For the first time Tiphaïne noticed the curious restlessness of her brother’s eyes.
“Robin, you are not yourself.”
He laughed and swept his hand through his hair.
“I spent too much of myself at Mivoie. I am dead tired. What can you expect?”
She looked at him keenly, knitting her brows a little, as though she had caught a falseness in his words.
“Robin, are you hiding anything from me?”
“Hiding! What should I hide?” and his eyes flashed out at her.
“How did Bertrand’s horse fall lame?”
“Stabbed in the foot by a stake.”
“And then?”