Chapter Fifteen

A lyce didn't know why she was even making her way to the gate. Hawk wouldn't be there; of that she was certain. Not after last night. Not after the way he'd looked at her when he broke off their kiss, as though she'd accosted him when he'd been the one to kiss her. He'd probably forgotten about asking her to show him the village and tell him about the people who called Hawkspur home.

He wouldn't be there.

The worst part of it all was she couldn't stop thinking about the previous night and how much she'd liked being kissed by him. She'd felt embarrassed and disappointed when he suddenly withdrew from her and stomped away. She'd finally given in to her desires and convinced herself that she had nothing to be ashamed of and deserved to enjoy some passion in her life. That she could quit pouting about her tender heart and start to do the things that pleased her. Who would tell a barren widow nay? Who in their right mind would expect her to live a chaste life for decades to come?

Hawk told her nay, not with words but by his actions. He'd left her standing on the parapet without even a "Goodnight, my lady." Last night she'd felt ashamed, but today she felt indignant. If he didn't like the kiss, if he'd thought it was a mistake, he only had himself to blame. He'd kissed her first.

And licked her neck.

And bit her ear.

And described exactly what he wanted to do to the rest of her.

And, God help her, but she wanted him to do it all, and would have let him if he hadn't stomped away. Her face heated at the memory, remembering that she didn't care who saw them at that moment as long as he didn't stop touching her. She would have willingly let him ruin her reputation. Wasn't that one of the privileges of being a widow? She could do as she pleased, and others could do nothing more than shake their heads at her behavior.

But then Hawk had stepped away from her and looked at her like he was appalled by their kiss. Perhaps she was nothing more than a fool for thinking that she could be anything like the confident, sultry women she envied who so easily seduced men and bent them to their desires.

She was chatelaine of the castle, mistress of Hawkspur, quick with numbers, and more adept than any man at managing the provisions required to keep the population of the castle and village thriving. She was good at the practical, yet so very bad at seduction.

After her meeting with Cynwulf, she'd busied herself with inventorying supplies and tidying the storeroom to better evaluate what was needed to ready for them for the winter. They had six months yet to prepare, but with some good weather and good fortune, Hawkspur's storerooms would be filled to the walls and ceilings with reserves enough for everyone in the village by autumn's end.

She had managed to push the conversation with Cynwulf from her head while she worked, but it was creeping back into her thoughts now that her hands and mind were free. When she was convinced there was nothing amiss for Hawk to discover at Hawkspur, she could dally with his flirtations. But now she did not know what to think or do. Did she continue with her days as though nothing had changed? Or did she need to put a buffer between Hawk and her brother until she could discover what Cynwulf was keeping from her?

After her leaving the solar and the troublesome encounter with her brother, she had nearly gone mad with worry, but the more she focused on her work and preparing Hawkspur for the future months, the more she started to question what he'd really said and how she had interpreted the meaning.

Her brother had always been truthful with her, and she with him, but did that mean they had to tell each other everything? Mayhap Cynwulf was falling in love, and he just was not ready to speak of it. Or perhaps he was negotiating alliances and did not want the king or his knights to interfere.

The Welsh Marcher lords were an independent lot who railed against anyone trying to dictate to them. Yes, they were subjects of the king, but not in the same way as other lords. Most of them had built their border fortresses with their own gold and silver. They were committed to defending the English border and keeping the Welsh as tamed as possible in return for being left to their own devices. The king tolerated the unconventional ways of the semi-autonomous region because the Marcher lords were more help to him than hindrance.

She would drive herself mad trying to work it all out in her head. Until given something tangible she could do to help resolve Cynwulf's issues or convince Hawk that Hawkspur—the castle and the village—stood with the king, she would focus on only that which was in front of her.

She emerged from the darkness of the great hall into the bright August sunshine. As she descended the stairs into the bailey, she looked to the gate to confirm her suspicion that Hawk was not there, already planning her escape into the woods with Ffyddlon so she could clear her head and think.

He was there.

Her heart stopped for a beat, as did her feet. Ffyddlon nudged her hand and propelled her forward again. Pull yourself together! she chided herself. She had to quit thinking like a besotted maiden and start acting like a widow, wise to the ways of men and women.

Looking at Hawk as he leaned a shoulder against the stone arch of the gate, Alyce felt her resolve flitting away like a bird on the horizon. Her eye immediately went to the muscular arms crossed in front of his chest, remembering how wonderful it felt to have those arms wrapped around her body. Her heart started pounding.

I am useless. One look at Hawk and all of her good intentions went up in smoke. She took stock of his entire body as she walked across the bailey, starting with the length of his muscular legs encased in dark hose. He wore a black, tunic-length shirt, cinched tight at his waist with a leather belt, accentuating the broadening expanse of his chest. She moved her gaze up his torso. He looked like he'd just come from the practice field with his sleeves rolled up above his forearms and the laces loose at the neck of his shirt exposing a dusting of dark hair. What would it be like to pull that shirt off him and trace the line of his hair to where she imagined it tapered at his belt?

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks when she realized that she'd just taken a deep, shaky breath at the thought.

Had she ever been this besotted with Geoffrey?

She took a deep, calming breath as she approached Hawk. He is the enemy, she reminded herself, and she had a duty to uphold. If she was not strong enough to keep her wits about her while in Hawk's presence, then she did not deserve to be mistress of Hawkspur.

He was looking directly at her, watching her approach with that arrogant smirk on his face, his eyes sparking with what looked like amusement. Ffyddlon bolted ahead, running directly to Hawk to nuzzle his hand, her tail wagging as she wiggled in circles around him, begging for his attention. Alyce wanted to be angry with Ffyddlon for her unabashed display of adoration, but she didn't want to be hypocritical.

She slowed her pace and stopped several paces away from Hawk, remembering the encounter with him the first day he'd arrived outside of Cynwulf's solar when she'd told him then she wouldn't be following him around like an adoring dog, and he'd asked her what it would take to make her tail wag.

Damn. She was no better than Ffyddlon.

Hawk pushed away from the wall and extended a hand in her direction, palm up in invitation. "My lady, I am ready for your tutelage on the ways and worries of the villager."

Alyce ignored his outstretched hand. If she focused on his annoyingly over-confident and cocky demeanor, perhaps she could convince herself to be repulsed by him. She would not be wagging her tail for the arrogant man today.

She turned to the guard standing watch at the castle gate. "I am wishing for an escort. Are there any guards available?"

"No, my lady."

When the guard offered nothing more, Alyce asked, "Will one return soon?"

"No, my lady. All men not specifically assigned to a post have been commanded to report to the fields for training."

"Of course." Alyce ignored the feigned expression of surprise from Hawk.

"Do you wish to travel far?" the guard inquired.

"No. I am to show Sir Grogan about the village."

"With the men training all about and a knight of the king as an escort, and Ffyddlon—" he pointed to the dog—"no harm will befall you, my lady." The guard's face lit up with the satisfaction of having solved her predicament.

"'Tis a matter of propriety more than safety," Alyce murmured in explanation to the daft guard.

Hawk bowed, quirked a grin at her, and extended an arm in the direction of the village. The playfulness of his grin did not extend to his eyes, which were…wary? Resigned? Hawk obviously still regretted his actions of the previous night. The knowledge of that, more than her own conflicted emotions, settled into her stomach like a rock.

*

Hawk didn't know when he'd ever felt this unsettled. He was a knight of the king, deadly in battle, admired by many, and feared by most. He had nerves of steel and a hardened heart. So why did he feel like a besotted lad in the presence of Lady Alyce?

He wanted her—that, he could not deny. Yet he'd spent the night in thought if not at rest and he'd determined that once he'd had her, the infatuation would be over. But it was folly to seduce the sister of the man he suspected of treason. Whatever happened, it would end with her resenting him at best or hating him with a fierce passion at worst. And if he pursued her now, even for a dalliance, she would think he seduced her only to glean information about Cynwulf. He'd never treated a woman so badly as to deceive her to gain information, then disregard her as though she were nothing more than another conquest.

No, he would not seduce her. He would afford her the respect due to a woman of her standing and keep his head about him.

That didn't stop him from admiring her, and that he did as she walked ahead of him through the gate, Ffyddlon trotting at her side. He noticed that today she wore a wimple to cover her hair, but the curling end of a long plait swung and danced at the curve of her waist. She'd been bareheaded until today. A married woman covered her hair to avoid undesired attention, but a maiden left hers to hang free to show her beauty to its fullest. As a young widow, Alyce could follow any standard she desired regarding her modesty, but until today he'd not seen her with her hair covered. Was she trying to convey a message to him?

Lengthening his stride to catch up to her, he was amazed again at how near in height she was to him.

"This, sir," she said, extending her arm in a wide circle, "is the village of Hawkspur."

Hawk reluctantly tore his eyes away from Alyce to look at the village sprawled before him. Breathing deeply, the first thing he observed was the smell of the village. Or rather, the lack of smell. Many years had passed since he'd spent any time outside a camp filled with sweaty men, horses, and pungent privy trenches, or a town bustling with people and stinking of waste, rot, and unwashed bodies.

A stone could be thrown from one end of the village of Hawkspur to the other, and he could count the number of people in the streets, unlike the cities Hawk resided in when not fighting. Built on the crest of a hill—albeit lower than the crest the castle was perched on—a breeze blew steadily through the village, clearing away the typical odors that stacked one on top of the other when people lived so close together. He took another deep, lingering breath, and this time he noticed the hot, metallic smell of a blacksmith's kiln and the faint aroma of meat cooking in herbs. A stout man emerged from the door of an ale house, wiping greasy hands on his stained tunic before raising a plump hand in greeting.

"Good day to you, John," Alyce called. "You must tell me someday what you use to season your roasts. My mouth waters every time I pass by."

"'Tis a closely guarded secret, my lady, but if anyone can get it out of me, 'twill be you," he said with a wink.

All the features of Alyce's face softened, and Hawk saw true joy on her face. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks plumped from a broad smile, and her laugh rippled melodically on the air. He found watching her much more fascinating than the village and he did not want to take his eyes off her. Still, he listened politely as Alyce pointed out the various shops and services lining the main lane of the village while she greeted everyone by name.

He hardly noticed his surroundings, preferring to watch the spark in her eye and the joyful glow of her cheeks. It was an unusual woman who took such selfless delight in making others feel important. She truly cared for these people; she did not lord herself over them as their mistress and demand their respect, but rather, she treated them as equals.

Hawk had known many ladies of rank in his life, bedded some of the most beautiful, and had taken as mistress one of the more wealthy and powerful ladies of King Edward's court. His feelings of lust, desire, and sometimes even respect for them were often strong, but never had he let his feelings weaken to the point of feeling tenderness for any of them. He purposely chose independent, hard-hearted women as his bed companions for good reason. He had no desire to hurt a woman or make her feel used any more than she used him, thus he'd learned to limit his dalliances to those women who were as self-serving in their reasons for being with him as he was for being with them.

But Alyce sparked a warmth in his chest that was unfamiliar and unsettling. She had an enchanting sweetness beneath her wary exterior that drew him to her, just as the people of the village seemed to be drawn to her, wanting to bask in the glow of her attention. It was more than lust he was feeling—though lust was definitely part of it.

He forced himself to look away from her lest his resolve of not seducing the lady be forgotten. 'Twas nothing more than an infatuation easily quashed by a little self-discipline, but even as that thought crossed his mind he realized he was staring at her lips, remembering how they'd felt pressed against his and imagining the soft curves and crevices of all the other places on her body where he wanted to put his lips.

Alyce inquired after children, received progress updates on the planting of the crops, and inspected the work of the cobbler, promising to return soon for another pair of shoes. "I will need them to be as thick-soled as those you made for me last summer," she instructed.

"I know no other lady who goes through sturdy shoes as quickly as you," the cobbler said with a laugh. "I swear I make them as thick as a man's, yet you wear them thin. Does that hound of yours use them when you do not?"

"It must be the way I walk," Alyce mumbled, but Hawk's curiosity had been piqued. He remembered her sojourn into the woods when she'd returned with a nearly empty basket after several hours. It seemed Lady Alyce did have secrets of her own in need of uncovering. Hawk waited for her to say more, but she did not. Instead, she walked farther down the lane to the door of a small stone chapel and pushed it open. The scent of burning wax and incense met his nostrils as he followed her into the dark building, allowing his eyes to adjust before moving further into the sanctuary.

A light flickered at the far end of the little room and Hawk could see clearly the form of an altar with a heavy candle placed prominently on top of it. Alyce picked a small taper out of a wooden box on the floor, then held it to the flame of the larger candle to light it. Then, she circled the altar and placed the candle in an iron candelabra standing near the back wall. For a moment she did not move, standing silently with her head bowed. Then she placed a coin on the altar, before exiting the church just as quickly as she had entered. He followed her, not asking for an explanation, coming to the most logical assumption one can make when a widow lights a candle in prayer. Instead, he asked about the parish priest.

"We are at the mercy of the priests who travel throughout the area, stopping by the village if their journey brings them near."

"Is that not unusual to have a castle and village of this size and no priest in residence?"

"Not in these parts," she said matter-of-factly as she led him along a path winding around the hill. "The Marcher lands are not an easy place to live, and often the priests find the frustration of saving the stubborn Welsh and the independent Marcher lords too much for them."

Hawk gave a derisive snort. "Is that not what the priests are meant to do, save the unsavable?"

"You think us beyond saving, Sir Grogan?"

The words were clipped. He had irked her again. "I am not fit to judge, my lady. I am among the unsavable myself."

"Have you no faith left inside you, Hawk? Has perpetual battle turned your heart to stone?" She did not look at him as she asked the question, preoccupied with rubbing Ffyddlon's ears.

When she said his name now, it felt like a whisper of air rustling his senses. "If you mean faith in God, I cannot say. Battles and blood leave little room for faith or emotion." He contemplated for a moment. "'Tis better to have a shriveled and hardened heart when one's life is to defend a king and kill at his command."

"Surely you must have faith in something, or why go on? Do you not have faith in that which you fight for?"

"I fight for my king."

"Then you must have faith in the king." She turned her brilliant blue eyes to him.

"I have faith in the coin he pays me." Such sentiment sounded harsh even in his own ears, but he admitted only what was true. He amounted to little more than a paid mercenary.

"Then would you have faith in another king if he paid you better coin?"

Before Hawk could answer, Ffyddlon let out a sharp bark. Hawk spun immediately to see what captured the dog's attention, his hand moving reflexively to the knife tucked in his belt. A herd of sheep was running as quickly as their stiff legs would carry them in the opposite direction from the boy who tended them.

"Ffyddlon," Alyce scolded, snapping her fingers and pointing to her side. The dog reluctantly circled her and then stood in an alert position next to her leg. "I am so sorry, Griffin. I did not mean to allow her to scare your sheep," she called out to the herder.

"'Tis all right, my lady," the boy called over his shoulder, racing to head off the flock of pudgy, stiff-legged animals with a long stick and slow them to a walk.

Beyond the boy, men were cutting a field of early oats with a small, curved blade, placing the sheaves in piles behind them for the women to tie into bundles and stack on wooden carts. Hawk had grown up on the grounds of a castle, spending his days with the horses and shadowing the stable master to make his way. Since then, he'd either lived in the king's court or camped in the forest with warriors. Never before had he given attention to all that was required to provide for a castle—or in this case, a castle and a village.

He had enough to worry about fighting to earn his own way to give it any thought. As a bastard-born son, the only fortune he could expect was that which he made for himself, and he had little time to worry about anything else. But these people did the same thing day after day, and they would never gain fortune or title, only enough to get them through another day, another season.

It seemed a very mundane life.

All the more reason to believe the people here would fight to better their positions if the opportunity arose, even if that meant fighting against their liege lord.

Alyce stood talking to the young lad tending the sheep, Ffyddlon sitting obediently at her side. A small child had toddled up to the older boy and wrapped his arms around one of the boy's skinny legs.

As Hawk drew near he overheard Alyce asking incredulously, "He just wanders with no one to watch him? Where is his mother?" Her lips were tight with disapproval as she spoke.

"I think she is still resting." The boy shrugged his shoulders, his eyes trained on his sheep while he laid a hand on the child's head.

Hawk recognized the protective gesture of the young sheepherder toward the little boy. It was the way of children who grew up together, fending for themselves. They looked out for one another and taught each other the skills necessary to survive.

"We all keep an eye on him, my lady. We won't let anything bad happen to him," the young sheepherder assured Alyce.

Alyce's face was red with anger now as she turned from side to side as though looking for someone.

"Does the boy have a family?" Hawk asked.

Alyce nodded. "Yes. His mother tends the hall in the evenings and seems to be sleeping the day away while her baby wanders the village alone. How can she be so careless with the child? He could get trampled by horses or wander into the forest and never be found."

"We all keep an eye on him," the sheepherder repeated. Hawk couldn't be sure of the lad's age but guessed him to be a few years shy of manhood. He stood no higher than Hawk's chest with spindly limbs and a smooth face.

"I am of a mind to go to her cottage now and let her know that this child deserves better than to be left alone," Alyce said, her eyes blazing.

Hawk studied her face. Her eyebrows were creased in consternation, and there was a vehemence in her tone he'd never heard before. This was a side to Lady Alyce he'd not yet witnessed, and he wondered what was at the root of it.

She leaned down and picked up the toddler. "How dare she be so selfish and careless?" Her tone was harsh while she bounced the boy in her arms so vigorously that the toddler was beginning to look afraid. Hawk expected that Alyce didn't even realize what she was doing, so he took the little boy from her arms and tucked him into the crook of his elbow.

Alyce looked taken aback; he wondered if the shock was because he took the child from her or because she expected him to know nothing about the care of children. It had been a long while since he'd spent any amount of time with a toddler, but he'd had a lot of practice when he was growing up with the other orphans in the streets.

"Who is his mother?" Hawk asked while the little boy tipped his head back in an attempt to look up at him, tentatively reaching a pudgy hand toward his face. Hawk smiled down at the grimy little scamp and placed a finger in his outstretched hand. He guessed the baby to be no more than two years of age.

Alyce's jaw hung open for a moment, then she shook her head slightly and snapped it shut. "It's Janet," she finally said, seeming to recall his question. "She is a serving woman in the hall. You probably saw her bringing ale around to your men last night. She spends as much time flirting shamelessly as she does serving ale."

There was an uncharacteristic bitterness to Alyce's voice, and he surmised there was more to the situation than Alyce's disapproval of the woman's behavior. "Ah, I do recall seeing her. I take it she has no husband to share in the upbringing of this child."

Alyce's face paled, and she shook her head, her throat and jaw flexing as she swallowed uncomfortably. She reached for the end of the long braid dangling down her back and started twisting the ends through her fingers. Hawk looked down at the child again, then back at Alyce wondering what the connection was between her and the boy cradled in his arm.

*

Alyce wanted to run. She didn't like the uncomfortable lump lodged in her throat or the anger that settled like a rock in her stomach over Janet's carelessness, or the way Hawk looked at her as though she had just grown another head. No matter how she felt about the boy's mother, she couldn't leave the child to fend for himself with no one to look after him. Again.

"We must go find Janet and tell her she cannot let this child wander the village alone. He could get hurt, or worse."

The sheepherder piped up again, his eyes still watching his flock. "Janet does not mean to let it happen, my lady. Henry does not like to nap, and he sneaks away as soon as his mother falls asleep. She is very tired from being up most of the night. All of us in the village watch over the boy until she awakens and comes to search for him."

"Why is she up most of the night?" Alyce asked. She and her brother never demanded the servers stay all night serving when guests could help themselves to the ale in the buttery during the later hours of the evening. "She can leave the hall any time after the meal has been served. She knows that."

The boy would not meet her eyes, keeping his face turned to his sheep. Alyce could see the embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

"You best catch up with your flock," Hawk suggested, nodding toward the wandering sheep. When the boy had gone, he turned his attention back to Alyce while he poked at Henry's belly, making him laugh.

The sight of Hawk playing with the baby and the joy beaming from the little boy's chubby cheeks as he smiled tugged at Alyce's heart, making her feel very empty and alone. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop these foolish emotions.

"Let us find Janet's cottage and return him to his mother," she suggested, her voice sounding very flat even to her own ears.

Hawk looked to where the sun tried to blaze through a patch of grey clouds in the sky. "'Tis still early. Is there any harm in letting her sleep? Come, I will buy a meat pie from the baker, and we can share it with this little urchin." He smiled as he spoke, but it did little to ease the sadness that had settled over her, darker and heavier than the clouds above.

"I do not think—" She started to say, but Hawk cut her off.

"The pies smell delicious," he said, turning to trace their steps back down the lane toward the baker's shop, "and my stomach is grumbling like an angry boar."

Alyce reluctantly followed in his wake, wishing she could find a way to escape to the privacy of her own room. When they reached the door of the shop where the sweet smell of freshly baked bread overwhelmed her senses, her own stomach started to growl loudly.

Hawk gave the baker the coin for a meat pie then led the way along the lane until he found a grassy patch where they could sit. He placed Henry on the ground between his outstretched legs and broke off a soft piece from the shell of the pie. He held the tiny piece of crust out to Henry who eagerly took it in his fat fingers and stuffed it in his mouth.

"My mother was an ale server in a hall much like this one," Hawk said quietly as he broke off a larger piece of the pie and held it out to Alyce. She was startled by his soft-spoken confession but took the offering of the pie, bringing it to her lips for a small bite. She contemplated how to respond when Hawk spoke again.

"It is not an easy life and can be very demeaning. She often came home with bruises, and she always looked tired."

The little bit of pie in Alyce's mouth suddenly felt like a heap of dry dirt, too difficult to chew, but she managed to choke it down after a moment. "I am sorry for what your mother had to go through," she said, uncertain how else she should respond, though what she really wanted to know was why these women continued to flirt with the men if they were treated so poorly.

"I am not telling you this to get your sympathy. I am telling you so you might have some empathy for Janet." Hawk took a big bite of the pie in his hand, then pulled some shredded meat from the remaining piece and held it out to Henry. The boy stuffed it in his mouth, then bounced on his bottom with his hands held out, demanding more.

Alyce's head pounded and she could hear the blood rushing through her body with every thud of her heart. She sympathized with the plight of Hawk's mother, but she could not do the same for Janet. "For reasons I do not care to discuss, I cannot condone Janet's actions."

Hawk looked at her for a long moment, then nodded his head. "They have very little choice about what they do, these women and their children have no choice. And often, to earn enough coin to feed the children they are saddled with, they must do more than just serve ale to the men in the hall."

Alyce looked down at her hands. She held the uneaten chunk of pie between two fingers, her appetite gone. She sat cross-legged with the length of her gown wrapped around her knees and tucked under her feet. The finer material and rich blue color of what she considered to be one of her plainer tunics made her feel shameful of her good fortune. Did others in the village struggle while she wanted for nothing?

Despite her struggles, how could she make Hawk or anyone else understand that Janet had something so much more valuable than fine clothing, something Alyce could never have? And worse, she didn't appear to care about it at all. Alyce looked from the corner of her eyes at the little boy as he leaned toward Hawk, stretching his arms toward the pie, fingers splayed wide as he smacked his lips together in an eating motion. She wanted to scoop up the little boy and hug him tight to her chest, to inhale the sweet smell of him and nuzzle his soft hair, but she would make matters worse with such a foolishly impulsive action.

And Hawk would think she lost her mind.

In truth, she probably was losing her mind. What other reason could there be than madness for her to be pining for this baby who belonged to her husband and another woman? It didn't matter whether Geoffrey had been with Janet only once or if it was a hundred times; her heart had broken into a thousand pieces for more reasons than she could ever explain to Geoffrey, and she definitely did not want to explain it to Hawk.

"Henry?" a voice called. "Henry!"

Alyce looked up to see Janet rushing down the lane toward them, her eyes wide and her disheveled hair a mass of tangles on her shoulders.

"He is safe," Hawk said to her as she drew near. "He is eating a meat pie with us."

Janet stopped several steps away from Hawk, hesitant and unsure. Alyce watched her, wondering why she didn't just take Henry in her arms. The woman's face was wary, but there was a weariness there as well. Her skin was pale and dark smudges rimmed her eyes.

"I am sorry he troubled you, my lord." She shot a nervous glance at Alyce and added, "My lady."

"He is no trouble," Hawk said before he fed another bite of the pie to the toddler, then picked him up and placed him on his feet, gently nudging him in the direction of his mother.

"I see him in the hall when you are serving there," Alyce said quietly. "Do you not have anyone to assist you with him?" She meant it as an honest question, but from the look on Janet's face, the woman took the comment as the beginning of a disapproving chastisement.

"I will not bring him to the hall again, my lady," Janet said, her voice tight with what sounded like resentment as she picked up the little boy.

Alyce quickly shook her head. "I did not mean it that way. He is no trouble when he is with you in the hall. I truly inquired only out of curiosity, but I see now that it was rude of me. Please accept my apology." She gulped as she said the last, shocked by her own words. Never did she imagine she would apologize to this woman. If anyone apologized, it should be Janet to her.

Rising to her feet and shaking the folds of her skirt, she said, "Henry is always welcome in the hall." Then she bowed to Hawk, and added, "I've duties to attend to and must take my leave." With that, she turned on her heel before Hawk could see the cacophony of emotions welling in her eyes. She signaled to Ffyddlon to come, and walked briskly toward the castle, desperate for the solitude of her chamber.