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B ronwyn pulled and jerked at the beefy hand on her arm. “Let go of me. I didn’t do this.”

“Sure, you didn’t. We just happen to find you standing over the body.”

“Don’t be a fool, Ranulf. I know this girl,” the empress said.

The gruff man hauled Bronwyn to her feet.

She eyed the man, meeting his glare. If this was who she thought it was, she was among infamous company.

Sir Ranulf de Gernon was one of the two men who, just a few months back, had tricked the chatelains of Lincoln Castle and had taken it over in the empress’s name.

Then whilst King Stephen had brought his troops and retaken it, Sir Ranulf had left his comrade Sir William de Roumare to rot in jail whilst he rode to fetch help.

He bared his teeth at Bronwyn, evidently disliking what he saw.

Two men entered the tent. Sir Bors and a young man at arms.

The man who gripped her arm, Sir Ranulf, towered over her, and stood, with a plain, wooden cross around his neck over his tunic, which was belted at the waist with a sword and scabbard and a small purse hanging at his hips.

He moved with assurance and had short, brown hair turning to grey, curled at the ends.

He had a thinly trimmed mustache and beard, and narrow, slightly sunken eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

They reminded Bronwyn of a raptor that flew in the sky.

She recognized the young man instantly. He was the one who had stuck his blade in the body of the dying man mere moments earlier, and who’d scared her half out of her wits.

She recognized his dark, curled hair and the arrogant tilt of his chin.

She felt it was particularly unfair that for one so sure of himself, he was also exceedingly handsome.

She saw he recognized her too, as he glanced at her chest, followed by her face, and then ignored her.

She glared back at Sir Ranulf, who gripped her arm. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell us what you’re doing here,” he demanded.

“I was helping one of the wounded when he mentioned the crown.”

“What man?” the empress asked.

“A soldier, I think. I don’t know who he was. He was dying and wouldn’t let me go. He asked if it had been taken. Then he killed him.” She met the curious gaze of the young man with black curls.

His head jerked back for an instant, then he stared at her. “I do not know you.” He looked at her curiously. “Wait. You’re the girl whose life I saved. Now you’re accusing me of killing? That’s rich.”

Bronwyn continued, ignoring his sarcasm. “I heard a lady scream. I came here and saw that there were no guards. I thought that was odd and then I found Lady Eleanor.”

“A likely story,” Sir Ranulf said. “You just thought you’d check on the crown, eh? A maidservant like you? Why do you care?”

Bronwyn glared at him.

He grinned. “I like a girl with spirit.”

She uttered a noise in disgust, earning a laugh from him. He squeezed her arm harder.

“Ranulf, release her. You’re about to squeeze the life out of her,” the empress said, standing in the tent entrance. She entered the tent and looked around. “Sir Bors.”

Heads turned toward the sight of a burly man lying on the ground. He groaned as the guard went to him. Bors sat up. “Back off, knave.” He clapped a hand to the side of his head. “Oh.”

“You, guard the entrance. No one gets in,” the empress ordered, and the guard left.

Sir Ranulf released Bronwyn. “What happened to you? Your face.”

Sir Bors touched his face, then his head. He grunted and got to his feet. “How is—oh. She died.”

“Sir Bors, tell us what happened,” Empress Maud said.

He gingerly touched a hand to his chin, which bore bloody scratches. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I saw a scuffle in the tent and came to investigate. I saw the good Lady Eleanor…” He paused.

“What is it?” Empress Maud asked.

“You will not like this,” Sir Bors said. “She was… struggling. Fighting. She was fighting with a guard. I didn’t recognize him.”

“What? Why?” the black curly-haired young man asked.

“She had the crown in her hands. She was trying to steal it.”

“No. No, no. That cannot be. I don’t believe you.” Empress Maud swayed slightly on her feet. “Lady Eleanor, steal from me? She would never. She loves me.”

“ Loved , Your Grace,” Sir Ranulf said heartlessly.

The empress blinked back tears. “Oh. We shall have to tell Sir Edward. He will be saddened by her loss.”

She turned her head, her hair and veil whipping around her left shoulder and crossed her arms beneath her chest. “Tell me what happened. Leave out no detail.”

Sir Bors said, “When I came in, she had the crown in her hands and was attempting to steal it.”

“How do you know?” the empress asked.

“Because the guard was trying to stop her. She kicked him in the groin and he went down, and she would have gotten away with it, but I cornered her. Got my face scratched thanks to her. I would have stopped her, but someone hit me from behind. The next thing I know, one guard is dead, the other is gone, she’s dead, and you’re all here. Did you see who did it?”

“No. This servant girl found her.”

Sir Bors glanced at Bronwyn. “You look familiar.”

“We’ve met before.” She remembered him from King Stephen and Queen Matilda’s court. One of their trusted men, or so he’d claimed to be. But even then, he’d struck her as untrustworthy, and he’d had a way of bellowing orders first, asking questions later, that had gotten under her skin.

“Of course. I expect you’ve heard of me.”

Her eyebrows rose and she opened her mouth, when the empress said, “That isn’t important. I want to know what Lady Eleanor was doing in here with my crown, and where is it now?”

Silence was her answer.

“I demand someone answer me. Where is my crown, and where are the guards?” the empress asked.

“There are normally two guards stationed in front of this tent. Where is the other?”

Bors shook his head. “I didn’t see him. He must have been hiding or fled. When I was struggling with Lady Eleanor, one of the guards was already dead. It was probably the other one who hit me in the head.”

Empress Maud breathed in noisily. “This cannot happen.” She looked down at her dead friend and sniffed. “Right. Tell no one what happened. Get the bodies out—quietly. Say they were unfortunate tragedies in the battle.”

“As they were, Your Grace,” Sir Bors said.

Bronwyn spoke up. “They weren’t.”

Everyone looked at her. She swallowed and pointed down. “Look at the dark-red line on Lady Eleanor’s throat. See how it shines around her neck?”

“What of it?”

“I think her death was no accident. She was… What’s the word? Garot?”

“Garroted.” Empress Maud hissed. “What makes you say this, Bronwyn?”

Sir Ranulf interrupted. “The girl speaks nonsense, Your Grace. She is trying to deflect attention from herself, to save her own neck.”

Bronwyn shook her head and shot him a dirty look. “I think she was killed on purpose. It was no chance result of the chaos. Look at her eyes—they’re red and bloodshot. Her fingernails are bloody. I think she struggled with whoever did this to her.”

Sir Bors growled, “You don’t believe me? I told you, the woman scratched me.” He touched his cheek.

Bronwyn nodded. “But you don’t garrote someone by accident or even in self-defense. She could have just fled after Sir Bors was knocked out.”

Empress Maud sniffed. “Theobold. In the absence of your master, have a look at the body. See if Mistress Blakenhale is telling the truth.”

“You would task a mere squire for a serious matter like this?” Sir Bors asked.

The empress’s eyes flashed. “He is not just some squire , Sir Bors. And he has some experience with these things. Do not question my decisions, or do I need to wonder why you only so lately came to my court?”

Sir Bors muttered under his breath, then stayed silent.

The curly-haired young man stepped forward. He bent down and examined Lady Eleanor, turning her head this way and that. He picked up one of her hands and gently laid it down. “The girl speaks the truth. Lady Eleanor’s body does bear the signs of a struggle, like she says.”

“You don’t take me at my word, boy?” Sir Bors bellowed.

The young man gazed at Sir Bors with a steely gaze.

“Let me see.” Sir Ranulf stepped forward and peered at her body. “I don’t see anything.”

“I am not lying. Neither is the girl,” Theobold said.

Sir Ranulf picked up her wrist, then let it drop like a doll’s.

“Have a care, de Gernon,” Empress Maud said, her voice tight.

Sir Ranulf sneered at Theobold. “You would have knowledge of dead bodies, wouldn’t you, boy?”

Theobold’s face flushed. “What are you saying?”

“Only that with your family, you’ve probably had your fill of bodies, eh? Bet you got to know women’s bodies very well. Bet you like a bit of cold, dead flesh like that…” Sir Ranulf grinned.

Theobold stood face to face with him, almost seething. Then his eyes rested on Bronwyn, and he took a breath before stepping back. “By your leave, Empress. I will go.”

“Oh, aye, go. Don’t dally here when there’s work to be done. Only bodies to clean up,” Sir Ranulf said, grinning.

Sir Bors snickered.

A well-dressed, middle-aged man entered the tent.

He stood tall and thin, with a lanky but wiry strength about him, and gripped the handle of the short sword that hung at his belt.

His short-cropped brown hair reminded Bronwyn of a monk’s tonsure.

“My empress, I’m sorry. What happened? I am glad to see you are unhurt. ”

Empress Maud said, “We have suffered a loss, Sir Miles. One of my ladies is dead, Sir Bors is hurt, and my own crown stolen.”

His eyes widened. “How?”

“Repeat what you told us, Sir Bors.”

Sir Bors relayed the story.

Sir Miles’s gaze hardened as he stroked his thin mustache. “Could Lady Eleanor have been involved in a plot to steal the crown?”

“No. I cannot believe it,” Empress Maud said.

“I agree,” Bronwyn said. “Lady Eleanor was kind and spoke of a friendship with Your Grace. She didn’t strike me as a traitor.”

“Do you know many traitors, girl?” Sir Ranulf asked.