The Love Knot

Chapter 25

It was a long, cold road from Wickham to Bristol. Although the distance was little more than fifty miles, it took Catrin over a week to cover it. The roads were unsafe for folk of all rank and those who had to travel did so in groups for protection. On the second day, she joined three monks, a wool merchant and two young men with spears heading for Gloucester. The weather was atrocious and progress so slow through a mizzle of sleet and rain that it was not until the fifth day that they arrived in the city. Two more passed before Catrin felt fit enough to set out on the last leg to Bristol.

She arrived at dusk, Rosamund bawling fretfully in her arms, and was frowned at for her tardiness by the soldier preparing to close the gates for the night. In the castle ward, Etheldreda's shelter was occupied by a cowherd and his family, eating their supper over a fire of dried dung. Her back and buttocks aching from the saddle, her eyes gritty with weariness and strain, Catrin paid a groom to take her tired mare and made her way to the hall.

Steward Bardolf still held his position and tyrannical inclinations. Scowling like the guard at her late arrival, but otherwise not giving her a second glance, he directed her to a place on one of the lowlier trestles near the draught from the door. Through the open screens at either side of the hall, servants hurried back and forth with heaped trenchers. The meaty smells of ragout and pottage, the sight of the baskets of flat loaves on the trestle made Catrin feel faint with hunger. Obviously possessed of a similar affliction, Rosamund continued to whimper and grizzle. Catrin discreetly lifted her cloak, unfastened her gown and put her to suckle.

Grace was said and folk started to eat. Although only having one hand free, Catrin still managed to break bread and help herself to a generous bowl of mutton stew. While eating, she glanced around the hall and saw many familiar faces, but not the one she sought. But then, why should Oliver be here? As often as not he was absent on the Earl's business and a year and a half would not have changed the situation. Between courses, she asked her companions for news, but none of them were well acquainted with Oliver and they could not help her.

As supper finished and the servants cleared the trestles, Catrin made her way to the women's chambers on the upper floor. She was challenged once by a guard, but then he recognised her and, after a smile and a word of greeting, let her pass.

Catrin's breath grew short with tension as she entered rooms which were familiar to her but where she no longer had a right to be.

'Hello, lady, said a very small boy, staring up at her from solemn hazel eyes. He had a mop of curly blond hair and there was a peeled, half-eaten apple in his hand.

'Hello, Catrin responded. 'Who are you?

'Effry, he said, and looked at Rosamund bundled up in Catrin's arms. 'I've got a baby too. He took a bite out of the apple and then offered it to Catrin.

'Geoffrey, come here, what have I told y… Edon FitzMar stopped in mid-speech and stared in astonishment. 'Catrin? Holy Virgin, I do not believe my eyes!

'I do mine, Catrin laughed, and tears blinded her eyes. Foolish, vain, giddy Edon looked like an angel at that moment.

With a cry of delight Edon threw herself at Catrin, stopping the hug short when she saw the baby wrapped in her cloak.

'My daughter, Rosamund, Catrin said with pride.

'A little girl! Edon parted the blanket to look into the tiny features. 'Oh, just look at those eyelashes! she cooed. 'Isn't she pretty! She stroked Rosamund's petal-soft cheek and looked at Catrin. 'What are you doing in Bristol?

Catrin shook her head. 'It is a long story. We are here seeking refuge — yet again.

Edon gave her a look full of blatant curiosity but, to her credit and increased maturity, did not seek to have it satisfied there and then. Instead, she drew Catrin to a cushioned window seat, set the youngest maid to making up a pallet, and brought wine with her own hand. Then she stooped by a cradle and picked up a baby of a similar age to Rosamund. 'My second son, Robert, she announced. 'I wish you had been here. The midwives weren't as good as you and Ethel. At least he came head first and without difficulty. She popped the baby back in the cradle. The little boy came to peer and poke at his younger brother.

'I wish I had been here too, Catrin said with a tired smile. She shed her cloak to reveal the top gown of blue wool with its lavish gold embroidery.

Edon's eyes grew huge. 'Have you been stealing from the Empress's wardrobe? she gasped.

Catrin sipped the wine and laughed bitterly. 'My husband is a man generous beyond all belief, she said, and flicked back the hem of the first gown to show Edon the fir-green of the second dress. 'I left three others behind. By now they will be gracing the forms of Flemish whores in return for favours.

'Your husband… Edon said hesitantly. 'Then it is true.

'I don't know. What have you heard? A defensive note entered Catrin's voice.

'That he was not dead, that you had found him again. Geoffrey said that he was a noble man. He treated the prisoners honourably and they liked him. Geoffrey was sorry for Oliver and pleased for you. She swept to her feet and grabbed her eldest son. 'No, sweetheart, not in his eye, there's a good boy.

'Louis can make anyone like him if he tries, Catrin said dully. 'He swore to me that he had changed but he hadn't, and I was still too blind to see through his charm. He demanded all my attention like a greedy child, but once he had it, he lost interest. He wanted a son and I disappointed him with a daughter, for which he has not forgiven me — not that I care for such things. She shook her head. 'It was the same with Wickham. First the passion and desire, then the desertion.

'He deserted you? Edon wrestled with her struggling son and looked perplexed.

Catrin shrugged. 'Yes, he did, but this time I did not spend a year in grief before I took up the threads of my life. Briefly, and against the background of a thwarted, screaming two-year-old, she told Edon about the siege and how she came to be at Bristol. 'So, she defended herself with a vulnerable half-smile, 'I have come to find Oliver and beg his forgiveness on bended knees.

The youngest maid had finished making up the pallet and offered to show Edon's son the caged finches in the adjoining chamber. As she led him away and peace was restored, Edon readjusted her skewed wimple. 'He doesn't take after me, she said with firm denial, and then she sighed. 'It nearly broke Oliver when he lost you. It was all my Geoffrey could do to prevent him from drinking himself stupid every night or seeking his own death in battle.

Her words deepened Catrin's feeling of guilt and renewed her apprehension. Perhaps Oliver would not forgive her, or even want to see her. 'I had to choose, she said. 'And I would not wish that kind of choosing on any woman. She bit her lip. 'In the event, I made the wrong decision.

There was a brief silence. Catrin glanced at Edon and said, 'Do you think it too late to make amends?

Edon wrinkled her nose and looked perplexed. 'I do not know. Oliver has not taken up with any other women, but he never speaks of you. Geoffrey says that in the summer Oliver received a message to say that you were very happy with your husband and that you were with child. I think until then he had started to recover, but that news disturbed him greatly.

Catrin whitened. 'I knew nothing of it, she said, 'but I would not put it past my husband's malice.

'Why choose such a man above Oliver? Edon asked in total bewilderment. 'Why throw away gold for dross?

'Sometimes your eyes are too dazzled by old shine to know the difference. Catrin shook her head and wiped at a tear. 'I thought that Louis had the right. Now I know that he had no right at all. She gazed pensively at Edon. 'I looked for Oliver in the hall at dinner but I did not see him. Is he here?

Edon wrinkled her brow in thought. 'No, she said at length. 'I think not. But we do not see so much of Oliver these days since he has been seconded to Prince Henry's household.

'Prince Henry?

'If you were in the hall at dinner you would have seen him at the high table. The boy with red hair and a severe dose of the fidgets.

'Vaguely, Catrin said. 'We had heard that he was in England, but I never put the two together.

'Well, he's adopted Oliver as his "pet Saxon", Edon said. 'When he returns to his father in Anjou, Oliver will be going with him as part of his retinue.

Catrin absorbed this information with surprise and a frisson of dismay. She mentally scolded herself for the latter. Time and people did not stand still. It was selfish to expect Oliver to remain in the same place, solid as a rock for her convenience. But right or wrong, it was how she had imagined him and now she was thrown off balance.

'And you do not know where he is now?

'No. Eden screwed up her eyes in thought. 'I seem to remember Geoffrey mentioning that Oliver had business of his own to attend to — another pilgrimage or something — that he wanted to perform before he committed himself entirely to Prince Henry's service. He'll probably be here by the end of the week, and you know you'll be more than welcome to stay among the women. The Countess was only saying the other day how much she missed your green ointment for sore hands.

Catrin responded with a wan smile. Impatience and apprehension churned inside her. She wanted to see Oliver now, not at the end of the week. Waiting was impossible, but she had no other course. 'Then I'll be pleased to make her some and whatever else she wishes. Edon, if I do not have something to occupy my time, I swear I will go mad.

Godard and Edith laid Oliver down on a pallet arranged near the fire. Curious drinkers gathered round until Edith sent them off to their homes with a communal flea in the ear and barred the door.

Together she and Godard gently stripped Oliver's hauberk and gambeson. He drifted in and out of consciousness, making a continuous low moaning sound. Blood had saturated his left arm, and when Godard slit open the shirt and tunic with Edith's shears, both of them winced at the mess that de Mohun's sword had made.

'Have you needle and thread? Godard asked. 'It'll have to be stitched.

She bit her lip and unfastened her small leather needle case from her belt. 'It's more than a flesh wound, she said doubtfully. 'There's displaced bone too.

'I know. I'll just have to do my best.

She looked at him curiously. 'Can you knit bone and sew flesh then?

Godard nodded, but with more confidence than he felt and there was a waxy sheen to his skin. 'Done it on sheep a hundred times, he exaggerated. Actually it was more like two or three.

'There must be other damage too. Look at all the swelling and bruises.

Godard grunted. 'Nothing I can do about that, he said as he threaded the needle. 'I once knew two women who could, but one's dead and the other's long gone. He grimaced. 'He cannot remain here. It's too close to Ashbury and they will come looking for him. As soon as I've stitched this wound, we'll have to leave.

'We? Edith arched her brows.

'Myself and Lord Oliver.

'I see. She gave him a look sidelong, but it was totally lost on Godard who was steeling himself to stitch Oliver's wound.

'The state he's in, he may well die before you have gone more than a mile, she said.

'He will die of a certainty if they find him here. It will be dangerous for you too. I have seen what soldiers do with very little provocation.

'I suppose you are right, she said thoughtfully. 'The men ride out from Ashbury on occasion to drink and whore. My brew ensures their goodwill, but they would not turn a blind eye to such as this. She gestured at Oliver's prone form. 'How far do you intend taking him?

'Bristol. There are chirurgeons there, and he is deeply regarded by young Prince Henry himself.

Edith put her hands on her hips. 'You did not tell me you were the servants of a prince!

'A future king, Godard said in a preoccupied way, as he brought out the flask of usquebaugh and removed the stopper. 'Does it make a difference?

She cocked her head. 'It does to the hearth tales that people come to tell and have told over their ale, she answered, then continued in a brisk, practical tone, 'You will never get him to Bristol on horseback. I'll lend you my cart, providing you promise to return it within the week.

Godard nodded acceptance and, for a while, all conversation ceased as he poured the raw usquebaugh over Oliver's wound, and the injured man screamed and went rigid. 'Hold him for me, Godard commanded, his own teeth gritted. Edith moved into position, although it was difficult to know where to grip since there was scarcely a part of the knight's upper torso that was not damaged. His muscles bunched against her for an instant and then slackened as once again he sank into the mercy of oblivion.

'Lady Catrin used to say that it helped to clean out the badness, Godard said, as he began to stitch. 'But I reckon as the cure's almost as bad as the wounding. 'Who's Lady Catrin?

'A healer. My lord was once betrothed to her, but they were parted before they could wed.

'She belonged to him then, not to you, Edith said slowly and clearly.

'No, not to me, said Godard, with a masculine lack of comprehension.

Edith nodded, a gleam in her eyes. When she saw that the lord would not require further holding, she went to hardness Godard's gelding to her cart, tethering the grey stallion behind.

Godard did what he could for Oliver, which was not much beyond stitching and binding the gashed arm, and then wrapping him tightly in two blankets like a swaddled infant to keep his limbs immobile for the journey ahead.

Edith backed the horse and cart up to the alehouse door and Godard tenderly bore Oliver out and placed him on the piled bed of straw which she had made in the back.

'God speed you and bring you safely to Bristol. She presented Godard with a pig's bladder full of ale, some bread and two hard-boiled eggs wrapped in a kerchief.

Godard took them from her, and cleared his throat. 'I do not know how to thank you, he said gruffly. 'If I offered you silver, I know you would be insulted.

'Indeed I would, she sniffed and folded her arms. 'It will be thanks enough if you return the cart to me yourself when you can.

Godard cleared his throat again. 'Assuredly I will, mistress, he said and, with sudden bravado, leaned forward and kissed the soft expanse of her cheek.

She stood in the road and watched until the darkness swallowed up the sight of the pale horse attached to the back of the cart, and the rumbling noise of the wheels on the track had faded. Then, touching her cheek, she went slowly back to the alehouse and barred the door.

In some ways, Catrin thought, it was as if she had never left Bristol. If not for Rosamund and a collection of fevered memories, the time she had spent with Louis might never have existed. Countess Mabile accepted her back amongst her women with the minimum of questions, admired Rosamund, and then set Catrin to work making a batch of Ethel's famous green hand salve.

Catrin did not particularly like sleeping in the bower. As always, she felt stifled by its atmosphere, but it was a haven until she could find her feet and speak with Oliver. So much depended on their meeting and his response. She chewed her lip and tried to avoid the treadmill of imagining the encounter. She had lived it so often in her mind, had conjured every scenario from falling into his arms to being totally rejected and ignored, that there was no new ground, no wisdom to be gleaned.

She pounded lily of the valley, lemon balm, sage and plantain in a mortar, and when it was sufficiently macerated, added it to a blend of goose grease and almond oil. It worked better if the herbs were fresh, but in mid-winter the dried "substitutes had to suffice.

Chin propped on her hands, Edon watched her work. She was supposed to be weaving a length of braid, but had reached no further than the first six inches before putting the wooden tablets aside.

'Did you really have glass in the windows? she asked, with a shivering glance at the oiled linen that let scanty light and a deal of cold into the bower.

Catrin smiled and sighed at the same time. 'Yes, we had glass. Yes, it was a luxury and one that I miss, but I hated it too. Louis thought people would admire him for it, that they would look up to him, but instead it made them jealous and contemptuous. They blamed me for being a demanding wife, not him for his delusions of rank and grandeur. 'What will happen to him now?

Catrin shrugged. 'I have no doubt that he will make his way in the world. Losing Wickham will set him back, but not for long. He will change his name, his allegiance, whatever is necessary to secure his own comfort. Her eyelids tensed. 'Edon, I do not care, except with anger. She used a horn spoon to scoop a dollop of the unguent into a small clay pot, her movements jerky. 'I want to forget.

'If it was me… Edon began, but broke off as one of the other women entered the bower and hurried directly over to them.

'Oliver Pascal is back, she announced breathlessly. 'His manservant's just brought him in on a cart, sore-wounded! Edon put her hand to her throat. 'Sore-wounded?

The woman nodded. 'Leastways he wasn't in his senses.

Catrin had whitened at the news. Wiping her hands on a scrap of linen, she grabbed the maid's arm. 'Where is he?

'Down in the bailey when I left. They had gone looking for a stretcher and a priest.

'A priest! Edon looked at Catrin with stricken eyes. 'Jesu forfend!

'Look after Rosamund for me, Catrin said, and with compressed lips grabbed her satchel and sped from the room. Such was her haste that she stumbled on the stairs, wrenched her ankle and burned her hand on the support rope, injuries that she was not to notice until much later. The only thought in her mind was reaching Oliver and protecting him from death.

By the time she burst into the great hall, Godard and another man were bearing Oliver in on a stretcher of laced ropes. They carried him to a side aisle where the roof supports formed a natural alcove and gently set him down.

'Godard, what has happened to him? Catrin demanded on the same breath as she arrived.

The servant turned to look at her out of eyes that were dark-ringed with exhaustion. 'Sword fight, he said succinctly. 'Broken bones and a mangled shield arm. I don't know how bad.

Catrin dropped to her knees at Oliver's side. His face was flushed and he was running a slight fever. Very carefully she began to peel away the blankets. He twitched and moaned but his eyes remained shut.

'I do not know what you are doing here, mistress, Godard said, 'but I'm right glad. If anyone can help him, it is you.

'It's not a tale for the telling now, Catrin said without looking round, all her attention for the wounded man. 'Were you with him when it happened?

'No, mistress. Briefly Godard gave her the gist as he knew it.

'I hope Randal de Mohun fries in hell for ever, she said viciously, and with extreme gentleness unfastened the final binding of the blanket. Beneath it, Oliver still wore his gambeson, tunic and shirt, although all three had been cut away on his left arm. She gasped at the sight of the wound that had scored and torn his flesh.

'I had to stitch his arm, Godard said with a worried frown. 'I know it's badly cobbled, but I poured usquebaugh over the wound like you and Ethel showed me. 'You did your best, Catrin said unsteadily. She wanted to cry but bit back the tears, knowing that she needed clear vision and a steady hand. Later she would weep. For now she had to be strong. 'I need hot water and a strong pair of shears.

Godard disappeared to fetch them. Catrin laid her hand against Oliver's brow and felt the heat of fever. Knowing that this would probably never have happened if she had stayed at Bristol filled her with guilt. It was not fair that one wrong choice could have such far-reaching consequences. But when had life ever been fair?

Beneath her palm, she felt his skin twitch. He opened his eyes. For a moment they were opaque, as blind as stones, then they cleared and showed a sea-grey spark of life.

'Catrin? he said hoarsely, and a mirthless smile twisted his lips. 'Holy Christ, now I know that I am truly out of my wits.

'No, I'm here. She touched his hand. 'Never mind why. That can be told when you have recovered. 'You think I'm going to recover?

'Of course! Catrin cried with indignation and a touch of fear. 'I will not deny that you have made a mess of yourself, but nothing that time cannot heal. I have treated worse injuries.

'Ah, time the healer. He grimaced at her. 'First Godard, then you. Have you not done enough already? Is there no mercy in you to let me die in peace?

Catrin bit her lip. A single tear rolled down her cheek. 'No, there isn't, she said brutally. 'Not when you have so much left to live for. Not when I need you. Not when your worst enemy is your own self-pity!

His eyes sparked again and colour flooded across the sharpness of his cheekbones. 'My worst enemy is my tender heart, he said. 'Ripped out and impaled for the «needs» of others. Small wonder if my body desires to follow it into death… my lady. He turned his head from her and closed his eyes.

Catrin tightened her grip on his hand. 'The gulf between us is already too wide, she said desperately. 'I do not want death to stretch that distance for ever. Oliver, please!

His eyes remained shut.

'I'm not with Louis any more, she ventured. 'I came to find you. I thought that if you… if you still…" She could not continue as her throat closed and she choked on tears.

Oliver gave no sign that he had heard. He was waxen pale, the last flare of emotion having drained his strength. Catrin dashed at the tears spilling down her cheeks and swallowed hard. If she was going to nurse him back to health then she had to detach herself. A few more exchanges like the last one and he likely would die, but she had to give him the will to live.

Godard returned with the hot water and shears and Catrin set about cutting the garments from Oliver's body. The gambeson was the worst, for it was made of two layers of thick linen packed with felted fleece and quilted with heavy stitches. Her thumb was throbbing by the time she had slit it up the middle. Oliver lay silent and unresponding throughout the operation and she did not know if he was aware or not.

When finally she exposed his torso to the air, she sat back with a gasp of horrified pity. There was no torn flesh, no wounds to be stitched, but his entire chest and ribs were covered in purplish-red impact bruises. From the shallowness of his breathing and the way he groaned as she gently laid her hand on him, she could tell that he had sustained broken ribs. Beneath her fingers she felt the swellings of damaged bone. The pattern of the bruising led her to inspect his collar-bone and discover that it too was broken on the shield arm side.

'Regular injury, Godard said, watching her examination. 'If you can disable a man in the shoulder so that he cannot hold his shield, then you can move in closer and do what you like with him.

Catrin winced. It was not a detail that she particularly wanted to know. 'The ribs will need to be bound in swaddling bands for support and a sling will deal with both the shoulder and the arm, she said briskly.

'He is going to live then?

Catrin looked at Oliver. She could not be sure if his closed eyes meant that he was shunning her, or that he was just out of his senses with exhaustion and pain. The latter she thought, but in case he could hear said, 'Yes, I think so, although it is as much a matter of his spirit as his body. The arm wound is the thing that bothers me the most. It will have to be opened and stitched again, and from the damage done I do not know how much use will remain in it.

'I did my best, mistress, Godard said anxiously.

She nodded and found a wan smile. 'I know you did. Like as not you saved his life at the time.

'Is there anything else I can do?

'Pray, she said grimly. 'Pray as you have never done before.

Steeling herself, she set about the task of cutting open and restitching his arm wound. The pain revived the injured man and Godard had to hold him down. Catrin bit her lip and concentrated upon keeping her hand steady while Oliver railed at her and cursed.

'At least he still has the will and the strength to fight, Godard said wryly.

Catrin looked dubiously at the wound she had just re-stitched. Oliver was insensible again and breathing swiftly. 'Then let us pray he keeps it, she murmured. 'You will have to raise him up so that I can bind his ribs. If we do this all at once then we can leave him to rest. She blinked fiercely.

Mistaking her emotion, Godard said brusquely, 'He does not mean the things he says. They are only the ramblings of a man with wound-sickness.

'Oh he means them at the moment, I am sure. Catrin smiled through a new welling of tears. 'If I am weeping, it is for the pain I have to inflict in the name of healing. Come, the sooner done, the sooner finished. She picked up the yards of swaddling band.

Binding Oliver's broken ribs was swiftly accomplished. The closeness, the pungency of his body, the terrible bruising made Catrin feel nauseous and faint. Nursing was easier with a detached mind. Once she had run her hands over his lean, unblemished skin in the act of love, had been as close to him as now, touching with pleasure instead of anxious pity.

'Mistress, are you all right? Godard asked in concern as they gently lowered Oliver back down on to the rope stretcher.

Catrin shook her head. 'No, but I can manage. Raising her head she gave him a fierce stare. 'I would not have anyone else take my place. He is mine now.

Godard nodded gravely and reached to the pouch at his waist. 'He was before, he said. 'You'll be wanting this. He gave her the knot of hair that Ethel had woven in what now seemed like another life.

Catrin took it from him and noticed the charring on one edge.

'It fell in the fire, Godard said with a dismissive shrug. 'My lord was not disposed to keep it, but I thought that one day he would regret its loss, so I took it upon myself to be a guardian.

She rubbed her thumb over the intertwined pattern. 'You see a great deal, don't you?

Godard shrugged again and looked uncomfortable. 'I'm a simple man, mistress. I only see what's in front of my nose.

Catrin flashed him a sad smile. 'That's what I mean. I… She broke off and turned, her words curtailed by the peremptory arrival of a stocky child with flaming red hair and brilliant, pale grey eyes. He wore a somewhat dusty tunic with a torn hem, but the embroidery on it was of gold thread and his cloak clasp was set with gems.

'Where's Oliver, what's happened to him? the boy demanded imperiously. He pushed forward to the side of the stretcher and gazed at the wounded knight.

'He was attacked by mercenaries — sire, Catrin said, adding the last word with the diplomacy of guesswork. This could be none other than the precocious Prince Henry. 'He's sore-wounded, but not unto death.

The boy grunted and put his hands on his hips. They were square with grubby fingernails. Reddish freckles dusted their backs. 'Who are you?

His stare was as sharp and clear as glass, and Catrin could physically feel the vibration of his personality. 'My name is Catrin of Chepstow, sire. I am a healer and Sir Oliver is known to me.

The boy frowned. 'I have heard about you. 'For the good I hope, sire, Catrin smiled, but her eyes were wary.

Henry shrugged as if the remark was of no consequence. Later she was to learn that having been weaned on gossip and rumour, he was largely immune to it, preferring to make up his own mind. 'When will he be well?

'It is hard to tell, sire. The broken bones will take several weeks to mend, but they should not prevent him from being up and around within a few days. He has a difficult injury to his left arm, though, which may take a long time to heal, and he may not retain all the use that he had before.

The boy accepted the information with a nod. The frown remained, creating two deep creases between his brows. 'But he will have recovered enough to leave with me when I go back to my father in Anjou. It was more of a statement, than a question. The clear grey eyes fixed Catrin with a gimlet stare.

On the stretcher, Oliver stirred. 'I will be well enough, sire, he said without opening his eyes, his lips barely moving.

'I told you not to go. Henry stooped over the man. 'I told you that when I am King your lands will be restored.

The ghost of a smile touched Oliver's lips. 'Honour demanded, he murmured.

The boy gave a baffled shrug. 'Honour nearly killed you.

'Better than dishonour, sire.

Henry shook his head and, stepping back, turned to Catrin. 'Look after him well, he said brusquely.

'I fully intend to, sire, she answered, not knowing whether to be amused or irritated by his manner. Ten years old going on four score.

Henry gave her a chin-jutting nod and, as swiftly as he had arrived, swept out.

'Is there no one willing to leave me in peace? Oliver muttered, the words slurring.

'It seems not. Catrin was thankful for Henry's visit. It had given her the breathing space that she needed to compose herself and she was able to reply in a lighter, pragmatic manner. 'Or at least not until you're strong enough to get up and walk away.

To which Oliver said nothing, for he was already asleep.