She stirred at length, and looked about her. The quiet solar, with the brazier’s glow and the thick curtains hiding the stone walls; the tapestry-frames, the baskets full of coloured wools, the spinning wheel, the harp in the corner. Her room, her everyday room, with the stair beyond the curtain, and her bedchamber opening from the landing above. The view beyond the window, of a terrace with its strip of garden, pretty even in winter, with the tubs of evergreen bushes and the herb beds. Beyond that the river, smooth-running and wide, which served as a moat, for pleasure rather than for defence, for who, in these peaceful days of Arthur’s reign, need fear his neighbour? Not Duke Ansirus the Pilgrim, that devout and gentle man, who was loved by the local folk, and whose daughter, the Lady Alice, could ride anywhere within the bounds of the duchy in safety. Whose neighbours, in fact, would rally to their aid if the unthinkable happened, and an enemy threatened their peace.

But for the news the courier had brought, that peace might well have been broken. It was a chilling thought. The marriage with Drian had seemed a good one, both for herself (“a young man, landless, who will not take me away from home”) and for the future of Castle Rose. But even if the tragedy at Amesbury had not happened, what then? If Lamorak had married Queen Morgause, and Alice had been Drian’s wife, what shadows of evil magic and past sins (the folk-tales had been specific enough) would have crept north to smear the edges of this loved land?

The sun had left the window. She turned to look out at the prospect that had always been so lovely in her eyes, and now, with shadow both real and imaginary veiling it, showed a thousand times more beautiful. Not to be lost, please, dear God. I will do anything to keep it, and ease my father’s mind. Anything.

Looking again at her father sitting silent, an ageing grey man, in grey shadow, she thrust aside her own feeling of relief, and set out to comfort him.

“Nothing may come of this, Father, no danger to Drian, or his family. Will you wait to hear what happens, or do you want to write now to Bannog Dun to see what Madoc has to say?”

The Madoc she referred to was keeper of a stronghold – too small to be called a castle – near the northern borders of Rheged. He was a distant cousin of Duke Ansirus, and related also to King Ban of Benoic. He was, in fact, the heir to Castle Rose in default of a male heir – a son born to Alice. His was a somewhat sideways claim – that is, legitimate, but through a younger son two generations back; however, it was a claim that might well stand, failing a better one. And in the direct line there was only Alice.

The duke stirred and straightened, looking, she was glad to see, relieved. “That is one of the things I came to ask you. It seems the best.”