The sun slipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the courtyard as the workers filed into the hold. Jassenthe watched them dispersing, and saw the guards closing the gate, then she turned to speak to Lissan only to realise he was no longer beside her. The smith had slipped away while she was distracted and was heading toward the smithy enclave.

"Good night, Lissan," she called out. He obviously heard her because he glanced round and met her eyes. Briefly he raised his uninjured arm in farewell before continuing on his way. He paused in the shadows of the gateway to watch her unseen as she headed for the stables. He felt a little guilty about not saying anything before leaving her. He'd enjoyed the time they'd spent together, had found it easy to talk about his craft because she'd seemed genuinely interested. But now, back in the hold, he was all too aware of the difference in their ranks, and all his self-doubts returned with a vengeance.

He was attracted to Jassenthe, he couldn't deny that, but he couldn't see how it could go anywhere. He was a simple journeyman and it would be many turns before he could hope to be anything more. And at the moment he faced the possibility that even what he had might be lost if his arm didn't recover its mobility and strength.

Jassenthe was a lady, daughter and heir of a holder. She would be expected to marry a man who would bring prosperity to her father's hold, who would one day take over its running. Holder Tomas was a genial man, easy-going with those below him in rank, friendly even, but not for one moment could he be expected to accept the idea of his daughter marrying so far beneath her.

Lissan respected the man, liked him for never making the socially inept journeyman feel as inadequate as he knew himself to be. He would never want to offend him in any way. He would, he decided, simply accept whatever friendship Jassenthe offered and never expect more.

Jassenthe watched Lissan disappear into the shadows before turning away to lead Jinny to the stables. Declining the help of a stablehand she set about grooming the young mare, wanting time alone with her thoughts, and knowing she would not get it up in the hold proper. She was somewhat confused by Lissan's retreat once they'd entered the outer walls of the hold. She'd enjoyed the time they'd spent in drawing and recording the workings of the windmill. Previously they'd just been something that was there, a useful but incomprehensible part of the farmlands that fed them. However with Lissan's guidance she'd begun to appreciate how intricate and well designed they were, and she wanted to learn more. Lissan hadn't said if he expected to see her again the next day but she had already decided she wanted to join him again.

Once Jinny was groomed to her satisfaction, Jassenthe made sure she was provided with food and water before reluctantly laving her and heading for the holder's private quarters. Tomas met his daughter as she entered, and frowned at her dishevelled state.

"You're late," he admonished her.

"I'm sorry, father," she replied.

"I was grooming Jinny and lost track of time."

"Don't let it happen again. Now go, wash and tidy yourself. Dinner is ready."

"Yes, father."

She hurried to obey and never noticed her father's fond smile as he watched her go. Tomas could never be angry with his beloved daughter for long, but it never hurt to remind her now and again that she had duties and obligations.

Lissan turned away from the gate and headed into the smithcraft area. Work had finished for the day and everyone was heading for their quarters or the bathing rooms to prepare for the evening meal. He waited until the rush was over, not wanting to be caught up in the good natured jostling. Normally it wouldn't have bothered him, but both the healer and Carella had warned him to avoid getting his arm knocked in case it caused further damage. There was no way he'd risk anything that put his recovery in doubt.

He went straight to the dining hall. There wouldn't be time enough to bathe himself and to get a new dressing on his arm before the meal was served so he'd do that later. The room was deserted so he helped himself to klah from the jug that was always available. Taking the cup to his usual place at the journeymen's table he sat down and took out his sketchbook to study the work he done with Lady Jassenthe. Her drawings were neat and small, following the example of his earlier work.

"Keeping yourself busy then?"

Sarell dropped onto the bench beside him and leaned over to peer at Lissan's book.

"Windmills, huh? I could have told you about them if you'd asked."

"I need to do something to stop myself going crazy from boredom. Asking you does rather defeat the object."

"Fair enough. But that's not your hand it's written in. Had some help?"

Lissan nodded but didn't enlighten his friend further. He was not going to open himself up to the ribbing he knew he'd get from the older man.

"Can't hold anything in my hand at the moment," he complained, "let alone draw."

He demonstrated by holding his hand up and trying to flex the fingers. It hurt to move them more than the smallest amount. The numbweed his mother had put on it when she'd changed the dressing in the morning had long since worn off.

Just then everyone started filing in for the meal, giving Lissan cause to put his book away. It was far too valuable to risk it being damaged. Sarell too ceased his questioning, realising it was something his friend didn't want to discuss especially in front of others.

The meal was served and everyone began to eat, conversation turning to what the other journeymen had been working on. There were a half dozen of them besides Lissan and Sarell, their duties divided between crafting and teaching and assisting the masters. Their conversation was usually interesting, with tales of the apprentices' activities and their various misdeeds. Normally Lissan found it entertaining, but that night he couldn't keep his mind on it. His thoughts kept drifting to Jassenthe and whether he would see her again.

Once the meal was over the apprentices and journeymen were free to pursue their own interests. Lissan did not stay long, he seldom did. Once the masters had retired, either to their quarters or their private sitting room the young journeyman excused himself and headed back to his own quarters.

Hanging up his bag he grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the baths. He was relaxing in the hot water when Sarell entered the room.

"So, Lissan," the older journeyman said, his voice thoughtful.

" I heard you were seen returning to the hold with the holder's pretty daughter..."

Lissan groaned in dismay. Although his chance encounter with Jassenthe wasn't exactly a secret he didn't want it being the prime topic of conversation round the hall, especially if she hadn't mentioned it to her father.

"So? It's none of your business, Sarell. Go away. You're disturbing my peace. "

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore his friend, all the while knowing Sarell wouldn't give up that easily.

"You can't keep a secret like that, Lissan, not when it involves the lady Jassenthe. People will just make up their own truth."

He was right, Lissan realised, truth seldom went hand in hand with a good story.

"All right. Though it's hardly a secret. I was at the windmill, she was out riding, we happened to meet and returned at the same time as the workers. Nothing happened and I don't want to hear any gossip suggesting otherwise. I don't care what people say about me, but I won't see Lady Jassenthe's reputation ruined by careless talk. I mean it, Sarell. You tell that to whoever it was that told you. I'll go to the Master with it if I have to."

Sarell looked at him curiously.

"There's no need to get upset about it, if as you say nothing happened. Or maybe you wish it had."

Lissan's face turned red and his friend grinned.

"Don't be so ridiculous. As if a lady like her would even look twice at someone like me."

Annoyed, Lissan grabbed the wet washcloth and threw it at his friend. His aim, despite being wrong-handed, was accurate and caught Sarell in the chest.

"Shard it, Lissan, can't you take a joke?"

"It wasn't funny."

And to Lissan's way of thinking, it wasn't. He just couldn't understand that kind of humour. He took anything that was said literally.

Turning his back on his friend he climbed out of the bath, grabbed a towel and began to dry himself. It wasn't an easy task one handed, but out of sheer stubbornness he declined Sarell's offer of help, and ended up pulling on his clothes over a still damp body.

That done he bundled up his dirty clothes and towel and went in search of his mother to get his bandage changed.

Expecting her son, Carella had already returned to the family's quarters. She was sitting at the table sewing when he walked in. She looked up and smiled.

"Ready for me to do your bandage?"

He nodded and sat down, putting his dirty clothes to one side. Silently he watched as Carella began to unwrap the damp, grubby cloth, not reacting until the final layer came away, catching his breath as it pulled at the scar tissue, making more blood flow.

"You need to take more care of this," Carella scolded as she wiped away the blood and spread more healing salve to stop further bleeding.

"No more bathing until it's better healed."

"Mum!"

"You can still wash. But I don't want this getting wet again. Water softens the wound and makes the blood stick to the bandage. It won't heal if it pulls open every time I change the bandage."

Lissan looked up at her, realising she meant it.

"Yes, mum," he said, sheepishly.

Shards, he had twenty turns, a man with all the rights and responsibilities that entailed, yet still she could make him feel like a naughty child. was that a skill all mothers had or just his.

Carella finished wrapping the bandage and tied it off. Then she reached for a piece of cloth and folded it into a sling. When Lissan protested she told him,

"Your muscle is damaged. Every time you try to move your arm the muscle flexes and also pulls at the wound. It's not helping your recovery, immobilising it will."

"I feel so useless."

"Then it's in your best interests to let it heal properly."

She packed her supplies back in the basket and looked at him curiously.

"Something is troubling you."

For some moments Lissan was silent before he could gather his thoughts sufficiently to answer his mother.

"Yes. I've been spending time at the windmill, learning how it works, to keep myself busy. But you knew that."

She nodded.

"Up until now I've worked alone, making notes as best I can. Today Lady Jassenthe turned up. I didn't encourage her, but she offered to help me write down my observations. She stayed all day and we came back together."

"So?"

"We were seen returning, and now people are spreading rumours, even though nothing happened. I don't care for myself, but I don't want her to be hurt by it."

"Then your behaviour towards her must be beyond reproach."

"It always has been. I know she can never be mine, no matter how I feel about her."

He stood.

"Excuse me. I'm feeling tired."

Carella watched her son walk away, knowing that he was headed for heartbreak and she was unable to help him.

...

"Go away, Sarell. You're disturbing my peace. And no, I'm not telling. It's none of your business.

Sarell was worse than a dog with a bone when trying to prise out people's secrets.

Better some damage control now before it spread round the whole hold.

...

Jassenthe watched them go, as she did most times. Then she turned to Lissan, only then realising that the smith was no longer at her side then glanced towards Lissan. For a moment she thought he was going to speak, to say something about their day together.

"Goodnight, Lissan," Jassenthe said quietly as she turned Jinny's head towards the stable. The mare went readily enough, eager for her comforts.

The young smith watched