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T HE STRANGER NOTICED Beatrice. Her brown eyes widened and glittered like wet mud in the tidal flats, although she continued to smile sweetly at Ranulf.

“I had heard you have a guest, Ranulf,” she said loudly enough for Beatrice to hear. “This must be the ward of the lord of Tregellas.”

Ranulf’s expression was frustratingly bland as he turned to look at Beatrice.

Unfortunately, she’d missed that first, important moment of reunion, when his reactions might have told her more about his feelings.

“Lady Beatrice, may I present Lady Celeste de Fontenbleu, an acquaintance from my youth.”

Acquaintance? That seemed a very casual word if they had once been in love, Beatrice thought, her happiness reviving as she approached and bowed her head in greeting.

An annoyed look flashed in Lady Celeste’s eyes. “I thought we were much more than mere acquaintances,” she said to Ranulf.

“Say friends, then,” he replied.

Lady Celeste still didn’t look pleased, but her peeved expression disappeared as she spoke to Beatrice, replaced with a kindly smile.

“What a pretty little creature you are,” she remarked, her voice oozing condescension.

“You certainly can’t tell by looking at you that you’re a traitor’s daughter, my dear. ”

Beatrice struggled to hide her rising anger. As upset as she was, and even though what Lady Celeste said was true, she wouldn’t show her real feelings to this woman. She wouldn’t give Lady Celeste the satisfaction of knowing her words had any effect on her at all.

“Whatever her father’s crime,” Ranulf said before Beatrice felt calm enough to reply, “Lady Beatrice is the ward of my overlord, and a guest here.”

Although his words were placidly uttered, Beatrice took some comfort in his implied criticism before he called to Tecca. “Bring wine for the ladies, and have a chamber prepared for Lady Celeste and her maidservant, and pallets found for the men of her escort.”

This Lady Celeste was going to stay?

With a look of smug satisfaction, the woman moved her skirts aside with a graceful gesture before she sat. Beatrice, meanwhile, perched upon the edge of another chair and tried not to frown.

“One would think you have been in command of this castle for years,” Lady Celeste said approvingly to Ranulf. “Your guards and servants are very well trained.”

Beatrice glanced at Ranulf, wondering if he was going to acknowledge that if his servants, at least, were well trained, she had something to do with it.

He didn’t. “I’ve learned many things about leading soldiers since we last met.”

“And done rather well for yourself, too. I heard all about your recent triumph at Ecclesford.”

“That was Sir Henry’s doing more than mine. I merely assisted.”

“I was told that after Sir Henry was wounded, it could have gone very badly for him and his men if you hadn’t been there to take command.”

“I did no more than any other would have in my place,” Ranulf replied.

“You always were a modest fellow, Ranulf,” the lady said with an admiring smile.

Never in all her life had Beatrice felt so invisible. It was as if she wasn’t even there—or they wished she wasn’t.

They were about to discover it wasn’t easy to ignore Beatrice.

She fairly beamed at Ranulf. “Isn’t he humble?

I myself have often thought he doesn’t brag enough,” she said.

She regarded Lady Celeste with wide-eyed, apparently genuine curiosity.

“I’m surprised, though, my lady, that since you think so highly of him and take such an interest in his accomplishments, you haven’t sought him out and visited him sooner.

His whereabouts have not exactly been a secret.

Tell me, how long has it been since you last saw Ranulf? ”

Lady Celeste’s lips thinned a little. “Too long.”

“That would explain why he’s never mentioned you.

As for being castellan, he’s more than earned this position of trust and responsibility.

Lord Merrick doesn’t simply hand out such rewards as if they were treats at Twelfth Night, you know.

But I suppose some people cannot see merit even if it’s right in front of their faces. ”

Lady Celeste ignored her. “Did you not occasionally wonder about me?” she asked Ranulf.

“Often,” he replied. “I was sorry to hear of Lord Fontenbleu’s demise. He was a good man. The court won’t be the same without him.”

Lady Celeste pulled a small square of linen out of her girdle and dabbed at her eyes. “It was a very unpleasant and lingering illness. I nearly fell ill myself taking care of him. And then I was so lonely in that big house in London all by myself, I thought I would visit you, now that I am free.”

Free? What did she mean by that? Beatrice wondered. Free to travel? Free to seek out a man she’d once spurned and offer him her love?

And what of Ranulf? He was being polite, as she’d expect, but what was he thinking? More importantly, what he was feeling?

Whatever he was thinking or feeling, she had better things to do than sit and listen to Lady Celeste fawn and flatter and flirt with Ranulf.

She got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to the lady’s chamber,” she announced.

And then she swept her skirts behind her with a swift flick and briskly walked away.

A S R ANULF WATCHED Bea go, he wanted to call her back and tell her that she had nothing to fear from Celeste, or any reason to be jealous. After the first shock of seeing Celeste again had passed, he had realized that whatever he’d felt for her before, it was dead and gone.

It had started to die, he realized, the day he’d first seen Bea standing on the steps of Tregellas, and it had been withering ever since.

Whereas Celeste had been as beautiful and exotic as a flower from foreign climes, Bea was naturally lovely, as sweet and welcome as the first wildflower of spring.

Celeste had been an unattainable goddess condescending to converse with a mere mortal.

Bea was like a good friend and merry companion, someone to share his joys and his tribulations with when the day was over.

He couldn’t imagine shopping in the market with Celeste, or discussing the need for a midwife and the problems with his servants.

Bea would not only discuss those things, she’d make him laugh about them and feel that everything would all work out, somehow.

Although he felt regret as he looked at Celeste’s still-beautiful face, it was because he was sorry he’d ever believed the excited, feverish desire he’d felt for her was love. He wanted nothing more than to tell her she couldn’t stay; unfortunately, the courtesy of chivalry demanded otherwise.

“I was surprised to learn that young woman was here,” Celeste noted, watching Bea’s retreating form. “I confess I was rather shocked that anyone would allow their ward such liberties, but then I’ve never met the lord and lady of Tregellas.”

“If you had, you wouldn’t doubt that they love Lady Beatrice and would never put her in danger.”

“Danger!” Celeste cried, smiling and touching his hand lightly before withdrawing her fingers.

“Oh, no, that isn’t what I meant at all.

I’m sure you wouldn’t dream of despoiling such a young and innocent girl, especially one who is so close to Lord Merrick, to whom you owe so much and despite her obvious attractions. ”

“No, I would not.”

To think that for years he’d imagined what he would do, what he would say, if and when he ever saw Celeste again.

Sometimes he’d planned a host of cutting things to say, hoping to hurt her as she’d hurt him.

Other times he envisioned ignoring her completely, wondering if that would be painful for her.

Sometimes, he imagined that she would throw herself into his arms and, sobbing, confess she’d made a terrible mistake.

God, he’d been so stupid.

“I meant no insult to you, Ranulf,” Celeste said contritely and with some genuine distress.

Because he still had hope for a happy future with Bea, he decided to be polite. “Forgive me. I’ve spent too much time among soldiers, I fear.” He gave Celeste a smile. “You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you.”

She returned his smile with a brilliant one of her own. “Flatterer! I don’t know whether I should be pleased or disappointed.”

“I hope I never cause you displeasure, my lady,” he answered as if by rote. This was the sort of thing Henry could say and make sound sincere. He must sound like an idiot.

Celeste regarded him with a pout that highlighted the fullness of her lips. “You’re beginning to sound like a courtier, Ranulf. I’ve had my fill of them and their insincerity.”

“Forgive me. I’m still recovering from the surprise of seeing your cortege enter the courtyard.”

“I was afraid you would tell me not to come if I sent word of my intentions,” she admitted. “The way we parted, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you never wanted to see me again.”

“What happened between us was long ago,” he said. “I told Beatrice you were a friend, and I see no reason it should not be so.”

“Just friends?” Celeste asked with another coy smile.

Before he could answer, Myghal burst into the hall.

“My lord!” he cried breathlessly, his chest heaving, his face flushed. “It’s Hedyn. He’s dead, my lord! Dead! ”

A SHORT WHILE LATER , Ranulf stood looking at the bloody, naked body of Hedyn and a woman, both lying dead in the sheriff’s bed.

Daveth, the servant who’d answered the door when Ranulf had visited Hedyn that day, cowered in the corner. His hair half hid his narrow face, although Ranulf could see the track of tears down his sallow cheeks.

Below, in the main room of the cottage, three other servants, all women of various ages, huddled together and wept.