“It’s Palgday, isn’t it? See if they hold market day here, Bear, and go fetch us some treats! Fruit pastes for me and barley sugars for thee, eh? Here’s a silver, sweetheart, off with thee!” When he was gone, Rose lay down on the bed and let the honest tears flow. She’d held them back for so long--not the tears of a tantrum, but soul tears, from deep inside, tears she had refused to shed since she was a girl. The tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks onto her neck, leaving wide, wet trails. So much had happened to her since she’d left Deneen, and even more since she’d left the Harritson plantation. She’d tried to make the best of it--more than the best of it, she’d tried to make herself independent of any man, a noblewoman of her own making! And she’d done it! She had been Lady Callant! And now the former Lady Callant was lying on a straw ticking in the best room of the only inn of a village so tiny it wasn’t even on a map.

Lady Callant. Domma Rose Herrada. Mistress Lisset Townes. Mistress Lisset Bakerson. Miss Lisset Rosedale. Lisset, Lisset, Lisset.

When Bear returned from market day, he found his mistress on the bed, still dressed, her face turned away from the window and her eyes unseeing. Bear put aside the sweets he’d gotten, closed the window, drew the shades, called in a serving maid to help Missy undress, and settled down to wait.