Some mornings I felt the need to keep moving, and Red would put away his quill and ink, and walk with me up through the fledgling oak forest to the hilltop from which he had first shown me the broad acres of his estate. From river to skyline, from road’s end to far horizon, the valley was clothed in its first brave green. They were good times, quiet peaceful times. There was no need for words between us. Slowly, the poison of Richard’s tongue slipped away from my mind, and I began to trust again.

Elaine came, and her behavior was as impeccable as her elegant, plain gowns and her glossy, smoothly braided hair. She was courteous to Lady Anne, but nonetheless made it clear that she had her own opinions and her own intentions once she became mistress of Harrowfield. She was charming to Margery and brought a toy for the baby, a little creature carved from bone on which he could chew, for Johnny was cutting his first tooth. I could tell she was deeply curious about my role in the household but, unlike her father, she tempered this with a natural reticence and what I believed to be a strong sense of what was right. She sat with Margery and me in the mornings to sew, and watched me working without apparent judgment.

Afterward, she inspected my hands, first asking if I had any objection.

“You know that some folk call you mad, or touched in the wits,” she said, and her big blue eyes looked directly into mine. “I don’t think I can believe that. I suppose there is a purpose, a very strong purpose, in what you do.” She looked at the shirtsleeve I was weaving, and the basket of thorny fibers. “How long?” she asked. “How many?” She was the first person to ask me this so directly. I placed my fingers over my lips, then swept both hands down and outward. I cannot say. I must not speak of this.

“Yes, Red told me,” said Elaine gravely. I thought, her use of this name makes her one of that inner circle, one of those few that he trusts. Why did this surprise me so much? After all, they were to be wed soon enough.

“But this work does not go on forever, does it? It has some end, some goal? Perhaps you can tell me that much.” She was as insistent as her father, in her quiet way. To shake my head could have led to misunderstanding. Besides, I needed no reminder of the words of the Forest Lady. She had made it quite clear that not a word of my story, not a single part of it might be told, if I wished to free my brothers from the spell. Not in speech, or sounds, or pictures. Not in embroidery, or song, or gestures. No matter how kindly the manner of asking. And so I turned away, and would not answer Elaine’s questions.