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Sir Miles snapped, “Have a care for the way you speak, de Gernon. You are in the presence of an empress.”

Theobold’s mouth curled into a slight smile. He winked at Bronwyn.

Bronwyn bowed her head. She felt unfriendly eyes on her, judging, assessing.

The empress began talking to the knights in French. The conversation went over her ears. She did not know their language, which she supposed was their intention.

Theobold approached Bronwyn and spoke quietly. “You wish to know what they are saying?”

She shrugged. “I’ve said what I know.” She curtsied and turned to go.

“Wait.” The empress’s voice rang out.

Bronwyn stopped.

“I have not dismissed you. Stay.”

Bronwyn looked at the empress and held her tongue.

Sir Miles frowned. “I would not advise this.”

The empress looked back at her. “What do you know of our route?”

Bronwyn glanced at the men.

“These are four of my most trusted men. Mistress Bronwyn Blakenhale, meet Sir Bors, Sir Miles, Sir Ranulf, and Theobold Durville, squire to Sir Robert.”

She nodded to the men and gave a slight curtsey.

The older knights looked bored, whilst the younger gazed at her with some interest.

“Tell us, girl, what do you think you know?” Sir Miles asked.

“I did not know her well, but I spoke to the lady before she died. Lady Eleanor was kind, and she struck me as loyal to Her Grace. I think she stumbled across the theft and was killed for her trouble.”

“Sir Bors? What say you?” the empress asked.

“The girl is mistaken, Empress. I clearly saw Lady Eleanor with her hands on the crown, trying to steal it. No doubt the maid’s love and affection for the sweet lady is clouding her judgment.

She shows a womanly compassion, which is why women do not belong in decision-making.

Except for yourself, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat.

The empress remained quiet.

Theobold said, “So if I understand correctly, Sir Bors found Lady Eleanor stealing the crown and fought with her, until he was attacked, then woke to find one guard dead, Lady Eleanor dead, and another guard gone. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Sir Bors said.

“Then, Sir Bors, what were you doing there?”

Sir Bors paused. Then he blustered and said, “Same as the maid. I heard the noise and thought it odd, then went in and found Lady Eleanor stealing the crown. The other guard ran away. He must’ve taken the crown and run.

” Seeing Theobold’s expression, he added, “You don’t think I had anything to do with this. I was hurt.” He rubbed his head.

“No one is doubting your loyalty, Sir Bors,” Sir Miles said.

Bronwyn pursed her lips. There was something she disliked about Sir Bors’s story.

Sir Miles looked Bronwyn up and down and wrinkled his nose. “Empress, I do not like this. Why are we discussing such serious matters before a servant? She is covered with flour. Does she work with the cooks? She is not one of your ladies.”

“No, she is not. But I have a mind to make something of her.” The empress looked at Bronwyn, her gaze raking her from head to toe. “She is smart and could be useful. My lady Alice tells me she was something of a pet of Stephen’s wife.”

The men eyed Bronwyn.

The fact that Empress Maud did not call the woman in question “Queen Matilda” did not go unnoticed by Bronwyn. Even so, she did not consider herself to be anyone’s pet. But she also felt unsafe—and she wanted to leave.

“Pardon me, Your Grace—”

“ Pardonnez-moi .”

“Come again?”

“If you are going to be of use to me in my court, you will learn a bit of French. The saying is ‘ pardonnez-moi .’ Say it,” Empress Maud commanded.

“ Pardonnez-moi , Your Grace.”

“Your accent is terrible. But carry on. What is it?” Empress Maud asked.

“ Pardonnez-moi , Your Grace, but I should be getting back to the cooking tent.”

Sir Ranulf growled. “You’ll go when she says you may go.”

Bronwyn tensed slightly.

“This man you attended on the battlefield. The one who spoke. What did he look like?” Sir Ranulf asked.

“It was dark. I couldn’t really see.”

“Try.”

She thought back to the man’s strong grip on her wrist, his wide eyes. He’d been older—but still fit. He might have even recovered from his wounds, had Theobold not stuck him through with his blade.

“He had short, dark hair and a wide, round face, but he was dying.” She nodded toward Theobold. “He cut him and ended it before he could say more.”

The knight and the empress looked at Theobold.

“The man had his hands on her. I was saving her life.”

“He was already dying,” Bronwyn said.

He shrugged. “I know what I saw.”

“What was he wearing?” Sir Miles asked.

“Cloth and chainmail,” Bronwyn clarified.

“He was not one of ours, Empress,” Theobold said. “I didn’t recognize him.”

“Mistress Bronwyn. What you heard, forget. You heard the ramblings of a dying man,” the empress said.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Tell no one what you saw. Now go. Back to the cooking tent with you.”

Bronwyn curtsied and left. As she exited the tent, the older knight said, “Your Grace, how can we be sure she will keep her mouth shut?”

The empress gave a haughty laugh. “She won’t talk. She’s smart enough to know what will happen if she tells people what she heard. It will be the worse for her later.”

Bronwyn left quickly, not wanting to hear more.

But she had not taken many steps before she realized she was being followed. The crunch of a man’s boots on the hard ground made her pause. She turned on her heel.

It was Theobold, who held up a hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m walking this way too.”

She felt a prickling between her shoulder blades but turned back and kept walking.

“Wait.” He hurried to keep up with her, and due to his long legs, caught up to her in no time.

“What is it?” she asked. “What do you want?”

He flashed her a winning smile. “So direct. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

She kept walking.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

He stood in her way. “You don’t like me.”

“Whether I do or don’t doesn’t matter.” Now why had she said that?

His eyes were dark and glittering. “Why not?”

She put her hands on her hips. “You’re in my way.”

“Tell me and I’ll move. Why do you not care for me?”

She pursed her lips in annoyance, and his gaze darted to her mouth.

“You killed that man when he was already dying,” she said. “He wasn’t a threat. Why’d you do that?”

He blinked and looked into her eyes. It seemed like he hadn’t expected that response.

“He had put a hand on you and wouldn’t let go. I wanted to free you. Is that a crime?” he asked.

“You caused him more pain,” she said.

“I put him out of his misery. He had a quick death, an honorable one. If he had lived, the empress’s men would have tortured him.”

There was an unspoken message: I would have had to torture him.

“And are you one of the empress’s men?” she asked.

“Of course. Everyone here is. Just as you are the empress’s woman.” His gaze darted to her lips again and dropped to her bosom. “I—”

“Good evening.”

He stood there, smiling. She growled and walked away.

“Good morrow. I’ll be seeing you soon, Mistress Bronwyn,” Theobold called after her.

She felt like an angry cat, swishing her tail in warning, except on her it was her braid. She felt like a fool. She could not get the image of Theobold’s eyes darting to her lips out of her mind.

But she had to wonder. Had the kind Lady Eleanor been involved in a wider plot against the empress?

Had she caught the guard stealing the crown and tried to stop him?

Had she and Sir Bors been in a plot together, and their so-called dislike of each other all a farce?

So many possibilities. She needed to think, and not about the curly-haired young man who’d winked at her.