The sharp point of the sword at the girl’s throat bit sideways. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. “Oh, much better. " "You!" "Didn't I tell you that the fugitive Darrell gave me a glove! But we'll speak of this hereafter. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep.
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