CHAPTER 9“What do you think, Torfrida? Am I too mature to wear this veil loose?”
I looked at Matilda critically. Dressed in a new gown of fine, bright yellow wool, she seemed to radiate excitement, like a child about to receive a present. I supposed she was, since this was her first dinner in the hall since we had arrived in Northumbria two months ago. For with Gruffydd duly dealt with — largely by giving him vast swathes of land — Gilbert had decided it was time to hurry up to the northern estates. Considering how much I disliked Folkingham, leaving it proved to be surprisingly difficult — not just because of the fascinating knowledge I was gleaning from Brand — about Boethius and Geber and their astronomical teachings — but because of the moth-eaten old monk himself.
Now, to the lady’s
