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S ir Etienne cursed as he paced in the garrison hall, a completely unsuitable, completely inadequate, fully filled, and foul-smelling place where only a lowly garrison knight should have found himself.

Not him, though. Not Sir Etienne, who would find himself lord of a keep someday with men attending him.

And women as well. He would stock himself a bloody harem when the time came if he so pleased.

But first he would have to have Solonge’s gold.

A pity he couldn’t have the daughter of Solonge whilst he was about it.

That was certainly the quickest way to find himself lord of something.

No doubt her father would amply reward the man who could slay Colin of Berkhamshire, just as the butcher was preparing to slay the lady Aliénore.

Sir Etienne considered that idea, then tossed it aside.

If he rescued her, he would have to wed with her and he wasn’t sure that would be worth her dowry.

If she’d been betrothed to Berkhamshire, perhaps her dowry wasn’t as massive as he’d hoped.

After all, Lord Colin had to have been desperate enough for a bride to take whatever he could get.

Hadn’t he accepted Sybil of Maignelay? ’Twas a certainty she had brought nothing with her.

Nay, better that he press on with his original plan.

Which he would do, if that damned Marie would respond to his message. He’d said it was urgent. Was she so witless that she couldn’t sense what he was about?

He’d almost decided that perhaps he should go search for her when a page came running into the hall, asked every soul there if he happened to be Sir Etienne, then finally looked about in confusion until Sir Etienne strode over and ripped the missive from the lad’s hands.

He gave the boy a goodly shove as a reward, then unfolded the disturbingly small scrap, of parchment.

I’m occupied now. Meet me in the stables after dark.

And that was all. Sir Etienne had a devil of a time making out those words alone, as his skills were certainly not what they likely should have been, but what did he need with reading when he would some day hire a man to do it for him?

He ground his teeth in frustration. Who did the wench think she was, sending him to the stables like a naughty kitchen lad bound for a whipping? He wanted her bed, damn her to hell, not a poor bit of straw. And did she not have more on her mind than his fine form? He had plans! He had schemes!

And he decided, in that instant, that he would say nothing of them to her.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully and let that thought build in him until he was fully satisfied with it.

Aye, he would keep his knowledge to himself and revel in the fact that he had a secret.

And whilst he was about his business with her, he would pry tidbits from her.

No doubt she’d seen the inside of Solonge’s treasury and would happily list items and amounts for him.

And when he was finished with her, he would toss her aside as callously as she had done him.

Besides, he would soon have Solonge’s wealth and be on his way. Marie would just have to content herself with lesser men, for he would most certainly no longer be available to her.

He bellowed for wine, but no one rushed to serve him. He sighed, cursed, and promised himself a household of servants who lived breathlessly to see to his needs.

He deserved nothing less.