“Even while you say your prayers!”
“I was praying for you, Messire Fulk, therefore I knew you, though my eyes were closed.”
She turned and gave him the full challenge of her opened eyes—eyes in which there was neither laughter nor raillery, but rather a prophetic pity. The Polecat had been to her window during the night, and the Polecat’s claws were to be dreaded because of those magicians whom the Polecat served.
Fulk hovered there like a hawk, not seeing anything upon which his reason could pounce.
“Madame Isoult, wherefore do you pray for me?”
“Because of your great need.”
“Think you I need your prayers?”
“Far more than I need yours.”
He was puzzled, both by the singing softness of her voice, and by the intent way in which she regarded him.
“I have no knowledge of needing a woman’s prayers.”