called, hearing the bustle of footsteps inside.

The door flew open and a young girl rushed out to welcome him, a shawl crossed around her thin shoulders and tied at the waist. Long, lustrous hair streamed from beneath a white woollen cap.

'Edward! Thank goodness you're here,' she said, looking up with green-flecked hazel eyes, and impatiently pulling him inside by his coat sleeve.