Though Perevil would have preferred to live in peace at home, his sense of duty forced him to arrange a marriage for his only daughter. He preferred to seek out the sons of those closest to him in mind, those with whom he could confide. Sir William of Banterglade, several years older, had sparred with him, broken bread with him, and his father had singled him out as a role model for Perevil, There was no real intimacy between them, but they respected each other and still held to the roles of teacher and student. Sir William was one of the few local landholders who knew enough about life at Court to respect Perevil's scholarship and culture. He had three sons fighting under King Richard, a married daughter in the south of England, but William, a young man of nineteen, was not yet betrothed.

The manor house was simpler than hers, resembling more an overgrown cottage than a castle. Carved anonymous figures decorated the roof's edge. Inside it was pleasantly cool with a stone floor, and the walls that emitted the rich scent of sun-heated wood. Sir William had been known as a giant in his youth, when he fought beside Lord Perevil in the crusades. His body was still formidable, though his weathered face, etched with countless lines, seemed prematurely aged.

He did not want to insult his friend. He had known the baron since childhood, and had the greatest respect for him. But there was something grotesque in the arrival of this new daughter of doubtful heritage. He wondered whether the baron had truly fathered the girl and, if not, how she had managed to impose herself upon him. He did not relish the idea of being laughed at, of having his son embroiled in a low marriage, if the girl's deception were uncovered. But the girl who came before him was younger than he imagined-she was tall and healthy, but her expression was unclear and listless.

He felt a distinct irritation that Will had run off. Why did the boy have to embarrass him before Perevil? His son had been wandering the woods with George, the steward's son. William wished that his son would avoid the woods- too many stories of outlaws. They liked to prey on the foolish pretensions of a young man. A boy would return, chastened and stripped of his finery-perhaps he would have to run through the woods with a thin linen sheath- there was a terrible story of Sir Heinrich's son, an spoiled, greedy lad who hurried home at dawn, stark naked. Supposedly his linens themselves, stitched with golden thread, were too great a temptation for the thieves. The story was too delicious, no amount of money could prevent the servants from gossiping and songs and stories flooded his village, spread to Nottingham, and the boy could not show his face for shame. Will, indulged in every other respect, wore underclothes like a peasant's that chafed his chest and limbs.

Sir William was luckily saved the humiliation of waiting long. The boy came on horseback, and hurried his horse into a gallop as he approached.

"My son, William," he said, introducing his son. "Lord Perevil has graced us with his company. I would like you to meet his- his daughter Evelyn."

"I did not think that this day would bring such a pleasure." Said William. He dismounted and spoke the necessary greeting without enthusiasm. It would not be comely to show too eager an interest in a girl that his father would certainly not wish him to marry.

Evelyn flushed, and Will realized that she would not attempt a reply. She fixed her eyes on him like a stunned deer and he was a little shocked by her bad manners. But it dawned on him that she did not know how to conduct herself. And it was not the shyness of a convent upbringing. He had heard that she was a wild girl, newly brought in from a secluded village, and all his expectations were justified.

She was not ill favored, but her beauty was of a rustic kind, without taste. There was an excessive darkness in the contours her deep-set eyes and feral hair, and he sensed something willful, even malicious in her expression.

But Evelyn was not silent for lack of words. It was her first impression of Will-his single, dismissive glance in her direction, a quick appraisal and an exit. It would have hurt another girl, and hardened her against him. But Evelyn had not yet formed a heady enough sense of self to be wounded. Instead she held that impression of him fast, and all distractions-shifting clouds overhead, the horse's gleaming coat, the sound of a mill in the distance- were built into the memory like human debris into a bird's nest. She wished to bottle his image, to keep it conserved for some later date, that she might hold it in her hand. It seemed too coarse to wish for Will himself.

Will had an angular face with light brown hair and wide green eyes. His features were regular, but when he spoke his mouth shifted slightly to the side. He had the finest leg and the fastest horse in the county. He held himself too high, and was careful in his appearance. His father took pride in him, the servants took pride in him He was everything that a good family could want in a son. His parents, his beaming father and shy, dutiful mother, could not have borne to part with him, and he knew it. He talked of proving himself in the Crusades, of his father's stubbornness in holding him back, but his life as the promising son of a respected family suited him perfectly. He looked at the house, with its large hall and ample sleeping room, at the granaries and distant grazing fields dappled with livestock as his own, and he liked to think of it as his own, though of course he would have balked at the notion of his father's death. He knew he would be married, and was pleased with the fact. Of course the neighboring gentry brought over their daughters, good girls, pleasant girls, but they did not conform to his ideal. He had built the ideal bride, and she was a conglomeration of all feminine perfections, gleaned from mythology and tales, from devotional passages and household advice. She had hair the precise hue of gold, was fair, and tall, meek but wise, domestic but valiant. Her bloodline must be ancient, her virtue impeccable, her voice angelic, and all her desires would conform to his.

Evelyn barely slept that night. The bedroom was unpleasantly warm and she stood by the window to cool herself. She looked out onto the meadow behind the house, lit by moonlight, and she imagined herself more daring, with the courage to run into its depths. But they already knew her as a wild girl. She would have to calm herself.

It was easier than she thought. She spent the next day in the great hall, embroidering and listening to her father as he and Sir William went over memories and stories she had heart countless times before. She lifted her head to the window to watch Will as he practiced archery, or sparred with a local boy. She wished she had the words to entertain him, not that she could speak to him without encouragement.

He came in from time to time, making her an attentive bow with a smile that was half polite and half mocking. Evelyn always smiled back, but slightly, and quickly averted her gaze. At his father's instigation, he took her for a short walk in the late afternoon, but walked slightly ahead of her, and said little. The walk was easy, just around the property to view the mills and farmers wrapping up their chores. But the weight of his silence exhausted her, and she wondered if she would fall down from so much humiliation.

Later that evening Sir William called his son into his bedroom. He lifted the tallow candle so that it illuminated his face, and placed it on the window sill.

"You must try to be more attentive to young Evelyn," he said.

"But why? I know you have no intention of marrying her to me."

"I can't afford to alienate my neighbors. And Lord Perevil is a good friend-you know that."

"Yes, but we've known him for years. Who is this girl?"

"He seems to care for her- enough to fit her with a rich dowry." Will cast down his gaze. He didn't like that money would enter into his father's plans for him.

"At least pretend to court her." Entreated his father.

"That's a strange exercise. Why would I court a girl who is already won?"

William paled. He held fast to his son's arm. "Son, has something happened between you?"

"Oh, not in body, dear father. But that is she is won at heart is clear to all eyes."

"I'm ashamed of you," said Sir William, suppressing a laugh. He was proud of his son, an excellent horseman and irresistible to girls.

Evelyn knelt in a shady corner, lost in her embroidery. Will approached stealthily, careful not to block the stream of incoming sunlight that illuminated the fabric and her active hands. He admired her work. He had seen better, but for a girl who year before had been little better than wild, her fingers moved as deftly as a lute player's.

"What is that- a cuckoo?"

She looked up, startled. A quick smile darted across her face and she covered her mouth with her sleeve.

"No," she said slowly. "It's a phoenix."

"Ah. I've never seen one."

She laughed softly. "No, I don't think you have. "

He knelt beside her. So she knew things that he did not! "You have seen one?"

"No, nor has anyone that I know." She started carefully, and then spoke faster, energized by her words. "The phoenix lives in Arabia, and there is only one. When it grows old, it builds a pyre with pomegranates and strange spices. It faces the sun and begins to burn. It fans the fire with its wings until it burns to ash."

"What a ghastly bird!"

"But it comes back. A new phoenix will rise from the ashes."

"I still think it's disgusting. Why would you work with such a pattern?"

"I think it's a beautiful story. I like the idea that one can be reborn."

"Like you?"

Evelyn flushed. She always seemed to squirm when reminded that no, she was not always a daughter of Perevil. But her answer was clear and resolute. "I have not been reborn. It would be blasphemous to say so. I was born once and christened in Harvens church. I should be ashamed, but I am not. I am the daughter of a free woman."

Will was surprised to see her quiet reserve broken.

"Hush," he said. "Be careful with your words."

Evelyn bit her lip, and he knew that she regretted speaking so freely

"I am sorry," she said. "I did not wish to offend you."

"And you have not. I don't quiet you for my sake. But people will judge you here. They may forgive you your background, if only you take care not to remind them of it."

Evelyn grimaced, involuntarily. She pulled tufts of grass out of the earth and tossed them. Will continued to speak. She seemed to note everything that he said with such care, that he felled in impelled to be honest with her. He stared onto the open field, and watched his father. "I think you know we will never be married."

He thought he saw he saw her flinch. But when he turned to her, she nodded calmly, though her hands tore at the grass.

"But I want to help you. I want to tell you the truth. You're trying your best. I can see you've excelled in your needlework."

"I have always worked with my hands."

Will blushed. Why did she have to say such embarrassing things?

"I see. But you must ask your father for a woman to look after you."

"I have a woman. I have …"

"Oh- the old Saxon. She seems kind-hearted. But what I mean is a lady, a lady who has seen the court, who can teach you things."

Evelyn remembered the tedious dancing lessons. "What more do I need to know?"

"You know nothing of the court. It used to be about war, war, some religion, and more war. When Queen Eleanor arrived, things changed- men's eyes were opened to the beauty of the women around them, and they learned to feel the agonies of love. It brought the court to life, it brought poetry and music. But a woman must earn a man's love, his suffering, through beauty and elegance."

"I don't wish to cause anyone pain."

Will clenched his teeth, frustrated. She was so simple! "It is a most exquisite suffering," he said shortly.

"But it is still unnecessary."

"Like I said, you must be careful how you speak. You seem to revel in your own ignorance."

Evelyn reddened and struggled to meet his gaze. "That is unfair. I have never had a chance to learn."

Will laughed "But you don't want to learn!"

"I do, but these customs are strange to me. Making a man love you, in order to hurt him-"

"You of all people must learn our customs."

"Our customs? You talk as though I were a foreigner!"

"You may as well be. You are fortunate to have a great dowry."

"What do you know of my dowry?"

"You must have a good one, with the suitors your father entertains. But do you want men to pursue you solely out of greed?" He spoke with misleading warmth. "If you are so persistent in playing the ignorant country girl, if you wear your hair and hold yourself like a Saxon, you may be married, but it will not be for your qualities."

Evelyn's expression was hard, but her chin shook and she held back tears. Her hands moved restlessly, as though she could not decide what to do with them, and Will felt bad. He had not meant to hurt her. But he must not seem as though he could be cowed with weeping. He continued to smile, awkwardly.

"I have spoken too plainly," he said.

"Pray, excuse me." Evelyn darted to her feet, and hurried to the house, her skirts seeming to ripple in the heat.