Eleanor felt the tears run down her cheeks in slow torrents, then suddenly break a dam through her eyes. She fell to the floor in a bundle of the silk waiting dress she had worn, her hand coming to cover her mouth.

"What have I done?" She asked, her heart clenching as the image of Conaan, writhing in pain, his beautiful, always silent lips coated red in his own blood.

And she had fed him that pudding. She brought her fingers to her hair, her eyes wide.

"How can I be so foolish?" She asked herself again, her lips quivering. She rocked herself back and forth, trying as hard as...