‘Farmhand. Suffering a rash of cow pox or the like.’

‘Oh.’ I begin walking again. It’s not the lad we seek, at least, and I imagine he must be busy with tasks. I remember the farmhand’s fist against my face and the fury beating through me as I cursed him. Happen my powers have ripened and his pox is my doing. I should be feared of what I’ve done, but the memory only brings back my anger, and I’m more inclined to witness his suffering than to bring a salve to heal it. Happy to take his coin, though.

We’ve barely stepped into the yard when I see the lad, carrying a basket of eggs. He blanches at the sight of me, looks behind as though willing someone to come to his aid. We both falter, and eggs roll inside the basket. A task for a woman, I always thought, though perhaps am mistaken. Mam frowns at me and then turns to him.

‘Good morning, young man. We’re called to see to your farmhand’s affliction?’ She gives him a gap-toothed smile.

His gaze darts from her to me and back again. ‘C-called?’

‘Yes, by the housemaid. Bett, is that not her name?’ Mam does not appear ill at ease, though I don’t know how much is pretence. ‘We’ve brought a healing salve.’

He eyes the pot in my hands, still keeping his distance. ‘How – how does it work?’

I try to hate him, but the memory of his kindness, however fleeting, undoes me. Mam glances at me, her expression bewildered. I doubt any villager has asked such a question of her before.

‘I – well, it’s the garlic,’ I say.

‘Garlic?’ He places the basket on the ground, steps towards me a little. ‘The – that grows in the woods? The flowers?’

‘Aye, though it’s the root we use. Soothes the skin.’

He peers into the pot. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Not many do,’ says Mam, sending a frown my way.

I remind myself how he changed when he knew me. But he knows me now, there’s no hiding that I am the cunning woman’s daughter, and yet he remains gentle. And only a little feared, I think.

‘It’s also good for a belly-wart and easing a weakness of breath,’ I say.

Curious, he steps closer. ‘Oh? But – so, how do you …?’

‘Hush, lass.’ Mam laughs but her look is a warning. ‘Do not be giving away all our knowledge, we’ve need of—’

‘How’s the mare?’ I ask. Hold my breath. His reply will show the truth of what he feels about me, my family.

His eyes lighten. An unfamiliar warmth comes upon me. ‘She’s well, thank you,’ he says. ‘She’s—’

A holler from behind cuts him off.

‘You.’

The farmhand, pointing straight at me. The boy steps back.