By the wet upon her leggings Osserc surmised that she too had been down at the stream, although she carried no skins or buckets. But he saw that she held something in one closed fist, and could guess at what it was. That alone made him feel ugly inside. ‘Are you from the village, then? I’ve not seen you.’

‘I don’t spend my evenings in the taverns, milord.’

‘Of course you don’t. But it seems that you know that I do.’

‘It’s known.’

‘Women fight to sit in my lap.’

‘I am happy for you, milord.’

‘What you are is insolent.’

Her expression faltered slightly and she looked down. ‘I am sorry that you think so, milord. Forgive me.’

‘It’s not your forgiveness that I want.’

And he saw then how his words frightened her, and that was the last thing he desired. ‘What do you hide in your hand?’

‘I – I do not hide it, milord. But it is personal.’

‘A stone from the stream.’

Eyes still downcast, she nodded.

‘A boy in the village?’

‘He is past being a boy, milord.’

‘Of course he is, to have earned your affection.’ Osserc drew up his spare horse. ‘You can ride? I will escort you back to the village. The day is hot and the road dusty, and I see that you wear no shoes.’

‘That is a warhorse, milord—’

‘Oh, Kyril is gentle enough, and most protective.’

She eyed the roan beast. ‘I did not know you gelded warhorses.’

‘Kyril would fight with my father’s horse, and that could not be permitted, as it endangered both of us – me and my father, that is – and distracted the other mounts. Besides,’ he added, ‘I grew tired of fighting him.’ After a moment, she still had made no move, and Osserc dismounted. ‘I was, of course, intending for you to ride Neth, since, as you say, it’s safer.’

She nodded. ‘You will be most impressive, milord, riding Kyril into the village. All will see that the son of Lord Urusander has returned, pursuing important matters of state. They will see the dust upon you and wonder what lands you have travelled.’

Osserc smiled and offered her the reins.

‘Thank you, milord,’ she said, pausing to sweep back her golden hair and deftly knot it behind her head; then she accepted Neth’s reins and drew close to the horse.

She waited for Osserc to swing into Kyril’s robust saddle before lithely leaping astride Neth’s back.

‘Ride at my side,’ Osserc said, guiding his mount alongside her.

‘I must not, milord. My beloved—’

Osserc felt his smile tightening and there was pleasure when he hardened his tone. ‘But I insist, Renarr. You will humour me in this small gesture, I am sure.’

‘Milord, if he sees—’

‘And if he does? Will he imagine that we dallied by the stream?’