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A li stood up to her ankles in mud and wished for nothing more than to go back to bed where she was comfortable.

She’d had such a peaceful night’s rest. There was something to be said for having the Butcher of Berkhamshire sleeping but an arm’s length away from you—especially when you had no fear of him.

Which was a most noteworthy and amazing thing in itself.

After such a wonderful night, she’d found herself coming quite close to a day of leisure.

Colin had woken her with quite purposeful plans for the day, plans that had included having speech with her father in his solar.

’Twas just her luck that her sire had been unwell.

Unfortunately, that had left Colin with nothing else to do but drag her out into the lists, where she had been for the past pair of hours.

Those hours seemed more like years. It was taking all her strength merely to lift her sword and fend off Colin’s very lukewarm attack.

“Bloody hell,” he said, sounding thoroughly disgusted, “what are you thinking about? I could have removed your head from your shoulders a score of times this morning.”

Ali forced her thoughts back to the task at hand and lifted her sword with all her concentration.

Of course it didn’t help that Solonge’s entire garrison was gathered nearby, watching her.

And it certainly didn’t help that she’d seen four of her brothers at the table that morning, with promises of a fifth to stumble from his bed—and that would have been Francois, of course—by noon.

Did she but manage to survive the day, ’twould be nothing short of a miracle.

Too many watchers were beginning to make her very nervous.

Her sword felt unfamiliar in her hands, and the complete familiarity of her surroundings only added to her unease.

She dodged a particularly unpleasant thrust only to lose her balance and go down heavily on her backside in the mud.

She sat there and looked up at Colin. He only sighed deeply, then put up his sword.

He reached over and hauled her to her feet.

Then he steadied her with his hands on her shoulders.

“We all have days,” he said quietly, “when ’tis perhaps best to stop early.” He peered down at her. “Is there aught that troubles you? Something you would care to tell me about?”

Ali frowned at him. What was it with the man of late? He would have rivaled a priest with his solicitousness! Was he beginning to go soft, or was Solonge working the same foul-ness upon him that it ever wrought on her?

“Henri?” he prompted.

“Trouble?” she asked. By the saints, she scarce knew where to begin in describing all the things that could be listed as troubles. “Ah, nay. No troubles.”

“Well,” he said, looking faintly disappointed, “I suppose if you have a moment, you might think of a few to share with me. And,” he added, “with any luck we’ll escape this accursed place before either of us encounter any more.”

“Will we leave soon?”

“Are you ready to leave?”

“I was ready never to come here,” she said, then bit her lip. Aye, that was wise, giving him reason to wonder why.

But he only nodded sagely. “Understandable. You’d likely heard rumors of the lady Marie, aye?”

“Aye,” she said weakly.

“We’ll leave after I speak with your—I mean, after I speak with... um... our good lord of Solonge. I’ve a thing or two to inquire of him, then we’ll be on our way. Things about Aliénore, you know. That I might know better where to search.”

Ali hardly cared where he searched as long as he managed to get them out of Solonge in the near future. She would worry about his searching once they were free of the keep.

And hopefully free of Sir Etienne.

Would that one be satisfied with whatever she could filch from her father’s trunk, or would she find herself having to endure his presence further?

She looked up at Colin. “What of Sir Etienne? Will you leave him behind?”

“With any luck,” he muttered. “Now, if you would forgive me, I feel the need to grind something into the dust and I daresay you would prefer that something to not be you. Perhaps the garrison here would be willing to indulge me.”

She suspected they would, if only to be able to boast of having faced the man once during their lives—never mind if they walked away, or crawled away more likely, completely humiliated.

Ali trudged across the field to the wall.

She sat on the bench and dragged her filthy hands through her filthy hair.

What she wanted was a wash and a warm fire.

Perhaps Colin could be prevailed upon to end his torment of her father’s garrison soon.

She didn’t relish the thought of sitting out in the rain, even if it allowed her to watch Colin do what he did best.

The men came, just as she’d thought they would, and with more enthusiasm than she would have suspected. Perhaps to have bested him would have been something to boast about all the way to the grave.

It didn’t look like anyone would have anything to boast of any time soon, however.

Whatever beauty Colin’s face lacked, his swordplay more than made up for. The man might have been huge, but he was, she had to admit, very graceful when it came to this deadly dance of his. He neither smiled nor cursed. He merely exercised his considerable skill and made no sound of boasting.

That is, until somewhere in the second score of men, when her father’s largest and fiercest guardsman stepped to the fore.

Colin smiled pleasantly.

Ali had the feeling it wouldn’t go well for the other man.

She searched back in her memory for the name: Osbert, from some little fief beholden to Solonge.

Aye, she remembered him, now that she gave it some thought.

He was the self-proclaimed fiercest of the lot, fiercest from his village, and, by his own estimation, sure to be sought after for any army with victory in mind.

All of which he recounted for Colin as he stretched various parts of himself and flexed his fingers.

Colin looked, predictably, quite bored.

And then Osbert drew his sword. And Colin drew his.

Osbert took a mighty swing. The clash of swords jarred Ali- even where she sat and she wondered, briefly, if Colin might have met his match in this man.

He was easily as large as Colin, seemed to be as strong, and his swordplay showed no small lack of skill.

Colin merely kept to his task, parrying and thrusting, hacking and poking, using both hands when necessary.

A goodly while later, they were still at it; the only difference was that Osbert was beginning to grow quite red in the face.

“Your reputation,” he said with a sneer, “overstates your skill.”

“Does it?” Colin asked mildly.

“I’ve been but toying with you up to now,” Osbert proclaimed loudly. “Now the true work of the day will begin.”

“By all means,” Colin said, inclining his head politely, “work away.”

Osbert came at him with a whirlwind of strokes that left even Colin being forced to take a step or two backward.

Ali held her breath, suddenly quite unsure she could bear watching him be vanquished.

Indeed, Osbert seemed to find the falling back much to his liking, for he continued his relentless assault, spewing forth curses and taunts along with his merciless and very impressive attack. Even the garrison leaned forward in anticipation.

“See?” said a voice next to her ear. “I told you he was nothing.”

Ali looked up in surprise to meet Sir Etienne’s unpleasant visage. She quickly looked away and said nothing.

“Where is my treasure?”

“Locked up, likely.”

His hand suddenly in her hair hurt very much, but she didn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing it. What she did notice was that Colin had looked her way and seen Sir Etienne’s movement.

And then the unthinkable happened.

He went down in the mud.

Ali knew she had to do something, so she elbowed Sir Etienne in the groin as hard as she could, then glared at him as he knelt gasping next to the bench.

“I’ll get it tonight,” she said. “But trouble me again for it and you’ll never have it.”

“You foolish twit—”

“Trouble me again,” she said, rising and putting her hand on the hilt of her sword, “and I’ll tell Colin immediately everything he might wish to know and then he’ll see to you. I daresay you wouldn’t last long against him.”

Sir Etienne continued to curse her, but it was interspersed with such gasps that she couldn’t make much sense of it. She glared at him then and hurried farther down the wall.

Her father stood there, but perhaps he was protection enough for her purposes.

She stood on his far side, putting him between herself and Sir Etienne.

Then she looked back to the field and nodded to Colin.

He spared her another brief glance before he rolled, just in time to miss being skewered on Osbert’s sword.

“A fine warrior,” Denis remarked.

“Lord Colin?” she asked, then gulped. “Lord Colin?” she repeated, making her voice as husky as possible.

Her father stilled, then looked down at her. She looked quickly away, realizing that she had left her cloak on the bench. Damn, what was she to do now? She kept her face averted, praying he wouldn’t find her interesting enough to study at length.

“Aye, Lord Colin,” he said slowly. “Have you served him long?”

“Many years,” she lied.

“I see,” her father said, sounding powerfully weak. “He wishes to speak to me. I suppose I must, then, after he’s finished with this business here.”

Ali stole a look at her sire and was surprised at how pale he was.

Had he eaten something foul the night before?

Or did the mere thought of Colin wreak havoc on the man?

She watched him focus his attentions on Colin standing in the lists, and saw him shudder.

She understood, of course. Colin was quite formidable.

Well, at least her father was concentrating on his onetime son-in-law instead of her own soft and unmanly features.