Isabel could feel the rough wood against her knees, through the coarse weave of her skirt. She didn't have to care for the baby today, so she chose to care for herself.

"What have you to confess child?"

At nearly sixteen, Isabel had for a while been considered a woman, and people sometimes wondered why she hadn't married (although of course, they didn't wonder for long when they discovered what a good position she had) even though she had only just recently developed physically.

"I am torn father. I have tried to always obey my mistress, for I know I should be thankful to the Lord for the place that the world has offered me.."

She hesitated, but the priest did not reply.

"I am not ungrateful. But I do not know what to do."

"Is she bad to you, your mistress? Is that what causes this distress?"

"No, she is not bad to me, but.. she has forbid me contact with my only friend, and my heart does not want to obey."

"Friendship is a gift from god, and not the place of mortals to give or take."

"Then I do not know what to do, for I am scared of losing my position."

"Do you know why she has decided to command you thus?"

Isabel hesitated again, a flutter of nervousness dancing in the hollow of her throat. She knew the priest was kindly and meant well, was much less stern than his predecessor, but she feared the answer for its own sake.

"She does not approve..."

"You are an orphan?"

"No."

"Then she is not your guardian, and therefore it is not for her to approve of your comings and goings, so long as you serve her as you are paid to do."

"She is worried it will reflect badly on the House, father."

"In what nature would it reflect badly?"

"She does not want her name linked in any way with the Gypsy's.."

There was a momentary tense silence.

"You have befriended the gypsy folk?"

"Yes.. well.. only one."

"Child, they do not follow the way of the lord. Think to your own soul."

A heavy pause worthy of the church.

"Unless, of course, you mean to bring your friend to the light."

Isabel was confused. She had not thought of this from a religious point of view, and had certainly never considered asking Mirella what her religion was, much less to convert her.

"..it was not my working intention."

"Perhaps it would be better now to follow your mistresses advice."

There was the sound of the partition sliding, grating in its wooden slot, and she knew that her session was over. She stood, her hands clasped modestly before her, and left the church with her head down, conflicting emotions within her. It surprised her that she had referred to Mirella as her only friend, but the more she thought about it, the more it occurred to her that it might be true.

Her confession had not really helped her, only added to her fears. She could not see any reason why God would disapprove of her friendship, she only knew that Catherine thought it might hinder her ambitions for the court. She took the long way, as tonight she was actually going home, and there was no impatient Catherine waiting for her service, ready to tell her off for being even a moment too long. Her feet carried her in a broad loop and she stopped at a field, hopped the fence and pushed through the long grass to the little stream she had sometimes played in as a child, not caring how heavy her sodden clothes had become.

She stood there a long while, staring into the water, watching leaves and twigs spinning past. Her hands moved against each other, picking at the fingernails absentmindedly, and she again chewed with worry on her lower lip.

"Won't she be annoyed with you for staying out so late?"

Isabel turned, only slightly surprised, to see Mirella leaning against a tree, one hand on the curve of her hip, colored skirt pulled up on one side to allow her greater freedom of movement. The gypsy somehow always knew where to find her, it was very curious. She certainly didn't appear to follow her, because Isabel knew she had other things to do, and also sometimes when she had sought her out the older girl had been nowhere to be found.

"I'm not going back to the manor tonight... How do you always know where I am?"

Mirella could have answered that she didn't always know, she just usually had a fairly good idea, but instead she merely lowered her eyelashes mysteriously and let a half-smile play across her dark lips.

"The trees tell me.."

Isabel had looked away again, back to the water, to its constant crystal play.

"You should stop."

That caused the gypsy girl to stop, regard the younger woman with one eyebrow raised, the light of wariness lit in her eyes from Isabels tone of voice.

"Stop?"

"Stop knowing where to find me. Stop finding me."

"Why?"

"It would just be better."

Isabel didn't know how to deal with a situation where she wasn't being given strict orders. She tried to shrug her friend off, knowing that she should be heading back soon anyway before her parents wondered why she did not come.

"Why? Why would it be better?"

How could she answer that? How could she tell her friend that she was scared her soul was impure, that she was worried she might lose her job. She didn't need to, Mirella guessed from her face.

"She doesn't want her house associated with the Rom, of course, how stupid of me."

Isabel tried to step around her. Mirella's dark eyes seemed wild in the failing light.

"And you will let her direct your life like that?"

She still refused to answer, frowning with annoyance as the gypsy stepped into her path, delayed her departure.

"I thought better of you than that."

It took Isabel half a moment to realize why there was suddenly a burst of warmth around her, despite the evening air around her. It took her a moment to realize that her eyes were closed. It took her a moment to realize that there was a hand on the side of her face and an arm around her waist, a moment to realize that there was a foreign form pressed against her and that its contours were curved. It took her a moment longer to piece these together and realize that Mirella had kissed her, and that she had automatically put her own hand on the waist of her gypsy friend, and that it was firm and shapely beneath her touch.

The moment she realized, she used that same hand to push her away, terrified of what she had done, shocked and confused. It took yet another moment to realize that the dark eyes before her were filled with a challenge, and that behind the challenge lay anger and hurt. Isabel didn't bite her lip this time, although her heart leapt and plunged in spatterings of uncontrolled nervousness. She was too scared of what taste she might find there. Without a word, she fled.