Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

I t wasn't a class full of dregs that Sinclair faced, but men, and two women, who had made it through both Tay's and Fox's training. Now they were recruits. They'd proven themselves for the most part.

And they belonged to Sinclair.

He didn't hold back.

God, it felt good to be back in harness again. Back doing what he loved to do, back teaching talented individuals the finer art of swordplay. He'd felt fulfilled and useful as he helped Nikolai regain his rightful dukedom, but he'd missed training men and watching their expressions of pride for a job well done. It was something that gave him great satisfaction, and the class he assumed from Cruz and Creston was properly awed by the introduction from his two friends. They made him sound as if Ares had just come down from Olympus and was now prepared to teach them all how to fight. Of course, Cruz and Creston made him prove it with a surprise attack, and he disarmed both of them, but not without a fight that took about an hour.

After that, he had his class's undivided attention.

The exercises began.

Every recruit in his class had already been through some kind of training except for a farmer who had proven himself extraordinarily hearty, talented, and a quick learner. He was a big man, eager to absorb the knowledge that Blackchurch was imparting, and Sinclair took a liking to him because he genuinely wanted to learn. The man, named Thomas Ram, had an even temperament, too, in contrast to some of the more experienced knights who often didn't think they needed to be taught anything more about fighting with a sword and became frustrated with simplistic exercises.

Sinclair didn't care about their egos.

Even though he'd been properly introduced, even though everyone in the recruit class knew who he was and his qualifications, there were still those who were going to test him. That was normal. Sinclair always took delight in those men because they were a challenge. Admittedly, he had the advantage because if he wanted to fail them, he could, and they would have to leave Blackchurch for good, so that was probably the one thing that really kept the recruits in line. No one was too arrogant or rebellious lest they be booted from the class. But there were still those who thought they didn't need his instruction.

Sinclair proved otherwise.

Truthfully, the entire day was a delight. He'd spent most of it with his new recruit class, taking them back to the basics even though they had been in this particular module of training for about two weeks. Cruz and Creston had explained to him the type of training that those past weeks had entailed, but Sinclair took everybody back to the beginning. He wanted to make sure his class was taught by his methods from the very start of the program that he had devised over years of serving at Blackchurch. It was a schedule that had been proven time and time again to train some of the best swordsmen in the world.

And it all started out with repetition.

As Sinclair explained to the class, learning to be an expert swordsman was purely about repetition. It was repeating the same moves over and over again until you were sick to death of them but knew them intimately. Then he would go to the next move, which they would repeat over and over again as well. He would do this until he had at least ten specific moves with the sword, and then after that, they begin to put the moves together—the first move and the second move would be done at the same time, over and over again, until everyone became very comfortable with it. Then they would add the third and fourth moves so that all four moves would become fluid through repeated practice and continuous repetition.

On and on it went.

When all ten moves were learned and each man or woman had perfected them, they would put those moves to the test against one another. That was another module that Sinclair taught. It was his job to ensure that every Blackchurch recruit could emerge from a sword fight victorious. It was his job to ensure that they could think for themselves in the midst of a battle, that they could anticipate an enemy and still come out with their life intact. His class was purely about the art of swordplay and not the art of strategy in battle, which was more in line with what Fox and Creston taught. They would use what Sinclair had drilled into his recruits and expand on it.

As St. Denis used to say, they were building a warrior from the ground up, and every trainer built on the foundation that other trainers had laid. Like any construction project, the Blackchurch warriors were built from a strong foundation. By the time they emerged from their lessons, they were the most perfect warriors that had ever been produced.

And Sinclair was a big part of that.

Therefore, his afternoon had been truly delightful because he had forgotten how much he loved working with those who were eager to learn and also those who thought they knew everything. There was a great deal of variety in what he did and he enjoyed that immensely. But even as the day begin to wane, it occurred to him that the very man who had been helping with these classes had not shown his face.

Anteaus de Bourne was nowhere to be seen.

Curious, but not particularly caring, Sinclair wound down his class as the sun dipped below the horizon. Classes never went beyond the setting of the sun because men working with swords in the darkness was a very dangerous thing. He'd had his class working on a very basic move all day, the repetition of a simple lift, but by the end of the day everyone was quite weary from lifting heavy swords over and over again. He dismissed the class, watching them trudge off toward the cloister of the old church that gave Blackchurch its name. The cloister was where the recruits slept, big dormitories that housed the dozens of people who were in different stages of training, and the smell of cooking fires from the kitchens was already sitting heavy in the evening air.

Cooking reminded him of food.

Food reminded him of the Black Cock.

Lisi.

He hadn't thought of her since last night, since they'd had their brief conversation after the common room brawl, but the truth was that he wouldn't be sorry if he saw her again tonight. That beautiful, brave, mysterious woman who had been good conversation was someone he'd been attracted to from the start. She was a mystery, and that, more than anything, had his curiosity.

There was something intriguing about her.

As a few servants began to collect the swords used by the recruits, Sinclair headed over to the village where the trainers and those who served at Blackchurch lived. In fact, it used to be a bustling town over one hundred years ago, but Blackchurch had long ago taken over every cottage, every building, and now it was where the trainers and associates critical to the function of Blackchurch lived. They had an entire village to themselves, set within the dark Devon moors, with the burned-out bones of the old, blackened church anchoring the northern end.

This was their sanctuary.

And he'd missed it.

Sinclair truly felt as if he was home as he entered the village, heading for the cottage that belonged to him. He had lived in one next to Tay's cottage, but the crying of Tay's infant children had kept him up at night, so he moved to the edge of the village, away from Tay and his screaming offspring. His cottage was the last one in a row of cottages and now he was only next to Ming Tang, with Amir and Kristian directly across from him. He entered the two-storied cottage, smelling the familiar dusty and smoky smell, although the woman who kept house for him had stoked the fires both upstairs and downstairs, put food on the table in the dining room, and made sure he had clean linens.

It was good to be home.

He'd slept here last night, but nothing had been ready for him since they hadn't known exactly when he would be returning. It had been a little bare-bones, with the exception of a bare mattress and a fire in the hearth. But tonight, everything was prepared for his return and he sat down at the table to inspect the food, talking a few bites of the bread before thinking he might go into town and get his meal at the Black Cock instead.

But first, he thought he'd clean up a bit.

Chewing a hunk of bread, he went over to the hearth because there was an iron pot on an arm over the flames. He peered at it, hoping it was hot water, and was pleased to see that he was right. It was usual in households to keep a pot of water warmed over the coals for bathing or kitchen purposes, so he took the pot off the arm and brought it upstairs where he kept his belongings.

Soap, razor, and rags were pulled out of his saddlebags, which he hadn't unpacked yet, and using the hot water, he proceeded to strip down to his bare skin and wash himself with a rag and soap that smelled of lavender. He couldn't remember when he'd bathed last, so he went ahead and washed his hair and shaved off his beard, getting water all over the floor in the process. But he felt cleaner than he had in a very long time. He dried off with the bed linens and donned clean clothing. Using a comb to slick back his shoulder-length hair, he headed out of the cottage.

The village of Exebridge, where the Black Cock was located, was about a quarter of a mile from the gatehouse of Blackchurch. Huge perimeter walls encircled the guild, manned by soldiers who were paid well for their skills. Sinclair considered stopping by the cottages of some of the other bachelor trainers to see if they wanted to join him, but the truth was that he wanted to engage in conversation with the mysterious Lisi and didn't want an audience for that. It was true that he had missed his follow trainers very much, and this was only his second night back, but there would the hundreds of nights to come to sup with them and speak on his adventures in the east.

For some reason, Lisi had his attention this night.

"Where are ye off to, lad?"

The booming voice came from the cottages off to his right, and he turned to see Payne heading in his direction. Kristian was with the big Scotsman and they moved quicky to catch up with Sinclair, who reluctantly came to a halt.

"The Black Cock," he said. "A quiet supper and I'm off to bed."

Payne slapped him on the back. "Ye've been gone for three years and ye want tae be alone tonight?" he said, tugging on Sinclair's arm as he started to walk. "Tonight is a night we celebrate yer return, lad. Ye'll not be alone this night."

Sinclair let the man pull him along. "I've spent the last several weeks completely alone as I traveled home," he said. "I think I've grown accustomed to the peace and solitude. As much as I love all of you, I think it is going to take time for me to acclimate back into the group. It is an adjustment."

"Then we'll help," Payne insisted. "I'll tell ye about the latest missive I've received from my mother."

"The same mother who beat you regularly as a child and smokes hemp in a pipe?"

"The same."

Payne's Scottish mother was something of a legend in the Blackchurch annals. According to Payne, she was eight feet tall, as strong as an ox, could cook enough to feed half of the Highlands of Scotland, and swung an axe better than any man, among her many attributes. Some of the trainers doubted she was even real, but no one would question Payne about it. They looked forward to stories of his all-powerful mother. Real or not, she was part of her son and he was part of them.

They simply accepted her.

"I look forward to meeting your formidable mother someday," Sinclair said. "Invite her to Blackchurch sometime. Given her litany of skills, I do believe I would like to challenge her to a fight."

Payne flashed his big white teeth. "She's better with a sword than ye are."

"I would believe that."

Sinclair grinned. He didn't feel so much like being alone now. He had Payne on one side, Kristian on the other, and they kept up a running conversation all the way into Exebridge with its muddy, uneven streets and cramped cottages up the main throughfare. The Black Cock was near the village center and the windows were open, emitting light and faint conversation.

As the trio headed toward the tavern, a man went down the street lighting torches affixed to tall iron poles. They gave off light against the darkness, illuminating the street and providing a measure of safety. Exebridge also had the unusual feature of a night watch, something normally only done in the larger cities, but after too many outlaws used the forest as safe havens and, subsequently, harassed the citizens of Exebridge, they formed the night watch for the security of the village. It was no small coincidence that a few of the night watch were soldiers from Blackchurch's compound.

And that presence cut down on robberies and other unsavory activities considerably.

Just as the three of them reached the entry door to the tavern, someone went flying through one of the windows, landing in the street. Clearly there was a fight going on inside, and Sinclair opened the door to see half the common room in another brawl. That wasn't unusual in a place like this, so he and Payne and Kristian entered in time to see Elisiana standing on a chair with the Lion Tamer in her grip, yelling at the men to stop fighting. Anyone who ventured close to her was struck on the head, and as the three of them watched, she hit at least two men who tried to get her off the chair.

That had Payne moving in.

The Scotsman with the temper began bellowing at the combatants, who turned out to be only four men who were making a mess of the place. He put himself between Elisiana and the brawlers, shoving anyone away who came close to her. The fight calmed down unnaturally fast after that, and as Payne played mediator, Sinclair and Kristian headed for the private room that the Blackchurch knights usually occupied. Sinclair, however, went over to Elisiana as she stood on the chair and lifted his hands to her to help her down. When she saw him, she smiled and allowed him to. Payne wasn't even aware—he was still berating the combatants for fighting so violently in the presence of women.

He didn't even realize the lady he'd defended had gone off with another.

"I do not know what is wrong with men today," Elisiana said, following Sinclair away from the confrontation. "That is the third fight we have had. And this one over a dirty knife, of all things."

Sinclair watched Payne as he shoved a man into a chair, which tipped over. "Mayhap the full moon is bringing out the animal in them," he said. Then he gestured to the club. "I see you have the Lion Tamer at your side again."

Elisiana looked down at it, grinning. "You know the name if it, my lord?"

He nodded. "I've seen it used many a time."

She chuckled. "It has been my constant companion today," she said. "To tell you the truth, I do not like to use it. Only when there is no other choice."

"You are a woman of peaceful means, then."

"If I can be."

She was smiling at him, nodding, but he was gazing at her, too, and they both seemed to realize at the same time that they were staring at one another. As her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, Elisiana lowered the club and tucked it against the wall where it would rest until needed again.

"Now," she said, brushing off her hands as she faced him. "What can I bring you on this fine evening, my lord?"

"What does Hobbes have ready?"

"A few things," she said. "I have boiled beef, or a capon pie from the birds that needed to be slaughtered before they grew too old, or pork and beans left over from last week, which I would not recommend because they have all turned to mush. What is your pleasure, my lord?"

"The beef," he told her. "Bring plenty, along with bread and butter and anything else you have in the kitchens. My friends and I are hungry tonight."

"As you wish, my lord."

Suddenly, the fighting flared up again and they both looked over to see Payne caught in the middle of it. Someone knocked over a table with a candle used for light, and the tallow splashed on a nearby chair that started to burn. Kristian hadn't quite made it into the private room, and when the fight, and the fire, flared up, he went to help. Hobbes emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron and seeing the burning chair. He also happened to catch sight of Sinclair.

"What happened?" he asked. "Why are Payne and Kristian in the middle of a fight?"

"They are trying to disperse it," Sinclair said, noting that the chair was starting to smoke greatly and no one had moved to take it out. "I'll get the chair."

Reluctantly, he left Elisiana, heading over to the burning chair and grabbing it by a leg that wasn't burning yet. He dragged the thing out of the entry, out into the night. He kicked it into the gutter, watching it burn for a moment, before turning back to the tavern. The moment he did, Elisiana appeared beside him with a bucket of water, which she promptly tossed onto the furniture.

"There," she said as the fire was mostly doused. "That should ensure that no embers travel."

Since they were surrounded by closely packed homes and businesses built out of very flammable materials, Sinclair appreciated her foresight.

"Indeed," he said. "Well done, lady. You've saved Exebridge."

Elisiana grinned at him. "How heroic of me," she said. "You were the one who did the difficult task. I am simply riding on your laurels."

Sinclair laughed softly. "You are welcome to do that anytime," he said. "For a lady who wields the Lion Tamer quite ably, I suspect there is no end to your heroic talents."

"You know much about heroes, then?"

He shrugged. "I've been a knight for many, many years," he said. "I know a little something about men of valor."

"Is that why you've been away?" she said. When he looked at her curiously, she gestured in the general direction of the tavern. "Because the Blackchurch trainers came to greet you last night when you arrived. Hobbes said you were a Blackchurch trainer, too, but that you went away for a few years. He said you were fighting another man's war."

Sinclair nodded. "I was."

"May I ask where? If it is not too bold?"

Sinclair could only sense genuine interest on her part. She wasn't being pushy. Normally, he wouldn't speak about where he'd been or what he'd done, but with the woman he knew as Lisi asking, he was perhaps a bit less resistant about it. He'd come to the Black Cock hoping to see her, and now they were having the very conversation he'd hoped to have until Payne and Kristian joined his solitary party. With his colleagues occupied, he didn't want to waste the opportunity.

"It is not a bold question," he said. "I was in Flanders, fighting to regain a dukedom for the rightful heir."

Elisiana nodded in understanding. "I went to Brussels once with my father," she said. "We went to see an old friend of his, a man whose sole business was buying jewels and then selling them. He owned many mines."

It was Sinclair's turn to nod. "So you are well traveled, then," he said. "I was right."

"About what?"

"You are a lady."

She cast him a long look. "Just because I traveled to Brussels does not mean I am well traveled or nobility," she said. "It simply means I went there with my father."

"Who is your father?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but realizing he was trying to extract more information than she was willing to give, she grinned and shook her head.

"You think you are so terribly clever," she said. "It is none of your business who my father is."

Sinclair fought off a smile. "You brought him up, not I."

Her gaze lingered on him a moment. "I will make you a bargain," she said. "I will tell you who my father is if you tell me who your father is."

He pretended to seriously consider it. "Very well," he said. "I will tell you."

She lost all of her humor. She hadn't expected him to call her bluff. "You will?" she said. "Mayhap you should not."

"Why not?"

"Because I cannot tell you mine."

"But you said you would make a bargain. I am accepting your terms."

Unable to form a snappy reply, Elisiana lowered her gaze. "I should return inside, my lord," she said. "Hobbes will need help cleaning up after the fight."

"Wait." Sinclair stopped her before she could turn away. "I was only jesting with you. If you do not wish to tell me, I will respect that."

She paused, unable to look at him. "Thank you, my lord."

"If you do not wish to tell me that your father is the King of the Beggars, I will not force you."

Her head shot up, her eyes wide, but she could see the mirth on his face and realized he was teasing her again. That settled her down a good deal.

"How did you guess?" she said. "Someone must have told you."

Sinclair shook his head. "No one had to tell me," he said. "Or mayhap your father is the King of the Fae. Truly, only a man of such power and magic could have a daughter as beautiful as you."

She cocked her head. "Are you trying to flatter me into telling you who he is?"

"Is it working?"

"It is not."

Sinclair rubbed his hand over his chin so she wouldn't see him grin, but it was a futile effort. "Good," he said. "I am glad I did not spend too much time on it, then."

Her eyes were twinkling at him. "No harm in trying, I suppose," she said. "It was nice to hear the compliment, even if you were trying to manipulate me."

"That was not manipulation," he said, oddly serious. "You are beautiful. I've traveled the world enough to know such a woman when I see her. Your beauty is rare, Lisi. It seems quite out of place out here in the wilds of Devon."

Her cheeks were turning a delightful shade of pink. "Everyone has to be somewhere," she said. "I happen to be here, no matter how rare… well, how out of place I seem."

"I did not mean to offend you."

"You did not."

"Must you truly go back in and clean up? Hobbes has other women who work for him."

She turned her head toward the door. They could hear people moving around inside, casting shadows on the windows, and her hesitation was obvious.

"That is what I am paid for, my lord," she said. "To clean, to bring food, or anything else that is required, so I should like to keep my position. In fact, you ordered food when you came in. I shall fetch it for you."

"In a minute," he said. "Don't run off. Truly—I am sorry if I offended you by saying you were out of place here. I simply meant that you look as if you belong in a great castle, cherished by those around you."

She was already turned in the direction of the door, but she paused. "You sound like my father."

"The Fae King?"

"Exactly."

"He is not wrong."

"But that is not what I wanted."

Now we're getting somewhere , Sinclair thought. This ethereal, evasive woman who hid behind a shield of secrets was starting to crack a little. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so determined to find out about her, only that he was. For all of her beauty and bravery, there was something about her that seemed strangely sad. Her eyes glimmered with warmth, but deep down there was grief there, and he wasn't sure why. All he knew was that she was an enigma.

An enigma who had his interest.

He proceeded carefully.

"And this is what you wanted?" he said, gesturing to the tavern. "To break up fights and serve ungrateful men?"

She grinned. "They're not all ungrateful," she said. "They're certainly not as probing as you are. They accept me for who I am."

He wasn't surprised that she knew what he was up to. She seemed quite astute. Therefore, he put up his hands in a gesture of surrender or the conversation was going to be over sooner than he hoped.

"Then let us change the subject," he said. "We can speak of me if you wish. Ask me anything and I will answer."

With the empty bucket under her arm, Elisiana thought on that statement. Sinclair could see just by looking at her that she may be inclined to ask questions he didn't want to answer. If nothing else, the lady was sharp. Perhaps she was about to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Very well," she said. "But only for a moment. Truly, I must go back inside or Hobbes will wonder what has become of me."

Sinclair shrugged. "You are with me," he said. "No harm will come to you. Now, what do you wish to know?"

Elisiana cocked her head thoughtfully. "I cannot think of anything," she said. "You've told me where you came from. I know you serve at Blackchurch. What more is there to know?"

There was an insult in that statement, and a disappointing one at that. Sinclair could see that she wasn't nearly as curious about him as he was about her, and he felt some embarrassment. He also felt some irritation at himself for showing interest in a woman in the first place. In his experience, there wasn't anything redeemable about any of them. Self-centered, callous, and selfish. He should have known better. To save his pride, he simply conceded the point quickly.

"Nothing," he said. Then he gestured toward the tavern. "You should probably return before Hobbes comes looking for you. I should not want to get you into trouble by keeping you away from your tasks."

With that, he turned away from her and back to the chair, which was in the last stages of burning. He kicked at it, breaking it up so the embers would cool. He'd picked up the back of it, the only part still intact, with the intention of smashing it down into kindling, when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Mayhap you can tell me about Blackchurch. I would like to know more."

Chair still in hand, he turned to see Elisiana standing behind him. There was warmth in her eyes again as she looked at him, perhaps mirth because she knew she'd insulted him. Perhaps she meant to. Or perhaps she hadn't. In either case, he couldn't really tell if she was playing games with him, but then again, he supposed it was no worse than him trying to force secrets out of her.

Perhaps he deserved the insult after all.

"Very well," he said, tossing the chair aside. "What would you like to know?"

"How long have you served there?"

"Nine years."

"Do you like it?"

"Very much."

"May I visit sometime?"

"Any time you wish. But not at dawn or at dusk."

She didn't think Blackchurch was a place for visitors, but he hadn't told her she couldn't come. She felt rather special about that, as if he had granted her some manner of privilege.

"Mayhap I will," she said. "Where did you serve before that?"

Sinclair smiled weakly. "I was a master trainer at Kenilworth Castle," he said. "I grew up at Kenilworth, so they trained me. They knew my worth. I was their master swordsman until the opportunity at Blackchurch presented itself."

Elisiana was impressed. "Kenilworth is where only the greatest families send their children," she said. "And you were a master knight there?"

"For about five years."

"What did you do before that?"

He shrugged, leaning against the wall of the tavern and folding his enormous arms over his chest. "I was still with Kenilworth, but that was during the time of John's reign," he said. "It is a royal castle, you know. It always has been. I served in the royal ranks and fought battles for John that I rather would not have fought, but I was sworn to the king. I had no choice because I was a royal ward."

Elisiana was quite interested. "That makes sense," she said. "The House of de Reyne is quite prestigious."

He shrugged. "It was more that my mother's side of the family descended from the kings of Bernicia," he said. "John liked to keep his eye on anyone with ancient royal blood just in case they decided to challenge him for the throne."

Her eyebrows lifted. "And he kept an eye on you?"

"He did," he said. "When he saw my talent with a sword, I was practically forced into being a trainer to others. He did not want me leaving to serve one of his enemies and using my skill against him."

"But he let you come to Blackchurch?"

"I left Kenilworth right after he died," he said. "William Marshal permitted me to go to Blackchurch because I would be using my skills to train the most elite knights in the world. Not using my sword against young Henry or anyone opposed to his rule."

Her brow furrowed. "What does William Marshal have to do with it?"

Sinclair gave her a wry smile. "You do not know how the man controls the country, do you? Especially after John's death."

Elisiana shrugged, rubbing her arms against the chill that was now descending as the night deepened. "I remember from my days of fostering that…"

She suddenly stopped, looking at him with wide eyes when she realized that she gave him more information than she'd intended, and Sinclair snorted softly.

"I was right," he said. "You are nobility. Where did you foster, lass?"

Elisiana lost her humor, her interest in his conversation, and everything else. She stopped rubbing her arms and began to back away from him. "I'll not tell you," she said with a growing sense of alarm. "You'll not force me to go back, do you hear me? I'm happy here. I am living the life I want to live. If my father sent you, I swear I'll fight you to the death!"

He came off the wall, his hands lifted in supplication. "Sweetheart, your father did not send me," he said. "I swear this upon my oath as a knight."

She was shaking with fear, with anger. "Truly?" she demanded. "Do you promise?"

"Of course I promise," he said, somewhat gently. "Moreover, how could your father have sent me? In the first place, I do not know who he is. In the second place, you know I just returned from Flanders. Hobbes, and even my friends from Blackchurch, have confirmed this. Do you understand that?"

Elisiana was quite shaken. She gazed at him for several long moments before he began to see a hint of calm coming to her face. "I understand," she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Of course I understand. Please… forget what I said. I should not have said it. I apologize."

Sinclair was moving in her direction, watching her as she struggled. "There is nothing to apologize for," he said. "I am sorry if I frightened you."

She shook her head. "You did not mean to," she said, forcing a smile that was more like a grimace. "You said last night that I have secrets. I do not wish to reveal them, not to anyone, so please do not ask me again. Not anything."

"I will not," he said, his voice still gentle. "I have a few of my own. But one thing that is not a secret is the fact that I am an elite knight of noble birth. I have served the king. I now serve at Blackchurch. I am considered by everyone who knows me to be most trustworthy."

She eyed him, noticing that he was standing right in front of her now. "I… I would believe that."

"Good," he said. "Because if you are running from something, mayhap you should tell me so I can help you if the need arises. My intentions are only honorable, my lady, I swear it."

He could see in her eyes that his declaration touched her. But it also frightened her. After a moment, she simply shook her head and looked away. "Though I appreciate your offer, I do not wish to put any burden upon you," she said. "My situation is my own. It does not concern anyone but me."

Sinclair didn't push. He'd already pushed enough. He wasn't certain if it was wild curiosity that was making him push for the truth or a genuine desire to help her. The moment she thought he had been sent from her father, she'd taken on the look of a hunted animal. That gave him some indication as to what she was keeping hidden deep.

But she wasn't willing to share it.

"Very well," he said. "If you want to keep it to yourself, that is your privilege. But know I would be willing to help you should you need it."

She kept her gaze averted even as she nodded her head firmly. "I appreciate that," she said. "I do, very much. You are very kind."

"Will you tell me one thing?"

"If I can."

"Lisi is not your real name, is it?"

It was more of a statement than a question. She sighed faintly before shaking her head.

"Nay."

"May I ask what your Christian name is?"

"Elisiana. Lisi was what my family called me as a child."

A smile spread across his lips. "Elisiana," he repeated. "A beautiful name. I will not tell anyone."

She lifted her head then to look at him. "Thank you," she said. "I mean that. You have been very kind to me since we met, Sir Sinclair. I will not forget it."

"Call me Sin," he said. "My friends do. I would like you to be one of them."

She smiled in return. "I am honored," she said. "I never thought I would know a master knight from Kenilworth, much less a Blackchurch trainer, in my lifetime."

Before Sinclair could reply, Payne chose that moment to poke his head from the tavern, immediately spying them.

"What are ye doing out here?" he demanded. "Come inside, Sin. Stop flirting with my lass."

Before Sinclair could answer, Elisiana swung the bucket up into her arms and marched toward the door.

"I told you that I am not your lass, Payne," she said firmly. "You would do well to remember that."

Payne grinned as she walked past him. "'Tis just a matter of time before ye are," he said. "I'll wear ye down one way or the other."

"Never!" she called back to him as she headed toward the kitchens.

Payne watched her until she was out of sight. "What a woman," he said, sighing with appreciation. "Probably the one woman in all of England and Scotland that could take on my mother. She's fearless, that lass."

Sinclair could already see a problem. He hadn't really yesterday, but today, something was telling him there was going to be a problem between him and Payne, because the mere mention of Payne calling Elisiana "his woman" and Sinclair could feel his jealousy rise. Perhaps not jealousy so much as a strong sense of competition. He loved Payne like a brother and he was a good man, but Elisiana wasn't meant for a big, loud-mouthed Scotsman.

She was meant for other things.

Perhaps a former master knight from Kenilworth.

Careful , he thought to himself.

"I wish you luck, lad," he said as he passed by Payne on his way into the tavern. "That's a brave and stubborn lass."

Payne laughed as only he could—booming, joyful. "Ye sensed that, did ye?" he said as he followed him inside. "Truth be told, I think my mother already has a wife picked out for me, so I doubt I could bring Lisi home, but the fun is in the chase, isn't it? Like the hunters who chase down a beautiful stag only tae release it because they dunna have the heart tae kill it."

Sinclair frowned. "You want to hunt her?"

Payne laughed again. "Just for the thrill of the chase, lad," he said. "Nothing more."

Sinclair didn't say anything more. At the moment, he was too confused with what he was feeling about the situation. He let Payne slap him on the shoulder and follow him back to the private room, where Kristian was already sitting down to boiled beef and capon pie. Another serving wench, one that was old enough to be a grandmother, was serving them, and Sinclair sat down to a feast, listening to Payne talk about what had gone on in Sinclair's absence around Blackchurch.

Most interestingly, he mentioned that St. Abelard and some of his pirates had come for a few months, nearly jumping claim on Kristian's water-centric classes to teach some of the recruits how to board enemy vessels in the event of a battle. They were even teaching the recruits pirate ways when Kristian, Tay, and some of the other trainers, including St. Denis, regained control of the class and kicked them out. Sinclair had grinned his way through that conversation, imagining Triton's Hellions against the Blackchurch knights for supremacy of the lake where Kristian taught his classes.

He was sorry he missed it.

The conversation with Payne and Kristian went well into the night, something Sinclair had missed while in Toxandria, but every so often, Elisiana would pass into his line of sight and he would find his attention wandering. To watch her when she didn't know he was looking at her was a sight to behold, indeed.

She was a sight to behold.

It was good to be home.

Now for another reason.