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“Your lips are dry.”

She put a hand under his head, raised it, and washed his mouth and face. He held out his hands to her, and she washed those also, yet her eyes avoided Aymery’s, and their deeps were hidden from him by the shadows of their lashes.

“Are you hungry?”

“No, not even a little.”

“But you must eat for your strength’s sake.”

“I will do all that you desire.”

She would not suffer him to manage for himself, but spread the honey on the bread, and held the wine flask for him to drink.

“It is all that I can give,” she said simply.

He looked at her, but found no answer for the moment. Both of them had grown suddenly shy of one another and when their hands touched, the touch thrilled them from hand to heart.

Denise left him at last, and going to the doorway of the cell, stood to break bread for her own need. Yet though her face was turned from him, she could not put the man’s nearness from her, and the bread as she crumbled it, fell in waste on the stones at her feet.

“Denise.”

Aymery’s voice startled her. He had not spoken loudly, but there was a return of strength in the tone thereof.