"I'm not asking for celibacy. Just not to hear about the lack of it." Her lip quivered. She nodded. "I'm scared it won't be," she said. "But I don't know. And to be honest, I don't know if I'm more scared of that, or more scared of falling in love."

He took her head in both hands and bent it forward to kiss her forehead. "You are very young, and you are very beautiful, and you know your own mind. Life never gives only one chance to women like you. Don't be afraid." He let her go, smoothing down her hair. "I feel a bit better just getting this into the open," he told her seriously.

"I feel worse," she answered unhappily. She rubbed at her forearms, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "I can't say why. My stomach is jumping into my ribcage, and it feels like my throat is dry and stopped up. My skin is prickling." She held out her arm; the fine blonde hair raised on end.

He frowned, concerned. "Your brother gave me a half-bottle of wine? I don't recommend drowning your sorrows but it might help you relax." He stroked her arm, tenderly, as if smoothing the hairs might likewise put her nerves to rest. "What can I do to make it better?"

Goneril winced, and let out a strangled laugh, high and staccato. "No wine," she said. "The wine here is much stronger than at home, and I can't risk impairing my judgment." She leaded her head against his shoulder, and shivered. "I feel like I'm answering every question with 'I don't know,' but I don't," she said, apologetic. "I have spent my entire life quite certain I would never meet someone who would warrant my interest, and now that I have, i feel like I ought to put it down like a precious, fragile thing that isn't mine and that I could never afford."

He stroked her back. "It doesn't mean you can't have it. All it means is you might have to wait a little while. Which . . . I make it sound like such a simple thing, but it's better than never." He gave a little sigh, looking, for a moment, frustrated, nearly cross. "I feel as if I should have some better answers for you. But I don't know either."

Goneril let out a choked, dry sob. "I'm sick, falling. I've been sick since you kissed me. I've been hot and cold and trembling and nervous and I can't think about anything else. And I hate it."

He laughed, a little helplessly. "The only cure for that disease is to let it run its course." He tipped her head up and kissed her, gently.

She relaxed, kissing him back slowly. "That feels better", she murmured.

He sighed again, still a touch frustrated, and stroked her hair. "Here now. Let's go look at the countess's tower. We'll talk there. And I'll put enough water in the wine that you can have some without worrying about losing your head."