Chapter 8

Chapter 8

With donations from Isobel's wardrobe and even from Isabella's, it seemed to Adela that she would have clothing enough for a decade at court. Even so, it took nearly a fortnight before the countess and Lady Clendenen declared her ready to go.

Sorcha and Hugo had left for Glasgow days before, taking Macleod with them, so he and Hugo could help supervise preparations for the return of Donald, Lord of the Isles, to his own territory. Donald would meet them at Dumbarton at the end of the week, after he had taken formal leave of the King and the royal court.

To Adela's surprise, and a little to her dismay, the formidable countess had insisted on accompanying her to Edinburgh.

"I must bid Donald farewell," she said. "But I'll be staying at Sinclair House, of course, with Henry. He is always pleased to welcome me, or any other visitors."

Sir Michael had ordered a large contingent of men-at-arms to escort them. Lady Clendenen had multiple boxes and bags, and the countess traveled with her own servants, piles of personal baggage, and some of her favorite furniture. So they created a cavalcade that Adela thought might easily be mistaken for a royal procession.

The journey from Roslin was not long. As they topped the last rise, a broad plain spread before them with a large hill to the northeast, its craggy face making it resemble a sleeping lion.

"That is Arthur's Seat," Lady Clendenen told her. "That one to the west is Castle Hill. The royal burgh of Edinburgh lies right between them."

She went on to identify other hills, the blue waters of the Firth of Forth, and the distant coast of Fife beyond. But Adela's gaze had come to rest on Edinburgh Castle, gleaming in late afternoon sunlight. It sprawled across its own craggy hilltop, its curtain wall extending to the easternmost crags and down the hillside.

It looked, she thought, as a royal castle ought to look, forbidding and impregnable. That anyone could conquer it seemed impossible, but she knew the English had taken it on several occasions, King Edward I more than once. When he and his army had invaded the country the first time, they'd held the area from Edinburgh south for the better part of eighteen years and had taken the crown records, crown treasury, and Scotland's coronation stone back to England with them.

In 1335, her father had told her, the English had recaptured the Castle. They had not only occupied it but also refortified it. They had held it for nearly six years that time before the Scots reclaimed it. And now, they threatened to do it again.

As their cavalcade approached, the royal burgh looked enormous. Its roads were broader than any Adela had seen, even in Stirling. Houses lined each side. Their gardens, according to the countess, lay tucked away behind them.

Lady Clendenen said proudly, "If one counts the Canongate, the burgh boasts nearly four hundred houses now."

"Mercy," Adela exclaimed. "How many people are there?"

"Oh, nearly two thousand, I expect, if one counts the Castle folk and the abbey. Those spires straight ahead are St. Giles's Cathedral, which lies halfway betwixt the Castle and the abbey. That tall, single tower to the east is the abbey's."

"Holyrood Abbey?"

"Aye, of course, and you should know that inside the burgh, all the roads are called gates in the old Norse fashion. We'll enter along the Cowgate. My house and Sinclair House lie near each other on the Canongate, just west of the abbey."

Drawing a long breath, Adela said, "It is so good to smell the sea again."

"Aye, it is," Isabella said, smiling at her. "Edinburgh's harbor lies nearby at Leith, yonder to the northeast," she added with a gesture.

Lady Clendenen said with a sigh, "Your mentioning Leith makes me think of poor Baron Lestalric and his heir, killed so tragically. A dreadful thing, that was. I wonder who—or for that matter, how many—will claim that vast estate now."

With an edge to her voice, Isabella said, "I'd not be surprised to find a royal prince amongst them. These days, his grace is easily persuaded to accept even weak arguments to claim lands for the Stewarts or for the Crown. If those arguments fail, it is only because they require the support of the Scottish Parliament. But the most ambitious of his sons seeks to control Parliament as well as the King."

"You mean Fife, of course," Lady Clendenen said. To Adela, she said, "No one likes him, because everyone knows he resents being a younger son and will do almost anything to gain enough power to win the throne. But surely, Isabella, there must be more legitimate claimants to Lestalric than any of that upstart Stewart lot."

Adela, inhaling deeply again of the refreshing sea air as the discussion continued without her, paid them scant heed. But as they moved toward the center of the burgh, she soon had so much to look at that she just stared. Horsedrawn and handdrawn carts moved everywhere. Many carried handsomely garbed passengers.

The Canongate, an extension of the royal burgh's high street, proved to be broader than the Cowgate, with large houses of stone and timber on either side.

"So many large houses!" Adela exclaimed as they turned east onto the Canongate. "Where do all the people who own them come from?"

"Merchants who use the harbor for shipping have to reside in Edinburgh," Isabella explained. "Because of that law, many such men have built houses here."

They parted with her at a big, south-facing stone house and, minutes later, Lady Clendenen pointed out her own house, as spacious as any, facing north.

A short time later, Adela found herself in a pleasant chamber overlooking a large garden, with a cheerful maidservant to attend her. As she gazed out on a green lawn with budding flower borders, the door opened.

"Don't stand dreaming, my dear," her hostess said. "We must dress at once if we are not to be late."

"Late?"

"Aye, sure. Did you not hear us speaking earlier? We are to collect Isabella immediately after Vespers. We'll join the court for supper."

Dismayed, Adela struggled to smile and nod. She had not heard them. And having assumed they would need an invitation first, she had expected to have time to adjust to her new surroundings before plunging into life at the royal court.

The countess's arrival at Sinclair House caused a stir. Maidservants and gillies rushed to welcome her and then scurried to carry in all she had brought with her. But the initial tumult quickly eased.

Henry waited with Rob in the solar at the north end of the main hall, which occupied most of the second floor. When they heard her coming upstairs from the ground floor entryway, Henry stepped out to greet her. Waiting in the doorway, dressed more finely than ever before in his life, Rob watched their meeting warily.

"Madam, welcome," Henry said, moving to embrace the countess. Releasing her, he said, "I believe you are acquainted with Sir Robert of Lestalric."

Rob had been aware that her gaze had fixed on him as she hugged Henry, but he could not tell from her expression what she was thinking.

She smiled then and said, "I would scarcely have recognized you, sir. I am glad that you mean to claim your rightful place at last."

"Thank you, madam," he said with heartfelt relief.

"You will excuse me, I know," she said. "I want to tidy myself and dress for court. Ealga and I mean to take supper at the Castle tonight. Adela, too," she added.

A moment later, she had disappeared up the stairs.

Rob looked at Henry, aware of a sudden, unsettling flutter of nerves.

"The time has come," Henry said. "I think you are ready."

"Aye," Rob said. "I hope so."

"Once we've established your identity, you can proceed with the next step."

"I just hope I'm right in thinking the key lies at Lestalric," Rob said. "The hiding place my grandfather showed me is the only place I know to look."

"So the next step is to ride to Lestalric and have a look," Henry said practically. "At least Lady Logan is not there. She is with her father."

"I'm glad of that," Rob said, realizing that Ellen had slipped from his mind again. Grimacing, he added, "But first I must make my bow at court, Henry."

"I warrant you'll make a grand impression there," Henry said, grinning.

"Aye, sure," Rob said, his thoughts shifting instantly back to Lady Adela. "I might if I don't find my head in my lap before midnight."

Lady Clendenen possessed an enclosed wagon, drawn by two horses, which she called a coach. Having lived her life in the Highlands with no roads, Adela had never seen one before but thought it must be a most convenient vehicle.

Her hostess insisted, however, that it was not just convenient but a necessity in Edinburgh, where inclement weather was the rule rather than the exception.

"It is too far to walk to the Castle, and too steep," she declared. "And on horseback, most days, one would be soaked through before one arrived."

So Adela and her ladyship climbed into the coach but without the chevalier de Gredin. He, apparently, had removed to other quarters. Adela had seen no sign of him at Clendenen House and did not think it fitting to ask about him.

The short ride to Sinclair House proved interesting, even amusing. But after Isabella and Prince Henry joined them in the rattling, jolting vehicle, its interior became too crowded for comfort. To make matters worse, the latter part of the journey, up the narrow, precipitous road to the Castle gate tower, proved more terrifying for Adela than any wild boat trip on heaving winter seas.

Fearing at any minute that coach, horses, and all might plunge off the road and down the steep embankment, she held her breath and sat as still as she could.

They arrived safely in the pebbled courtyard and walked to the Castle's noisy hall in an enormous four-story tower at the west end of the yard.

"This is David's Tower," Isabella said. "They finished building it thirteen years ago. It contains the royal apartments as well as others for noble visitors."

"I've rooms here, myself," Henry said as they waited for the lord chamberlain to announce them. "You ladies must make use of them whenever you like. The weather is sadly unreliable at this time of year."

"Just what I said about it myself," Lady Clendenen told him. "And although they maintain that track well, I do not trust any wheeled vehicle on it in a storm."

"Nor should you," Henry said, grinning at her as he pushed a strand of fair hair back from his forehead and adjusted his plumed hat. He was clearly eager to join the merrymakers.

Adela listened to them talk but made no comment. Not only could she think of nothing suitable to say about her ride in the bone-jarring coach, but she was also trying to take in all she saw and heard as they waited.

The air inside the hall was hazy with smoke from two great fireplaces. Minstrels' music competed with the roar of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter, barking dogs, and once, a woman's scream. The din was appalling to one unused to such gatherings. Players occupied the central area, but acrobats were doing flips and hand-springs through their midst. Their antics and a nearby dog fight, apparently over scraps, spoiled whatever the players were attempting to portray.

Not that any of the uproar seemed to matter to anyone else.

As far as Adela could tell, no one watched the players or listened to the music. Some strolled about the perimeter. Others supped at two linen-draped boards extending at right angles from the high table. Still others, mostly men, sprawled near a fireplace. They seemed to be dicing, with mugs or goblets in their free hands.

The sound of a too-near trumpet blast startled her into a sharp cry. Although she doubted that anyone else had heard her, she looked nervously about as the noise diminished a degree or two, and the lord chamberlain roared, "Your grace, I beg leave to present the Earl of Orkney, the Countess of Strathearn and Caithness, Lady Clendenen of Kintail, and Lady Ardelve of Loch Alsh and Glenelg."

As the women went forward with Henry to make their curtsies, Adela peered through the haze, trying to decide which man at the high table was King of Scots.

Beside her, in an undertone that barely carried to her ears, Isabella said, "His grace is in the center, the elderly man. Beside him on his right is MacDonald, second Lord of the Isles. The next man is the Earl of Carrick, the King's eldest son and heir to the throne of Scotland. He is the kindest of his numerous family, but you would be wise to keep your distance from all the King's sons. They are ambitious, often dangerous men, most of whom eat innocents like you."

"Do they, madam? Then I shall certainly take care," Adela said.

A moment later, she was making her deepest curtsy to the King, although he seemed to take little notice. He merely blinked his reddened eyes briefly in her direction before turning away again.

"Our beloved King does not see well, I fear," a familiar voice said from behind. Turning her head as she rose from her curtsy, she saw that Chevalier de Gredin had joined them.

He flashed his charming smile, looking deep into her eyes. "Good evening."

Observing him with a renewed flicker of doubt, she wondered why he had ignored his own advice to keep distance between them. But as the thought crossed her mind, something about it struck her as wrong. She did not try to analyze the feeling, but she did not reject it. She said only, "Your accent has diminished."

"Oui, madame," he said. "You declared that my Frenchiness displeased you, and I mean to show you how amiable I am. I'm glad you came tonight. I feared you would not recover from the fatigue of your journey before tomorrow."

"Roslin is only seven miles away, sir," she said. "Moreover, the countess wanted to speak to Donald of the Isles before he departs for home."

"You are looking remarkably beautiful tonight," he said. "That gown is enchanting. Will you stroll with me, or do you desire to eat something first? The food is excellent here."

"We'll take supper first," Lady Clendenen said, cutting off the flow. "But you may join us at table, Etienne. Thank you for removing your belongings from Clendenen House as I asked. I'm sorry to have put you out, but it would have been most unsuitable for you to remain. Doubtless you have found acceptable quarters."

"Bien s?r," he said. "A friend managed to acquire a small apartment here in the Castle for me. I shall be nearly as comfortable as I was with you."

"Excellent, but I must warn you yet again not to be too particular in your attentions to Lady Ardelve. Few will condemn her for staying here in town with me or appearing at court, but she must still be careful about her behavior."

Having watched a woman plop herself in a man's lap, fling her arms around his neck, and kiss him soundly without anyone looking the least shocked, Adela wondered what her ladyship thought she might do to upset anyone accustomed to such a place. She hoped her companions would not want to stay long and that if they ever took advantage of Henry's invitation to use his apartments, it would not mean having to stay overnight in the Castle.

Her discomfort increased when they sat down to supper. The entertainment had grown wilder and noisier. Even the servants seemed to have taken too much to drink. But her companions were oblivious, or had become inured to such activities.

Lady Clendenen had placed de Gredin on her left with Adela on her right, so Adela did not have to contend with the chevalier's fulsome compliments. She liked him well enough but wished he were less effusive in so public a place.

Henry had disappeared into the crowd.

Isabella's calm dignity offered a measure of reassurance, but whenever anyone passed too near, Adela jumped like a nervous tabby. She nibbled bread and a slice of apple but felt no enthusiasm for the rest of her food.

When de Gredin offered again to escort her around the chamber, she glanced at Lady Clendenen, who said, "We would both enjoy a stroll, Etienne, thank you."

If he was disappointed that she meant to accompany them, he was too much of a gentleman, or too intelligent, to say so.

Isabella was chatting with the woman on her other side but paused long enough to tell them to go without her. So Adela arose with her ladyship.

When de Gredin laughingly offered an arm to each, her ladyship immediately accepted the one offered to her. When Adela shook her head, the chevalier smiled his understanding, saying lightly, "I had forgotten you come from the Highlands, my lady. 'Tis generally much quieter there, n'est ce pas?"

"Aye, sir, it—" She broke off, starting violently again when the lord chamberlain's trumpeter blared another fanfare.

"Your grace," the chamberlain bellowed, "I beg leave to present Sir Robert Logan, third Baron Lestalric, who comes tonight to swear fealty to your grace."

The last portion of his announcement sounded unnaturally loud, because the chamber had fallen abruptly and astonishingly silent.

Looking to see what had caused such a phenomenon, Adela beheld a ruggedly handsome, broad-shouldered man with a tapered waist and powerful-looking, well-shaped legs. He was dressed in the height of fashion in a tight fitting, scarlet-velvet doublet, cross-laced with gold cording down the front. Its short "skirt" barely covered his hips. He wore a matching scarlet, white-plumed cap and parti-colored, red-and-black silk leather-soled hose with pointed toes.

The lace-edged sleeves of his doublet sported ornamental gold buttons from elbow to wrist where each fanned out to his knuckles. Around his hips, he wore a jeweled knightly girdle of gleaming gold links and an ornamental sword. His deeply dagged lavender silk mantle, buttoned to the right shoulder and thrown back, hung in graceful, fluttering folds down his back to his heels. It billowed as he strode forward. He swept his hat from his head as he knelt before the King of Scots.

"Sacrebleu! C'est paré des plumes du paon!"

Adela, hearing the muttered epithet, looked at de Gredin. His eyes had narrowed, and his jaw tightened until a muscle twitched low on his cheek.

"Is aught amiss?" she asked him. "I do not know that phrase."

"I said he's a damned peacock, that's all," de Gredin said. "The fellow makes a mockery of court fashion."

"Doesn't everyone dress finely?"

"Not like that."

To be sure, the gentleman's appearance represented the height of masculine fashion. She decided de Gredin was right. The effect was a bit overwhelming.

The newcomer straightened, looking directly at the King as he said in a flat but carrying voice, touched with a most unusual accent, "I regret that I have no handful of Lestalric dirt to cast at your feet, sire, but the House of Lestalric swears fealty to your grace and to the House of Stewart, now and forevermore."

The voice sounded familiar, but before Adela could identify it, the sight of the King of Scots emerging from his lethargy and leaning forward to peer at Sir Robert through narrowed, bloodshot eyes diverted her.

"Robbie, lad, is it truly yourself?" the King asked, his voice gravelly and uncertain. "We thought ye'd died years ago, lad."

"I trust you are not disappointed to see me still alive and hale, your grace. I vow I am not eager to plow myself six feet under yet, even to gratify you."

The King chuckled along with many others in the chamber. Then he beckoned the baron closer, apparently desiring to converse privately with him.

"Do you know him, Isabella?" Lady Clendenen asked as the countess joined them under cover of the increasing din of renewed, buzzing conversation. "He must be a kinsman of mine. Indeed, if he is who he says he is, he must be Lestalric's younger son, but I doubt I've ever laid eyes on him before. Have you, Etienne?"

"Non," de Gredin said. Then, apparently realizing she had expected more, he smiled ruefully and said, "I beg your pardon, cousin. I am a villain to be so curt to you, who have been so kind to me."

"Oh, aye, but we are all agog at this, after all."

"I do know Sir Robert," Isabella said. "That is to say, I remember him well. He took his training at Dunclathy in Strathearn, you see, with Sir Edward."

Adela looked at her. "Sir Edward Robison? Hugo's father?"

Isabella nodded, her gaze scanning the royal dais. They came to rest several seats from his grace on a man who rose abruptly.

He was tall and thin, and wore black velvet trimmed with gold lace. The only other colors on his person gleamed from the jeweled belt he wore low on his hips. His hair was nearly as dark as the velvet, his face long and lean, his features harsh, and the fingers of the hand he raised for silence were unusually long and slender.

"That is the Earl of Fife," Lady Clendenen said for Adela's sake. "He's the King's second son and, some say, the real power behind the throne. They say he has had his eye on the crown of Scotland since he first learned of its existence. He has declared that all noble estates without obvious heirs should revert to the Crown."

"Forgive me, your grace," the Fife said smoothly, "but have we proof that this fellow is who he says he is? 'Tis not yet a fortnight since the second baron and his son died. Whence comes this dazzling fellow to present himself so quickly?"

"I will speak for Lestalric, your grace," Henry said, striding forward.

"Nae need, Henry," the King said. "Even I can see that he's the spit o' his late grandsire, the first baron, named so by the Bruce himself."

"Come, walk with me, Lady Adela," de Gredin said. "This mummery can hold little interest for you."

But Adela watched Sir Robert and the King. Their voices had hushed, but whatever Sir Robert said to the King must have amused him, for his grace laughed aloud. Henry had joined them, and his eyes were alight with laughter, too.

However, when de Gredin repeated his invitation to stroll, she collected herself and accepted politely, assuming Lady Clendenen would go with them. But her ladyship had either forgotten her intent or had decided Adela needed no protection from de Gredin, for she did not take her eyes from the high table.

Adela and the chevalier completed only one turn of the chamber, however, before Henry approached with the baron beside him and said, "Lady Ardelve, permit me to present my good friend Sir Robert of Lestalric."

Adela curtsied. "'Tis an honor, my lord."

"The honor is mine, Lady Ardelve," the baron said, sweeping off his plumed hat again and bowing as deeply as he had to the King.

Adela stiffened. Although he had spoken only six words in the flat, oddly accented tones he had employed before, any faint, lingering notion that de Gredin was the man she had met on the ramparts vanished. Her palms itched, her temper rose, and for the first time since her rescue, she felt truly deep emotion. Only her training and long-held fear of making a public spectacle of herself kept her from smacking the finely clad baron or snatching him baldheaded.

She was aware that Henry was watching her. She noted, too, the warily speculative glint in the baron's hazel eyes, turned almost golden in the reflected light of the myriad candles, cressets, and torches in the hall. His lashes were as long, thick, and dark as women so often wished theirs could be.

"De Gredin, I'd like a word with you, sir," Henry said. "My mother tells me you returned recently from France and are acquainted with the Duke of Anjou. I've a notion to visit there again this year, and I wondered if you might advise me."

De Gredin clearly wanted to linger, but he was no match for Henry's cheerful determination. Isabella had drawn Lady Clendenen aside, as well, Adela noted, although Henry had not yet formally presented the baron to either of them.

Thus, she was as alone with the baron as two people could be in the midst of a crowd when that familiar voice, its odd accent and flatness gone, murmured, "Will you walk with me, lass, or are you determined to murder me?"

"I'd prefer to murder you."

"That's what I feared."

"What is this deceitful game you are playing with me, sir?"

"Peace, my lady," he murmured. "We've a fascinated audience, who must all be wondering why you are flashing such fire at me. But if you will condescend to walk with me, one circuit of the room at least, mayhap when the noise increases, as I'm sure it soon will, we may speak more freely."

Realizing that nearly everyone in the room was watching them, Adela nodded with as much grace as she could muster and placed her hand on his outstretched forearm, noting as she did that although he wore a fine pearl pin on his hat and other jewels about his person, he wore only one rather plain ring on his left hand.

She said nothing to him until, as he had predicted, the noise level returned to its previous din. Then she muttered, "Someone is bound to ask why I looked at you so, although I swear I could not help myself. Whatever am I to say?"

He said ruefully, "I'd hoped my disguise, and my accent—"

"'Tis an absurd accent," she said. "What sort was it meant to be?"

"Orkney," he said. "Orknian? Sakes, I don't even know what such folk call themselves when they're from home. I've only heard their accent once, you see, when I … when I chanced to visit the Isle of Orkney last summer."

"For Prince Henry's installation?"

"Aye, that's it."

"I was there, too," she said.

"I ken that fine," he told her. "Twas the first time ever I saw you. I thought then that you were the most—"

"Don't, please," she interjected. "I am not accustomed to compliments from you, sir. Indeed, I am not accustomed to hearing them from anyone. Moreover, Chevalier de Gredin has already paid me more than my share tonight."

"We can discuss whether you deserve them another time," he said equably. "At the moment, I should like to know why you encourage that appalling fellow."

"I don't encourage him," she said, looking up at him.

He was gazing straight ahead, his lips thinned to a straight line. His profile was admirable and stirred another, different tickle of familiarity. But the fleeting sensation vanished before she could identify its cause.

He looked about to speak to her, but before he could, she said severely, "You must have guessed that I thought he was you. Faith, sir, I told you as much!"

"I'll forgive you almost anything, my lady, and I richly deserve your censure for deceiving you as I did. But learning that you had mistaken that rogue for the man you had met in the darkness … Well, it was a hard blow, I can tell you."

"Do you expect me to apologize?"

"Certainly not. Every fault is mine, whilst you remain the perfect woman."

Adela repressed an unexpected bubble of laughter. It would never do to forgive such deceit easily, no matter how she felt. Still, her mood had lightened, and the strain caused by the uproarious crowd had vanished. She said, "Have you known so many women that you can judge perfection, sir?"

"I have known my share," he said with a smile.

He had a nice smile, a contagious one. She almost smiled back, but something else occurred to her. "Did we perhaps meet at Orkney? You seem slightly familiar, but I do not recall that we met. I hope you are not offended."

"Nay, not at all," he said. "No one was kind enough to present me to you. I own, though, I'd have given anything to have seen you toss that basinful of holy water at Hugo's head."

"So you know Sir Hugo," she said, feeling fire in her cheeks at the thought of the scene he had described. That had not been her finest moment. She so rarely did such things, only when people pushed her too far.

"Aye, I know Hugo," he said. "And Michael Sinclair, too. We took our training together at Dunclathy."

"Training?"

"Aye," he said. "As with most lads of our rank and heritage, we hungered to become proper knights and protect Scotland from the English, or indeed, invaders from any source. Hugo's father is an excellent teacher, albeit a gey stern one."

"I have met Sir Edward," Adela said. "He has always been kind to me."

"Aye, but just wait until he sees you with a sword in hand, or a lance. As he teaches you to wield either weapon properly, he will surely turn into an ogre."

Astonished at the image he'd introduced to her mind, she laughed aloud. "You are the most absurd man!"

"Am I? My comment seems to have been successful nonetheless."

"Successful?"

"Aye, for I wanted to see if I could make you laugh."

Feeling heat again, not just in her cheeks but through-out her body, she stared at him. "But why?"

"Because in all the time you have been at Roslin, lass, I don't believe you've laughed once. At all events, I have not seen you do so."

"But you never saw me," she protested. "We met only in the dark."

"One hesitates to contradict a lady, but I have seen you numerous times at Roslin. Moreover, when I saw you at Henry's installation, I distinctly recall your smiling more than once. And as you have a singularly entrancing—" Breaking off with an exaggerated clap to his forehead, he said, "Forgive me! Compliments again! They just spill out, but I do beg your pardon."

"Please, sir," she begged, struggling not to laugh again but failing. "You will be the one to draw attention to us this time, and truly, I should not be laughing with you like this. Recall that it has not yet been a fortnight since …"

"Since your husband died?" he said when she hesitated. "Laughing or not laughing won't change that, lass, any more than I can change anything in the case of my own father and brother."

Adela's breath caught in her throat.

"You!" she exclaimed more loudly than she had intended. Lowering her voice as much as she could, she said accusingly, "Mercy, I did not put it all together when I first heard your name, but two men dying … It was you with Sir Hugo—the conversation I overheard, the very one I told you about in the chapel."

"Aye, it was," he admitted. "But—"

"How could you?"

"I know I should have owned up to it at once, but at the time—"

"I don't mean that," she said, striving to control her growing fury. "I mean, how could you have decided so cold-bloodedly to put an end to poor Einar Logan? What did you do with him? After what I heard, and now this, I don't believe for an instant that he just went off some-where on an errand for Hugo."

"You may murder me later if you still want to, my lady, but I beg you, hold your sword for the moment. Lady Clendenen is coming this way."

Adela followed his gaze and wanted to scream. Both Lady Clendenen and the chevalier were walking toward them.