released from the inquisitors and set to burning in the executions square, Isaac threw a knife across the crowd and risked his own life to end Phillipe’s pain. It was only then that he joined us. Brave Isaac. He made the endless journey here so much easier to bear,’ she whispered. ‘He had a way of lightening any situation.’ Finally the tears came, slow and soundless, rolling unheeded down Mary’s pretty face. She glanced at Wynter. ‘My husband was very much older than me, Protector Lady. Isaac was . . . he was a very dear friend.’
‘I am so sorry,’ whispered Wynter. She went to speak again, then hesitated. She wanted to justify Razi’s actions somehow, wanted to reveal his true nature to this seemingly gentle person, but she did not know how.
‘It is a burden to him,’ said Mary suddenly. Wynter frowned, not understanding. Mary wiped her face with her gloved hand. ‘Your friend, the Lord Razi, he carries his deeds as a terrible burden.’
She said it in sympathy, not judgement, and Wynter felt her face crease up, tears threatening. She nodded.
‘Poor man,’ said Mary. ‘I suspect it sears him.’
Their attention was drawn by the calling of men outside the tent, and they looked over to see the soldiers moving away, no longer needed now that the Midlanders had been proved loyal.
‘And so we are left,’ sighed Mary, ‘while men shape the world.’
Wynter frowned, anxious to be out there. Her hands opened and closed in frustration. Mary eyed the sword at her hip and her dusty men’s clothing. ‘You are not a person used to this woman’s waiting, Protector Lady. This isolation will madden you.’
‘It does not madden you, Lady Mary?’
Mary smiled. ‘What difference would it make if it did?’ she said dryly.
A shadow crossed the tent and Wynter rose to her feet at the distinctive shape of Christopher and Boro coming to the door. ‘My friend is here,’ she said. ‘I suspect that he has brought food and some tea for you, if you should like?’
The lady brightened and Wynter hesitated. ‘He is Merron, Lady.’
Mary’s expression fell and she seemed to shrink a little. She glanced to Christopher’s shadow, obviously frightened.
‘He is a good man, Lady. He will not harm you.’
Christopher’s shadow came to a halt by the door. He cleared his throat and called softly through the canvas: ‘Lass?’
Wynter rolled her eyes. Just because the soldiers were gone did not mean he could be so lax, goddamn it.
Mary eyed Christopher’s slim shadow, Boro’s giant shape hulking threateningly by his side. The dog’s breathing was disconcertingly loud as he snuffled along the door.
‘One . . . one hears stories,’ said Mary faintly, ‘of Merron and what they do.’
‘Do not worry,’ said Wynter, opening the flap and letting Christopher in. Thankfully, Boro contented himself with peering in at the door and did not try to invade the lady’s domain.
Hallvor stood a little distance away, clasping her elbows, her grave face watchful. Wynter lifted her chin in greeting, then ducked back inside, dropping the door in Boro’s curious face. The big dog whined in aggravation and his huge shape plopped to the ground, a long, panting shadow barring the threshold.
‘What’s prickled our lad?’ asked Christopher, nodding a perfunctory greeting at the Lady Mary. ‘He looks like a mule kicked him.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He tried to wander off towards the river, but the Merron ain’t having none of it. Sól has grabbed him and sat him by the fire. He’s planning on getting some tea and porridge in him. Razi ain’t got a hope of declining.’
He waited for an explanation, but Wynter just nodded, avoiding his eyes.
‘Alberon’s big manly knight was sobbing his heart out behind the tents,’ he continued. ‘The soldiers near turned themselves inside out pretending not to notice.’
‘The Lord Razi and Sir Oliver had a misunderstanding,’ mumbled Wynter.
‘Iseult!’ he cried, almost spilling the tea with frustration. ‘Don’t do that to me!’
Wynter glanced into his anxious face. Christopher’s eyes were huge with desperate inquiry, but she could remember his rage the day they had found out about Shuqayr. She remembered the hard brightness in his eyes when he had said, If it turns out that Alberon ordered his brother dragged to his death, and had a football made of his head, I will kill him. Whether Razi wants me to or not. Wynter was certain that he would feel the same about Oliver. Christopher would go for the man, and, Razi or not, that would get him killed.