“I do not trust you, Lord Hugh. Why should I?”

“Trust that I have no power save my knowledge of the arts of the mathematici. My mother is dead, and my sisters hate me. Queen Adelheid wishes me gone. That bastard who calls himself king has the power to banish me.”

‘And he holds the woman you desire close to his heart.”

“Damn him!”

He wept tears of rage.

The sight so astounded her that she could not move except to wave away the servants who had come into the room, hearing his distress. Her amazement allowed her the patience to wait him out and to explore the lineaments of his anger, shown in the curl of his hands, the stiffness of his jaw, and the way his lower lip trembled like that of a thwarted child. She had never seen him lose control so nakedly.

So might an angel cry, hearing of an insult to God which Their creature was powerless to avenge.

When he had calmed a little, she touched his hand. “I will speak with the queen. You will rest. Later we will speak again. There is a pallet in the outer chamber. No one will disturb you. Ask for food and drink, anything you desire.”

“You cannot give me what I desire,” he said, voice still hoarse with tears.

“You ought to desire God’s favor, Lord Hugh, not a mere woman. Mere flesh.”

“You do not know what she is.”

“But I do know. I saw what she is, and a fearful thing it was to see. You forget I was there at Verna. I think even my galla might not touch one such as she. She is very dangerous, and no doubt that makes her sweeter and brighter in your eyes. I think she is too dangerous to let live.”

“No!”

“Then chained. Dead, or chained.’

He had not dried his eyes, but the tears lingering on his face did not mar his beauty. “I will do anything to get her back.”

“Will you? Will you even marry Adelheid?”

With his chin dipped down, his gaze up at her had an almost flirtatious quality. “How will that aid Adelheid’s cause, or my own? Or yours, Your Holiness?”

“In no possible way, if Adelheid does not forgive you and take you back into her counsel. As for the rest, consider who is Adelheid’s heir—younger by far and easier to steer on a proper course.”

That made him think. He sat in silence, gaze drawn in as at an image she could not touch, although she could guess it: Antonia as skopos and Hugh as the deceased queen’s consort, ruling Mathilda as regents.

“Best to rest, Lord Hugh,” she added kindly, “and see if sleep and food ease this trouble that disturbs your mind.”

“It never will,” he whispered to himself.

She nodded, humoring him, but he was far gone, and indeed when he was taken aside to the waiting pallet, hidden behind a curtain, he slept at once and heavily, dead to the world, as it was said by the poets, who knew from sordid experience how cravings make a man pregnable who might otherwise be fortified with temperance.