abandoned since the last daylight had fled. He did not comment on the dearth of candles as he said, 'This belongs to you.'

    The Lady's silk-dark eyebrows arched up. 'I beg your pardon, sir? My Lord left debts, not debtors, or none that he mentioned at his death.'

    'This one he must have forgotten,' the strange man corrected most gently. 'Let me offer my condolences on your husband's passing, though we were never friends. His heir is the proper recipient. The coin in that purse is Silverdown's gold.'

    'Might I know what service was rendered to require such generous payment?' Piqued to curiosity, the Lady leaned forward enough that the firelight touched her. She locked trembling hands in her lap, though the gesture failed to conceal the calluses that marred her fine skin. Silverdown had fallen on hard times and yet, even as her straits were exposed to the eyes of her visitor, she did not snatch up the pouch. As if need did not demand that she count the money inside, though the fringes of her shawl were dark with tarnish, and her dress had been embroidered at the bodice to hide its past history as a cast off. Poor as Silverdown's Lady might be, her bearing never deserted her.

She carried herself regally as a queen.

    Her presence was forceful enough that the stranger stood as if tongue-tied, betraying awkwardness before highborn grace. Or perhaps his diffidence stemmed from reluctance to reveal an unpleasantness between himself and the late Lord, whom very few folk had cause to love. In a musical softness that somehow did not convey the impression of grudging character, he said, 'Mark the entry in your ledger as stud fees, and back payment for the purchase of a horse.'

    'I don't understand,' said the Lady. 'My Lord never stood any stallions.'

    Something about her smallness stirred recognition, or maybe her careworn, homely face made him ask, 'Are you the Earl of Tanemar's daughter?'

    Startled to an intake of breath, she admitted, 'I am.' Since her father had fallen out of favor with the King, not many cared to mention his name with kindness.

    'Then,' said the stranger in sweet courtesy, 'ask his grace the Duke of the blue-dun stud he was promised as a gift when your late Lord aspired to become your bridegroom.'

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