Barely had this thought occurred to him than he saw a woman hovering uncertainly at the front of the growing crowd of courtiers. She looked down at her feet and shifted nervously, as though she wished not to be noticed. He watched de Vere approach her and wondered if this was his daughter – had he ever met Robert de Vere’s daughter? – as Edward and Burnell crossed to a long table covered in parchments at the head of the room. Just then, she raised her face to de Vere. Even with her full face in view, it took a moment for it to register, that it was her. Yet another version of her. Not a healer in a white veil, or a muddy mannish terror with a sword, but a nervous woman in an ill-fitting dress.

Suddenly he was striding toward her. It was an impulse not connected to rational thought. He had a vague idea that he must warn her of the suspicion he had felt coming from Edward’s counsellors, or protect her when she stood so exposed and unarmed amid the machinations of court. It was not until he stood an arms-length from her and felt the people around him fall silent, felt de Vere’s surprise and saw her pale, expectant expression, that he checked himself.

It served no purpose, to rush to her side like this. It would set tongues to wagging. Indeed, he could hear already the chattering around him, soft exclamations of wonderment to see him with such a look of concern. His reputation at court was not one of compassion.

He stood rooted to the spot, staring speechlessly at the yellow silk netting that covered her hair, and felt a fool. What was it about Gwenllian of Ruardean that caused him to make an ass of himself, he wondered. Then he did his best to make it seem natural, bowing to her cordially and offering his greetings. She looked confused, as though she had expected something of great import, but sank into a courtesy and returned his greeting.

“Full well have you recovered from our travels,” he said, to fill the silence. The pale green of her gown was remarkably unflattering to her complexion, and the yellow netting binding her hair was worse.

Though nothing in her manner or expression changed, he could feel her sudden panic. Her eyes remained steady on his, but her voice was a thin and unsubstantial thing when she murmured her thanks. After a moment, she turned her gaze downward at his own finest deep blue tunic, with an under tunic of snowiest white. “I trust you are also well recovered, my lord.”