They drifted westward, and she found relief in having no driving purpose beyond finding nourishment and shelter every day, wandering in the direction of Wales, and simply being with him. No more did she resist looking at him, or standing near to him, or touching him. No more did she resist speaking when she might normally have bitten back words.

She had felt him surrendering to her silence before, and that was wonder enough. But now he adjusted himself to it, allowed room for it without impatiently waiting for her to speak again. It was part of her, and so he did not shove it to the side or disregard its importance.

It was the same as when she touched him, or he touched her – or even when they did not touch at all. She felt in him, always, this allowance for her desires, for what she wanted and did not want. He accommodated her and she, who had grown accustomed to living in service of other people and other purposes, found it more pleasing than she could ever have imagined.

“How do you come to speak Welsh?” he asked her one day.

She had just given a command to Fuss in words instead of using their signals, because her hands were busy stoking the fire and stirring the soup. Fuss had been trained with Welsh, as she had been. It had seemed natural to her when he was a pup.

“Those who taught me the blades did use the Welsh language in their training at Morency,” she answered, and hoped he would not ask more. Lady Gwenllian had been her true teacher, though others had trained with her, including Lord Ranulf, hard as it was for him to do. But a highborn lady should not have such skills. To say the secret to anyone – even one she trusted well – felt too much like betrayal. So too would it feel like betrayal to deny Gwenllian and say someone else had taught her. And to lie to him would make her feel wretched, so she hoped he would not ask.

He did not. He seemed almost to shy away from it, and she knew it was the mention of Morency that restrained him. Like her, he did not want reminders of the world. They were outside of everything here. There were no masters, no family, no duty – there was only each other.

There would be time enough for the world and all its cares when they reached the end of their journey. Until then she would live only for the day, for the moments when she caught the soft look he gave her, or could watch as he patiently worked thistles out of Fuss’ fur while murmuring soft and soothing things, so careful and attentive that she almost could not breathe for the tenderness that swelled in her at the sight.