David smiled in the enigmatic way he had. “I could stay here longer if you like. You are not well practiced in deceit. I could counsel you in that.”

“My deceits are over, I hope. Now I only have to fathom hers.”

They clasped arms, and Marcus walked with David to the door. His friend stepped through the threshold, but paused and turned.

“She will not give it up, you know. Not even for you. The words of love she spoke at the betrothal might be in her heart, but her head does not accept them.”

It was as clear a warning as David would ever give.

“Have a safe journey, old friend, and do not spend all your profits on beautiful women.”

A glint entered David’s deep blue eyes. “Guard your own profits from beautiful women, too.”

She will not give it up. Not even for you.

Marcus knew that. He had not needed David to warn him.

He crossed his arms on the top of the wall as he looked out into the night. In the darkness below he could barely make out the forms of cottages, and the gristmill by its stream, and in the distance the black mounds of the hills that announced the rising of the land to the west.

The cold was sharp enough that he regretted not bringing a cloak. Paul had been right. The swings from warm to cold that marked the autumn in these parts were already ending. It looked to be an early winter, and a bitter one.

He thought about Nesta, sleeping in her chamber. She was probably naked, and uncovered because she did not feel the chill. He considered going there, just to see her. Not her body. Images of that were in his head so clearly, so persistently, that he did not need the reality. It would be nice to see her resting, however. To see her face without the veil of anger and resentment that she wore when they met now.

She will not give it up. He did not expect her to. He knew something about the constancy of women. His own sister had taken up a quest and held to it, clung to it, when most men would have been discouraged. Even her love of a man had not dissuaded her. It was only at the end, when she had won, that Joan rejected the life that had demanded the quest and joined Rhys in another.

And Joan had won. His presence on this wall was proof of that. What if she had not? And what if the man himself had thwarted her?

My love has made me a girl again, so that the world appears fresh and new. It fills my heart with sparkling light. The grace of heaven could not be more powerful.