207

Christopher Stasheff

lan swallowed and climbed the stairs toward her—

she was clearly a gentleman’s daughter, at least.

But as he came up to her, she smiled eagerly, and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, good! I was hoping you would hear me!”

“Yes, miss—uh, ma’am … uh, ‘selle … uh …”

She laughed, a clear cascade. “Oh, don’t be so silly!

Don’t you know who I am?”

“No, miss… uh, ma’amselle …”

“Milady,” she corrected, rather primly. “You must call me ‘milady,’ for I am Lord Aran’s granddaughter, the Lady Heloise.”

“Yes, milady,” lan said, relieved to know how to address her, and in a near-panic at the thought that he had made a mistake.

She saw his confusion and laughed again. “Oh, you must not worry so! I think it’s all silliness anyway, these titles and bowing and all, especially since you’re the first child I’ve seen in a year! You will play with me, won’t you?”

lan’s heart sank; he had seen girls’ games in his village, and didn’t relish the thought of being a mock father to a doll. In a last, desperate attempt at salvation, he asked, “Wouldn’t his lordship be angry?”

“Not at all, if I command you to do it.” She glanced at the saddlebags. “But you’re on an errand for your master, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, go do it, then come right back!” she said firmly. “And if anyone tries to stop you, tell them you’re running an errand for the Lady Heloise!”