So there was the connection to my fault. But my mind was reeling as bits and pieces of stories and comments suddenly fell into place. Burrich’s tale of first meeting Patience. She’d been sitting in an apple tree, and she’d demanded that he take a splinter out of her foot. Scarcely something a woman would ask of her lord’s man. But something a direct young maid might ask of a young man who had caught her eye. And his reaction the night I had spoken to him about Molly and Patience, and repeated Patience’s words about horses and saddles.
“Did Chivalry know anything of all this?” I asked.
Molly spun about to consider me. It was obviously not the question she had expected me to ask. But she couldn’t resist finishing the story either. “No. Not at first. When Patience first came to know him, she had no idea he was Burrich’s master. Burrich had never told her what lord he was sworn to. At first Patience would have nothing to do with Chivalry. Burrich still held her heart, you see. But Chivalry was stubborn. From what Lacey says, he loved her to distraction. He won her heart. It wasn’t until after she had said yes, she’d marry him, that she found out he was Burrich’s master. And only because Chivalry sent Burrich to deliver a special horse to her.”
I suddenly remembered Burrich in the stable, looking at Patience’s mount and saying, “I trained that horse.” I wondered if he’d trained Silk, knowing she was to go to a woman he’d loved, as a gift from the man she’d marry. I’d bet it was so. I had always thought that Patience’s disdain for Burrich was a sort of jealousy that Chivalry could care so much for him. Now the triangle was an even stranger one. And infinitely more painful. I closed my eyes and shook my head at the unfairness of the world. “Nothing is ever simple and good,” I said to myself. “There is always a bitter peel, a sour pip somewhere.”