Monday: William had never understood him—none of them had—but Robert saw the gulf between them widen further than ever at his answer.
Tuesday: “But ye wanted to,” William repeated roughly, “and once ye take a notion into yer head, it’s hell to pay with ye, Rob.”
Wednesday: But last night . . . last night, after the feast had ended, while she had waited for Maida to come and help her dress for bed, he had all unbeknownst to himself, become her hero.
Thursday: The way Robert spoke in the same refined accents as she, the easy assurance in his stride, the proud way he tilted his chin when he sang before her father’s hall . . . surely these all betrayed his noble blood?
Friday: In spite of her determined attempts to will it otherwise, air had begun to leak out of the corners of her mouth until notes that she had finally learned to produce with aplomb gradually began to wobble.