She thought of him as he had lain injured and vulnerable in that Welsh hut, what felt like a lifetime ago. In all his hours of illness, he had never looked peaceful, not even when the fever broke. Always had he thrashed fitfully as though tortured by Lucifer himself – except when he had opened his eyes and looked in hers. Even when he had held her knife to his breast and she saw what he meant by it, even then he had a rare air of untroubled calm.

And now, she knew, he waited for her to deliver judgment. The knife at his breast had become the sword he had pressed in her hand, moments ago.

“You are tormented by this place,” she said. “I have seen it. You give it power over your spirit.”

“I am tormented wherever I go, to Jerusalem and back again. You tell me I am bedeviled while I sleep unawares. So long as my heart beats, it is tormented.”

Still he looked at her, waiting.

“Think you I would stop your heart?” She pressed her lips together, to stop their trembling. “Gladly would I slay any who threatened it.”

His eyes were a burning blue flame fixed on her, his voice a rasp that pleaded with her.

“Is a foul thing, that would love Aymer.” He went to his knees, pressed his face into her body, his arms wrapped around her hips. She felt the deep tremor in him, the desperation evident in the strength of his grip on her. “I would have it cut from me.”

She put her hands to his hair, smoothing her fingers over the soft blackness. She wanted to protest that she was no priest, nor confessor. She could not absolve him, nor even did she know how to comfort him. She was only his wife, uncomely and unwomanly.

“Would you leave me?” she whispered.

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers. There was an anguish in him, and she knew what she must say.

Her hands slid down to his face as she lowered herself to her knees before him. She looked at him steady and sure, waiting until she saw the same look he had given her before – when she had tended him in his fever, and again when he had known her for a woman and not boy – the look that said she held the answer he sought.

“Clearly do I see your heart, and it is surpassing fair.” She ignored the fluttering in her belly, fought against the fear of admitting it. “I cherish it. There is nothing more dear to me.”

She held his gaze until she was sure he had heard her, had understood. Then she drew a breath and raised herself from the floor. She walked back to the bench where the glass bottle sat open, and busied herself with finding the stopper.