“A long way home, isn’t it?” observed Lord Richard. “Such a long way, for little feet. Why don’t we sit down awhile? Get to know one another? Put the dog down, dear. You’d like to get to know me a little better, wouldn’t you?” His voice was like honey, like syrup, with a generous dash of nightshade thrown in. I wanted to kick him where it hurt most. If not for Alys, I would have done it, would have spat in his face. But I straightened my back, and held my head high, and walked on, trying to move the dog to a better position. I am the daughter of the forest. For such a small thing, she seemed very heavy.

Richard stalked a pace behind me, and now he changed his tune slightly. We came onto the path under the willows. The sun had passed its midpoint, and the light was golden on the bare branches. It was still a beautiful day.

“I suppose that is the only reason he brought you here,” he said as if musing to himself. “I can’t think of another. Can you?” He rubbed his well-manicured hands together. “You may think it strange that I am not more shocked. For he is to marry his cousin, you know. My own daughter. But a man has to sow his wild oats, even a buttoned-up idealist like Hugh must have his bit of fun. And it places him in a much better position, when at length he does marry. Gives him an edge, so to speak. How else can he train his new wife in the delicate, the delicious skills of the marriage bed? No, I think our Hugh will be quite well seasoned by summer. I can thank you for that, my dear, among others. And I may say, Elaine is ready for it. What a good thing you can’t talk, poppet. It makes this whole episode just so much more—titillating. Don’t you think?”

How could he speak thus of his own daughter? Had the man no shame? My ears burned to hear him, and I wished I could put Alys down and run. I clenched my teeth. If my brothers were here, they would make you pay for speaking to me thus. They would show you what it is to be a real man. And oh, I longed for them to be there.

“Now I wonder,” he went on, “what other reason he might have, to keep you in his household so long. For it doesn’t do him any good, you know, no good at all. Tongues are wagging. Powerful tongues. His mother hates it. I hate it. Stay here long enough, and you’ll do him real damage. You know what they say? Want to hear?”

I wished I could not hear. Wished I were deaf as well as dumb.

“They’re saying you cast a spell on him,” he said, chuckling. “That you’re a sorceress, and that you cast your net over their likely lad and drew him in, despite himself. Even his best friends are saying it. That he’s bound to you, and can deny you nothing. And you a woman of Erin, kin to the folk that killed his own brother. What do you think of that, Jenny? But of course it’s not really Jenny, is it? I wonder who chose such an unsuitable name for you. Really you’re a Maeve, or a Colleen, or maybe a Deirdre. A wild Irish name. Jenny is no name for a little sorceress from the west. You can cast your net over me any time, young Maeve. I have a few things I could teach you. You should try me some time. I might be helpful to you, you know. A person to turn to, if things ever get—rough.” Then he was taking me by both arms, and moving his face close to mine, so that I was forced to look into his. He had the family eyes, bright periwinkle blue like his sister’s. Like Simon’s. The tip of his tongue came out and ran over his lips, and I read the desire on his face.