“Listen to the caged bird singing. I caught it last night under the Witch Cross yews.”
“A woman?”
“Stalking a hart by moonlight, with a bow in her hand. I locked her in the store-room for the night.”
Margaret Ferrers still considered him with her mistrustful eyes.
“A woman!”
“Who calls herself Isoult of the Rose. Jade or lady, she goes before the verderers at the next swainmote. We shall have to lodge her here.”
His mother was wondering whether she should believe him. They came to all men, these adventures, and yet he carried it off like a boy who had brought home a snared rabbit.
“Who is she? Whence does she come?”
“I know no more than Father Adam. Some gay dame, perhaps, tired of her bower, and come adventuring. She tried to fool me.”
Margaret Ferrers listened to the singing voice.