Yseult gulped back the words, surprised that she’d dared to think them in her mother’s face.

Lady Phillipa told me that was just a fantasy of yours. That it didn’t mean the same thing in the Society and you weren’t a King’s daughter, anyway.

She clenched her teeth as her mother pushed the heavy cloth onto the table with a quick nervous gesture and walked a few steps towards the fireplace and back.

“Hand!” she demanded.

Yseult gasped, but held out her right hand, palm up. No good ever came of whining or trying to get out of her punishments. Her left hand grasped her parting gift from Brother Odard. A two-sided medal with St. Bernadette of Lourdes on one side and the Immaculate Conception on the other that hung on a fine gold chain around her neck.

Her right hand trembled and she couldn’t stop two tears sliding down her cheeks as she waited for the ruler to snap against her tender palm.

“Crying!” exclaimed Mary, contempt and dismissal in her voice. “Here.”

She thrust the heavy linen back into Yseult’s arms. “Pick it out, from here to here. Then put it away for now. I won’t have slovenly work on the altar of the Lord. You can . . .”

A scratch on the solar door interrupted her tirade. She turned and Yseult drew in a quick, shuddering breath of relief, rapidly and neatly folding the cloth.

“Romarec, what is it?”

“My lady, your brother begs an audience.”

Yseult looked at the matronly housekeeper in some surprise. The last she’d heard, Uncle Guelf was leading the Gervais menie in battle out in Pendleton.

What’s he doing back in Gervais?

She began to sidle towards the servants’ door; strict, hard-handed Uncle Guelf ranked low on her list of people to welcome.

“Certainly. Send him up and do you take this child of mine with you,” said Mary, a tight smile on her face. “She is to work on her sewing with you until the altar cloth embroidery is good enough for me.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Goodwife Romarec bobbed a curtsy, met Yseult’s eyes and made a very small hand gesture to her and held the door open. As she shut the door behind them, Yseult sighed, her palm tingling where the ruler had not hit. Romarec instructed the waiting page to bring Lord Guelf up and waved Yseult towards the door to the servants’ hall.

“Come, young Mistress,” she said. “What’s amiss?”

Yseult gave the housekeeper a rather watery smile. “Mama’s so annoyed and angry all the time, these days. I know the Regent said we all have to do our part in this war, but I wish I could do my part staying with Aedelia Kozlow or Jehane Smitts.”

Romarec led her down the servants’ corridor, frowning.