She wept to see him struggling so, unable even to keep his jaw from trembling as he spoke. But she saw that his mind was set, and that forces warred inside him with which she must not interfere. She kissed him gently, whispered, "I love you," and went below. The hours seemed endless, the tension unbearable. A thousand times Michael thought he must crack---from the pressure, the cold, and the need to peer unerringly into the formless void. But he knew that he must stand his ground. Then slowly, so slowly that at first he thought his eyes deceived him, the shroud began to thin, and a grey light to grow in what he knew must be the east. The fog began to patch, as the stubborn light grew stronger. Then suddenly they broke into the open, and the red sun climbed once more above the rim of the world. He lowered his head in exhaustion, closing his eyes at the last. And when he opened them again, there on his left hand he saw the ring, still clinging, forgotten, to the middle joint of his smallest finger. A sob escaped him, undeniable. Because through all the numbing darkness, the anguish, futility and death, its single jewel shone hard and clear and perfect, untouched by the ravages of time, or the treacheries of men. The tears flowed freely, passionately, for he knew the Bastard had not beaten him. His love survived. Epilogue Michael sat before a warm fire in the small island cottage, contemplating the ring about his finger. It had remained there since the night of the escape, and he had vowed not to take it off until his mother had been freed, and he gave it once more to his betrothed, this time in marriage. Both he and the girl had fallen ill during the long sail to Rona, a lonely island of the Hebrides, and a place as far removed from English control as one was likely to find in the whole of Britain. Their first days there, in the care of the fisherman's brother, had been spent bedridden, fighting fever and exhaustion alike. Mary, with her natural vigor and stubborn optimism, had been up and about some days now. But Michael's hurts were deeper, of longer duration. Only now, after more than a fortnight, did he feel his body beginning to respond. The fisherman had returned to the mainland after seeing them settled in, and had promised to do all he could to secure the widow's release, including hiring a solicitor, and filing for clemency under the new articles of Reconciliation. But he cautioned that patience and prudence were still needed: that they must lie low, and make no plans without him. In any event, he had said, he would return with news as soon as it was safely possible.