Once in her room, Evelyn gasped, and peeled off her clothes to her linens. Her shame could not erase Will's figure, his easy smile and the flecks of gold in his eyes. She knew she would have to forget him, that he would never marry her. But she felt that even if he were to lead her to the altar, she could not recite her vows, not when he saw her as he did. His laughing, playful manner, sweet and sharper than malice, forced her to put him aside. It was no easy task. Though she had known him less than a day, she felt that she was shutting out the world, housing herself in a convent.

She undid her braids and swept out the ornaments so that her hair hung in loose waves over her chest. Saxon hair. Will believed that it was, though she could not to save her life say what made it so. The air began to darken from a fleeting summer storm. A humid breeze passed through the cracks in the window and flooded the room with ripe air.

Evelyn rubbed her eyes, and stared in the glass as though hypnotized. Her face changed with the passing clouds, growing alternately bright and dark. Her skin was flushed with heat, and her cheeks were red. I am not ugly, she thought and the idea calmed her.

She lay down and the pillow was cool against her skin. She thought of her sleek face, of a great dynastic marriage, of all the steps that would allow her to sneer at Will and his paltry manor. It was the only comfort within her grasp, and she clung to it. Intricate tapestries, halls lit with a thousand candles, Will's face pale with envy-the images lulled her and curling up under the quilt, she felt sleep overtake her. But she remembered the curve of Will's shoulders, his posture, and above all, the callous lilting of his voice, and she sat up in bed, hopelessly awake.

The rain fell hard. Evelyn tried to pinpoint the intensity of her feelings, tried to locate the precise feature that drew her to him. He had a quality that was entirely alien to her- gestures she had never seen on this earth, and yet there was something achingly familiar about him, something known to her from sleepless nights at Harvens. Though in all logic she knew she had never seen him before, she could not shake herself of the conviction of knowing him. She looked out the window anxiously. He was out there, soaking up the rain, or in the house, under the same roof as she was. The thought pacified her, and exhausted, she fell asleep.

Will was not used to guilt, and the sensation was all the more disturbing for its novelty. When Evelyn ran from him, he sat dumbfounded for a moment. She had left her embroidery and he took it in his hands and admired it. The phoenix's body and tongue were a brilliant red, with a golden beak and plumage- she had planned it from nothing, and yet it was so complex. Looking at the phoenix, and its beautiful execution, he felt worse than before, though he could not say why. He had failed Sir William in his foremost task, which was to show Evelyn 'every courtesy.' But Will was spoiled, and he knew that his father could not truly be ashamed of him. No, it was not disobedience. He knew he had done wrong, and what disturbed him most was his inconsistency-that he had used the laws of gallantry to distress a woman. With her unusual background and objectionable pedigree, Evelyn was not what he imagined a lady could be, but she was still worthy of respect. She had borne his criticisms with patience until he had been outright cruel, but she was not weak, and raised her voice to defend herself. He thought of the serene intelligence of her eyes when she spoke of the phoenix, and how her lips pressed together when he had criticized her. He could not make her out- she was secretive, a sphinx, and he wanted desperately to blame her for his guilt. He wondered if he should apologize, but remembered that he had never apologized and did not know how. Will saw her briefly at her window, a distant figure with dark hair brushing against her waist. She had taken out her braids-it must have been what he said. He noticed the shape of her arms before realizing that she was barely dressed and averting his eyes. He was tempted, and looked again, but she was gone.

He walked into the kitchen, where Alice was helping the other servants with dinner. "I would like to speak to Lady Evelyn," he said . "She left her embroidery on the lawn."

"Yes, it's a fine work too, is it not, sir?"

"Yes, it's very fine. Is she in the house?"

"I believe she is asleep, sir."

"At this hour?"

"It's a very hot day, sir. Should I give the Lady Evelyn her needlework?"

"No," he said protectively. "I shall give her myself, thank you." Alice's smirked and it irritated him.

He waited for her for three hours. He hid the embroidery in his room. He walked on the lawn, worked a target with his bow, and wandered to the mill where peasants gathered with their grain. He sat in the tall grass and watched a passing flock of sheep and whistled to the dog at their heels. The shepherdess thought he was calling to her and frowned at him. He returned to Banterglade, picked up the embroidery, and stood before the door for several moments. He imagined her in her nightgown, dark hair over a white pillow with perhaps a single bead of sweat on her forehead. He was surprised when the door open, and Evelyn appeared before him, fully dressed in green, with the eagle belt over her hips and her hair not braided, but down over her shoulders.

"You changed your hair," he said stupidly. Her expression clouded over and he hurriedly passed her embroidery. "You left this on the lawn."

"And you should have left it there," she said, passing him. "It's an foolish pattern. I don't know what possessed me to think of it."

"Can I keep it then?" he asked, smiling.

"No, of course not." she said, taking it from him. "Besides, it's not finished. And I would not have you think that I changed my hair because of your words." She pressed her lips together, and turned, walking, towards the stairs. "You are proud enough as it is," she murmured, just loud enough so that he could hear her. He followed her down the stairs into the garden.

"I am sorry for what I said," he called after her, amazed at how easy it was to say.

She stopped, and he hurried to her side. "Please try to understand me," he said. "I sometimes think too highly of my own understanding. Will you walk with me?"

Evelyn did not have the resolve to protest. Without a word she placed her hand on the cool breadth of his. They walked over the lawn, by the tree where she had been embroidering, and he led her to a familiar forest path. He instinctively guided her over the rocks in the path, but she seemed to know her own way, as though she had been there before.

It was a rich hour, still poignantly damp from the afternoon rain. It was the hour before Vespers, when the whirring insects hushed and the leaves began to stir. Evelyn seemed more active, as though finally breaking free from sleep. She looked down at their clasped hands and, finally realizing the meaning of the gesture, she pulled hers away. It hurt him.

He remembered his words to his father She is already won with some regret. He could not know it for certain. There was nothing clear in her gaze, and that was what repelled him at first. Everything he knew was clean, bright, and direct. Wars were won through God's grace, and only liars evaded the truth. But there was an aspect in her that did not fit into his image of right and wrong. He wondered if were being tempted from the right path, if he would drown in an attempt to decipher her expression. Even now, he felt lost at sea, awash in those strange mists that lure the sailor from his course.

But he could not think that way. She was only a girl, and she had done nothing to deceive him. He was tempted to take up her hand, to see what she would do, but she was so lost in her surroundings that it seemed like an intrusion. They approached a small wheelbarrow, overrun with moss, that he had played with as a very child. He pushed it to see if it would still toll, and the planks fell out from their iron casing and scattered over the leaves. Evelyn stooped beside him. She picked up one of the planks and crying out, dropped it quickly.

"What is it?" asked Will.

"Ants," she said, brushing off her arms. The creatures were quick and sharp.. "A mountain of them."

"Have you read anything of ants in those books of yours?" he asked, watching her with good humor. "Or can only oddities like Griffons and Satyrs hold your interest?"

She shook her arms and laughed. "Ants are supposed to be very industrious."

"I can see that for myself. Did they even have ants in the ancient time, or only more exciting creatures like your Pholnix?"

"Phoenix," she said. "And they did have ants. My father has a piece of amber, found in the German Sea at the time of Christ, and several ants were trapped inside."

"How disgusting! I wonder why they didn't toss it back in that German Sea!"

Evelyn was bitten again and she struggled to reach her back and brush the ants away.

"Let me help you," said Will approaching her carefully. She composed herself and breathed deeply. He applied himself steadily, brushing her shoulders and back until they were clear. He could not help making a final sweeping motion over her back with both hands and resting the tips of his fingers over her waist. He waited. Her shoulders had stiffened and her breathing heightened. He trembled with pleasure at the power of his own touch, but he could not in honor continue. He drew back with careful steps.

She turned to face him and they were silent. She looked down as though to continue to clean her sleeves, and he shifted his gaze as though taking in the surroundings, but it would have been the same if they had stared directly at each other. They were painfully aware of each other

"The Vespers bells are ringing," she breathed, breaking the still. It was harder for him to break from the lull of their hour together and he stood like an idiot, with his mouth open, before regaining his composure and guiding her home.