Prince Caspian -Jung Yoonoh NCT

5. My Protector

"Take my advice," he says suddenly, "forget all about this - er - elderly cousin, go out into the world and have some fun with youngsters of your own age, and fall in love with a nice boy, who's your equal in inexperience." 

There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice. 

"But that means leaving Ravenscrag, and I don't think I'll ever fall in love. Cousin Mark will suit me very well, if he's kind." 

"Kind!' he says contemptuously. "Is kindness all you want from a husband?"

"It's the most important thing," I say. "I'm hoping he'll be like Grandfather and I can do all the little things for him that I did for my grandfather." 

"Fill his hot water bottle and warm his slippers?" 

My companion picks up a stone and flings it against a rock with a gesture that is almost savage. 

"Lord, what a kid you are! What you're suffering from is a father - or rather a grandfather complex." 

I look blankly at him, not understanding, but his action has drawn my attention to the incoming tide. 

"If we don't want a wetting, we'd better be going," I say, rising to my feet. "I'll show you the way up." 

I move away to retrieve my sandals, and he follows me with a crease between his brow. I whistle to the dogs, who come galloping up to me in response to my summons, and in silence lead the way up the almost rocky path, up the rough hewn steps behind a slab of rock. On top of the rock, the path vanishes into a jungle of bracken and bushes of honeysuckle, which I push aside, to reveal the narrow track; I lead the way, while the dogs gingerly follow, my mind in a whirl. 

The stranger has shaken my confidence in my future. Is it possible that I regard Mark as a sort of grandfather, who would take over where my grandfather had left off, and he might prove to be something very different? Perhaps he might be like the young man who had literally dropped at my feet, and would think, as the stranger appeared to do, that I am still a child in the care of a governess and unfit to be mistress of Ravenscrag? Then I recall that my companion belongs to the generation against which I have been warned, and would have a completely different set of values. He would have no idea of what the Manor and its traditions mean to me and Cousin Mark, a shared inheritance that would be a bond between us. Mark, too, would have no thought of going against my grandfather's wishes, and would understand that I could not contemplate doing so. As for the suggestion that I should go out into the whirl of modern young society, I shrink from it with fear and abhorrence, I would be a fish out of water, far better to submit to my cousin, and hope that he would cherish me as my grandfather had. 

Soon we emerge on to the short turf at the cliffs' edge. Below us the water is churning over the place where we had recently been sitting, and the sea stretches, glittering in the sunlight to the horizon across which Mark would soon be coming to claim me.

"The house is down there," I say, pointing across the two fields. The dogs, glad to have completed their climbing feat, are already careering towards the house.

"You'll come back with me?"

"No, thank you, I've left my car up at the farm and I'm not in a fit state to meet your - er - governess."

He glances ruefully at his torn shirt. 

"Oh, Carrie won't mind," I say, "she's used to me coming in looking a wreck, and she'll put something on your scratches." 

"But I'm not you," he points out, "and when I pay calls I like to be suitably dressed for the occasion. I gather the Manor is something of a stately home and should be treated with respect."

I sigh. 

"Not so stately nowadays, it's getting a bit shabby." 

My grandfather in his old age had not bothered with refurnishing, preferring the old familiar surroundings. 

"Indeed? Then the new owner will have plenty to occupy him." 

"I hope he won't alter anything," I say anxiously. "I'd hate that." 

"Change is the law of life," he says. "You'll change too, it's inevitable..." Again the mocking note I so dislike. 

He is looking about him with a speculative eye, and with his attention diverted, I in my turn study him. He is not as young as I had supposed from his unconventional clothes. There are tiny lines at the corners of his well-shaped mouth and keen brown eyes. I decide that he is at least twenty-five, which to me is advanced maturity. His eyes come back to me and meet my interested gaze. 

"What is it?" he asks. 

I blush and hang my head. 

"Nothing. I was wondering exactly how old Cousin Mark is," I lie. 

"Afraid he'll be senile?" 

"Don't be absurd, but he must be well over thirty," I say seriously. "That's getting on, isn't it?" 

He laughs. 

"Quite a dinosaur," he agrees, "but I can assure you that at thirty, or even forty, men are still quite vigorous." 

"Grandfather was vigorous at seventy," I say. 

"Not quite what I meant," he says softly, his eyes on me, a ghost of a smile hovering upon his lips.

He reaches out and takes hold of my chin, raising my face. 

"Look at me," he commands. 

Drawn by some magnetism that I cannot resist, I slowly raise my lashes to meet his intent gaze. His eyes are narrower than mine, and surrounded by lashes as thick and long as my own. Something in their close regard disturbs me, and my heart starts to pound, and I feel the blood rise to my cheeks. 

"You've got witch's eyes," he murmurs. "You'll do some damage with them before you're done." 

"I... ," he whispers, "am beginning to envy Cousin Mark..." 

And he bends his head and kisses my mouth. It is a very gentle kiss, featherlight, like the whisper of a butterfly's wings, but even so an electric current pulses through me, and then I feel a rush of outrage. 

I push his hand away, and gasp, in a trembling voice, "What ... what did you do that for?" 

He shrugs his shoulders and an impish gleam comes into his eyes. 

"An impulse. Perhaps I wanted to show you that there are other men in the world besides grandfathers."

Stung, I cry, "If there are, I don't want to know them!"

He smiles mockingly. 

"Then I'll be off. Goodbye, nereid."

He walks away, loping over the meadow, while I stand, watching his tall figure recede, bewildered by the turmoil of my emotions evoked by that unsought kiss. It is not until he is climbing the opposite slope, a mere dot on the expanse of green fields and grey outcrop, that I realise that he has not told me his name. It is of no importance, I tell myself, as I start homeward, I will never see him again, and I try to persuade myself that I am glad it is so. He does not fit into my enclosed little world, his words - and actions - have been uncomfortably disturbing. I decide that I do not like him. I don't mention the encounter to Carey, who, I feel vaguely, would disapprove. I have always been forbidden to talk to strangers. 

That night I have the strangest dream.

I am standing with him again on the rocks of the seashore, the wind whipping up my hair into a frenzy, the waves roaring beneath me; I back away, terrified of the raging sea, until he takes me into his arms, saying: "Don't be frightened, you'll always be safe with me."

Which is, of course, quite absurd. 

My grandfather had protected me when he was alive, and now, in the wake of his death, Cousin Mark has become my protector, never that stranger.