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Hands clasped behind his back, he wandered toward the inner gate. The guards, Kenworth’s men-at-arms, nodded a greeting as he passed through the arch and under the iron gate.

  Both the inner and outer baileys were too quiet. Where one might expect to find castle folk attending their daily errands, or tenant farmers visiting the various tradesmen’s shops lining the outer curtain wall, today few souls wandered about.

  The blacksmith’s hammer was quiet; the cobbler’s door was closed. Women visited the common well but didn’t linger to gossip. No children played with sticks and hoops. The only activity was near the stables, where squires and stable boys worked to put away the recently arrived horses.

  Disquieting. As if everyone held their breath in anticipation of their lord’s capture, or the earl’s wrath if their lord escaped.

  Kenworth and the monk would likely be occupied in the accounting room for some time, searching for evidence of Hamelin’s guilt. ’Twas stunning to think the earl had placed a spy in Hamelin’s service, that Sir John hadn’t realized he harbored an informant.

  That sword swung both ways, however. Just as the monk had informed on John, he must also have been the one to give warning, perhaps unintentionally, of the earl’s imminent arrival, allowing John to escape Lelleford before he could be arrested. Roland shuddered to think of what the earl was going to do to his informant for letting that information slip.

  None of his concern. The monk must have realized he placed himself in danger when accepting the position of spy. Now he’d pay the price of failure.

  Instinctively, Roland scanned the wall walk set high and sturdy along the thick stone wall of the fortress. Archers clad in the earl’s livery patrolled the walk, searching for signs of trouble or for the rest of Kenworth’s men returning.

  If the trackers didn’t find Hamelin, there would be the devil to pay tonight. And if Hamelin was captured—that would be best for all concerned. Except, perhaps, for John, or his daughter.

  Roland shook his head. Best not to allow his thoughts to linger on Eloise. Already too many times he’d been affected by a whiff of her scent or the memory of how he’d tossed her down on her bed and damn near kissed her. Too vividly he remembered how she’d gazed up at him with wide sapphire eyes, waiting, wondering, anticipating.

  The increased force of the pull between them had caught him unaware, and he couldn’t afford to make the grave mistake of becoming physically involved with a woman he was supposed to protect. The king would have his head for the breech of duty—if the knights of Lelleford didn’t slice it off first for violating their lady.

  ’Twouldn’t happen. Not with Eloise. Not with the woman who’d come so close to being his brother’s wife. Not with the lady over whom he and Hugh had exchanged harsh words, the last they’d spoken before Hugh’s death.

  An angry shout rang out from near the stables.

  The squires of the knights of Kenworth stood aligned against their counterparts of Lelleford. Arms crossed over chests, the squires hurled taunts at each other.

  The loudest of them was the earl’s squire, Gregory. A tall, stout lad and a nephew of Kenworth’s, he took the position of leader. The lad grated on Roland’s nerves. Gregory often used his gravelly voice and menacing stance to ensure his fellow squires knew him superior in wealth and rank. Within two months he would be knighted, and Roland felt pity for the as-yet-unknown lad who Gregory might choose for his squire.

  He quickened his pace when Gregory waved an upraised fist.

  “He will hang, as he deserves!” the squire declared, eliciting agreeing cheers on one side and protesting snarls from the other.

  Roland quickly scanned the crowd for Timothy. The lad stood apart, near Lelleford’s squires but not quite among them, as if ready to take their side if required but not yet committed.

  Just as Roland had stood apart until required to aid Simon against Kenworth.

  The lad learned quickly and well.

  “Your almighty earl has to find him before he can hang him! Not having much luck in that endeavor, is he?” came the answering insult.

  Roland didn’t know which Lelleford squire dared. Not that it made any difference, he’d simply stated the feelings of all his fellows.

  Without hesitation Roland strode into the small space separating the two factions. Almost immediately the fierce looks eased, arms lowered, and quiet ruled. The squires might have at each other without qualm, but they respected Roland’s rank and authority, which spoke well for their training if naught else.

  ’Twas also in his favor that most of the squires were mere lads, only a few of them older and nearing their own knighthood. On those faces fierce scowls lingered, and from them would come trouble later if their knights didn’t take them in hand and impress upon them the need for peace, reinforce the tenets of chivalry that demanded honorable behavior toward their peers.

  Unfortunately, Roland couldn’t imagine Kenworth giving any such instruction to Gregory.

  “I give you all warning,” Roland stated, his voice soft and low so they needed to strain to hear. “Any squire who strikes one of his peers will find himself pitching dung as the penalty for ignoble behavior. I suggest you find tasks to perform more fitting to your stations than shouting at each other like common rabble.”

  Feet shuffled. Eyes shifted. All but two seemed ready to give ground. Gregory, naturally, and Alan, who Roland now recognized as Sir Marcus’s squire. Wonderful. The squire of the earl and the squire of the captain of Lelleford’s guards. They had glares only for each other.

  “Gregory, Alan, as the most senior squires I expect the two of you to set an example of chivalrous behavior for the others.” Both turned to him then, their glares changing to appalled surprise. “Should any of the younger lads succumb to the temptation to exchange blows, you will not only make them cease but will suffer the penalty with them.”

  In Alan’s eyes Roland saw ire, though the squire bit his bottom lip to withhold comment. Not so Gregory, who puffed up with offense.

  “You overstep, Sir Roland. Kenworth shall hear of this.”

  Roland leaned forward, damn tired of having his authority questioned. “You threaten me with Kenworth. He threatens me with the king. On my oath, I tremble in my boots at what the king will do to me when he hears I halted a fight between the squires, then dared to compel them to take responsibility for their part in keeping the peace at Lelleford.”

  He backed up and glanced about at both groups of squires. “ ’Tis not for any of us to judge, convict or acquit. Mind your duties. If you lads have not enough to occupy your minds and hands, I vow I can find more!”

  He didn’t need to tell them to disperse. None of them were pleased with his interference, but they obeyed; the last two to break eye contact were Gregory and Alan. There would be trouble between the two again if this situation didn’t end soon. Best for all if Kenworth left Lelleford—with or without John Hamelin—taking his knights and their squires with him.

  He’d lost count of how often in the past two days he’d wished Kenworth gone. How many more times had Eloise wished the entire lot of them to leave Lelleford? Especially since she’d found her father’s message on her bed.

  “Nicely done, milord.”

  Timothy’s praise probably wasn’t deserved. Roland truly didn’t know if he should have let Gregory and Alan come to blows and rid themselves of their anger. Unfortunately, no matter the outcome, ’twould have done little to settle the hostility between the squires.

  The only squire to remain, Timothy looked up with what Roland perceived as admiration. That unabashed esteem could lift his spirits as nothing else could, not that he’d done anything special to earn the lad’s respect and loyalty.

  “Perhaps. Until Kenworth leaves and the two factions are no longer within taunting distance of each other, these skirmishes are likely to continue. The lads loyal to Sir John are wont to defend his honesty and honor as hard as his daughter and knights do.”

  Timothy’s brow scrunched. “ ’T
was not about Sir John, but his squire. Gregory claims Edgar will hang beside his lord for aiding his attempt to escape. Is that so?”

  Gregory had hit lower than Roland guessed.

  “That depends upon the king’s whim, I fear. One could argue that Edgar had no choice but to obey his lord’s command, and is therefore faultless.”

  “Or the king could decide the squire aided a traitor, and so is guilty of treason, too.” Timothy’s countenance softened. “Should that happen, ’twould leave Edgar’s sister in a bad way. He is her protector against insult, and worse.”

  Because of her disfigurement, Isolde likely suffered both physical and mental pain. People, particularly young males, could be crude and cruel to a peasant maid who had no one to defend her against either insult or assault.

  “I doubt Lady Eloise would allow anyone to harm her maid.”

  Timothy gave a derisive snort. “Highborn ladies tend not to notice injury to anyone beneath them, if they notice at all.”

  Roland guessed there must be a personal tale behind his squire’s declaration. Timothy came from peasant stock. By his own forward ways and hard work he’d managed to secure a position on the king’s household staff. He’d worked in the stables before the king presented him, with four others, to Roland as candidates for his squire.

  Why he’d chosen Timothy he couldn’t say precisely. Perhaps because of the lad’s wit, or because in his eagerness to please he sometimes tripped over his feet. More likely because Roland doubted few knights would consider a lowborn lad as their squire. But it didn’t matter. They got along well, and the lad often anticipated a need before Roland voiced an order. Timothy suited him fine.

  “Not fond of highborn ladies, are you?”

  “Not much.”

  A shadow passed over Timothy’s normally bright features, and Roland knew he’d get no more of the tale voluntarily. The lad could be closemouthed, which Roland considered a good trait. He’d never have to worry about his squire spreading gossip about his knight.

  Timothy’s head tilted. “I doubt Lady Eloise is different from the others I met in the king’s court. Only see how she ignores everyone while she takes her stroll.”

  Roland looked over his shoulder. Indeed, Eloise strode through the outer bailey, her spine strait and eyes forward, as if arrowed in on a target.

  She walked with purpose, yet with a grace that declared her not only a highborn but willowy female. Commanding, with the ability to bend under violent wind and withstand the strongest storm.

  Eloise might not notice anyone, but everyone noticed her, judging by the turn of heads as she passed. Roland envied the guard several paces behind her, treated to the lithe sway of Eloise’s hips, all in the name of duty.

  “Perhaps Lady Eloise is merely intent on her destination.”

  “Must be important then.”

  Which made him wonder what her destination might be.

  Suspicion needling him, Roland took leave of Timothy, waved off Eloise’s guard, and fell into step beside her. She gave him a sidelong glance, acknowledging his presence but giving no sign of how she felt about his joining her.

  “Taking the air?” he asked.

  “Seeking a moment of solitude, which I now have lost.”

  Whether she wanted his company or no, now that he’d dismissed her guard, she had no choice but to suffer him. Besides, his curiosity pleaded for satisfaction.

  “I beg pardon for the intrusion, but since I have already broken your peace, you might tell me why you are really out here.”

  “You find it difficult to believe I wish to sort my thoughts and stretch my legs at the same time?”

  A reasonable pursuit for any other woman but this one. From what he’d observed, Eloise did nothing without a reason. Still, he didn’t want to exchange harsh words, or have her deem him beneath her regal notice and ignore him totally.

  “How goes the sorting of your thoughts?”

  Eloise knew she dare not tell Roland St. Marten about any of her thoughts. Some, those of him, were too personal and annoying. Others, of her father and Lelleford, could lead to trouble. Those concerning the disloyal monk and the man’s treachery left her speechless.

  Nay, confiding her worries to Roland wasn’t smart.

  Nor could she tell him she was inspecting the outer wall as closely as she dared without being too obvious. There must be a way out of Lelleford besides the main or postern gates, either through a secret door along the wall or through a passage running beneath the keep.

  She wouldn’t use the secret way herself. Her absence would be noticed too quickly, and the knights held hostage to her cooperation would be punished. However, someone else might be trusted to sneak out of the keep. Who, and when, depended upon how urgent the need became—and whether or not the passage could be located.

  She’d begun her search for it out here because the day was bright and warm for the weeks after harvest, and she needed space to breathe deeply to stave off panic. If Roland was bent on walking with her, then it was best to change the direction of this conversation.

  “I saw you over by the stables, speaking with the squires. A problem there?”

  His smile said he recognized her ploy, and was gallant enough to accept it. “Everyone feels the tension, and some are prone to make use of it to their own ends.”

  Eloise risked another glance at Roland, and caught a hint of Hugh in his profile. Sweet, gentle Hugh, who’d died at her feet. She barely withheld a shudder.

  He returned her gaze, and the soft resemblance to his half brother disappeared. “Kenworth’s squires taunt Lelleford’s over your father’s guilt, and the possible penalty Edgar might suffer for aiding his lord. The longer the squires are within each other’s company, well …’twould be best for all concerned if the situation were resolved soon.”

  Except the situation wouldn’t ease until after Kenworth left, wouldn’t resolve until her father was found innocent of treason and Roland St. Marten left Lelleford.

  “How much longer do you expect Kenworth to stay at Lelleford?”

  “Until he decides your father has left the area, or is captured.”

  Eloise bit her bottom lip. She and Roland both knew Sir John Hamelin might not budge from his hiding place anytime soon, especially when it proved so effective.

  She came to a halt, hating that she was beholden to Roland for his silence about her father’s message. But she knew she must thank him for withholding the contents from Kenworth.

  Eloise clasped her hands tightly to keep them still.

  “You did not tell Kenworth you know my father hides nearby. Why?”

  He crossed his arms, disturbed by indecision. She kept silent, hoping his hesitation would fade, though she knew he trusted her nearly as much as she trusted him, which wasn’t much at all.

  “Many reasons, among them my wish for the earl’s absence. On that, I believe, you and I are in accord.”

  He had the right of it. Except the earl leaving solved only a portion of the problem. The other portion stood before her. Too sure of himself. Too appealing. Threatening her father’s return home and her peace of mind.

  “ ’Tis among my many wishes to have you all leave.”

  The upward quirk of his mouth also sparked something deep and dangerous in his exquisite hazel eyes, and her traitorous heart skipped a beat.

  “I fear, my lady, I cannot grant all of your wishes,” he said softly, the rumble of his voice low and thrilling, as if he’d read her mind and ferreted out every desire of her heart. As if Roland were aware some of those desires had naught to do with her father, or the earl, or hidden passages.

  Impossible. Roland was a mere man, couldn’t possibly divine her innermost, foolish thoughts.

  “You are right. We are in accord where the earl is concerned. So how do we rid ourselves of him?”

  His smile widened. “Now I wish I had an answer for you.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, we must wait him out.”

  Eloise crossed her arms, ki
cked at the dirt, her brow scrunched. “Waiting out Kenworth may drive us all witless.”

  “We will survive. Come, my lady, the shadows grow longer. You should return to the hall.”

  She couldn’t continue to search for a hidden passage with Roland acting as her guard. Besides, sometime during her walk she’d begun to wonder if a passage existed at all. Surely, if there was one, either Simon or Marcus would know of it, and neither did.

  But how else had Edgar entered the keep to deliver the message? Puzzling.

  They walked slowly toward the inner gate.

  “Do you expect further trouble from the squires?” she asked.

  “Possibly. Especially from Gregory, Kenworth’s squire.”

  “How so?”

  “Gregory is as arrogant as his master, as bent on seeing Edgar hang as Kenworth is of your father.” Now Roland came to a halt. “Timothy expressed concern for Edgar’s sister’s safety. ’Twould not be amiss to keep a close watch on Isolde.”

  Eloise’s anger flashed bright and hot. “Should anyone lay a hand on her, he will lose not only the offending hand but his worthless head! Just because her brother is not here to protect her does not mean she is vulnerable! Why, the very idea of taking advantage of one so innocent—”

  Roland’s hand landed on her shoulder. “I hear you, Eloise, and I agree. The squires have been warned to keep the peace and mind their manners. If need be, I will set a guard on her, too. Just tell her to have a care.”

  The warmth of his hand and calm tone didn’t banish her upset, but went a long way to reassure her. If anything untoward happened to Isolde—but it wouldn’t. Because Roland wouldn’t allow it—and she believed him and trusted his word, on this anyway.

  Naturally, she’d do her part to keep her maid safe from insult, but it was Roland’s absolute determination to do his duty that allowed Eloise’s fear to ease.

  He realized at the same moment she did that he still touched her. So large, his hands. The fingers long, the palm wide. She felt strength, and warmth, and the oddest sensation that if she leaned forward and sought succor in his arms, she’d find him willing and welcoming.