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Theobald followed her, falling in line behind Sir Robert of Gloucester, Sir Ranulf, and Sir Miles, her cousin.

As he passed through the wooden door and into the shadows, he could tell his mistress’s mood from the sharp, staccato sound of her shoes against the floor.

Her skirts subtly swished as she moved almost as if stalking, or like an angry cat.

All that was missing was the warning swish of the tail and he’d be sure to watch out.

He and the other men followed her into a private room, where she bid them close the door. In the room stood himself, his lord, Sir Robert of Gloucester; Sir Ranulf; and Sir Miles, as well as a handful of her ladies-in-waiting.

The door had barely closed behind them before the empress began spouting profanities in French.

Theobald knew a few, but not all. He shuffled his feet and glanced at the other men, who looked uncomfortable.

Their faces were telling. Sir Robert stood as if carved from stone, but Sir Ranulf openly grinned.

The other knights present exchanged disapproving looks before quickly hiding their reactions behind polite expressions.

Theobold recognized them, unfortunately; they were disapproving of the empress and her unladylike ways.

It was unseemly for a woman of her status and regal bearing to be swearing like a sailor. She paced up and down the wooden floor, her small feet creaking against the floorboards, as she gesticulated with her hands and glared at them all, cursing in her native language.

The ladies-in-waiting all looked at each other and away, probably unsure of where it was safe to look. They reminded Theobold of a flock of geese.

Finally, the empress wore herself out and sat in a chair, not bothering to sit up straight. She slouched and rested her hands languidly on the armrests.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Sir Ranulf said.

The empress glared. “Do tell.”

“The way I see it, you shouldn’t have let King Stephen annoy you like that.” He picked at a bit of lint on his shirt.

“Shut your mouth, Sir Ranulf,” Sir Robert said.

Sir Ranulf looked up and saw Sir Robert’s look of warning. He seemed to stop himself when the empress held up her hand.

“No, I want to hear. Do tell, de Gernon. How could that assembly have gone better?” Her voice was soft and quiet, almost sweet. Theobold knew that if Sir Ranulf were a smart man, he would take his father-in-law’s advice and shut his mouth.

Sir Ranulf said, “It’s like any shouting match, Your Grace. A man like King Stephen always knows what to say.”

“Oh? King Stephen does, does he?” She seethed.

“Yes. He’s had practice. He’s had to speak to crowds before. It’s harder for a woman—”

“Get out.” Her voice was cutting.

“But, Your Grace…” Sir Ranulf started.

“I said, get out . Leave, all of you.” Her voice rose.

Theobold nodded to his lord, and they began to leave. As the ladies followed, Empress Maud said, “Bring me some of those white rolls that Stephen’s wife is so fond of. I will have something of hers tonight.”

“Yes, Empress.” Theobold nodded and followed the men out. He belayed the order to a servant and entered a side corridor, where Sir Robert of Gloucester cuffed Sir Ranulf on the shoulder.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Your stupid tongue, you fool. Do you have any idea how foolish that was, telling the empress that due to her sex she lost that exchange with Stephen? And for God’s sake, stop calling him ‘the king,’ unless you want to lose your head.”

“Well, she asked, and I was just saying—” He stopped mid-stride.

“She didn’t ask your opinion, idiot. You gave it and she was toying with you. God. What my daughter saw in you, I don’t know.”

Sir Ranulf gave him a dazed look.

“Go. I would talk with my squire alone. There are some matters we need to discuss.”

Sir Ranulf smirked. “Oh, yes. No doubt there is some horse dung that needs shoveling. Glad I’m not a squire anymore.” He left, whistling.

Once he had left and Theobold and his master stood alone in the corridor, Sir Robert said of his retreating form, “That man is a fool. He’s going to lose his head someday, thanks to that big mouth of his.”

Theobold wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Tell me what you’ve found out about the crown. Why was it ever missing?”

“I can’t tell you much more than I already have. Once it had gone missing, one of the ladies accused another of stealing it. But the guards and I both found nothing to suggest it was anything other than idle gossip.”

Sir Robert snorted. “Those ladies-in-waiting are like a vipers’ pit. They play games with each other’s lives.”

Theobold nodded grimly. “But as I told you, the crown reappeared in the empress’s personal effects. I saw it myself on the morning we left for here.”

“Then either some good Samaritan returned it, which seems unlikely, some poor fool found it and got too scared to demand a reward for its return, or… I don’t know. We can guess why it was taken in the first place. Stephen has his supporters wherever we go. But… why do you think it was returned?”

“I couldn’t say. But now that it’s back, the empress can continue to London to be crowned.”

“Yes. And yet… I do not trust this order of events. Why was it stolen at camp, and a ransom demanded, only for it to reappear the day we travel? It does not make sense.”

“I wonder if the guard talked, or if someone else found it and decided to return it, in support of the empress,” Theobold said.

“And not ask for a reward? I doubt that. The world is full of good Samaritans, as long as there is a quick payment in return.” Sir Robert smiled. “Well. Let us hope there are no more surprises in store for us. Tonight’s feast should be a good event to gather the people together.”

Theobold agreed and turned to go.

“Oh, and Theo…” Sir Robert started.

“Yes?”

“Look after my horse. Tell the grooms he needs grain, a farrier to look at his hooves and…” He gave Theobold a knowing look.

“And shovel the horse dung.” Theobold nodded, bowed, and left, giving a slight sigh.

That evening the castle held a festive air. As the outside was chilly, people gathered inside the castle, aristocrats and their families alike. Servants went to and fro, pages darted around, and squires stood by, looking after their masters.

After looking after Sir Robert’s horse as he’d asked, Theobold had indeed relayed orders for the horses to be fed and watered and then shoveled the dung himself, ensuring their stalls were clean.

There were groomsmen enough for the chores, but his master didn’t always trust the grooms and preferred Theobold to do the work himself.

“It builds character,” he’d said. Now Theobold just went and did it, rather than raise a fuss.

It was hot and sweaty work, so he washed and cleaned his clothes before shaking the water off them and wringing them out.

He didn’t have many clean shirts with him, but he had one that would suit for the feast tonight.

It was dark blue and woolen, with a bit of embroidery at the cuffs and neck, courtesy of his sister, Winifred.

He paused, thinking of her as he rubbed his thumb against the delicate but not exactly matching embroidery.

How was she doing at home? Was she all right?

She was only sixteen. No doubt their mother and father would be planning her marriage to someone, but in his mind, she was just a girl with plaits, running after him as he said goodbye before joining Sir Robert of Gloucester as his squire.

She would be a young woman now. But he hadn’t seen her in three years, and he missed her.

He missed his parents too. But a life squiring and seeing the world was better than the family trade, and his father knew it.

His father talked about being an executioner as a calling almost, but one that Theobold thankfully didn’t listen to.

His brother had been the same way, with that adventurous look in his eye.

So when Theobold had been old enough, his family made an agreement with Lady Morwenna’s to put up him as a squire and pay his way.

So much he had seen, and so many stories he had to tell. But not tonight. He saved this shirt for special occasions, and as he pulled the woolen cloth over his bare skin, he was conscious of how the sleeves were tighter across the arms and his shoulders.

He didn’t have a looking glass in the spare room he shared as sleeping quarters with the other squires and instead raked his fingers through his black curls and thought of Bronwyn. Perhaps he’d ask her to dance tonight, if she was willing.

She was a funny creature, that woman. He liked her well enough, but she puzzled him.

She wasn’t like the other young women he’d met.

For one, she didn’t seem the least bit interested in him.

That was odd. But she wasn’t immune to his charms, he could tell.

And she had eyes, for she’d stared at his muscular arms and chest after he’d practiced wooden swords with Rupert that one time.

She found him attractive, he was sure of it.

He grinned at the thought. She might deny it, but her eyes told a different story.

And God help him, all his thoughts and plans and promises to the empress fled from his mind when he looked at her. Whenever he took in the sight of her fair skin, blessed by the sun, with a freckle or two, her blue eyes and rosy lips, she almost took his breath away.

He blinked away the thought. She was pretty, yes.

But so were many young women, and the empress’s camp had plenty.

The castle at Gloucester had more, as men and women flocked to the empress’s flag.

So what made her different from any other?

Why did she reappear in his thoughts time and time again?

He’d dreamt of her at night and woken up thinking of her face.