She called for a bath to be prepared, showed him the chest of garments, and left. She expected him to sleep out the day. He didn't. He emerged for the midday meal, jaw freshly shaved and hair newly trimmed. He managed to make her father's old garments appear courtly. She put him beside Josce at the high table and turned her attention to making plans with Carlos, her head groom, regarding the training of several stallions. “You are scowling,” Carlos said. “It is very unattractive. It makes you look like your father, and no girl wants that.” She had to smile at him. He liked to tease her with advice on her appearance and behavior. It was a private joke because Carlos of all people knew that she had never cared about either. Their familiarity came from spending years together as children when his father had served as head groom. Her father had brought them back from a trip to Castile along with the Saracen horses that fed the bloodline of their palfrey stock. Short and wiry, with a close-cropped beard and dark expressive eyes, Carlos left the estate as a young man only to return three years later to take his dying father's place.
