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believe it? And he didn’t do hardly anything. Just held onto one of ‘em or the other and kind of dozed over it. Andthen my hand would feel warm and kind of buzzy, like it were a hive of bees, but the burning pain of it would ease off, and I would feel easier in my mind too. And each time, when he was done, the hand looked better.”
    Towás had done well. Simon’s palms were shiny pink, but it was the pink of new skin, not of burned flesh or scarring. They would be sensitive for some time yet, but they would serve him almost as well as before.
    “Oh, and before I forget—someone is coming here to see you, m’Lady.”
    Gabrielle looked up, surprised. Towás, perhaps, coming to help with the twins?
    “His name is Féolan. He just rode into town—or whatever that Stonewater place is—as I was getting ready to leave. He says he’ll be here by sundown.” Simon frowned, struck by a sudden doubt.
    “You do know him, m’Lady? He looked something scruffy compared to the others there.”
    Gabrielle laughed—the first laugh she could remember since arriving at the village—picturing Féolan’s response to hearing that a Maronnais shepherd had declared him “scruffy.” He would have just returned from trade talks in the Gamier capital of Turleau—a long journey through rough country.
    “Oh yes, I know him. He’s my husband.”
    B Y THE TIME Féolan arrived, the girls had been cleaned up, dosed with medicine, coated (sparingly, this time) with honey and settled back comfortably on their pallets. Simon had taken on the bath project with dispatch, producing two trestle tables, which he setup in an empty livestock shed, and enlisting everyone who could be found in the village to contribute buckets of warm water. He and Aline had carried the girls to the shed and laid them gently on the tables, and Gabrielle had got to work.
    Féolan had proved himself equally useful, bringing dinner, a pannier of clean clothes and a tent. After days of sharing a bed and eating hastily prepared peasant fare, an Elvish picnic and a night alone were luxurious gifts.
    “How long will you stay?” asked Gabrielle. Colette had been visibly relieved to find she would not need to house and feed Féolan, but only find a patch of ground he could camp on. Still, there was little he could do here.
    “I should head back tomorrow.” Féolan leaned over the fire to fish out the last packets of
limara—
a rich concoction of dried fruits, nuts, spices and honey, wrapped into a curl of birchbark and soaked before heating in the coals—and gingerly dropped one onto Gabrielle’s plate. The evening star had just appeared, shining out over the far hills. “Tilumar is keen to discuss Gamier’s trade offer. I just wanted to see you.”
    Gabrielle couldn’t see the sudden brightening of Féolan’s eyes in the waning light, but she felt the flare of his desire. Teasing, she carried on their matter-of-fact conversation as though she hadn’t noticed, knowing he would sense her own true feelings.
    “Can you leave me the tent? I’m sure Aline would rather share her bed with Simon.”
    “Of course.” Féolan smiled wickedly. “If you think you can keep warm without me.”

CHAPTER SIX
    T HE PIRATES SWARMED through the streets of Chênier, ragged shadows with black-toothed grins and flaming eyes. Madeleine shrank into a doorway as they pounded past her, but the last, a huge mountain of a man, stopped, turned, and the rotten smile broadened into a roar of glee. He grabbed her, brandishing the blade of his great crescent knife and laying it along her throat, and she screamed and screamed but all that came out was...
a hoarse mew that blessedly was enough to wake her.
    Madeleine sat up in bed, trying to suppress the wild pounding of her heart. She had overheard talk of pirates that night, not at the dinner table but in the private study where she had hovered in the hallway to listen. Served her right, then, for spying. It was guilt, more than fear, had