Leonie, fifteen then and closed away from the world, began to think she would never marry. But pride soon asserted itself, pride that didn't permit her to ask for help from relatives who neither knew her nor ever inquired after her.

After a time she began to think she might be better off without a husband. There wasn't the usual threat of being sent to a nunnery, and she was lady of her own keep, independent, answerable only to a father who never approached her and seemed unlikely to show any further interest in her.

It was a unique and enviable position, she told herself after those first longings for romance had been stifled. Most brides did not even know their husbands before they were wed, and were likely to find themselves the property of an old man, a cruel man, or an indifferent man. Only serfs married for love.

So Leonie came to believe she was fortunate. The only thing she wanted to change was her isolation, and that was what caused her to venture alone to Crewel to see the tourney.

Having never seen a tourney before, she was impelled to go. King Henry's policy was to forbid all tourneys except a few held in special circumstances and with his permission. In the past, too many tourneys had ended in bloody battles. In France a tourney might be found at any time in almost any place, and many knights became rich by traveling from one to another. It was not that way in England.

The tourney at Crewel was exciting at the start. The Black Wolf rode onto the field in full armor, six knights flanking him, all wearing his colors, black and silver, all large and impressive men. The seven opponents were also full-armored. Leonie recognized a few by their banners as vassals of Sir Edmond Montigny. The Black Wolf was, by then, their new overlord.

She had not asked herself why the present lord of Kempston would challenge his new vassals. There were many possible explanations, none of which interested her. What held her attention was the Black Wolf, and the lady who rushed onto the field to give him a token. A bold kiss followed as he swept the lady up into his arms. Was she his wife?

The crowd cheered the kiss, and then all at once the melee began, a mock battle in which all the contestants took part most ferociously. There were strict rules for a melee, rules which distinguished it from real battle, but the rules were ignored that morning. It was immediately obvious that all seven opposing knights meant to unseat the Black Wolf. They succeeded quickly, and it was only the swift work of his own knights that prevented him from being defeated. He even had to call them back from giving chase as his opponents fled the field.

It was over all too soon, and Leonie went home in disappointment, her only satisfaction being the knowledge that some of the Black Wolf's new vassals had apparently rejected him as their overlord. Why? She could not guess what he had done. It was enough to know that his taking possession of Kempston had not gone easily.

Leonie dismissed Wilda and joined her aunt by the fire, staring pensively into the flames, remembering the fire in the forest and wondering what new troubles the future would bring.

"You are worried about our new neighbor?"

Leonie glanced sideways at Beatrix, surprised. She didn't want her aunt burdened with this.

"What is there to worry about?" Leonie hedged.

"Bless you, child, you need not hide your troubles from me. Do you think I am not aware of what happens around me?"

Leonie believed just mat. "It is of no great importance, Aunt Beatrix."

"Then we will have no more rude young knights coming to threaten us with angry words?"

Leonie shrugged. "They are only angry words. Men like to bluster and snarl."

"Oho, do I not know it."

They both laughed, for of course Beatrix knew more about men than Leonie did, confined as she had been since the age of thirteen.

Leonie confessed, "I thought we would have visitors today, but no one came. Perhaps they do not blame us for this day's trouble."

Beatrix frowned thoughtfully, and her niece asked, "Do you think the Black Wolf might have other plans this time?"

"That is possible. It is a wonder he has not already burned our village."

"He would not dare!" Leonie cried. "He has no proof my serfs have caused his troubles. He has only the accusations of his own serfs."

"Yes, but that is enough for most men. Suspicion is enough." Beatrix sighed.

Leonie's anger drained away. "I know. Tomorrow I will go to the village and make certain that henceforth no one leaves Pershwick land for any reason. There will be no more trouble. We must see to that."

Chapter 3

ROLFE d'Ambert threw his helmet hard across the hall the moment he strode in. His squire, newly acquired from King Henry, hurried to catch it. The helmet would need a trip to the armorer before he wore it again, but Rolfe was not thinking of that. Just then, he needed to smash things.

At the hearth across the large hall, Thorpe de la Mare hid his amusement at his young lord's display of temper. It was so like the boy he had been, not the man he was now. Thorpe had seen many such displays in the years he'd served Rolfe's father. The father was dead these nine years and Rolfe's older brother had inherited their father's title and the bulk of his estates in Gascony. The property left to Rolfe was small, but the greedy brother had wanted even that and had outlawed Rolfe from his home.

Thorpe left with Rolfe, giving up his comfortable position to follow the young knight rather than serve the brother. The years since had been very good, years of fighting as mercenaries, growing rich from the ransoms won at tourneys. Rolfe was now twenty and nine years to Thorpe's two score and seven, yet Thorpe never regretted letting the younger man lead him. Other men felt the same way, and Rolfe had become a leader to nine knights and nearly two hundred mercenaries, all of whom had chosen to stay with him now that he was settled.

But was Rolfe settled? Thorpe knew how Rolfe felt about Henry's generosity. The estate gave him more aggravation than he had experienced in years. Much more, and Rolfe would be ready to leave it all and return to France. The estate was something that existed only as an honor, for it gave nothing tangible and drained his purse daily.

"Did you hear, Thorpe?"

"The servants have talked of nothing else since the woodcutter moved into the keep for the night," Thorpe replied as Rolfe sat down heavily in the chair next to him.

"Damn me!"

Rolfe slammed a fist down on the small table beside him, opening a crack down its middle. Thorpe kept his expression carefully blank.

"I have had enough!" Rolfe bellowed. "The well fouled, the herds scattered into the forest, the serfs' few animals stolen, and this was the third fire. How long to rebuild this hut?"

"Two days with several men working quickly."

"And so the fields will be neglected. How can I wage war when my flanks are forever being nipped at? Am I to leave Crewel and come back to find nothing left of it, the serfs run off, the fields barren?"

Thorpe knew better than to answer.

"Do you want men sent to Pershwick again?" Thorpe ventured carefully. "Will you punish the serfs?"

Rolfe shook his head. "A serf would not act alone. No, serfs follow orders, and it is the one who gives orders that I want."

"Then you will have to look elsewhere than Pershwick, for I met Sir Guibert Fitzalan, and I swear that when he heard why I had come, his surprise was too real to be feigned. He is not a man who would stoop to this knavery."

"Yet someone there is urging serfs to mischief."

"I agree. But you cannot take the keep. Pershwick belongs to Montwyn, and Sir William of Montwyn has enough keeps that if you try, he can summon more men than you are prepared to meet."

"I would not lose," Rolfe said darkly.

"But you would lose your advantage here. Look you how long it has taken just to win two of the other seven keeps belonging to Kempston."

"Three."

Thorpe raised his brow. "Three? How?"

"I suppose I can thank Pershwick, for when I reached Kenil Keep today I was so furious over what happened here that I ordered the walls destroyed. The siege is finished there."

"And Kenil useless until the walls are rebuilt?" It was the only conclusion.

"I . . . well, yes."

Thorpe said no more. He knew that Rolfe had meant to use catapults only as a last measure in taking the seven keeps. It was part of a bold plan, conceived when the tourney failed in bringing the rebellious vassals to heel. The tourney had been for the benefit of those vassals, giving them a chance to meet their new lord and judge his skills. But instead of merely testing his skills with theirs, they had tried to kill him. Rolfe was therefore left in the unenviable position of owning eight keeps of which seven would not open to him.

Waging war against one's own property was never profitable, and least profitable was to destroy that property. So Rolfe recruited five hundred soldiers from King Henry's forces. Harwick and Axeford keeps made terms to surrender without any damage sustained once the bulk of Rolfe's army appeared outside their gates. The army then moved to Kenil, and now, after a month and a half, Kenil was taken.

Rolfe sat there brooding and Thorpe took a moment to wonder why Lady Amelia had not come down. She had probably heard Rolfe's voice raised in anger and decided to hide. Rolfe's mistress would not know him well enough yet to know he would not take his anger out on her.

Hesitantly, Thorpe asked, "You do see that now is not the time to attack the east? You must clean your own house before you go looking at another's."

"I see it," Rolfe said testily. "But tell me what I am to do. I offered to purchase Pershwick, but Sir William wrote that he could not sell it because Pershwick is part of his daughter's dower lands, left her by her mother. Blast that nicety. The daughter is under his rule, is she not? He could force her to sell it and give her another property."

"Perhaps the mother's will is written just so, and he cannot."

Rolfe scowled. "I tell you, Thorpe, I will not stand for another offense."

"You could always marry the daughter. Then you would have the keep without having to pay for it."

Rolfe's eyes, black since he'd entered the hall, began returning to their normal dark brown. Thorpe nearly choked. "I was but jesting!"

"I know." Rolfe mused thoughtfully, too thoughtfully for Thorpe's liking.

"Rolfe, for the love of God, do not take this idea to heart. No one weds merely to get a few serfs under control. Go over there and knock some heads together, if you must. Put fear into them."

"That is not my way. The innocent would suffer with the guilty. If I could catch one of the culprits, I would make an example of him, but always by the time I get there, they are long gone."

"There are many reasons for marriage, but to quell the serfs of a neighbor is not a good reason."

"No, but to gain peace where peace is wanted is," Rolfe countered.

"Rolfe!"

"Do you know anything about this daughter of Sir William's?"

Thorpe sighed with exasperation. "How could I know? I am as new in England as you."

Rolfe turned toward his men, gathered at the opposite end of the hall.

Three of his knights had returned with him from Kenil, as well as a small troop of men-at-arms. Two were from Brittany, but Sir Evarard was from the south of England.

"Know you my neighbor, Sir William of Montwyn, Evarard?"

Evarard approached. "Aye, my lord. At one time he was often at court, as I was before I came of age."

"Has he many children?"

"I cannot say how many he might have now, but he had only one, a daughter, when he was last at court. That was five or six years ago, before his wife died. I understand he has a young wife now, but of children from this union I do not know."

"Know you this daughter?"

"I saw her once with her mother, the lady Elisabeth. I remember wondering at the time how such a beautiful lady could have such an uncomely child."

"There!" Thorpe interjected. "Now will you let the fool idea rest, Rolfe?"

Rolfe ignored his old friend. "Uncomely, Evarard? How so?"

"She had great red splotches covering every part of her skin that could be seen. It was a shame, for the shape of her face might have foretold beauty like her mother's."