It was Amelia who took charge, ushering the ladies out. Someone draped Leonie's bedrobe over her shoulders, making her aware for the first time that she had been standing there naked, with only her long hair to cover her. She put the robe on, and then her veil was thrust at her.

Leonie looked up to nod curtly at Judith before she donned the veil.

Only her stepmother and Lady Amelia were left in the room with her. Of her husband, there was no sign.

"Who were those women?" Leonie asked.

"It was remiss of your husband that you did not meet them at the feast," Judith replied, "but you will no doubt come to know them soon enough. They are the wives and daughters of knights who serve your husband. I understand they were even allowed to follow the army when Sir Rolfe was but a mercenary. Most unusual circumstance. It could not have been easy to find quarters for them in each town. Is that not so, Lady Amelia?"

"I know nothing of that."

"No, of course you would not," Judith purred. "I forget that you have not been with Sir Rolfe very long."

This bit of hostility wasn't the only thing that displeased Amelia. She had been thoroughly put out to see the virgin blood on the sheets, positive as she was that Rolfe would not touch his wife.

"You missed mass, Leonie," Judith remarked disapprovingly. "But you were not the only one. Your father is still sound asleep. And since your husband has gone about his business without a word to his guests, I must assume the wedding celebration is over. There is no point in our staying."

"You have my leave to go, madame, if that is what is required," Leonie replied stiffly.

"You do not need us?" Judith asked only because it was expected.

Leonie shook her head.

"Then, if I can stir your father, we will go. You wish to say farewell to him? I can't guarantee he will remember, but . . ."

"Again, no."

"Well, we wish you the best, my dear."

"Of course you do," Leonie answered tonelessly before turning her back. Dismissed, Judith left.

"I do not blame you for disliking your stepmother," Amelia remarked.

"She is not a pleasant woman."

Leonie was in no mood for conversation with this one either. "If you will be good enough to have my maid sent to me, I need not trouble you further, Lady Amelia. I would have a bath and tray of food brought here, as I do not mean to leave this room today."

Amelia's lips tightened. "As you will, my lady," she said curtly, hoping she would soon be rid of the arrogant girl.

Leonie had only just finished her bath when Lady Amelia returned to inform her that her escort was ready to return her to Pershwick. This was so unexpected that Leonie was compelled to question it.

"You are sure I am to go to Pershwick? So soon?"

"It is the keep my lord mentioned, as you are familiar with it. No doubt he will supply you with what money you need, and perhaps he will appoint his own steward, but you should not be troubled by him there as long as you do not bring yourself to his attention. I assume that is as you would have it?"

"Indeed! Oh, indeed, yes!"

Leonie was stunned by this turn of luck, and hurried through her preparations as quickly as possible.

Sir Guibert and Leonie's men-at-arms were to be her escort. Guibert was alarmed when told what his first duty for the newly married Leonie would be. But seeing how eager she was to be gone from Crewel, he kept his doubts to himself. Then, too, he had heard that Rolfe d'Ambert was seldom in residence at Crewel, so he assumed the man wished to spare his wife being alone there. At Pershwick, she could be with people she knew.

Guibert had also learned what Rolfe was about—a monumental feat, the taking of seven hostile keeps with only a small army. He wished him luck, but knew the job would not be finished quickly. He doubted his lady would see much of her husband the rest of this year.

It was with some self-disgust that Rolfe found himself riding through the gate of Crewel at sunset, spurred on by a foolish eagerness to be with Leonie again.

All of last night was not clear to him. His wound wasn't bad, but he was hardly flattered to have received it. He did know that it had been a long time since he'd been so intrigued by a woman. No doubt the tension had had much to do with it, but it would do no harm to find out, would it?

Disgust with his own boyish eagerness had much to do with his reaction when he found his wife was not there waiting for him. He simply turned around and returned to the siege of Wrothe Keep. Relief was partly why he did so. He did not chastise Amelia for overstepping her bounds. He had told her only that he would send his wife away, not instructed her to see to it for him. But Leonie's absence was a good thing, for eventually he would have been disgusted with himself over his foolish desire to be with her. He certainly did not want the woman to know he desired her. He was not forgetting how spiteful she was.

Several miles away, in Axeford Keep, where Sir Warren was temporary castellan for Rolfe, his wife, Lady Roese, was telling him how shocked she had been that morning when she saw Leonie d'Ambert's face. Warren, who knew of his lord's troubles with Pershwick, assumed correctly that the lady had resisted the marriage. It was a natural conclusion that if she had been beaten, it was her father who had done it.

But Warren's wife, who had been away visiting her family for several months, knew nothing of the Pershwick troubles. She knew little of Rolfe d'Ambert, either. Her husband liked him, but that spoke only of Sir Rolfe's being a good overlord. It said nothing about his character. She knew only that Sir Rolfe had a hot temper, and she concluded that he had beaten his new wife. In her opinion, Lady Leonie had been married to a cruel man.

Unfortunately, Sir Warren did not clear up the misunderstanding. He did no more than grunt when he was told Lady Leonie's condition. In truth, he wasn't really listening. His wife told the story the next day to Lady Bertha, who was staying in Axeford Town, and from there the story spread quickly.

It did not take long for a firm debate to ensue, and many husbands and wives, as well as the serfs of Axeford, Kenil, Blythe, and Crewel argued the issue in the following weeks. The men knew their lord, and sided with him. The women did not know him, and they felt that men will always defend each other blindly and against all evidence, so they held to their opinions and sorely pitied the lady in question.

The serfs, who loved gossip, simply divided sides, man for man and woman for woman. And unbeknownst to anyone, the issue went a long way toward winning the loyalty of the people of Kempston for their new lord and lady.

Lady Amelia was furious when she heard the gossip, not because her lover was being maligned, but because the woman being pitied was Lady Leonie, and this would not help Rolfe to forget about her. He might even bring her back to Crewel just to still the wagging tongues.

Rolfe was in fact unaware of what was being said about him in the weeks after the wedding. The gossip was not something his men wanted him made aware of. Even Thorpe took pains to keep it from him, knowing his temper very well.

Briefly Rolfe wondered why his men acted strangely, hushing conversations when he drew near, shouting abuse at their womenfolk in his presence. And, damn him, he had never seen so many disgruntled females. Every woman he encountered was in a pique.

But Rolfe had too many other things on his mind to ponder the peculiarities of women and serfs. He kept to the camp outside Wrothe Keep for several weeks, conducting the terms of surrender.

Yes, he had much to occupy his mind. Yet drifting into his thoughts with alarming frequency were images of a petite form with soft curves and whispering sighs. Lady Leonie, his recent bride, was not forgotten whether or not he wished her to be.

Chapter 12

LEONIE'S every prayer had been answered. Her husband was forgotten. Her life was her own again. No steward had been sent to Pershwick to tell her that a man ruled her life now. She had taken great pains to prepare for a steward, abandoning all her hiding places so that the steward could never accuse her of trying to keep anything from her lord. Everything was in order. But no one arrived and she stopped expecting anyone.

No longer did she have to worry that Judith's steward would come raiding either. She had freedom, independence, and peace.

But good things do not last forever. One afternoon, working in her garden, she heard the call to halt from the gate, but gave it little thought.

Sir Guibert was away, leaving her master-at-arms in charge of defending the keep. The man took his responsibilities very seriously, ordering the gatekeeper to question anyone who wished to enter the keep, familiar face or not.

Leonie continued to fill her basket with parts from her elderberry tree.

The gatherings would make dyes for the weaving room, black from the bark and root, green from the leaves. Shades from blue-lilac to purple would have to wait until the berries ripened in the fall.

A second basket, filled earlier, contained herbs and flowers for medicines and cooking: chicory and endive, lovage, sweet marjoram, spearmint and catsmint, white poppy, rosemary, and the petals of marigolds and violets. Leonie trusted no one else to gather these cuttings, for it was too easy for a servant to mistake one herb for another and pick something poisonous for a salad.

The sound of horses entering the bailey made her wonder who could be visiting Pershwick, for Sir Guibert was not expected back until that evening. Horses heralded either guests or a rich merchant, and few of either came to such a small keep as hers.

She leaned over the low garden wall to investigate, and spied a man bearing the Black Wolf's colors over full armor. He was dismounting from a huge black destrier. There were two men-at-arms attending him.

She jumped back away from the wall before he could see her. In a panic, she wondered why her husband was there. She was trapped there in the garden, for she would be in plain view if she left it.

With that thought, she decided to hide in the garden until he left, all day if necessary, so she moved to the far end of the garden and knelt behind some laurel bushes, praying that Rolfe would leave and she would be spared a meeting with him. But apparently no one above was inclined to grant such a petty request, for it was only moments before she heard someone walking into the garden. Rather than face the embarrassment of being caught hiding, she gathered her courage and stood up.

She was lucky. She saw him first. Her old green bliaut blended well with the surroundings, and he was facing the other end of the garden anyway. She even had a moment to compose herself before he turned around.

She cringed. Besides being afraid, she knew she looked terrible. She was wearing working clothes, and her long braids were wrapped tightly in a hair veil to keep them from trailing in the dirt when she bent over.

Even the circlet holding the veil across her forehead was only a strip of worn leather. She looked her worst, and she was facing a man who terrified her.

When Rolfe did not see his wife immediately, he told himself to turn around and go. He had no good reason for coming. It had been impulse that brought him, and he could only blame mental and physical tiredness for causing him to act without thinking. He had slept poorly all the last week. But could he tell his wife that he yearned for her company? That he missed her? That he wanted to see how she fared? It was better she think he didn't care. Yet there he was, ignoring that, and looking for her.

The best thing for them both would be for him to find her uncloaked and revealed at last. It was not unreasonable to hope that might happen.

She was among her own people here, and would probably not hide herself. That would end the mystery, and end, too, the yearning he had for her.

With that hope, he turned around, making one last effort to find his wife here where her servant had said she would be found. This time he saw a girl he must have missed before because her clothing was so nearly the color of the foliage. The lady was not his wife. Dear God, would that she were! For as he moved close enough to see her well, he was stunned by how remarkably lovely she was.

Never had he seen such fair skin, such delicate rosy lips, straight little nose, and sweetly oval chin. She had, not the rosy cheeks of English maids or the dark beauty of the French, but ivory skin, pearllike, without a blemish to disturb its smooth surface. Long silvery lashes hid her lowered eyes, and he longed to see their color.