The lady’s blue-gray eyes rested on him temporarily. Then she looked swiftly away, shivering in spite of the summer heat, her expression distasteful. “That, my dear Swanhilde, is a very bad man,” she informed me, her tone quiet. “Good women want nothing to do with him, for he has no honorable intentions.”
I frowned at her words, glancing again toward the card players, who seemed to be finishing up their match. I did not know the eleventh century definition of dishonorable intentions, so I asked, “Why, does he steal kisses from noble ladies on their own front porches?”
Lady Adeline shook her head slowly, her mouth turning downward at my ignorance. “No, my darling, he is much worse than that. He is the executioner.” I jerked at that pronouncement and almost missed her next words, my mind r
