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heard his words. “And if the dog bites you on the leg . . .” he sang at the
top of his voice, occasionally slurring words together, “bite him right back,
you scurvy scoundrel!”
    “What
was that?” Henry asked.
    Isabelle
sighed. “Ruther is drunk.”
    They
both laughed softly.
    “We
need a plan,” Henry said, speaking in his lowest voice. “We’ve always assumed
that when we’re married we’ll live in my home and have my shop. Suppose this
isn’t the case.”
    Isabelle
pondered his words before replying. “What you mean to say is ‘what if we have
to run away and you have to start over?’”
    Henry
nodded.
    “Then
we run away,” Isabelle told him. “We pay someone to make us letters of identity
and start a new life. It won’t be too difficult.”
    His
lips pressed on her forehead.
    “It
must be a last resort. My mother—” She allowed herself a moment to calm down,
but she felt her cheeks flush as she fought back her emotion. “My mother’s
health is turning for the worse. She already needs constant care. She—she could
be gone tomorrow or the next day or perhaps not for several weeks. I need to be
there for her. Norbin’s getting quite old, and my father will not lift a finger
to help. I know she’ll want to discuss our marriage again with him as soon as
she has the strength.”
    “What
can she say to change his mind?”
    “She
won’t tell me everything, but I know they’d reached an agreement a week ago,
when I told you to approach him. He plans to demand a large bride price. He
wanted to intimidate you today. Perhaps—perhaps he’s trying to get more out of
the deal than they originally bargained.”
    “I’m
so sorry, Isabelle,” Henry said. “I’ll apologize to him.”
    “Don’t
you dare!” Isabelle demanded. Henry glanced over his shoulder toward the manor,
but she didn’t care. “The way he treated you is inexcusable. I heard every
word. If I’d known what he planned to do, I would have warned you. I don’t care
if he consents.”
    “We
need his consent to—”
    “I
don’t care. I’ll run away with you before I’ll see you grovel to him, but first
let me help my mother. She deserves to die in dignity.” Isabelle pretended to
brush a hair into place while wiping away a tear.
    “Dapper!
Decided! Deciduous! Defenestration! Deferentially . . . curse it!” Ruther
shouted in his sing-song voice, now much louder than before. His game ended as
they heard him ordering a stray dog to get off his leg. The wind picked up
again, and its whistling drowned out some of Ruther’s profane exclamations at
the “brazen mutt.”
    Henry
spread his cloak out on the ground so she could sit without getting her own
cloak dirty. They sat side by side on the grass. The wind’s direction changed
and the tall hedges blocked the worst of it. The moon climbed higher in the
night sky, shrinking as it did so. The night sky was beautiful and cloudless.
    “James
is the only person I know who doesn’t fear my father,” Isabelle said, “and it
took him quite a while to become that way. Things will be alright in the end,
Henry.”
    He
responded by putting an arm around her. “Do you really believe he would harm me
if he were to find us together?”
    “Gallivanting,
gargantuan, gratuitous, gregarious!” bellowed Ruther so loudly that Isabelle
guessed he must be sitting on the stoop in front of Henry’s house now.
    “My
father knows I’ll leave with you before I allow him to give me away to someone
else. If we give him a few days to regain his composure, I think he’ll accept
an offer from my mother. If not, I’ll go with you wherever you wish.”
    “I
don’t trust him.”
    “Henry,
nothing will happen to me. I swear it. We love each other too much to let him
stop us.”
    “My
mother was a drunkard!” Ruther began crooning at the top of his voice, “My
father was a corn plucker! Is it any wonder then—”
    “Oh
Ruther,” Henry muttered. “Please don’t sing that