'His magic is strong, but he has his limits, my lady.'

'My lady!' she muttered disdainfully. 'And what shall I call you then? Lord Wolf?' She shook her head, exasperated with me. 'I know you are telling me the truth. Worse luck for me.' Her shoulders slumped suddenly, and her youth and grief were more apparent. 'It is not an easy tale I bring home to my mother and brothers. But, they deserve to know the manner of our father's death. And that Swift did not abandon him.' Without thinking, she lifted her hands and ran them through her shortened hair unI'll it stood up in spires and peaks all over her head. 'This magic of the Skill has not been an easy burden for me. It has snatched me from my home, and kept me here when my mother needs me most.' Turning to me accusingly, she demanded, 'Why did you choose me, of all people, to give this magic to?'

It shocked me. 'I didn't. I didn't choose you. You had it, you were born with the magic. And, for some reason, we connected. I didn't even realize you were there, watching my life, for a very long time.'

'There were times when that was obvious,' she observed, but before I wondered what I had unwittingly shown her of myself, she added, 'And now I have it, like some disease, and it means that I am ever in service to my queen. And to King Dutiful, when he succeeds her. I don't suppose you can even imagine what a burden that could be to me.'

'I have some inkling of it,' I replied quietly. Then, when she continued to sit unmoving before me, I asked her, 'Should not you be on your way? Daylight is the best time for travel.'

'We have just met, and you are so anxious for us to be parted.' She looked down at the ground beneath her feet. Suddenly, she was Nettle from our dreams as she shook her head and said, 'This is not at all how I imagined our first meeting would be. I thought you would be happy to see me, and we would laugh and be friends.' She gave a small cough and then admitted shyly, 'A long time ago, when I first had dreams about you and the wolf, I used to imagine that we would really meet some day. I pretended you would be my age, and handsome and find me pretty. That was silly, wasn't it?'

'I'm sorry to have disappointed you,' I said carefully. 'I definitely find you pretty, however.' She gave me a look that said that such compliments from an ageing guardsman made her uncomfortable. Her illusions about me had made a barrier I had not expected. I came closer to her, and then crouched down beside her to look up into her eyes. 'Could we, perhaps, begin this again?' I put out a hand to her and said, 'My name is Shadow Wolf. And Nettle, you cannot imagine how many years I have longed to meet you.' Without warning, my throat closed tight. I hoped I would not get teary. My daughter hesitated, and then set her hand in mine. It was slender, like a lady's hand should be, but brown from the sun and her palm against mine was calloused. The touch strengthened our Skill-bond and it was as if she squeezed my heart rather than my fingers. Even if I had wanted to hide what I felt from her, I could not have done so. I think it breached some wall she had held.

She looked up into my face, on a level with hers now. Our eyes met, and suddenly her lower lip trembled like a baby's. 'My papa is dead!' she stammered out. 'My papa is dead, and I don't know what to do! How can we go on? Chivalry is such a boy still, and Mama knows nothing of the horses. Already, she speaks of selling them off and moving to a town, saying she cannot abide to be where my father so emphatically is not!' She choked and then gasped, 'It's all going to fall apart. I'm going to fall apart! I can't be as strong as everyone expects me to be. But I have to.' She drew herself up straight and faced me. 'I have to be strong,' she repeated, as if that would turn her bones to iron. It seemed to work. No tears. Hers was a desperate courage. I caught her in my arms and held her tight. For the first time in her life or mine, I held my daughter. Her cropped hair was bristly against my chin and all I could think was how much I loved her. I opened myself to her and let it flood from me into her. I felt her shock, both at the depth of my feeling and that a relative stranger would touch her so. I tried to explain.

'I will look after you,' I told her. 'I'll look after all of you. I promised ... I promised your papa I would do that, look after you and your little brothers. And I will.'

'I don't think you can,' she said- 'Not as he did.' But trying to gentle her words, she added, 'I do believe you will try. But there is no one like my papa in the world. No one.'

For a moment longer, she let me hold her. Then, gently, she disentangled herself from me. Subdued, she said, 'My horse will be saddled and waiting. And the guardsman the Queen assigned me will be there, also.' She took a huge breath, held it, then slowly let it out. 'I have to go. There will be a lot to do at home. Mama cannot manage the babies as well as she used to with Papa gone. I'm needed there.' She found her kerchief and dabbed unshed tears from her eyes.

'Yes. I'm sure you are.' I hesitated, and then said, 'There was a message, from your father. You may think it odd or frivolous, but it was important to him.'

She looked at me quizzically.

'When Malta comes into season, Ruddy is to stud her.'

She lifted a hand to her mouth and gave a strangled little laugh. When she caught her breath, she said, 'Ever since the mare came to us, he and Chivalry have argued about that. I'll tell him.' She took two steps away from me and repeated, 'I'll tell him.' Then she whirled and was gone.

I stood for a moment, feeling bereft. Then a sad smile spread over my face. I sat down on the bench and looked out over the Women's Garden. It was summer and the air was rich with the fragrance of both herbs and blossoms, and yet the scent of my daughter's hair was still in my nostrils and I savoured it. I stared into the distance over the top of the lilac tree and wondered. It was going to take me longer to get to know my daughter than I had thought. Perhaps there would never be a good time to tell her that I was her father.

That piece of information did not seem as important as it once had. Instead, it seemed more important that I find a way to come into their lives without causing pain or discord. It wasn't going to be easy. But I would do it. Somehow.

I must have fallen asleep there. When I awoke, it was late afternoon. For a moment, I could not recall where I was, only that I was happy. That was such a rare sensation for me that I lay there, looking up at blue sky through green leaves. Then I became aware that my back was stiff from sleeping on a stone bench, and in the following instant, that I had planned to take food and wine back to the Fool today. Well, it was not too late for that, I told myself. I rose and stretched and rolled the kinks out of my neck and shoulders.

The pathway back to the kitchen led through the herb gardens. At that time of year, lavender and dill and fennel grow tall, and this year they seemed even taller than usual. I heard one woman say querulously to another, 'Just see how they've let the gardens go! Disgraceful. Pull up that weed, if you can reach it.'

Then, as I stepped into view, I recognized Lacey's voice as she said, 'I don't think that's a weed, dear heart. I think it's a marigo- well, it's too late now, whatever it was, you've got it up, roots and all. Give it to me, and I'll throw it in the bushes where no one will find it.'

And there they were, two dear old ladies, Patience in a summer gown and hat that had probably last seen the light of day when my father was King-in-Waiting. Lacey, as ever, was dressed in the simple robe of a serving woman. Patience carried her slippers in one hand and the torn-out marigold in the other. She looked at me near-sightedly. Perhaps she saw no more than the blue of a guard's uniform as she declared to me sternly, 'Well, it didn't belong there!' She shook the offending plant at me. 'That's what a weed is, young man, a plant growing in the wrong place, so you needn't stare at me so! Didn't your mother teach you any manners?'