It was fierce and tender, swift and slow, subtle and raw. She felt the pattern of the dance in her veins as she had felt it on that long ago May evening, and again in the garden at this very place when she was a married woman on the verge of adultery. Her loins were suddenly liquid. She pressed against him and the anguish of his voice in her ear melted her bones.

'I swear I will go mad if I cannot have you — tonight and for a lifetime,' he muttered. 'Julitta, say yes.'

Julitta laid her head against his breast and felt the swift thump of his heart. Lower down, against her belly, she could also feel the hard proof of his need. 'I choose the future,' she said, and gripped him, clenching her fists to grasp her decision so that it could not be taken from her as so much else had been.

He gripped her in return, speaking her name over and again, kissing her, and being kissed.

Their embrace was curtailed by the hound. He pushed his moist muzzle at them and stood on his hind legs, pressing muddy, wet forepaws against their joined bodies. Gasping for breath, laughing, they broke apart. Benedict snapped at Grif to get down. The dog whined and sat back on his haunches, his wrinkled face reproachful. Then he yodelled at them.

Dizzy with emotion, Benedict looked at Julitta. Her wimple was unpinned, her braids an unwinding dark tumble over her breasts. His Julitta, his lovely, brave, Maytime Julitta. 'Come,' he said. 'Grif is right. It is time to go in.' He held out his hand, and she linked her fingers through his.

Handfasted, like a bride and groom, they entered the keep.