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She passed the rest of the evening at Colin’s heels, watching him order men about and listening to him discuss the journey with Lord Christopher.

The longer she sat on a stool behind him, the sleepier she became, until she was certain she would never manage to stay awake until they were ready to leave.

Would these two never cease with their babbling?

“Enjoying your last few days of freedom?” Christopher asked politely.

Colin grunted. “I daresay I won’t find myself at Berkham overmuch, even do I succeed in getting that silly wench to the altar. I’ll have freedom enough still.”

“She might surprise you.”

“The only thing that would surprise me would be to see her coherent and without food in her hand for longer than the space of a hour. The girl is hopelessly terrified of me.”

“Can you blame her?” Christopher asked. “The fierce and intimidating—and pungent, I might add—Colin of Berkhamshire as a husband? At least she didn’t flee.”

“She’s of too little wit to flee.”

Ali propped her head up against the wall and hugged herself to keep warm. Colin had it aright there. Sybil would never have thought to do aught but what her sire told her. But at least she would have Colin’s larder to comfort her. It was likely all she would need for a happy life.

“Now,” Colin continued, “if I could have just found a wench with wit and courage, not even to equal mine, of course, for I know that would be asking too much, but even just a bit of both, then I would have wed willingly. Someone with a stomach for strategy, a head for thinking, hands unafraid to hold a sword. Aye, that would be a woman I could abide for a wife.”

“You don’t need a wife,” Christopher laughed, “you need a squire.”

Colin grunted. “I’ve considered it. They’re a far sight less trouble than a wench.”

“Then you consider your little lad snoring back there on his stool to be less trouble than a wife?”

Ali pulled herself away from the too-tempting lure of sleep.

Had she been snoring? She shook herself awake.

Weariness was making her careless, that and the comforting sounds of Christopher and Colin’s talk.

She could call to mind many times of falling asleep in her father’s solar whilst he talked to his allies.

When she’d been younger, of course. Before her mother had died.

“Perhaps you should offer young Henri a place in your guard,” Christopher said. “It would free him from having to attend Sybil at all hours. Surely he deserves some sort of reward for having endured it for so long.”

Ali kept her eyes closed, but her heart began to race. A guardsman? To Colin of Berkhamshire?

Was there anything more unnecessary in the world than that?

“Don’t need a guard,” Colin grumbled.

Ali couldn’t have agreed more.

“Perhaps not, but he needs a place, don’t you think? It couldn’t be any worse than being nursemaid to your lady Sybil.”

“I suppose not,” Colin agreed. “And the lad does need protecting. He’s too pretty by halves and I daresay he’s spent his life suffering for it. I doubt anyone would dare tease him, did they think he belonged to me.”

There was that, Ali had to concede. But being his? In truth?

Hadn’t she been trying to avoid this very thing?

She opened her eyes in time to see Christopher slap Colin on the back.

“There you go,” he said, rising. “Wed the wench, then spend the rest of your time with the lad. It sounds as if you like him better anyway. I daresay you can find wenches enough for your needs, leaving Sybil happily alone with your stores and some peace. Then that leaves you with all your time to see to young Henri. Make him over in your image, Colin.” He snorted with amusement.

“I’m sure he would be overjoyed at the prospect of it. ”

Colin stroked his chin thoughtfully. Ali managed to close her eyes before he looked over his shoulder.

“A goodly work,” he agreed. “One worthy of my complete attentions.”

“See?” Christopher said cheerfully. “I told you it would all work out for the best. Now, I’m off to bed before my lady comes to fetch me. What a fortunate lad Henri is to have you all to himself. I’m sure he’ll realize that in time.”

And with that, he walked away, laughing.

Ali could see no humor in his words and she wondered with a goodly bit of suspicion if Christopher knew far more than he should have, even without Gillian having told him anything.

He was the Dragon of Blackmour, after all.

And handsome though he might have been, there were still those unsettling rumors surrounding him, ones Ali couldn’t discredit.

She opened one eye and watched him suddenly pause and guffaw so fiercely that he had to hold himself upright by walls near the stairs.

He straightened and disappeared into the stairwell.

His laughter floated down behind him.

Colin belched, then rose, his chair scraping across the stone. “Henri, awake. ’Tis past time we were abed.”

Ali made a great pretense of waking up whilst she tried to ignore what he’d just said.

Bride. Squire.

Was she doomed to be with this man for the rest of her life one way or another?

She found herself being peered at by that man, who had stooped down a bit to better accomplish his task. He looked at her, muttered a bit under his breath, then shook his head.

“Poor lad,” he said, pulling her to her feet and turning her toward the stairs. “Too pretty by half. Well, you’ll sleep just inside my door this night where you’ll be safe.”

“Of course, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

“Manly tones, Henri,” Colin instructed. “Bring them up from your belly and put some meat on them.”

Ali took a deep breath. “Of course, my lord,” she said in her most squirely fashion.

Colin sighed. “We’ll work more on that tomorrow. We have a long ride to Harrowden. You’ll have ample time to practice.”

Ample time? She had the bloody rest of her life! And with no coin, no useful trade, and no true calling to the convent, she would likely be spending that life trying to be something she most certainly was not.

She chewed on that thought until she was comfortably rolled up in a blanket on the floor of Colin’s chamber, listening to him snore peacefully. Weaver? Nay. Minstrel? Assuredly not. Player?

Now, that was something she might consider, as she certainly had experience enough with pretending to be what she was not.

She would give it further thought on her ride to Harrowden.

For now, it was enough to be somewhere she could sleep safely.

And to think she had Colin of Berkhamshire to thank for it.

She greatly suspected that wasn’t what Marie had had in mind when she’d fashioned the betrothal contract.

But, by the saints, forever as Colin’s squire?

Oddly enough, it didn’t sound as horrifying as it might have two years ago.

Obviously she hadn’t been sleeping enough if that thought didn’t send her over the edge into an abyss of terror.

She closed her eyes, pulled her blanket up over her head, and forced herself to ignore any more foolish and completely far-fetched notions.

She would serve Colin for as long as it took for him to wed Sybil, then truly be about the business of fashioning herself a life.

Perhaps by then she would have acquired enough skill to force Sir Etienne to give her back her coin—and that at the point of her sword.

And once she had her coin, she could do as she pleased.