y the time Alys had strewn the herbs across every freshly cleaned floor, ’twas nearly midmorning. She had heard Burke’s whistle earlier and knew he was awake. Ensuring that both Aunt and Malvina were yet abed, she embarked on her furtive mission.y the time Alys had strewn the herbs across every freshly cleaned floor, ’twas nearly midmorning. She had heard Burke’s whistle earlier and knew he was awake. Ensuring that both Aunt and Malvina were yet abed, she embarked on her furtive mission.
But Burke was not in the hall or the kitchen. He was neither in the armory nor the bailey. Alys thought he might have gone riding but found his destrier still in the stables. The great steed nosed in his feed bin as Kerwyn murmured to him, brushing his flank. Neither glanced up at her.
Alys paused in the dappled sunlight that filled the corridor running alongside the stalls and glanced down the length of the stables. She seldom came here, her labor keeping her within the hall, and the smell of the place made her thoughts turn to a long-ago afternoon. Her footsteps were drawn to the far end, almost of their own accord.
There the stalls were no longer in use. Each step put the noise of steeds and stablehands farther behind her, but memory echoed in Alys’s mind. Nigh feeling the weight of the slops pail in her hand, she smiled in recollection of Burke’s appearance.
Aye, he thought he had fooled her that afternoon, that she did not guess from the flash of his eyes that he had been deliberately seeking her.
In those days, Burke had been so easily read.
Or so she had thought. Alys’s smile faded.
She paused outside the very last stall and debated the whimsey of what she wanted to do. She glanced back over her shoulder to assure herself that her folly would not be witnessed, then stepped into the stall.
’Twas just the same. Motes of dust danced in an errant sunbeam, the smell of hay and dung, leather and horseflesh filled her nostrils. Alys heard the distant sound of stomping hooves—granted, farther and fewer than once they had been—and took another step into the stall’s shadows.
It had been exactly here. Alys closed her eyes, leaned back, and let herself recall the sweet ardor of Burke’s kiss. Indeed, she could fairly taste the urgency she had felt in him, the way her blood had leapt at his touch.
Oh, how she had loved him!
Or how she had believed she loved him. But the man Alys loved was Aucassin from Heloise’s tale, the bold and handsome knight who cared naught for his lady love’s lowly status and stopped at naught to win her hand. Aucassin was faithful beyond all, chivalrous and prepared to sacrifice all for the cause of love.
But Aucassin was not real. Alys had simply confused her favored tale with the truth. She shook her head and spun to leave.
’Twas then Alys realized she was not alone.
She caught her breath to find Burke leaning against the far wall. The shadows had nearly swallowed him, though his gaze shone even in the darkness. And he was more still than Alys would have believed possible.
And he was very real. Burke was watching her, there could be no doubt of that, his arms folded across the broadness of his chest. His slow smile made Alys tremble to her toes.
’Twas clear he had spent time in the stables already this day, for his fine boots were mired. Burke had discarded his tabard, his white linen chemise emphasizing the strength of his shoulders and the golden hue of his tan. His hair was tousled and he looked almost as he had so long ago.
Alys’s heart skipped a beat as she acknowledged, if only to herself, that Burke was far more breathtaking than he had been even three years past.
“Dare I hope,” he asked softly, “that you seek me?”
Alys felt herself flush, but she did not drop her gaze. “Aye,” she admitted, though her mouth had gone dry. “It seemed only courteous to hear you out.”
Burke seemed to find this claim amusing. He pushed one hand through his hair, leaving those dark waves in even greater disarray. “Then it seems I owe much to courtesy,” he commented, a thread of humor in his tone.
Alys’s heart took a traitorous leap when he straightened. She took a hasty step back, finding the stable wall too close behind her for comfort.
She shook a warning finger at Burke, fear of her own response to him rising quickly. “You remain there. I came to listen, and naught more than my attention will you have of me.”
Burke leaned back against the opposing wall. “You have no bucket of water on this day to force your edict,” he noted mildly.
Alys lifted her chin in challenge. “You say you are a man of honor. I but grant you the chance to prove it.”
He considered her in a silence so charged she could not catch her breath. “Touche,” Burke said finally, then his gaze flicked over the stall. “It has changed little here.”
Alys felt defensiveness of her family’s failing fortunes ease into her tone. “There is little to change in a horse stall, and, indeed, this end of the stables is seldom used these days.”
“Mmm.” Burke frowned. “We parted here and ’tis from here that I would begin to tell you what transpired.” His gaze swivelled to hers. “I trust you recall that day?”
Alys felt a lump rise in her throat as she remembered the humiliation of their parting. “ ’Twas the last I saw of you. ’Tis all I need to recall.”
“You fled.”
“And you did not pursue me,” Alys charged, hearing the heat of an old wound in her words.
Burke shook his head, a vestige of frustration crossing his brow. “Your family would not permit it! They cornered me here, like a ferret doomed to die, much as they cornered me at the gates yesterday. ’Twas chaos, all accusations and demands, and irritating beyond all.” His glance flicked to her again. “I wanted only to speak with you.”
“I was in my chamber.”
“Aye, so I was told.” Burke looked grim. “In those days, your family at least feigned concern for your honor, though I did not see through their pretense then. When I offered for your hand …”
Alys raised her hand to challenge this falsehood. “Burke, you could not have offered for my hand!”
Burke’s eyes flashed. “I did! That very day. I said I would wed you, and I made clear my honorable intent. Indeed, ’twas only once they heard my offer that they let me pass,” he continued, no small measure of anger underlying his words. “But your family insisted upon presenting my petition. They returned to me almost immediately and said you would not hear of my offer. I was told that you refused even my presence.”
Alys felt her lips part in astonishment. Not only had Burke offered for her hand, but he thought she spurned his suit?
“I waited a day,” Burke continued bitterly. “I repeated my petition, but your family brought your dismissal to me once more.”
There was heat in his words, heat and hurt, the intensity of it making Alys wonder. Surely this passion could be no lie?
Though still it made no sense.
Burke stared at his feet. “I confess that I was uncertain what to think. I did not know much of love and marriage, I certainly knew naught of such happiness as I had known in your presence. An old knight told me I should be pleased not to have to bear the burden of young foolishness. I did not know whether he spoke the truth.”
Burke sighed. “And so I left, as I believed you had bidden me to do.” He lifted his gaze to Alys and his eyes seemed to glow with his intensity. “ ’Twas my first mistake. I should have insisted that I be granted such a rejection from your own lips.”
Alys did not know what to believe. Indeed, her troublesome heart urged her to take Burke’s side.
“I returned to my father and rode in battle with him,” that man continued, “enduring at each turn the matches my mother would have me make. But ’twas odd, Alys, for I could not help but compare each of these women with you—and each time I found them lacking. To my dismay, time did naught to erase your allure. I awakened thinking of you at the oddest times. Gradually I realized that what burned in my heart for you might never fade.”
Burke paused and frowned, his voice dropping low. “And so a year after my departure I returned to Kiltorren in the hope that I might persuade you to accept my suit.”
Now, that was a lie!
“You did not!” Alys declared, angry that he would toy with her thus, and more angered that she could be so readily deceived.
Burke’s gaze locked with hers. “I did, Alys. I was here that spring, but you were not.”
“ ’Tis impossible! I told you that I was born at Kiltorren and have always lived within these walls.”
“You were not here,” Burke insisted grimly. “Your aunt declared that you had fled the keep, that they knew not where you had gone. Your family expressed great concern and begged that I send them word if ever I caught a glimpse of you.”
He arched a brow as though dubious of what he would say. “It seemed they were sick with worry.”
“But that makes no sense at all!” Alys protested. “I have never left Kiltorren.”
“Then where were you, Alys?” Burke demanded. He flung out his hands in frustration. “I do not lie to you, I was here.”
“But I would have known if you were here. I would have seen you!”
Burke shook his head. “I do not know the solution to the riddle, Alys. I know only what I saw and what I was told. I did not see you here, and so I left, hoping at least I might find you in my travels.”
He swallowed and kicked his toe against the deadened straw. “And that was my second mistake, for I never did lay eyes upon you before returning to Kiltorren this time.”
Alys shook her head in exasperation. “Clearly, because I was here all the while!” She propped her hands on her hips to survey him. “What do you intend to gain by lies when I grant you the opportunity to share the truth?”
Burke’s glance was steady. “Alys, it seems we both have been served with lies at Kiltorren, and not from each other.”
He appeared so convinced of this that Alys paused to wonder. ’Twas not really startling to imagine Aunt lying to her.
Alys frowned. “But Aunt would have told me of any proposal, I am certain.”
“Would she have?” Burke mused. “She was quick to tell a tale of your illness last evening.”
“Oh, ’tis not because of any faith in her honesty that I defend her.” Alys folded her arms across her chest and smiled wryly. “She would be only too glad to be rid of the burden of my presence, you may be certain.”
“Indeed?” Burke did not seem to think this as much of a certainty as Alys did. His glance danced over her garb, and Alys realized that she must be filthy beyond all. “They have had a healthy measure of toil from you, there can be no doubt of that.”
“I have been told that I must earn my keep.”
Burke’s eyes flashed. “As your cousins do?”
Alys bit her lip and eyed the knight warily. Though she had had mutinous thoughts all her life, ’twas awkward to discuss them so openly with another. “I suppose ’tis only natural that my aunt and uncle favor their own blood.”
“You are their own blood!” Burke cried. He paced the width of the stall in obvious frustration. “You are of the same lineage as your cousins.” He appealed to her with a glance and an outstretched hand. “Have you never asked yourself why their lives differ so much from your own?”
“Aye,” Alys admitted uneasily. “Aunt says she did not wish me to become proud, as my mother was.”
Burke snorted a disdain that could not be misconstrued. “Your aunt is well aware that you are the loveliest of the three young women in her care,” he declared flatly. Alys’s heart fluttered at the compliment stated as bald fact. “She is concerned for her own, ’tis true, but at your expense.”
But there was another factor, one that Burke did not understand and one far more critical.
“Nay, we are not equal, for I am bastard-born.” Alys felt her cheeks heat as she admitted to this. “My mother brought shame upon Kiltorren and her father’s name. Aunt would not see me repeat my mother’s error.”
But Burke folded his arms across his chest, clearly not giving this morsel of information the due it deserved. “Alys, the noble blood of this house runs in your veins, regardless of how you came to be in this world. Kings and queens acknowledge their spawn from the wrong side of the linens, and Kiltorren is no king’s prize. Your mother may have erred, but her moral debts are not yours to pay.”
“But Aunt says I carry the whore’s taint.”
Burke swore and spat in the straw, his condemnation of such thinking more than clear. “Alys! Ask yourself what your aunt wins by so abusing you!” He tapped his thumb, counting off his points. “She sets her own daughters at advantage, for they are never compared to you while you wear a servant’s garb.”
Burke marked his index finger. “She has a maid without the need to train or compensate or see to the marriage of that maid. Indeed, I have no doubt you serve all three of them.” He counted off another finger, not granting Alys the opportunity to acknowledge that truth. “She has another pair of hands in the kitchen with no additional mouth to feed, which is no small thing if the keep does not prosper.”
He stepped closer, tapping his third finger heavily with his opposite index finger. “But there is another reason, of that I am certain, for such bitterness cannot be without a root.”
“There is my taint …”
“There is no such thing as this whore’s taint!”
“But Aunt insists …”
“She lies!” the knight declared savagely. “Your aunt takes exception in your very existence, Alys, regardless of what you do or say. I mean to discover why.”
Alys frowned and looked away, fighting against Burke’s persuasiveness. Oh, she knew he spoke the truth about Aunt’s malice, but what of the rest?
Burke stepped forward in that moment and caught Alys’s chin between his finger and thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze. She was achingly aware of his hand braced against the stall beside her shoulder, of the scent of his skin, of the glow in his eyes, the light touch of his finger and thumb on her chin. Her heart pounded at the awareness that she alone held his attention, that she alone was what he desired.
She could not have stepped away to save her soul.
“If all truly was as I tell you, Alys,” Burke whispered, his gaze searching hers, “would you have put your hand in mine three years past?”
Alys swallowed at the very possibility. She could not imagine that Burke could feign such intensity, and in this moment, she could not credit any possibility that he lied.
Indeed, she wanted to plead with him to take her away from Kiltorren, under any terms. Alys wanted once again to have the dream of Burke being her knight, her lover, her Aucassin.
But Alys had pledged never to repeat her mother’s error, the error at the root of all her troubles. And Burke said naught of marriage in these days, even if once he did.
Alys realized the omission in time. Indeed, ’twas clear—despite Burke’s claim—that he came to court Malvina.
“But what if ’tis not true?” she whispered unevenly.
Burke caught Alys’s hand before she could step away and placed her palm over his heart, his own hand holding hers firmly there. His flesh was warm, even through his chemise, and his pulse pounded beneath her hand. His hand engulfed hers and Alys was seized by a longing for more of his touch so intense that it weakened her knees.
“But, Alys, ’tis the truth.”
“What about Malvina?”
Burke grimaced. “Alys, I see only you.” His gaze bored into hers and his voice dropped to a persuasive whisper. “I swear it.”
When Alys hesitated, Burke bent and brushed his lips across hers. She might have pulled away, but his heartbeat leapt beneath her fingertips.
Alys was beguiled by this small sign that her touch was not without effect upon this bold knight. She stared up at him and could only watch as he bent to touch his lips to hers once more. And she trembled with desire when his lips closed over hers. He tasted of warmth and the ale with which he had broken his fast. He was warm and gentle as always he had been.
Alys added “irresistible” to her list of this knight’s traits just as her eyes closed. Her lips parted and she stretched to her toes, surrendering to the moment and his embrace.
Burke groaned and caught Alys against him, his hands gripping her waist with a surety that made her forget all her objections. His kiss was tender and thorough, his touch making Alys’s pulse leap in turn. Alys opened her mouth to him and arched against him, hungry for all he could give.
When his strong fingers eased beneath her chemise and cradled her breast, Alys caught her breath. Burke slid his thumb leisurely across her nipple, the move sending shivers through her from head to toe. He broke their kiss when she gasped, winked, then bent, cupping her breast to lift it to his lips.
And Alys, staring at the ebony tangle of his hair, flooded with the pleasure of his teasing lips, abruptly realized the folly of what she did. The measure of a man was in his deeds, not his fine words, nor even his kisses.
“Nay!” she cried, and pushed him away, noting only the astonishment in his eyes before she fled.
“Alys!” Burke called, but Alys did not look back. She picked up her skirts and ran, as much from Burke as from her own wanton urges.
Oh, she was her mother’s daughter, there could be no doubt of that!
“Alys!” Burke roared, his shout echoing over the bailey. “This matter is not done between us!”
Alys could not risk halting to listen to more of his persuasive tales. She fled for sanctuary, her heart fluttering like a wild thing seeking to escape her chest.
Yet when she had nearly reached the kitchen portal, Alys realized that Dame Fortune had not smiled upon her this morn.
Aunt stood there, her murderous expression making Alys’s footsteps falter. “You have been in his company again,” she charged.
Alys halted but could not lie. “Aye. Just this once.” Dread uncoiled in her belly when Aunt’s eyes narrowed. “ ’Twill be the last time, I swear it to you.”
Aunt’s brows rose. “Disobedience is disobedience, Alys, be it once or a thousand times.”
Alys glanced back to the stables occupied by a knight she did not dare to trust. There was no sign of him.
And there was no one else in this keep who would aid her, for any price, at least not any longer. Indeed, she would not ask it of any, after what had happened before.
But that would not happen again. Alys forced her breathing to steady, looked to Aunt, and decided that she could bear another dose of hard labor.
She stepped forward, her chin held high, not guessing that she had sorely underestimated her aunt’s wrath.
Cedric was waiting in the solar when Deirdre returned from the kitchen just before midday. He had that anxious demeanor that foretold his wanting something of her. Deirdre took pleasure in denying him her immediate attention, knowing ’twould trouble him all the more.
If naught else, she had swung that willow switch with vigor this morn. There were a pair of new blisters on her palm, one broken at the force of the beating she had given her niece. But her hand would not have gone soft if she had not laid the switch aside two years past.
’Twas the price Deirdre must pay for bowing to Cedric’s superstitious nonsense.
As that last time, Alys had not made a murmur of protest, she had not cried out, she had not wept, she had endured with the will of a martyr. ’Twas infuriating beyond anything else the girl might have done. Deirdre had momentarily forgotten herself in her quest for a response, hence the blisters.
But her hand would heal.
As, undoubtedly, would Alys.
One matter was assured—Alys would not be drawing Burke’s eye away from Malvina in the next few days. Deirdre smiled. ’Twas all the time Malvina would need to capture their guest’s heart. A pair of blisters was a small price to pay to ensure her eldest’s match.
Cedric folded his arms across his chest and eyed her warily. “Where have you been?” he asked.
“In the kitchen,” she said breezily, and opened her trunk. “Are the girls arrayed in their finest? I would have them sparkle in this knight’s presence.”
“Aye, they are.” Cedric took a step closer, his brow furrowing. “What detained you, Deirdre? ’Tis unlike you to be late to the board when we have a guest, no less an eligible knight.”
Deirdre smiled tightly. “Cedric, you would not have the fare be any less than our best, would you?”
But Cedric was not to be swayed from his course. “It does not take that long to declare that the good ale be uncasked or that a new wheel of cheese be presented. You have been making mischief, unless I miss my guess.”
“Cedric!” Deirdre feigned indignation. “I would never …”
But she had no chance to finish, for Cedric caught at her right hand. He turned it palm-up, as if knowing what he would find, and looked Deirdre dead in the eye.
“You have been at it again,” he accused. “I thought we had agreed after the last time.”
Deirdre lifted her chin. “ ’Twas deserved.”
“Aye?” Cedric looked skeptical. “ ’Tis hard to believe that Alys could have any opportunity to make any sufficiently deserving mischief. You work the girl too hard, Deirdre.”
“Oh, Cedric, spare me your sympathetic nonsense!” Deirdre snatched her hand back and bent over her trunk, blindly rummaging for a kirtle.
“Do you not recall what happened before?” her spouse demanded with rare insistence. “You will call the wrath of God upon us once more with your deeds!”
“I recall it well enough, though you would overstate the matter. The old woman would have fallen ill, whether Alys was struck or not.”
“You cannot be certain of that.”
Deirdre spared her spouse a glance. “I see no one falling in a fit this day.”
Cedric folded his arms across his chest. “Perhaps we should send a runner to Heloise and see how she fares.”
Deirdre turned her back upon his nonsense. “You listen overmuch to the priests and I have listened overmuch to you. There is naught to be lost in teaching Alys her place in this keep. That last event was but coincidence and has been given doubly its due. And truly we are well rid of the old harridan. She grew tedious.”
“You cannot know how the hand of the Lord moves in all of this.” Cedric huffed. Deirdre, knowing her expression was hidden from him, rolled her eyes.
Enough was enough. She was not going to cease running her household simply because some old maid fell down frothing and twitching. Indeed, she had only to look at the defiance that had bred within Alys in these past years to justify her choice.
But Cedric, of course, would never listen to simple reason.
Deirdre let her voice run high, deliberately changing her tone and mode of attack. “Is it not enough burden to know that I was only second best to Isibeal, without having you fawn over her child? Do you wish she was yours? Do you wish my sister had parted her thighs for you? Do you pretend that Alys is yours? Is that why you insist on turning a blind eye to her many faults?”
The accusation worked as well as it ever did. Cedric was immediately contrite. “Nay! Deirdre, ’tis not so!” He framed her shoulders in his hands, as if he would will her to believe him. “I never favored Isibeal and I do not want any daughters beyond our own. ’Tis you, only you, who holds my heart.”
Deirdre sighed and tried to look mollified. “Truly? Then why do you so favor her child?”
Cedric frowned. “I do not favor her, but she is our ward …”
“Cedric, the child expects to earn her keep here,” Deirdre interrupted crisply. “Indeed, we all must make sacrifices since the crops are less than prime.” She glanced up in time to see Cedric flush.
“ ’Tis not my fault,” he mumbled, but they both knew that he was far from an adept landowner. “ ’Tis the wrath of God …”
Deirdre did not give him time to take that thought to its conclusion. She leaned into his embrace and pressed herself against him.
“Of course not, my love,” she whispered. “But ’twill be your fault if we do not make the most of this knight’s visit to our abode.” She straightened and touched his cheek. “Think of it, Cedric! Burke declared he has come for a bride. We must seize this chance to see one daughter’s future assured!”
Cedric still looked troubled. “But Alys did not need to be whipped …”
“Did she not?” Deirdre propped her hands on her hips and surveyed her spouse, marvelling yet again at his lax wits. “Have you eyes in your head? She is pretty, too pretty, even in tatters. Have you ears in your head, Cedric? Did you not hear the knight call after her from the gates when he arrived?”
Cedric’s brow furrowed. “I suppose …”
“You know!” Deirdre punctuated her point with a tap on her spouse’s chest. “She vexed the man. Cedric, he might have ridden directly out of our gates, and I cannot believe he would return if he left again. What of your daughters’ lives then? Would you see them languish as spinsters at Kiltorren forever? Would you see them barren and unwanted all their lives? Would you die happily knowing that they would perish without your protection? Ireland is not the safe land it once was, Cedric, and we both know that rogues roam the hills, seeking estates to make their own.”
“Well …” Cedric shuffled his feet.
“And you know that I have better instinct with these delicate matters of marriage than ever a man might have.” She straightened primly. “And this day she did defy me, breaking her oath made only yesterday. ’Tis not fitting.” She paused. “You did pledge, long ago, that you would cede to me in domestic concerns.”
Cedric looked sufficiently uncertain that Deirdre knew she was close to having her way. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed herself against his body, hoping for the thousandth time that her daughters appreciated all she endured for their sakes.
“Trust me, Cedric,” she whispered in his ear, then kissed him fully. “Trust me in this matter, my love, and let me see to all.”
When Cedric’s arms closed around her waist, Deirdre knew that victory was hers. “You always know best, Deirdre,” he murmured.
Kiltorren’s kitchen had a pair of great fireplaces on the wall below the bread ovens. Both were large enough to hold a spitted deer over the flame and a boy to turn the spit. Between the two of them was a niche for firewood, which had long ceased to be used for that purpose. Lady Deirdre had decreed that no wood be burned beyond that used for the cooking of the meals themselves and kept a scrupulous inventory of the woodpile.
Indeed, the wood was under lock and key, only a certain count of logs and tinder entrusted to Cook’s care each morn.
This niche was always empty and had become the coveted spot to sleep, for the stone retained some heat from the fire for many hours. On cold evenings there were fights among the servants as to who would claim the space for their pallet, and none slept there two nights running.
Except when Lady Deirdre took the willow switch to Alys. Then there was no argument as to who should have the favored spot.
Alys lay on her pallet in that niche though ’twas only past midday, dimly aware of the familiar concerned faces clustered around her. The kitchen bustled with the demands of laying the main meal upon the board, though on this day ’twas a markedly quiet bustle. Alys’s back ached with the sting of the switch, and only now, out of Aunt’s sight, did she permit herself to weep.
It had hurt infinitely more this time than the last, and Alys knew her aunt intended as much. She could not help but think of that last ugly confrontation, of her mother’s beloved maid Heloise rising to defend her, of all that had followed. Alys had never believed that Aunt would repeat her abuse after that day, but clearly she had been wrong.
Alys bit her lip, distracted from her pain by the sudden realization that today was the day she should visit Heloise. How would she manage the walk? And how could she hide the damage Aunt had wrought?
Would Heloise respond as she had the last time?
Cook knelt before Alys even as she worried, his amiable face drawn with concern. “A brew for you,” he whispered, sliding a steaming crock toward her. “ ’Tis one my mother made for bruises.”
Alys managed to smile for his thoughtfulness. “ ’Twill no doubt make me sleep.”
Cook smiled in turn. “Clear through tomorrow’s midday.”
Alys pushed the brew aside. “I cannot drink it then. I promised Heloise that I would visit this day. She will be sorely troubled if I do not appear.”
“And more worried if you appear like this,” Cook insisted.
Alys frowned and considered the brew. “She may not notice,” she suggested hopefully.
Cook snorted. “One cannot tell what she will notice in these days. But, Alys, ’twas seeing you beaten that put Heloise where she is on this day. You cannot go.”
“I could not bear that she have another attack,” Alys admitted. “But, Cook, she grows fretful when I am detained.”
“Do not trouble yourself over the matter.” Cook patted her hand. “I shall send Edana—goodness knows she will concoct some tale or another about your absence.” He winked. “Though no doubt her ladyship will not play a favorable role in that tale.”
Alys looked at the older man. “Edana will not mind?”
Cook smiled. “You know how she loves to take her goats afield.”
Alys smiled in relief. ’Twould be fine. With luck Heloise would scarcely note the exchange. The elderly maid could be unpredictable in these days, and sometimes Alys was not even certain Heloise knew she was there.
Other times the woman’s wit was as sharp as a freshly honed blade. But Dame Fortune had done naught for Alys of late—perhaps her caprice was satisfied for the moment.
And either way, Alys was in no condition to walk to Heloise’s isolated dwelling on this day. She took a deep breath, reassured, and drew the cup of brew closer.
“Drink deeply, child,” Cook urged. “I only wish I knew that tale Heloise always told to you so that I could sing it to you. It always soothed you.”
“Nicolette and Aucassin,” Alys supplied, her smile turning winsome. “I know it well enough, Cook. Perhaps I shall hum it to myself.” The older man nodded and straightened, though Alys knew he would keep a watchful eye over her.
She sighed and winced at the ache in her back, knowing she had never been so exhausted in all her days. Alys sipped Cook’s brew and silently told herself her very favorite old tale.
Once, far afield, there lived a man
With wealth and fortune to his hand.
He had one son, a tall, strong man
The handsome knight named Aucassin …
Alys had barely begun the numerous verses when the herbs in Cook’s brew took effect. Her eyes drifted closed, her thoughts filled with the gallant tale of two lovers true, and in her sleep, Alys smiled.