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“I’m teaching you manly expressions so you sound less like a girl,” Colin explained. “We came in the hall to eat and we see that there is no food. We must voice our displeasure and not by means of a squeak!” He knew he was shouting, but sometimes a man could do nothing less.

“Bloody hell,” Henri squeaked.

Colin looked at him, then grunted. This was going to take much longer than he’d anticipated.

Mayhap it would take several months.

Colin considered the possibilities there. After all, he couldn’t in good conscience leave his bride with this kind of guardsman, could he? Surely ’twas his duty as a knight and future husband to train this lad to protect the lady Sybil—and not to wed her until he’d done the like.

Wasn’t it?

He decided quite abruptly that it just might be.

With that happy thought to warm his insides, Colin headed back toward the kitchens.

Obviously his focus would now be on Henri’s training, that he might better prepare the lad to guard the lady Sybil.

He could do nothing less, and surely he shouldn’t move on to other things until that was at least well underway.

Henri was walking behind him, muttering under his breath. Colin came to a sudden halt and spun around to look at the lad.

“What?” he demanded.

Henri looked up at him. “Bloody hell,” he said, with something that at some far distant point in the future might resemble Colin’s mildest show of annoyance on his most good-humored of days.

Well, it was a start.

“Well done,” he said, clapping Henri on the shoulder. He frowned down at the lad who now lay sprawled on the rushes. With a sigh, he reached down, pulled the boy to his feet, then continued on his way.

Cook was, as usual, less than pleased to see him, but didn’t offer any resistance when food was demanded.

A wooden trencher was provided, topped liberally with enough food for half a dozen starving men.

A jug of ale was shoved into Henri’s arms along with two cups.

Colin nodded his thanks, then returned to the great hall.

He set down his burden, sat himself down and set to without further ado.

He looked up midway through. his first whole fowl to find Henri still hovering near his chair.

“Sit,” Colin said, indicating the chair next to him with a half-gnawed leg. “Eat. You’re too skinny.”

Henri sat. Colin took the jug from him, unstopped it, and took a long, hearty drink. He set it down with a bang and turned back to his meal.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have as long to enjoy it in peace as he might have, for who should have followed his nose to the high table but Jason of Artane.

Colin had managed to avoid having that one underfoot that morn by having Christopher find something for him to do.

But there he was, turning up again like a foul waft of cesspit stench.

Colin scowled at the young man, a scowl that should have sent him scampering back the way he’d come.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, Colin had lost his hold on the lad.

He wasn’t as intimidated as he had been in his youth.

“Go,” Colin said bluntly.

Jason sat down on the far side of Henri. “Now, my lord Berkhamshire,” he said in that smooth voice he’d inherited from his equally charming sire, “how can you refuse a body sustenance?”

“Easily. Go get your own.”

“I’ve come to inquire about our Henri’s training.”

“He’s not our Henri. He’s my Henri and I haven’t begun with him. I have, however, finished with you. Get you gone.”

Jason only smiled, an innocent smile that Colin often wished he himself had been able to manage, damn the boy. “I might be able to aid you,” he said in tones as lilting as any trained minstrel’s.

“Hrumph,” Colin said. “Aid me in what?”

“In whatever endeavor you’re undertaking at present,” Jason said pleasantly.

Colin frowned. He was never one to shun aid, but to have it from that one he would have to endure Jason’s smirking and his uncanny ability to leave all maids in the vicinity swooning. Nay, that would be just too much for him to bear. Better that he make do on his own.

“One day, young de Piaget,” Colin grumbled, “your reputation will catch you up and then you won’t have such an easy time of things.”

“Spoken by one who knows,” Jason said dryly.

“I’m merely fierce. I don’t brew potions.”

“Healing draughts,” Jason corrected.

And then, miracle of miracles, Henri made a noise. Colin looked at him in astonishment.

“Did you snort?”

Henri looked as if his fondest wish were to hide beneath the table. He ducked his head and stuffed whatever was in his hand into his mouth.

“Well done,” Colin said, slapping him on the back.

Unfortunately, Henri spewed out that food across the table.

“That looked good,” Colin said in dismay.

“Oh, by the saints,” Jason laughed, handing Henri a cup of ale. “I’ll fetch you more, my lord, when you’ve a need of it. Perhaps you should leave off with your expressions of approval toward poor Henri. He’ll never have a decent meal otherwise.”

Colin gave thought to Jason’s offer. If he was going to do the fetching of more food, there was no sense in not finishing quickly what was on the table already.

For some reason, Cook always seemed to give Jason the finest things from the kitchen.

Like as not, the lad had spelled him into doing so, and he likely spelled Cook quite well, given the skill of his teachers.

Colin shook his head, remembering his own brushes with those three women who called themselves healers but routinely ground up thumb-bones of whatever wizards they could find.

Healing draughts? Ha!

Colin shoved the trencher at Jason just the same. “Fetch me more.”

Jason inclined his head, then rose. “Leave the interesting bits until I return.”

Colin glared at him, then turned to look at Henri.

Then he paused, dumbstruck.

Perhaps it was the light from the fires, or the faint light from torches in sconces, or perhaps ’twas because he’d just had the beginnings of a fine meal and had more to look forward to, or perhaps he had just lost what few pitiful wits remained him.

Whatever the case, he was hard-pressed not to believe he was looking at a girl.

And a lovely one at that.

He clapped a hand to his forehead, hoping to restore some of his good sense.

He looked again, then nodded to himself.

He’d had but a moment of weakness. By the saints, this was no girl.

’Twas a boy, surely, but a young one, and one who if he had his spurs, had got them from some lord with no wisdom.

Obviously facing the prospect of marriage was wreaking havoc on his own poor self that he hadn’t anticipated it could.

But what was Henri’s tale in truth? He frowned at the lad. “How old are you? How did you earn your spurs so early?”

The boy looked to be struggling with his answer.

“I won’t beat you for telling me the truth, but the truth you must tell. I can’t abide lies.”

The boy ceased with all movement, which more than anything told Colin that he was regretting mightily all the lies he’d already told.

“You didn’t win your spurs fairly,” Colin stated.

The boy looked away, but the misery was plain in the set of his shoulders.

“Did you steal them?” Colin pressed.

The boy was long in answering. “Aye.”

“Did you kill for them?”

The boy whipped his head around to look at him with wide, startled eyes. “By the saints, nay.”

Well, there was something.

“Why’d you do it?” Colin asked, reaching absently for a hunk of bread. “To escape?”

The boy nodded.

“A cruel master?”

There was a pause, then the boy smiled a half smile with no humor at all. “A cruel mistress,” he said quietly.

“I see.” Colin supposed he could understand the desire to make a better life for oneself. But there was no sense in letting the boy think he approved of his methods. “Stealing is not an appropriate knightly activity,” he announced. “Never do it again.”

“Nay, my lord.”

“Nor is lying. If I catch you in a lie, you’ll be sorry for it.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Colin chewed thoughtfully, then belched. Having satisfactorily made room for more food, he looked with great interest at what Jason was setting down before him.

“I don’t suppose,” he said, reaching for the quantity of meat he could surely never garner on his own, “that you’ll tell me how old you are.”

“A score, my lord.”

Colin grunted. With that unmanly face? ’Twas almost more than he could stomach. Well, at least Henri’s age was accounted for. Now, to pry further details from the lad.

“Whence hail you?” Colin asked. “If you’ll tell me.”

Henri looked as if he couldn’t believe Colin didn’t intend to beat the tale from him. “I have that choice?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

Colin shrugged. “Can’t make a man do what he won’t.” He looked at Henri sideways. “Will you tell me?”

Henri sat up the slightest bit straighter. “Nay, my lord. I would have to lie.”

Colin grunted. Feebly voiced the lad might have been, he was certainly showing flashes of being quite quick on the uptake. “Fair enough,” Colin said, washing down his meat with more ale. “So let us begin with your time at Maignelay. I daresay I don’t want to hear how you got there.”

“I daresay,” the boy agreed.

Colin looked at him sharply and the boy lowered his eyes. “Better,” Colin said. No sense in giving the lad too free a rein yet. “So you arrived and Maignelay put you to work. As what?”

“The lady Sybil’s keeper.”

“And needed she a keeper?”

“Her father thought so.”

Colin grunted. Perfect. Mayhap he would have to train up this lad in truth if his betrothed was of that ilk.

“Spent you no time in the lists?”

“None,” Henri admitted. “I attended the lady Sybil.”

Colin grunted and speared a hunk of cheese with his knife. He chewed on it for several moments, resigning himself to the task of beginning Henri’s training from the very beginning. He’d thought he might have to, of course, but knowing the truth of things was a bit disheartening.

But he was nothing if not determined, and he never turned away from something he’d set his mind to. Henri would be trained, at his expense, and by his own hand.

Colin sighed. “So you were forced to attend Sybil from the start. Tell me truly, is she so weak-constitutioned as all this? Hiding in her chamber? Indulging in that unmanly business of fainting at the slightest provocation?”

Henri looked very uncomfortable. “I daresay... my lord... that, um, your ... reputation—”

Colin waved away the words. “Say no more, lad, for ’tis the usual reason my brides bolt. They’ve heard the tales and haven’t the courage to face me.”

“You are rather intimidating,” Henri offered.

“Aye, well, true enough,” Colin agreed.

“And your reputation is widespread.”

Colin would have puffed out his chest in pleasure, but he’d heard the like too many times before. ’Twas his lot in life to be well-known and well-feared. A heavy burden, to be sure, but one he bore stoically and without complaint.

“No doubt the tales are greatly exaggerated,” Jason said dryly.

Colin threw him a glare that should have felled him where he sat. But Artane’s get had a strong stomach and only smiled politely in return. Colin turned back to Henri with a grumble.

“And at her home, was she so helpless?”

“She is the youngest,” Henri said, “and perhaps a little overindulged because of it.”

“Must you wed with her?” Jason asked, blinking a time or two. “What of your other would-be brides? Surely you could trade Sybil for one of those.”

Colin shook his head. “They’re all wed now, and no doubt quite happy to be rid of me.”

“What of the last one?” Jason persisted. “The daughter from Solonge?”

Aliénore was on the tip of Colin’s tongue, but he bit the name back. Why did everyone persist in speaking of her? She hadn’t wanted him, the bloody wench, and he certainly wouldn’t have her now.

Colin scowled at Jason. “She’s gone missing and is likely dead.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have her, if she could be found?” Jason prodded.

Colin stood, pushing his chair back. “She can’t be and I wouldn’t. Come, Henri, and let us be about our business. No doubt the smith has need of you.”

Henri followed him. Jason squawked suddenly and Colin looked over his shoulder.

Jason had shoved his chair back from the table and was brushing frantically at his tunic and the sodden mess that had once been clean hose.

Henri was wiping his hand surreptitiously on his own tunic, but Colin saw the movement and deduced that Henri had somehow dumped the contents of a pitcher of drink onto Artane’s youngest. With the way Jason was swearing at the boy, Colin knew he had things aright.

Colin watched Henri scamper toward him in a most unmanly fashion. The poor lad looked a damned goodly bit like a girl, the saints pity him.

Well, there was obviously a great deal of heavy labor here to turn this one into something useful. And who was he to shy away from heavy labors?

Nay, he would take the burden upon himself.

’Twas a much more appealing project than marriage to a witless girl who fainted at the very sight of him.