She was beautiful and perfect. She looked like an old friend, patiently waiting for him here in a quiet corner of this strange new home. To look at her made his heart ache.

“God give you good, Amabel.” He whispered the greeting in Welsh, because in that moment it was the only way he knew how to be.

Chapter Three

1288

––––––––

In the black hours before dawn, she lingered in the shadows outside the church as the brothers prayed their nocturns. The rise and fall of their voices was soothing, though the sound barely reached her. She waited until an answer came to her, finally, in the little silence between prayers.

Be selfish.

She had promised it years ago. Somewhere along the way it had become the only course she trusted in moments of uncertainty. To swear fealty to no one, to serve no one and nothing unless it be the leading of her own heart.

But her heart was divided. It told her to go ahead without delay and finally find word of her sister. It told her also to stay with Sir Gerald, care for his wound, take him safely back to Morency to heal. Two duties, two urgent needs. How to choose between them?

Be selfish. She did not want to return to Morency, or tend Sir Gerald’s wounds. He would fare as well without her, and she did not want to lose another day that might be spent in finding her sister.

It was her haste that had led them to travel in so small a party on the main road, vulnerable to attack. Nine men dead, eight by her hand and one because she had been too slow. As soon as she thought it – too slow – she could hear Gwenllian contradict her. Not too slow. No one could be that fast, her teacher would say, not even you. Still she felt her heart pulled in two directions again: remorse on one side, cold indifference on the other.

It was necessary. They were villains. None would mourn them.

They were men. They were alive. Now they were not.

Be selfish. Guilt changed nothing, served no one. It was a luxury she could ill afford, and so she would let it go. She would confess, say her penance, and move forward with a spirit unencumbered.

There was the ragged man, little more than bones and beard and filth. Dark eyes and desperation. It had been years since she had seen hunger so deep. In her memories, it wore her sister’s face. But even more than the hunger was the way he shied from shadows that were not there, how he shrank from any contact with others, how even now when he was safe he could not sleep soundly.

She saw herself there, the girl she once was. The girl she would be still if not for the selfless care of a kind stranger.