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uneasy—the slump of his large shoulders, the sullen eyes with their hooded, lazy lids.
    â€œLeave the ledgers with me and attend me tomorrow at this same time,” she said as she unconsciously rubbed her temples.
    â€œAs you wish.” He placed the sheaf of pages bound with string on the sideboard and backed out of her presence.
    At last. Now she could seek the sanctuary of her bedroom. If she could make it that far without retching.

    Dusk was thickening in her room when she awoke, several hours later, to the sound of a door creaking on its iron hinge.
    â€œAlfred?” she asked, keeping her voice low lest she wake the sleeping beast inside her head. It was an effort just to form the word.
    â€œNo, Mother, it’s me. Colin. I came to see if I could get you anything. I thought maybe some food would help. I brought you a cup of broth.”
    He held it to her lips, gently. The smell made her stomach lurch. She pushed it away. “Maybe later. Just let me lie here a bit longer, then have the lamps lit in the solar. I’ll come down by and by. Have you eaten? Is your brother home?”
    â€œNo, Mother. I’ve not seen Alfred since prime. Are we to have vespers in the chapel? Shall I go and find him?”
    â€œFather Ignatius is gone.” The taste of bile was on her lips, or maybe the bitterness was just the priest’s name in her mouth.
    Her elder son, elder by only two hours, was probably at the tavern and would come home drunk and stagger to his bed—his father had taught him at a tender age. But at least, she reasoned, the boy had been obedient, had abstained while the priest was in the house.
    Her younger son stirred, reminding her of his presence.
    She patted his hand. “No, Colin. We are spared the tyranny of praying the hours for a little while.”
    In the dim light she could make out the pretty shape of his head, his pale hair falling in a shimmering curtain over one eye.
    â€œIt wasn’t so bad, Mother. To have the priest, I mean. I think the ritual beautiful in its way. The words fall on the ear almost like music.”
    Lady Kathryn sighed, and the beast sleeping inside her head stirred, sending shooting pains into her temple. So unlike his twin. It was just as well Colin would not inherit. He had not the heart for it. She wondered, not for the first time, how Roderick had begot such a gentle creature.
    â€œI’ve learned a new song. Shall I sing it for you? Would it soothe you?” “No.” She tried to answer without moving her head. It felt as though it were stuffed with soggy wool. The linen sheet beneath her was warm and moist. She would have to change her smock, find more linen rags for padding. “Just send Glynis to me, and close the door. Gently,” she whispered.
    She didn’t hear him leave.

    When Lady Kathryn entered the solar two hours later, Colin was at supper. And he was not alone. Her pulse quickened when she saw the back of the Benedictine habit.
    â€œMother, you’re better. I was telling Brother Joseph about your headaches.”
    â€œBrother Joseph?” The question rode out on a relieved sigh.
    Colin got up from his stool. “Do you want the rest of my supper? It’ll make you feel better.”
    He pushed the half-eaten fowl toward her. Queasiness threatened. She shook her head. “I see that you have divided your supper once already.” She pointed to the bird that had been neatly halved, then turned to look more closely at the unexpected visitor, who had risen when she walked into the room. She held out her hand. “I am Lady Kathryn, mistress of Blackingham. I trust you have found my son worthy company.” She hoped he mistook the relief in her voice for hospitality. “If you’re passing through, it would be our pleasure to provide you shelter for the evening. Have you a horse that needs grooming?”
    â€œYour son has already seen to it; and since the evening grows late,