I tried not to hear the women whispering over their work, as they did when Lady Anne was absent. But I could not shut them out entirely. So I heard a lot of opinions about Lord Hugh, including how all the village girls made cow’s eyes at him—him being such a big strong man, and bonny with it—and all in proportion, if you knew what she meant. Besides, you knew what they said about redheads. A shame, really, that he didn’t—you know, that he kept himself to himself the way he did. There was talk, at least she had a friend of a friend who had a cousin who’d once—and she said, any girl that spent a night with him would soon know how lucky she was. Once you’d lain with such a man, you’d never want to look at another.

“Hung like an ox, gentle as a lamb,” chuckled one of the older women. “Every girl’s dream. His brother was the same, even at sixteen. Poor lad.”

There were a few sharp glances in my direction, and whispers with them.

“Her?” scoffed one of them. “Hardly. Why would he look at her, when he could have Elaine? When he could have any girl he wanted for the asking?”

“Who’d want one of them, anyway?” said another. “Besides, she’s such a scrawny, washed-out little thing, like a child almost. Nothing a man could get hold of there. Breasts like green apples, hips like a bird’s. What would a real man like him want with a little runt like that? And with those great ugly hands on her.”

“Sshh!” Lady Anne was returning, and the talk turned suddenly to the relative merits of honey confits and crystallized violets. I felt my lips compressing into a thin line, and for a little while my sight blurred, but I did not allow any tears to fall. I hated to hear them talk thus, for the idea of Red and some woman lying together, and doing—doing that, made me feel sick. How could these women talk so of the coupling of man and woman as if—as if it were something joyous, something to be longed for and laughed over? I knew it as brutal, painful, an experience that dirtied and shamed and terrified. Yet, in my heart, I had to recognize that it was more than that, for I had seen John and Margery look at each other, and touch hands, and I had witnessed the same wordless, breathless message passing between my brother Liam and his betrothed. But this was not for me. I would never look into a man’s eyes as Eilis had into Liam’s, with a shining ardor that brought a blush to the cheek. I could never run my hand softly down a man’s neck as Margery did her husband’s, when she thought nobody was looking. I was damaged; soiled goods. It occurred to me that if there were a future for me and my brothers, this could prove to be a problem. My father, no doubt, would wish me to marry to advantage, in order to strengthen the strategic position of Sevenwaters. But he’d have a hard time finding any takers. Besides, I would never agree. Instead, it would be as I had once said to Diarmid, so long ago I could scarce remember it. I would become an old woman, muttering and mumbling over her herbs, mixing possets for what ails you. Wasn’t that what I had always wanted? Somehow, now, it no longer seemed enough.