The hour grew late, and after each man had won, the baron suggested they retire for the night. A servant helped the physician to his bedspace, which was made up with a feather bed and a goose-down coverlet. It was, as the baron had promised, the bedspace nearest the hearth, and the walls were warm. Alexander Givet settled himself comfortably, relieved. He was truly warm for the first time in days, and he prayed they would not have to move on too quickly. These past weeks had been hard on them all.

The king had slipped away into himself by morning, and was unresponsive to all, and everything about him. The queen put on a brave front, but she was frightened more for her husband and son than for herself. Sir Udolf, however, reassured her that the royal fugitives were more than welcome to stay at Wulfborn Hall. He reminded her that his home was isolated, and near enough to the Scots border for a quick escape should one be necessary. Margaret of Anjou was grateful.

"I wish," the queen said, "that there were some way in which we might repay you, Sir Udolf." They had been sheltering in his home for two weeks now, and it was mid-April. The snows had vanished, and the longer days were almost mild. "But as you know, we are little better than beggars now."

"Madame, I am honored to have you as my guests," the baron replied gallantly.

She nodded graciously, but then she said, "My lord, you have a son, do you not?"

"I do," he acknowledged.

"But he is not wed," Margaret of Anjou continued. "Why is that?"

The baron sighed deeply. "He is a good lad, madame, but to be most candid with you, Hayle is a bit odd. We have few neighbors, but those with daughters will not agree to any match with my son."

"What makes him odd?" the queen asked.

Again the baron sighed. "He was a sweet-natured little boy, but when he was four he almost drowned in my mill pond. After his recovery he changed, becoming impatient, determined to have his own way, and subject to terrible tempers when he did not get it.