“I know enough,” Genith said. “He does not care for me, either. He sat in the hall pretending to attend on me but thinking about other things. Doing his duty, that is all. He barely looked at me, and asked me questions about my life with our kinswoman in Wales in a tone that you would use with a little child. I half expected him to give me a doll. As it is, he brought no gift, and scowled the whole time. He is the kind of man who is always angry, I think, and I am very glad that I will not have to marry him.”

Nay, she would not. It had nothing to do with Genith’s preferences, however. It never did for women, especially women of their birth.

Genith was destined for a different marriage, to a different lord, in order to secure a vital alliance for the rebels who flew Llygad ap Madoc’s banner.

Nesta took Genith in her arms to give comfort and reassurance. The body that she held felt very small and frail. She herself had been just as slight and not much older than Genith when she met King Edward. She had thought herself very mature and worldly then, but the world she knew was privileged and small and based upon songs and tapestries, and the maturity merely an illusion.

“That you do not care for this man is of no consequence. But what of the next one, Genith? It is a mistake to form your judgments so quickly.” She knew even as she spoke that she could make no difference. There were certain things a woman only learns through experience, no matter how often older voices might try to warn and prepare.

“I doubt he will be so angry and cruel in appearance and manner. No man could be.”

She was terribly wrong there, but Nesta did not say so. Marcus might have a harsh quality to him, but she could tell that he was not cruel. Genith had never had to deal with a truly violent man, and Nesta prayed she never would. “There are ways to handle men like Sir Marcus, little sister. My own husband had a temper to match his fiery hair, but with me he learned to be courteous. If the man you marry seems hard, you must soften him.”

Genith pulled away, and gave the sharp look of a girl who knows very little but thinks she is quite wise. “Soften him with my favors, you mean.” The tone was disapproving. For an instant Nesta saw the pinched face of the pious kinswoman with whom Genith had lived since their father had been disseized.

“Not with your favors. With your virtue and grace,” Nesta said.