Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

H e'd been watching him for the better part of an hour.

Sinclair started his recruit class at dawn, and the elusive Anteaus de Bourne was introduced to him by Tay, who told Sinclair that he'd needed Anteaus' help with his own dreg class for a couple of days and had thus kept the man occupied while Sinclair settled in. In fact, Sinclair had been wondering where de Bourne, a man he'd been told about, had gone to, and now here he was, in the flesh.

A very capable knight who seemed to have a better sword arm than most.

But Sinclair had been polite to him. Anteaus was a tall, well-built man with blond hair and intense, dark eyes. He had abnormally long arms, which was why he was probably so good with a sword, and Sinclair had thanked him for helping Cruz and Creston with the class. Anteaus had been gracious, telling Sinclair how highly the trainers spoke of him and expressing his wish to learn from the man even though Anteaus was as highly trained as most upper-nobility knights were. Moreover, he'd spent a good deal of time with his father's army in the north, fighting Scots and Northmen, and assisting his eldest brother, who was the Sheriff of Westmorland. It seemed to Sinclair that Anteaus had a good deal of opportunity through his father and eldest brother, but still, he wanted more.

He wanted Blackchurch.

That either concerned Sinclair or made him curious. The man was either secretly ambitious or simply wanted to be the best knight he could be. Sinclair wasn't sure which, not yet, but his friends seem to have a high opinion of Anteaus, and the man's strength seemed to be in the swordplay arena, so Sinclair wasn't opposed to an assistant if that's what Anteaus was best suited toward. Sinclair had never worked with one, preferring to operate his classes on his own, but he was older now and presumably wiser. He'd done a great deal already in his life, so if he wanted to stand back and instruct while a capable assistant handled the heavy physical training, then he reasoned that he'd earned that right.

But time would tell just how capable Anteaus truly was.

And if the man secretly wanted to usurp him.

Sinclair's class got underway at dawn, and it was another day of repetition. As Anteaus helped dole out the training weapons that the recruits were using, Sinclair stood on a rise above the field they were using, one that was next to Lake Cocytus, the body of water that all of Blackchurch was built around. Named after a lake in the ninth circle of hell, it was a fitting feature in the midst of the guild's training grounds. Sinclair could see Kristian's class about to embark on their seafaring training using three large cogs that were moored on the northern end of the lake. The same cogs that St. Abelard's hellions had tried to confiscate. They were pirates, after all. Sinclair was grinning at the memory of that particular conversation the previous night when Anteaus came up beside him.

"Everyone is armed, my lord," he said. "Is there anything else I may do for you?"

Sinclair looked at him. "You were not here for my first class yesterday."

"Nay, my lord."

Sinclair gestured to the group. "While I realize this class has been in sword training for a couple of weeks already, it has not been my training," he said. "I am taking everyone back to the basics right now, so I hope you can tolerate it."

Anteaus grinned. "I am the youngest of three brothers, my lord," he said. "I have been chased back to the basics by those bullies many times in my life. I do not mind it."

Sinclair fought off a smile. "You are Warwick trained, I'm told."

"Aye, my lord."

Warwick, Kenilworth, and Berkeley were some of the finest training grounds in England for knights, so Anteaus had an impeccable education. Truthfully, Sinclair could already see it in the man's manner. There was something strong and precise about him, so he could easily see why the trainers seemed to think that Anteaus was trainer material himself.

But Sinclair wanted the man to know whom he was so eager to learn from. Anteaus' education may have been impeccable, but Sinclair's was elite.

And he wanted to stress that.

"You know that I was a master knight at Kenilworth at one time," he said.

"I was told, my lord."

Sinclair cocked an eyebrow. "The point is that I have my own training system," he said. "Whatever these men have been taught over the past couple of weeks is about to be erased. We will embark on my training schedule now."

"I look forward to it, my lord."

"Do you?" Sinclair said. "Good. Because you are going to walk among the ranks and watch every wrist, every forearm. We are doing lifts today and will be doing them for the rest of the week. How a man lifts his sword, and grips the hilt, will prevent him from breaking a finger or injuring his wrist in battle, so we will be working on specific moves for the next several weeks. One move, repetitively made, until it is perfect. Then we move to the next one. Do you understand?"

"Implicitly, my lord."

"You may find it rudimentary."

"Anyone who feels that a basic move is a wasted effort will not long survive in battle, my lord," Anteaus said. "That is not how the world works."

Sinclair's gaze lingered on him a moment. "Well said," he said. "Now, let's get on with it."

Anteaus nodded, standing aside as Sinclair lifted his voice and gave the recruits the day's instruction. A simple lift, but an important one, moving the weapon into a defensive position.

Over and over again.

The class commenced.

Sinclair, too, walked among the ranks, watching the recruits as they lifted repeatedly. As he walked, he clapped his hands, forcing the men to move to the beat. He went to stand next to Thomas Ram, who was trying very hard to be graceful with his lift. Being a farmer, he'd never really held a weapon with skill before, only strength, but because Sinclair liked him, he was willing to be less harsh with him. In fact, he had Anteaus pull Thomas aside, personally instructing him on how to lift the weapon because most in the class were already trained knights and were able to do the move with ease.

He didn't want Thomas to fall behind.

Into the morning it went. When the men were showing signs of exhaustion lifting the weapon with their dominant hand, Sinclair had them switch to their non-dominant hand. That was more of a challenge. The recruits seemed to slow down a little because of it, and Sinclair was forced to clap his hands again in rhythm, compelling them to keep pace. He went over to see how Thomas was doing with Anteaus and had to admit that he was impressed by the man's patience and skill. But he also had to admit he was still suspicious of a Warwick-trained knight infiltrating his class. As he turned away from the pair, he caught sight of someone approaching from the village.

It took him all of two seconds to realize it was Athdara and another woman.

Elisiana.

Pleased to see her but trying desperately not to look like it, he made his way in her direction, coming up from the sloping training field. When Athdara saw him coming, she lifted her hand and waved.

"Sin!" she called. "I've brought you a visitor!"

Sinclair couldn't help the smile then. Both Athdara and Elisiana were grinning at him, so he returned the gesture.

"So I see," he said, his focus shifting mostly to Elisiana. "I told you to visit any time that wasn't dawn or dusk or mealtime. And here you are."

Elisiana nodded. "You did not say that I could not come today, but this is the day that Hobbes has given me to rest," she said. "I have already completed my chores, so I thought I would visit. I hope my visit is not inconvenient."

Sinclair glanced at Athdara, who was looking at him as if she knew something he didn't. Perhaps she knew that the serving wench might have a romantic inclination toward him. Or he toward her. Perhaps she wanted to tease him about it. In any case, she was smiling so annoyingly that Sinclair wanted to give her a shove or a sneer, anything to chase her off just like he would an irritating sister. It was difficult to keep his composure when Athdara was a hairsbreadth away from taunting him about it.

"Nay, it is not inconvenient," he said, but then he turned to Athdara. "How did you come to be the escort?"

Athdara gestured toward the gatehouse. "Today is market day in Exebridge and I went there early this morning," she said. "I saw Lisi at the gatehouse upon my return and she told me why she had come, so I invited her in. If you are in the middle of your instructions, I can bring her to my cottage until you are done. I've not seen her in a while."

"You know each other?"

Athdara nodded. "Tay takes me to the Black Cock from time to time, and Lisi and I have met," she said. "But I've never had much opportunity for a conversation because she is always working."

"I have been honored by your attention, Lady Munro," Elisiana said. "Although I realize we are not of the same social station, I've enjoyed the brief conversations we've had."

Athdara rolled her eyes. "Brief conversations as men yell, or fight, and minstrels play, and you are in great demand to bring food and drink to the masses," she said. "And I do not care about social station. I do not have many female friends here, so it would be nice to talk to someone new."

Sinclair shook his head and reached out to grasp Elisiana by the wrist. "She has come to see me ," he said. "Go away, Valkyrie. You can talk to her another time."

"Valkyrie?" Elisiana repeated as Sinclair gently pulled her away from Athdara. "Is that your name, my lady?"

Athdara shook her head, displeased that Sinclair was taking charge. "Nay," she said. "It is a nickname. I'll explain it to you another time."

Long ago, Athdara had actually been a recruit at Blackchurch and her moniker had been "Valkyrie." Sinclair didn't want her to explain all of that to Elisiana now, not when his time was limited, so he waved his hand at her in a dismissive gesture.

"Thank you for your escort, Lady Munro," he said. "You are no longer needed. Go. "

Athdara frowned. "I understand," she said. "But you do not have to be rude."

"If I was being rude, I would have said, ‘Begone, witch,'" he said, casting her a threatening glance. "I still might if you do not leave promptly."

Athdara fought off a grin. "I am going to tell my husband what you said."

"Tell him. I'm not afraid of that big bull."

Athdara was giggling as she walked away, which told Elisiana that they were teasing one another. She thought it was rather sweet the way they got along. In fact, after a long night of lying awake and thinking about the mysterious Sinclair de Reyne, she had come to the conclusion that he was rather sweet.

And that's why she was here.

"Truly, if this is inconvenient, you only need tell me," she said. "I've never been to Blackchurch before, so this might be a misplaced impulse on my part."

Sinclair's smile broadened. "Not at all," he said. "I am happy to have you visit, though I am in the middle of a class. We can talk while the recruits run through an exercise."

"Are you sure you do not need to pay close attention?"

"I have an… assistant who is helping," he said, eyeing Anteaus in the distance. "At the moment, I'm simply observing and making sure everyone is completing their exercise correctly."

The subject seemed settled. Elisiana smiled timidly, nearly forgetting the basket she had tucked under her arm. It was partially covered by her cloak, and she produced it, holding it up for him to see.

"Because I have never been one to be idle, sometimes during my rest days, I make food for the tavern," she said, uncovering the basket. "I've brought you some. Surely you must eat midday, so if you like, you can have this."

Sinclair peered into the basket, poking around at what seemed to be a veritable feast. "It smells delicious," he said. "What did you bring?"

Elisiana watched him inspect the offerings. In fact, she hadn't been able to take her eyes off the man since she saw him only a few moments ago. He was glorious by candlelight in the darkness, but in the daylight, he was positively magnificent.

Her heart was pounding simply from looking at him.

She had planned this day well. This wasn't simply a random decision to take him up on his invitation of a visit to Blackchurch. This was something she had been calculating since last night because the conversation had been both curious and enlightening. Normally, Elisiana didn't spend a lot of time speaking with patrons of the Black Cock. Not that they weren't able to carry on a conversation, but most of them weren't there to talk. They were there to eat and drink and be left alone. Therefore, she had become accustomed to simply delivering food or clearing away dirty dishes. Sometimes, she helped Hobbes manage the kitchens because of her training as a chatelaine. The truth was that not only was she an extremely proficient chatelaine, but she knew a little something about everything that had to do with running a house and hold, and that included cooking.

Drawing wasn't her only talent.

While it was unseemly for a noblewoman to cook or do anything that was considered the duties of the servants, Elisiana liked to cook a great deal. When she had fostered at Alnwick, the cook had been from Bavaria and the woman made all sorts of incredible dishes. Elisiana had spent a good deal of her time in the kitchen, managing the stores as well as the schedule of meals, so inevitably she spent time with the tall, round woman with the great belly laugh. She and the cook had become friends, as much as a noblewoman and a servant could be, and the woman had imparted her knowledge of dishes upon her. Elisiana learned to make a good deal of traditional Bavarian dishes along with some Parisian and English dishes as well.

She brought these talents to the Black Cock, and one of the very first things she ever did for Hobbes was cook. He saw fairly quickly the talent he had in her. Taverns normally weren't terribly elaborate with their dishes, but with the addition of Elisiana, they had become quite upscale as far as taverns went. Therefore, on her day of rest, she loved working in the kitchens, making breads with different flavors and textures as well as pies and other delights. After Sinclair invited her to visit Blackchurch, she had begun planning last night what she would bring to him today. Perhaps it was foolish of her, thinking this man wanted anything she should bring him, but watching him eagerly pull forth a ginger cake with honey and pepper, she was hoping that it wasn't so foolish after all.

Someone once said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.

Maybe his heart was her ultimate goal.

Maybe.

"Those are ginger and honey wafers," she said, watching him pop one in his mouth. "They're made from breadcrumbs and honey and pepper and then baked."

Sinclair chewed twice before pausing and closing his eyes in delight. "God's Bones," he muttered. "This is delicious. Did you actually prepare them yourself?"

Elisiana nodded. "I've learned how to make dishes over the years," she said. "I do believe that is why Hobbes allowed me to stay those months ago. He wanted to exploit my skill with food."

Sinclair put another one in his mouth. "I do not blame him," he said. "But how did you come to the Black Cock in the first place? Exebridge is not exactly well traveled. Were you simply journeying through?"

Her smile faded. "I think we should establish something right away," she said. "I will not ask about your past and you will not ask about mine. Agreed?"

He swallowed what was in his mouth. "Agreed," he said. "But it makes it a little difficult to have a conversation if all you will speak of are the past six months of your life."

She shrugged. "What about my future?" she said. "Will you ask me about that?"

He nodded and took the basket from her. "I will," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "Come over here and watch my class train, and you can tell me about your future."

Elisiana's heart threatened to pound right out of her chest as he held her hand. It didn't seem to be in a romantic gesture, or affectionate, but simply companionable. At least for him, but for her, it meant more than that. He pulled her over to the top of a rise, and down below was an entire gang of men raising a sword and lowering it in rhythm. Up, down. Up, down. Beyond them was a stone wall and another field where men seemed to be doing something else, and then at the very base of the hill was a beautiful lake spread out before them. It was a large lake, in fact, and off to the north, she could see three cogs moving in unison. She pointed.

"There are ships out there," she said. "Is that part of Blackchurch, too?"

Sinclair looked off to the north, seeing the fine cogs. "Aye," he said. "That is Kristian's class. He is a Northman and his expertise is fighting on water, so that is what he is teaching."

She looked at him curiously. "Kristian?"

Sinclair let go of her hand and dug into the basket again. "Big lad," he said, pulling out another ginger wafer. "Hair to his shoulders, the color of honey. Dark blue eyes. Young. He and Payne are close friends."

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Ah," she said. " Him. Aye, I know who he is, but Payne always calls him ‘Princeling.'"

"He is," Sinclair said, chewing. "He's the son of a king."

That surprised her. "And he teaches at Blackchurch? He is not ruling his people?"

Sinclair looked at her, winking. "You are not the only one with a past that is not spoken of," he said. "Most of us have things we do not wish to discuss."

"Even you?"

"Especially me."

Since Elisiana understood that kind of thing, and she'd already established their conversation rules, she didn't push him. Instead, she looked to the group of men training below. There had to be forty or fifty of them, all of them lifting a sword and lowering it. Raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she watched a couple of men working together as one tried to show the other one how to hold the hilt. The second man, the one being taught, seemed rather clumsy, but eager. The rest of the recruits, however, seemed quite proficient.

"How do men come to be trained at Blackchurch?" she asked, changing the subject away from their obvious secrets. "Are they special men? Do you select them?"

Sinclair swallowed the last of the ginger wafer. "In a way, we do," he said. "Anyone can come to Blackchurch for training, but they must pass a variety of tests to prove their worthiness."

"What kind of test?"

"Strength, endurance, skills to a certain extent," he said. "A man, or woman, must prove they have the foundation of what is necessary to become a Blackchurch-trained warrior. And there is no failure—if they fail at any of the tests, then they must wait a full year to try again. If they happen to make it through the initiation tests and then fail in any one of the courses we teach during the course of their training, they are out."

"Forever?"

"For a full year. That is the rule."

Elisiana turned her attention back to the field of men lifting the sword, over and over again. "Are the classes at Blackchurch given in any order?" she asked.

He nodded. "They are," he said. "Tay is the first course that any dreg faces."

"Dreg?"

"New recruits until they pass Tay's course of endurance and strength."

"What's next?"

"Fox comes next," he said. "Recruits learn how to fight with small weapons, how to protect themselves and others. Things like that. I follow with swordsmanship classes. I teach them how to fight with a sword. After that, the classes usually split into two. Some will train with Payne, some with Kristian. As this is going on, other classes are with Creston teaching interrogation and torture, with Cruz teaching diplomacy and politics, or with Ming Tang teaching how to fight without a weapon. Then there is Bowen to teach about knightly honor and warrior etiquette, and after that to Amir, who teaches them military tactics and history. If a recruit fails to excel in any one of these classes, they are dismissed."

Elisiana pushed some stray hair out of her eyes. "That seems very sad," she said. "To go through all of that only to be dismissed if you make a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. They should be given another chance."

"They are when they are permitted to try again," Sinclair said. "We are not a school of failure. We do not believe in learning from one's mistakes. We believe in doing it right the first time."

"That seems harsh."

"Not if we are training the most elite warriors in the world."

She conceded the point. "I suppose," she said. "I am assuming recruits pay to attend Blackchurch?"

Sinclair nodded. "They either pay outright or they pledge a percentage of the money they receive from a new position when they finish their training," he said. "It usually takes a recruit about five years to get through all of our training. The men you see in my class have been here at least nine months, if not more."

"Do they pay again if they fail?"

"Certainly."

It seemed like a unforgiving way to run a business, but then again, they were training the most elite warriors in the world.

Perfection was the standard.

"And you?" she said. "Did you have to go through the training, too?"

"Of course I did," he said. "Initially, I went through it to return to Kenilworth to use methods to teach our own knights, but Lord Exmoor offered me a position as the master swordsman and I accepted."

"And it has been lucrative for you?"

"Verily."

Elisiana pondered that. As she watched, the recruits switched hands and began lifting with the left one while Sinclair took a few steps toward them, clapping out a beat of repetition. But her gaze moved around the guild, for it was a good deal of property as far as the eye could see, all of it nestled around the large lake. There were stone walls creating pens where the recruits were working, and she could see several groups of them dotted throughout the landscape. Everyone working toward one goal—to survive Blackchurch and to become an elite warrior, ready to face the world. It was on such a grand scale that the entire guild was most impressive. She was watching the cogs in the distance again when Sinclair caught her attention.

"The class is going to break for a rest period and some food," he said. "Would you like me to show you around?"

She lifted the basket still in her hands. "Don't you want to eat?"

He grinned and took it from her. "I did not want to be rude, since you came for a visit," he said. "I was willing to show you the grounds, but if you insist, I shall eat first."

Down the slope, men were sitting, some of them lying down, recovering from hours of lifting a sword. They were waiting for servants to come down from the kitchens near the cloister to provide them with cheese and bread and fruit. Sinclair sat down on the cool green grass, as did Elisiana, the basket between him as he began to pull out more delights.

"I feel like a king," he said, food in both hands. "And quite pampered. Thank you for bringing this."

Elisiana smiled. "You are welcome," she said. "I… I suppose I also wanted to apologize for last night."

"Why?"

"Because you tried to help me with the fight and I made it difficult," she said. "I did not mean to seem ungrateful."

"Ah," he said. "So your true motive is revealed. You did not come simply to visit me. You came to ply me with food as an apology."

She laughed softly. "That is not true," she said. "Well, not entirely. I enjoy speaking to you and I cannot say that about many people. The food is merely so you wouldn't turn me away so quickly."

He shoved part of a meat pie into his mouth. "Clever," he said as he chewed. "But I would not send you away in any case. I do not have the chance to speak to many women like you."

"Serving wenches?"

He shook his head. "You are most definitely no t a wench," he said. "I meant well spoken. I suppose if I knew more about you, we might know some of the same people and the same places. But I am afraid to venture into questions of a personal nature lest you run away and take your food with you."

She hung her head a little, unable to really look him in the eye. "Do you know why else I came today?"

"Why?"

"To make sure you really were a Blackchurch trainer."

His gaze lingered on her a moment as he understood her meaning. "You mean that you wanted to make sure I hadn't lied to you by telling you I was a Blackchurch trainer when I was really one of your father's men?"

"Exactly."

He put another bite in his mouth. "Look around you," he said. "This is my domain. This is where I belong. I am part of Blackchurch and it is part of me."

"Were you born in Devon?"

He shook his head. "Nay," he said, swallowing the bite in his mouth before continuing. "I do not speak of my past, Lisi. But I will tell you what you want to know. I suppose it is no great secret. I simply do not wish to talk about myself."

He handed her half of the pie he'd been eating. "You do not have to," she said. "I understand well the need for privacy."

"It is not privacy," he said quietly. "The truth is that my birth, and upbringing, is inglorious."

"Shameful?"

"Not really," he said. He dug around in the basket a little more, and Elisiana wasn't sure he was going to finish that thought until he began to speak quietly. "My father was the second of four brothers. Our family line can be traced back to the days of the Duke of Normandy. I had an ancestor who was part of his squad of knights, highly trained men who led the battle for him. They called themselves the anges de guerre ."

"Angels of war," Elisiana translated softly. "Sounds fearsome."

"Aye, they were," Sinclair said, shifting so he was lying on his left side, propped up by an elbow. "Very fearsome. My father had that sense of warfare in his blood—he was a brutal, aggressive knight. All he knew was war and death. There was very little humanity about him."

"What was his name?"

"Rhodes de Reyne."

"Where did he serve?"

"Thropton Castle," he said. "That is the seat of the House of de Reyne, at least our branch of the family. He served his eldest brother and hated it with a passion. He was always at odds with him, especially when his brother gifted the younger brothers with property and gave Rhodes nothing. So Rhodes became something of an outlaw. Traveled around with a band of unscrupulous bachelor knights, stealing and looting to gain his fortune. He caused a good deal of trouble, including his meeting with my mother."

Elisiana was listening with interest. "What happened?"

"As the story goes, she was traveling north to Coldingham Abbey with her father because she was destined to take the veil," he said. "My father and his outlaw friends attacked their escort, killed the soldiers, and robbed them. My father, who was drunk, saw my beautiful mother and abducted her. Took her straight to the nearest church, forced the priest to marry them, bedded her, and didn't remember any of it the next morning. When he woke up and found her in his bed, he accused her of lying about how she got there."

Elisiana's mouth was open in outrage. "How terrible for her," she said. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "The priest confirmed they were married, so my father accepted what he had done," he said. "He went back to the site of the ambush and found my mother's father tied to a tree. He'd been there all night. My father told him what he had done. Oddly enough, my grandfather accepted his fealty, and my father tried to settle down after that. He returned with my mother and her father back to their home and attempted to resume a normal life."

Elisiana shook her head. "After all that, how could he?" she said. "He stole your mother's life away."

"He did," Sinclair agreed. "But this is where it becomes fortuitous, as least for my father. As it turned out, my mother was a descendant of the kings of Bernicia. Her father was Lord Ebchester, descended from St. Ebba, a Bernician princess, so when my grandfather died, my father inherited the title through my mother and all of the property, which was substantial. What his brother wouldn't give him, he ended up acquiring by marriage. Ironic, is it not?"

Sitting on the other side of the basket, fiddling with a blade of grass, Elisiana smiled. "Did it finally make him happy?"

Sinclair sat up, his gaze moving over the recruits in the field, the lake, the sky. "I do not know," he said. "I had two sisters, born right after me, and my father was killed in an ambush after the second child was born. My mother, in a state of apparent grief, decided to finish what she'd started those years ago when planning to take the veil. She went to Coldingham Abbey, my sisters were given to relatives, and I was sent to Kenilworth Castle because my uncle, the eldest de Reyne brother, made arrangements to send me there after my father's death. I was not quite five years of age."

Elisiana's smile was gone. "You were so young," she said. "I'm so very sorry, my lord."

He glanced at her. "What did I tell you last night?"

"You told me many things last night," she said. "To what do you refer?"

"I told you to call me Sin."

A smile tugged at her mouth. "My apologies," she said. "I'd forgotten."

"No harm done."

"Are you named for someone?" she said. "Is Sinclair a family name?"

He snorted. "Not that I am aware of," he said. "The rumor is that my grandfather named me. You see, my mother's name was Claire. I was born from sin. Hence, Sinclair."

Her mouth popped open. "That is a terrible thing if that is true," she said. "It is a terrible person who would saddle a child with a name like that. It's not true. And the circumstances around your birth were not your fault."

"Your defense is flattering, but unnecessary. It is my name. I am not ashamed of it."

She simply shrugged. The basket was in front of her, and because everyone in the field was eating now that the servants had come to dispense some food, she peered into it to see that there were a few ginger wafers left as well as some cheese. She pulled out the cheese with one hand and a ginger wafer with the other.

"Regardless of your name, or how you came to be, you have done very well for yourself," she said, taking a bite of the white cheese. "Losing your parents at such a young age could have been quite damaging. But you did not let it stop you, and that is an admirable quality."

He saw that she had a ginger wafer in her hand and reached into the basket to confiscate the other two. "I had no choice, really," he said, popping one in his mouth. "I was fortunate that the castellan of Kenilworth's wife took me under her wing because I was so young. Lady Bethania was her name, and she was very kind to me. Raised me as one of her own children until I was eight and her husband insisted I become a page. But I will always be grateful for the stability she brought to my life. I was fortunate."

"And you hold no hard feelings toward your mother for abandoning you?"

He shook his head. "My father changed her life so drastically," he said. "She had always intended to take the veil, not become the mother of three small children. When he died… I remember that she cried for days. She spent that time in the chapel of Ebchester, praying and weeping, and when she was done, that was when she decided to send her children away and take the veil as she had always intended. I honestly do not know if she is alive or dead. I've never cared enough to find out."

"You resent her, then?"

He shrugged. "Not resent," he said. "She did what she had to do. But I do not intend to open up the wounds of a five-year-old child who did not understand at the time. I still remember the fear, the abandonment. I remember the men that came to take me to Kenilworth. I cried for my mother but she did not come to me. But that is all the past now and I've no desire to dredge anything up. Sometimes it is better to simply let things lie."

"And your sisters?"

"Ophelia and Eloise," he said. "They, too, came to Kenilworth, but not until they were older. I did not even know who they were until Ophelia told me. They did not seem to want much to do with me, so I returned the favor. I do not know what became of them after they spent a couple of years fostering at Kenilworth."

"Do you ever wonder?"

"Nay."

Elisiana let the conversation fade, thinking of her own life and how different it was from his. She had her parents, her brother, and had been raised in luxury and comfort all of her life. Even when she was fostering. Running away from home had been the most exciting, or terrifying, thing she'd ever done, and she was acting as if she was the only person who had ever done anything so questionable. As if she had suffered more turmoil than anyone alive.

But Sinclair had suffered far more than she could have ever imagined.

It made her feel foolish that she thought she'd had the worst of it.

"Pevensey," she said quietly.

He looked at her. "What did you say?"

She took a deep breath and met his gaze. "You asked me where I fostered," she said. "Pevensey Castle."

It was clear from his expression that he was surprised she had answered him, belated though it was.

"I've never been there," he said after a moment. "I've heard it is quite large."

She nodded. "Large and busy," she said. "I learned everything a lady could learn but have a particular talent for drawing. I like to draw very much."

"Oh?" he said with interest. "Do you still?"

"When I have the time and the materials."

"May I see your drawings sometime?"

With an embarrassed smile, she lowered her gaze. "Probably not," she said. "You see, I was sent home from Pevensey because of my drawings. They were not what a proper lady would draw. Lady de Valcourt was scandalized by them, so she sent me home."

He frowned. "God's Bones," he said, somewhat incredulous. "What on earth did you draw?"

Elisiana was quickly backed into a corner. She hadn't intended to talk about this aspect of her life, but she'd brought the subject up. There was no use avoiding it now that he was asking about it.

"I draw pictures of women," she admitted. "Men and women, actually. Romantic drawings that I was able to sell for a great deal of money. But the women, most of the time… are without apparel."

His eyebrows shot up. "You draw nude women?"

He said it with a bit of volume, and she hissed at him, quieting him. "Please," she begged. "I should not have told you, but you had told me so much about yourself that I… Oh, God's Bones. Please do not tell anyone, because if Hobbes hears, he will dismiss me. And I need this position."

Sinclair could see how upset she was and hastened to reassure her. "I'll not tell anyone, I promise," he said, reaching out to grasp her hand because she was clearly nervous. "I'm very glad you told me. It means you are a brave woman, much braver than I imagined. It takes great courage to do something that you are passionate about."

She eyed him warily. "Passionate, aye," she said. "I am very passionate about my drawings, and I am very good at it. But what I draw is considered unseemly by some."

He chuckled. "Aye, it is, but it is wonderful," he said. "Proper women bore me to tears. I like women with fire and brilliance and the courage to do something different."

She was starting to calm down a little. "Do you?"

He nodded. "Very much," he said, smiling. "Is that why you've run off? Because of these drawings? Don't tell me your father wants to punish you because of them."

She shook her head. "I ran off because he wants me to marry a fool of his choosing," she said stubbornly. "I will not do it. I will not marry that pasty-faced imbecile who leers at me and smells like cheese."

In those few short sentences, Sinclair knew everything he needed to know about the mysterious Elisiana.

It had been an eye-opening morning, indeed.

In truth, he wasn't sure why he'd told her so much about himself, only that she was easy to talk to. It all came pouring out. In turn, she had felt comfortable with him, and the conversation, and some dark little secrets of her own came tumbling out. Running from an arranged marriage, drawing naked women… He'd been honest when he told her that proper women bored him to tears. He liked women with a sense of adventure.

Elisiana had that and more, evidently.

"So you ran," he said. "Is there a chance he will find you?"

She shrugged. "Possibly," she said. "We live in Cornwall."

"You did not run very far."

"I did not have the means to do so," she said. "What I managed to bring with me was stolen, so my only choice was to find work to earn money and I have—with Hobbes."

"Who is your father?"

She hesitated. "If you think to send him a missive to tell him where I am and collect a reward, you will be disappointed," she said. "I am certain he would not pay for such information. My father is quite tight with his purse strings."

Sinclair grinned and shook his head. "You are quite mistrustful."

"I've learned to protect myself."

"Understandable," he said. "But I have better things to do than write fathers about their errant daughters. Besides, if he found you, I would feel bad."

"Why?"

"Because I would have no fiery lass to talk to and tell me about her sinful drawings."

Elisiana fought off a grin. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but merely the fact that she'd grown accustomed to keeping her secrets buried deep. But he already knew a good deal about her thanks to a lovely morning and good food. Yet he didn't seem the greedy type. He was a well-paid trainer for Blackchurch, a former master knight from Kenilworth, and she doubted there were many men in England with more honor than he.

She relented.

"Do you promise not to tell anyone or send word to my father?" she said after a moment.

He nodded. "You have my vow."

She sighed. "Then I suppose I will tell you in case you happen to see his standards in town," she said. "You can warn me. My father is Adriano Celestino Fernandez y de Verra, head of the House of de Verra and the hereditary holder of the title Conde de Pontevedra . Our home, in Cornwall, is Fremington Castle and my father's colors are red and blue with a sea serpent in the center. I've been at the Black Cock for six months and he has yet to make his way to Exebridge, but I am certain my luck will not hold out forever. At some point, I will be moving on."

Sinclair was listening seriously, becoming increasingly impressed with what he was hearing. "Your father is an Aragon earl?" he asked.

"Castilian," she said. "Pontevedra is a port city and the title has been in my father's family for centuries. But do not think he is a noble earl, because he is not. My father bears some secrets as well. His cousin is Santiago de Fernandez, the fearsome pirate. His home port is Pontevedra, my father's town, but my father also lets him hide his ships at Fremington, which sits on the River Taw. Santiago pays my father a tribute from his raids on the English coast for the privilege."

The information was becoming more impressive by the moment, and Sinclair chuckled. "Incredible," he said. "Have you ever met Santiago?"

She waved him off. "Too many times to count," she said. "He is big and loud and drinks too much, but he always brings me expensive gifts that I'm sure he has stolen from a queen or a princess somewhere. He tells me that I am his very favorite niece and that he loves me more than my father."

Sinclair smiled. "I do not blame him," he said. "But when you ran, why did you not run to him? Mayhap he would have protected you."

She nodded. "He would have," she said. "But he was out to sea at the time, so I had no choice but to find my own safe haven. But I suppose I could find him and become a pirate."

Sinclair struggled not to laugh at the thought of a lady pirate. "Do you think he would accept your fealty?"

She looked at him to see that his eyes were twinkling with mirth. "You do not think he would?" she said. "You would be wrong. If he knew how much I hated this man my father wishes for me to marry, he would allow me to serve him. He would not force me to return. Mayhap he would even make me a captain of one of his ships, and then I would be the most fearsome pirate of all."

Sinclair did chuckle, then. "That I can see," he said. Then he threw a thumb back in the direction of Exmoor Castle. "You do know that the Lords of Exmoor are related to St. Abelard de Bottreaux and the pirates known as Triton's Hellions, don't you?"

Elisiana shook her head. "Nay," she said. "I've not heard that. But I think I have heard of Triton's Hellions. I think my father has mentioned them."

Sinclair waggled his eyebrows. "If your cousin is Santiago de Fernandez, then I am sure he and St. Abelard have gone up against one another from time to time," he said. "Abelard controls the Bristol Channel to the north, and if your cousin is docking his ships in Fremington, that is fairly close to the channel. They have surely had run-ins with one another."

"Santiago has cannons," Elisiana said. "Big, loud things. He is very proud of them."

Sinclair chuckled, shaking his head at the thought of a well-armed pirate as his attention moved to the lake and the cogs that were moving southward on the water. He thought about Abelard and his men trying to take the Blackchurch cogs, which did not have cannons. Probably for the better, or he would have returned to a much different Blackchurch.

One with holes in it.

"Well," he said after a moment, "it would seem that you have more in common with Blackchurch than you realized. You both have pirate relatives."

"I am not certain that is something to be proud of."

He looked at her, laughing softly. "Probably not," he said. "But thank you for telling me about your father. If I see his standards, I will be able to warn you."

"I would appreciate it," she said. "I must earn a little more money before I set off to London."

"Why are you going there?"

"To sell my drawings," she said. "That is where I intend to live. I think I could make good money selling them to women who would appreciate them."

He fell silent for a moment, mulling over her plans. "And that is the future you wanted me to ask about?" he said. "It is very ambitious."

"I know," she said. "But I know I can do it. I have the talent. I can go door to door, to every house in London, and sell my drawings or even accept commissions. I can draw people very well."

He looked at her. "Can you draw me?"

She looked at him, smiling. "Of course I can."

He fought off a grin, moving to face her. "Do you need me to sit still for you while you do it?"

She shook her head. "I can do it from memory."

He thought that was rather impressive. "Can you?" he said. "Then get a good look at me. My class is resuming in a few minutes and you'll not see me again until tonight. Can you draw it this afternoon?"

"I can," she said. "But I need to inspect you. May I?"

He had no idea what she meant until she crawled over to him, on her knees, and lifted her hands to his face. He sat stock-still while her fingers drifted over his cheeks, his chin, his nose, and his forehead. In fact, the mood of their conversation was quickly changing.

Now he was the one with a thumping heart.

There was something profoundly intimate about her touch to his face. He closed his eyes when she reached his forehead, feeling every flit of her fingers as if it were a lightning bolt. They were making him quiver, something magical flowing from her touch and into him, though his skin and into his veins like the headiest wine. His head was beginning to swim, but in a delightful way. When he finally opened his eyes again, Elisiana was right in front of him, just a few inches away, looking at his chin. When she saw that he was looking at her, her cheeks turned pink.

"You have a dimple in your chin," she said. "I must make sure to include that in the drawing."

She sounded breathless. As breathless as he felt. Quite honestly, he'd never felt this way before, but the more he looked into her pale blue eyes, the more he couldn't seem to breathe. But a shout off to his right captured his attention and he turned to see Anteaus ordering the men onto their feet. The rest period was over.

For Sinclair, too.

He took one of her hands, still on his face, and kissed it.

"I will expect to see that drawing tonight," he said, standing up and pulling her to her feet. "And if you make me look like a toad, I shall be very upset with you."

Wide-eyed at his kiss, Elisiana started to giggle. "Please?" she said. "Just a little like a toad?"

He turned his nose up at her. "Nay," he said. "I'll swat you like a naughty child, I swear it."

She was still gigging as he released her hand and was able to bend down and pick up her basket, which was now empty. His men were gathering, ready to resume their training, and Sinclair smiled at her as she brushed the grass off her cloak.

"Thank you," he said softly. "This was such a memorable visit. I am very glad we have become friends, Lady Elisiana."

She couldn't help but smile in return. "I am glad also," she said. "But I will not keep you any longer. I know you have these men to train."

"I do," he said. "But I will see you tonight."

"I look forward to it, Sin."

He snorted softly. "Good lass," he said. "You are learning to use my name."

She chuckled, moving away from him with some reluctance. She really didn't want to go, but she knew she had to. He was busy, and she evidently had a drawing to complete with the rest of her day.

"Best of luck with your class today," she said. "I have things to attend to as well."

"Like my drawing?"

"Of course."

"No toad. Remember that."

She laughed, casting him a rather flirtatious look, and headed off the way she'd come. Sinclair watched her go, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared from view. He was still smiling when he turned back to his class, only to realize that they were all watching him. Every single one of them was watching and waiting for the next command. Feeling like an idiot at being caught watching a woman, Sinclair came at them with a vengeance.

For the recruits of Sinclair de Reyne, the second part of the day was much more difficult than the first. But for Sinclair himself, he realized he couldn't wait for class to be over.

He had a drawing to see.