Alys gave a tiny growl as we neared the foot of the garden. On the bench under the wall, Red lay asleep. It was scarcely large enough to accommodate his long frame; his arms were crossed behind his head, one leg lay stretched out along the bench and the other dangled to the ground. He would have a few aches and pains when he woke. He had his sword, and the small knife in his boot; but right now, any passing stranger could have finished him off. I stood there quietly, as the dawn touched his face with rosy light, and played over the straight nose, and the well defined bones, and the wide, relaxed mouth. All right for some, I thought.

He did not take long to wake. When he did, it was in one smooth movement, aches and pains or no, springing to his feet instantly alert, hand ready on sword hilt. Alys gave a yelp of fright. Then Red saw who it was and sat down again, scratching his head ruefully.

“Sleeping on the job. Not good,” he said, blinking. “Must have been more tired than I thought. Yesterday was not the best of days.”

I nodded. It was an understatement. Now he was looking at me properly, searchingly.

“You look terrible,” he said.

Thanks. My expression must have told him how I felt.

“And your feet must be freezing. Sit down here.” I sat, tucking my feet under me on the bench, drawing my cloak around me to cover them. It was cold on the stone path, but it was a good cold, that winter chill that sets a sleep on the garden, to dream of spring’s new growth.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” said Red, and he reached out a hand toward my face. I flinched away, and he dropped it without touching me. “You have deep shadows under your eyes, and you’re white as chalk. I’m sorry about yesterday. They are leaving this morning. I don’t want you to be frightened.”

What I wanted to say could not be put into gestures. You weren’t much help. Why didn’t you stop him sooner? I could think of no way to convey this to him. I gave a shrug instead.

“I mean it, Jenny. I will ensure that he does no such thing again. It was not fair to you, or to my mother.” I studied his face. I thought that he was wrestling with himself, unsure how much to say.

“He—no, let me put this another way. My uncle is kin. I must accept that. I can go just so far, for now at least. I wished to let him talk, in case—no, I need not burden you with this.”

What? Burden me with what? Of that man, with his smooth tongue and his creeping hands, with his ready smile and poisonous words, I could believe anything. Having him as your uncle must be bad enough. I would not have him as father-in-law, if I had the choice. But it seemed that for Red, that choice was already made.