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Ali came back to herself very unwillingly. She remained where she was, still, until she realized that the deck beneath her was no longer moving. She opened a very bleary eye and looked around her, wondering if she should be grateful she was alive or continuing to wish she weren’t.

They were on a dock. The weathered wood was very steady beneath her form, gathered as she was in a heap by a goodly bit of baggage.

Legs stood in front of her and she recognized the finely made boots on those legs as belonging to Jason of Artane.

He bounced up and down on his heels every now and then, as if he were actually anxious to be off and doing.

The motion made her nauseated, so she quickly closed her eyes and gave herself up to the luxury of being stood guard over.

The peace seemed to last for but a moment or two before she found herself being gently urged to awaken. She squinted and tried to make out the visage above her.

“’Tis only me,” Jason said cheerfully. “We’re ready to be on our way. Do you think you can stand?”

“It would be a miracle.”

He laughed, took her under her arms, and hauled her to her feet.

Then he continued to hold her as the world around her spun violently.

Ali was very tempted to continue her shipboard activity, but she couldn’t bring herself to spew anything on the front of Jason’s cloak.

So she clamped her lips together, willed her stomach to settle, and tried to concentrate on determining just what kind of pattern that was on the brooch that held Jason’s cloak at his throat.

“What is that?” she whispered.

“A dragon and his wee kit,” Jason supplied. “You can no doubt divine who gave it to me.”

“Your sire must quake at the sight.”

“Aye, he does. But Christopher was once his squire as well, and a very beloved one. My sire begrudges him little.”

“Well, the Dragon seems to have made you into something of a man,” she conceded.

“As Colin will you,” Jason said, with a twinkle in his eye. “Now, what sort of jewels shall we make up for you? A butcher’s knife with a small dagger dangling next to it?”

She found it in her to glare at him.

He only grinned and turned her toward her waiting horse. “Mount up if you’re able. I’ll see to the gear.”

It took her several tries, and in the end it was Colin who came by and casually tossed her up into the saddle without comment, but she was finally astride her horse.

And wishing greatly she were back on solid ground.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about it.

So she clung to the saddle and reins both to give herself something solid to hold on to, realized early on that closing her eyes only made the motion worse, and wondered if it would be unappreciative of her to pray yet again for a quick and painless death.

The morning dragged on with infinite slowness. They rode for what seemed several eternities laid end to end. It was a moment-to-moment struggle for her to simply keep herself in her saddle and not heave into the undergrowth beside the road.

At least the remainder of her seasickness took up most of her energy, leaving very little to use in thinking about the state of her affairs.

Indeed, the longer she rode, the more certain she was that another descent into senselessness was not only inevitable, it was imminent.

At least there, loitering in the blackness, she wouldn’t have to give any thought to her future.

When she was certain she could stave off the darkness no longer, she wrapped her hands tightly in the reins, settled herself as firmly into her saddle as possible, and leaned her head against her horse’s neck.

And she hoped that when she fell, Colin would get to her before Sir Etienne could trample her under his horse’s hooves.

S he woke only to realize that she was indeed no longer on top of her horse, nor had she been left behind.

She listened to the voices around her, tramping down a brief flash of panic that those voices might belong to ruffians bent on robbing and otherwise harming a hapless, very ill girl in knight’s gear.

Nay, they were souls she had no trouble identifying.

That was Sir Etienne going on and on in his most boastful voice. Colin was snorting from time to time and Jason was idly plucking the strings of a lute. She kept her eyes closed, content to be wrapped up and resting near a fire.

Unfortunately, that enjoyment lasted precisely the space of three heartbeats, for ’twas almost immediately that she began to actually hear the words that Sir Etienne was spouting.

“I already told you I’ve been to Solonge many times,” he was saying. “I can lead you there, as well as introduce you to the lady of the house, Marie.”

“The lady Aliénore’s mother?” Colin rumbled.

“Nay, her stepmother. But a fine woman, surely. After all, how many would take on a keep of that size, as well as six children that she did not bear herself, yet retain such fine humors?”

Who indeed? Ali felt a chill run down her spine.

Just how was it Sir Etienne knew so much?

Then again, she supposed Marie’s identity wasn’t much of a secret.

The situation Marie had married into couldn’t have been either.

But had Sir Etienne actually been to Solonge to learn those things for himself, or was he merely a skilled eavesdropper in the local tavern?

She had no idea, for she couldn’t have said if Sir Etienne had truly been to Solonge.

She’d been forever in the solar, working at some task Marie had set her to, whenever there had been company below.

Indeed, since Marie had come to the keep, Ali could count easily the number of times she’d been allowed to descend for supper.

She’d usually had it brought to her in the solar, cold of course, by a servant who had filched a goodly bit of it on his way up the stairs.

Complaining had earned her nothing but punishment, so she’d learned not to complain.

Odd, that her life now seemed actually much easier than her life had been then. Odder still that she had Colin to thank for that.

She had meals when she needed them. She had rest enough and ample chance to be outside in the goodly air.

The work of war had even begun to please her as well.

Finally, something she was actually good at.

Indeed, there was something quite satisfying about having mastered something well enough that Colin would actually give her a single, brief nod of approval.

It was far preferable to the endless criticisms and the constant danger of living with Marie of Solonge. The few times Ali had tried to protest her treatment at her stepmother’s hands, her father had brought Marie into his solar and asked her if Ali spoke the truth.

That had always resulted in another of those afternoons alone with Marie in a remote tower chamber—those afternoons Ali didn’t miss.

“How long will it take us to get to Solonge?” Colin asked, interrupting her musings. “Jason, by the bloody saints, that’s foul. Can you not pick out some tune my ears can recognize?”

“Songs to accompany brawls are not my forte, my lord,” came the innocent reply. “I’ve confined my repertoire to ballads and other such tales of courtly love.”

“It all sounds of screeching to me,” Colin grumbled. “Now, Sir Etienne, your thoughts on the length of the journey?”

“With fair weather and no trouble, a se’nnight,” Sir Etienne said. “No more. Unless the lad continues this disturbing weakness he’s showing and we’re forced to wait for him.”

Ali wondered if it might be time to rise and stretch, just to prove that she wouldn’t delay them, then she realized how foolish that was. Wasn’t delay what she wanted? The longer it took them to travel to Solonge, the more time she would have to find a way out of her current plight.

Though what that way might be she couldn’t have for the life of her said.

Why don’t you try the truth? You can trust the truth. Lord Colin certainly does.

Berengaria’s counsel came back to her as clearly as if she’d heard the words spoken in her ear.

Tell him the truth and weather the consequences?

She was beginning to wonder if she had any other choice.

She was quite familiar with another bit of truth, though, and that was that she could not return to Solonge, not even to beg for her father’s mercy. He would never understand how dangerous Marie was until Ali was lying in her grave.

Victim of a very unfortunate accident, no doubt.

“So,” Sir Etienne said, “what are your plans? Tell me of them and let me see if I can improve upon them.”

More snorting ensued, then Colin spoke. “We’ll go to Solonge and have speech with the lord there. And then I’ll try to discover Aliénore’s trail.”

“A waste, if all you plan to do is kill her in the end anyway.”

“I will search. Perhaps the lass is merely in need of aid.”

“I doubt that,” Sir Etienne said with his own snort. “She’s likely flat on her back with any number of soldiers, whoring her way across France.”

Ali did open her eyes then, for Colin had leaped to his feet and his sword rang out as he drew it.

“That is my bride you speak of,” he said, glaring down at Sir Etienne.

Ali wondered what Sir Etienne would do, but she didn’t have to wonder long. He was staring at her pointedly, then a small smile came over his face.

“Well,” he drawled, looking up at Colin with no fear on his visage, “I never would have said it had Henri not said it to me first. ’Twas his opinion of the good lady, you know.”

Ali sat up with a start, sure that Colin would run her through for the insult. But he didn’t look at her. Instead, he thrust home his blade and resumed his seat. He looked at Sir Etienne coldly.

“If he said the like, which I very much doubt he did, he can be forgiven the insult. He is young and inexperienced. You, as a man of goodly years, should know better.”

“Will you demand satisfaction from me?” Sir Etienne asked, putting his hand over his heart and blinking in feigned surprise.