A part of Lysander's mind, a very quiet, small part, the part that remembered the way life had once been, applauded the notion. Lysander had no idea what he should do. Never once had a pretty woman snared his attention since his return from the battlefield.

That distraction turned out to be hazardous.

Without Lysander quite realizing it, well-trained Icarus had angled his walk in the direction of Lysander's focus. As they came near, Icarus snorted in spoiled equine offense at the heavy odor of lanolin and sheep dung. Lysander noticed distantly that they had come quite close to the livestock pens, but since he was still generally en route to the smithy he didn't bother to turn Icarus aside.

Their path had brought them closer to the fascinating lady beneath the pavilion, although she still had eyes for something few yards farther on. Lysander managed to tear his locked gaze from the gray shadows in her eyes to follow the direction of her attention.

He saw that she was watching a farm family. There was a great strapping father, an astonishingly pregnant mother and four clean-as-a-whistle youngsters whose white-blonde heads formed a stair-step of their ages, right down to the smallest boy, who looked to be barely walking. They were all glowing proudly at the tallest child, a skinny girl of perhaps ten years, who wore a smile so wide it threatened to divide her face. Her straw-colored hair was done up in bows and her flowered muslin dress seemed quite at odds with the substantial black and white piglet squirming in her arms.

The family looked on with pleasure as another, even more massive fellow tied a bright blue ribbon around the piglet's neck and finished it with a delicate bow, which was astonishing considering the thickness of his fingers.

Lysander surmised that he'd spotted the blacksmith. It was obvious from the girth of his forearms and the ruddy features weathered by fire and steam. Lysander sent one last glance toward the pavilion. The lady was gone. Lysander's visceral awareness of the lady bloomed in the fog of his consciousness, strange and unlikely and not at all welcome. He'd fought so hard for some tiny fragment of equilibrium. Now she had disappeared and he fought a ridiculous sense of loss.

It would be a very good idea to leave this hamlet as soon as possible.

The smith, luckily, was still within reach. Having awarded the winner of the Fat Piglet Competition, the man had clapped the proud papa on the shoulder and begun to walk away.

In his haste to have the horseshoe replaced so he could be gone from this hamlet and back on the road alone, Lysander nudged his heels into Icarus with more force than necessary. Obediently, Icarus shot forward. His great shoulder impacted the corner post of the woven willow livestock pen.