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shadow of rough growth on his chin. The chain Guilhem wore around his neck shimmered and glinted as he shifted position in his sleep.
    Alais wanted him to wake and tell her that everything was all right, that she didn’t have to be afraid any more. But he did not stir and it did not occur to her to wake him. Fearless in all other things, she was inexperienced in the ways of marriage and cautious with him still, so she contented herself with running her fingers down his smooth, tanned arms and across his shoulders, firm and broad from the hours spent practising with sword and quintain for the Joust. Alais could feel the life moving beneath his skin even as he slept. And when she remembered how they had spent the early part of the night, she blushed, even though there was no one there to see.
    Alais was overwhelmed by the sensations Guilhem aroused in her. She delighted in the way her heart leapt when she caught unexpected sight of him, the way the ground shifted beneath her feet when he smiled at her. At the same time, she did not like the feeling of powerlessness. She feared love was making her weak, giddy. She did not doubt she loved Guilhem and yet she knew she was keeping a little of herself back.
    Alais sighed. All she could hope was that, with time, it would become easier.
    There was something in the quality of the light, black fading to grey, and the occasional hint of birdsong from the trees in the courtyard, which told her that dawn was not far away. She knew she wouldn’t go back to sleep now.
    Alais slipped out between the curtains and tiptoed across to the wardrobe that stood in the far corner of the chamber. The flagstones were cold under her feet and the rush matting scratched her toes. She opened the lid, removed the lavender bag from the top of the pile, and took out a plain, dark green dress. Shivering a little, she stepped into it, threading her arms into the narrow sleeves. She pulled the material, slightly damp, over her undershift, then fastened the girdle tightly.
    Alais was seventeen and had been married for six months, but she had not yet acquired the softness and sway of a woman. The dress hung shapelessly on her narrow frame, as if it didn’t belong to her. Steadying herself with her hand on the table, she pushed her feet into soft leather slippers and took her favourite red cloak from the back of the chair. Its edges and hem were embroidered with an intricate blue and green pattern of squares and diamonds, interspersed with tiny yellow flowers, which she had designed herself for her wedding day. It had taken her weeks and weeks to sew. All through November and December she had worked at it, her fingers growing sore and stiff with cold as she hurried to have it finished in time.
    Alais turned her attention to her panier, which stood on the floor beside the wardrobe. She checked her herb pouch and purse were there, together with the strips of cloth for wrapping plants and roots and her tools for digging and cutting. Finally, she fixed her cloak firmly at her neck with a ribbon, slipped her knife into its sheath at her waist, pulled her hood up over her head to cover her long, unbraided hair, then quietly crept across the chamber and out into the deserted corridor. The door closed with a thud behind her.
    It was not yet Prime, so there was nobody about in the living quarters. Alais walked quickly along the corridor, her cloak swishing softly against the stone floor, heading for the steep and narrow stairs. She stepped over a serving boy slumped asleep against a wall outside the door to the room her sister Oriane shared with her husband.
    As she descended lower, the sound of voices floated up to meet her from the kitchens in the basement. The servants were already hard at work. Alais heard a slap, closely followed by a yell, as an unlucky boy started the day with the cook’s heavy hand on the back of his head.
    A scullion came staggering towards her, struggling with a massive half-barrel of water he