expect him to.
Just within the fringe of the copse, at the end of the fields, there was a stone-built sheepfold, close beside the ride, and someone was sitting on the rough wall, dangling crossed ankles and small bare feet, and nursing in her lap a handful of late hazelnuts, which she cracked in her teeth, dropping the fragments of shell into the long grass. From a distance Cadfael had been uncertain whether this was boy or girl, for her gown was kilted to the knee, and her hair cropped just short enough to swing clear of her shoulders, and her dress was the common brown homespun of the countryside. But as he drew nearer it became clear that this was certainly a girl, and moreover, busy about the enterprise of becoming a woman. There were high, firm breasts under the close-fitting bodice, and for all her slenderness she had the swelling hips that would some day make childbirth natural and easy for her. Sixteen, he thought, might be her age. Most curiously of all, it appeared that she was both expecting and waiting for him, for as he rode towards her she turned on her perch to look towards him with a slow, confident smile of recognition and welcome, and when he was close she slid from the wall, brushing off the last nutshells, and shook down her skirts with the brisk movements of one making ready for action.
'Sir, I must talk to you,' she said with firmness, and put up a slim brown hand to the mule's neck. 'Will you light down and sit with me?'
She had still her child's face, but the woman was beginning to show through, paring away the puppy-flesh to outline the elegant lines of her cheekbones and chin. She was brown almost as her nutshells, with a warm rose-colour mantling beneath the tanned, smooth skin, and a mouth rose-red, and curled like the petals of a half-open rose. The short, thick mane of curling hair was richly russet-brown, and her eyes one shade darker, and black-lashed. No cottar's girl, if she did choose to go plain and scorning finery. She knew she was an heiress, and to be reckoned with.
'I will, with pleasure,' said Cadfael promptly, and did so.
She took a step back, her head on one side, scarcely having expected such an accommodating reception, without explanation asked or given; and when he stood on level terms with her, and barely half a head taller, she suddenly made up her mind, and smiled at him radiantly.
'I do believe we two can talk together properly. You don't question, and yet you don't even know me.'
'I think I do,' said Cadfael, hitching the mule's bridle to a staple in the stone wall. 'You can hardly be anyone else but Isouda Foriet. For all the rest I've already seen, and I was told already that you must be the youngest of the tribe.'
'He told you of me?' she demanded at once, with sharp interest, but no noticeable anxiety.
'He mentioned you to others, but it came to my ears.'
'How did he speak of me?' she asked bluntly, jutting a firm chin. 'Did that also come to your ears?'
'I did gather that you were a kind of young sister.' For some reason, not only did he not feel it possible to lie to this young person, it had no value even to soften the truth for her.
She smiled consideringly, like a confident commander weighing up the odds in a threatened field. 'As if he did not much regard me. Never mind! He will.'
'If I had the ruling of him,' said Cadfael with respect, 'I would advise it now. Well, Isouda, here you have me, as you wished. Come and sit, and tell me what you wanted of me.'
'You brothers are not supposed to have to do with women,' said Isouda, and grinned at him warmly as she hoisted herself back on to the wall. 'That makes him safe from her, at least, but it must not go too far with this folly of his. May I know your name, since you know mine?'
'My name is Cadfael, a Welshman from Trefriw.'
'My first nurse was Welsh,' she said, leaning down to pluck a frail green thread of grass from the fading stems below her, and set it between strong white teeth. 'I don't believe
Just within the fringe of the copse, at the end of the fields, there was a stone-built sheepfold, close beside the ride, and someone was sitting on the rough wall, dangling crossed ankles and small bare feet, and nursing in her lap a handful of late hazelnuts, which she cracked in her teeth, dropping the fragments of shell into the long grass. From a distance Cadfael had been uncertain whether this was boy or girl, for her gown was kilted to the knee, and her hair cropped just short enough to swing clear of her shoulders, and her dress was the common brown homespun of the countryside. But as he drew nearer it became clear that this was certainly a girl, and moreover, busy about the enterprise of becoming a woman. There were high, firm breasts under the close-fitting bodice, and for all her slenderness she had the swelling hips that would some day make childbirth natural and easy for her. Sixteen, he thought, might be her age. Most curiously of all, it appeared that she was both expecting and waiting for him, for as he rode towards her she turned on her perch to look towards him with a slow, confident smile of recognition and welcome, and when he was close she slid from the wall, brushing off the last nutshells, and shook down her skirts with the brisk movements of one making ready for action.
'Sir, I must talk to you,' she said with firmness, and put up a slim brown hand to the mule's neck. 'Will you light down and sit with me?'
She had still her child's face, but the woman was beginning to show through, paring away the puppy-flesh to outline the elegant lines of her cheekbones and chin. She was brown almost as her nutshells, with a warm rose-colour mantling beneath the tanned, smooth skin, and a mouth rose-red, and curled like the petals of a half-open rose. The short, thick mane of curling hair was richly russet-brown, and her eyes one shade darker, and black-lashed. No cottar's girl, if she did choose to go plain and scorning finery. She knew she was an heiress, and to be reckoned with.
'I will, with pleasure,' said Cadfael promptly, and did so.
She took a step back, her head on one side, scarcely having expected such an accommodating reception, without explanation asked or given; and when he stood on level terms with her, and barely half a head taller, she suddenly made up her mind, and smiled at him radiantly.
'I do believe we two can talk together properly. You don't question, and yet you don't even know me.'
'I think I do,' said Cadfael, hitching the mule's bridle to a staple in the stone wall. 'You can hardly be anyone else but Isouda Foriet. For all the rest I've already seen, and I was told already that you must be the youngest of the tribe.'
'He told you of me?' she demanded at once, with sharp interest, but no noticeable anxiety.
'He mentioned you to others, but it came to my ears.'
'How did he speak of me?' she asked bluntly, jutting a firm chin. 'Did that also come to your ears?'
'I did gather that you were a kind of young sister.' For some reason, not only did he not feel it possible to lie to this young person, it had no value even to soften the truth for her.
She smiled consideringly, like a confident commander weighing up the odds in a threatened field. 'As if he did not much regard me. Never mind! He will.'
'If I had the ruling of him,' said Cadfael with respect, 'I would advise it now. Well, Isouda, here you have me, as you wished. Come and sit, and tell me what you wanted of me.'
'You brothers are not supposed to have to do with women,' said Isouda, and grinned at him warmly as she hoisted herself back on to the wall. 'That makes him safe from her, at least, but it must not go too far with this folly of his. May I know your name, since you know mine?'
'My name is Cadfael, a Welshman from Trefriw.'
'My first nurse was Welsh,' she said, leaning down to pluck a frail green thread of grass from the fading stems below her, and set it between strong white teeth. 'I don't believe
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