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mistress?"
    Edward looked into the fire. "Even a mistress who claims she holds no aspirations eventually wants to claim more than a monthly allowance."
    "Unlike a Handmaiden, who is bound to provide service without reward." Edward nodded. From behind him, he heard the sound of scuffling and in the next moment felt Alaric's hand upon his shoulder. He looked at his friend.
    "It wasn't your fault," Alaric said gently. "You have to stop blaming yourself." Mere words would do nothing to alleviate the years-long guilt. "I was there, too, when she died. I've as much fault as Cillian."
    "You were a lad," said Alaric. "We all were. She was a whore—"
    "She was a woman!" Edwards gut clenched at the memory of how she'd smiled when he'd asked her name, and how she'd not given it.
    "She was rough trade and had been well used by many. Cillian has ever been one to push the limits." Alaric's fingers squeezed Edward's shoulder. "It was an accident."
    "Does that release me from blame?" Again, Edward looked at his friend. "I don't think so."
    Alaric hadn't been there that night. He didn't know what happened. Only Edward and Cillian knew, and one of them had gone mad from it and both became liars.
    "You're the only one who doesn't." Alaric gave another squeeze and stepped away. "Go home to your Handmaiden, Edward. Allow her to service you as is her duty, if for no other reason than you've paid for the right to accept it. Get some rest."
    "But Cillian—"
    "I've had it from good authority that our dear Cilly has drunk himself into a stupor on worm and is passed out on the lap of Per-sis Denviel, that prat. Even his father doesn't expect you to be with him every moment."
    Edward nodded, turning to face his friend and clasp his hand, having much to say but incapable of saying it. "You're right."
    Alaric put his hand over Edward's briefly before releasing it. "Aye, and if not, you're no farther away than a swift ride. Go home.
    Edward nodded. "I'll go."
    Alaric grinned. "And mayhap I'll visit you tomorrow . . . see for myself this Handmaiden. I've never seen one. What's she like?'
    "A woman," said Edward, thinking. "She's just like ... a woman. And though that answer didn't seem to satisfy Alaric, it was the only one he could give. Two days had passed, and she'd waited patiently, for true patience was its own reward. Yet there could be no denying how much better it was when the door opened and Edward strode in. He didn't ignore her, but he didn't approach her, either.
    "You've made a tangle of yourself," she reproached, watching him struggle with the laces at his cuffs. "Has no one attended you while you were gone?" Edward stopped his struggle and allowed her to work the knots free. "No. I have no valet at the palace except for on formal occasions."
    The lace came away in her hand and she folded it carefully and set it on the dresser, then moved to the other wrist. In moments she'd unfastened the rest of the laces on his shirt and moved to help him off with it.
    "I'll run you a bath," she murmured, noting the dust on his skin.
    "Very nice."
    His praise warmed her, for she'd feared she'd been unable to satisfy him. She nodded and left him to start the water running. There had been patrons who'd never been satisfied with her efforts, no matter what she did. Something in their natures refused to allow them to find solace in anything. There was no shame in failing a patron like that, only in not trying her utmost.
    Edward was different. He didn't seem unappeasable, and yet she wasn't certain what to do for him because he seemed so uncertain himself. She would have to try harder, that was the solution, and no other.
    She looked up when he entered the bathing chamber, and the easy way he presented his nudity consoled her. He was relaxing in her presence. Becoming used to her. She waited until he'd settled onto the bathing stool before kneeling next to him, gathering scented lather from the bucket and working it through the thick darkness of his hair, then