Brastias felt himself in the mire, and groaned in spirit.
“Madame, I would say—”
“Yes, yes, I understand you.”
“Give me leave—”
“Not another word.”
Igraine smiled softly to herself, turned her back on Brastias and stared long into the fire. The man stood by, watching her with a humbled look, his fingers twisting restlessly at the broidery of his black tunic. Igraine traced out the mosaic patterns on the floor with the point of her shoe.
“I think you men are all fools,” she said.
Brastias’s silence might have suggested contradiction.
“Have you ever loved a woman?”
The man shifted, and went red under his straight fair hair. His eyes took a dreamy look.