Ser Thomas laughed. “On the west road,” he said. “Only the Red Knight would lead his party through the fewkin’ gorge.” He smiled. “There’s a perfectly good road, just one more valley over west, like.”

“Why the gorge, then?” Amicia asked.

Ser Thomas laughed. “You, I reckon,” he said. “He’s mad for ye—you know it, aye?”

Amicia found that despite her best intentions, she was blushing furiously.

He grinned at her. “I’m fer thinkin’ you’re not so agin’ it as you seem.”

Amicia drank a little more wine than she’d intended and coughed.

“Ah, well.” Ser Thomas nodded. “I’m an old busybody.” He leaned back, all six foot four of him. “Did ye like the gorge, lass?”

Amicia nodded. “I loved it. The rush of the water—the depth of the gorge. Magnificent.”

Ser Thomas made room for Ser Gavin and Ser Michael as they entered. They bowed to her and talked in whispers because of the sleeping Sister Mary—all except Ser Thomas Lachlan, who didn’t seem to have a whisper.

Outside the pavilion, a cultured voice laden with sarcasm asked, “What’s our lord and master doing now? Finding minstrels to play for his lady love?”

She heard Toby say something softly.

The cultured voice said, “Oh, my God.”

Chris Foliak, still in his arming clothes, stepped into the pavilion out of the spring evening. He was beet red, and when he saw how red Amicia was, he turned even redder.

Amicia got to her feet. “I think—” she began unsteadily.

Ser Thomas rose. “Don’t go, lass. It’s just Foliak’s usual way of goin’ about things—lead wi’ his tongue. Eh, Kit?”

“Good sister, I apologize for my—” Even Chris Foliak wasn’t sure what to say.

But luckily for everyone, Sister Mary chose that moment to moan, and awake.

“Oh—Amicia!” she said weakly.

Amicia took her by the hand and led her to their tent. There were only a hundred people in the whole party, and fifteen wagons—so their tent was not so hard to find. By it, Sister Katherine was leading a dozen young men and women in prayer. She flashed Sister Amicia a smile.

Sister Mary was so tired from riding that it was all she could do to get undressed to her shift. Amicia laid her down, covered her and watched her fall asleep unaided by any hermetical wisdom.

Katherine rose from her knees, coral prie-dieu in hand, and dusted herself off. “Blessed Virgin, Mary is going to hate horses tomorrow morning,” she said. “This household has no chaplain since Father Arnaud died.”

Amicia nodded.

“Well—you have a licence to say mass, Sister. I don’t.” Sister Katherine grinned. “Father Arnaud said mass every morning, I gather. They’re not all impious rake-hells like their captain.”