His hands were busy with the net, feeling their way over the rope, his eyes busy with her, feeling their way over her body.

“What brings you out so early on this fine morning, Mistress?” he asked.

“I need a potion for His Highness’s wounds that he took on our journey. Perhaps you have a wise woman here who brews up such healing liquors.”

“Aye, Mistress, we do,” the man answered. “The Widow Huspeth lives in the woods. Strange woman, but she knows what she’s about, I guess. You’ll find a trail leads to her dwelling, though I would be glad to show you the way myself.”

“No thank you, my good man,” said Evelina with a grateful glance from beneath her lashes. “I will find the way. I bid you good day.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you tonight,” said the fisherman, with a smile. His teeth were white against his black beard that was cut short, so that it outlined his firm jaw.

“I don’t know why you should,” said Evelina. She had plans for this night. She turned to go.

“My house is close by” he told her, as she departed. “It will be the one with the candle in the window. If you feel the need of company, come knock on my door. My name is Jorge.”

Evelina did not reply. She walked away, her head held high, yet she was pleased to know that she could still charm a man. What with the way Marcus had been acting around her, she’d been starting to have her doubts.

She found the trail through the wilderness and soon came upon the house of the herbalist. Evelina was expecting the usual half-mad crone, toothless and gray-haired, crouched over a bubbling cauldron, and she was considerably disconcerted to find a woman of no more than thirty years, clad in man’s breeches and a man’s shirt, down on her hands and knees grubbing among the plants in a large garden.

Evelina approached quietly, wanting to see before she was seen. The woman was instantly aware of the unfamiliar presence in her woods. She turned her head and rose to her feet all in one fluid motion.

“Keep to the trail,” the woman said, her voice husky, as if not much used. “I don’t want my plants trampled.”

Evelina glanced about. She saw no signs of the woman’s house and guessed that it was hidden deeper in the wilderness. The woman wiped dirt from her hands and crossed over to where Evelina stood waiting.

“I’m looking for the Widow Huspeth,” said Evelina.

“You’re a stranger,” said the woman. “Not from the village.”

“I am—” Evelina began.

“It doesn’t matter,” said the woman coldly. “I just want to be clear where we stand. What do you want?”