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No wonder Ranulf had no use for minstrel’s ballads of love and hated the romantic stories of Arthur and his court.

“I assure you, I loved him more every day and wanted very much to be his wife.”

Celeste’s expression grew mournful as she took hold of Beatrice’s hands in hers, her grip strong and her fingers cold.

“But when my family discovered our tendre , they were furiously angry. They had other plans for me, you see. They told me I was being both foolish and selfish. I had to make a marriage that would benefit the family, not just myself. Ranulf was a poor and landless knight, and worse, he’d killed his own brother—”

“What?” Beatrice gasped in stunned disbelief.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Celeste asked with a pitying look.

“Yes, my dear, it’s true. They lived in Lincolnshire, on an estate by the coast. Ranulf and his brother got into a fight, and somehow or other, they wound up in the sea.

Ranulf held Edmond under the water until he drowned.

Afterward, their father cast Ranulf out without a penny. ”

“It…it must have been an accident,” Beatrice whispered. She couldn’t believe Ranulf had killed his own brother, until she remembered what Ranulf had said about his family and their cruelty. “He must have been trying to defend himself.”

“That’s what I thought, too, but he would never talk about it, even though I asked him more than once.”

Of course that would be a painful subject for him, and no wonder Ranulf dreaded the sea.

Nevertheless, the notion of Ranulf deliberately, viciously and cold-bloodedly murdering anybody was simply inconceivable.

“Anyone who knows Ranulf can be certain he’s innocent of willful murder.

Sir Leonard de Brissy thought Ranulf was worthy of being trained as a knight.

He wouldn’t have done that if he believed Ranulf a murderer. ”

“That is what I told my parents, too,” Celeste said.

“He couldn’t have done such a terrible, heartless thing.

It had to be an accident. Yet they refused to listen and used his brother’s death as another excuse to keep me from him.

They forbade me to see him. They told me they would disown me if I disobeyed.

I begged and pleaded and cried until I could cry no more, but they were adamant.

” Celeste wiped her eyes with the corner of her sleeve.

“When Lord Fontenbleu asked for my hand, my family was at me night and day until I surrendered to their wishes.”

Beatrice thought about her cousin and what Constance had been prepared to do if she hadn’t fallen in love with Merrick. What Constance had counseled her to do if she found herself betrothed against her will. “You could have run away.”

“But we would have had nothing—no money, no home.”

“You would have had Ranulf.” For Beatrice, that would have been more than enough. “Instead, you broke his heart.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Celeste asked piteously. “Don’t you think mine broke as well?”

Almost against her will, Beatrice’s heart softened. Lady Celeste would not have been the first young woman to succumb to a family’s pressure to yield. “I suppose it must have been difficult.”

“Indeed, it was!” Celeste exclaimed. “I cried myself to sleep every night until the wedding, and that was three months later.”

“At least you had the comfort of knowing you’d pleased your family, and you had a husband, too. Ranulf had no one, for he told no one what happened. Even his closest friends don’t know. I asked Henry once, you see, because I was sure someone had wounded Ranulf deeply.”

“Oh, he had comfort, my dear,” Celeste replied with a hint of a sneer. “And plenty of it. Many women were happy to rush into his arms once I had left them.”

Beatrice had heard enough. “I think you should rest, my lady,” she said, getting to her feet.

“You have no idea of the torment I endured,” Celeste charged. “You have no right to stand in judgment of me—you who have the love of your cousin who allows you such liberties, in spite of what people will say. And her husband is so in her thrall, he won’t gainsay a thing she does.”

It was one thing for this woman to patronize and belittle Beatrice; it was quite another for her to insult Constance and Merrick.

“You’re right, my lady. I don’t understand you.

I don’t understand how you could spurn the finest, best man in England.

If I had Ranulf’s love, I would run away and live with him in a ditch rather than marry another. ”

With that, Beatrice turned on her heel and started for the door.

“Would you really?” Celeste replied with undisguised scorn as she scrambled from the bed to follow her. “How brave and bold you are. Obviously you care little for your reputation. But then, what reputation have you to lose?”

Celeste grabbed Beatrice’s arm to keep her there.

“Your father was executed for treason, all his property and wealth forfeit to the crown. You have no land to bestow, and all the dowry you may hope for comes courtesy of your cousin’s husband.

You claim to know Ranulf—will he want to accept what is little more than his friend’s charity?

I can give him everything he deserves—money, land, and the power that goes with it.

With me as his wife, he will be welcomed at court, even in the king’s counsel.

And he is a man of the world. Can you please him in bed?

Do you know the tricks that can bring a man to such ecstasy, he’ll never want to leave your arms?

You’re just a girl, a virgin—and he’s had his fill of them.

Fourteen in a fortnight, that was the wager he won.

Do you think he’ll ever be satisfied with you? ”

Pale to the lips, Beatrice wrenched her arm free of the lady’s grasp and again started for the door.

“What can you give him compared to what I have to offer?” Celeste demanded.

Beatrice whirled around and stalked toward Celeste like an enraged lioness. Blanching, Celeste stumbled backward until she hit the bed and could go no farther.

“I can give him a love that would risk anything rather than give him up,” Beatrice declared.

“I can give him my heart, and my body. I can give him my trust, my respect, my admiration.

I can give him everything he deserves from a woman, everything I have and am.

And in return, if he gives me his love and his respect, his heart and his body, I will be the happiest, luckiest woman in England.

“And know you this, my lady. I love Ranulf. I will continue to love him despite your pitiful efforts to blacken his name or to win him back with your lies.

“So I suggest, my lady,” she concluded, “that as soon as you are able, you pack up your goods and go and find another man who can appreciate your beauty and your other considerable assets. Leave Ranulf to the peace he deserves and the happy life I hope to give him. And God go with you, my lady, because Ranulf won’t! ”

A S B EATRICE MARCHED out of Celeste’s bedchamber, Ranulf watched the last of the fishermen leave Hedyn’s house, taking the smell of the morning’s catch with him.

“Is that all of them?” he asked Myghal, who had been with him during the questioning of the villagers.

“Aye, my lord.”

Standing at the open window, Ranulf gazed up at the sky.

It had been three days since Hedyn and Gwenbritha’s murder—three days he’d spent questioning every adult in Penterwell, except for the time he’d spent at Hedyn’s funeral mass, or sleeping, or grabbing a bite to eat in the hall.

He’d barely seen Bea in all that time. Either he was asking questions trying to get answers, or she was nursing Celeste, who finally—thank God—seemed to be getting better.

Even more thankfully, neither Bea nor anyone else had fallen ill.

He’d chosen to do his questioning here, in the house where Hedyn and his lover had died, because he hoped that would inspire those he queried to give him answers. He wanted them to think about the dead man and the poor woman who’d been his lover before they’d been so brutally murdered.

Unfortunately, not one of the people he’d questioned had told him anything useful.

Nobody had any idea who could have killed Hedyn, Gwenbritha or Gawan, or who would want to.

Nobody knew what had happened to the two others who’d gone missing earlier, or if there was anyone who had wanted Sir Frioc dead.

To hear the villagers’ responses, it was as if evil spirits had flown into Penterwell to do the dastardly deeds.

“Very well, Myghal,” Ranulf said with a sigh, wondering what he’d do next to try to find the culprits.

Perhaps he should lead the patrols of the coast himself, as he’d done before.

Maybe his soldiers had missed something, or were protecting their relatives.

He hated to think it, but it was possible.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Myghal said quietly, as if wary of interrupting Ranulf’s frustrated thoughts.

“Yes?”

Myghal shifted his feet. “The folks have been asking me when we’re going to get a new sheriff and who it might be.”

Ranulf had been thinking about that, too, and one candidate seemed obvious. “I see no reason why you should not be the sheriff.”

Myghal stared at him as if he was thunderstruck. “M-me, my lord?”

“Why not?” Ranulf asked. “You were Hedyn’s undersheriff for two years and he found you capable, as do I.”

Myghal’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I’m honored, my lord, but surely I’m not…there’s got to be…”

“Would you really rather I named another?” Ranulf asked, sensing there was more than modesty to Myghal’s protestations.

That wasn’t surprising, given that his predecessor had been brutally murdered. “After what happened to Hedyn, I can understand if you’re reluctant, although I’ll be disappointed.”

“It’s not that,” Myghal said. “But, um, you may have noticed, my lord, there’s some that don’t like me in Penterwell.”

“I have noticed,” Ranulf replied, recalling some of the looks he’d noticed Myghal receiving from the villagers.

“But I have yet to meet anyone universally admired. It’s also a sad truth that most men who represent the law are often regarded with suspicion.

However, I need a man I can rely on, and one just as determined to find out who’s responsible for these deaths as I am. Are you that man, Myghal?”

The younger man straightened his slightly beefy shoulders. “I am, my lord.”

“Then you are now the sheriff of Penterwell, and I am going home.”