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too. The women who use him treat him like a secret and will go nowhere else. Lady Agnes says that Lady Elizabeth's whole white and silver style was his idea. I'm surprised that you never saw him before this happened if Elizabeth is one of his patrons.”
    Lady Elizabeth, a widow, had been a special friend of Morvan's for a number of months a year ago. She was atleast ten years older than him but exquisitely beautiful. Her most notable features were her prematurely white hair and her translucent white skin. Court rumors had predicted a marriage, but then Elizabeth had accepted the offer of an elderly lord and suddenly her friendship with Morvan had cooled.
    For two years now, Elizabeth had affected a highly personal style that enhanced her unique beauty. She wore only white and silvery grays. Even her jewels were reset in silver.
    “Isabele is convinced that he will make you work for him,” Joan giggled. “Idonia has explained that wealthy merchants don't do that, but Isabele sees the women working in the shops and thinks that you will have to as well.”
    Dear saints, Morvan would kill her to protect the family honor before he swallowed that. “It is your move, Joan,” she said, deciding that it was time to end the subject.
    A page entered a short time later. “My lady, your husband is in the hall and bids you to attend on him,” he said to her.
    She stared at the boy as if he had spoken gibberish. “Is that the message as he sent it?”
    “Aye, my lady.”
    “I do not much like this message,” she said to Joan.
    “It sounds common enough to me.”
    “He is not my husband yet.”
    “Oh, Christiana, you know that betrothed couples are often referred to as husband and wife. Saturday was the first part of the ceremony, and the wedding is the conclusion. It is half done.”
    Not for me , she wanted to shout. And this man knows it.
    She also didn't like, not one bit, being “bidden” to do anything by David de Abyndon. When Morvan put herhand in David's, it was symbolic of handing over authority and responsibility, but under the circumstances of this particular betrothal, that was meaningless too.
    She turned to the page. “Tell my betrothed that I regret that I cannot attend on him this morning. I am grateful that he has visited, but I am not well. Tell him that I have a headache and am feeling dizzy.”
    “I hope that you know what you are doing,” Joan said.
    More to the point was the importance that David know what she was doing. She had told him that they would not see each other, and if he mistakenly thought that she meant only before the betrothal, then this should clarify it. She had no intention of explaining to Stephen when he came that she had been playing out this farce more than necessary.
    A short while later their door flew open and the page reappeared, red faced and winded from running.
    “My lady, your hus … that man is coming here.”
    “Coming here!”
    “Aye. I handed him over to another page and sent them the long way, but he will be here soon.”
    She looked desperately at Joan as the page left.
    “I thought that you knew what you were doing,” Joan said, laughing.
    She jumped up. “Help me. Quickly.” She ran into the bedchamber's anteroom and threw back the coverlet on her bed. “Tuck me in and close the curtains. Try not to let any of my gown show.”
    “This isn't going to work.” Joan giggled as she poked the coverlet around her neck and sides.
    “Tell him that I am resting and send him away.”
    Joan grinned and pulled the curtains.
    Christiana lay absolutely still in the dark shadows of the bed. She could hear Joan walking around, humming amelody. She felt a little ridiculous doing this, but something deep inside her said that she should not see this man again.
    Even though her curtains muffled the sounds, she heard the boots walking into the room.
    “Master David!” Joan cried brightly.
    “Lady Joan. You, at least, appear to be well.”
    Christiana sighed. This man's