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A li sat in the alcove of Marie’s solar and shivered.

It certainly wasn’t from the cold. Sweat poured down her face, down her back, down to pool in the cloth wrapped around her chest. She’d never felt such terror in all her life, and she’d certainly passed enough time in this chamber for such to be truly a startling admission.

She looked at her stepmother, who sat upon a chair, looking as serene as a summer’s morn.

No stray hairs escaping her wimple, no frown marring her brow, no pucker of irritation ruining the perfect symmetry of her lips.

Could evil truly look so beautiful?

Ali wondered if she might gain the door before Marie leaped from her chair and buried her knife in her back.

“I wouldn’t,” Marie said, as if she gently chided a child thinking to touch the thorn of a rose.

Ali realized she was halfway off the stool only because she had to sit back down.

She closed her eyes against the sight of Marie’s chamber and wished that she’d never left her father’s solar.

She could have hidden behind Colin as he did his business of death.

Either that, or she should have taken a torch with her and checked to see if her own small chamber was empty.

Which it hadn’t been.

She supposed that in truth she had only herself to blame.

Had she never left the chamber in the first place, she never would have had Colin follow her, then shoo her away from her little bit of robbery.

Then she never would have found herself standing outside her chamber with Marie’s arm around her shoulders and a knife pressed against her neck.

Her blade had remained in her hand, useless, until Marie had removed it and tossed it inside Ali’s chamber.

Refusing to accompany her stepmother up to her solar had been unthinkable.

Too many years of obeying merely to avoid worse punishment had left her obeying yet again simply out of habit.

All of which left her sitting where she was, huddled in the alcove, awaiting certain death.

She’d known it would finish thusly, that she would die at Solonge.

The only question that remained was who would do it.

And since Marie had left a servant to direct Colin to her solar at his earliest convenience, Ali supposed she would watch the two of them fight for the privilege of slitting her throat.

Unless she could make good her escape. She did have a knife in her boot that Marie had apparently overlooked.

She slipped her hand down her leg and had almost touched the haft when the door flung inward. Who should be standing there than her betrothed, the Butcher of Berkhamshire.

Looking less than pleased.

He stared at Marie. “What,” he asked curtly, “do you want?”

Marie smiled. “Not exactly an epitome of manners, are you?”

Well, the woman had an amazing display of cheek, Ali would give her that.

Colin leaned back against the doorframe and pursed his lips. “Your lord husband no doubt expects you elsewhere,” he said pointedly.

Marie laughed. “Ah, that I should be so desperate for a man that I should settle for you. Nay, my lord Berkhamshire, I didn’t invite you here for a tryst. I merely thought you might be interested in knowing whom you’ve had under your wing for these past pair of months.”

Ali didn’t dare look at Colin. She was far too busy contemplating the possibilities for her end.

Death at Marie’s hands.

Or death at Colin of Berkhamshire’s hands.

She suspected the second would hurt far worse, and it had nothing to do with the pain of a knife.

She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the look on his face when he discovered the depth and breadth of the lies she’d told him.

Or the expression he would wear when he realized that he was looking at the woman who hadn’t even had a decent excuse for why she’d bolted on him.

Fortunately, at the moment Colin’s attention was focused on Marie and not on her.

She didn’t dare try to divine what he was thinking.

He seemed unsurprised to see her there, and Marie’s announcement hadn’t seemed to surprise him either.

Perhaps it was just his warrior’s training that left his face so expressionless.

Or anger that was so deep he didn’t dare show it.

“Take off your clothes.”

Ali blinked, then realized Marie was speaking to her. She looked at her stepmother in surprise. “What?”

“Take off your clothes,” Marie said, with a negligent wave of her hand. “Let our fine lordling here see exactly what you are. He’ll divine the who readily enough after that.”

Ali swallowed past her parched throat. “Never,” she rasped.

Marie paused, then cocked her ear, as if she hadn’t heard aright. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” she said, pinning Ali with a look that spoke all too eloquently of the tortures to come if Ali disobeyed. “Take them off. All of them. And take them off now.”

Ali wished desperately that she still wore her mail. Or even a leather jerkin. Her simple tunic was far too little gear to have protecting her modesty.

She darted a look at Colin, but he only continued to lean with profound indifference against the doorframe.

So, she was on her own. She licked her lips with a tongue that felt as if it had spent the night outside her mouth.

Could tongues in truth become so dry? A block of wood would have served her better than that useless bit of flesh.

“I,” Ali began, her voice breaking, “I will ... not.”

It was nothing short of astonishing how quickly a body could move.

Before Ali could do more than squeak, Marie had leaped on her, slit her tunic down the front, and shoved the sleeves down her arms. Marie tore at the cloth that hid Ali’s bosom from view.

Ali did fight her then, trying to dodge Marie’s poking blade and save her modesty at the same time.

In the end, she was left standing there, clutching one end of the cloth over herself, her head tipped uncomfortably back as Marie held her by what little hair she had left. Marie was breathing heavily, but there was complete satisfaction in her voice when she spoke.

“Here, my lord Berkhamshire,” she said triumphantly. “May I present to you the errant lady of Solonge, Aliénore.”

And with that, she flung Ali down onto the floor. Ali skidded across the flat stones of the chamber and stopped just before Colin’s feet. She knelt there, hunched over so she would neither have to see his face nor show him anything more than he’d just seen.

“One of your knights, I presume?” Marie asked politely.

Colin was silent.

Ali knelt there, staring at his boots, and wondered when it was he would use one of those boots to kick the life from her.

Or would he use his sword? Would he hack her to bits and feed her to her father’s hounds?

Or would he give her to Marie, to suffer her stepmother’s form of justice?

Would those boots suddenly turn and leave the chamber?

“Shall you see to her for her deception,” Marie asked with unnerving calm, “or shall I?”

Again, Colin was silent. Indeed, the silence grew so thick that Ali wondered if she might ever again take a normal breath. She continued to stare at Colin’s boots, noting the scuffs and the mendings—rather well done, actually—and the wear that had come from miles of trudging over soil.

Looking for her.

If he did kill her, he might likely be justified for it, given the trouble she’d caused him.

The fact that he hadn’t moved, or spoken, was beginning to be a bit tedious. If she’d had any courage at all, she would have sat up, looked him in the face and told him to get on with the bloody business.

But she was a coward of the vilest sort.

So she kept her head bowed and her eyes on his boots.

And then the boots moved.

She heard him cross the chamber. She heard no other footsteps, so she assumed Marie had remained where she was. Brave woman. Then again, what had she to fear from the Butcher? She hadn’t betrayed him, deceived him, taken advantage of his kindness.

The boots returned, carrying Colin with him, and resumed their place by the doorway. And then he spoke.

“You should get up,” he said.

Never mind that over the past several weeks she had come to trust the man standing over her. That her end was so close and she so close to facing it was almost more than her poor form could handle. She crawled to her feet, shaking violently.

“You should, um, cover up,” Colin said.

She did look up at him then, but he was looking away. He merely held out her torn tunic. She didn’t hesitate. She re-wrapped her strip of cloth around her chest, then ripped the tunic from his hands and shoved her arms back into the sleeves. She clutched the ragged edges together.

Marie made a sound of disgust. “Perhaps you aren’t as ruthless as the rumors purport. I would have thought slaying a bare-breasted woman would have been fine sport for such a one as you.”

Colin didn’t answer, but he did look over Ali’s head at Marie. And there was nothing friendly in that gaze. Ali would have taken heart at that, but she knew it was but a matter of time before that same gaze was turned on her.

“I can see I’m to be the one to punish her,” Marie said, sounding not in the least bit displeased by the thought.

“I should have done it years ago. You know, her mother was weak. How she spawned so many lads is a mystery. I suppose ‘twas inevitable that she should spew forth a girl, and one like this.” Marie laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “’Twas a mercy I poisoned her dam, don’t you think? ”

Ali looked at her stepmother, hardly able to believe what she’d just heard. “You what?”

Marie smiled coldly. “I poisoned her. It didn’t take much. It never does with those kind.”

Ali felt the chamber begin to spin. And in the midst of falling to the floor, she found herself still on her feet, with heavy hands on her shoulders, holding her up. They were, all things considered, surprisingly gentle hands.