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“It’s written all over your face. That and your pretty smile,” he said, again trying to charm her.

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. She had no time for flirting. Or rather, she didn’t want to. Not with him.

“Why did you decide to tell me all this? Surely, the empress wouldn’t want me to know.”

“Probably not. But you asked. And she trusts you. She thinks you’re a lot smarter than a lot of the people ’round here.

And I trust her. We are both loyal to her cause, you and I, so it seemed only right to share what I knew.

” He offered her a slow smile that to her surprise, seemed genuine.

“Besides, maybe it might make you not hate me so much.”

“I don’t hate you,” Bronwyn said. She wasn’t loyal to the empress, either, but felt glad he thought so, for her own personal safety.

“Maybe not. But you don’t like me, either.”

“Why do you care if I like you or not?”

His look was warm, his gaze darting to her lips again, and he ran a hand through his wavy, dark hair. “Most young women like me. It’s odd that you don’t.”

She snorted at that. “So that’s it. I must be odd because I’m not fawning all over you.”

“Yes. It’s confusing.”

She rolled her eyes and readjusted the basket in her arms. “You’re right.

I don’t like you. You’re arrogant and full of yourself.

Especially if you think that all young women should like you just because.

” With a toss of her head, she flicked her blonde braid over her shoulder and stalked off like an angry cat.

He laughed and called after her, but she was too annoyed to listen. The arrogance of it all.

So why did she find herself thinking of him later?

His brown eyes had danced when he’d talked to her, and she remembered the way his mouth looked when he laughed. The self-assured tilt of his chin, the confident way he walked.

It was foolish. She didn’t like him. But she did appreciate his honesty.

And yet, she pondered what he’d told her about the empress’s stolen crown. So it was indeed missing. She knew the reason behind it—without the crown, the empress might not be able to assume the throne—but wanted to know more.

Over the next few hours, bodies were laid out and buried.

The healthy men had dug a great pit of rows like they would have a latrine and laid the dead in there without ceremony.

The ground, however, was hard and in many places, frozen.

It made for hard, sweaty work. There were too many bodies to burn and nowhere to safely store them until spring.

Leaving them would attract wild animals. What to do?

In the end, the army’s plans to march were put on hold. There was an urgency, but the fighters had been caught unawares and with so many wounded and needing attention and rest, they had to stay.

So the men buried some, lit funeral pyres for others, and made plans to move soon. At the burning of the pyre, the healthy people stood by and watched in silent tribute as the local priest gave a few words prayer.

Bronwyn stood among the crowds, shivering in the late-afternoon sun. The sight of the great funeral pyre with so many bodies chilled her. She watched as the shrouded body of Lady Eleanor, carried with great reverence and tenderness, was laid upon the pyre by Sir Edward.

The pyre’s flames bloomed, enveloping the bodies whole.

Theobold appeared beside her. “Will you look at that?”

The sun shone and the flames gave off a great heat, but there was no denying the tears that rolled down Sir Edward’s cheeks.

“He loved her, I think,” Bronwyn said.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Theobold said. “We’ll need to speak with him. We should do it now, whilst he’s distracted.”

“Why? Can’t we leave him to mourn her in peace?”

“Because she is in his thoughts. He won’t appreciate our questions, but the shock of it all might make him answer honestly. Come.” He led the way toward the knight.

They approached, but Bronwyn didn’t feel comfortable about it. She stood quietly as Theobold cleared his throat. “Sir Edward, I wonder if we might ask you about the good Lady Eleanor.”

“Leave me. I’ll have none of your questions now, lad. Begone.” Sir Edward’s voice was gruff.

“I am tasked by the empress—”

“I don’t care about your blasted investigation. Clear off and leave me to my thoughts.”

Theobold shot Bronwyn a glance, bowed to Sir Edward, and left.

Bronwyn gave it a moment before she said, “I’m sorry.”

“He is impertinent.” The older man rubbed at his eyes. “What is it you want?”

“She was very dear to you, wasn’t she?”

He paused, for so long that Bronwyn wondered if he would ignore her, but then he sighed and said, “She was a lady. We were affianced. I would have married her years ago and raised a family together in Lincolnshire, but she would stay with the empress. She felt a life at court offered no stable home for a child and did not want to leave Maud’s side.

And now…” His voice was gruff. “Lady Eleanor was beloved by all. She had no business in that tent, none at all.”

“What do you think she was doing there?” Bronwyn asked.

“I don’t bloody know. Don’t you think I’ve been asking myself that? Why a good, Godly Christian woman would be in the empress’s tent. It doesn’t make any sense. And I don’t believe a word that Sir Bors says, either.”

Bronwyn glanced at him.

“He’s lying. She wouldn’t have tried to steal the crown. What would she do with it? She’s innocent. She would never steal, especially not from the empress. She loved her like a sister.”

“Why do you think she was there?”

“She must have seen something amiss and gone in. And if she fought with Sir Bors…” He gritted his teeth.

“The man is a liar and a lecher. He has no respect, no gentlemanly love for women. And he is a turncoat. He used to be one of the empress’s knights and instead turned to Stephen’s camp.

Then, after she wins the battle at Lincoln, he is back, as if nothing ever happened.

And she welcomes him back with open arms. It’s not right.

I thought we might be rid of him, but I was wrong. ”

“I’m sorry.” Bronwyn turned to leave, then paused. “Would it help if I brought you her rosewater perfume, to remember her by?”

“Pardon?” He looked at her. “She never wore rosewater. Only lavender scent. It was her favorite.”

“My mistake.”

“Leave me. Just know she was innocent. She was an innocent.” He wiped his eyes again.

Bronwyn left him to his thoughts.

When she got a free moment, she went in search of answers. She wanted to relay to Theobold what she’d learned, but the camp held hundreds of people, and there was little sense or order to it, at least beyond the most important people of the camp.

The tent of the empress was shadowed by her ladies, who slept in a tent together, as befitting their station.

Their servants were not far away. More servants, peasants, and common folk were near.

The horses were looked after by groomsmen, and the knights, men at arms, and squires rode and trained together.

After half an hour of walking through the camp and looking, she spotted Theobold, training and mock-fighting with another squire. His tall figure was unmistakable, as was his curly, black hair that shone in the cold, winter sun.

A circle of men stood around, cheering, watching as Theobold fought with wooden swords against an opponent. Theobold moved, dashing, almost dancing, as the clash and hard knock of wooden swords broke the still air.

Some men laid bets; others called out encouragement or insults.

As a mere servant, Bronwyn was ignored, so she stood by and came closer for a better view.

Theobold stood, his dark hair sweaty and plastered against his face as he towered over his opponent, a shorter, stocky, young man whose reddish-blond hair flashed like burnished gold in the sun.

Rupert, she realized. Her heart began to pound.

He was shirtless, and the sight of his bare, muscular torso sent a thrill through her.

But then so was Theobold half-naked, and there was no mistaking the hard strength he brought to the fight.

The young men faced one another and had stripped down to their shirts and trousers, the boots cuffing the hard earth as they circled each other within the ring of cheering men.

Bronwyn observed she was not the only young woman in attendance. A few of the peasants, and even some ladies-in-waiting, were calling out or clapping their hands. Bronwyn idly wondered where Lady Alice was, for she was missing a chance to witness Rupert fight.

One stood nearby, and as they nodded to each other, the young woman said, “He’s so handsome, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Theobold. He’s squire to Sir Robert.”

“Sir Robert?” Bronwyn repeated.

The young woman shot her a look, surprised.

“Sir Robert Fitzroy, the Earl of Gloucester? I’m surprised you don’t know.

He’s the empress’s half-brother. He and Sir Miles FitzWalter led her forces at Lincoln.

Not that those people could stand a chance against Her Grace.

They were in sore need of her help, the poor things. ” She tsked .

Bronwyn said, “I’m from Lincoln.”

The young woman looked her up and down, noting her thin, brown woolen work dress, apron, and thin shoes. She didn’t need to speak for Bronwyn to take her meaning.

Bronwyn ignored her and looked on at the fighting. She’d never asked Theobold about his master, or his position in the empress’s court.

The young men attacked and parried with their wooden weapons, the steady hard beat and loud clap of the blades making hard knocks as they struck at one another again and again.

Finally, now sweating profusely and breathing hard, the men crashed into each other, but Rupert put a foot wrong. He slipped and stumbled, dust and dirt flying.