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would be a mockery!”
    In sooth, Dunstan thought. He shook his head, knowing it was his cursed luck to tell his uncle Roderigo the truth about Miguel’s preferences in the art of love. Uncle had a vile temper and was bound to become enraged. He had always loved Miguel like a son. Diplomacy would be of the essence.
    He turned to Rebecca. “Nonetheless, it’s your father’s duty to find you a husband.”
    But in the meantime,
… he thought.
    Rebecca moaned. “Dear God help me. At least I had learned to understand Raphael. I become ill at the thought of marrying anyone else.”
    “Hush,” he said soothingly. “Keep your ideas to yourself, Rebecca. The more obstinate you become, the more your father feels a need to tame you by marrying you off to the proper gentleman.”
    “Yes.” She dabbed her eyes with a lace kerchief. “You’re correct… for once.”
    Dunstan ignored the barb. They’d become so frequent of late. He said, “Until an appropriate suitor is found, your hand shall remain free.”
    “I don’t want a suitor.”
    “You are young and foolish. You don’t know what you want.”
    “Had I the skills of a surgeon, I’d rip my womb from my body—”
    “Quiet!” Dunstan said. “You’re too young to know the power of the bush between your legs. It will not be plump forever, Rebecca. One day it will dry up and no one shall be enamored of it — or you. You must learn to use the graces God has given you. It guarantees a life of leisure for your old age. A man will endow much upon you if in your youth you serve him well.”
    “The stars cast upon me ill hap when they formed me woman,” Rebecca mumbled to herself.
    “You speak nonsense.” Dunstan held her hands and looked into her veiled eyes. “But these are trying times for all of us, and you especially are confused. Angry one moment, sullen or grief-stricken the next. It’s best if you say nothing until you’re of stronger mind.”
    Rebecca knew he was right. She was exhausted by her contradicting emotions.
    Dunstan gave the room another cursory glance. They were still talking unnoticed. Lifting her veil, he kissed her quickly on the lips. “And pray, my sweet, speak not of the mission. You must learn to silence your thoughts, Rebecca. Lips should be shields, not sieves through which excess words do escape.”
    Rebecca nodded and Dunstan kissed her again. This time it was with a passion she had experienced long ago in the darkness of a hayloft, and she immediately pulled away. She felt Dunstan’s disappointment and almost felt sorry for him.
    Almost.
    He had been her first tutor, her mentor. It was he who taught her about freedom, filling her mind with tales of his travel to the Continent, to North Africa and the East. He taught her Arabic, Italian, French, Flemish. With each language she acquired, books in the original editions soon followed. Her head became dizzy with ideas that displeased her father immensely. But Dunstan disregarded him and continued her education — in
body
as well as mind. Rebecca knew he was after the body all along, but he, amongst all the others, was the only one willing to take the time to teach her. So she ceded to his wishes. And he was a gentle one for the first time — calm and slow — coaching with unusual patience the clumsiness out of a twelve-year-old girl.
    Rebecca smoothed her cousin’s mustache with the tip of her finger. “How are the bairns?” she asked.
    “A lively brood. Grace is ready to drop another son for me. She’s a healthy woman.” A cow, he thought, but God be praised, a good one for breeding — three sons and a daughter, all thriving. Dunstan lowered her veil. “Grace is a good woman also. I thank God for the day I married her. You could learn a great deal from her, cousin.”
    Surreptitiously, Dunstan placed in Rebecca’s hand a folded piece of paper.
    “What is this?” she said.
    “Your
proper
mourning prayers for your betrothed. Say them in silence before you sleep tonight.