Dylan’s lyrical harp added more merriment to the chamber, but his performance this night was subdued. He only sang a few songs and mostly just played his instrument. On evenings past he had chatted with those around him, and Nesta had exchanged a few words with him each night. Now, however, he appeared disinterested in the household activity.

As the ladies engaged Nesta in spirited conversation, she watched Dylan carefully. The bard’s expression looked very sour. On occasion his deft fingers grew clumsy on the strings. Finally he paused right in the middle of a melody and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

Some servants noticed. An old woman hobbled over and peered curiously at his face. The woman gestured for the guard who had brought the bard up from his chamber.

Dylan rose unsteadily, grasping his harp to his chest. The guard moved to help him, but suddenly another man was standing there. Marcus had noticed Dylan’s condition too, and had come to investigate.

Nesta ran over. “He appears ill.”

“Very ill, since it is the first time he has not scowled at me since we met.” Marcus motioned to the guard. “Take him down, and get him another blanket and some ale.”

Dylan barely reacted. Accepting the support of the guard, he began shuffling away.

Marcus’s hand reached out to stop them. He gently relieved Dylan of the burden of the harp. “You will drop it on the stairs in your condition. It will be waiting for you where it always is.”

The guard led Dylan away.

“Perhaps he is too ill for that cellar,” Marcus said. “If I spared him from the noose, I don’t want him to die from the damp.”

“I think that he will be fine in his chamber, since you are sending a blanket.”

“You think moving him up here too great a charity, Nesta?”

“Having gone below, I doubt he wants to move at all. Also, if he is really ill, it might be best not to have him near others who might catch the malady.”

Marcus considered that. “I will have a fire pot brought down all the same. The weather is turning cold.”

He walked back to his men, and Nesta narrowed her eyes on the harp that he carried.

Her plan had worked perfectly, except for that one detail.

CHAPTER 8

Very few sounds broke the stillness. Several fowl heralded the first light with clucks and squawks, and a dog barked in the outer yard, but no human noise came from the long shadows emerging in the dull grey world outside Nesta’s window.

Nesta watched and waited. Behind her Genith breathed gently on the bed, and the servants were dead to the world. She guessed that they did not toss fretfully because they knew that she did the worrying for them.