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Dangerous, too, Colin wanted to add, but he didn’t.

He had no use for the man and honestly couldn’t understand why he insisted on tormenting Henri.

Unless he was of the kind who simply couldn’t stop themselves from harrying those weaker than they.

Where was the sport in vanquishing a body that couldn’t possibly defend himself against you?

Colin did what was required on the battlefield against those less skilled than he, but he took no joy in it.

Now, did he find himself coming against an opponent who could make him sweat, aye, there was some pleasure. And besting a man of that ilk was certainly something to be proud of.

Besting young lads who looked like girls did not qualify as that.

Well, Colin would be rid of Sir Etienne soon enough, he supposed.

No doubt his sire had sent word to Sybil’s parents about the location of the nuptials.

When they arrived, Colin would see that Sir Etienne was immediately returned to them with thanks for all his great usefulness.

Then Colin would drop Sybil off in his keep with the best-stocked larder, then be on his way.

To where? was the question, but it was one he couldn’t answer at present. He could always come back to Blackmour. Christopher had uses for him, if for nothing else than to put fear into the hearts of those who dared trouble him.

Besides, these folk were his family. He wasn’t above admitting that he had fond feelings for Christopher, Gillian, and their little ones.

And if he weren’t here, whom would William find to torment at supper?

The lad would have no place but his own nose for his fingers and that would likely be a lifelong sorrow for the lad.

’Twas Colin’s duty to return as often as possible and spare the little lad such misery.

And if he were to be completely frank with himself, Blackmour was the one place he felt at home.

His father had sent him to foster at seven, but that had been but the beginning of years of being sent from place to place.

He’d never had the chance to even make himself comfortable before his father had irritated whatever foster-father he’d foisted Colin off upon, and Colin had found himself summarily being ushered out the gates and sent elsewhere.

His last master had given him a horse and his spurs and invited him to depart without delay.

He’d been grateful for the gifts and left without looking back.

His meandering path had led him to Artane.

When Robin had learned who he was, he hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms, but he had given him bed and board.

Colin had met Christopher the next day, they had become unlikely brothers, and he had, at the tender age of ten-and-nine, found not only a purpose, but a home of sorts. Where Christopher went, Colin followed.

Of course, that had led to Christopher wedding Colin’s second younger sister, and that had led to her death and Christopher’s wounding, but that was a tale better left for another day.

What mattered was that his home was here, not at his father’s table, and here was where he would no doubt return when his duty was discharged.

And he prayed it could be discharged painlessly.

Colin rose with a sigh, nodded at Berengaria, avoided being trodden underfoot by her helpers, and made his way from the chamber. Perhaps he had no choice now but to seek out his bride and inform her of their imminent departure.

It was with a heavy heart, and heavier footsteps, that he made his way to Gillian’s solar.

The door was, unsurprisingly, bolted, but no guard stood outside.

Colin lifted a single finger and, in the most womanly way possible, scratched at the door.

How anyone could hear such a thing was beyond him.

He preferred a solid banging himself. If a body was going to announce his presence at a door, best do it well, to his mind.

But miracle of all miracles, the door opened and the giddy maid who had opened it fell back with a screech.

More screeching ensued.

Colin clapped his hands over his ears and stepped inside the chamber before the door was slammed in his face. The sounds only intensified.

“Silence!” he roared.

Three maids fell into a pile, crawling over each other in their terror. They pushed themselves into the alcove and huddled there, sniveling and weeping.

“By the saints,” Colin said in disgust, “I’m not going to carve you up and eat you for supper!”

More cries of terror ensued, but a fierce glare reduced that back to the level of sniveling and weeping.

Colin rolled his eyes, then looked for his bride.

She was sitting in a chair, a substantial hunk of cheese halted in midjourney to her mouth.

Her eyes began to roll back in her head and Colin swore in disgust.

“Not again!” he exclaimed. “Lady, cease with that fainting! I’ve need of speech with you.”

Her eyes miraculously seemed to find their proper position in her head.

“You’re going to release me?” She breathed, her face alight with hope.

Damn all women to Hell, was he so poor a prospect? Never mind that he had no handsomeness. Could a wench not be pleased with a husband who could protect her? Protect her wee ones? Inspire terror and the soiling of hose in an entire army merely by stepping onto a battlefield?

Colin put his shoulders back and reminded himself of a few of his virtues, which included all those of a manly bent. Courage. Strength. Good humors. Thus fortified, he pressed on.

“Nay, my lady,” he said archly, “I have not come to release you. I’ve come to inform you that we will leave on the morrow.”

Sybil’s eyes filled with tears.

But her distress didn’t seem to extend to her belly, for she began to absently gnaw on her cheese.

“Pack your gear,” he instructed. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

“To Berkham keep?” Sybil said, chewing industriously.

“To Harrowden,” he said grimly.

’Twas nothing short of amazing how a woman could chew yet have her chin quiver in a way that portended buckets of tears to come. Colin turned and strode from the chamber before he had to witness the latter.

Harrowden. The very name made him grit his teeth and curse his sire.

No doubt the man thought that if he had both Colin and Sybil there together with a priest nearby, he could bind them together before either had the chance to flee.

It was also the place where his brother was currently preparing to become a monk.

Colin suspected that he would be called upon once again to try to talk sense into the lad.

The saints only knew if his sisters—the saints pity him that he had only two left, but those two were guaranteed to make his life hell each chance they had—would arrive to witness the madness of his nuptials.

He walked down the passageway and into Henri before he knew what he was doing. He grasped the lad by the shoulders to steady him, then frowned down at him.

“Where is your keeper?” he demanded. “And why aren’t you with him? I left specific instructions that you were not to be left alone.”

“I had, um, manly business to attend to,” Henri said, blushing furiously.

“What manly business?” Colin demanded. “Wenching? You’ve no time for wenching now. By the saints, lad, you can scarce keep your mind on your swordplay as it is! How do you intend to do so if you’re dreaming of a handsome maid?”

Henri’s mouth worked silently for a moment or two, but no sound seemed destined to come out. He finally managed to point back down the passageway toward the garderobe.

“Ah,” Colin said, “I see. Well, Jason shouldn’t have left you to that by yourself. The very last thing I want to see on this accursed day is more of Sir Etienne’s work on your sorry self. I suppose you’ll have to forgo your training for the rest of the day and come with me on my bloody business.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Is there food below?”

“’Tis coming, my lord. But Lord Jason advised me to suggest a walk on the roof to you, should I see you before supper arrives. He said it would soothe you.”

“He would, the wretch.”

“My lord?”

“I do not like heights,” Colin said unwillingly.

Henri looked at him for a moment or two in surprise. “Indeed?”

Colin scowled and pulled the boy down the passageway with him. “I’ll speak no more of that. Just stay by me, Henri, and you’ll be safe. Safer,” he muttered, “than another young man you know.”

Damn that Jason of Artane. He knew Colin could not bear heights. Colin fingered the hilt of his sword as he entered the great hall. Perhaps there would be yet a little time for sport in the lists this afternoon, before those unpleasant preparations for his journey had to be seen to.

He found Jason sitting next to Gillian, grinning like the empty-headed fool he was. Colin paused behind his chair and leaned down.

“You’ve had your sport of me,” he whispered pleasantly. “Next, I’ll have mine from you.”

Jason said nothing, but Colin could have sworn he heard a gulp come from the lad.

“In the lists,” Colin said. “After supper.”

“I think—”

“You should have thought before. Don’t make me seek you out.”

“Now, Colin,” Gillian chided. “He was just teasing you.”

Colin made her a low bow. “You may tease me, my lady, and find yourself quite safe in doing so. This whelp knows better, or at least he should. Apparently he’s forgotten and needs his memories stirred up. I happily take that task on myself.”

“No doubt you do,” Jason said dryly, then raised his cup in salute. “Very well, my lord Berkhamshire.”

“I’ll put a guard on the passage to the battlements,” Colin promised, “lest you feel the need to flee there.”

Jason hesitated and Gillian laughed. “He has you there, Jason.”

“And you’ll not save me, my lady?” Jason asked hopefully.

Gillian looked up. “Don’t break anything, Colin. I daresay you’ll wish Jason to go with you on your journey. ’Twould be a pity to ruin him beforehand.”

“Why, by the saints, would I want him?” Colin asked incredulously. He was quite certain he’d already told Jason as much. Did the lad never cease with his endless plotting and planning to make Colin’s life a misery?

“He could watch over your bride,” Gillian said.

“Or Sir Henri,” Jason offered.

“As you did just now?” Colin asked, glaring at him. “I found him wandering about the passageway, babbling about a journey to the garderobe.”

“Surely he can see to that on his own,” Jason said.

“The lad can’t see his way across the hall by himself,” Colin exclaimed. He reached behind him and grasped Henri by the tunic neck. “He needs to be watched at all times. I can see that no one can be trusted with that task but myself.”

Jason laughed. Colin saw no humor in anything he’d just said, so he glared at the young man, then dragged Henri farther down the table where he wouldn’t have to listen to the continual stream of mirth Artane’s youngest couldn’t seem to stem. Colin looked at Henri.

“He has bad habits,” he said bluntly. “Do not learn any of them.”

Henri nodded weakly. “Of course, my lord.”

Colin grunted, sat, and turned his mind to his meal.

But as he did, he realized that he would have to give serious thought to accepting Jason’s aid.

Perhaps between Jason and Henri, they could pry Sybil and her maids from the solar and get them on their horses.

Jason could likely lead them out merely by smiling at the gaggle of silly twits.

Colin had to concede there was wisdom in it.

But even that future torture didn’t repay Jason for his sport. Colin looked down the table and gave Jason a meaningful glance. Jason raised his cup in salute and set to his meal as if it would be his last.

Which, Colin had to admit modestly to himself, it just might be.