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T here were foul deeds afoot. Colin had a keen nose for trouble, and the stench of this rivaled, well, himself on his worst day. And most of the stench seemed to be coming from Sir Etienne’s direction.

Never mind that the man had almost slit his throat—and quite intentionally, to Colin’s mind.

And never mind that he was tormenting young Henri for reasons Colin had yet to determine.

What annoyed him no end was the fact that the man couldn’t find east if his life had depended on it.

Colin was presently regretting mightily his decision to allow the man to come along.

Never mind that the man was a true Frenchman.

Where was the advantage to that when his manners were atrocious, his personality intolerable, and, again, his sense of direction nonexistent?

It had taken them more than a se’nnight to come this far southeast, and that only because Colin had known where they were going. Had he been relying on Sir Etienne to lead in these matters, they likely would have been in Spain by now and scratching their heads over how they’d gotten there.

The only good to come of the past seven days was the opportunity to train Henri.

Mayhap ’twas for that reason that their progress had been so poor, but Colin couldn’t complain about it.

He’d wanted the time to teach the girl something useful and he’d taken it without hesitation.

She was making decent progress and that pleased him.

Of course, that goodly mood had lasted for him only until the rains had begun—and continued without abatement for the past two days.

He’d finally decided that he had no choice but to seek shelter.

And that had led him to the place where he stood at present, staring at the inn before him and wondering if he dared enter.

The Swinging Bucket. Colin had swung the bucket before—actually, he’d swung from The Bucket’s sign over the door in a very fine and noteworthy escape from French soldiers—and found himself quite unwelcome to come back for another dip.

But rain was coming down in, aye, buckets, and there seemed to be little they could do besides either seek shelter here or catch their deaths from the ague outside. Colin pulled his hood up around his face and looked at his companions.

“Do not announce yourselves or your business,” he said sternly. “We’re carrying a message to Solonge. Nothing more.”

“Four of us?” Sir Etienne asked politely. “It must be a very important message.”

Colin knew that the only reason he hadn’t loathed Sir Etienne fully on sight was that he’d been distracted by other things.

But now he’d had nigh onto a month to let that feeling swell within his breast. The man needed to be taught a lesson.

And Colin would happily do the teaching, after they’d arrived safely at Solonge.

That should take them but a handful of days more.

Less, if they rode hard. He would then make the man think twice about venturing forth from his bed, then employ some other guide and have no more need of Sir Etienne.

That day couldn’t come soon enough, to his mind.

But those pair of days might also give him time enough to discover what it was that Sir Etienne held over Henri’s head and that would be time well spent. How long had that been going on? And how in the bloody hell had he been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed it sooner?

Well, having his life fall apart around him was one reason.

Discovering that his new guardsman was a woman was another.

Perhaps he could be forgiven his lack of concentration, given the circumstances.

But no more. He was determined to discover Sir Etienne’s foul secrets and rid himself of the man as quickly as possible, especially after that feeble attempt on his life.

He’d been awake long before Sir Etienne had come to stand over him with his blade bared, so he certainly hadn’t been caught unawares.

But that the man should dare such a thing was what troubled him.

What was the fool about, anyway?

Well, there would be time enough for those answers. He certainly wouldn’t have them if he were dead from exposure. Colin took a deep breath and ducked beneath the doorframe.

Apparently they weren’t the only ones seeking shelter that night. The common chamber was full to overflowing with wet, steaming bodies. Colin espied a table in the far comer and made his way as unobtrusively as possible to it.

The innkeeper’s gel arrived soon enough and Colin felt fortunate that she wasn’t one he recognized.

A meal was provided without delay and Colin set to with his usual manly gusto.

Out of the comer of his eye he watched Henri eat and wondered why it was he’d been blind for so long.

Why, even the way the girl fed herself left no doubt of what she was.

She ate heartily, true, but without the grunts and snarls of most men when they were fair to perishing from hunger.

Even Jason, who Colin had to grudgingly admit possessed all those manners that Gillian seemed to find so important, had a certain thoroughness and single-mindedness when it came to filling his belly.

Even if he didn’t use the table’s cloth to wipe his mouth afterward.

Colin looked for a tablecloth, but finding none, used his sleeve. That’s what the damned things were for, anyway. What else was he supposed to use? His neighbor’s sleeve?

“What’re you scowling about?” Jason asked, taking an elegant sip of his ale. “The fare not suit you?”

“’Tis adequate,” Colin replied. “I’m just thinking on those ridiculous rules Gillian has for a man at table and wondering how it is you manage to follow all of them while not looking remotely like a woman.”

“’Tis my gift,” Jason said modestly.

“’Tis damned annoying,” Colin grumbled. He looked at Henri. “Don’t you agree, lad?”

Henri mumbled something unintelligible.

“We’re men,” Colin pressed. “Our duty is to fill our bellies with as little delay as possible. Who needs a spoon when you’ve two good fists and you know how to use them, eh?”

Henri delicately dabbed her lips with some kind of cloth she’d produced from the saints only knew where. “Of course, my lord,” she said, nodding. “Bloody hell!”

Colin choked and had to pour himself several cups of ale before the choking subsided.

Why, the girl wasn’t a servant. No servant would have those manners that Gillian was so damned particular about.

This wench could be nothing less than a highborn lady in disguise.

But what in the world could be so terrible that it would send a highborn wench fleeing into hose and mail?

Colin watched Henri—or whatever her name truly was—finish her meal.

Gillian, he thought with a scowl, would have been fully satisfied with her comportment.

He found himself less impressed by that than by the depths of her green eyes and the fairness of her face.

He could hardly imagine anyone, especially a parent, lifting a hand to one such as she.

Even with her shorn hair falling about her face, and that face liberally smudged with the saints only knew what, she was exceedingly lovely.

Did he but have a daughter such as she, no task would have been too much, no luxury too expensive, no whim too ridiculous for him to have seen to.

And had his own girl been stolen ... well, the saints pity the fool who dared the like.

But perhaps this girl didn’t have the benefit of a sire such as he would have been to her.

Mayhap her sire was cruel. Or mayhap he possessed a cruel wife.

Colin could readily see how a woman might have been jealous of such a one as this.

But what a woman that had to be, to have given birth to this creature, then fostered a hatred in that same breast that had given the girl life.

Colin, who had seen many terrible things over the course of his life, simply couldn’t fathom that.

But did the mother hate the girl thusly, or the sire for that matter, ‘twas entirely possible that she could have betrothed her to the most loathsome man she could find. And ’twas also quite possible that this girl had found flight to be the only acceptable course of action for herself.

But who could be so loathsome that a girl would choose a life as a boy to escape him?

No one came to mind.

He looked around purposefully and the jug was summarily deposited before him.

He finished it without further ado. Fortunately for him, he could drink numerous divisions of the French army under the table and still walk away with a clear head, so the drink did nothing but restore his wits to him.

Unfortunately, it didn’t ease his heart.

“We should seek our beds whilst there are beds to be had,” he announced. “And tomorrow, Henri, we will train. Perhaps spending another day or two here waiting out the weather will do us all good.”

“And your identity?” Sir Etienne asked innocently. “Was there a reason we were to be silent about it?”

“A little scuffle,” Colin said, waving his hand negligently. “But one I wouldn’t want to repeat. Neither would you. You might bruise something and then where would we be?”

He watched as Sir Etienne threw Henri a glare and a look that contained something else. A warning? Colin sat back and wondered what Henri would choose to do. Protect Sir Etienne, no doubt.

Which she did, by trying to distract Colin to other things.

Colin listened to Henri babble something about baggage and horses and the like, then turned back to Sir Etienne. “I didn’t have your answer. How would you fare in a brawl of that size? Poorly?”

“My lord,” Henri said, leaping to her feet and upsetting her ale. “’Tis late and I’m feeling quite ill all of the sudden. Our beds, aye?”

Colin looked at Sir Etienne and saw the satisfaction cross the man’s features. And he vowed again to discover the depths of whatever it was the man held over Henri.

And then repay him for it.