The ritual completed, Elizabeth hurried to dress. She wished to look her best when she joined her husband. Never having given her appearance more than a necessary glance in the past, Elizabeth was a little surprised at herself. Being pledged to Hugh for so many years removed the need for primping for the opposite sex, for Hugh had always been far more interested in the number of new horses purchased and by how many coins whenever he visited Montwright Manor. He never remarked upon her appearance. Father had called Hugh frugal, which by her father's tight standards was quite a compliment. Elizabeth had come to think of her future husband as… predictable. Predictable and boring.

Her wardrobe was sadly lacking in choices. Long ago, her father had dictated that too many clothes made one give undue attention to one's appearance, and such attention more than hinted of vanity. And vanity was a sin.

Elizabeth decided on a beige gown with blue borders. It fit rather snugly across her breasts and was high-necked, with long flowing sleeves. She tied a blue rope around her waist and slipped her dagger into its leather sheath and onto the loop of the belt.

It took her another ten minutes to find the mate to her beige leather shoes, lodged behind the drape at the head of the bed, and when both shoes were found and slipped into, she turned her attention to her hair. She brushed it until it crackled and then tied it with a ribbon at the base of her neck.

There, she was done. Pinching her cheeks to give them additional glow, and wishing she could find her tiny mirror to check her appearance, she straightened her shoulders and went in search of her husband.

She found Sara in the great hall, and saw the disorder. The castle must be made as spotless as it used to be, Elizabeth decided, in honor of her mother. Elizabeth deterred her search for Geoffrey and organized the servants, placing Sara in charge to supervise the sweeping and scrubbing.

"Throw out these reeds," she said, referring to the soiled rushes. "And replace them with new. Perhaps we should sprinkle some rosemary about to get rid of the staleness that lingers. What say you, Sara?" Elizabeth asked the servant.

"Aye, my lady. And Dame Winslow will bring us fresh wildflowers just like she used to do for your mother. We will have the place as right as new in no time."

Elizabeth nodded. Her gaze turned to the shredded banner hanging by sheer willpower of its own on the far wall. "Sara, have someone remove the banner," she ordered in a whisper. "I do not need to look upon it to remember what was done here. I'll not forget."

The servant impulsively grabbed Elizabeth 's hand and squeezed it. "I'll see to it, my lady. None of us will be forgetting."

"Thank you, Sara," Elizabeth replied. She gave the banner one last look and then turned to leave the room.

The servant used the hem of her sleeve to wipe the gathering tears from her eyes as she watched her new mistress. Oh, if only she had the power to lift some of the weight and heartache burdening one so young! " 'Tis so unfair," she grumbled to herself.

"Pardon me, Sara?" Elizabeth turned from the doorway and smiled. "I did not hear you."

"I was just asking myself if you and the Baron will be leaving soon," Sara improvised. She knew it wasn't her place to ask such a question, but she had no wish to talk of the killings again.

Elizabeth was surprised by the question. She had not even considered the possibility of leaving Montwright. It was her home. Yet leaving, and soon, was more than likely. Geoffrey had many holdings superior to Montwright lands and he had his own domain. "In truth, I do not know," Elizabeth told the servant. "Where is my husband, Sara? Have you seen him about? I must discuss this issue with him."

"I have not seen him this morn," Sara replied. "Perhaps he is in the courtyard, or in the soldiers' keep below. I could send Hammond to check," she added, for while Elizabeth could freely roam about the estate, it was strictly forbidden for a woman to enter the soldiers' quarters located one flight below the great hall.

"I will find him," Elizabeth said.

It was easier said than done. Elizabeth strolled around the courtyard but did not interrupt any of the men to ask of her husband's whereabouts. She stopped and watched several knights struggle with a large vat of sand, wondering what their plan was. The redheaded squire, called Gerald, was glad to give her an explanation. "Vats of sand will be placed at intervals along the ledge circling the top of the wall, my lady."

"For what purpose?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"See the one that is in place already, over there?" Gerald asked, pointing to the west. His voice fairly screamed the question into Elizabeth 's ear.

"Aye, I see it," Elizabeth answered.

"And see how it perches on those stones?"

Elizabeth nodded, inwardly smiling at the squire's loud enthusiasm.

"The fire to heat the sand will be contained within the circle of stones."

"But for what purpose?" Elizabeth asked.

"To heat the sand," Gerald restated, "until the sand is so hot it is almost liquid sun."

"And when it is almost liquid sun?" Elizabeth asked.

"Then it is propelled by the metal discs over the wall and will do much damage to anyone trying to gain entrance… if there be another attack."

From the look on the squire's face, he was a bit disappointed that she wasn't showing much enthusiasm. "I had not heard of such a thing, such a weapon," she said. "It is truly effective?"

"Aye, my lady. The sand can burn the body something fierce. Why, if it lands right, it can blind-"

"Enough," Elizabeth hastened to interrupt, for he was painting a gruesome picture for her and she had the feeling he was just beginning to warm to his topic. "You have convinced me," she added.

The squire nodded and grinned. Elizabeth thanked him for his time and explanation, and thought that he reminded her of her pet hawk the way he puffed up with her praise.

She continued to look for her husband but did not find him in any of the small huts clustered in semicircles around the courtyard. She was pleased to see that all the huts were being reinforced with fresh-smelling straw and wattle, long thin wooden rods that gave additional support. The huts were the real foundation of the castle, and though they were built on a small scale by others' standards, they housed trained craftsmen who were highly skilled and most efficient in seeing to all the needs of the manor. The leatherworker resided in one hut; the baker with two cooking pits and one clay oven in another; the falcons and their trainer with his variety of cages and perches in yet another. In another cluster the carpenter resided, next to the candlemaker. The last and, by her father's standards, the most important was the oversized but set to one side of the castle, all alone, and nearest to the barn. It contained the toolsmith and his supply of iron and steel. The weapons were made there.

In the bailey beyond the walls, the slaughter of the animals was seen to and the making of honey-fermented ale watched over. There had been plans to add a winepress, but that reality had not come to pass before her father's death.

Elizabeth wondered when the craftsmen had last been paid. Was that now her responsibility? She considered. In the past her father had paid the freemen in coin and food. Deductions were taken from their pay for protection and a place to live, and for the number of candles used and recorded by Dame Winslow. The candlemaker's wife could not write, but her method of keeping track was just as efficient. She used small pebbles. Each time a candle was handed out, Dame Winslow placed a pebble in that freeman's cup. When payday arrived, the cups were placed before Elizabeth 's father and it was he who would calculate amounts. Who would see to this duty now? she asked herself. Another question to put to her husband, Elizabeth realized. But Geoffrey was nowhere to be found. Elizabeth went into the barn and found her mare in one of the stalls and made a mental note to thank Joseph for bringing her animal back for her. She saw that Geoffrey's huge stallion was gone. A knot of fear grabbed at her when she realized he had ridden into the forest, for there was danger out there, and then the absurdity of her reaction made her laugh. Had she not survived with but her dogs on the outside for weeks? And was not her husband capable of taking care of himself?

The thought that perhaps Geoffrey was touring the outer bailey, seeing what damage was done to the peasants' huts residing at the base of the winding road below Montwright, made Elizabeth head in that direction. She reached the gates to the outside but found her way blocked by two guards.

"Please open the gates," Elizabeth asked.

"We cannot, my lady," one of the men said.

"You cannot?" Elizabeth frowned and looked from one soldier to another.

"Our orders," the second explained. "From the Hawk."

"What order did my husband issue?" Elizabeth asked. She kept her tone pleasant and neutral.

"That you remain inside the walls," one of the guards answered in a hesitant voice. He did not like the frown that came upon his mistress's face and hoped that she wouldn't press him. He had no wish to upset her, though he would obey the Hawk's orders no matter what.

"So I am…" Elizabeth started to comment that she was a prisoner in her own home and caught herself in time. She would discuss this with her husband. It would be unseemly for her to make any comment, good or bad, to his guards. They were doing their duty for their lord. "Then you must follow your orders," she said, smiling.

Turning, she started back, wondering why such an order had been given. Did it apply to everyone or just her? Was her husband worried that she might try to leave? Return to the forest? Elizabeth could understand his unsureness of her up until yesterday evening. But last night she had given him her pledge. She had admitted that she belonged to him. She was his wife. Didn't he realize that her pledge was the same as a sacred vow to her? Shaking her head, Elizabeth decided not. Trust. It must be earned. And in time, she was sure she would gain his trust, his confidence.

And how sure of him am I? Elizabeth asked herself. Do I trust him? She thought that she did, knew that he was an honest man. He had dealt well with her father, she remembered. And her father had called him a fair man. High praise from one who was as frugal with his praise as he was with his coins.

Elizabeth admitted that her knowledge of her husband was quite limited. She knew nothing of how he dealt with women, how he would treat a wife.

A blur in the sky caught her attention. Elizabeth glanced up and saw her hawk circling, and without so much as a second thought for her audience, she extended her arm and waited. She was so intent on watching her pet descend that she didn't notice the hush that came over the group, or see the startled, disbelieving expressions.

The hawk landed on Elizabeth 's arm and met her stare with a loud gargle of greeting. Elizabeth noticed that her pet was full-breasted from a recent meal and whispered words of praise for his hunting ability.

The hawk increased his gargling and then suddenly began to flap his wings with distress. "I hear him too," Elizabeth whispered, for the sound of approaching horse and rider was growing closer. Her voice soothed the hawk and the flapping ceased. Elizabeth looked up and saw her husband, sitting on his horse, watching her. Her dogs flanked the stallion's sides, their breathing labored from their run. Knowing how nervous the hawk became whenever the dogs were about, Elizabeth took mercy on her pet and commanded, "Go." The hawk immediately left its soft perch and took to the air.

Elizabeth lifted the hem of her gown and started toward her husband, intent on asking him to spare her a few minutes. She focused on the hard line of his mouth, remembering his lovemaking, and wondered what he was thinking. She could feel the soldiers staring at her and realized from their gaping expressions that she had made a spectacle of herself with her pet hawk. She felt embarrassed that she had drawn so much attention. Keeping her eyes firmly on her husband's features, she continued her slow, dignified pace.

The cheer caught her by surprise. Startled, she turned to see what the commotion was all about. They were still staring at her. And they were yelling. Had they all gone daft? She looked back to her husband for an answer, but his face was a mask as he watched her.