“She’s younger than I expected,” said Lord Richard, scrutinizing me closely. “Not that it makes much difference. It’s bred in them, they imbibe it with their mother’s milk. A sort of rage; a blind dedication that breeds killers and fanatics and madmen. I doubt if they’ll ever accept that what we took from them was never theirs by rights. A few paltry rocks in the sea, a cave or two, a couple of stunted trees. But they’ll kill for it. They’ll die for it. Until the very last one falls to the sword. Bred in them. Look at the way she holds herself, and the hatred in those eyes. A lost cause. But she could be useful to us, sister. I hear she’s no ill-bred serving wench. She could earn you gold; enough to buy a nice little parcel of land on your southern boundary, or build a strong watchtower. Enough for a goodly purchase of weaponry, or a strong breeding stallion. Who is she? What family let loose their grip long enough to deliver such a choice morsel into your hands? What’s your name, girl?”

I kept my gaze on him, unwavering.

“She can’t speak,” said Lady Anne. “The girl has some kind of—of malady. She is a little touched in the wits, I believe, and insists on hurting herself. We don’t know who she is.” Her tone was apologetic; I thought she was both embarrassed and fearful. But this was her own brother. Maybe I had mistaken her tone.

“Can’t speak?” asked Richard softly, inspecting me from all angles. “Or won’t?” My hands were clasped behind my back; I kept them relaxed, breathing slowly. I ventured a glance at Red. Hadn’t he said they would help me? He seemed intensely interested in the view from the window.

“Where did you find her, Hugh? A trophy of some battle?”

“Father.” It was Elaine who spoke, surprising us all, I think. “You should not speak of the girl thus, as if she cannot understand you. As if she were not here.”

Richard laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

“Your kindness does you credit, my dear. But you forget, these people are not as you and I. If you had seen the things I have seen, if you had witnessed the atrocities—the Lord willing, you should never be exposed to such horrors. You need not imagine one such as this thinks and feels as you do, the daughter of one of the highest families in Northumbria. She is less than the earth beneath the sole of your boot, my dear. Besides, I can’t believe a girl of her years could have much grasp of our language. Her education would be quite rudimentary, if she had any at all. Unless, of course, she has been trained as a spy. That raises more interesting questions. Did you think of that, when you took her into your household?”

Elaine made to speak again, then thought better of it. Richard resumed his pacing.

“She cannot tell us who she is,” he murmured. “Convenient. Very handy. So you can get no ransom for her. I could guess, maybe. Perhaps the girl has heard of Seamus Redbeard, him whose barbarians murdered good men in the passes above the long lake?” He stared into my eyes, and I was suddenly put in mind of the lady Oonagh, and summoned every effort of will not to show the tiniest flicker of knowledge, to keep my face as still as stone. “Maybe she knows of Eamonn of the Marshes, son-in-law of Redbeard; his trick is the use of fire, by night. A hot fire that leaves nothing but bone behind.” He circled again. “Perhaps she knows of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, the most elusive of all, a thorn in my flesh if ever there was one. Through him the flower of my men perished. Perhaps she knows of these. For everyone is a daughter, or a sister; unless we believe in faery changelings now. Look at me, girl. Whose daughter are you?”