When Vero woke, her head was resting against Jean’s shoulder. He was still fast asleep. The events of the afternoon seemed like such a dream; she could scarcely believe that she was waking up out of captivity. The sun was setting outside, but she was not certain how long she had been asleep.

  Vero tried not to move, but she must have jostled Jean, because she realized he was also awake. He started to rub her back again and she nearly fell back to sleep.

  “How do you feel?” he asked her.

  “Better.”

  Her head no longer ached. She felt hungry, but she was not starving. Although she was still tired, she believed she would probably need to wait another few hours before she could go back to bed comfortably. She sat up.

  “I want a physician to look at you, when you feel ready.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Jean sat up and wrapped his arms around her. “As you wish.” He started to kiss her neck, and Vero moved her head to the side to give him an easier time of it. “I’m having food prepared for us in the great hall. Do you feel well enough to attend?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes, but only if you’re well enough.”

  Vero stood up. “Then I’ll manage. Should we get dressed?”

  Jean was watching her when she let the blankets drop. “My heart tells me no, but the mind says yes.”

  She suddenly felt very exposed and turned away from him.

  Jean stood up. To look at him, he was not self-conscious in the slightest.

  He was tall. Even taller than she, and Vero was unusually tall for a woman. He was also very fit and broad shouldered. His hair was auburn and long, but he kept it tied back. He was usually clean shaven, although at the moment he wore a few days of stubble. His features were aristocratic, and beautiful in a ruthless way. He would have appeared very cruel, if not for his smile, which effected his eyes in a way that made them inescapably charming.

  At least, to Vero.

  He was also completely satisfactory in every other way a maid might desire from a man.

  Clothes were laid out for them beside the entrance, along with her traveling pack. Vero presumed that the dress was for her, and she held it up in front of herself. The neckline plunged uncomfortably deep, but she was pleased that the hem did not trail on the floor. It seemed relatively simple to put on, and she liked the bright rose color.

  “Does it please you? I can have something else brought, if you prefer.”

  Vero put it on and examined herself in a conveniently placed mirror. “It’s very beautiful, thank-you.”

  She watched Jean approach her from behind until she felt him press himself to her back. “There’s more.”

  Jean held up a silver necklace with an enormous emerald pendant and put it around her neck. He followed it with matching rings and bracelets. “Some little presents, for the birthdays and feast days I’ve missed.”

  “It’s too much. I can’t accept them.”

  Jean continued to put them onto her without taking any notice of her protest. “Very well. Consider them on loan then, and I shall take them back from you later.”

  Vero turned and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. At once she fell into them.

  But there was something different. A line a raised flesh running vertically down from his forehead to the right cheek, just under his eye. She could hardly believe that she had not noticed it immediately. Even his eyebrow was visibly separated by the scar.

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  “What did they do to you?” Vero embraced him before she considered what she was doing. She kissed the scar, as if to do so would remove the sympathetic pain she now felt on his behalf.

  He was momentarily confused by her sudden change in attitude, before realizing what caused it. “Oh this? It’s nothing. A scratch from a pompous little Lusitanian lord.”

  “Any deeper and it might have killed you.”

  “I made him pay for it. After he gave me this, I beat him so badly he pleaded to be allowed to yield. His family raised five thousand ducats in ransom before I released him. I don’t even think about it anymore, that was why you surprised me.”

  Vero let go. She remembered that Jean did not like to be cosseted any more than she did.

  “Nothing has changed, has it?” she asked.

  “Everything constantly changes, all the time.”

  “What do you plan to do, now that you’ve come to my rescue?”

  Jean smiled broadly. He seemed to be in excellent spirits, and if he felt any bitterness towards her, he did not let it seep into his voice. “I plan on going to supper. And I think we had better finish getting dressed quickly, because I’m sure they’ll be tired of waiting for us by now. These are for you as well.”

  He directed her towards some perfume and cosmetics. The perfume had the pleasant smell of rosemary and Vero applied it. She ignored the paints and watched Jean dress himself- once she assured herself that all her personal effects, and Elizaveta’s journals, were recovered along with her pack.

  “And after supper?” she asked.

  “I’m not certain. I expect it will have a lot to do with what we discuss over our meal. What is it that you wish for me to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  It seemed very strange to Vero how uninhibited Jean was. She could not recall him ever showing the slightest hint of shame at nudity in her presence. Vero let her eyes linger on him, and desire to coil low in her stomach.

  When they were both ready, Jean led them out across the camp towards where the horses were kept. Vero recognized one of them and left Jean’s side to go to her.

  Papillon was a shaggy chestnut mare. She was very frisky when she was excited, but she was also sweet tempered and docile when Vero asked her to be calm. Papillon was very happy to see her, and Vero whispered many friendly words to her.

  She turned back towards Jean. “I didn’t know you’d found her.”

  “Nor did I. But I’m pleased to see it. I’ll ensure that whoever located her is given a fine reward.”

  Vero signaled for a servant to saddle her horse.

  “You’re certain you feel well enough to ride on your own?” Jean mounted his own horse nearby.

  “I’ll be fine. Have your men found my sword along with my other things?”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard. Although I’ve been told they had some trouble moving it. It's waiting for you at the keep.”

  “Good.”

  Once Papillon was saddled, Vero mounted her immediately. Together, she and Jean took the road from the camp towards Redrock. Even a glimpse of her former prison sent a shiver down Vero’s spine. They were also joined by a handful of bodyguards who seemed to just materialize from the evening around them.

  The sun was setting. The cells where she had been held were high up in the donjon, and unbearably hot and stuffy, the fresh evening air was very welcome. On the journey, Jean offered her a waterskin. Vero realized she was parched and accepted it gratefully. When she returned it to the bodyguard who had given it to her, Vero realized that she recognized him.

  “Little Lyam? That can’t be you.”

  The fellow blushed deeply and revealed that she must be right.

  “It’s Ser Lyam now,” Jean informed her. “I knighted him some time ago. After that same battle with the Lusitanian I told you about.”

  The boy served as Jean’s squire while she was his mistress. It was not so long ago, but it seemed she left at that age when lads do their fastest growing. He was now a head taller, and much stouter than he had been before.

  Lyam spoke, and Vero was rather astounded by how much deeper his voice had become. “We were all much concerned when we heard you had been taken captive. If I may be of service to you in anyway, my Lady-”

  “I don’t suppose you were the one who found my Papillon?”

  “I was helping to clear the stables when I believed I recognized a familiar animal.”

  “Then you have already done me a great service. Jean has promised a reward to the one responsible.”

  “It’s not necessary, my Lady. My pleasure is to serve.”

  “Ah!” Jean laughed. “You see how those stories of chivalry you fed him have affected his mind. It’s fortunate for you, my friend, that I shall reward you if you wish it or not. Other masters will not be so magnanimous with you.”

  Lyam bowed his head. “Very gracious of you, my Lord.”

  On the hard road, with Papillon underneath her, Vero began to appreciate the fact that she really was free. Jean really was there riding beside her. How had matters taken such a cataclysmically wonderful change since how they stood that morning?

  Months of despair, pain, and fear, replaced with- nothing.

  Vero could not feel any elation or joy, only a dull acceptance. Behind it, a lingering dread that another switch, another reverse, lay waiting to be revealed. Jean was near to her, close enough to touch. If only she would stretch out her hand to him.

  But you won’t.

  Vero felt lonely. She wished she was back in bed with Jean. She wished that he was on top of her- inside of her. Her legs pulling him closer. He would kiss her and she would kiss him back. She wished she was alone. She wished that she was anywhere in the world besides there.

  She wished and nothing changed, so she stopped wishing.

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