The missing shoe was a problem. Lysander hoped the thoroughbred didn't crack a hoof.

The dale itself was nothing but a great grassy swath, with the river that had cut it running cheerfully in the deepest crease. Even the stone walls that Lysander had seen would not pose a danger to a high-jumping thoroughbred like Icarus. If the sheep were safe in the pastures, so then should a somewhat foolish horse be.

Lysander stayed very still and with the ease of great practice, emptied his mind. This was a very quiet house, in a simple, unoccupied way. He let that silence seep into him, breathing it in like cool, clean air. It was beautiful, that barrenness. Unpolluted and uncomplicated, like this room.

The thin line of brightness shining between the drawn curtains began to fade. Evening came early in the North. He did a bit of math and realized he'd been out for more than half the day. That certainly explained the pounding in his head. He closed his eyes again, not resisting the pain, not really caring about it either.

He remained that way until he detected sounds outside his door, footsteps on wooden stairs and down the hall, growing louder as they approached. He recognized the stomp of the man's rough boots but there was another lighter step as well, barely audible over the first.

He heard a whispered consultation outside the door. Lysander didn't bother to interpret it. He simply didn't care. He was clearly in the hands of people who had cared for him and meant him no harm. That was all he needed to know.

He opened his eyes at the turn of the latch and looked toward the door, resigned that now there would be conversation and questions and answers and that people would expect things. He only hoped that the ordeal would be quick and they would leave him alone again in the quiet of this room.

He blinked at the glare of a candle and realized how dark the room had become.

Then she stepped through the door, the pretty woman he'd seen in the pavilion. She was even more entrancing at close examination. A cool, quiet beauty dressed sedately in a somber gown that didn't quite manage to hide her lithe figure. Lysander found himself unable to look away from her.

As she walked toward the bed, Lysander realized that his first impression of her youth had been incorrect. She looked to be close to his own age. There was just a faint suggestion of lines in the corners of her eyes, but it was more than that. She did not have the gaze of innocence or the eager, seeking look of youthful questions.