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and doesn’t hold together as well as English bows. I like the power in such a small weapon. It could almost be called a woman’s bow. ’
    I heard a chuckle .
    ‘My little archer,’ he said softly.
    A smile crept onto my own face.
    ‘Where do we go?’ I asked.
    ‘We need shelter for t his night. Le Mans is too far but if we ride all day tomorrow, by dusk we shall be inside the walls.’
    I was glad to think of defensive walls and heavy gates , for today I felt as vulnerable as a fawn amongst wolves.
    ‘There!’
    Gisborne’s horse moved to my right and Khazia followed withou t me even twitching the reins. A forester’s hut lay in shambles before us, providing a wall and a piece of timber under which we could shelter. I slid from the mare, clutching her mane for support and within moments we had hobbled our mounts so they could graze within reach, a s mall puddle of water close by. Gisborne would not light a fire in case we attracted interest and I, who already trembled with cold, wrapped my cloak tight around me and nibbled at the stale che ese and bread he passed me. I sipped the w ater from my flask and then placed a weary head that ached upon my saddle. My heart lay heavy in my chest, its beats marked, limbs knotted ben eath as I drew myself into a huddle . A s I turned my back against the world, I felt a tear sneaking from my eye, my body shaking as if I froze.
    Guy’s ar m sneaked over my side.
    ‘It is exhaustion and shock, just brea the deep and steady.’
    He curled himself around me like a drake’s tail-feather, his own warmth seeping into my anxious frame and I found m y breath slowing to match his. As I grew more comfortable, my eyes became heavy and it was only as I finally sank into sleep that I realised my hands lay under his and that his thumb stroked over and over across my knuckles.
    It was the first time I, Ysabel the virgin, slept with Guy of Gisborne, a chaste event that left me as intact as Marais could have hoped.
     

Chapter Three
     
     
    Sometimes when one wakes it’s as if ice has been dropped down one’s spine but I woke as if I were wrapped in silk and wool. Warm, loose, remembering onl y the stroking of my knuckles. As I arched my body, I knew he ha d left me but I felt no fear. Not immediat ely … and then, like the aforesaid winterfreeze , cold crept over me as I recalled death; Wil fred’s, Harold’s, my mother’s. I sat up with a rush.
    ‘Lady Ysabel, you’re awake.’ Guy strode into the clearing with the horses. ‘I took them to the str eam and they drank their fill.’
    My breath gushed out. I hadn’t realised I held it. But his presence eased the distrait of my memories and I clambered up, folding the cloak he’d laid over me , straightening my gown and re-plaiting my hair in a rough braid.
    ‘Here,’ he held out a palm filled with redcurrants. ‘They might be a little tart but there is nothing else other than the water. At least that is clear and sweet-smelling. ’
    ‘Do w e leave immediately?’
    ‘As soon as we are saddled.’ He shouldered our gear and began tacking the horses.
    ‘I’ll be bac k momentarily,’ I muttered and dashed to the stream, taking care of nature, washing my face and hands. When I returned he was mounted and passed my reins over with no comment and I leaped aboard, no leg-up, quite able. But he’d already pushed his own horse on and missed my agility.
     
    Alone. Just he an d I. Riding abreast. Silent. I could only think he regretted holding me last night and yet I was so grateful.
    ‘Guy?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Thank you for comforting me last night. I was cold and… ’ I hesitated, ‘so very cold.’
    ‘It is best b odies lie close when it’s cold . One body warms the other. ’
    ‘Of course.’ Hu h, of course, I thought wryly. ‘Where shall we put up in Le Mans?’
    ‘There is a priory.’
    ‘Fo r me no doubt,’ I replied with the taste of tart redcurrant on my tongue. ‘And you?’
    ‘An inn close by.’
    ‘I could