‘I am going to need something to eat,’ Isabel told the guard.

Webb gave her a tired look. ‘Do I look like a lady’s maid?’

‘I am not asking you to cook it for me. I am quite capable of organising my own food.’ She stopped at the kitchen area, glancing around.

The women paused their work and looked in her direction, giving her a chance to see their faces again.

‘I was instructed to take you to your tent,’ Webb said, sounding irritated.

She looked up at him. ‘Shall I tell His Lordship that my request for a simple bowl of soup was denied?’

The guard exhaled and gestured for her to go ahead.

She walked into the kitchen area, eyes darting left and right. Her vision snagged on a familiar pair of brown boots with pointed toes, boots her mother had given Yvaine as a gift many years ago. She lifted her gaze, her heart squeezing as she met warm hazel eyes—eyes that always seemed to smile. A few moments passed, and then Yvaine noticed Webb standing there and straightened.

‘Can I help you with something?’ she asked, her tone lacking its usual warmth.

Isabel closed some of the distance between them. ‘I was wondering if I might trouble you for some soup. It has been a long day of travel.’

Yvaine nodded. ‘I’ll bring a tray to your tent.’

Isabel swallowed. Soon she would have the opportunity to look at her properly, to touch her and confirm she was real. ‘Thank you.’ Turning, she headed back to the waiting guard.

The pair continued along the road that ran through the middle of the camp, passing the stables and barracks as they headed towards the large tents at the back. Each was big enough to stand up in.

‘That one’s yours,’ Webb said, gesturing to the one on the far left.

Isabel stepped inside and looked around. There was a cot with linen and blankets, plus a small table and stool. The bag containing her belongings had been brought in and sat on the end of the bed.

‘I’ll be outside,’ the guard told her. It came out more like a warning than a reassuring sentiment.

Isabel watched the canvas fall back into place, then paced the two strides of space between the table and the cot until the flap opened again and Yvaine finally appeared. She said nothing as she set the wooden tray down on the table, but her hands shook a little. Realising Webb was standing there waiting for the woman to exit, Isabel asked, ‘Could you help me unbutton my dress before you leave?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Isabel looked back at Webb. ‘Are you planning on standing there and watching?’

He gave her another scowl before releasing the canvas.

Isabel went to check it was fully closed before rushing over to Yvaine and wrapping her arms around her. The woman held her as she had done so many times through her childhood, rubbing gentle circles on her back. Only when Isabel was sure she had control of her tears did she let go to look at her properly.