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don’t want to be unkind, but one of the daughters might be simple and the other…I don’t know.” She touched her head.
    “Probably too many cousins marrying.”
    “Probably. Though, in fact, they’re not much alike.”
    “There’s just the three women?”
    “No, there’s a grandmother. She’s horribly hunched, poor thing, and drinks, perhaps to kill the pain. They’re an unfortunate family.”
    He was leaning his arms on one side of the sill, she on the other so their faces were only a foot away. The tallow light was dim, but if anything it cast drama onto the elegant lines of his face and lips. Lips she remembered against hers.
    “Something’s the matter,” he said.
    You. But Petra only said, “Tiredness, probably, but I don’t expect to sleep well.”
    He rested his hand on hers. “I’ll do better for you tomorrow. State your wish, princess.”
    Petra knew she should pull away from that warm touch, but she needed human contact right now. “A palace,” she said lightly, but then shook her head. “A clean, well-aired bed will do, in a clean room—a room entirely to myself.”
    “Not quite what I had in mind,” he said, but the light humor in it stole offense. “We’ll stop early tomorrow to be sure of it. Perhaps in Montreuil. The luxury of the Court de France should compensate for this.”
    “The French court?” she asked, puzzled.
    “It’s a hostelry. A very grand one.”
    “I don’t require grand. I’d rather we made haste to England.”
    “Why? Why the hurry?”
    Petra shook her head. “Don’t pry at me now. I don’t have the wit to amuse.”
    His hand tightened slightly in comfort. “Very well. But later, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep in a clean, well-aired bed entirely to yourself…”
    “Even then you won’t get my secrets, sir. Not even with torture.”
    “It wasn’t torture I had in mind….”
    She moved her hand away, but he captured it and raised it to his warm lips. “Trust me, Petronilla mia . Whatever your urgent purpose in England, you will need me.”
    Her breath felt thin, but she tugged. “Your price will always be too high.”
    He released her. “See, I set you free. I will never force you to anything. But reality will. I predict failure if you escape from me.”
    If the two-feet-thick wall hadn’t been between them she might have hit him.
    “How can I be free if I must escape?”
    His eyes met hers. “Alas, you’re right. I’ll try to respect your wishes.” He drew back, taking his dog.
    “Good night, sweet lady of the secrets.”
    Petra watched him disappear into the darkness, fighting an urge to climb out after him, but also wishing she could flee him now.
    She had pursued her plan thus far and made it almost to England. She only needed Robin Bonchurch to get her there, and then she would escape him. She had a dagger in her pouch and twenty guineas hidden in the end boards of her prayer book. Once in England, she would find her father, and then all would be well.
    She hoped and prayed.

Chapter 6
    T he curtain rattled back without warning, and there was Solette, eyeing Petra suspiciously. Petra gave thanks that she had instinctively gripped her rosary and would look as if she prayed. She followed the young woman back to the kitchen, carrying her guttering, smoking candle. She placed the candle with another on the table, and with the fire, the room seemed positively merry after the dank cell. For greater cheer, a hunk of yellow cheese now sat beside the coarse bread.
    Madame Goulart sat in a chair at the end facing the fire and waved Petra to a seat on the bench to her left. Jizzy sat on the other bench, still looking anxious. Petra smiled at her, but it didn’t seem to help.
    The old woman ladled soup into bowls that Solette carried to the table, serving her mother first and then Petra. Petra thanked her, but she’d forgotten the smell of this brew. Perhaps a meat bone had been used when past its best. Perhaps the cook had tried to