“Bonjorn.”

Alais spun round, rewarding him with a wide smile when she saw who it was.

“Sajhe,” she said, ruffling his hair. “You gave me a surprise!”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he grinned. “Are you all right? I saw you earlier. You looked upset.”

“Earlier?”

“You were riding into the chateau with your father. Just after the messenger.”

“Ah, earlier,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’d just had a tiring morning. How lovely to see your lively face, though.” She gave him a kiss on the top of his head, making Sajhe scarlet. He stared furiously at his feet, not wanting her to see. “Anyway, since you’re here, help me choose a good cheese.”

The smooth round tablets of fresh goat’s cheese were laid out in a perfect pattern on a bed of straw pressed tight inside wooden trays. Some looked dry with a yellowish skin. These were stronger flavored and might be a fortnight old. Others, made more recently, glistened wet and soft. Alai’s asked the prices, pointing at this portion and that, asking Sajhe’s advice, until at last they had chosen the piece she wanted. She gave him a coin from her purse to hand to the seller, while she pulled out a small polished wooden board on which to carry the cheese.

Sajhe’s eyes flared wide with surprise when he glimpsed the pattern on the reverse. Why did Alai’s have it? How? In his confusion, he dropped the coins on the ground. Embarrassed, he dived under the table, playing for time. When he stood up again, to his relief Alai’s appeared not to have noticed anything amiss, so Sajhe put the matter out of his mind. Instead, once the transaction was complete, he plucked up the courage to give Alai’s her present.

“I have something for you,” he said shyly, thrusting the package abruptly into her hands.

“How kind,” she said. “Is it from Esclarmonde?”

“No, from me.”

“What a lovely surprise. May I open it now?”

He nodded, face serious, but eyes sparkling with anticipation as Alai’s carefully unwrapped the parcel.

“Oh, Sajhe, it’s beautiful,” she said, holding up the shiny, brown thread. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“I didn’t steal it,” he said quickly. “Na Marti gave it to me. I think she was trying to make it up to me.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Sajhe regretted them.

“Make up to you for what?” said Alai’s quickly.

Just then, a shout went up. A man close by was pointing up at the sky. A flock of large, black birds was flying low across the Cite, from west to east, in the shape of an arrow. The sun seemed to glance off their sleek, dark feathers, like sparks from an anvil. Somebody close by said it was an omen, although nobody could agree if it was a good one or a bad one.

Sajhe did not believe in such superstitions, but today it made him shiver. Alai’s seemed to feel something too, because she put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Res,” she said, too quickly. Nothing.

High above them, unconcerned with the human world, the birds continued on their way, until they were no more than a smudge in the sky.

By the time Alais had shaken off her faithful shadow and made her way back to the Chateau Comtal, the midday bells were ringing out from Sant-Nasari.

She was exhausted and tripped several times going up the stairs, which seemed steeper than usual. All she wanted was to lie down in the privacy of her own chamber and rest.

Alais was surprised to find her door closed. By now, the servants should have been in and finished their tasks. The curtains around the bed were still drawn. In the half-light, Alais saw Francois had put her panier on the low table beside the hearth as she’d asked him.

She put the cheese board down on the nightstand, then walked to the window to pin back the shutter. It should have been opened well before now to air the chamber. Daylight flooded in, revealing a layer of dust on the furniture and the patches on the bed curtains where the material had grown thin.

Alais walked over to the bed and pulled back the curtains.

To her astonishment Guilhem was still lying there, sleeping just as she’d left him before dawn. She gaped in surprise. He looked so perfectly at ease, so fine. Even Oriane, who had little good to say about anyone, admitted Guilhem was one of the finest looking of Viscount Trencavel’s chevaliers.

Alais sat down on the bed next to him and ran her hand over his golden skin. Then, feeling unaccountably bold, she dipped a finger into the soft wet goat’s cheese and spread a tiny amount on her husband’s lips. Guilhem murmured and stirred beneath the bedclothes. He did not open his eyes, but he smiled languidly and reached out his hand.

Alais caught her breath. The air around her seemed to vibrate with expectation and promise as she allowed him to pull her down toward him.

The intimacy of the moment was shattered by the sound of heavy feet in the corridor. Somebody was bellowing Guilhem’s name, a familiar voice, distorted by anger. Alais sprang up, mortified at the thought of her father witnessing so private a scene between them. Guilhem’s eyes snapped open, just as the door was flung open and Pelletier strode into the room, Francois at his heels.

“You’re late, du Mas,” he roared, snatching a cloak from the nearest chair and hurling it at his son-in-law’s head. “Get up. Everybody else is already in the Great Hall, waiting.”

Guilhem scrambled upright. “The hall?”

“Viscount Trencavel summons his chevaliers, yet here you lie in bed. Do you think that you can just please yourself?” He was standing over Guilhem. “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”

Pelletier suddenly noticed his daughter standing at the far side of the bed. His face softened. “Excuse me, Filha. I did not see you. Are you feeling better?”

She bowed her head. “Pleasing you, Messire, I am quite well.”

“Feeling better?” asked Guilhem with confusion. “Are you unwell? Is something wrong?”

“Get up!” Pelletier yelled, switching his attention back to the bed. “You have as much time as it takes me to walk down the stairs and cross the courtyard, du Mas. If you are not in the Great Hall by then, it will be the worse for you!” Without another word, Pelletier spun on his heel and stormed out of the chamber.

In the painful silence that followed his departure, Alai’s felt rooted to the spot with embarrassment, although whether for herself or her husband, she could not tell.

Guilhem exploded. “How dare he burst in here as if he owns me? Who does he think he is?” With a savage kick, he launched the covers to the floor and hurled himself out of bed. “Duty calls,” he said sarcastically. “It wouldn’t do to keep the great Intendant Pelletier waiting.”

Alai’s suspected that anything she said would make Guilhem’s temper worse. She wanted to tell him what had happened at the river, at least to take his mind off his own anger, but she had given her father her word she would speak to no one.

Guilhem had already crossed the room and was getting dressed with his back to her. His shoulders were tense as he pulled on his tabard and fastened his belt.

“There may be news…” she started to say.

“That’s no excuse,” he snapped. “I received no word.”

“I…” Alai’s let her words tail off. What to say?

She picked up his cloak from the bed and offered it to him. “Will you be long?” she said softly.

“Since I do not know why I am summoned to Council in the first place, how can I say?” he said, still angry.

All at once, his temper seemed to leave him. His shoulders relaxed and he turned to face her, no longer scowling. “Forgive me, Alai’s. You cannot answer for your father’s behavior.” He traced the outline of her chin with his hand. “Come. Help me with this.”