Besides, though Lily was certain Brión loved her—he had not only told her so, but demonstrated it with his eyes, his lips, his hands—she found him oddly reluctant to talk about the future. And although she had been bold in going to the tower, and bold in arranging the captive’s rescue, she was not sure she was bold enough to ask a man to marry her. Should not Brión be doing the asking? He must soon be well enough to go home. What if he went, and that was the last she ever saw of him? What if the caresses and words of love were only some kind of game? But then, if she spoke to him of these doubts and it turned out he’d been planning to propose marriage that very day, or the next day, or the day he was due to leave, she would hurt his feelings terribly. She might never win back his trust. She knew nothing of young men; she had no idea if they thought the way young women did or quite differently. She could hardly ask her mother for advice. And though she was close to Muiríol, it did not seem right to burden a maidservant with such questions. Besides, Muiríol had an easy confidence with young men—not only her sweetheart, but any man she spoke to—that Lily knew she herself would never develop.

After one-and-twenty days of lying in bed or sitting on a padded bench in his quarters, Brión was declared well enough to venture outdoors as far as the kitchen garden. He was not especially keen to go, but allowed himself to be helped along the hallway, through the garden door and out to a bench in the sun. Here, Lily was to do her customary reading. Muiríol came as chaperone, and a gardener, forking dung in a corner, made an uninvited fourth. A little way into the reading, Muiríol wandered over to have a word with the gardener, and Brión addressed Lily in an urgent whisper.

“I need to ask you something, Lily. It’s important.”

“Mm?” Was she naïve to expect a proposal of marriage? Or was that reasonable enough under the circumstances?

“Will you run away with me?” Brión whispered. “Far from here. And soon, before they make me go home. Will you?”

Lily was too shocked to say yes or no. His words had made her insides churn with unease. And perhaps just a little disappointment. When she found her voice again, she said, “Run away? But why? And where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.” Brión had dropped his gaze; he appeared to be studying his hands, clenched together in his lap. “I can’t stay here.”

“You’ll go home, of course,” Lily said, confused. “As soon as you are well enough. That’s what everyone expects.”

“You don’t understand.” Still he would not meet her eyes. “You can’t understand.”

“Ash,” she said, using the sweet name, the name that was just between the two of them. “Tell me. Tell me what this is. If you love me, you should trust me, even if it’s something terrible.” She could not imagine what it might be. He was betrothed already? Married? He had some vile illness nobody had thought to tell her about? None seemed at all likely. “Please,” she added in a whisper. “And if you can’t tell me, you should tell someone else, someone who can help.”