If you recall, Gianfrancesco’s second cousin had been ransomed by a family they had feuded with for hundreds of years. This was enough for the poor widow. Horribly skinny he was, and short too. He heard the woman talking again. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar resonance.
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