FOR HONOR’S SAKE

When Clara became a midwife, she vowed to preserve life above all. She’ll keep that vow, even if it means defying a Norman baron by hiding a Saxon slave and her child. Yet when the ruthless lord threatens Clara’s village—and her life—she’s forced to rely on another Norman to keep her safe.

Kenneth D’Entremont is a soldier, one who takes lives instead of healing them. Clara despairs of finding any common ground with him. But when he begins guarding her, she learns to see him in a new light. His care and compassion make her feel safe…even loved. Can she bring herself to put her secrets, and her heart, under the protection of the warrior?

“Be thankful that even though I threw you in the dungeon yesterday, I will also lay down my life for you, for this I have pledged to my lord to do.”

Clara would not be lured away by the sudden turn of his temper. Scoffing, she tossed up her bandaged hand. “What nonsense! I am but a Saxon midwife. You make me sound like a precious princess to be protected.”

“I know nothing of fine ladies and fancy princesses,” Kenneth answered. “I only know that I will protect you.”

A part of her leaped inside, but she would not be like a young girl taken by charming words. “Until Lord Taurin arrives.”

“Thanks to your stubbornness, woman, Lord Taurin may be on his way here right now! Led here by the townsfolk of Colchester. Your people.”

She stilled, then swallowed. Aye, she’d pledged to keep Rowena safe, and her baby with her, and aye, she’d die in order to keep such a pledge, but what if Taurin was on his way? What would happen then?

BARBARA PHINNEY

was born in England and raised in Canada. She has traveled throughout her life, loving to explore the various countries and cultures of the world. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and the love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.

Protected by the Warrior

Barbara Phinney

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

—Matthew 19:26

Dedicated to those who enjoy Love Inspired Historicals.

Aim to make the future better, and live in the present, but keep your heart in the past, for there lies the clues to who you are. B.P.

This author acknowledges the hard work of the late Pam Strickler. Rest in Peace.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Essex County, 1068 AD

“Push, milady, push!”

Though Clara had been the midwife in Dunmow, a small keep and village west of Colchester, for a few weeks only, she’d already learned Lady Ediva’s determined personality. But at this point in milady’s labor, the mother-to-be definitely needed strong encouragement. “Push harder! Harder!”

Lady Ediva scrunched up her face and glared down from the birthing chair. “I’m pushing as hard as I can! Stop shouting at me!” Her words ended with a growl and another hard push.

Already situated at milady’s feet, Clara gave her forehead a fast wipe with her forearm. She had long since pulled back her own thick red hair and now felt it start to slip free, but could do nothing at that moment. The babe’s head had crowned, and with deft movements, and more bearing down on the new mother’s part, she soon assisted in delivering a healthy son. “It’s a boy!”

Lady Ediva fell back against the chair. Clara knew their work was not yet complete, but for a few minutes they could revel in the joy of new life.

Clara prepared the babe for his mother, even though they weren’t finished with the birthing yet. All the while, Lady Ediva’s maid, Margaret, wiped her mistress’s face. Tears of joy streamed down each woman’s cheeks. Clara stopped a moment to admire the beautiful, squalling child in her arms.

Praise God! A new babe! New life when lately she had felt only the threat of death.

A surge of excitement washed over Clara as the indignant howl of the healthy babe bounced off the thick oak door of the solar. She knew that beyond, in the corridor, the father waited impatiently, along with his men.

As Margaret tended to Lady Ediva, Clara swaddled the babe in a soft cloth, snuggling him close as she walked over and opened the door.

Closer to the door, Kenneth d’Entremont, sergeant at arms for Dunmow Keep, whirled. Behind him, Lord Adrien stopped his pacing. Each man’s face split into a broad smile at the sight of the child in her arms.

“’Tis a good day, Lord Adrien!” Kenneth announced to the new father.

“Aye. Nothing can spoil it.”

Both men stepped toward Clara, a question on each face. “A boy or a girl?” Kenneth asked.

Adrien waved his hand. “I care not, but by the sound of that lusty wail, it’s a boy!”

They laughed together. Clara smiled tiredly as she pulled back the wrap to reveal the babe’s scrunched-up face. “You have a fine son, Lord Adrien.” Behind her, Margaret approached, and Clara handed her the child. “Your wife is ready to see you. Go spend time with your family.”

“I will!” Adrien turned to Kenneth. “The keep is yours, d’Entremont, as we discussed. Guard it well, for I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“You have my pledge,” Kenneth answered solemnly before Adrien disappeared into the solar. Clara smiled as she shut the door to stop any draft. ’Twas good to see a new father so eager to spend time with his wife while she recuperated. She hadn’t seen such devotion before. She would give them this moment of privacy before she returned to check on Lady Ediva. The birthing process was not quite finished.

Then came the sound of swift, pounding feet. Clara spun at the urgent tattoo, noticing Kenneth’s hand resting lightly on his blade as he stepped in front of her. It may have been the finest day for Lord Adrien, and one during which he would cast all other cares aside, but Clara knew Kenneth would not lower his guard. Not when he’d just given his promise to Adrien to mind the keep.

A man approached. ’Twas a courier, Clara noticed, a man who wore the crest of the Baron of Colchester—Lord Adrien’s brother—on his short, travel-worn tunic. His face ruddy, his leggings and surcoat splattered with mud from a hard, fast ride, he slowed his approach.

“I have a missive for the master of the keep,” the man panted out. “’Tis urgent, I’ve been told.”

Kenneth held out his hand. “I have control of this keep.”

The courier handed Kenneth the communiqué and departed. With only the dim, morning glow from a slit window in which to read the missive, Kenneth frowned as he held it close to scan the words.

In front of the closed door, Clara watched a black expression spreading across the young sergeant’s features. She swallowed. ’Twas not good news. Was someone sick?

Kenneth looked up, his mouth thinning as he drilled a brittle stare into her. “Are you finished with Lady Ediva?”

Clara frowned. “Aye, for now. Margaret has my complete confidence. She will care for mother and babe until I am needed again.”

“Good.” His jaw tightened. “Because you are headed for the dungeon.”

Stunned, Clara gaped at Kenneth, starting when he grabbed her arm. “The dungeon! Are you mad? Why should I go there?”

Kenneth called out and a guard met them on the curved stone stairs that led to the main floor.

“Let go of me!” Clara twisted, but to no avail.

Kenneth’s grip tightened. “Nay, woman. Not after what you’ve done!”

“I’ve done nothing wrong! I demand you release me!”

“You have no right to make any demands!”

Clara barely had time to lift her cyrtel to prevent tripping on it as he dragged her down the stairs into the kitchen and down more steps to the darkness below. With the door to the dungeon ahead, she fought back more fiercely and, for her effort, was pushed hard down the short corridor. She struggled to keep her balance in the murky maw around her.

The guard proceeded to unlock the solitary door. Clara tilted up her chin and threw back her shoulders. A thick wooden door, secured by long hinges and an iron lock, would soon imprison her. With her mouth pressed into a thin line, she told herself not to do something foolish.

And not to be scared.

She wrenched her arm free and turned to Kenneth. “Why am I here? I should be upstairs and available, for Lady Ediva’s birthing is not done! You had no right to drag me down here! What was in that missive that has prompted this ridiculous act?”

“’Twas from Colchester, where you lived before coming to our keep. I would think you know exactly what the warning says.”

Her voice lowered and quivered as she struggled to stand tall. Fatigue was robbing her not only of balance but thought, as well. “I am nearly too tired to stand, let alone think, so please, Kenneth, reconsider your actions. Or at least tell me why I’m here.”

His expression softening only slightly, Kenneth took a step over the threshold, only to stop when he caught sight of the soldier beside him. “If you are so tired, mayhap a nice rest in isolation for a day or two will clear your head and return your memory.”

She shook her head, tossing away the cobwebs that exhaustion had draped across her thoughts. She surged forward. “Nay, you’re a fool! I can’t be imprisoned! Not now! You know nothing of women in confinement, or of babes and all the dangers that can befall them! ’Tis a perilous time for Lady Ediva!”

The soldier shoved her back, hard, and Kenneth grabbed the man’s hand as Clara struggled to remain standing.

“’Tis a perilous warning from Colchester, also, so mayhap keeping you from Lady Ediva is warranted!”

Clara felt the blood drain from her face. The cold left in its wake sent a shiver through her. No. Please, no. Had the guild masters in Colchester finally told their baron, Lord Eudo, why they’d insisted she be sent here to replace the midwife who’d died? This tiny village and isolated keep would never have been her choice of home. Had Lord Eudo suspected something was amiss from her departing look that day a month ago, and finally gleaned the truth from the guild masters on whom he’d bestowed far too much control? She shivered again. Or had that evil Lord Taurin finally arrived to claim what he had no right to possess? Did Taurin have enough influence to take her into custody, as well? Nay, she would fight this, for more than just her life was at stake.

Worry bit into her. All she knew was that Lord Eudo had seen fit to warn his brother of something he’d learned. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

Nay. She would not be frightened. She had done what was right and true in her eyes and would do so again. The guild masters, and indeed, all the townsfolk of Colchester, had no right to toss her out, and Kenneth had no right to imprison her for what she’d done there!

Through the dimness, she peered at Kenneth, recalling how they’d met. A month ago, he’d ridden to Colchester to escort her here. During the majority of the time they’d spent traveling, his looks had been cold enough to freeze the North Sea solid. She’d bristled, and still stinging from the town’s rejection, she’d lashed back at Kenneth by correcting his sloppy equestrian habits. The ride here had been awkward and unpleasant.

“You are a brutish race of people,” she whispered harshly. “All of you Normans are, coming to our land, taking what you see fit and discarding us when we are of no more use!”

Kenneth ordered the guard away. When they were alone, he stepped forward into the dank, stinking room. With his dark tunic and leggings, he immediately blended into the shadows around them. “I can tell by your expression you know exactly why you’re here.” Triumph lit his face at her guilty surprise. “See, you do know the reason, don’t you? Then you should be imprisoned.”

She snapped her head to the right to hide her expression. All the worries of the past spring flooded back. The weak, frightened voice begging her for asylum, her desperation to keep safe a frail young mother and her newborn son, whom no one here would even know, much less care for. Aye, all her own fears and that of the young woman’s washed back over her.

But Clara had pledged with her life to allow no harm to come to the helpless pair. And that included never revealing their location. She’d told only one person and she was far away from Colchester. ’Twas needed, for the lives of mother and son depended on it.

If time in this horrible room, with its stink of mold and filth from drunken soldiers who’d needed to sober up, was part of the cost of her personal integrity, ’twas a cost she was willing to pay. She would never reveal where mother and child were, no matter who ordered it. The guild masters and the townsfolk in Colchester, even her own father, God rest his soul, should he return and demand she divulge their location, would never learn it.

Should Lord Taurin find Rowena and the babe, ’twould be disastrous, for he had been brutal when he’d bought her as a slave and brutal in fathering the child against her will. The Good Lord had designed that Clara help Rowena through her childbirth and then hide the pair away when Taurin’s men arrived looking for them.

Since coming to Dunmow, she’d secreted Rowena and her infant to another hiding place, one closer by. It had taken a whole night and part of an early morning to travel the few leagues from the first hiding spot to the other, but Rowena was safe for now. And she would stay that way, no matter what the cost to Clara in keeping the secret.

Kenneth leaned toward her, his voice softening. “So, Clara, save yourself. Tell me where they are. Tell me all about them.”

Never. Revealing their new location would surely sign a death warrant for the mother, and Clara had long since pledged to save lives, not take them. Only God should take lives.

She squared her shoulders as her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness and her nose to the stench. Her mouth thinned further as she folded her arms. Whatever Kenneth had read meant nothing, and she would not dignify his curiosity with an answer.

“Fine,” Kenneth said, apparently reading her determined stance. “We’ll sort out your stubbornness after you’ve had time to chew on it. I’m thinking you’ll find your decision as tough as old shoe leather.”

Clara watched as Kenneth grabbed the ring of the heavy plank door to slam it shut. At the last moment, she raced forward, hoping to say that Lord Adrien should hear her explanation, not just his brother’s message. But when her hands connected with damp wood, she knew it was too late. Slowly, she sank to the dirt and rubble at her feet, her hands dragging down the roughly planed door. Something sharp stabbed into her left palm as she crumpled into a ball, worried and desperate—yet not surprised. She’d known this day was coming.

Lord Adrien and Sergeant Kenneth d’Entremont were both Normans, like that filthy baron who’d caused this trouble for Rowena. They would likely never believe the tales of brutality that had Rowena fearing for her life if she stayed with her master. Lord Adrien was a good man, but would any Norman care about a poor Saxon mother as Clara did?

Her head shot up. But they would care for Lady Ediva upstairs! When Kenneth had grabbed her arm a few moments ago, she hadn’t even been given a chance to call out instructions to Margaret on how to care for her mistress and the new babe. Surely they would see that she was needed!

Please, Lord, keep Ediva and her child safe! Clara bit her lip through the prayer. There was so much that could happen. Things that could easily end their lives. She jumped up and smacked the hard, mold-darkened wood with her stinging palm. “Nay! I must return to Lady Ediva! Kenneth, you must let me return to her! Kenneth, she could die! Think of your lady! Think of her babe!”

But her cries bounced around the dark room to no avail, and her hands pained from pounding on the door. She could feel blood splatter onto her cheek from the injury in her hand. Ignoring it, she called out her plea to consider Lady Ediva, but no one, save herself and whatever creatures scurried within the cell, heard her voice.

With one last soft cry on her lips, she fell to the floor again.

* * *

Kenneth paused at the base of the narrow stairs that led down to this filthy place from the kitchen. His gaze moved from the guard posted at the top to the door he’d just slammed shut on the midwife. Clara pounded on it, crying out to him to think of Lady Ediva. Even the guard looked down at him, a question in his eyes.

Kenneth strode up the stairs. Of course he was thinking of the lady of the keep. Who knew what Clara would do if allowed to return to the new mother? He’d read that missive. She was not to be trusted and had even put her own stubbornness ahead of the well-being of a whole town. Lord Taurin was an influential man. When he had sent troops to Colchester to find his slave and child, they had carried the weight of his heavy authority. Little wonder that in the aftermath, the guild masters, not known for their bravery, had been quick to evict the treacherous midwife from their midst. Lord Eudo’s letter had warned of the consequences that could fall upon Lord Adrien and his keep if the midwife were not made to cooperate with Lord Taurin’s demands.

As he reached the main floor, Clara’s cries suddenly stopped. Immediately, he paused. Was she hurt?

Nay, she was just realizing that the truth of her treachery was coming to light. Ahead of him, one of the young maids cried out something in English. Kenneth looked over into the kitchen to see her near a pot of boiling water while shaking her hand. She’d scalded herself. The old cook told her to plunge it into cold water. He swallowed. What would the village do without a midwife and healer?

Slowly, he left the kitchens. In the corridor, he stopped again. What would Lady Ediva do? And her newborn son, the heir to Dunmow Keep? Sadly, ’twas far too common for babes to depart this world soon after birth, and a healthy howl at the start of life did not mean all was well and good for him.

Kenneth glanced up the stairs that led to the solar. Both mother and babe needed Clara. But he’d read that warning. Clara could not be trusted.

Immediately, several maids charged past him into the kitchen, calling for buckets of steaming water and herb satchels. Kenneth barely managed to jump out of their way in time. He glanced up to find Margaret reaching the bottom of the steps, not bothering to disguise the fearful look in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Milady has collapsed,” she whispered tightly. “Where is Clara?”

“In the dungeon.”

“Dungeon! What on earth for?”

“For past crimes. ’Tis of no concern to you.”

“I only pray that you know what you’ve done, for surely as the sun rises, ’tis a dangerous business birthing without a midwife’s help, even after the main part’s done.” She sniffed and rushed back up the stairs.

A few treads up, she turned. “I don’t know why you jailed her, but it had best be a good reason. ’Tis one command you’ll have to answer for!”

Kenneth stiffened. No one had read the missive except him. Would they still censure him if they knew how dangerous Clara could be?

He swallowed. Was she really that dangerous? She’d worked hard for Lady Ediva, stayed in that solar for more than a day, laboring with her mistress. He had seen no sign that she wished either mother or child to come to any harm.

Nay, he would not risk Lady Ediva’s life! He plowed back into the bowels of the keep. There, he fumbled with the keys, hating how his hands had begun to shake as he struggled to unlock the door.

Clara blinked at the sudden light. She stood in the center of the cell, her arms wrapped around her torso as if to keep at bay the filth and fear only the dungeon could create. Kenneth heard the scurry of some unseen creature behind her.

“Milady has collapsed,” he grated out as he grabbed her upper arm. “I will take you to her, but be warned. If she dies, I will hold you personally responsible, for you’ve made poor decisions so far with new mothers and their babes.”

As Kenneth dragged Clara through the keep, he heard her call over her shoulder, “I want the broth I ordered when her confinement began. Milady needs the strength in it!” She added to that order herbs, more hot water and water with spirits in it to cleanse the dungeon from her hands.

“Aye, mistress, we have it all!” a young female voice answered.

As if only then fully realizing the danger now happening, Clara broke free of Kenneth’s grip and bolted up the stairs.

All Kenneth could do was race after her, a prayer on his lips.

Chapter Two

As soon as Kenneth learned that all was well with Lady Ediva and the new child, he approached Lord Adrien in his private chamber. The Baron of Dunmow had left his wife to sleep. “Milord, we need to speak.”

Kenneth swallowed. He needed to confess his part in how Clara had disappeared so soon after Ediva had delivered, then suddenly reappeared when milady needed her help.

“Hmm?” Distracted, Lord Adrien looked up from his mindless task. He held his oiling cloth in his shaking hand. ’Twas the job of that young squire, Harry, to oil and care for Lord Adrien’s chain mail, but Kenneth knew the baron took pride in keeping his own armor in order. Mayhap something to keep himself busy?

The man looked tired, as if battle worn, and Kenneth set aside his confession for the time being. “Come, my lord. Let’s get you some refreshment. You have stayed up as long as Lady Ediva has. She’s resting, as you should be also.” Kenneth took charge and stepped out into the corridor to order Harry to provide some food and drink.

Watching the young squire dash off, he could hear the sounds of supper preparation. ’Twas late in the day, and the evening meal had been delayed until word came down from the solar that mother and babe were safe from the dangers of delivery for the time being. Though his stomach growled, Kenneth ignored his hunger and returned to Adrien’s chamber. The pallet bed Adrien had used when he first arrived was shoved into one corner, its original space now occupied by a large desk and several chairs, a wardrobe and several trunks. Dropping his oiling cloth on the desk, Adrien leaned back heavily in his seat. The meal came, and Kenneth encouraged his baron to eat.

Adrien looked up and blew out a sigh. “My thanks to you, Sergeant. Your quick actions saved Lady Ediva.”

Kenneth straightened. “Nay,” he admitted tightly. “Clara saved her, milord. I merely retrieved her. I had—”

Adrien carried on as if he hadn’t heard Kenneth. “Ediva was doing fine, smiling, feeding the babe, and suddenly, she paled and fell back onto the pillows. Our son nearly rolled off the bed when she went limp. Margaret caught him just in time. I don’t know what would have happened if Clara hadn’t returned so soon.” He straightened quickly. “She stepped out of the chamber after the delivery. Where did she go?”

Kenneth swallowed. “I sent her to the jail below the stairs.”

Lord Adrien’s brows shot up. “The dungeon? You threw her in the dungeon? What did she do wrong?”

Kenneth pulled the missive from the pocket of his surcoat. Adrien took it. Standing, he read aloud,

Dear brother, I greet you in the name of our Lord and pray for your health. My new and dear wife does well in her pregnancy and I enjoy each day with her. I hope Ediva is also fine.

But this is not a social letter. Only today have I discovered the true reason for the offer of Clara, the midwife, to you, by my guild masters, when I asked for someone to replace yours. Though I had sensed Clara’s reluctance to leave Colchester, I assumed ’twas due to nervousness on her part. She was, after all, moving by herself to an unknown place to fill a position vacated by a death. Now I suspect she had no wish to leave but was given no other recourse by those in town.

However, the reason the guild masters recommended her is enough for me to write this letter. It began last year when Taurin, Duke of Evreux, took a mistress, a destitute farm girl whom he purchased as a slave from her parents shortly after arriving in England, because his wife is barren. The slave girl conceived, and in her seventh month of pregnancy she fled Lord Taurin’s grasp. I am told that she made her way to Colchester. Clara took care of the woman and eventually assisted as she delivered a boy. The child was born two months ago. Clara kept the mother and child in her home.

Shortly after the child was born, while I was in London at King William’s request, some of Lord Taurin’s men arrived here to search for the mother and son. They went to my sergeant at arms, who refused to assist them in their search, for they came without writ or summons. These men eventually approached the guild masters, who retrieved Clara, but by this time, she had hidden mother and child and refused to reveal where they were.

After that, my sergeant forced Taurin’s troops to leave empty-handed.

When I returned, your request for a midwife was waiting for me and I sought out the advice of the guild masters, who immediately offered Clara, so I sent her right away. You must understand that I had not yet been debriefed by my sergeant.

Later, when Clara’s younger sister was discovered living alone in Clara’s old house, I investigated this matter more fully and discovered the real reason why the guild masters had recommended Clara. Fearing Taurin himself would come to Colchester with more troops and the king’s summons, the guild masters sought to thrust their problem onto you and your village.

I will deal with the guild masters and their trickery myself, but I cannot guarantee anyone’s safety should Lord Taurin come for his mistress. I can, however, warn you of Clara’s dangerous secret and stubborn character. I trust you will act wisely when dealing with her. She will bring only trouble for you and the people under your protection if she doesn’t reveal the mother and babe’s location.

But, as you probably have realized now, dear brother, I am also sending you Clara’s younger sister. The guild masters suspect that this girl, Brindi, may know where the slave is hidden. I cannot say whether that is true—she refused to answer the question when it was put to her. Regardless, she cannot be allowed to live here alone, nor can she be returned to her aged mother.

Be careful, Adrien. Taurin is not to be trifled with. He is as crafty as the guild masters here are. Be cautious dealing with him and with your midwife.

Your brother in blood and in Christ,

Eudo

Adrien looked up at Kenneth. “Her sister is here? How old is this girl?”

“She’s about ten years of age,” Kenneth answered as he folded his arms. “After Clara returned to Lady Ediva, I found her in the bailey and sent her to the kitchen. The cook can always use an extra set of hands, though I did not see the girl there later.”

“Such trickery.” Adrien inhaled deeply, then sighed. “Should Lord Taurin arrive here, I want to be ready for him.”

“Aye. And it sounds like the guild masters in Colchester would be quite happy to tell Lord Taurin where to look, especially since it would take him away from their town.”

“True. They’re a devious lot.”

Kenneth studied Lord Adrien. “Do you know Lord Taurin, milord?”

“I know only of him. He did not fight at Hastings. Regardless, his family has enough influence with King William to earn him an estate without military service. His land is to the west, I believe.” He paused. “All this trouble over a runaway slave.”

Who is too foolish to realize her child would be better off with his father, Kenneth thought. Lord Taurin had wealth from Normandy. Couldn’t the mother see that the father would be able to give his son far more than she could?

Giving up the child may save her own life, too. And it would spare the town from Lord Taurin’s anger. Nay, for the sake of Dunmow, ’twould be best if the child was found and handed over to Taurin. Even a blind person could see this.

Kenneth stood tall. “We need to find this girl and her child immediately,” he stated. “’Tis best for Dunmow if we hand the child over to Lord Taurin as soon as he arrives.” Adrien nodded his agreement. “But,” Kenneth continued, “what punishment should be laid upon the midwife who brought this trouble to us?”

Adrien stood and rubbed his cheek. “As much as I would like to punish Clara for her secrecy, I cannot forget she has saved my wife’s life. I will address her deceit, but in my own time.”

Of course. Kenneth suspected that Adrien would keep her handy until his wife and son were well out of danger. He couldn’t blame the man, for Adrien loved his wife with a powerful love that Kenneth secretly envied. Not for love’s sake, but for the peace and happiness such love gave his baron.

“What are we to do with Clara in the meantime?”

Adrien sighed. “As much as I am grateful to her for saving Ediva’s life, I won’t have the woman near my wife or child unless she’s absolutely needed. Escort her to her hut and watch her closely. Indeed, you must guard her well. Who knows what Lord Taurin will do should he find his way here. I won’t lose Dunmow’s only healer.”

Adrien scrubbed his face with his hands, then rotated his arms as if to loosen stiff muscles. Kenneth frowned. Lord Adrien had pledged to Lady Ediva that he would keep all of the people in the keep and the village of Little Dunmow safe. He grimaced. That meant even Clara of Colchester, for all the trouble she’d brought.

“I wonder where she’s hidden the pair,” Adrien finally mused.

“We’ll find out soon enough. Clara will eventually reveal their location, either by accident or by traveling there herself. She’s been with Lady Ediva for days now, so she’ll want to check on them soon. Though not tonight, I suspect. She’s far too tired. But when she does, I will follow and bring the child here.” Kenneth steeled his spine. “’Twill be an easy task.”

Adrien nodded. “Do whatever is necessary to keep everyone safe. ’Tis a dangerous time for Saxons who defy Norman law, and our king will not be discriminatory with his punishment if he takes Lord Taurin’s side.”

Kenneth silently agreed. King William could easily provide Lord Taurin with a writ allowing him to do whatever he felt necessary with his slave girl and the babe—and take whatever degree of justice he saw fit against those who had hidden them, willingly or no. After all, wasn’t the king illegitimate himself, and hadn’t he earned his place in history by being recognized as his father’s heir? Aye, King William could easily mete out heavy punishment to many Saxons should they refuse to turn over the slave and her child.

But hadn’t the king abolished slavery? Aye, but that wasn’t the issue. ’Twas not even the issue that Lord Taurin had purchased a slave in the first place. Nay, disobedience was the issue. “I’ll discover the location of the child, my lord. I promise.”

Kenneth turned to leave, but Adrien stopped him. “Sergeant, be careful. We both know that Clara is a good healer, but should she learn what you plan to do, I doubt her thoughts will stay on healing. She appears to be full of guile.”

“Indeed, milord, but I am no fool.” At the door, however, Kenneth hesitated. He’d fought at Hastings, defended his king and his baron with his life, and was not afraid of dying. But he knew Clara. He’d been sent to Colchester to deliver her here and had found her temper and disposition matched her fiery hair perfectly. Aye, fighting a woman whose scorn could sear meat would make the battle for England’s crown seem like a squabble between kittens.

* * *

Clara continued to work with Lady Ediva, encouraging her to take some strong broth and nettle tea. That done, she helped the babe to suckle properly.

Ediva cringed. “I ache all over, Clara. He hurts me.”

While Ediva’s tone was weak and petulant, Clara knew ’twas more from fatigue than personality. Ediva had already decided she wanted to feed her own babe and not hand him over to a nurse. “Aye,” Clara agreed softly. “He will until you get used to him, but ’tis just for a short time, and then you can rest. Remember how I said that ladies who refuse to nurse often waste away?”

Ediva obeyed, and after, Clara showed Margaret how to rub some herbed oil on her mistress. Finally, all was cleaned up, and Clara tucked Lady Ediva into her bed for some much-needed rest. The wide-eyed boy lay swaddled in a cradle between the bed and the well-stoked brazier, a sealed skin of warm water set beside him to keep the chill at bay. Margaret dozed on her pallet at the far end of the room while Clara guarded them all. Her hand throbbed where she’d slammed it into the dungeon door, but the dim light of evening made it impossible to deal with.

She was too agitated, anyway, her thoughts far away from her own pain. Rowena and her child were safe. The only other person who knew of their new location was her small sister, Brindi, whom she’d told before sending her home. Should Lord Taurin—

A tear dropped down onto her lap as she rose. Nay, Brindi was safe and far away from Colchester. Clara had returned the girl to their aged mother, to their home near the seaside and away from the clutches of the guild masters who’d forced her out.

She fisted her hands and the left one stung sharply. She’d acquired a splinter from the door to the dungeon, and now that she wasn’t busy, it throbbed. Forget it. She’d deal with it on the morrow when the light was better. The end of the day was fast approaching.

Clara paced to the window, anxious for some air to clear her mind. She quietly eased the vellum shutter from the window, wanting only a few breaths of fresh air before she blocked out the cool evening again.

She leaned forward. Having abandoned her wimple and veil earlier, the light breeze brushed over her neck and through her thick hair. Glad for it, as her cyrtel clung to her and was in need of laundering, she stretched out as far out as she could manage.

The window had a direct view of the village below, in particular, her small hut at the center. Her gaze automatically fell on it.

In the darkening evening, a shadow passed in front of her home, someone thin and stealthy. A breath or two later, the door, set at the side of the hut, opened. Then, as Clara stared hard, a lamp was lit, spilling light onto the small herb garden for a brief moment before the door shut tight.

She gasped. Someone was in her home.

A sharp rap cut through her and she jumped. After a glance around the solar, and noting all was as it had been a moment before, she heard the knock again. Someone was at the door. Quickly, she set the vellum frame back into place and hurried to crack the door open a tiny bit.

Kenneth stood at the threshold.

“’Tis time for you to return to your hut,” he growled out softly.

She stepped out into the corridor. “And not to the dungeon? Have I earned a reprieve somehow? Oh, mayhap you’ve come to your senses and realized I have done nothing wrong!”

“Anyone who deliberately puts an entire town at risk should be imprisoned, but, nay, Lord Adrien pledged to Lady Ediva he would protect all in Little Dunmow. Apparently, that includes you. I will escort you home.”

Did he think her a fool? She’d have to be addled not to realize that Kenneth would want Rowena’s child given to his father and, as a result, would stay close to discover her location.

Ha! If Kenneth believed that by dogging her footsteps day and night she would, out of frustration, finally tell him where she’d hidden Rowena, he was sadly mistaken. She was the oldest of several children and had dealt with all her siblings’ childish ways. She could easily outlast this one man’s pestering.

But ’twas a moot point. “I am not ready to leave Lady Ediva yet.”

“Is she still in danger?”

“Nay, but—”

“Is the babe safe? Is Margaret there to watch them?”

“Aye, but—”

“Then there’s no reason for you to linger. By not resting, you risk your own health. Lord Adrien will come here soon, and with Margaret’s help they will be fine dealing with Lady Ediva and her babe. Now, get your cloak.”

Irritated that she’d been interrupted and annoyed even more that Kenneth was right, Clara pursed her lips.

“As I suspected, your stubbornness will be your downfall.” He turned. “Stay, then. Lord Adrien will not be happy to see you after he ordered you home to sleep. I expect he’ll suggest the dungeon instead. Or, just as unpleasant, the grand hall. By the way, all the soldiers have been celebrating the birth of Lord Adrien’s son....”

“Fine,” she snapped. She was not unreasonable. And, aye, she needed a good night’s sleep. “Wait here.”

She slipped back into the solar, carefully took her wimple and veil, and fitted them hastily on before throwing her cloak over her shoulders and returning to the corridor.

In the flickering torchlight, she noticed Kenneth’s mouth turn up at the corners ever so slightly. She huffed as she marched past him and his smug insolence.

Downstairs and out in the bailey, they waited for the gatekeeper to open the small door within the larger gate, and Kenneth stepped out first, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Obviously satisfied that all was safe, he held out his hand to help her step through. She took it, finding it warmer and stronger than she expected. But as soon as she was safely on the path that wound down into the village, she tugged her hand back.

The late-spring night had turned colder than she’d expected. Clara looked up at the display of stars, bright because the quarter moon had yet to dominate the darkness. Clear skies always went with chilly nights. She pulled her long, dark blue cloak closer while darting a glance at Kenneth, noting that the cold didn’t seem to bother him. He wore only a lightweight cloak tossed over his broad shoulders and a knee-length tunic over snug leggings. The leather thongs that secured them pressed against his sculpted muscles. Long and lean, he was the very essence of both ease and readiness.

Clara slowed as they approached her hut. Only a short time ago, she’d spied a stealthy figure enter her hut. Now, as they rounded the corner of her hut, she could see light bleeding from around the edges of the old, worn door. Her intruder was still there.

Was it Rowena? Had the young mother slipped into the village with her child? Clara swallowed. Was her babe sick? Was that why Rowena risked a visit?

Clara turned, determined to capture Kenneth’s attention to keep it away from the door. “You have seen me home, Kenneth, and I thank you for it. Good night.”

The man laughed, a noise that bore little resemblance to humor. “Do you expect me to depart? ’Tis not what will happen. Since we now know why you were sent here, don’t you think ’twould be best if you were guarded? Surely you realize that your own life is at risk should Lord Taurin arrive.”

“Then why didn’t Lord Adrien insist I stay in the keep?”

Kenneth took her upper arm and continued to guide her up the short path toward her door. “No doubt he won’t have you that close to his wife.”

She steeled her spine and yanked back her arm. “I would never hurt Lady Ediva!”

He took her arm again, this time at the elbow. “Of course not. You aren’t that foolish.”

She pursed her lips into a thin, tight line, not willing to engage him in an argument if Rowena lingered behind her closed door. She knew Kenneth’s type. Hidden strength came with those wiry muscles, so different from her clan of shorter, thicker Saxons. And she had no strength tonight to do anything save trudge to her door.

Still, her foolish tongue belied her fatigue. “You’ll find it a waste of time to guard me. If you’re hoping I’ll slip away tonight, you’ll be hoping in vain. I’m dead on my feet and I plan to do nothing but sleep.”

“Good. It has been a long day for both of us.”

She stalked up to the door, hoping her long cloak would block the thin light seeping under it. “Since you are so set on guarding me and there’s only one way in and out of my home, I suggest you spend the night out here. I’m not the sort of woman who allows men in her home overnight.”

“And I am not the sort of man to be enticed inside, woman, certainly not by so sly a female as you.”

She shot him a blistering glare. “You have a lot of—”

A short, harsh clunk sounded within the hut. Before Clara could draw her next breath, Kenneth had shoved her behind him.

She heard his sword scrape free of its leather scabbard just as Kenneth’s booted foot connected with the door.

Clara gasped. Kenneth was prepared to kill whoever was inside!

Chapter Three

Kenneth charged into the hut, a single thought slicing through his mind. Protect Clara. And he would do so even if it cost him his life—

A downward shot of dun-colored clothing met his glare and he stabbed at it in the dimly lit hut. A whimper, weak and childlike, reached up to him as his sword snagged a scrap of wool and tore it free from a small body. Another soft cry rent the air in front of him.

A child? Immediately, Kenneth pulled back and lowered his sword, accidentally elbowing Clara. Her fingers curled around his lower arm as if to hold him still. The cowering soul in front of them whimpered again.

“Wait!” Clara whispered in his ear as she leaned forward, so close he could feel her sharp gasp brush his neck. “Brindi?”

Kenneth blinked. The sister? He focused on the heap of pale clothes cornered in front of him, scarcely visible in the low lamp flame the intruder had kindled. The bundle moved and he saw how small it was. ’Twas indeed a child! He blew out his breath, trying to will his heart to stop racing at the horror that could have happened.

He’d nearly killed the little girl.

Clara shoved past him and dropped at her sister’s huddled form. The small girl lifted her head as her whisper penetrated the hut. “Aye, Clara, ’tis me.”

As Clara drew her sister to standing, Kenneth sheathed his sword and hastily turned up the wick on the old lamp on the table. The thin light strengthened to fill the room.

“How did you get here?” Clara exclaimed as she gave the girl a hard hug. “I sent you home to Mama!”

Brindi kept her head buried in her sister’s cloak, and Kenneth could barely hear her answer. “Mama sent me to you. She was always angry at me, saying I ate too much. I didn’t want to be there anymore.”

Clara set her away from her to search her face. “When did she send you?”

The girl shrugged. “A few days ago.”

“A few days ago! Have you been walking here since?”

“Nay, she sent me to Colchester.”

“Didn’t you remind Mama where I was sent?”

“Aye, but she kept forgetting. I hid in your old home, but the guild masters found me and told Lord Eudo. I said I didn’t want to go home to Mama. She’s too old now. But he said I was too young to live alone and I must go to you.”

Clara glanced over at Kenneth.

“Lord Eudo’s courier delivered her to the keep,” he explained. “She was supposed to stay in the kitchen with the cook. Obviously, the child disobeys as easily as her sister.”

Clara shot him a scathing glare, which he deflected immediately. Aye, her mother had pushed her own child out of her home, and his threatening her with a sword after the ordeal she’d already endured was harsh, but, he argued with himself irritably, if she’d stayed in the keep’s kitchen as she’d been told to do, he wouldn’t have nearly killed her just now.

“You knew Brindi was here and you didn’t tell me?” Clara’s voice was a mere breath of shock.

He stiffened. “You were in the dungeon. I would have seen she was cared for. I’m not a beast.”

“But you knew she was at the keep all the time we were walking here? That she was brought here like a sack of grain?”

“Aye.” He tightened his jaw. “In Lord Eudo’s letter, he warned his brother that the guild masters feared a confrontation with Lord Taurin—”

Clara’s brows shot up as she interrupted him to ask, “You know him?”

“Nay, I have not met him. But I read the missive that explains how Lord Eudo discovered the truth about why you were sent here.” He shook his head. “You brought trouble to your people with your own stubbornness and refusal to reveal a slave girl’s location. I suspect that once the townsfolk discovered Brindi, they feared the same of her and shipped her off to Lord Eudo. I don’t blame them a jot.”

Clara pulled her sister closer and covered the child’s ears. Then, with a glower at him, she set Brindi down on one of the two benches, the child’s back to him. She kept her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “What do you know about Rowena?” she asked Kenneth over her sister’s head.

So that was the slave’s name? ’Twas a good start to finding her location. He kept his face impassive. “I know enough. You have no right to interfere with a Norman lord’s personal affairs. And you certainly do not have any right to send fear through the town of Colchester or bring trouble to Dunmow.”

“If I caused any fear, ’twas for good reason. And I have every right to help save a person’s life.”

“The girl and her child would not have been hurt!”

She let out a laugh. “I beg to differ! She has run away from a cruel man. If he catches her, he’ll kill her!”

“How do you know what Lord Taurin will do? ’Tis clear he wishes to keep the child, and if so, ’twould hardly be in his best interests to kill the girl on whom the babe depends.”

Her eyes flared. “What is the punishment for a slave running away?”

He shrugged, looking away, not wanting to tell Clara that slavery had been abolished. ’Twould have Clara heading to London to demand Rowena’s release, right from King William. “A beating?”

“I doubt Rowena would be so fortunate,” Clara answered. “Besides, as a new mother, would she survive a simple beating?”

He remembered Ediva’s struggle in childbirth. Nay, this Rowena would not have survived a beating had it come directly after childbirth. But it had been at least a month since the child had been born. Surely Rowena had recovered sufficiently to bear her punishment now. He asked, “And you aiding her? What would your punishment be?” In Normandy, those who abetted runaway slaves were often punished more harshly than the slaves themselves. Though the king had abolished slavery, the Normans here would have brought their punishments with them. Aye, Clara was also in danger.

“My punishment is not important. I am pledged to save lives.” She shook her head, flame-colored hair dancing like a fresh fire. “As a soldier, you wouldn’t understand. You take lives. You don’t save them.”

He bristled, his teeth set on edge by her accusation. But he would not be drawn into a useless argument. There was nothing more sinister here than a child who’d slipped from the cook’s supervision. “At least all is well, then.”

She flung out her arm in the direction of the doorway. Her cyrtel, simple and faded, swished out with her. “Nay, all is not well! You’ve terrified my sister, and look what you’ve done to my door!” Her words, like her hand, sliced the air with alarm.

He turned and cringed briefly at the sight before him. He’d not meant to batter down the door, but ’twas an old thing, brittle with age and weather. The sun had beat down on it for too many years. Now it lay in splinters, good for nothing save kindling.

His heart sank. The surge of fight in him a moment ago had cost Clara much. Good solid wood was saved for the keep, for defenses and strongboxes. The most Clara could hope to purchase to replace her door, should she have the money, would be a mix of discarded pieces patched together, something that wouldn’t hold up in any of the storms they’d see during the coming winter.

And even now, the night’s chill rolled unhindered into the tiny hut, one draft fluttering the lamp’s flame. He swallowed, then straightened. “I will replace it on the morrow.”

“With solid, quality wood, reserved for the keep?”

He groaned inwardly, knowing the cost and his duty to pay for it. “Aye, solid wood.”

“And what of tonight? ’Tis cold out.”

“Burn the scraps we have here.” He glanced around, spying the worn yet laundered curtain the old midwife had used to separate her sleeping chamber on the far side of the hearth. He pointed to it. “Use that for a door tonight.”

“And what about safety? You were quick to draw your sword, so you know of the dangers that night can bring.”

He had been quick to draw his sword because he’d thought that someone had broken into her home. “Very well,” he said. “You and Brindi build a fire and share the pallet in the other room. I will sleep in front of the door.” He’d planned to do so, anyway. Nighttime would have been a perfect opportunity for her to slip out to visit Rowena. He had planned to use her table as a bed, as was the custom of many soldiers.

But considering what he’d just done to the door, ’twould be wiser, not to mention warmer, to set the table on end to block the nighttime draft. “I’ll use the table as a door.”

With a heavy sigh, Clara began to gather up the scraps of wood, cradling them in the crook of her left arm, but keeping her fingers curled. Brindi, with one eye on Kenneth lest he draw his sword again, reached out to snatch up a few pieces, also.

Kenneth sagged. ’Twas not the way this evening was meant to go. Aye, his few meetings with Clara today had not gone favorably at all, but if he was to discover where Rowena was, or to convince both Clara and Rowena that the child was better off with his father, acting as he had just now was the worst plan of action.

As Clara kindled the fire, he hefted up the table and blocked the doorway with it. Soon, the hut glowed with heat and light, a welcome sight for all three. Clara herded her sister into the other room. Then, with a cautious and oddly fearful look on her face, so different from what he’d seen on it when they met in Colchester a month ago, Clara drew closed the curtain that separated the rooms.

Had it only been a month? He’d gone to Colchester to escort Clara back. The tension in the town that day had been rife, but no one had said a word as to why. He’d just assumed it was Clara’s fiery personality that had made the others eager for her departure, but of course, now he knew differently. Still, she could take a lesson or two from Lady Ediva, who, though strong-willed, was gracious and not given to flares of temper.

Once the makeshift door was set firmly in place, Kenneth turned. This hut seemed to be some combination of two buildings, with the hearth and its chimney wall shared by both rooms. The sound of Brindi’s quiet whispers rolled through the space above the crackling fire. Kenneth could barely hear Clara’s soft, soothing answers. Deciding to ignore them, he wrapped his cloak around him and stretched out in front of the upended table, his back to the fire and his heart heavy with the knowledge that he’d nearly killed the baby sister of the woman he was sent to guard.

* * *

After bedtime prayers, Clara tied her spare sleeping cap under Brindi’s chin and settled her sister on the pallet. Just before curling under the furs they used for bedding, she peered furtively through the flames to Kenneth’s back. With the exception of her family, never in her life had she had a man sleep in such proximity. And yet, she felt safe. Safer than she would have if they’d used the curtain as a door.

Any manner of beast could have wandered into her home. Bad enough that one of the stray cats had slipped in one morning a week ago and, after having been trapped inside for the whole day, had torn her home to shreds. And there were wild dogs and rodents and who knew what else out there in the night—

Goodness, though, Kenneth had broken down her door, then simply grabbed her table as if ’twere a child’s toy! And before that, he had threatened her sister with his sword. He may be protection against wild beasts, but who would protect Clara and Brindi from him? Mayhap she should have insisted he sleep on the other side of the door.

Nay, she knew the night air was unhealthy. And she’d long ago decided that she would not cause harm to anyone. Her aunt, gone now two years, had been Colchester’s best midwife and healer. She had insisted, when Clara made her decision to become one also, that she pledge to God that she would not harm anyone. Clara took that promise seriously and refused to dissolve it for anyone, even surly Norman soldiers.

She snuggled down against her sister, only now remembering the splinter in her palm. The throbbing heat in it told her it had begun to fester, but ’twas too late tonight to dig it out and cleanse the wound. And she was far too tired and cold to do so.

As with all children, Brindi was warm, and despite the circumstances, Clara was glad she had been found in Colchester and sent to Dunmow. Who knew what Lord Taurin would have done to Brindi had he found her?

She bit her lip. ’Twas an awful situation. And out there, hidden away, closer to Dunmow than Colchester, was Rowena. Clara would have to make sure that Taurin never found her. And never learned she and Brindi were here in Little Dunmow, despite there being only a day’s journey on horseback between the two settlements.

Please, Father, don’t let the guild masters tell Lord Taurin anything!

* * *

Daylight had begun to bleed into the sky when Clara, waking, eased herself back from her sleeping sister. Outside, in the coop, her rooster crowed, boldly announcing the new day.

She turned, sensing heat on her cheek. Surprisingly, a fire blazed in the hearth, its flames dancing around her best kettle, which hissed with steam.

She peered through the hearth to see the table righted and the doorway clear, with early-morning freshness rolling in to mix with the fire’s warmth. But no one was in sight. Where was Kenneth?

Clara rose, slipped past the curtain and stepped outside. Long, dark shadows stretched from the forest behind her house, shading her garden. She spotted Kenneth to her right, easing up the hatch to her chicken coop at the far end of the garden. The hens inside cackled their disapproval.

Though he still wore his clothes from yesterday, they had been brushed and straightened. His dark tunic and lighter leggings fit him well. She could see strong muscles along his back as he reached into the coop.

“Shh, ladies,” he cooed softly. “I just want a few eggs. You can spare them.”

Clara shoved her hands on her hips. “But I cannot!”

The hatch slammed shut and Kenneth spun, his hand dropping to his sword. Clara rolled her eyes. Only a soldier would take his sword to the henhouse for eggs.

“I was going to coddle you some eggs, but your hens are reluctant to move off their nests. I think I’ve upset them.”

“They’re fussy old women. I usually let them set for a while and come back when the sun is above the trees.” She looked up. “The sky is still clear. Was it cold for you last night?”

“I’ve slept in colder spots.”

She was glad to hear that, for all he’d had to keep him warm was his cloak, which was now tossed over his shoulders. Slipping past him, she lifted the hatch and propped it up with her shoulder to ease her hand under the hens’ warm bodies for their eggs. One old bird pecked her in defense, and Clara hastily recoiled. Automatically, she reached out with her left hand and received a sharper peck that time.

“Ouch!” She jumped back quickly, and the hatch slammed shut on her festering hand. She cried out again.

She stepped away, curling her stinging hand and biting her lip. Her palm hurt far more than it should from a simple splinter, and seething with the pain, she marched away from the coop, toward the corner of her hut, where the sun’s rays were reaching into the village and she could get a better look at her wound.

There, she peered down at her hand and sagged. The skin was red, shiny and open. The splinter site angrily announced that the wooden door to the dungeon had been filthy. Such filth had caused her flesh to fester. When she reached down to touch the skin with her finger, it felt smooth and hot.

“Let me see it.” Kenneth came up behind her and took her arm.

She fisted her hand and pulled it closer to her chest. “’Tis nothing but a scratch. The hen startled me, ’tis all.”

Kenneth shook his head. “If there is nothing there, then there is nothing to hide.” He firmly turned her wrist, easing up only when he noticed her grimace. “But if you are injured, you will need to have it cared for.”

“’Tis only a small cut.”

Kenneth tilted his head and raised his brows. “You say you pledged to do no harm, but you’re harming yourself. Therefore your word is about as healthy as that hand.”

Reluctantly, hating his rationale, she opened her fist. Kenneth frowned. “I’ve seen worse, of course, but a wound like this must be cleaned before it can heal.” His tone softened and he met her gaze with dark, unexpectedly warm eyes. “You’re a midwife, Clara. You should know that.”

“Aye, I do! Yesterday, ’twas not so bad, so I decided to wait until the light of day to pick out the wood. It has worsened overnight, unfortunately.”

“And it’s begun to fester. If you ignore it, ’twill cause a red streak up your arm and you will get very sick.”

She looked up at him. He knew a lot about injuries for a soldier. He must have seen plenty of them. “I know about the blood fester. My aunt would have used a leech on it, which are plentiful in Colchester with the Colne River close by. But I have none here. I’ll have to use that water you’ve heated to open the wound and dig out the splinter.”

“Nay, I’ll do it. You’ll probably shake too much. Do you have any salve? Honey would be best, but I fear it’s been in short supply lately and best saved for new cuts that have been cleaned.”

She blew on the hot flesh. “You sound like you have experience. Aye, honey works best before a cut begins to fester. In a copper pot above the hearth is a salve. It smells awful, so I usually mix it with wintergreen, which also helps to cool wounds. That’s in the clay pot beside it.”

He looked around, spying a bench along the low front wall of the hut. “Sit down and I’ll get what I need.”

“My thanks.” She sat. “But you’re a sergeant at arms, not a healer. How do you know of these things?”

“I have had to stitch many a wound. I recently sewed up Lord Adrien’s leg.”

“He fought here before I came?”

“Not in a battle, but against those who had tried to take over the keep and kill Lady Ediva.”

She bit her lip. “I had heard about a danger to Lady Ediva, but thought the old midwife had been responsible. Surely she hadn’t stabbed Lord Adrien?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nay, I believe she sought to stop the fight and was murdered for it. I will tell you the whole tale another time. First we need to clean that wound.”

Kenneth stopped at the corner and turned. “Your aunt was a healer and midwife, also?”

“Aye. My mother sent me to be with her years ago, and I learned the skills from her.”

“Where did you live before?”

“By the sea. My father was a fisherman.”

“Was?”

“He went out on his boat one day and didn’t return. My mother had too many children to feed, so she sent me off to my aunt in Colchester.”

“Is your aunt still there?”

Clara shook her head, not trusting her voice to explain. She’d tried her best to save her aunt’s life, but in the end, had lost the woman who was more of a mother to her than her real mother.

Finally, she dared to speak. “She died several years ago, and I took over her home and the craft.”

“Craft? You make it sound like midwifery should have its own guild.”

Her eyes flared. “We should. Too many people think only the lowest class of woman should be a midwife or a healer. With a guild, we would have more protection.”

“Healers with their own guild? What nonsense. ’Twill never happen.” He disappeared around the corner before she could snap back that such would happen someday.

A short time later, she was settled on the bench and Kenneth was dribbling hot water on the wound. She sucked in her breath. It stung like a bouquet of nettles. But with the small blade from her healing kit, he deftly coaxed the filthy splinter from her tender flesh.

“Let me mix the salves.” He returned a moment later with a dollop of mixed salves on a clean strip of linen. “You’re right when you say that one stinks. It smells like cattle.”

“’Tis ox gall. I found it in the old midwife’s things. ’Tis very effective, so it must be quite fresh.” She looked up at him. “Is Brindi still asleep?”

“Aye. She would have been exhausted, having traveled so far yesterday.”

“She’s used to riding, but I doubt they’d have given her a mount of her own. Poor thing, she must have been terrified. Clinging to the courier’s clothing.” Though the ride to Colchester took not quite a full day, it would have been long for a child.

Sitting down beside her, Kenneth dipped his forefinger into the salve and began to spread it on the wound, eliciting a quick indrawn breath from Clara. “Do you think she would have thought they were taking her to Lord Taurin?” he asked.

Clara pulled back her hand. “How much do you know of Lord Taurin and Rowena?”

“Only what I read in the message Lord Eudo sent. She was pregnant when she ran away. You took Rowena in for the rest of her confinement. The babe was delivered safely, and you have concealed the mother and child ever since. I’m sure if you asked Lord Adrien, he would allow you to read the missive, also. My lord is a fair man and believes that a person deserves the right to face his accusers.”

“’Twould do no good to ask for that, for I cannot read.”

Kenneth hesitated. “I saw labels on your pots, written in English. How did you know about this salve if you can’t read the label?”

“’Twas the old midwife’s labeling, not mine. She even had a book she wrote in.”

“A book? Like a Bible?”

“Aye, though not as thick. It must be a record of her medicines.” Clara shrugged. “Since I can’t read it or the labels, I had to test the contents of each pot first to find out what each contained.”

“How? By tasting? ’Tis dangerous.” He sniffed the salve. “Not to mention quite disgusting.”

“I know most healing substances by smell and texture.”

Kenneth fell into a heavy silence as he continued his work. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nay, I think there is. Your mouth tightened when I mentioned the book.” She studied him. “Why should it bother you?”

He paused in his ministrations and looked up at her. She drew in her breath. How did she get so close to him? Aye, he was handsome to look upon, and indeed she was tempted to reach out and stroke his cheek. To discover for herself if the burr of his short beard was as rough as it looked.

Nay! He was an unwelcome guest forced upon her. He said he was here to protect her. Only a part truth, she was sure, for she knew he would side with Taurin should the man arrive and demand Rowena. She’d dealt with this back in Colchester when the guilds had met and told her that Rowena’s life was not worth the wrath of the Normans. Clara disagreed. If not for Lord Eudo’s sergeant at arms ordering Taurin’s men out of the town, she would have surely ended up jailed or in the stocks until she revealed the location.

Clearing her throat, she focused on Kenneth as he straightened the strip of linen. “What is so bad about that book?”

“I cannot say for certain. Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva were poisoned before you came. I think ’twas also why the old midwife was murdered.” He paused. “The man knew she would reveal his guilt, for only he knew where to find the poisons in her stock of medicines.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Where did you find that book? What have you done with it? We searched for proof the midwife stored poisons, but we couldn’t find any. I suspect that Lord Adrien would prefer it be burned after all he and Lady Ediva endured.”

“I found a box buried in the corner near the hearth. I noticed the dirt was softer there.” She shifted away. “When I saw that the ground was disturbed, I dug and found the box. In it was the book.”

He was nearly done wrapping her palm, and he quickly finished. “Did she make this book herself?”

“Mayhap. Someone had cut parchment to small squares and sewed them along one edge. But ’tis only a few pages and is very old.”

“What does it say? Is it a ledger?”

Clara yanked back her arm. “I told you that I cannot read.” She looked down at the wound. It throbbed less now. Kenneth had done a good job and the wintergreen had cooled the site. She looked up at him. “My thanks. But you still have a door to replace.”

“Aye, ’twill be done. I honor my pledges.”

Noise sounded from within the hut, and Clara stood. She’d been altogether too close to Kenneth as he tended her wound and was now glad for the diversion. “Brindi’s awake. We need to start this day. I have much to do, and you should return to the keep. I am sure Lord Adrien will need you.”

“Nay, I’m staying with you, Clara. If Lord Taurin should come looking for the woman you’ve seen fit to hide, then you would be in the most danger. We both know the punishment for those who defy the king.”

“Lord Taurin is not the king.”

“But he has influence with him. King William could give him a writ to do whatever is necessary to find Rowena, because she has defied a Norman.”

He wiped his hands on a portion of a remaining dressing he’d brought out with him. His voice then dropped as he shot a sidelong glance in her direction. “Of course, ’twould be best for all if you simply told me where Rowena is so I can deliver the son to his father for his own best interests.”

Chapter Four

Clara flew to her feet, fury surging up with her. “How dare you even think I would simply blurt it out! Is that your true reason for being here?”

“Nay, I am here to protect you. Mayhap even from yourself!”

“You know nothing of this situation, save what was written in some Norman missive penned by a Norman. And his understanding of the situation was told to him by some treacherous guild masters! None of you know what Rowena has endured. And you think you can simply ask me to betray a woman I have pledged to keep safe? Are you addled?”

For the briefest of moments, Kenneth looked bewildered. Clara wondered if she’d switched languages. So far, their conversations had been totally in English, which he spoke well enough, albeit with a heavy accent.

Then the moment ended. Whatever Kenneth was thinking at that moment was gone. He rose, standing a full head above her, his long, lean form looking far stronger than she’d first realized. “I am not addled, woman,” he ground out. “’Tis as obvious as the nose on your face that the son needs his father, and that the mother, with barely two coins to rub together, cannot provide for him properly. Even King William’s mother knew enough to allow William to be raised by his father’s people. Given to his father, Rowena’s child would have food in his belly and clothes on his back!”

“Aye, food from a brutal father who would wrench mother and child apart, then kill the mother? I expect you feel ’tis fine for a man to use a woman, then kill her when she stands up for herself! And you think that a child only needs food and clothing? Nay, you know nothing of family life! Nothing!” Her voice cracked. “A child needs its mother. Believe me when I say that!”

She then threw up her hands. “Why am I even talking to you? You’re a soldier who knows only encampments and battles and polishing mail for your master!”

He laughed, a hearty, bold outburst that proved he was genuinely enjoying himself! Immediately, she felt herself bristle, her face heating while humiliation burned inside of her. Her mother had often said that redheads had hot brains that caused their hair to be such a fiery color. Well, her brains were very hot right now!

Finally calming, Kenneth shook his head. “Oiling the mail of as fine knight as Lord Adrien is a privilege, not a duty for a fool. My lord has taught me too many important things, and I am privileged to pledge my life to him.” His smile dissolved, replaced by a dark stare. “And be thankful that even though I threw you in the dungeon yesterday, I will also lay down my life for you, for this I have pledged to my lord to do.”

She would not be lured away by the sudden turn of his temper. Scoffing, she tossed up her bandaged hand. “What nonsense! I am but a Saxon midwife. You make me sound like a precious princess to be protected.”

“I know nothing of fine ladies and fancy princesses,” Kenneth answered. “I only know that I will protect you.”

A part of her leaped inside, but she would not be like a young girl taken by charming words. “Until Lord Taurin arrives.”

“Thanks to your stubbornness, woman, Lord Taurin may be on his way here right now! Led here by the townsfolk of Colchester. Your people.”

She stilled, then swallowed. Aye, she’d pledged to keep Rowena safe, and her baby with her, and aye, she’d die in order to keep such a pledge, but what if Taurin was on his way? What would happen then? Her own people would have turned on her, leaving her to the mercy of Taurin and his men.

Her heart squeezed. Then the question would be, could she keep Rowena safe? What if Taurin attacked the keep? She’d pledged to save lives, not cause them to be lost in battle.

Dear Lord, guide me and keep Rowena and her babe safe.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she sank onto the bench. For a long moment, she just swallowed and thought and rethought all that was happening. Then she felt a soft hand on her shoulder and looked up to find not Kenneth offering sympathy, but Brindi. Through watery eyes, she saw Kenneth frown with curiosity behind the little girl.

“’Tis just her usual tears, sir,” Brindi said, sitting down and putting her arms around Clara as if she were the older sister. “Ever since she offered her life to our Lord and pledged to care for the sick, her heart has turned as soft as lamb’s wool. Our aunt often said ’tis the price of having a heart for God and people.”

Clara flushed. Enough of this. She wouldn’t be exposing her heart to the man who would see Rowena punished for running away. Clara bustled to her feet and quickly swiped the wetness from around her eyes. She had no desire to lay bare her woolly, foolish heart in front of Kenneth. He’d only make her regret all she’d done so far and twist it to make her reveal where Rowena was.

Nay, she would not do such a thing, and no amount of fear for the consequences would change that.

She smoothed the skirt of her cyrtel. ’Twas her best one, and she should keep it good. That meant no tears to stain the material at her lap. “Never mind me. We will deal with the day as it comes. And I see it has already started. Brindi, we need to break our fast before we weed the garden, and you—” she leveled as firm a stare as possible at Kenneth “—you have a door to fix.”

* * *

Kenneth tried the door one last time, satisfied that, finally, it closed firmly, without scraping or catching. And none too soon, for his patience with this expensive board was growing thin. He was a soldier, not a carpenter. Still, his handiwork was satisfactory.

Though Clara may find some fault in it. When he’d escorted her to Dunmow from Colchester, she’d corrected him several times on his equestrian abilities. Aye, she was skilled on a horse, more than most men, which was unusual, for she’d been a fisherman’s daughter and then a midwife. But he would not ask her how she’d learned such talent. He refused to risk hearing even more pointers on how to ride a big horse properly.

He bent to gather the tools he’d borrowed from the smithy, a man who lived at the end of the road, beside the forest.

Not the safest place to live, but the smithy could easily defend his family, he was that strong. Kenneth’s thoughts wandered to Rowena and her safety. Where had Clara hidden the young mother and her babe? There were leagues between here and Colchester, with few homes and even fewer inns. The fens to the east, where peat had once been cut and dried for fuel, were unlivable. And Clara would be a fool to hide her in the forest. Those Saxons who defied the law and lived in the king’s forests were hardened men, criminals some. Not the safest place to hide a mother and child. Surely Clara would choose a hiding spot wisely. Perhaps to the west? A few abandoned sheep pens lay scattered about, but they would be just as unlivable.

Mayhap Clara was not wise. She’d been plucked from Colchester for her stubbornness, and the day he’d escorted her here he’d have had to have been blind to miss the fact that Clara didn’t wish to leave the town. At the time, he’d assumed it was worry at the unknown, but could it have been she’d made a hasty and unwise decision as to where she’d hidden Rowena?

If only she could just see how foolish her ideas were. ’Twas clear she feared Taurin would mistreat Rowena, but on what did she base her fears? Rowena, a runaway slave, would likely have said anything to win Clara’s sympathy and aid. Lord Taurin was not a soft man, but there was no reason to believe him to be brutal toward the mother of the child he clearly valued. Nay, Rowena would come to no serious harm if restored to Taurin’s care.

Indeed, after her punishment was past, she would likely find herself better off than she was now, with a good roof over her head and steady meals on her table. As for her child, the young son would be raised in privilege to take over a peerage and enjoy the favor of royalty. King William and his future heirs would reward strong Norman lords and their sons, legitimate or otherwise.

As he stooped to retrieve the final tool, he noticed a small section of the cloth on which he’d wiped the splinter fragments when ministering to Clara’s hand.

It had been a nasty injury she’d had. She’d endured the pain of that festering wound with no tears, but at the mention of helping the sick, she had practically wept openly.

He paused as he shoved the tools into their leather pouch. She was as dedicated to what she saw as her duty as he was. And even more stubborn. Nay, she would never reveal where Rowena was.

Oddly, such determination sparked admiration in him. Lord Adrien would love to have such strength of character in his troops.

Nay, he needed to set aside all admiration. He’d pledged to find the slave woman and her child, and turn them over to Taurin.

Though some punishment was warranted, and ’twould be hard on the new mother, Taurin would be a fool to kill her. Who would feed the babe? It would cost him to hire a wet nurse.

Rolling closed the flap of the tool pouch, he tightened his jaw. Clara had to be exaggerating the danger. People lied when they tried to support a rash decision.

’Twas nearly suppertime when Kenneth returned to Clara’s hut, having returned the tools and asked those Clara had visited that day how long she’d stayed with them. Thankfully, he had earned the respect of most of the villagers, and thus discovered that Clara, with Brindi in tow, had not left the village all day.

Poor little Brindi. Like many a child, she was expected to work alongside her mother—or in this case, her sister—with never a moment to enjoy life.

Rowena’s babe would end up as such, or worse, since he had no father figure to mentor him. Kenneth paused at the compact garden beside the hut. At least he might be able to do something for Brindi. For starters, he could teach her to read, and mayhap...

Mayhap he could make her a doll. Aye, she’d like a doll, he was sure, a toy to relieve the drudgery of work. He was a satisfactory carver, and if he found a knot of wood, or better still, a large apple, he could carve a head. With the apple, ’twould dry to imitate the features of a wrinkled old lady. Then he could ask Lady Ediva’s maid, Margaret, if she could fashion a soft body for it, something filled with wool or fine straw and dressed like one of those princesses Clara scorned.

Aye, and such a gift would go a long way to changing Clara’s attitude toward him.

As he approached the midwife’s garden, the air offered the coaxing scents of supper. Evening meals were often just leftover broth and old bread, but this meal smelled rich and satisfying. He could hear Brindi singing softly inside the hut and, suddenly, the clear, stronger voice of Clara as she filled in the rest of the song.

He smiled. ’Twas good to hear. His sisters and mother often sang, especially when minstrels visited. They’d beg their visitors to teach them new songs, and one time his oldest sister even managed to convince their father to purchase a rebec from one of the minstrels. She did eventually master the strings on it, but it took years, and Kenneth had fled their home on more than one occasion when practice began.

He stepped into the hut, through the open door, for the day was warm. The song they sang carried on for a short time, allowing Kenneth to enjoy it.

Then Clara looked up at him, her song dying and her expression immediately turning guarded. He offered a controlled smile, but received only caution from her for the effort.

Brindi, however, smiled innocently. “Thank you for the new door, sir. It works better than the old one.”

“I oiled the hinges and planed the edges to make it fit properly.”

The girl brightened further. “’Tis good work, sir!”

“Enough chatter, Brindi. Set the table.” Clara shot Kenneth a sharp look. “If we are to have a guard, he’ll need to eat.”

She lifted up a large quarter of cheese. “Lord Adrien sent this over, along with some meat and honeyed pastries. We’ll eat well tonight.”

“I can’t wait for the pastries,” Brindi chimed in.

He smiled at her. She was a pretty little thing, though not the stunning beauty her sister was, with that fiery hair, clear, pale skin and perfectly even features. Brindi’s hair was light brown, a simple color, and braided deftly. Her nose was upturned and dusted with freckles. Clara’s hair was wildly curly and obviously refusing to be restrained into braids. She opted to tie it back with a simple leather thong, barely seen amid the unruliness. She owned a wimple and veil, so where were they? Probably tossed on a pallet, for they would be too hot with all that thick hair. Not unlike his heavy chain mail and the helmet, with its annoying nosepiece.

As she turned, a thick lock of that hair found freedom and danced to her shoulder. A stray thought flitted through his mind that he’d love to plunge his hands through her mane and see it cascade down his arms. But he’d need an extra arm to deflect what would surely be Clara’s firm fist from his face.

With a smile at his addled musing, Kenneth sat down. At the far end of the table sat a small leather-bound book. He looked up at Clara with a question on his face.

“I thought that since you said you can read, you could read this to me.”

“You say it was hidden in the floor?”

“Aye. An odd place to put a book, but ’twas there.”

Kenneth worked his jaw. The old midwife had been a crafty woman, and she’d always asked for payment in coin, instead of provisions. Was this where she kept her records? Did she hide this book so that when the king’s men came for taxes, they wouldn’t know what she’d earned? They would never know, now that she was gone.

He looked down at the script. “’Tis in English, which I don’t read as well as French.”

“I can help you pronounce the words if you start them off. I know all the medicines, but wish to know the old midwife’s records of what she did with them. She opted to be paid in coinage, and I also want to know how much her healings cost, if that information is recorded within.”

Kenneth opened the book carefully, as the stitches that held it together were old and fragile. “I can more than just read it to you. I can teach you how to read, if you like.” Earning this woman’s trust would go a long way to achieving his goal of finding the slave woman and her child.

Brindi gasped. “And me, too!”

“Hush, girl,” Clara admonished her. “We’ll decide that later. For now, I want to know what is written in this book.”

Kenneth skimmed the earlier entries, dated many years ago. He turned the pages and found the few months leading up to the old midwife’s death. Several in the keep had been poisoned last year, including both Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva. The midwife had been murdered in order to cover up the identity of the man who had committed the crime. It had been a terrible blow to everyone in Dunmow. Even now, there were still questions unanswered. Perhaps this book held the key.

’Twould be good to have this record opened and hopefully find the truth.

And then destroy the book. It served as a reminder of a dark and painful memory that still roamed through the rooms of the keep like a hungry wolf.

“Why not start reading now?” he suggested. “We can begin with a few simple words just to get you used to seeing them.” He smiled at her hopefully. ’Twould be good to begin a lesson, not just for learning the secrets of this book, but to earn Clara’s trust. Aye, that would be needed, for the sideways look she had just shot him spoke of her suspicion more than anything else.

He shoved the book to his right and then dusted off the bench beside him, inviting her to sit. Her cyrtel today was soft green and a lovely color, the color of moss in autumn, complementing her pale skin. But her vibrant hair demanded something more daring. Briefly, he considered what colors she should wear.

A smile hovered on his lips. Red. Aye, a bold red that no modest woman should wear and no redhead would consider. But she would never own a cyrtel like that, for the color was far too expensive, and if nothing else, Clara was practical.

Discarding his silly thoughts, he opened the book to the first page and devoted his attention to it. Cautiously, Clara sat down beside him. Brindi looked from the pastries to him. Her annoyance showed clearly on her face as she realized supper was being delayed for a silly reading lesson.

“This looks like a list of herbs the old midwife had one year,” he commented as Clara leaned toward the book.

“It’s set up differently than the next few pages,” she said.

Kenneth turned the page. “This is a ledger of who bought what herb and what she charged for it. I can see the date here. ’Twas Michaelmas when she collected her fees.”

Clara leaned forward. “Hopefully by then I will be able to read what I need to charge. But let’s go back to the list of herbs. ’Tis best we start there.”

Encouraged, Kenneth carefully flipped back a page. The leaves of parchment were stiff and he decided to hold the corner rather than press the page open at its spine and risk tearing the pages. “We will start at the list. See this letter? ’Tis an N.” He made the sound as he traced the shape with his finger. His lessons as a youth, and even this past winter, were paying off. Holding open the page with his left forefinger, he took up Clara’s right hand, closing all but the forefinger into a fist as he carefully showed her how to trace the letter. She would feel nothing on the parchment, but ’twas important to figure out how the letter was formed.

Clara stiffened, but he continued the task. “The next letter is an E. Eeee. Then the next two letters are T.” He sounded out that letter, then put the word together so far. “N-e-t-t.”

Relaxing, Clara allowed him to trace her finger along the four letters. ’Twas the easy part, for the cursive script flowed easily along. But Kenneth didn’t know his herbs and Clara wasn’t volunteering the word in English. “What word is this?” he asked her. “Neet? Net?”

Clara shrugged. “Neet? I’m not sure ’tis an herb at all.”

“Nettle!” Brindi popped up between the pair, squeezing them apart as she cried out the word.

Glaring at her sister, Clara snapped, “Nettle has a different sound!” With a sharp glare, she shoved her sister’s head back down, pushing the girl to the floor.

Kenneth snickered. “I think Brindi may be right. In English, the letter E has two sounds. And I know the last two letters have the ‘le’ sound.”

On the floor, Brindi called out, “I told you so!”

“You were right, Brindi,” Kenneth said, leaning over to speak to her. “The description says something about causing a rash, but the stingers dissolve when boiled.” He looked at Clara. “Is that true?”

Clara opened her mouth, but her sister cut in before she could speak. “’Tis true!”

The tiniest of frowns creased between Clara’s fine reddish eyebrows, and she swallowed. She looked slightly annoyed and almost hurt.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked her quietly.

“No!” she announced. “Brindi is young and smart, too smart sometimes, so she will learn quickly. But I need to learn this, and my sister is not going to better me.”

“I don’t want to stop, either!” Brindi called out, her back leaning against the bench as she sat on the floor below them.

Clara twisted about and shot her sister another fast glare. Kenneth felt the smile that hovered on his face melt away. Was Clara jealous of Brindi?

“I want you to show me the next letters,” Clara announced.

Clearing his throat, Kenneth began on the next word, slowly pronouncing each letter. As they reached the last letter, having tried various forms of pronunciation, both he and Clara turned to peer down at Brindi, who looked up with curiosity.

“Are you going to guess this word, too?” he asked her.

Brindi looked over at her sister. Slowly, a soft, indulgent smile spread over Clara’s face and she nodded. “Go on. Say the word.”

“Tisane?” The little girl’s eyes were wide with caution.

Clara nodded. “Aye, that’s it.”

Kenneth asked, “’Tis a tea, ’tisn’t it?”

“Aye, but this word indicates you are to pound the herbs first. We also use this preparation for barley water. ’Tis good for babes, to prepare them for food.”

She smiled at him, any insecurity she had from Brindi shouting out the words now gone. Brindi popped back up between them. “Please let me read, too, Clara. I won’t be rude again, I promise.”

Clara shifted away from Kenneth. “I doubt that promise, but you may listen in.”

Brindi scrambled up between him and Clara, her attention focused on the worn book before them. She immediately asked which words they had pronounced.

Kenneth pointed to the two, and as the girl traced each scripted letter with great exaggeration, he looked across the top of her head to Clara.

She met his gaze, her smile hesitant.

“You will learn all of this, Clara. I promise.”

She laughed. “Aah, another empty promise?” Abruptly, she sighed. “I know, but I was only thinking of how this must be what a real family is like in the evenings.”

Kenneth felt his heart chill. How different her childhood must have been. Her father missing at sea, her mother unable to feed her children, shipping them off to other relatives, not being a mother at all. No wonder both sisters seemed to vie for his attention. His upbringing was far different. A strong family unit, separated only when his oldest sister decided she wanted to play that stringed instrument and drove her siblings from the house. He’d thought for many years that all childhoods were like his.

“Are we going to continue the lesson?” Clara cut into his thoughts.

The lesson had been meant to earn her trust so she would reveal Rowena’s location. That single purpose suddenly soured in his stomach as guilt flooded him.

But ’twasn’t the only reason, he told himself. He’d hoped to find a mention of the poison used on Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva. Still, what kind of honorable Christian man was he, that he would use this lesson time for his own purposes? He should just take this book and burn it, now, and never mention it to anyone in the keep.

Then what would he use to teach Clara? He didn’t want to stop this lesson. Seeing Clara move from jealousy to love for her sister and wistfully describe her thoughts was as potent as any dose of medicine she could mix up. It warmed him and settled something restless deep within him.

But ’twas all a ruse, and suddenly, he hated it. He stood. “Nay, it’s far too late, and I am hungry, as I am sure Brindi is, also.”

“Aye!” Brindi agreed. “Time for our sup!”

Kenneth scooped up the book and set it on the mantel. When he turned back, Clara set a bowl of pottage down in front of him. Then she did the same for Brindi. After serving herself, they all bowed their heads and gave thanks. The grace was barely finished when Brindi dived into her meal with the gusto of youth.

“Is there something wrong?”

Kenneth looked blankly at Clara, realizing he’d been mulling over the past again. “Last year was a dark and dismal time for the keep. This book is a reminder of that. I’d rather we move on and forget it.”

Then he lifted up his spoon to eat. As he swallowed his first delicious mouthful, a short scraping noise echoed in the quiet hut.

Kenneth’s head snapped to his left, at the wall a few feet away, waiting for the odd sound to repeat.

The scratching began again.

From the corner of his eye, he noted Brindi, her small, carved horn spoon hovering below her mouth and her eyes as big as her bowl. Beside him, Clara ate as if the noise didn’t exist. But her knuckles were white as she gripped her spoon.

He steadied his gaze on Brindi, whose look of horror grew with each passing heartbeat. Again, he looked to Clara. Her jaw was tight.

All three knew exactly who was outside.

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