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course you can’t. How clumsy of me to suggest such a thing. Growing up as you did, there would be no opportunity for you—”
    “They have music in Scotland, my lord,” she interrupted, more amused than irritated. “All I am saying is that I have no skill for it.”
    “Then Claudia will play for you, won’t you, my dear?”
    Claudia bowed her head, seemed about to burst into laughter. “Of course I will,” she gasped, after a moment.
    There seemed to be nothing to do but to follow Claudia, who walked over to the fireplace, holding on to her peculiar smile.
    She played the psaltery, and fairly well, Avalon judged. She would have thought that the wine would make nimble fingers ungainly on the strings, but Claudia kept the pace of her song steady, tapping her foot against the floor as she sang a lively tune in her husky voice.
    The women were clustered around the fireplace, the remains of the meal had been cleared by the serfs, the men were off doing Avalon had no idea what. Even Bryce, after making certain that his cousin was firmly entrenched by the fire, had left the group, entreating his wife in his loud and happy voice to keep playing.
    And play Claudia did. After Bryce left she switched songs, moving now to a French ballad, slower, more melancholy. The mood seemed to permeate the group of women. Claudia stopped only to take swallows of wine between songs.
    Avalon rested her cheek on her hand, staring into the fire, wishing she could be in the solitude of her rooms right now instead of here listening to this sad plinking of notes and tragic themes. The flames were beginning to slowly die, settling down to embers, molten centers, scraps of smoke.
    Claudia finished another piece and Avalon quickly stood, intending to take her leave.
    “You play delightfully,” she said, edging away from the group. “How sorry I am I must retire now. I simply cannot keep my eyes open anymore.”
    Claudia, to her surprise, made no attempt to stop her, only strummed a few strings as she watched Avalon back away. The dying flames were clearly reflected in her eyes.
    “Thank you so much” Avalon said, impatient toleave but still seeking a thread of normalcy in the moment. “Good eve to you.”
    “Cousin,” came a voice behind her.
    Avalon turned around to see Bryce, returned from the darkness, standing quiet for once in the doorway. She wondered how long he had been there.
    There was a man beside him, further back in the shadows. Both of them began to walk into the room.
    Claudia continued to pluck at the strings of the psaltery, pursing her lips and looking down.
    “Lady Avalon, I present to you your cousin Warner, my brother. Please do forgive his appearance, he has only just this moment arrived from the Continent.”
    Warner came forward and took her hand, bowing over it. He was large and fair, like Bryce, with gray eyes and sandy hair, at least two decades older than Avalon. There was a fine layer of dust over all of him, marking the creases around his eyes and mouth in pale spider lines.
    “Cousin,” he murmured against the back of her hand.
    The chill came immediately, snaking up her arm, and she thought:
Of course, of course, Bryce wasn’t courting me, good heavens, he doesn’t want me for himself—
    He wanted her for this man. For his brother.
    The air left her lungs at her discovery, her fingers grew cold even as Warner squeezed them. Bryce was watching her closely, monitoring her reaction.
    For an instant she had to admire his audacity. He actually planned to break the betrothal. He would brave the wrath of two kings and the Clan Kincardine to keep her in the family, and that wrath would not be inconsiderable.
    And thus he would also keep all her lands and her wealth. Which were also not inconsiderable.
    She stifled the laugh that rose in her throat, made herself take back her hand from Warner and nod to him coolly.
    “A pleasure,” he said, inspecting her face, moving boldly down to her shoulders, her