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Jason held the lad up with an arm around his shoulders.

“I’ll watch over him whilst you’re about your business of wooing your bride.

After all, surely she is your highest priority.

” He smiled pleasantly. “And it would be a great honor for me if you would allow me to accompany you on your journey. I could certainly be prevailed upon to give young Henri the closest scrutiny possible.”

Henri pushed away from Jason, looking perfectly horrified at that thought. And rightly so. Colin felt somewhat cheered to know that Henri was not completely confused when it came to matters of character.

Colin dismissed Jason without further comment, then took Henri by the scruff of the neck. “Let us see to a meal,” he said. “You can watch me as I think on your training.”

Henri whimpered.

Colin assumed it was from pain and loosened his grip on the lad. Obviously, the training would have to wait a few hours until Henri had recovered some of his strength.

He pulled Henri with him through the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. Things smelled good and he was hard-pressed not to filch bits from platters as he passed. But he was, of course, nothing if not disciplined, so he forbore.

But the saints pity Gillian of Blackmour if she stood in his way of a decent repast.

He came to a dead halt at the entrance to the great hall. Diners were already seated at various tables, and who should be gracing the lord’s table but Sybil of Maignelay-sur-mer herself. Awake. Lucid. And helping herself to a substantial amount of everything in front of her.

“By the saints,” Jason said, sounding as stunned as Colin himself felt, “she’s out.”

“And conscious,” Colin agreed.

“A miracle,” Henri muttered.

Colin considered his options. He could, of course, remain in the shadows and allow the girl to gain some sense of peace. But then again, why should she be afeared of her own betrothed?

Decision made, he strode out into the great hall. The souls who made Blackmour their home took no notice of him. The wenches who stood behind Sybil took one look at him and, as one, screeched in fear.

Colin quickened his pace until he stood directly before his bride.

“My lady,” he began.

She stood, her eyes rolled back in her head, and then she fell over backward, over the arm of the chair and onto the floor in a flurry of skirts and legs.

Colin sighed. Would the nightmare never end?

He leaned over the table and peered down at her.

She was quite senseless, with her feet sticking straight up in the air.

Fortunately for her, her skirts were covering all they should, leaving only her ankles and feet open to the view of anyone who cared to look.

Her wimple covered her face, and her voluminous veil seemed to have pillowed her head well enough.

He then watched as something rolled out from beneath her coiffure.

An egg.

Apparently Cook was boiling them into rocks today.

Colin was unsurprised, either by their condition or by the fact that Sybil had been hiding them in her hair.

Her maids fluttered around her like frantic butterflies, trying to pat her back into sense.

Colin could have told them it was a useless exercise, but he suspected they wouldn’t take kindly to his instructing them in their duty.

He looked about him for someone useful. With a sigh, he settled for Jason.

“Carry her up,” he said.

“Of course,” Jason said promptly. “And I will happily take Sir Henri with me. I’m certain you wish him to be watched over quite closely.”

“I am fine on my own,” Henri protested.

Colin looked at the lad. Well, the first thing he would be teaching the lad was how to sound less like a woman and more like a man. “Henri, you should likely go with him,” Colin agreed. “You’ve a way with the wench. See if you can’t calm these squawking harpies surrounding her.”

Jason moved promptly to do his bidding, slinging his arm around Henri and dragging the lad with him around the table to collect Sybil.

Colin watched Henri put up quite a good fight at being thusly wrenched about.

He certainly couldn’t blame the lad. Jason’s good cheer could be quite annoying at times.

Though why Jason was so interested in Henri was beyond Colin to fathom. The lad was much more likely to latch on to a handsome wench than nursemaid a fledgling knight.

Colin scratched his head over it for a moment or two as he watched the little party disappear up the stairs, then shrugged. Perhaps Jason had witnessed more of Henri’s beating than he’d been able to stomach. Well, at least Henri could count himself well avenged.

Colin leaned on the table, wondering what he was supposed to do with his bride now, when he was distracted by the delicious smell of sauce wafting his way. He looked over the table to find Gillian looking at him purposefully.

“Don’t want to hear it,” he said crossly, stuffing a hefty hunk of meat into his mouth and chewing industriously.

“Questing is a noble venture,” she offered mildly.

“I’ve no interest in questing,” he said, making a purposeful grab for as much sauce-covered meat as he could fit in his fist. He knew exactly of what quest she spoke—and he had no desire to speak further of any attempts to find the missing and no doubt very dead Aliénore of Solonge.

“The prize might be worth it,” she said.

“The prize is rotting in a shallow grave, no doubt,” Colin said, reaching for Sybil’s trencher and beginning to liberate it from its coverings.

Gillian looked unconvinced. “I’ll say no more.”

“A body could only hope,” he muttered, then lifted the trencher and moved it to one of the lower tables. At least there he would eat in peace. The men said nothing as he sat with them. He accepted their silent sympathy without comment.

Well, at least Sybil had ventured forth from her hiding place.

If she did it once, she could do it again.

He should have removed the bolt from the solar whilst he’d had the chance.

It would have saved him the future aggravation of trying to get her to open the door.

He sighed as he bypassed the cup and reached for a jug of wine.

Apparently he would be doing more waiting than he’d like for her to come to her senses.

Or perhaps he could merely post Jason at her door and wait for the lad to charm her from her lair.

Aye, that might be wise. Jason could do what he did best, and Colin could concentrate on his strengths—such as focusing his efforts on Henri’s training.

Turning that womanly lad into a warrior would be task enough for the present, one fully worthy of his considerable skill and attentions.

How could Henri not be eternally grateful for that?