She had braided it, pinned it, veiled it, and threatened it under her breath, but the damp air and her own natural rebellion had worked together. Curls escaped along her templesand down the back of her neck, fox-red and springing, as if they too had decided this century was unreasonable and should be mocked.
Alyson loved them.
Every time Amelia bent near the child, Alyson touched one curl with the cautious awe of someone petting a baby bird.
“You’ll pull it out,” Wat said after the fourth time.
“I will not.”
“You will. Then our mistress will be bald on one side.”
Alyson gasped, stricken.
“I won’t be bald,” Amelia said.
Wat considered her hair with grave expertise. “You have much more than other ladies.”
“Thank you.”
“Too much, mayhap.”
“Less thank you.”
Alyson leaned against her skirt. “I like it. It looks like the fox that steals hens from Old Nan.”
“Wonderful. I have poultry-thief hair.”
Wat brightened. “That fox is clever.”
“I accept the compliment.”
Edith, passing with a covered crock, muttered, “Do not compliment foxes. It encourages them.”
The morning rolled on in warmth, noise, and the steady clamor of a castle trying not to come apart at the seams. Chickens scattered underfoot, indignant at the notion that humans had business in their yard. A pig escaped from a pen and was chased by three boys, one dog, and a woman with a ladle. Walter argued with the reeve over the south field while jabbing at his tablet as though the wax itself had committed treason. From the kitchens came the scent of onions, yesterday’s beef, and flat loaves of bread baking near the embers.
Amelia carried messages, counted sacks, made notes, and began a new list titledThings That Need Doing Before Everyone Forgets, which Walter found offensive until she showed him that she had placed his name beside nearly half of them.
“I have not forgotten these things,” he said.
“No, but now I can bother other people about them before they come bother you.”
Walter paused. His eyes narrowed.
“That,” he said slowly, “may have some use.”
From Walter, this was practically a parade thrown in her honor.
She was scratching a note about needing more soap when the first great clang of metal sounded from beyond the stables.
A second clang rang out, followed by a burst of male laughter, a shout, and the dull thud of something heavy hitting the packed earth.
Alyson appeared beside her, face bright. “The lists.”
“The what?”
“The garrison.” Wat shoved a heel of bread into his mouth and talked around it. “They’re fighting.”
Amelia nearly dropped the stylus. “They’re what?”
