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stay at the inn as well.’
    ‘I think not, L ady.’
    Lady? Mary Mother ! After yesterday?
    I was too tired to argue. All at o nce I wanted to bathe, find clothes, eat.
    ‘How long from Le Mans to the coast?’
    ‘Another few days.’
    His mood had become more removed. Truly a woman w ould be mad to bother further. I ’ve always disliked sulky men as it implies an arrogant indi vidual used to being indulged. But this man next to me had not been spoiled.
    How did I know when he had told me nothing?
    Simply, h e was my father’s s teward .
    If he’d led a truly privileged life he would ne ver have been a mere servant. And yet I knew he was of noble birth, so why then such a humble position by comparison? I knew I could secure answers at Moncrieff but I have ever been impatient.
    I chose my time.
     
    We had been riding by a small rivulet and sto pped a few miles from Le Mans. As I dismounted, my foot twisted on a stone and I wrenched my ankle so that it swelled dramatically.
    ‘What have you done?’
    Gisborne bent to check my foot, my gown folds still hooked up for riding. Without my leave, he scooped me up to carry me to the wate r, stripping my hose and boot.
    ‘Place your foot in the water. The chill will ease the swelling.’
    I st ood with him holding my elbow, embarrassed, conscious of the value of nuisance.
    ‘Truly, there is no pain. May we ride on? I wish to get to Le Mans as soon as we can.’
    ‘Can you walk?’
    I limped slightly. ‘Enough to get me to my mount.’
    He sighed as if I were so much trouble, lifted me up and hoisted me back on Khazia, slipping the hose up my leg and placing the boot bac k on with infinite gentleness. I reached to his hand.
    ‘I’m sorry. T his is such a fraught journey. I apologise for being such t rouble.’
    His attention focussed on placing my foot in the stirrup as if I hadn’t even spoken. My father had given him orders … to mind me like a nursemaid. He should be accompanying my father on social occasions and official domain business. Even royal progresses because as a noble of greater ranking, my father had his place at Court. But instead this man smoothed folds and minded a precocious woman.
    ‘Please accept my apologies.’ I offered.
    ‘You needn’t apologise. Not when you shoot a bow like a trained archer and when you speak the Saracen tongue.’ His mouth tipped up. ‘You are quite an enigma, Lady Ysabel.’
    Me an enigma?
    I laughed. ‘I shall assume that to be a compliment. Can we go?’
    The mood had lightened in the blink of an eye, a nd as we rode mo re peaceably I took a breath.
    ‘Guy, why are you my father’s steward ?’
     
    He rode along without saying anything and then, ‘W hy are you interested?’
    ‘You know about me, thus I should know a little about you.’
    I tried to pose the reply lightly, as if it didn’t really matter. Again there was a taut silence, as though he warred with himself about what he should and shou ld not say .
    ‘I needed employment.’
    Short and to the point.
    ‘You needed employment? Gracious. Since wh en do sons of the nobility need employment?’
    ‘Again this idea that I am a noble.’
    ‘Deny it then. Tell me that your courtly manners and your education are a product of a lowly upbringing.’
    A very small smile appeared and I felt the warmth of it across the breadth between us. ‘Honestly Ys abel, you are like a horsefly. Apart from swatting you away, one can’t get rid of you until you have your bite.’
    ‘At least I am plain Ysabel now,’ I muttered.
    I f he heard he made no comment. What he did say opened up a discussion that filled the miles left until we reached Le Mans and which left me breathless and filled with sorrow for a man and his mother.
    ‘I am noble born,’ he said. ‘I am the son of Baron Henry of Gi sborne and his lady, Ghislaine. Like yourself, Ysabel, I am an only child.’
    ‘Why aren’t you at Gisborne then, helping your father manage his estates at the very