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*

“They almost did, lass.

Did ye not hear what I said?”

*

“P apa? Papa, can you hear me?”

The room at the top of the keep was tiny, filled with a bed and little else.

It smelled like rotted food and urine, a smell that permeated the stone and everything around it.

A man lay on the bed, wrapped in heavy blankets, while his servant, a man who was mute and blind in one eye, slept in a corner, cramped up against the cold wall with his feet against the hearth.

It was Havilland who had spoken the softly-uttered words to the man on the bed, calling for her father in the darkness. She tiptoed around the sleeping servant’s feet and moved closer to the figure moving about in the blankets. She reached out timidly, touching the shoulder.

“Papa?” she whispered again. “’Tis me; ’tis Havi. Are you awake?”

Roald de Llion rolled around on his straw-stuffed bed, finally lifting his head when Havilland spoke his name once more.

He looked at her, illuminated by the firelight, and sat up, running his hands nervously through his long, gray hair.

It was hair he used to keep neatly trimmed along with a mustache he had been quite proud of.

Now, the mustache was overgrown into a long, dirty beard and the hair hadn’t seen a cut in over a year.

He reached out to Havilland, pulling her into an embrace.

“Precious,” he muttered. “My precious.”

Havilland let her father squeeze her. He was still quite affectionate in spite of his illness but sometimes his affections became rather inappropriate.

Havilland would let him hug her but she would pull away quickly, avoiding the lecherous behavior to follow.

“Nay, Papa,” she said firmly. “It is Havilland. I am not my mother. Can you see my face? Look at me. I am not your wife.”

Roald looked at her but her words didn’t really register with him.

When he looked at Havilland, he saw his wife, Lady Precious, and in his muddled mind that was all he saw.

He couldn’t see his eldest daughter, a young woman who had been forced to assume an enormous burden because of his illness.

He only saw the past and his long-dead wife.

“Precious,” he murmured again.

Havilland tried not to be disheartened but it was inevitable.

Every time she came to see her father, she prayed that this would be the time that he emerged from whatever sickness polluted his mind and recognize her.

She still prayed that whatever affected him wasn’t permanent but every time she saw him, she was disappointed anew to realize that he was just the same.

Prayers hadn’t healed him and his mind was still as muddled as it had been, growing worse as the weeks and months went on.

Every visit with him depressed her more and more.

It was difficult to hold out any hope that he would heal at all.

“I do not even know why I come here,” Havilland finally murmured, still looking at her father, who was smiling at her.

She knew it was because he thought she was her mother.

“I come here every day to see you and every day, you think I am my mother. Or you think Madeline is our mother. Papa, Mother is gone. She had been gone for eleven years. Papa, I need you now. Can you understand me? Can you at least try?”

Roald reached out to touch her cheek, muttering his wife’s name again. It was nearly all he could say these days. Havilland sighed sharply and took his hand, her expression beseeching.

“Papa, please ,” she said, her throat tight with emotion.

“I need you. The Welsh have been on the attack and now… now I have been told that Madeline is giving information to Evon Preece. You remember him, Papa– he is Lord Preece’s son.

Madeline is telling him everything about what is happening at Four Crosses and I am afraid he is telling those who are attacking us.

I do not know what to do, Papa. If Lord de Lohr is told about Madeline’s treachery, he will kill her, but if I let her continue to do as she is, then she will kill us . I do not know what to do!”

Roald continued to stare at her, uncomprehending. He touched her cheek again, affectionately, and Havilland pulled away from him, despondent. He didn’t understand her. Leaning against the wall, she gazed at him with great sadness, cutting her to the very bone.

“I do not know why I came here,” she said again, hoarsely.

“There is so much happening and I am afraid, Papa. I do not want to make the wrong decision but my instincts tell me that Madeline must be stopped. She is trying to kill us all and I cannot let her. And de Lohr’s commander…

Papa, he is a Scotsman. He is strong and intelligent and…

and I like him a great deal. If my saying that distresses you, I wish you would say so.

I would give anything to hear you berate me for thinking well of another man. ”

Roald, disinterested in Havilland now that she had pulled away from him, lay back down on the bed and turned his back to her.

He was going back to sleep. Havilland watched her father wriggle around on the mattress, getting comfortable, before pulling the coverlet back over him. She snorted ironically.

“Then I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she said, going over to the bed and pulling the coverlet up over his shoulder, guarding against the chill of the room.

“But I had to come. I had to tell you what is happening. I… I suppose I shall make the decision I feel best, Papa. I have no choice. I will try to do what you would do in this circumstance. I only wish you could tell me so.”

Roald let out a snort that sounded more like a snore.

Havilland simply patted his shoulder, leaving the dark room and silently closing the door behind her.

She threw the bolt on the outside, the one that kept her father from wandering.

He had been known to do that. If they wanted to keep his illness a secret, then a wandering fool would surely announce to the world what had become of the once-great knight.

With a few hours left until dawn, Havilland retreated to her bed and in thinking of her father and how very alone she felt in the wake of such a crisis, cried herself to sleep.

*

Jamison felt as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Truth was, he’d slept very little in days, little enough so that he was starting to get dark circles beneath his eyes, but it couldn’t be helped.

The lack of sleep during battle wasn’t unusual and the fact that he’d been training men since the battles with the Welsh ended several days ago was enough to keep him active and awake.

As morning dawned over a misty landscape, he was already up and moving.

His thoughts were on Havilland. He simply couldn’t help it.

For the past few days, she had been his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night.

Even as he rolled off his pallet and sent a servant for hot water, he was thinking of her.

He washed with his precious bit of soap, using a rag, trying to get the compost smell off of his body from the night before.

Around him, Brend and Thad were awakening, preparing for the coming day.

Tobias was on watch until dawn. He and Jamison had stayed up most of the night, discussing Madeline de Llion and the situation they found themselves in.

When Tobias had plucked Jamison out of the solar the evening before and away from Havilland, it was to tell him that Madeline had returned to the castle and was mingling among the men on the wall, her usual post. She was back as if nothing had happened.

For most of the night, Jamison and Tobias had kept an eye on her until she finally retired a few hours before dawn. That was when Jamison went to bed, also, leaving Tobias to wait out the night.

But the discussion between Jamison and Tobias had been productive.

They had decided to send Brend to summon Chris de Lohr to Four Crosses with his army because they were both afraid of what would happen if they left the fortress for the seven-day trip to Lioncross Abbey.

Without the senior knights there, they could very well return and find the castle flying ap Llywelyn colors, so they made the decision that it would be unwise to leave.

Frankly, that suited Jamison just fine.

He didn’t want to leave, anyway. He didn’t want to be away from Havilland and he certainly didn’t want to leave Tobias behind with her.

That wouldn’t do at all. So as the sun rose, turning the mist shades of pale gray, Jamison dressed in two tunics that didn’t smell of moldering leaves and his brecan , which did smell, unfortunately.

He hated smelling like rotten compost with a woman about.

There wasn’t much he could do about it because it was so cold outside that he didn’t want to be without it, so he had little choice.

Jamison and Brend and Thad would have the day watch while Tobias slept.

Jamison would inform Brend of his mission back to Lioncross Abbey.

It was imperative that the earl come to Four Crosses and bring as many men as he could.

When a plan was formulated to trap the Welsh rebels, they wanted to be ready.