Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. Do not sue me, as I have no money and nothing of much value.

A Winter’s Tale

By Jennypher Armintrout

Richard leaned against the rough stone of the battlement wall, shuddering in the winter wind that stirred his hair and found it’s way under his heavy woolen cloak. His hand found the amulet he wore just inside his shirt front, and he closed his eyes against the memories that made his heart stick in his throat. On the horizon, the bright blue and red flags of an approaching traveling party stood out against the bare gray trees. In the castle below nearly fifty more had already gathered. Encampments had been set up in the safe shadow of the castle walls, housing less important guests. Nearly every family in the shire, and every family from the next had arrived for the Yuletide festival that Sir Thomas was hosting. A festival that would serve a dual purpose.

"I’m asking you only to be observant. I worry that you still mourn for this girl." Sir Thomas had said, nearly a month ago. Richard had argued and fussed, but in the end he had consented. Still, it had only been little over a year since Rachel had ridden through the gates of Covington cross and away from Richard forever. Richard didn’t doubt that his father’s concern for his well being coincided with a letter or two from other lords, all eager to marry their less prized daughters off to a well borne second son. The thought made Richard’s throat go dry.

"Richard, your father craves a word with you."

Richard turned to see Lady Elizabeth standing not far from him, resplendent in a fur lined cranberry colored cloak. Her dark hair spilled forward out of her hood in long waves. Her expression was cheerful, but her eyes couldn’t hide the way she obviously felt for her lover’s son.

Richard nodded, saying nothing.

"Walk with me, Richard." Elizabeth said, and Richard let her take his arm without complaint. "you seem...melancholy this evening." Elizabeth said lightly, noting Richard’s sudden change of demeanor. Where he had seemed troubled and distant before, he seemed icy and resentful now.

"Really," he said, no more of a query than an answer.

Elizabeth stopped walking to face him. "Richard, I know you miss Rachel. But I worry for you. Tonight could be full of wonderful opportunities, but I fewer you will miss the excitement of this festival while you mope."

Richard shook his head. "Did my father put you up to this?"

"No." Elizabeth said, eyeing the young man critically. "but he is worried about you." she turned her gaze towards the brightly colored flags emerging from the barren, skeletal Forrest. "It seems Sir Reginald Rutherford is arriving." She mused, resuming her walk, leaving Richard behind. "Do go to your father. No doubt his mind is as troubled by thoughts of you as by playing host to this ridiculous spectacle."

Armus scanned the activity in the kitchen warily, and when he ascertained that there was no danger of being caught, he snagged a custard tart from the table full in frond of him. The sting of a wooden spoon slapping the back of his hand stopped him, and he dropped the tart with a jump of surprise.

"Serves you right. I worked on those all morning."

"Gwen, would you begrudge me just one?" he asked the wielder of the offending spoon.

The girl blushed prettily, but didn’t falter. "No, but after you pilfer one of these you’ll be heading over to steal a few slices of bread, then some rice pudding, then a handful of currants-"

"Point taken." He said with a smile.

Gwen smoothed her white linen cap over her dark, silky hair, which fell in waves down her back to her slender waist. Armus noted with chagrin that her hands were red and chapped with the cold. He quickly chased those thoughts out of his mind, as he caught himself doing whenever they worked together in the kitchen.

"You should wear gloves," he said with a sigh, taking her hands in his.

She politely pulled her hands away with a smile. "you’ve opened yourself up to the possibility of rumors, My lord. People will think you’ve taken more than a professional interest in me."

Armus laughed and nodded. "We can’t have that now, can we?" he said, scooping up the tart with a wink and hurrying from the kitchen.

"No, we can’t." Gwen said quietly as she watched him leave.

Eleanor leaned against the window frame, looking down into the bailey. Below a group of servants hurried to take the reins of the horses bearing the bulk of Sir Reginald of Rutherford’s family.

"Your gown is ready, My lady."

Eleanor shook herself out of her reverie. "Yes, thank you." she called over her shoulder to her maid servant. She cast one last glance into the bailey before allowing her maids to pull the heavy satin and brocade gown over her head.

"You’re awfully quiet, My lady. Excited about seeing young Lord Rutherford, no doubt." her servant chattered while she coiled Eleanor’s glossy auburn hair into an elaborate knot.

Excited wasn’t exactly the word Eleanor would have used to describe the way she felt about the Rutherfords of North Umbria. With the exception of a few very harsh winters, the Rutherfords had visited every Christmas until Armus had gone on crusade. Their eldest son, Gerald, had recently been knighted, and even oversaw a manor of his own. Since the elder Lord’s wife had passed away the year before, Sir Thomas had saw it fitting to extend an invitation to join them this year...and it had spawned into the flurry of guests and the drinking and dancing of the festival. It was only when Sir Thomas had suggested that Eleanor consider a proposal of marriage from Lord Reginald’s son, Gerald, that the prospect of the festival made her uneasy. The knowledge that the man who waited below could one day be her lord and master left a bad taste in her mouth. She glanced at her reflection in the looking glass, and upon seeing that everything was in place, hurried tot he Great Hall.

The sights and smells of the Great Hall at dinner time were a shock to Richard’s senses after spending the day in seclusion. Guests had already queued up for food, and others milled about with goblets in their hands, many not on their first cup.

"Ah, Richard, there you are!" Sir Thomas called jovially, waving to his son from across the throng of guests. "Come, there is someone I want you to meet."

"Richard navigated politely through the crowd, smiling and exchanging brief pleasantries on his way to the dais. When he finally found his way to his father’s side his patience had been tried by too many familiarities.

"Richard, you remember Lord Reginald, and his son, Gerald, and his daughter, ah..."

"Anjelica." Reginald said with a smile, taking his daughter by the arm and pulling her forward.

Richard suppressed a desire to run. Anjelica looked out at him from behind a curtain of limp, mousy hair that hung listlessly beneath an overstuffed, over-ornamented cap. Her face would have been more attractive, in fact someone might even go as far to say pretty, if she had applied any color to her lips or cheeks.

"It’s a pleasure, my lord." When she spoke, she looked down at her feet.

Richard smiled and bowed to her, but did not kiss her hand, nor did he make eye contact. "The pleasure is all mine." he said flatly, formally.

Sir Thomas smiled uncertainly at his guest. "Shall we go to the tables?" he asked, motioning to the food across the Great Hall. Richard sighed with relief as the undesirable parties followed Sir Thomas. Leaning against a wall, near a doorway, Armus looked as though he would like to escape just as much as Richard did.

"How are you enjoying the festival, brother?" Richard asked Armus after he had made his way through the throng again.

"Boring, useless, waste of time. Do these words seem synonymous with ‘Yuletide Festival’?" he muttered, taking another draught from the goblet he was holding.

Richard nodded with a laugh. Festivals were much more exciting in the spring and summer, when there could be games of skill outdoors, and less crowding in stuffy halls.

"You’ve met Anjelica, I see." Armus chuckled, and Richard made a face.

"I only hope that Lord Rutherford has other daughters. Why do I have the feeling that father’s concern for my happiness somehow has to do with that sorry cow?" he sighed.

Armus clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "That wasn’t very nice, little brother. I’m sure she has a wonderful...personality."

"Well it isn’t her personality I’m going to have to crawl into bed with on our wedding night, is it?" Richard said, unable to keep a straight face.

"No, I don’t suppose it is, brother." Armus said, laughing. "But then again, you can always snuff the candles."

They both dissolved into hysterical laughter.

"I’m in need of some fresh air, brother. We’ll speak again later." Armus said, once they recovered, moving away.

"Gwen, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be in the kitchen."

Gwen jumped, smoothing the front of skirt. She had been watching from a doorway, as Armus and Richard chatted animatedly. From across the room she was unable to hear them, or even guess at what they were saying, but it mattered not to her.

"I’m sorry...I was...distracted." Gwen said quietly to the kitchen maid who stood near her.

"I’ll wager you were." The older woman teased. "Now get out and see if you can scrounge any more eggs we may have missed...we’re running out of supplies, and these nobles will eat us out of house and home!"

Gwen nodded and hurried through the kitchens, stopping in a corner to retrieve her shabby woolen cloak. She pulled it over her shoulders, and hesitated, loathe to leave the warmth of the castle. She sighed and went towards the door. As she moved, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass of the window. Blackest night made the glass a murky mirror, and Gwen frowned. The image she looked at was of a girl, too thin and pale, dressed too plainly to ever compete with the curvaceous, richly dressed women in the hall. She shook her head and stepped out into the cold night air.

"Shoo, get off!" she cursed at the chickens who hurried up to her, hoping to find grain or other morsels in the possession of their visitor. Gwen reached into the first nesting box and found it empty. The second proved more fruitful, but when she closed her hand around the egg to bring it out her fist caught on a nail that jutted just out of the frame of the box. In surprise she dropped the egg and jerked her torn hand out with a cry.

"Are you all right?"

Gwen froze, her blood pounding in her ears. She turned to see Armus standing not far from her, and wondered how she hadn’t noticed his presence. "My apologies, My lord, but how long have you been watching me?"

Armus said nothing, crossing the distance between them, concern on his face. "You’ve mangled this hand pretty badly." He said, gently taking her hand in his. Blood flowed steadily down her arm, staining her dress sleeves. "Let me take you inside, we’ll get this cleaned up." he said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to the wound.

"No," she said quickly, "I mean, no thank you, My lord. I have much to do in the kitchens." She couldn’t look at him. He seemed so different from when they worked together in the kitchens. His everyday, simple clothes had been replaced by a fine hunter green doublet with simple metal studs for ornamentation, much finer than anything Gwen had ever seen him wear before. She felt as though she didn’t know this side of him, the rich son of a noble. She knew only her friend from the kitchens, trading recipes and teaching her tricks to cooking. She turned quickly, but he caught her uninjured hand and pulled her back, turning her around.

For a brief second, Gwen didn’t know what to say, or why he had stopped her. His arm went around her waist, pulling her close, and before she could protest he was kissing her, hard on the mouth.

Gwen froze in shock. Never once had she expected this. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unexpected. Armus stopped and pulled away, blushing furiously.

"I’ve had a bit too much too....I should probably..." he turned and strode away quickly.

"Armus!" Gwen called after him, running from the enclosure.

"Keep the handkerchief." he called, never stopping.

Eleanor stood at the top of the stairs, suddenly unsure of herself. The room below seemed as though it belonged in another castle. Never had she seen so many people packed into the Great Hall.

"Eleanor, are you coming down? Your father wishes you to meet someone." Lady Elizabeth called from the foot of the stairs, her voice barely audible over the din of the guests.

"Of course." Eleanor said quickly, hurrying in the most ladylike fashion that she could down the stairs. She spotted her father standing near the dessert tables, next to an exquisite sugar subtlety in the shape of an English lion. With him were Lord Reginald, and two others, a rather plain girl in a dowdy looking gown and cap, and a tall, dark hairdo man who stood with his back facing the crowd.

Upon spotting his daughter, Sir Thomas waved for her to join him, and there was no going back. "It’s now or never." Eleanor muttered under her breath.

"Lord Reginald, Lord Gerald, Anjelica, this is my daughter, Eleanor." Sir Thomas said with a proud smile as Eleanor pushed her way clumsily towards them. She smiled her most gracious smile she could muster under the circumstances.

Lord Gerald turned, and Eleanor’s heart stopped. He was much older than she, but not nearly as old as her father. He had seen at least thirty Yuletide festivals, but he still looked breathtaking. Dark brown hair flowed away from his face in unruly waves, and his piercing blue eyes surveyed Eleanor appreciatively.

"It’s a pleasure, my lady." He said, dipping his head to kiss Eleanor’s hand.

Her head was swimming. This was the man who had proposed to her? She had expected him to be lame, or cross eyed at least, but there was nothing visibly wrong with Lord Gerald of North Brook. A character flaw, she decided, steeling herself for the ugly truth to spill forth.

"Shall we have a dance then, since you are not overly fond of speaking?" Gerald quipped with a smile, and Eleanor nodded numbly.

As a servant poured another tankard of wassail for him, Richard contemplated what this evening really meant to him. Most of the people in the hall came for the food and merriment than out of any real sense of camaraderie for the Greys. Even the handful of nobles that could be called friends of the family had come with ulterior motives in mind. Richard found most of the people in the hall uninteresting, and those who he would normally consider worthy company seemed boring and outdated on this evening. Those who would be at the festival had already arrived, and there had been no sign of late comers.

At this very thought, a figure entering the room from the main corridor caught his eye. A woman, no more than a girl really, stood uncertainly on the edge of the crowd. The radiant magenta and purple in her dress suited the seemingly endless fall of reddish orange curls that framed her face. Her hair was adorned with a simple wreath of the same fabrics in her dress, ornamented with tiny charms hanging from gold ribbon from the wreath. Richard’s heart leapt at the sight of her, though he had no clue who she could be.

"Richard, I have to talk to you." Armus said, grabbing Richard by the arm. Richard spun, startled.

"I can’t right now, brother..." he began, turning back to where the girl had been standing. She was gone.

"Richard, it’s very important." Armus tried again. Seeing that it was a lost cause, Armus sighed in exasperation. "Brother, she’s right over there, with father and Lord Rutherford."

Richard scanned the crowd urgently, spotting the girl at Sir Reginald’s side. Heart in his throat he began to cross the room. The musicians struck up a lively tune, and many guests moved to begin the dance. Richard thought he spied Eleanor with Lord Gerald, but at the moment he couldn’t have cared less. The girl still stood with Lord Rutherford and Anjelica, chatting casually. Richard was very nearly at the lady’s side, when John Mullens approached.

"Good evening, Lord Rutherford, this must be your lovely daughter Anjelica." he said, kissing the girl’s hand. Richard’s mouth dropped as Mullens turned and addressed the beautiful woman at his side. "I’m sorry that you arrived so late, Celeste darling, I asked that the driver take extra care to get you here safely." he said in a sweet tone, and the woman smiled.

"I missed nothing, my Lord, only the usual festival nonsense." she said, her voice as clear and bright as a bell.

Lord Rutherford laughed, obviously as enchanted by the woman as Richard was. "Your wife is in good hands, Baron Mullens, Sir Thomas throws a wonderful party, does he not?" Reginald said, taking another gulp from his goblet.

Richard froze. "Your wife is in good hands, Baron Mullens..." He stared in disbelief at the woman at Mullens’s side. Word had come to Covington Cross over a month ago that John Mullens had planned to remarry, but Sir Thomas had managed to find an excuse to skip the festivities. Richard wished with all his heart that they had gone, if only to have avoided this humiliation. He turned, planning to disappear into the crowd before he could be spotted, but just as he did so, he heard his name.

"Richard, would you care for a dance?" Anjelica called out in an unsteady voice.

The thought of running screaming seemed logical, but highly unreasonable, and he was too close to pretend that he hadn’t heard. Feeling as though his evening couldn’t get any worse, he tuned to Anjelica and managed his most genuine looking smile. "I would love to."

"What a wonderful idea." Mullens said with a chuckle. "Celeste and I haven’t danced since our wedding. Celeste, what do you say?"

Celeste smiled, and as Richard had predicted, it was the most radiant smile he had ever seen. "If it pleases you husband, then I certainly shall dance."

Richard held his breath as he and Anjelica joined the dance, copying the intricate patterns exactly. As each pattern was completed, they moved on to another partner in the circle. Richard was thankful when it was time to turn from the plain girl in front of him. He turned, bowing low to the woman who was to next be his partner. When he looked up he gasped. There stood the woman, Celeste, wife of John Mullens. Their eyes met, and they both froze, locked in each other’s gaze.

Mullens stopped, turning away from his new partner, not at all happy to see the scene before him. He strode over to Celeste and took her arm gently. "Are you all right, Celeste, you look quite pale."

Celeste looked away from Richard quickly. "I need to sit down, that is all." she said, letting Mullens lead her from the dance. She looked over her shoulder at Richard, her deep green eyes wide with an emotion that Richard could not place. He knew full well what it was he was feeling, however.

Richard was in love. With John Mullens’ wife.

Eleanor felt as though the second her head touched her pillow she would slumber, yet at the same time she was certain she would never sleep again. She was giddy from her fluttering stomach to her toes that she wriggled restlessly against the soft linen of her bed clothes. She wished she could sleep and rest after the long day she had just been through, but at the same time she wanted to relive every nuance of her evening in Lord Gerald Rutherford’s company.

At first Eleanor had been a bit shocked that her father had considered this man a prospect for marriage. He was much older than Eleanor’s eighteen years, and she had expected him to be horribly serious and boring. It was refreshing and surprising to find that he was delighted at Eleanor’s love of weapons, and had a wicked sense of humor. It was if they had always known each other, and the years between them melted away. It seemed as though it would be years before they would speak again, even though they had agreed to a morning ride after breakfast.

A contented smile on her face, Eleanor drifted into slumber.

Down the hallway, Armus suffered another sleepless night. Tonight however, it wasn’t visions of the battlefield that haunted him, but his actions earlier that night with Gwen. He couldn’t understand what would have possessed him to behave the way he did. While there were many willing young serving girls at Covington Cross, Armus inwardly had felt proud that he had never behaved inappropriately towards any of them. Why temptation had won out over reason with Gwen was beyond him. He had truly only intended to make polite conversation with her, as he always did. There had been no intention to use his position as her superior to gain favors of any kind. In fact, he held Gwen in higher esteem than the other servants, as she was always open and honest with him, and friendly and fun to work with.

Still unable to answer his own questions of his behavior, he stood and went to his window. The moonlight outside reflected off of the snow, making a thousand tiny bursts of light on the ground below. Pushing the window open to breathe in the cool night air, it occurred to Armus that perhaps it was more than Gwen’s skill in the kitchen that endeared her to him. He had often caught himself standing too close, or looking too long. Blushing, he remembered a day that summer. He had been working on perfecting his lamb stew, while Gwen kneaded dough for bread. The sight of her leaning far over the table, her thin linen shirt damp with perspiration in the hot, stifling air of the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was far too distracting for Armus’s comfort. Her shirt front was loosened far enough to still be modest, but to be more comfortable in the heat. Errant strands of sweat damp hair clung to her forehead, and as she worked the dough with her rough hands her shirt front gaped enough to allow Armus a glimpse of her ample cleavage, and the perspiration beading between her firm breasts.

The memory made Armus long to be in the icy cold outdoors, rather than in his bed chamber, which seemed all too hot and confining as he tried to rid himself of the torturous recollection. Certain that he wouldn’t sleep this night, he found a book of poetry he had been trying to read for months, and settled heavily into his chair by the fire.

In the servant’s quarters, Gwen struggled to ignore the snoring of her four additional roommates. The servants had been crammed as efficiently as possible into lesser rooms, providing more beds for Sir Thomas’s guests. On her pallet of straw on the cold floor, Gwen’s mind swam with uncertainties. She winced as she moved her injured hand too sharply. She wished she hadn’t stupidly tried to hurry through collecting the eggs. She wished she had thought of something to say to Armus when she saw him watching her. She wished she had kissed him back.

She wished she were in his bed right now, rather than lying on the cold stone floor listening to Mary Anne’s snoring.

Morning came sooner than anyone expected. Bleary eyed, grouchy guests did their best to hide their conditions after a night of drunken revelry. Richard found himself wanting to hide in his chambers rather than face John Mullens or Celeste.

Celeste. His mind reeled at the thought of her eyes, greener than any color the weavers could produce on their looms, and her hair, as though plucked from the sun’s own magnificent hues. He had tossed and turned all night, his brain full of feverish fantasies, what her lips might feel like against his, how her pale flesh might warm to a feverish degree under his hand, the smooth satin of her legs, wrapped around his hips…

The thought of her sharing a bed with John Mullens made his stomach turn. Although Richard knew that the marriage between the two was wrought by the church and the king and not by love, he still felt guilty thinking of another man’s wife in such a way. He was certain that every thought could be read on his face.

Breakfast seemed relatively informal to Richard. A large, low trestle table was laid against one wall in the Great Hall, and guests were choosing from fruits and breads spread out before them. Richard spotted Lord Gerald, and gave a wave. Gerald was so different from what Richard had expected, and he guessed the rest of the family felt the same as well.

"Good morning to you." Gerald said with a broad smile.

"And the rest of the day to you." Richard said, trying his best to sound cheerful.

"Is your sister about?" Gerald asked, and Richard could tell that the older man was trying to hide his enthusiasm for Eleanor. "I haven’t seen her this morning, and we were to go riding."

Richard humored the man. "No, I haven’t seen her." He answered nonchalantly. A hush fell over the Great Hall as Mullens entered, Celeste on his arm.

"Well, look who doesn’t dissolve when touched by sunlight." Gerald said with a laugh that couldn’t mask his contempt for the Baron. "How ever did a man like that find a woman so…delicate?"

Richard said nothing, only nodding. He managed to catch Celeste’s eye, but she turned quickly away.

Frustrated, Richard decided to eat in the kitchens.

Armus kept his eyes down as he hurried through his breakfast, not wanting to see Gwen, at the same time needing to see her desperately. He had spent a long, sleepless night trying to rid himself of the lustful thoughts that he had been sure the alcohol had produced, but here in the light of day they still refused to leave him alone. He shook his head, trying to forget the feeling of her soft lips beneath his, her thin waist curving comfortably into the crook of his arm.

"Good morning, brother."

Armus looked up, startled, and was unable to keep from blushing. "Good morning, Richard." he stammered guiltily.

Richard laughed and sat beside him, snagging an apple from Armus’s mammoth breakfast spread. "Armus, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say I’d interrupted some very nasty thoughts." he said with a lopsided grin, taking a bite from the apple. "Could it be that what everyone is saying is true?"

"What everyone is saying? What did you hear?" Armus gasped, nearly choking on his porridge.

"Servants talk, brother." Richard said with a wink. "Your secret is safe with me."

"It is?" Armus asked, his eyes worried. "That is a relief."

Richard nodded, taking another bite. "Of course, I shall have to fight with you somehow...for my lady’s honor. It won’t be hard to let you win, of course, but I shall do so with a heavy heart. Anjelica is too good a catch to let go of without a bit of a scuffle." he said, dissolving into laughter.

Armus shook his head, trying to laugh convincingly enough to cover up his relief. "Anjelica. You do me a great insult, brother. The woman who occupies my brain so thoroughly is ten times more beautiful and a dozen times more witty." He laughed, noting with dismay that it was truth.

A loud clatter forced both brothers to look up at once. Armus felt as though he wanted to disappear into the floor as his eyes met with Gwen’s. She stood not a foot away, holding a now empty serving tray at a most unuseful angle. Her face was as pale as the linen bandage on her hand, and she stood in a puddle of broken bowls and sliced fruits.

"Gwen, I..." Armus began, but she instantly dropped to her knees, scurrying to clean up the mess.

"My lord, I fear I do not have time to speak with you right now..." she began, her face flushing furiously.

"Then when?" Armus pleaded, grabbing her hand. Belatedly he realized that it was her bandaged hand, and she cried out, jerking her hand back.

"A professional interest My lord, remember." She said, tears coming to her eyes as she stood and ran from the kitchens.

Richard looked from the serving girl to his brother, his eyes wide with shock. "Armus, what are you doing? Father disapproves of you hanging about the kitchens enough. Now you have this...this love affair with a serving girl?" he sputtered, the need for oxygen forcing him to end his diatribe.

"Keep your voice down!" Armus pleaded, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It’s not a love affair. I kissed her, that’s all. Besides, it’s not as if you’ve never taken advantage of your position as a noble in this household to make sport with a serving girl."

"So you’re taking advantage of her, that’s all?" Richard asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No!" Armus said, nearly shouting. He looked around the kitchen suspiciously and lowered his voice to a whisper. "No, it’s not like that."

"My god, you really are taken by her!" Richard said with horrified glee. "I never thought I’d see the day that responsible old Armus fell for the help!"

"I haven’t fallen for…I just…"Armus threw his arms up in the air, unable to make the right words come out of his mouth.

"You just needed a large amount of wassail to convince yourself of something that you had worked so hard denying." Richard laughed, shaking his head. "I won’t breathe a word of it, I swear. At least your romantic efforts may prove fruitful. My misdirected love will more than likely come to an untimely end with my head upon a platter." He finished ruefully, swinging his legs over the bench and standing.

"Richard, what do you mean?" Armus asked, more concerned for his brother than for himself.

Richard’s voice disappeared into the chaos of the early morning hustle and bustle in the kitchens as he called over his shoulder. "Best to worry about your own predicament brother. Father is apt to skin you alive."

Armus shook his head glumly. There certainly wasn’t much comfort to be gleaned from his brother’s words. With a sigh he pushed the bowl of porridge away, no longer hungry.

Celeste Mullens tapped her fingertips on the table in front of her. Her husband held out a thin slice of an apple, and with a smile she delicately took it between her teeth. The festival at Covington Cross was anything but exciting, but to get away from the dank castle and her husband’s overly sugary daughter, any excuse was a good excuse.

Of course, there was the man whose attentions she had obviously caught the night before. He could prove to be a worthy distraction for Celeste while her husband talked of boring business deals and exchanged ages old battle stories with the other prisoners of the laws of hospitality.

It wasn’t that her husband bored her, by any means. They often marveled at how suited they were to each other, though Celeste was fond of the thrill of forbidden trysts. It was the feud with the Greys that bored her.

"Why are we even going, if you hate them so much?" Celeste had asked as they prepared their baggage earlier that week.

Her husband had stared at her as if she had suddenly begun speaking Spanish. "Darling, when you are close to your enemies you can learn more incriminating evidence. You are a smart girl, I had hoped you could figure some of this out on your own."

Celeste bristled at the memory of that chastisement, and at her husbands unrelenting belief that the Greys were somehow at fault for Henry’s death. All evil deeds met with consequences, Celeste knew all too well. The trick was avoiding the consequences.

Another trick Celeste knew. Teaching her new husband, however, would be another chore all together. It was about time for a lesson.

"I believe I will go for a walk, My lord." She whispered in Mullens’s ear.

He looked at her suspiciously, and Celeste hoped he hadn’t caught on to her ploy. "Be careful. There are many undesirables about this morning." Mullens said, nodding toward where Eleanor Grey stood with Lord Gerald at the sideboard.

Celeste’s lips curved in a pretty smile. "Of course, My lord." She had her eyes fixed on the young man from the night before, who had just exited the great hall. "I shall be most cautious." she purred.

Things were working out much easier than she had planned.

Gwen ran through the corridors beneath the castle to the servant’s quarters, which had mercifully been deserted hours ago to prepare the morning meal. She leaned against the rough wall and slid to the cold stone floor, her legs folding under her, no longer able to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall from her eyes. She drew her knees up to her chest and clasped her hands together to warm them, sobbing all the while. It was true. Armus was in love.

Grimly Gwen remembered his words of praise for the woman, whoever she may be. Inwardly she berated herself for her stupidity at believing there was meaning behind their shared kiss. The only thing behind it had been ale.

She tried to chase away the memories that had kept her company these long months, ever since the first time she and Armus had met. She had seen him about the kitchens before, but hadn’t paid much notice. There were always things to be done, courses to prepare. She hadn’t any time to socialize. She had been leaning over a simmering pot of cheese and ale soup, enjoying the smell of the delicious food and the welcome heat on her face, her skin cold from the early spring air outside.

"Smells good."

She had looked up guiltily, embarrassed to be caught doing nothing. The blood rushed from her face when she saw who it was who addressed her. "My lord, I apologize, I shouldn’t be loafing about like that." she had stammered, her voice wavering.

Then he smiled, a smile that Gwen would eventually look forward to seeing at every chance she got. "My lady, if you do not stop to enjoy the fruits of your labors, what is the point of doing all that work in the first place." Armus had then hurried over to a side table laden down with vegetables and twisted a carrot out of a bunch that lay there. "I think it could use this, though."

Gwen’s cheeks had flushed hot with anger. "Pardon me for speaking so plainly, My lord, but should you be down here, trying to make sport with the kitchen help?" she said, then gasped, unable to stop the words from escaping her lips, but at the same time not wishing to really say them.

The large blue eyes in front of her looked honestly remorseful. "My lady, I was not trying to make sport with you. I have only a professional interest in your work, I promise you that."

Gwen had laughed. "A professional interest? Does My lord wish to be a cook?" she had joked, surprised when the man before her nodded in earnest.

"I did cook, while I was away on crusade." he said quietly, taking his knife from his belt and splitting the carrot expertly down the middle, removing the core as quickly as any of the skilled cooks in the kitchen. Gwen had only been able to smile politely and allow him to help her with the rest of her chores. She noted with some interest that they shared the same opinions on cooking, and as the weeks had gone by, on things outside of the kitchen. He was a learned man, and when her work in the kitchens was done he often would try to teach her how to draw letters, or recognize written words. In no time at all Gwen found herself looking forward very much to Armus’s visits, and soon she found that she perhaps even liked him a bit.

Angrily she wiped tears from her eyes, cursing at her foolishness. "Well what did you expect?" she whispered to herself glumly. Standing and wiping her face with the back of her hand, she reminded herself that there were still chores to be done, still a festival, still guests that needed to be tended. Carefully cradling her injured arm in the crook of her other arm she left the servants quarters, to return to her servant’s life.

The sunlight fell in lacy patterns between the branches of the barren trees above onto the shimmering white blanket of snow below, making the ground come alive, as if it were made up of a thousand tiny diamonds. Lord Gerald and Eleanor rode, wrapped in their warmest woolen clothes, down the trail that cut through the forbidding forests that surrounded Covington Cross, both hoping for privacy from the prying eyes that lingered on their every move inside the castle.

Gerald reined in his mount, hesitating as he watched Eleanor lead Damascus, her dark Arabian stallion, off of the trail and into the thick brambles.

"My lady, perhaps you’d like to return to the castle instead, you certainly wouldn’t want to miss the actors...they are to present a play this evening, and-"

"And evening is far from upon us. Come, no one will notice our absence, for a while." Eleanor said with a mischievous smile. "Unless my Lord is afraid..."

With a knowing smile Gerald followed the auburn head in front of him. Eleanor was certainly full of surprises, but Gerald wasn’t certain that spontaneity was an admirable trait in a wife and Lady of a manor.

In a few short paces off of the trail, Eleanor held out her hand to caution Gerald. He tugged hard on the reins as he beheld the rocky slope before him, and the considerable drop to the river bed below.

The sight of the steep incline was heart-stopping, but what lay beyond was breathtaking. A stunning cascade of water, breaking from a rock face in a lower hill, hung suspended in a curtain of ice. Just beneath it’s frozen surface, the waterfall continued to flow downward, into a churning, frothing pond. A thin sheet of ice kept a respectful distance from the base of the falls, daring only to form in a wide arc over the few still waters at the edges of the pond. The spectacular vision of so many whites stunned Gerald, and for a moment he was tempted to try the slope, if only to get closer to the paradise that lay below.

"No!" Eleanor said, knowing the thoughts in Gerald’s mind. "The slope is too dangerous this time of year. There are many smaller springs that make it slippery and treacherous to navigate your way down. Many an unwise traveler has died at the foot of this slope, seeking water."

Eyes still wide in wonderment, Gerald laughed bitterly, a puff of a cloud leaving his lips in the chill air as he did so. "Why did you bring me here, My lady? To madden me with the sight?"

Eleanor smiled wistfully, and Gerald couldn’t help but notice the sadness in her eyes. "I’ve had bad luck in affairs of the heart so many times before...perhaps I wished you to think of me, when you remember a place as beautiful as this." she said, her voice belying a weariness that was far to aged for her tender years.

Pulling his eyes away from the icy valley below them, Gerald turned to face Eleanor. "I would always think of beauty when I think of you." he said softly, expecting Eleanor to blush, or to turn away Coquettishly. She did neither. Nodding, she nudged her horse back towards the path. Gerald shook his head, dismayed. She had again closed herself off from him. He cursed his attempts at courtly flattery. He had been foolish to think that what was passable as a compliment in a crowded, stifling hall would be appropriate here, surrounded by the glory God and England had to offer. No words he could speak would compare to the kindness she had paid him, showing him the waterfall.

"People will think we are lost." Eleanor said amiably, ducking to avoid a low hanging branch, heavy with snow. "Father doesn’t like the idea of us out here without a chaperone, either."

Gerald nodded quietly, but behind his crystal blue eyes his mind reeled in turmoil. Eleanor was becoming far to important for a woman. Gerald doubted he could leave Covington Cross without her.

A harsh wind stirred the snow atop the battlements, creating a miniature blizzard all around. Richard pulled the edges of his hood together to cover his nose and mouth, the cold crippling him. He cursed at his luck, that his one safe haven from the madness of the festival had become so uncomfortable to him. He thought briefly of retreating to his chambers, but feared that he would be rooted out, made to play the gracious host once again, made to face the harsh realities of his life.

Even if he didn’t marry Anjelica, he would marry someone like her. The one woman he had come to care about since Rachel belonged to another. And it was grown more obvious with ever passing winter day that Rachel was never coming back.

Shaking his head, he felt nothing but revulsion towards himself. How could he have let himself fall for someone he had never even spoken to? Was fate so cruel?

For no reason at all he looked sharply towards the door that lead into the warmth of the castle. A blur of color, obscured by snow, made him blink in disbelief. The shadow of crimson and violet that became more clear as it neared him finally revealed it’s self. Standing before Richard’s unbelieving eyes was the girl from the hall, Mullen’s wife.

Without a word, without thought or reason, Richard grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely upon the mouth.

"It is beyond me why you go to such lengths over something as stupid as a marriage contract!" Lord Reginald thundered, pacing the length of the small room his family was sharing.

A comely young girl, dressed in a simple, violet gown sat, brushing her silky brown hair. "Father, do calm down, you will give yourself a fit." she said, the nasal tones she had spoken in the night before completely absent from her voice.

"I don’t understand what it is exactly that you think this...this masquerade will prove!" Reginald said, more quietly this time to avoid being overheard.

The girl spun around to face him, angry. "It proves everything. If this Richard, or whatever his name is, rejects me because of my looks, then why would I want to marry him?"

Reginald shook his head. "It would be so much easier to use your looks to our advantage. Not cover them up with...with silly hats." he grumped, picking up the large chapeau that she had worn the night before and tossing it aside in distaste.

The girl sighed. "There will be other contracts-" she began, her eyes hopeful.

"Anjelica, I don’t know about this." Reginald said, his large, gray eyes betraying the struggle between reason and fatherly love that warred inside of him.

Anjelica took her father’s hand in hers. "If Richard proves himself a kind hearted man, worthy of my hand and your fortune, then I shall marry him." she said, a kind smile forming on her pretty face.

Reginald closed his eyes. "And if he does not?"

"Then why would you want to give your only daughter to someone who values beauty above all else?" She said in a low, sad voice. "We’ve made such a mistake before, father."

Lord Reginald threw up his hands in dismay, and left Anjelica to ponder her next moves. She drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair in which she sat, unable to concentrate. Richard had seemed quite captivated by the woman who had been with John Mullens the night before. Could it be possible that they were lovers? Anjelica shook her head in dismay, unsure of how to proceed in finding out.

As if struck by lightening, Anjelica realized how stupid she had been, overlooking a huge advantage she held. She was in his home, and unrecognizable to most of the guests.

Guests who would be otherwise occupied by the players this afternoon.

A knock at the open door shook her out of her plotting, as a servant girl stood, shifting uncomfortably under Angelica’s never blinking gaze.

"Yes?" Anjelica asked kindly, rising.

The girl looked down at her feet, wringing her hands. "Pardon my intrusion, my Lady...Sir Thomas would like a word with you and your father."

"Yes of course," Gwen said, her lips curving into a mischievous smile, "first, let me speak with you, for a moment."

Unfamiliar with the servant’s quarters, Armus was finding it difficult to navigate the narrow corridors. Help seemed a thing of fantasy, for he did find another lonely soul wandering about they were either a guest with no idea where they were going either, or a servant who Armus didn’t recognize as one of their own. He was about to give up hope of finding a friendly face when suddenly Marianne rounded the corner, her ruddy face carrying a pleasant smile.

"Marianne, have you seen Gwen?" Armus said politely, blocking the servant’s escape with his massive frame.

Not that the woman didn’t jump at the chance to stop her work and chat. A look of concern quickly replaced her warm smile, but Armus could detect a shimmer of glee in Marianne’s eye at having gossip to share. "Oh yes, I did, Sir, right down there earlier. Crying her eyes out, she was, Sir."

"Crying?" he asked softly, his large blue eyes reflecting despair.

Marianne nodded solemnly. "Love troubles, I’ll wager, though I ain’t seen her with anybody."

For reasons unknown to him Armus was greatly comforted by these words. "I’d suppose so." was all he could manage.

"She’s a tender little thing, Sir, gets real attached to people. Probably upset that some boy is leaving after the festival or what not." the stout little maid said, glad to have a break from her long day of work.

Armus nodded, and without a word turned and left Marianne standing in the hallway, with no other alternative but to resume her tasks.

Unbelieving, Richard stepped back from the woman he held in his arms. "Celeste, I--"

She held one dainty finger to his lips, her eyes imploring. "No, don’t turn me away." she pleaded, and Richard felt his resolve weakening once again.

What was he doing? This was no common tavern girl standing before him. There would be consequences. This was the wife of John Mullen’s, the Grey’s most hated enemy.

Richard decided then and there that it was not fair for the enemy to have advantages over an adversary such as Celeste held. The smooth, flawless curve of her neck, hiding within the folds of her velvet cloak, the deep violet making a shocking contrast with her pale skin. The beautiful, clear blue eyes that seemed to be on the brink of tears... "You are John Mullen’s wife. We can’t do this." he said, shaking his head.

Celeste looked down, tears glimmering on her cheeks. "I know, I know. But I am so unhappy." she said helplessly, and instantly Richard pulled her close against his chest.

"You must be freezing." he said when the warmth of her body near his reminded him of the gale they stood in. "Let me take you inside, to rest away from the noise of the festival. There is to be a play this afternoon, no one will notice your absence."

"I can’t risk being seen with you," she said desperately. "Please, meet me in the armory this evening, after dinner has been served. There will be much commotion, no one will see us slip away."

The thought of meeting this woman in private, as insane as the idea was, set Richard aflame with desire that had been dormant since Rachel had left Covington Cross. "The armory?" he asked, his tongue thick in his mouth.

Celeste nodded, and without another word, grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him passionately before running back into the maelstrom of snow that clouded Richard’s vision.

Ducking into an alcove, Anjelica avoided her father and Sir Thomas. Masking her beauty was one thing, but she knew her father would never stand idly by while she traipsed around, a noble in servant’s clothing.

"I don’t know where that daughter of mine could be." Lord Reginald was saying jovially, but the undercurrent of annoyance in his tone was all to clear to Anjelica.

"A beautiful girl like that?" Sir Thomas chuckled, "Why, she’s probably too busy fending off the young men to join us."

Anjelica noted that Sir Thomas was a good liar. She hoped it wasn’t hereditary. As soon as they had passed she stepped back out into the corridor, careful to keep her eyes downcast as she passed several familiar looking nobles. It seemed to take forever to reach the family’s quarters, and she was certain someone would discover her.

Or discover the serving girl she had left behind, in her gorgeous damask gown. She noted with some irritation that the girl looked better in it than she did. But not by much, she reminded herself quickly. Hearing footsteps, she pushed a door open quickly and was relieved to find it unoccupied. Before anyone could pass she made herself look busy, smoothing out the coverlet on the bed.

A rotund woman with a flushed, beefy face bustled in with an armload of fresh rushes, which she dumped on the floor unceremoniously. "Are you almost finished in here, Sarah?"

"Excuse me?" Anjelica choked on the words.

The woman looked annoyed. "I asked you to clean master Richard’s chambers over an hour ago, and here you are, dawdling about!"

"Master Richard’s....oh, of course, I...I forgot. Where would I find master Richard’s chambers?" Anjelica asked, sure that any second the woman would realize that whoever the girl was standing before her, she was certainly not Sarah.

"You know where." the stout little woman said with a sigh of exasperation, and Anjelica’s hopes sank. "Down the corridor, last on the right."

Anjelica tried hard not to leap for joy at this information. This was turning out to be a lot easier than she thought it would.

Armus ducked through the low door to the kitchen. Across the kitchen he spied Gwen, leaning over a heavy metal cauldron, trying to lift it without help. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity he rushed to her side, lifting the massive vessel by himself, hooking it over the huge iron bar that suspended it above the flames in the hearth.

Gwen stepped back, her face an icy mask, though hot contempt burned in her eyes. "Thank you my Lord. I’m sure I can handle things from here on out." she turned quickly, but Armus caught her arm, her uninjured arm this time, and she stopped, her eyes shut tight.

"I wish to speak to you." he said in a low voice. She shrugged his hand away and went about chopping up an onion.

"Whatever you may have to say to me can be said in the kitchens, my lord, lest rumors fly." she said.

Armus noted with some satisfaction that he was indeed getting to her. The onion was disappearing into smaller and smaller pieces. "I would speak to you somewhere else. I have something important to say, and I don’t want to say it here, or rumors will certainly fly." he said, almost a whisper. His heart pounded in his chest as he imagine the consequences that declaring his feelings for her would bring. "Please." he said helplessly.

Though she didn’t move from where she stood, Gwen’s resignation was clear on her face. She dropped the knife and turned to him, her eyes swimming with tears. "Very well. Where shall we go?"

Armus wiped a tear from her cheek tenderly, not caring who saw. "Oh, Gwen..." he said, wanting to take her into his arms.

"It’s just the onions! I shall be fine. You wanted to speak to me, now where are we going?" she snapped, and Armus let his hand fall away from her face. Could it be that she resented him this much for the way he had behaved last night? If she rejected his love, he could live; if she rejected his friendship, he surely could not. Taking her hand in his he lead her from the hot, steaming air of the kitchens, into the cold, crisp air outside.

Now that they were alone, completely, and uncomfortably alone, Armus didn’t know what to say. Gwen stood, arms crossed in front of her chest, her expression black, mouth set in a grim, determined line. It was as if she were bracing herself for the worst.

"Well?" she asked, her voice thin, tight sounding.

Armus looked down, shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. Finally he met her gaze, uncertainly. "I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For what I did last night...it was uncalled for." he said.

Gwen’s expression did not soften, did not change at all, though her eyes filled with tears again.

"I know you’ve not wanted any...attention from me, save for in a professional manner," he began again, and Gwen’s sharp intake of breath startled him. "Gwen, I don’t know how to say this...I..." he closed his eyes in frustration, unable to find the words. "I no longer think of you only in a professional manner." he said, not wanting to look her in the eye. He looked to his feet instead, and the silence hung between them, as thick as the snow on the ground, until it became apparent that she was crying.

This was not the effect that Armus had hoped his declaration would have on her. Taking her hand in his, Armus tried again. "I know you feel that I’m not...right for you. That this will only make your life here harder, but I assure you, I want nothing more than for you to be happy. If you wish to never see me again, just say the word-"

"That’s not what I want." Gwen said softly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I never wanted that. I was afraid..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "Nevermind, it’s stupid."

"What?" Armus asked, grateful that she did not hate him over his feelings for her.

Gwen gave a small laugh, blushing. "I heard you talking this morning with your brother, about the beautiful, witty girl you were thinking of...I thought you were in love with someone." she said with an embarrassed laugh.

"I am." Armus said, his voice low and soft. Gwen looked up at him, her green eyes shining with a thin veil of tears. "Everything I said to Richard was true. It was about you."

She began to cry in earnest now, and Armus gave in to his earlier impulse to take her into his arms. "This makes no sense." she said through her tears.

Armus shook his head, laughing ruefully. "It makes perfect sense. It will outrage my father." This didn’t appear to comfort Gwen any, and Armus berated himself silently for saying it. "Gwen, every morning, the first thing I think of is you. Every night before I fall asleep, the last thing I think of is you. I count the hours until I can see you again. I just wouldn’t let myself see it until last night."

"What now?" she asked, stepping out of his embrace.. "What can be done about this?"

Armus shook his head. "I don’t know. Nothing, if you don’t wish there to be anything between us. Do you?"

With a bitter laugh, Gwen nodded. "Yes, but what I wish and what you are bound to by duty are two vastly different things. What of your family, your father?"

"My father can be quite lenient in certain circumstances. His weakness is for his children’s happiness, I’m afraid." He laughed, and Gwen gave a small smile. "Let’s not worry about this now. I want to see you tonight."

"I will be in the kitchens, my Lord, getting supper served to your father’s guests." she said quietly, but she seemed quite pleased.

"Not in the kitchens." Armus said, taking her hand. "If I can somehow escape dinner, you can escape your chores."

Gwen laughed, the clear, throaty laugh that Armus had come to love. "I shall try, my Lord."

"Armus. Call me Armus." he said, squeezing her hand. "I will come for you later. We’ll find some time alone, even if we have to run to the next shire."

They laughed, and then fell into an awkward silence again.

"I must go back." Gwen said softly.

Armus nodded, and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "Until this evening, then."

"Until this evening." she said, and with a smile, hurried back into the hot, noisy kitchens.

Once alone in Richard’s chambers, Anjelica didn’t know where to start. She ran her hands over the mahogany table that sat in one corner, covered in what appeared to be contracts and registers. A business man, she noted with some satisfaction. Then again, who wasn’t in this day and age? She reminded herself. The bed was unmade, the blankets twisted and tossed about in a heap. So he was a restless sleeper.

Nothing she was discovering on the surface gave her any hint as to what was happening in his life, however. Anjelica was about to give up hope, flopping into a chair near the fireplace, when suddenly a loose stone in one of the interior walls caught her eye. Looking around to make sure no one saw, she knelt before the block and tried to see if it would push loose easily.

It gave way, revealing a small space behind. Brushing dust away from the opening, she took a deep breath and plunged her hand into the darkness, fully expecting to feel the coarse fur of a rat, or the stinging bite of a spider. When neither appeared a danger, she opened on eye and tentatively groped about in the darkness. When her fingers stumbled upon a piece of parchment, she yanked it out and read it eagerly.

Anjelica felt as if a great weight were pressed upon her chest. Suddenly she felt horribly guilty for being there, kneeling on the rushes in this man’s chambers, rummaging through his most personal belongings, which were probably known only to himself. Tears sprang to her eyes as she put the letter back, carefully replacing the stone. More than the guilt she was feeling, she wanted to find Richard, to confess, to this, to her attempts to deceive him, to just take him into her arms and comfort him for the loss of his one true love.

Nearly laughing through her tears at the absurd idea, she stood and left, making sure that the room was just as she had found it.

Lady Elizabeth was preparing for supper when Eleanor found her. The festival had brought many guests, so a room alone was rare. Eleanor had hardly believed when her father had waved away all thoughts of propriety and allowed Lady Elizabeth to stay in his chambers. It was very much the talk of the festival.

Elizabeth welcomed Eleanor in warmly. The women were much closer now than they had ever been, but it always seemed to surprise Elizabeth when Eleanor came to her of her own volition.

"Are you enjoying the festival?" Elizabeth asked, offering Eleanor a glass of wine, which she waved away with a polite "no thank you".

"I’ve come to talk to you about Gerald." Eleanor said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so shaky. "And father."

Elizabeth smiled, and Eleanor wished that the older woman wasn’t having so much fun with this situation. "What about?"

Eleanor sighed, at once ruing the fact that her only confidant was Elizabeth, and rejoicing that she had an older, wiser woman to go to for advice. "I feel so many things...I’m angry with father for arranging this engagement with out so much as a thought to my feelings, but at the same time I feel so glad that he did. Then I am angry with myself that I must always object to everything my father does for me, and now I will feel foolish admitting that I do not object to this. Though I certainly don’t want to see Gerald go..."

Elizabeth laughed, and Eleanor blushed furiously. "I’m sorry, Eleanor, really I am." Elizabeth said gently, the laughter never leaving her eyes. "I remember all too well my own pridefull youth."

"I just wish I knew what was wrong with me!" Eleanor said, dropping her head into her hands in despair.

Elizabeth went to her, and laid a hand on her auburn head. Eleanor had never known what it was like to have a mother. She imagined that her mother would have acted much the same way as Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps that was what bothered her most of all about the woman. "There is nothing wrong with you," Lady Elizabeth said, tenderly stroking the younger woman’s hair. "You are in love."

Eleanor shook her head. "I can’t be. When I was in love before, it wasn’t like this. It was exciting and romantic. This is...I just want to talk, to tell him everything about me, to know everything about him. It’s so strange. It’s not about me. It’s about..."

"Him." Lady Elizabeth said with a knowing smile. "Eleanor, you’ve grown. What you shared with Daniel was exciting because it was forbidden. It wasn’t a love made out of honesty and communication, but deception. Daniel deceived you, and you deceived your father. This is different, in that you wish there to be only honesty. It shows how much you’ve grown."

Eleanor didn’t want to feel proud at this, but she couldn’t help but be glad that Lady Elizabeth no longer thought of her as the selfish brat she once was. "I don’t know what to do." she finally said.

"Wait. All things that are meant to be pan out after time." Elizabeth said, though it was ill comfort to Eleanor’s upheaval heart.

"I will remember that, thank you." she said, not a little sarcastic. "I suppose I should make an appearance at dinner."

"I think that would be wise." Lady Elizabeth said with a small chuckle.

Eleanor showed herself to the door, pausing in the doorframe. She watched for a moment as Lady Elizabeth took up her brush and began combing out her long chestnut hair. A pang of longing took Eleanor by surprise as she realized that if her mother had lived, she would have likely made this exchange with her. What surprised her more was the sadness she knew she would have felt if Lady Elizabeth had never come into their lives.

Once dinner was served and the great seething mass milled about in the Great Hall once again, Richard decided it was safe to seek out Celeste. Expertly avoiding Anjelica, he combed the throng for any sign of the flame red hair or sapphire eyes that he so desperately needed to see. Instead of the delicate woman he was in search of, he came face to face with the threatening presence of her husband.

"Ah, Lord Mullens," he said jovially, feeling a wicked satisfaction at knowing this hated enemy’s wife would soon lie supple and willing beneath him, "are you enjoying the festival?"

That Mullens was taken off guard was apparent on his evil face, his eyes losing the icy cold edge they usually gleamed with for just a moment. It was replaced by obvious shock at the sound of civil words leaving the lips of Thomas Grey’s hot tempered second son. It took him only a moment to recover, his smug demeanor returning within seconds. "I do believe the boy has had too much wine. Or he’s grown some manners." Mullens laughed, and several of the men standing around him laughed as well.

"And where is your lovely wife, the Lady Celeste?" he asked with a smirk, and Mullens’ face fell. "I don’t see her about, and I doubt I would miss her."

It looked as if Mullens was deciding weather or not to draw his sword and gut the boy or not. "She’s ill." he said tersely, and Richard nodded, the expression on his face telling Mullens everything he needed to know.

"Well, I shall hope she’s feeling much better by the morning." he said, patting Mullens roughly on the back and disappearing into the crowd.

Armus studied the exchange between Richard and John Mullens with apprehension. What was it Richard had said that morning, about misdirected love? He hoped Mullens’ pretty new wife wasn’t the woman who had caught Richard’s eye.

His mind was, however, occupied by other matters. Namely the girl waiting for him in the kitchens. The though of her made his heart jump into his throat. Nervousness gripped his stomach like a vice. Now that they had admitted their feelings for each other, it should have been an easy thing to spend time together. Instead, Armus found himself dreading being alone with her, not knowing what she was expecting.

"More wine, my lord?" a servant was asking, and Armus nodded, handing the man his goblet. Once the glass was drained he set out to find Gwen.

The armory was dark, the only light coming from the moon through the large windows. Richard held his breath, disappointed to find that Celeste was not present. He turned to the door, his eyes just adjusting to the darkness, when a hand at his shoulder startled him.

"Shhhh..." her voice said, smooth as silk, as she put a finger to his lips. "Someone will hear."

"Celeste?" he whispered, and in a moment, when her lips were on his, he knew without a doubt that it was she. When her hands wrapped around his shoulders, when her lithe young body pressed against his, he knew. He knew he was lost.

Any intention that might have lurked in his brain, no matter how small, of walking away from Celeste Mullens that evening was entirely gone. Richard buried his face into Celeste’s hair, breathing deeply the scent of lavender. Felt her hands working the laces of his doublet. Touched the hollow of her milky white throat, shivering unconsciously.

Something in his brain screamed at him to think of what would happen if John Mullens himself were to walk in and see them together. The apprehension was again vanquished when it became apparent that Celeste wore no more than her thin bedrobe, which she shrugged to the floor. Something in the ease of the gesture suggested that Celeste was more than accustomed to meeting men in dark rooms, but Richard attributed it to the depravities that Mullens no doubt forced upon her. The thought should have repulsed him, but rather it inflamed him further.

In the moonlight Richard spied a low table, and sweeping Celeste up in his arms, carried to her to it. With one arm he cleared the bundles of arrows that lay there, and they hit the floor with a clatter.

"Someone will hear!" Celeste whispered urgently, covering his mouth with a fierce kiss. Her hands worked at the laces of his breeches, grasping the hard length of him through his linen hose.

Richard groaned and pushed her hand away, freeing his rigid member. Her breath was hot on his ear as she grasped his hips, urging him closer.

Moonlight glinted off of the amulet that had found it’s way outside of his shirt. Richard stepped back, shaking his head, a vision of clear blue eyes and windblown blonde hair quelling all the desire he felt for Celeste.

"What are you doing?" Celeste asked, sitting up.

Richard began lacing up his breeches, still shaking his head. He tucked his amulet back into his shirt front, surprised to find it warm to the touch, and not the cold, lifeless, piece of stone and metal that it usually was. "I can’t do this, I’m sorry." he mumbled, heading for the door.

"As am I!" Celeste said angrily, stalking over to retrieve her robe in the darkness. "I’ll give your regards to my husband." she said, pushing past him and out of the door, leaving him standing in the moonlight.

The heat in the kitchen was overwhelming. Gwen mopped her forehead with the hem of her apron, not sure weather it was the heat from the hearth that made her sweat so, or the nervousness that clutched at her stomach. When she had agreed to meet Armus earlier, she hadn’t expected to feel so anxious when the time arose. She turned her attention to the loaves of bread she was slicing, so that they could find their way to the tables in the great hall. She began to slice through one loaf and winced when the motion hurt her injured hand.

"Careful, my lady."

Gwen jumped. He always had a way of sneaking up on her. "You scared me to death."

Armus grinned broadly, taking her hand gently and uncurling her fingers from the handle of the knife. She felt as if her breath had been knocked out of her. Her face flushed, and at once she wished it hadn’t. A boy in the village had once told her she looked like a beet root when she blushed.

If Armus noticed, it didn’t appear that he cared. He leaned close to her ear to whisper to her. "Can you sneak away now? I’ve got the most wonderful idea."

A thrill ran through her as she nodded, letting Armus pull her through the kitchen. He lead her out across the tilting yard, into the stables, where his horse stood, saddled and ready for a ride.

"Armus, I’ve never ridden a horse before." she protested.

He smiled and helped her boost herself into the saddle. "It’s easy, I promise." he said, climbing into the saddle behind her, wrapping his cloak around them both. "Besides, there is something I want to show you."

Celeste shook her flame red hair out of the collar of her bedrobe in aggravation. With her evening ruined, she might as well join the festivities downstairs. Turning the corner she ran smack into her husband, an angry expression on his face.

"Celeste, I thought you were ill." he said, grabbing her by the arm. A loud door slam caught his attention, and he looked up in time to see a man exiting the armory. "Whoring yourself out, I should have known." he said, pushing her to the floor. She scrambled to her feet and braced herself against the stone wall, her face red as she pulled her bedrobed tighter around herself.

"Your words, my lord, not mine." she spat, and he came forward, raising his hand as if to strike her. She pulled the dagger that she carried concealed inside her bed robe, it’s silver blade glinting dangerously golden in the torch light of the hall. It had been a wedding present, it matched the one that she saw Mullens had not worn that evening. That was definitely to her advantage. The dagger felt heavy and solid in her hands, the smooth face of an emerald embedded in the hilt feeling slippery against her fingers. "Do you doubt my intentions, My Lord husband?"

Mullens stepped back, his lips twisting into a smug smile. In his eyes, Celeste could see a glimmer of fear. With satisfaction she noted that the tables had turned.

"The king will be most distress to hear of this. You’ll likely wind up with your pretty head on the wrong side of a hangman’s rope." he growled, stepping towards her again.

Celeste pressed the point of the dagger against the leather of his doublet with a shaking hand. Her heart beat wildly, and she swallowed to clear her throat. "You will tell no one of this, least of all the king. I swear that if you do I will gut you like a fish while you sleep." Her whole body was shaking, as if totally consumed by fear. A tap at her shoulder suddenly caused her to whirl around. The dagger, still in her hand, sank into the belly of the man who stood behind her, his hand still on her shoulder. With a feeble groan, the man slumped to the floor with a sickening thump.

John Mullens stepped back, his eyes wide in shock, mouth agape. Celeste crumpled to the floor as she recognized the face of the man who lay, eyes staring but not seeing, on the floor in front of her.

On the cold stone of the floor, in a pool of his own blood, lay Sir Reginald Rutherford.

Anjelica surveyed the crowd from her place near the dessert table, her face grave. It wasn’t hard, wearing the dowdy clothes she was mired down in. Richard was no where to be seen, and she could only guess that he was with her father, also absent. They were probably discussing dowries or land contracts, she thought angrily. Just as quickly she chased the thought away, reasoning that many guests had needed a rest after the afternoon meal, and were probably still suffering the effects of the alcohol from the night before. Only recently had Baron Mullens’ wife joined the rest of the guests, looking pale and ill.

An abrupt bump caused her to stumble forward, sloshing wine upon the front of her already hideous gown.

"Anjelica, my dear, I’m so sorry!" It was Lady Elizabeth who had jostled her, and she looked genuinely sorry. Taking the handkerchief from her bodice she began to dab at the wine that seeped into the heavy orange brocade Anjelica wore.

"It’s all right, it’s an ugly dress anyway." she said, forgetting the nasal tones in which she had spoken to Elizabeth before.

The older woman looked first surprised, then amused. A mischievous glint lit up Elizabeth’s eyes as she touched a finger to the ridiculous feather that swayed listlessly on Anjelica’s hat. "I’m so glad you’re over your cold, my dear. Now that your nose is no longer stuffy, you can concentrate on finding clothing less...horrible." she said with a smile.

Anjelica sighed. "It was a test."

"To see how unattractive you could make yourself? You’ve succeeded beyond your wildest expectations, I can assure you of that." Elizabeth said with a laugh. Anjelica made a face, and Elizabeth’s smile faded. "I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. But don’t think I didn’t see through your facade."

"How?" Anjelica asked quietly, nodded politely to a passer by.

Elizabeth’s smile returned. "My son Adam had his eye on you a few years ago...you so young, so poised and graceful...you were a swan. Imagine my surprise when a pidgeon showed up in the swan’s place." she said, and Anjelica looked down at her feet, blushing. "I understand. I’ve done crazy things to avoid marriages. Some of them worked. Some didn’t. But Richard Grey would make a good husband. He is just..."

"Bewitched." Anjelica breathed, her heart pounding. Richard stood at the top of the stairs, his hair tousled, his expression black.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth asked, sounding as if she were choking.

Anjelica shook her head. "Servants talk...do you know who Rachel might be?"

"Rachel..." Elizabeth breathed, as if the name were archaic and foreign. "She was...Richard loved her. The village denounced her as a witch, and she was nearly burned."

"What happened then?" Anjelica asked casually, not wishing to sound too eager.

Elizabeth’s brow knitted into a frown suddenly. "Servants don’t talk about Rachel. No one does...where did you hear of her?"

"I...Oh look, here comes Lord Danvers, I shall have a word with him." Anjelica stammered badly, turning away from Lady Elizabeth.

"Anjelica...he is often on the battlements. You could ask him yourself." Elizabeth called after her uncertainly.

"I still can’t believe this place is real!" Gwen laughed, her voice echoing in the cavern, nearly drowned out by the sound of the rushing waterfall that separated them from the real world.

Armus smiled, stretching his legs out in front of him on the hard stone floor. He sat on a blanket he had tucked into his saddle bag, the same bag he had lugged down the treacherous slope with them only moments before. "I know." he nodded, leaning his head back against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes. "Before the crusades this was my retreat. I kept my meddling siblings away by making up some ridiculous story about travelers falling to their deaths on the rocks, or other such nonsense." he chuckled, yawning, "To my knowledge they’ve never dared come down here."

Gwen’s lips curved in a peaceful smile as she shook her head in awe. "I’ve never felt so free!" she said, reaching her hand out to touch the silvery curtain that secluded them from the dark Forrest outside. The light of the full moon illuminated the cave, magnified by the water. Long water shadows fell all around, covering the walls, and themselves. Gwen twirled in a circle, her laughter bouncing off of the stones around them. She stopped when she felt Armus’ gaze on her, and she blushed. "Thank you, Armus, for sharing this with me."

He nodded, and for the space of a heartbeat, their gazes locked. Looking away with an awkward smile, Armus began rummaging through the saddle bag. "Are you cold?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. With a cry of triumph he fished a bottle out, and uncorking it rather unceremoniously, he offered it to Gwen.

Gwen had no idea what her face must have looked like after she took a huge gulp from the bottle, but she was certain it wasn’t pretty. All at once she felt as though she would scream, cry, and wretch, but her body couldn’t decide which should come first. She coughed violently, trying to get the burning sensation to leave her throat. "What is that?" she gasped, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Armus smiled, taking the bottle from her. "The Scots call it whiskey. My little brother is at a monastery up north. He sent it to us. It’s a bit crude, I admit, but the monks drink it to keep warm." He took several long gulps from the bottle, and Gwen wondered how he could swallow the stuff with such ease. He held the bottle back out to her, but she shook her head violently. "It’s not nearly so bad the second time round." he said with a smile.

Hesitantly, Gwen took the bottle from him. The last thing she wanted to do was to let any more of that vile stuff into her body, but she took a tentative sip, forcing herself to swallow quickly. Surprisingly, he was right, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first drink. She took another sip, a bit longer this time, and handed the bottle back.

"Come sit with me." Armus said in a low voice, and Gwen felt as though her heartbeat must be echoing through the cavern. She eased herself down onto the blanket beside him, and let him draw his cloak around her.

"I feel the whiskey must be doing it’s trick...I am warm." she whispered, and Armus laughed softly.

"Are you sure it’s not my nearness?" he asked, and Gwen felt her cheeks grow hot. She took the bottle from him and took two large swallows before handing it back.

Gwen studied Armus as he took another drink from the bottle. He was so tall, Gwen would often laugh when she saw him stoop to enter through the kitchen doors. He reminded her of... "The giant!" she blurted out, and Armus coughed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"The giant?" he asked, looking at Gwen as if she had gone quite mad. "What giant?"

Gwen giggled, taking the bottle from him again. "You know, from the story. The greedy little boy who climbed the beanstalk...Fee Fi Fo Fum?" she said, her tongue tripping over the nonsense words, which made her laugh harder. She began to take the whiskey in great gulps now, taking swallow after swallow, until Armus pulled the bottle away from her.

"You’ll kill yourself, drinking like that!" he laughed, corking the bottle after taking two great draughts. "Now, about this giant?" he laughed, his voice hoarse.

Gwen’s face grew solemn. "I will not talk of the giant anymore." she said, planting her hands on her hips.

"And why not?" Armus snickered, casting the bottle aside.

Gwen tried to keep a straight face. The whiskey was working against those efforts. "Because. You’re drunk." she said, bursting into giggles again, collapsing against Armus.

"I don’t think I am the only one." he said, and Gwen decided he sounded much more sober than she did. He brushed a few errant strands of honeyed brown hair away from her face, and Gwen found that now when he looked into her eyes, she did not feel the need to look away.

The closeness seemed so alien. Gwen couldn’t recall a moment, from all the time they worked together in the cramped quarters of the kitchens, that they had ever been this close. If they had been, they had been too busy to notice, she assumed. Though at this moment she doubted that she could have overlooked the feelings that his close proximity inspired.

"Gwen?" Armus asked, his eyes never leaving her face, "Could I kiss you?"

Her heart in her throat, Gwen nodded slowly, tilting her face up towards his. Armus leaned down towards her slowly, and she felt as though her heart would stop. His lips brushed hers gently, tentatively at first, as if testing to see if she would push him away. Gwen wouldn’t have dreamed of doing such a thing. A delicious thrill ran through her, not unlike what she had felt the night before, when he had kissed her for the first time. Not wanting him to stop, not wanting to break the spell, she brought her arms up around his shoulders slowly. One of his arms found it’s way around her waist, the other settled on her thigh, heating her flesh through the layers of her skirts.

Gwen pulled back a moment, to catch her breath, and Armus opened his eyes.

"I’m sorry, I..." he began, looking away.

Gwen shook her head. "Don’t be." she said, leaning forward, kissing him again. This time it was more urgent, more passionate. Their lips met and seemed to meld together, their tongues slid against each other, producing a not at all unpleasant friction that made Gwen shudder. The hand he had laid on her thigh stirred to life, his fingers flexing, bunching the material of her skirt. His hand moved to her waist, then upward, gently cupping her breast through the fabric of her shirt and apron. She moaned softly against his lips, surprised at herself. She should push him away, insist that they go back to the castle. It wasn’t proper, she told herself, it must be the spirits they had imbibed. Certainly it couldn’t be that she was this wanton by nature.

Armus broke away from her mouth, and they stared at each other, breathing hard. He leaned forward to kiss her again, and with a giggle she playfully turned away. He kissed her cheek, then her jawline, then the curve of her neck, the space just below her ear, the pulse just above her collar bones. Gwen grasped one of his massive shoulders with her tiny hand, clutching him for dear life as if she would be swept away by the feelings coursing through her body.

Lifting his head, Armus gave her a small smile. "I think it would be wise for us to...stop." he said, and Gwen knew it was for her benefit that he wanted to stop.

Gwen shook her head, laughing. "It is a good thing we are so foolish then, sir, for I do think I would die if didn’t get another kiss from you." she said, and Armus laughed.

"Don’t blame me for what might follow, my lady," he said with a laugh, throwing his hands up helplessly, "for there is something about you that...inflames me."

Gwen blushed, snuggling closer to him. "I fear I am bewitched...by the whiskey, by the beauty of this place...by you." she said, suddenly serious. "I am in love with you. I have been for so long now."

Armus smiled, his large blue eyes shining with happiness. "And I am in love with you, but afraid to say so before now. I love you, Gwen."

"And I love you, Armus." she said, still so unsure of addressing him so informally. After a long moment they fell into each other’s arms once more.

Eleanor pushed back from Gerald, gasping for air. They were entangled in one of the many small alcoves in the family quarters, Eleanor seated upon Gerald’s muscular thighs, the heat from their bodies making the alcove almost unbearable. A huge tapestry depicting a boar hunt concealed them, all but the hem of Eleanor’s sky blue gown, which peek through the fringed edge of the curtain quite noticeably.

"Gerald, I have to go...my family will notice my absence." she breathed, her lips nearly touching his. When the temptation proved too much, she kissed him again, hard, their bodies pressing together urgently.

Gerald nodded, a muffled "All right then." escaping his lips. Eleanor stood and righted her gown, breathing hard.

"Come to my room tonight." she whispered, and Gerald’s face paled.

"Your father would kill me." he stammered, sounding more like a boy of fifteen than a man of twenty and eight years.

Eleanor shook her head. "He’s much too busy with the festival. Besides," she said, leaning to kiss him again, "I think I would die if you left me with nothing to remember you by." she teased, kissing him.

Gerald groaned and pushed her away gently. "I’ll come to you tonight, but only because it is very wrong to refuse a beautiful woman’s happiness."

With a smile Eleanor peeked out into the corridor, and when she saw all was clear she threw the tapestry aside. "Will you accompany me below stairs, my Lord?" she asked. She spoke the formal title as if it were a jest, a naughty gleam in her eyes.

Gerald stretched his legs out in front of himself, shaking his head. "I believe I will go to my family’s room to collect my wits, then I will follow." he said with a lazy groan, running a hand through his dark hair.

"All right then." Eleanor said, another jest, her hands on her hips. "But be warned, I shall have eaten all of the custard tarts."

With a laugh Gerald stood, kissing her on the cheek as they exchanged farewells, before they parted in opposite directions.

Eleanor hummed softly to herself, a smile on her face. Now that she was no longer distracted, she realized how hungry she was. The banquet in the great hall seemed more and more tempting, and she was almost glad that her tryst with Gerald had ended.

Turning the corner, Eleanor screamed. Sir Reginald Rutherford lay on the floor, in a sticky pool of blood. The gilt handle of a dagger protruded from his stomach. Eleanor dropped to her knees beside him, shaking his shoulders. His eyes were glassy, unseeing. Eleanor screamed for the guards, but they were already there, alerted by her first scream.

"Father!"

Eleanor whirled to face Gerald, who looked quite green. Eleanor staggered to her feet, her dress bloodied, her hands covered in the viscous substance.

"What have you done?" he gasped, his eyes wide with horror.

Eleanor shook her head, reaching out to him. He looked at her dripping hands, backing away, shaking his head. "What have you done?" he screamed, backing into the stone of the wall and stumbling, falling backwards.

Eleanor turned to the guards, two of whom stepped forward, taking her by the arms. A small crowd of revelers had come to see the commotion, with Sir Thomas pushing through the melee. Eleanor looked at her father’s face as he surveyed the scene, his eyes darting from the dirk in the dead man’s side, to the blood stained gown Eleanor wore, to the blood on her hands, then to the horrified man on the floor.

"Father!" Eleanor pleaded as the guards marched her through the crowd. She caught a glimpse of Lady Elizabeth’s tear filled eyes as they passed. Resigned to her fate, she allowed the guards to lead her to the dungeons.

Slumped against the wall of the battlements, his hair tousled by the cold wind, Richard looked every bit the heartbroken boy. Anjelica felt a twinge of apprehension at approaching him, wondering what she even doing up on the battlements, encroaching on his private space.

She turned to leave, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"Who is that?" he called out, and his voice sounded as though he had been weeping.

Anjelica turned slowly, pulling down the hood of her cloak, pulling off her silly hat. "It’s Anjelica." she called out, in her real voice, hoarse from the nasal tone she had used all evening.

Richard straightened, tugging on his doublet self consciously. "You don’t sound like Anjelica. Anjelica has a stuffy nose." he said with a little laugh.

Anjelica sighed, walking closer. "It is me. I’ve played a horrible trick on you, my Lord." she said, noting with dismay that his eyes were red from crying. "I’ve deceived you into thinking I am something that I am not."

Richard nodded, smiling. "Well, as our fathers are so busy plotting a married life for us, may I say that I am glad that you are not what you appeared to be." he said quietly, reaching one finger out to stroke her cheek. It was an absent minded gesture, not meant to be passionate, or familiar, but in the execution it could be nothing else. Anjelica turned away. "I beg your pardon." Richard said, putting his hand on her arm as if to keep her from fleeing. "I did not mean to be so forward. I’ve had a bit of a bad night."

Anjelica nodded, turning to look out over the forests that surrounded Covington Cross. "Richard, can we be honest with each other, if we are to be resigned to marriage?"

"Resigned? Am I that bad?" he laughed, but Anjelica could still detect the sadness that seemed to plague his every waking hour.

"In truth my lord," Anjelica began, "I do not know you. I do wish to know more about you, and why you are so sad."

Richard shook his head, forcing a smile. "I am not sad." he said, his hands gripping the cold stone of the battlement walls.

Anjelica studied his profile, his sharp features, the auburn riot of curls that framed his face and dipped almost unfashionably low on his collar. He was, she decided, a horrible liar. "You are sad. I’ve seen it in your eyes when you thought I was not looking. I’ve seen you sneak away, to find solace away from the merry making." she paused, unsure how he would react to what she would say next. "I know about Rachel."

Richard turned, his face pale. "How do you know of her?" he asked sharply, his eyes angry.

"I found your letter, in the hiding place. Richard, I know how it is to lose someone close to you." she said, beginning as a whisper, ending as a shout.

He looked at her as if she were a deadly viper. "You have no idea what it’s like!" he spat, his expression full of contempt. "You have never seen the one you love hunted, as though she were a prized stag. You have never seen her, her hands bound, about to breathe her last..." he stopped, his eyes filling with tears. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, suddenly calm. "I’ve not spoken of her since she left. She couldn’t stay, the villagers, they..." he stopped with a bitter laugh. "I don’t know why I’m telling you this, after you’ve proven that you can’t be trusted."

"Richard, I can be trusted!" she exclaimed, wishing all the while that she had never told him about the letter.

Richard laughed scornfully. "Of course you can, my lady, as you proven by sneaking into my chambers and rooting through my belongings."

"I didn’t mean for it to be that way. I just wanted a clue, something. I wanted to know that you were more than the snobbish knight you let everyone see. I know that now." she looked down at her hands. "I did not want to think badly of you."

Richard shook his head. After a long moment he took a deep breath, and turned to look out over the night shrouded Forrest. "Rachel was a peasant girl. I found her while out riding one day. She had shown me where I could find water for my horse, nothing more, but there was something about her. I was unexplainably drawn to her. I can’t explain it even now.

"Some villagers attacked her, chased her down. They were going to stone her. I was so angry. Even now I don’t understand the motives that make men turn on one another in senseless violence. So I put myself between her and the mob. Then I brought her here." he took a shaking breath. "Things started happening. Cedric and Eleanor found something in the woods, Armus became suspicious of her, our cook died..." his voice trailed off, as if he were struggling to control the sobs welling up in his chest. "An abbot came, the same one who led the mob in the village. He said she was a witch. I didn’t want to believe. I’m not sure if I do now. But she was so superstitious, and then Armus fell ill... even John Mullens looked ill, my God, it was horrible. Servants started fearing her. Finally father let her be taken. We saved her again, but she wouldn’t stay. She was too afraid." he closed his eyes, a single tear rolling down his face. "I’ve never seen her since. I’ve no idea what happened to her."

Anjelica reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but then took him into her arms instead. Richard laid his head on her shoulder, letting himself cry freely. Overwhelmed by his display of emotion, Anjelica squeezed him tightly, and it occurred to her that someday it would not be uncommon to have this man in her arms. After a long moment he stepped back, wiping his eyes.

"I’m sorry." he whispered. "I don’t know what has come over me." Anjelica raised a hand to silence him, her heart broken by the sadness she saw in his eyes. They stared for a long moment, their breath making white clouds in the space between them.

Richard leaned forward, as if to kiss her, and indeed his lips were only a fraction of an inch from hers when a shout came from the doorway into the castle and his head jerked up sharply.

"Lady Anjelica, you must come quickly!" one of her father’s most trusted guards was shouting. In a moment Gerald appeared behind him. Seeing his sister he looked relieved, but seeing Richard next to her his expression turned to one of fury. He strode forward, grabbing her roughly by the arm.

"I will not see you defiled by such murdering scum!" he shouted at her, dragging her away from Richard.

Digging her heels into the stone she managed to slow him, if not stop him, for a moment. "What are you talking about Gerald, have you gone mad?"

"Father is dead!" Gerald shouted, his voice breaking, a sob rising in his throat. "Murdered by the sister of this whelp, the same whore whom I had agreed to marry!"

Anjelica shook her head, her heart feeling as though it were in a vice. "Dead?" she whispered, tears spilling over her cheeks. She felt as though the breath had been stolen from her body. She couldn’t stand. She felt as though she would wretch.

"She’s going to faint." she heard Richard say matter of factly, but there was a note of concern in his voice. He hurried to where she and Gerald stood, catching her under her arms as she fell, just as the world faded from view.

In their seclusion behind the waterfall, Armus and Gwen had quite lost track of time. The heat in the cavern was enough to melt the icicles that hung from the ceiling, sending tiny drops at irregular intervals to the ground.

Gwen lay on the saddle blanket, with Armus laying comfortably between her thighs, propped up on his elbows. Her workshirt was unlaced, and with no small amount of help from Armus, it had worked it’s way down her shoulders, bunching up at her waist. The hem of her skirt was somewhere around the top of her thighs, her bare legs irritated by the itchy wool of the blanket. The whiskey was gone now, and everytime she closed her eyes she felt as though she were spinning. She buried her head against his bare shoulder, trailing her fingertips down his back.

Armus shivered, kissing her hard on the mouth. When she had first pulled him to lay down on the blankets he had resisted, trying to reason that if they stayed much longer they might get in over their heads. He didn’t seem to worried about that now, Gwen thought, and laughed outloud.

"What’s so funny?" he asked, a lopsided grin on his lips.

"You said if we stayed we might get too...involved." she said, snickering. "Now look at us."

Armus leaned away from her, taking a long, slow survey of her body, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, his gaze returning to meet hers. "I am looking, and I do like what I see." he said, pressing closer to her.

Gwen laughed, grinding her hips against him. "That is apparent, my lord." she said, reaching down to tease his hard manhood through the thin linen hose he wore.

He snatched her hand away with a gasp, then laughed. "What a wanton little thing a bit of alcohol makes you. I would never have known."

"Now that you do, I expect we’ll be visiting the wine cellars everyday." she giggled, sitting up to pull her shirt over her head. "Now, are we going to just lay here in suspense all night, or are we going to-" her breath caught in her throat just as she realized what she was about to say. She blushed, some of her senses returning. "I mean...I wouldn’t mind, if you wanted to. It’s only that..." she shook her head, stammering.

Armus took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. "It’s only that we’re not married, and it’s a sin, and you’re drunk, and you’ve most likely never done this before." he said gently, shifting to a more comfortable position beside her. "I know. I’ve thought of all these things."

"And do you still want to?" she asked, wishing that her voice hadn’t come out so hopefully.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he reached out to stroke her breast with a feather light touch. A chill ran down Gwen’s spine, and she shivered involuntarily, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, he was smiling. "Yes. I still do. Very much so. But you’re not ready. I don’t want to push you." he said, kissing her forehead.

Gwen shook her head. "I’m ready. I want to. I’ve wanted to since you kissed me outside the kitchens last night. I lay on the floor in the servant’s quarters, wishing that I was with you."

"Then that’s where you’ll be. From now on, if I have my way on it." Armus said determindley. "But you’re sure about this?" he asked, and when Gwen nodded he smiled. "I wouldn’t want to keep you in suspense, then." he said with a chuckle, kissing her soundly.

Gwen’s hands fumbled to push her skirt down over her hips, and Armus helped her, freeing her legs from the tangle of wool and kicking it aside. He trailed his fingertips from her waist to her thigh, then back again, making her gasp. She arched her back, pushing up against him, a lazy smile on her lips. "Methinks you have done this before, my lord." she purred, nuzzling his neck.

Armus laughed, leaning close to her ear. His breath tickled the hair on her neck, making her shudder with delight. "What’s the saying? Practice makes perfect?" he whispered, drawing lazy circles on her earlobe with his tongue. He sucked the sensitive flesh into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. "Though I do have to admit, it’s been a while." he said, releasing her and moving away to shed the little clothing he had left. "I don’t want you to be dissapointed."

Gwen shook her head, no longer in the mood to talk. She grasped his shoulders in a vain attempt to pull him back to her. Clucking his tongue as if scolding her, he moved further away, taking one of her tiny feet in his hands. Gwen held her breath as he lifted her leg up, kissing her ankle, his kisses making a path up her calf to her knee, where he sucked on the sensitive flesh on the underside. Startled, she jerked her leg away, and Armus laughed. He drew a lazy path across the creamy flesh of her inner thigh with the back of his fingers, nearing the sensitive juncture where her woman’s flesh throbbed in anticipation of a touch. His fingers skimmed the soft, downy hair that covered her there, passing on to her other leg, never stopping to give her the touch she so craved.

Gwen’s fingers twisted in the fabric of the blanket beneath her, frustration forcing a whimper from her throat.

"Oh, I’m sorry my lady," Armus said with a low chuckle, "is this more what you had in mind?" he whispered, leaning close to her ear as his thumb sought out the tiny pearl that lay hidden in the moist folds of her cleft, making her jump in surprise. He covered her mouth with his as his fingers continued their torturous exploration, their bodies growing slick with persperation from the strain of wanting.

"I don’t think I can wait much longer..." Gwen said, grasping at his shoulders. This time he didn’t resist, and he settled between her thighs, bracing himself on his hands.

"That’s good, because I didn’t think I could, either." he said, and they both laughed. Touching his lips to hers gently, Armus sighed. "I can’t believe that you’re really here with me." he whispered against her mouth, and Gwen arched upward as if to prove she really was there. "You’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought of being like this with you, and forced myself to stop thinking that way."

"And here I thought I was alone in that aspect." Gwen smiled ruefully. "Make love to me, Armus." she whispered.

Gently he guided his aching member to the threshhold of her hot, slick center, pausing for a moment to let her get used to him, then pushing forward a bit more, then a bit more, until he encountered the unyeilding proof of her maidenhood. "It is going to hurt a bit." he said softly.

Gwen nodded, taking a deep breath. "I should think that I can live through it." she gave him a small smile of encouragement, but inwardly braced herself for the pain. With one hard, swift thrust he was fully inside of her, and she gave a startled cry. The pain was so slight, but the surprise at finding a void that had up until then been unknown to her had startled her. It was a pleasant surprise, however, and she wrapped her long, slender legs around his back as he moved within her.

The feelings coursing through Gwen’s body overwhelmed her with their newness. The feeling of his skin, the salty taste of his persperation as she kissed the hollow of his shoulder, all these things were so new, yet bizzarely familiar. The way her body seemed to fit against his, as if they were cut from two halves of the same cloth, mesmerized her.

"My god," Armus whispered against her hair, "I don’t know how much more of this I can take." He quickened his pace, and Gwen moaned, rolling her hips, mirroring his movements. A feeling, only an ember before, had intesified, bursting into white hot flame. She cried out, her body tensing, feeling as though the breath had left her body completely for a moment.

"Armus, I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I..." she gasped, wrapping her arms tighter around his shoulders.

"Don’t think then." he groaned, kissing her neck. It seemed to Gwen that the advice Armus gave her was sound, and she gave up reason to revel in the delicious feelings that continued to build, until her entire perception burst into a thousand razor sharp shards of broken glass. She cried out, her lusty moans echoing off of the walls of the cavern.

In another instant, Armus groaned and stiffened, then collapsed on top of her, trembling with his release.

Gwen groaned and gave him a little push to remind him that she lay beneath him still. With a ruefull smile, Armus rolled off of her and onto his back on the stiff wool blanket. Needing no further invitation, Gwen snuggled against him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Is it possible to die from happiness?" she mumbled, yawning. Armus gave a sleepy laugh, stroking the small of Gwen’s back lazily.

"If it were, dear, I would have died hours ago." he sighed.

Gwen sat up, propping herself up on one elbow. "Hours ago?"

"When you said you loved me." he whispered, pulling her back down for a kiss.

With the roar of the waterfall filling the cavern with sound, they did not hear the riders, galloping away from Covington Cross, towards London.

Richard pushed his way through the throng of guards that stood in the hallway, with threats of beheading and other punishments if he were not let past. He entered his father’s study with a look of annoyance on his face, not the look of a man who stood to see his sister sent to the gallows.

"You are letting them keep her in the dungeon?" he shouted, ignoring Lady Elizabeth’s look of imploring.

Sir Thomas sat facing the fire, slumped in his regal, high backed chair. Lady Elizabeth sat on an ottoman next to him, one hand on his arm, the other kneading the folds of her skirt in her lap. Richard looked about for Armus, thinking surely that he would be present. He was the voice of reason in the family after all, while Richard and Thomas were the temper, Eleanor the impudence, and Cedric the mischief. Lady Elizabeth, while not officially part of the family just yet, seemed to Richard to complete the puzzle, as the calming, soothing prescence in all the maddness that was the Greys.

Sir Thomas shifted noticeably in his chair, his hands coming up to massage his temples. "I had no other option than to see it done." he said, his voice low and measured, the tone that Richard recognized as dangerously close to the breaking point. Any one who knew Sir Thomas, if they were wise, would have understood that leaving him to calm down would be the rational thing to do.

Richard wasn’t known for his wisdom or understanding, and certainly not his reason. "Father, you can’t really believe that Eleanor would have killed Lord Rutherford! That is absurd."

Sir Thomas stood, knocking over his chair and nearly upsetting the ottoman on which Lady Elizabeth sat. Richard stepped back, but then steadied himself. He had seen his father’s temper flare before.

"What should I believe?" he shouted, sweeping a basket of fruit off of a small table next to the fire. The apples and pears hit the floor with dull thuds, rolling off into dark recesses under chairs and tables. "My daughter, blood on her hands, bending over a dead man with a dagger in his side. What would you believe?"

"I would believe in reason and sensibility! Eleanor would never have done such a thing. You know it as well as I!" Richard shouted back, gesturing towards the door, where outside a few curious servants had assembled to eavesdrop.

Sir Thomas grabbed his son by the collar, shaking him. "Would you still believe that if anyone other than Eleanor held the dagger? Answer me!"

"Thomas!" Lady Elizabeth cried, flying from her place at the fire. "Stop this! This isn’t helping anything at all!"

Richard wasn’t sure which startled him more, the sudden abatement of his father’s ire or the fact that this was the first time he had heard Lady Elizabeth raise her voice in such a manner. Thomas relinquished his hold on his second son just as a guard rapped lightly on the open door.

"Enter!" Sir Thomas barked, stalking to the fireplace to lean with one forearm on the mantlepiece.

"We’ve searched every room in the castle. Your son has not been found, Sire." the man said, his gaze never waivering from the scene before him.

"Then keep looking!" Thomas snapped, and the man nodded, backing towards the door.

Richard studied the man’s expression, his mouth set in a grim line. What that man must think of the havoc he saw in the study. Was he considering that perhaps that kind of temper ran in the family? Would such testimony have weight, if it fell upon the king’s ears?

Without so much as another word to his father or Elizabeth, Richard followed the man out, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I beg your pardon, but is it my brother Armus that my father seeks?" he asked in his most even and amicable tone.

The guard nodded grimly. "He seems to have disappeared earlier this evening. Presumably before the...killing."

Richard nodded, his eyes troubled. It wasn’t like Armus to run off and not tell anyone where he was going. Especially when they had guests. While the kitchen staff nearly always knew his whereabouts, the events of the evening had thrust the castle into considerable turmoil. Most of the guests had retreated to their beds, and only a few servants hurried around the heavily guarded halls. Richard ran a hand through his unruly auburn hair, trying desperately to find a reason for his brother’s abscence.

The memory of the girl from the kitchen that morning suddenly surfaced, and Richard thought he had a hunch as to where his brother might be.

"Evan!" he barked at the passing servant, who stopped and bowed politely. "Have my horse saddled."

"Yes sire." he said, hurrying away.

Richard shook his head, not at all thrilled at the prospect of riding out into the woods in the middle of the night, with a murderer on the loose.

Eleanor kicked at the stone wall of her cell in frustration. She had cried all the tears she had in her, and still she could not sleep. Now rage, as harsh and furious ever she had felt, filled her to the core, and she rued the fact that there was nothing to throw in her cell.

She flopped down on the straw that lay in one corner, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Why hadn’t she followed Gerald, or gone another way? Why had she been the one to find the body?

Fresh tears flooded her eyes as she remembered the hatred Gerald had displayed, without hearing her story, without letting her explain. Now she would almost certainly face the gallows, of all things, and die an innocent victim of circumstance.

Curled on her pallet of straw, she wept herself to sleep.

Armus was dreaming, of the day he had killed the saracen boy. The stinging hot sand in his face, the sun heated armor burning him through his underclothing, the sound of men dying all around. He turned, and felt his blade press forward, against skin and vital tissue. The boys face looked back at him, reflecting his own shock, whispering his final words.

"Armus!"

He sat up with a cry, waking Gwen, who lay nestled at his side. She sat up and looked past Armus with a gasp. Turning, Armus saw Richard, an amused smile on his face.

"Well, this is what you’ve been hiding." he said, his eyes moving to the arch of the cave’s ceiling. "I’ve been trying to wake you for the past five minutes. You really are a heavy sleeper." his eyes moving to Gwen, he grinned. "I can see why."

Armus pulled the edge of the blanket over himself, blushing. Gwen struggled to wrap herself in his cloak, looking sufficiently mortified.

"Richard, what do you want? Has something happened?" Armus asked, his patience sorely tried by his brother’s interruption. The point of leaving the castle was to have a little privacy. He put a hand to his temple, wishing the throbbing in his brain would go away and give him peace. The sight of the empty Whiskey bottle, lying forlornly on the hard floor of the cavern reminded him of the cause of his headache, and he groaned mournfully.

The amusement vanished from Richard’s face quickly. "Yes. Lord Rutherford is dead. He was murdered."

Armus looked up sharply, sure that he had misunderstood his brother’s words. "Who killed him?" he asked, entirely forgetting about the thundering in his head.

Richard shook his head. "We found Eleanor with the body. There was blood on her hands and gown, and a ladies dagger in the man’s side."

"Eleanor doesn’t carry a ladies dagger. She carries one that used to belong to William." Armus frowned. "Eleanor would never have killed anyone, anyways."

Richard nodded. "But even father believes it. He’s devestated. Eleanor is locked up in the dungeon, and half the guests are ready to storm the cell and kill her themselves. As for Gerald, and Anjelica, well," he continued, and Armus caught the way his voice snagged on the girl’s name, "I don’t think Anjelica believes that Eleanor did it, but Gerald is adamant. He was the first to see her with his father’s body."

Armus grabbed for his clothes, wadded up and tangled in the blanket. "Give us a moment, and we’ll be up presently. I trust my horse is still as he should be."

Richard nodded. "Be quick, brother, word has it that Gerald sent riders to the king not long ago." he smirked, eyeing his brother’s companion with amusement. "Besides, I’m sure you’ll both want to get back before people start rising for breakfast."

As Armus watched his brother leave, his mind reeled. He should have been consumed with worry for his sister, but Gwen’s timid movements next to him as she dressed distracted him.

Looking at Gwen, her hair tangled from their night of passion, her eyelids still droopy with sleep, Armus smiled. While she was near to him it seemed that nothing should be wrong. The stark reality of life would hit him, he knew, when they returned to Covington Cross. He to see his sister stand trial for murder, and she to work another hard day in the kitchens.

Father would be in no mood to discuss the possiblity of marriage to a servant, especially not today. If things went badly with Eleanor, probably not ever. Yet Armus felt only joy knowing that there would be stolen moments during the day, and more passionate nights yet to come. What his father knew wouldn’t hurt him, or Armus.

"Aren’t you getting dressed, my Lord?" she asked shyly, looking away.

Armus smiled and stood, stretching. "Isn’t my Lord a bit formal, after this?" he asked, gesturing to the tangled blanket on the rough stone floor. He pulled on his breeches, then reached for Gwen, who stood before him in her linen workshirt and little else.

Gwen tilted her pretty face up for a kiss, and Armus laughed. "One minute it’s all shyness and titles, the next it’s forwardness and wanton behavior. You are a bundle of contradictions." They laughed together then, and he covered her mouth with his, wishing belatedly that he had at least had the good sense to rinse his mouth out first, and rid himself of the stale taste sleep had left there. Gwen however, seemed not to mind, pressing her hips to his, calling his member to rigid attention. With a groan he stepped away. "Tonight," he assured her, grabbing his shirt from the floor, "tonight. There are a few pressing matters that need my attention at this time."

With a smile and a nod of her head, Gwen went back to dressing. Moments later Richard’s impatient shout was heard over the roar of the water fall, and Armus gathered up the blanket and his cloak, extending his hand to Gwen. "The rocks are slippery, my lady, I wouldn’t want to have to rescue you from drowning." he said with a smirk.

"Yes, then you’d have to get me all warmed up again, wouldn’t you?" she demured, a naughty twinkle in her eyes.

Armus felt his heart swell with love for her and the myriad characteristics that made him fall in love with her more and more every moment. His thoughts turned to the seriousness of affairs back at the castle, and the need for him there. "Come on now, let’s go." he said, letting Gwen go ahead of him so that he could catch her if she fell climbing the rocky slope. He prayed that Richard would have the tact not to mention this little tryst to their father.

"We are leaving now!" Gerald shouted at his sister, who stood stubbornly rooted to her place in their room.

Anjelica shook her head angrily. "I will not leave, brother. I refuse to believe that the Greys have a hand in this."

Gerald laughed, not able to believe his ears. "Did I hear you correctly? Did I not tell you that I found Eleanor Grey with our father’s blood on her hands?" his voice became strangled, and he turned away. He would not let Anjelica see him cry.

A small hand found it’s way to Gerald’s shoulder. "Please brother, we can not leave here without first seeing the trial. It’s not fair."

Gerald turned to his sister angrily. "Unfair to whom? To Richard Grey, I suppose."

Anjelica shook her head. "I’ve not said anything about him."

"You didn’t have to." Gerald thundered, pacing the length of the room, "The way you went to him so willingly on the battlements says it all. I don’t understand why you went to all of the trouble of avoiding this marriage contract, if you were so eager to get into the man’s bed."

Gerald winced as his sister’s hand connected with his face in a viscious slap. He cursed himself for the tears that were shining in her eyes now.

"Do not forget that our father is dead, Gerald. That is the real issue here, not who’s bed I will be in tonight," her voice caught on the statement, and she turned away. "Besides, I don’t think you’re in any position to lecture me on morals. I’m sure Eleanor wasn’t in that alcove alone."

Gerald shook his head as he watched his sister leave, cursing the day they had come to Covington Cross.

Gwen managed to creep away from her duties in the kitchen after helping prepare a light luncheon. Knowing that she would be rooted out and made to return to work if she tried to go back to the servants quarters, she made her way to the chapel.

The main chapel was not in use, as Lord Reginald’s body was laid out in the friar’s personal oratory, waiting to be taken back to the Rutherford’s home. Most of the guests were going there to pray and pay last respects.

The interior of the chapel was dark, with the exception of a few candles burning in the sanctuary. Gwen snuck behind the solid stone altar and curled up on the finely woven rug there. She was nearly asleep when the doors to the chapel crashed open, and the sound of delicate slippers padding across the stone, coupled with feminine sobs, filled the room.

"Oh God, I never ment it! I never ment it!" the intruder sobbed, and Gwen peeked around the edge of the altar timidly. The woman who had burst in so suddenly was only inches away, laying across the steps of the sanctuary as if she had flung herself to the ground. Her flame red hair fell in tangled curls down her back, in striking contrast to the deep green of her gown. She lifted her tear streaked face to the heavily carved and decorated cross above the altar, and her body was racked with fresh sobs. "I never ment to kill him! I never ment to kill anyone!"

Gwen’s heart pounded in her chest as she slunk back behind the altar, smoothing her skirt down with clammy hands. This woman had killed someone. The only person who had been killed at Covington Cross was Lord Rutherford. So this woman was his killer.

"Lady Mullens? Are you quite alright?" a voice called from the back of the chapel. There was a rustling of skirts as the woman presumably stood up, and her footsteps retreated from the sanctuary.

"Yes, thank you Duncan. Would you please help me find my husband?" the woman called, her voice still thick from crying.

"Yes my lady. I believe Barron Mullens is in his room, dressing for dinner. Would you like me to escort you there?"

There was a long pause, and Gwen held her breath.

"Yes, I would like that, thank you Duncan."

The doors closed a moment later and Gwen waited only a few moments before rushing from the chapel, leaving the doors to slam closed behind her.

Armus shook his head, pacing before his sister’s cell in frustration. "But how did you come to be in the corridor at the same time is all I want to know." he said, stopping to grip the cold iron bars in his fists.

Eleanor gave a helpless look to Richard, who leaned against the stone of the dungeon wall, his mouth pulled in a tight line. She shook her long auburn hair, letting it fan out over her shoulders in a shimmering curtain. "I was with Gerald. In that alcove...the one with the tapestry of the hunt..." her voice trailed up at the end, and Richard covered his face with his hands.

"Have all of my siblings become crazed with lust?" he moaned, and despite the predicament, Eleanor laughed.

"Hopefully not Cedric...those monks can’t be too inspiring." she said, and they laughed.

Armus resumed his pacing, running a hand through his hair. "Can we please concentrate on the facts here?" he shouted, and Eleanor and Richard stopped laughing. "Now, you say you were with Gerald. After you parted ways he discovered you with the body." Eleanor nodded. "This doesn’t look good. Everyone was at dinner, so the murder had to have taken place either during or before dinner."

Richard’s face paled. "Armus, where was John Mullens?"

Armus shook his head with a look of disappointment. "No brother, I’ve already thought of that. But Mullens had no reason to kill Rutherford, and in any case, he was with his wife in their chambers. She wasn’t feeling well."

Richard sighed. "She was feeling quite well, Armus. She was with me in the armory."

Eleanor and Armus both froze. In a moment Armus had crossed the distance between them, grabbing his brother by the front of his stylish leather jerkin.

"My god have you lost all power of reason?" he shouted, shaking Richard roughly. "You were dallying with John Mullens’ wife, are you insane? I should kill you myself, before he gets a chance to!"

"She wasn’t what she seemed!" Richard shouted, wrenching free of his brother’s hold. "I know that now. She seduced me with seeming innocence, but I see now all too clearly what she really is." he took a deep breath. "I just never thought she was capable of killing a man."

"You’re lucky it wasn’t you." Eleanor said quietly. "But anyone could have found Rutherford. Why didn’t someone stumble upon him before I did?"

"Because it had just happened." Richard said, straightening his clothes. "When I left the armory, not even a minute after Celeste," he shook his head with a rueful smile, "not even a minute after Lady Mullens, and I heard her arguing with someone."

"Richard, why didn’t you tell anyone this before?" Armus asked angrily.

Richard shook his head. "Father would have crushed my skull."

"So it was Rutherford arguing with Lady Mullens?" Eleanor interjected, weary from her stay in the dungeons. She had no patience left for her brother’s arguments.

"No, that I do not believe." Richard said, shaking his head, "for I passed Lord Rutherford on my way downstairs."

"So you think Rutherford interrupted the argument, and was killed, what, by accident?" Eleanor asked, and it was clear in her voice that she didn’t believe it.

Armus shook his head. "Even so, the only witnesses we have are Gerald and Richard. Both predisposed to feel a kindness for Eleanor." he gripped the bars of the cell and leaned his head against them, closing his eyes. "Either way we’re doomed."

"I wouldn’t say that." a voice timidly called from the other end of the corridor. Armus looked up, a smile illuminating his face.

"Gwen!" he cried, realizing belatedly that he had just revealed to his siblings his feelings for their servant.

Richard shook his head at Eleanor’s questioning look as Armus grabbed the girl up in his arms and nearly crushed her in a tight hug.

"Oh, let me down, I can’t breathe!" Gwen laughed. "I have some wonderful news!"

"What’s that?" Armus asked, setting her back on her feet.

Gwen looked uncertainly from Richard to Eleanor, then said in a shaking voice, "I over heard the Lady Mullens in the chapel. She was crying, saying she never ment to kill anyone."

Armus turned to Eleanor and smiled. "I believe we’re going to get you out of here."

Richard strode confidently into the great hall, his appetite finally returned. Although he had missed the lunch that had been prepared, some scraps were still left, as the food had not yet been cleared. He immediately grabbed a handful of rolls and some slices of cheese, avoiding the stares of the handful of nobles still left in the hall. Unconciously he kept an eye out for Lady Mullens or her husband. Purposely, however, he looked for Anjelica.

"Excuse me," he stopped a passing matron, dressed in the subdued drab of mourning. She looked upon Richard as one would look upon an insect in their food, jerking away from the hand he laid on her arm. "Where are the Rutherfords?"

"Gone!" the woman snapped, "As everyone else will be before sundown."

"Sundown?" Richard murmered, looking past the woman, to the small clusters of whispering guests beyond. "There’s been a murder...you can’t just all leave!" he said, and the woman swished past him grandly, waving a dismissing hand.

"My dear, we may do whatever we like. Besides, the festival is over as it is."

The menacing form of an angry John Mullens answered the door when Armus knocked, his face growing pale at the sight of Sir Thomas Grey’s eldest and certainly most imposing son.

Mullens had never outwardly shown any signs of dislike for Armus Grey, since he had returned from the crusades. Rumor around the village touted Armus as the gentlest of all giants, but Mullens didn’t doubt that the infamous Grey temper streaked hot and rash through this mountain of a man.

"Barron Mullens, may I have a word with you?"

His voice was stern, but not as threatening as Mullens had expected, and he regained some of his confidence.

"Come to pay appologies for the way your sister slaughtered my compatriot?" he chuckled, tugging on the leather of his gloves. He made a fist, watching the light play off of the smooth surface, and smiled.

Armus shook his head, his mouth pulled in a tight line. "Barron Mullens, your wife was with my brother last night."

Mullens felt his anger rise. "Yes, I know." he said, then quickly added, "She confessed it to me this morning."

"Then you know that she was in the corridor at the suspected time of the murder?" Armus continued, his voice never rising above the even tempered modulation he had greeted Mullens with.

Mullens nodded. "Yes, I have heard that. I’ve also heard that your sister was playing whore to that whelp Gerald in a secluded alcove. Such nasty tales. Such a nasty murder."

Armus shook his head. "Don’t try to play me, Barron. Though you may find it easy to bait my brother into careless anger, I do not rise to the occasion half as easily." he took a step closer to Mullens, towering over him. "Though when I do, you won’t be tempted to challenge my temper again."

Mullens stepped back, swallowing thickly. He smiled around the fear that clenched in his belly, and managed a throaty laugh. "Point taken, young man." he said, never stepping down. "I have yet to hear what all of this has to do with me...or my wife."

"Your wife was heard in the chapel, crying, praying for forgivness...proffessing her guilt." Armus’ voice was cold and detached as he spoke, and Mullens knew that perhaps he had lost.

"I’m sure she was misunderstood." Mullens protested. The shout of male voices in the distant great hall gave him enough of a distraction to regain some of his usually unwaivering poise. "It shouldn’t matter, however, I suppose we’ll see tommarow. It does sound as if the King’s own men have arrived."

Armus looked towards the door, then, without a word, turned and nodded at Mullens before leaving the chamber.

Barron John Mullens flexed his fingers, encased in their warm leather home. Sickness of the bones plagued him, especially when the cold winter months set in. The pain seemed to hover above every joint, making it’s presence more noticed in his fingers.

He was in a unique position, and he knew it. A man, wishing to rid himself of an unfaithful wife, who had been heard confessing the murder of a prominent noble. The cold irony was that should he speak out against his wife, the life of Eleanor Grey, the woman who killed his only son, would be protected. For at least a short while.

Where it anyone else who had to make such a decision, he would have delighted in the mental anguish the choice caused. Since it was being inflicted upon him, however, he merely chose to punch a sturdy oak chair.

He had a whole night to clear his head. By dawns first light it would have been decided. Would Celeste live, and would Eleanor Grey see her death at the gallows?

Anjelica sat wrapped in her warm wool and fur cloak, tears streaming down her porcelain face. She hadn’t bothered to dress in her dowdy garments. She wore a simple, dark blue gown, the only gown that could have possibly been mistaken for mourning clothes. They had packed for a festival, not a funeral.

Richard peered at her from the safety of the stone archway that lead into his mother’s garden. The shrubbery was bare, the branches weighed down with millions of frozen raindrops. Anjelica was perched on a stone bench, her feet delicately resting against the surface of an ice encrusted snow drift. She looked as though her heart was breaking in her very chest, tiny tears spilling down her cheeks.

The crunch of Richard’s boots on the snow startled her, and she jumped. He felt his heart soar at the smile that brightened her face, but it fell again when he noticed that she wore heavy gloves and shoes for travelling. "Oh, Anjelica..." he breathed, and she shook her head.

"Richard, Gerald has...forbidden me from seeing you." she said, her eyes downcast.

"What about the marriage contract?" he stammered, rushing to her side. He took her tiny gloved hand in his, squeezing her fingers through the tough material.

Anjelica smiled sadly. "There is a man in Ireland...he’s very rich, I’ve heard. And only 68 years old!" she broke into sobs, her shoulders shaking.

Richard put his arms around her, kissing her forehead. "My god, Anjelica. When I first met you, I wanted nothing more than to see you gone, and to see you stay that way. How could things have changed so quickly?"

Wiping her eyes she pulled away. "Perhaps it’s fate’s trick. She’s very good at such things."

"Perhaps I admired your subterfuge." Richard laughed. After a moment he grew serious. "The king’s men have arrived. You and your brother won’t be leaving until tommarow, though your father is bound for you home. I’m sorry you’ll miss his burial."

"That is not my father." she said, her voice sounding wistful. "For me, he will always be the same scolding, grumpy, ugly, wonderful man that he was in life."

Richard smiled. "I wish to see you tonight, away from all of this. And I want to speak with your brother, as well."

"Oh Richard," Anjelica said, her eyes wide with uncertainty, "I don’t think that would be wise."

"I wish to speak to your brother about the marriage contract. I will not see you leave Covington Cross, not today, not tommarow, not ever, if possible." he crushed her to his chest, fighting against the tears that threatened. "You are the most brave, the smartest, strongest, simply the most wonderful woman I have met. You have the potential to be a great friend, and a wonderful wife."

A light snow had begun to fall, the flakes clinging to their clothes and hair and eyelashes. Richard looked up at the sky, then back down at Anjelica’s upturned face. Her pretty mouth looked sad, and Richard could not resist one small kiss, after the interrupted kiss from the night before. He leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers, kissing her full bottom lip.

She shivered, and stood quickly. "I grow a bit chilled, my lord." she said, clearly out of sorts. "I think I should go inside. At least to change out of these travelling clothes."

Richard nodded and smiled, offering his arm. Inwardly he resolved that before the night was through, the arrangments would be cemented; he would marry Anjelica Rutherford.

Sir Thomas strode down the stairs into the Great Hall, his head feeling as if it were being assaulted by all manner of military weapons. Swords seemed to be pelting him from behind his eyes, and a club continually pounded his temples. Luckily the business at hand required no cheer, and he could wear a grim mask before the assembled group.

The Great Hall was packed with a regiment of the king’s guard, there to ensure that no one left Covington Cross from this evening until the trial was over. The other assembled parties were those same people that would be imposing on the Castle’s winter rations for the next week, the maximum stay, Sir Thomas hoped.

The crowd hushed as Sir Thomas stopped at the landing, clearing his throat. "Some of you may not have heard that there has been a great tradgedy at Covington Cross," Not bloody likely, he thought, but continued speaking, "Lord Reginald Rutherford, knight of the most honorable order of the Garter, protector of North Umbria, and my own, personal friend, was murdered last night."

A feign gasp of shock went through the crowd, and many eyes ran with false tears. Sir Thomas paused for a moment, searching for a way to word what was said next. "As some of you have also heard, my daughter, Eleanor Grey, is a suspect."

"Suspect, she held the knife in her own two hands!" a voice shouted from the crowd. Thomas recognized her as Celeste Mullens, John Mullen’s young wife. As a few voices rose in agreement, Sir Thomas raised his hands for silence.

"My daughter Eleanor is a suspect. Anyone, with any information regarding the murder, please, step forward now." He scanned the crowd, his heart sinking. No one spoke.

"My lord!" a small voice called out over the crowd. A girl, one of the kitchen staff, judging from her apron, pushed through the crowd to come closer.

"Stand aside!" Sir Thomas called to the people below, who did just that to avoid touching the girl as much as possible. "Speak up girl, what do you know?"

"I know that I heard the murderer confess to God himself this afternoon." she said softly, looking down at her feet. A gasp rose, along with angry voices.

The girl looked up at Sir Thomas, her eyes shining with tears. "I also know that it was an accident! That the murderer never intended to kill Lord Reginald!" she shouted above the crowd.

"Impossible!" Came Gerald Rutherford’s voice from across the fray. "The woman locked up in the dungeon is the killer, I saw it with my own eyes."

"Nay my Lord, I fear you are wrong! The killer stands in this very room!" the girl shouted, her voice breaking.

A scream drew Sir Thomas’s attention away from the frail girl, to the other side of the hall.

Lady Mullens had fainted dead away, the color draining from her pretty face.

"You were so brave, I don’t think I could have done what you did." Richard said, giving Gwen an awkward hug. They stood in Armus’ bed chamber, the door bolted against any unwanted intrusions. Armus had left Richard to protect Gwen while he spoke with Sir Thomas about the impending trial. Richard prayed he wouldn’t bring up his relationship with Gwen, or there would be two Greys imprisoned for murder.

Gwen sat down on the bed, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "I shouldn’t have said anything. John Mullens is a powerful man, he could do anything at all to me! No one cares what happens to people like me." she said glumly, her eyes filling with tears.

"That’s nonsense!" Richard said, so vehemently he surprised himself. "You will be perfectly safe here. My brother will see to that." he said, trying to supress a smile. In truth he doubted that either of them would have presence of mind to even lock the door, but he thought that perhaps now was the time to begin using tact and descretion.

A soft rap at the door made Gwen jump.

"Richard, open the door. It’s Armus." Armus called from the other side of the door, and Richard hurried to let him in.

Once Armus entered the room, Richard got the distinct impression that he was the only person aware of his own presence. Armus and Gwen met each other in the center of the room, falling into each other’s arms easily. Richard cleared his throat loudly.

"Armus, will you be needing anything else this evening?" Richard asked, already heading for the door.

Armus shook his head, never taking his eyes off of Gwen’s face. "No, I told father that we had seen to Gwen’s safety, and not to disturb me until after breakfast." he said, and Richard nodded, knowing that this was said more for Gwen’s benefit than his own.

"Wonderful, then I will leave you two to your... selves. Armus, I will see you in the morning." he said, stepping into the corridor. His brother didn’t acknowledge him, and he chuckled to himself. At least someone was having a good night. He hadn’t been able to speak with Gerald, nor had he seen Anjelica since they had spoken in the garden.

A loud, feminine giggle issued from behind the heavy oak door to Armus’ chamber, and Richard sighed. He needed some fresh air.

Anjelica pulled her cloak around her shoulders as tightly as she could. The slightest breeze became the a gale when caught in the updrafts around the battlements, and while she had thrown a heavy bedrobe over her nightgown she had forgotten how cold it could be at this height.

She sighed, leaning into one of the divets in the stone. The night sky was lit up beautifully, with hardly a cloud to be seen. "Can you see me down here, father?" she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. "For I cannot see you. I cannot see any proof that you’ve gone to something better, nor do I see any promise that I, or anyone else hear shall either." she let the tears come now, at first warm, then searingly cold as they froze to her cheeks.

"Anjelica?" a voice called, and she looked up, ashamed to have been out alone, ashamed to have been crying. She wiped her eyes, and hurriedly tried to pull her unbound hair into some sort of order.

"Who is it?" she called out nervously, watching with apprehension as the figure emerged from the shadows.

"It is just Richard." he said, stepping into the pale moonlight. "Anjelica, what are you doing out here? It could be dangerous."

"I do not think the killer would be prowling the battlements late in the night." Anjelica laughed bitterly. "But thank you for your concern."

Richard smiled, stepping close to her. "I meant you could slip, or twist your foot on the stones. And there is no need to thank me for my concern. I give that freely."

Anjelica felt as though her heart would burst from her chest. In the few days since her arrival at Covington Cross, Anjelica had felt the most painful extremes of human emotion. She felt that if she did not get away soon, she would die from sheer feeling. "Richard, I appreciate everything you’ve tried to do for me, but really, I think it is best if we stay away from each other."

It seemed for a moment as if he would laugh in disbelief, but he did nothing of the sort. He looked down, and Anjelica felt as if her heart would break at the sadness in his eyes. "Anjelica, I know how it must seem to you, that I must have some agenda. But I can assure you that is the furthest thing from the truth."

"Richard, no, don’t say anything-" Anjelica pleaded, the tears starting anew.

He shook his head, grabbing her hands in his and squeezing them tightly. "Please, let me speak." he paused, his eyes shut tight, planning what to say next. "I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a... a woman before. I’ve always thought in terms of property, or beauty. While you are very beautiful," he reached out and lifted one long strand of her dark hair away from her face, "all I can think of when I am with you is that I couldn’t bear to see you leave this castle and never get to know who you really are, what your thoughts are. I know it must sound crazy, but you just have to believe me. I’ll be a lost man if we never see each other again."

Anjelica turned away, pressing a hand to her forehead. Her mind reeled with memories too painful to bear, while her heart broke with an emotion so alien to her that she wasn’t sure what to name it. "Richard, there is much you do not know about me." she said, turning to him. Before she could say another word he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, kissing her hard on the mouth. Anjelica shouted, startled, the sound muffled by the insistent, firm pressure of Richard’s lips against hers. She pushed against his chest with her palms for a moment, but was surprised to find herself relaxing into his embrace, her arms sliding around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands slid inside her cloak and under the warm layer of her bedrobe, only the thin layer of her nightgown separating them from her silken skin. Anjelica gasped as his cold hands brushed the tender sides of her stomach, coming to rest on her hips, pulling her closer. She felt as though her knees wouldn’t support her, and she leaned back against the jagged stone wall.

The cold stone against her back jared her back to reality, and she pushed Richard away. "Richard, please, my brother doesn’t want me to see you."

Richard shook his head angrily. "And of course you must bow to his wishes."

"Yes I must!" Anjelica said, her hands clenching into fists. "Richard, your sister is in your own dungeon right now, awaiting trial for the murder of my father! Why wouldn’t my brother want me to stay away from you? I’m all he has left!"

Richard turned, raking a hand through his hair. "Why must things be so damned difficult. Anjelica, you heard Gwen...the servant girl tonight, saying that she heard someone else confess to the murder! You can’t honestly still believe that my sister would have done such a thing!"

"I don’t know what to believe!" Anjelica shouted, tears streaming down her face. "A bit of sympathy would be nice! My father is dead, Richard! And here you are, but a day later trying to bed me, it’s absurd!"

"Trying to...Anjelica, if you think that is the only reason I am here tonight, you are a bigger fool than your brother." Richard shouted. He turned quickly and stalked off, back into the shadows. A doorslam echoed through the crystal clear air as he retreated in to the warmth of the castle.

Anjelica slumped against the wall, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

Eleanor huddled away from the stone floor of her cell, drawing her feet up beneath her skirt on the dirty straw pallet. A tear spilled down her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. She wished she could have some reassurance that things would be alright, but none came. Alone in the darkness of the dungeon, Eleanor wept herself to sleep, uncertain of her future.

Barron Mullens pushed open the door to his chamber. He was expecting to find Celeste already in bed. Unfortunately, he was expecting her to be alone.

"John!" she cried, leaping from the bed, a tangle of bed linens wrapped around her. Just as quickly a slender, dark haired young man vaulted out of the bed, wearing less.

Mullens looked from the man standing naked in his chambers to his wife, looking quite guilty and as if she were about to cry. Then John Mullens did something entirely unexpected. He threw his head back and laughed.

"John, what on earth could possibly be funny?" Celeste shouted, her face twisted with a strange mix of remorse and anger.

Mullens shook his head, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "You’ll see tommarow." he left the room still laughing, closing the door quietly behind him.

The Great Hall was crammed with more people than previous nights, owing to the presence of King Edward’s guard, heralds, scribes, and the magistrate. Sir Thomas and his sons sat on the bench closest to the head table, where the magistrate would speak from. Gwen sat next to Armus, looking pale and nervous. Eleanor stood in the corner of the room, flanked by guards. She looked at the floor, her usually proud stance disintegrated into a fatigued, ashamed slump. Gerald and Anjelica sat with John Mullens and his wife, Celeste, on a bench against the wall, near to the head table. Richard tried continually to catch Anjelica’s eye, but she turned away, and Gerald cast him an icy glare. Celeste shifted and fidgeted, twisting the handkerchief she held into knots. All the left over guests occupied the last of the benches and stood in the back, along with many of the castle’s servants and people from the village. In all there seemed to be at least a hundred people in the great hall.

The magistrate alone could have accounted for three people. To say he was large would have been a gross understatement. Obese seemed more acceptable, and seemed to be the word on everyone’s mind as they watched him waddle into the great hall. He took his place at the head table, grasping the scroll with the names of all involved in the case in his beefy hand. He surveyed the crowd through heavily lidded eyes, his jaw slack. It seemed he would rather be taking a nap than sitting before a makeshift court.

"Bring the accused forward." he said boredly. The guards holding Eleanor pulled her forward, and she tripped over her shackled feet. Sir Thomas tried to stand, but Richard put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. It would do no good to create a scene before the magistrate.

Baron Mullens chuckled, and Gerald looked at him as one might look at the devil himself, with horror, distaste, and utter contempt. Armus shot Mullens a warning glare, and he merely smiled broadly in answer.

Eleanor regained her footing, looking up through a curtain of tangled red hair at the suddenly stern face of the magistrate.

"Eleanor Grey, daughter of Sir Thomas Grey of Covington Cross, you have been charged with the murder of Lord Reginald Rutherford of North Umbria. The accusations against you carry the penalty of death. Do you understand?" his voice boomed, and Eleanor nodded mutely. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?" he asked.

"I didn’t do it." Eleanor said softly, and a ripple of excitement went through the crowd assembled.

"Quiet!" The magistrate barked, then, turning back to Eleanor, "Sir Gerald Rutherford says that you did."

"Sir Gerald Rutherford is a liar." Eleanor said defiantly, some of her old spark returning.

A roar went up in the crowd, and Gerald bowed his head thoughtfully, his lips pursed in concentration.

The magistrate’s puffy eyes widened, then subsided back into their original, disinterested state. "Your personal opinion of Sir Gerald is of no consequence. We have facts. You were holding the knife that stabbed Lord Reginald, were you not?"

Eleanor said nothing, but glared back at the magistrate. If looks could kill, she certianly could have cut his life short.

"It is of no matter. Everyone in this room has heard, some where even witness to, the evidence of your hateful crime." The magistrate looked down at the scroll. "There is a...kitchen maid? Is this some sort of a joke?"

Armus took Gwen’s hand in his and gave it a squeeze to reassure her. She stood up, trembling visibly, and stepped forward. "Yes sir. I am that kitchen maid."

The magistrate looked her over a moment, frowning at her tattered clothes and dirty feet. "Yes. Tell me what you have to say, then you can be about your business, roasting a pig or what not."

A ripple of laughter came from the assembly, and Gwen blushed furiously. She looked down at her hands, lacing her fingers together. "I was in the chapel, yesterday afternoon." she stammered.

Celeste Mullens looked at her husband, her obvious horror written on her face. He didn’t look at her, but watched Gwen, smiling and chuckling all the while.

"I was sitting, where no one could see me. And someone came in." Gwen said, halting to hazard a glance at Celeste Mullens.

"Someone? In the chapel? On the day after a murder? You don’t say." The magistrate said sarcastically. More laughter filled the hall, and Gwen shook her head.

"This...person...she was praying that God would forgive her, saying she didn’t mean to kill anyone." Gwen said, and a gasp rose from the back of the room, hushed voices began chattering in unison.

The magistrate leaned forward in his chair, no longer incredulous of the young girl before him. "Can you tell us exactly whom it was?"

Gwen took a deep breath and nodded, turning and pointing to where Celeste sat. "The Lady Mullens, sir."

The magistrate looked very much as if his head were about to explode. "There is a penalty for the crime of perjury! You could be hanged for such a false accusation against a woman of noble birth."

"She may be of noble birth, but she’s certainly not noble." Richard shouted, jumping to his feet.

"Barron Mullens, your wife is not what she seems. She was not ill as she told you the night of the murder. She was in the armory, meeting me."

"Richard!" Sir Thomas shouted. Armus shook his head, grabbing Richard’s sleeve, trying to make him sit down.

"No, Armus, I won’t see the woman my brother loves hanged for accussing Celeste Mullens of being what she most certainly is! A Godless woman!" Richard shouted. He turned back to the magistrate with a look of determined satisfaction, only to meet the fist of John Mullens, which was already on an unstoppable collision course towards his nose with crushing velocity.

The crowd gasped in shock, and Armus dropped his head into his hands.

"Armus!" Sir Thomas thundered, a vein in his forehead looking as though it would explode.

"Father, I was going to tell you!" Armus said helplessly.

"I think he broke my nose!" Richard said flatly, gingerly cupping his injured face with his hands. Blood ran down between his fingers and onto his sleeves.

"Silence! Everyone!" The magistrate thundered at the assembly, then turned his glare on the melee in front of him. "If you all don’t stop this foolishness instantly, I’ll have you all hanged!"

"For what?" Armus shouted, jumping to his feet.

"For something!" The magistrate hollered back.

"Silence!" John Mullens barked, and a pin could have been heard dropping, it was so quiet. "If anyone needs to be hanged, it is my wife." he said, reaching for the dagger at his side. Richard’s hand went to his sword insinctively, and Mullen’s chuckled. He produced an ornate, gilded dagger, with a large emerald in the hilt. He tossed it on the table in front of the magistrate. "A wedding present. Part of a matching set. The one that stabbed Lord Rutherford to death with match this one exactly. It belonged to my now soon to be former wife, Celeste D’Parea."

"John!" Celeste cried, standing. She swayed unsteadily, then shook her head, pressing her hand to her forehead as if in thought. "You were there, too!"

The magistrate folded his hands. "Barron Mullens. You knew all along that your wife commited this foul crime, yet you said nothing."

Putting on his most sincere heart broken face, Mullens shook his head. "Is it wrong, for a man to deny that woman he loves is a...a monster?" he asked. "When I remembered that poor Eleanor Grey was...rotting in the dungeon however, how could I not remember my own daughter. Seeing poor Eleanor here, shackled and humilated, it made me realize that my wife must pay for her foul crimes." he said, his eyes shining.

The magistrate seemed to be thinking it over for a moment. He looked to guards holding Eleanor. "Release the prisoner."

A great cry errupted in the hall. The blacksmith moved forward to break the irons that held Eleanor, as Sir Thomas rushed to embrace her.

"Take the Lady Mullens and shackle her." the magistrate ordered the guards. "She will plead her case to the king, as will you, Barron Mullens."

As the crowd began to filter from the Great Hall, Eleanor rubbed her sore wrists. She looked past her family to where Barron Mullens stood. He nodded, and she smiled.

Armus and Richard followed Eleanor as she walked towards Mullens.

"How can I thank you?" Eleanor asked quietly. Mullens shook his head.

"There is no need to thank me. Justice, it seems, escapes no one, no matter how long they run from it." He walked past her, pushing between Armus and Richard.

"Barron Mullens!" Richard called after him, and he stopped.

The evil smile that spread across his face was a bit of a reassurance that the old Mullens was back. "It would do well, my boy, to stay far, far from me."

The next morning Eleanor rose at dawn, intent on seeing Gerald before he and his sister returned to their home. She dressed quickly, not in the formal clothes she had worn for the festival, but in soft leather breeches and a loose fitting linen shirt with a belt. She left her hair down, completely unadorned, and hurried to the castle yard, where wagons were being packed.

Gerald stood motionless, viewing the hustle and bustle of activity with a sort of impatient disinterest. He turned when Eleanor cleared her throat. "So the servant’s rumors are true." he said with a shy laugh, studying Eleanor’s appearance.

"Gerald, I wish this had never happened-" she began.

"Eleanor, don’t, it’s my fault-" he interrupted.

"Please." she said, raising a hand to silence him. "I wish this had never happened. But it did. We can’t go on the way we were, ignoring the circumstances that drove us apart."

Gerald shook his head. "No, we can’t forget that this happened. That doesn’t mean I have to forget you. Or that you must forget me."

Eleanor sighed, closing her eyes. "If I were to make any promises now, it wouldn’t be fair. To either of us."

"Then don’t make any promises, we’ll make an agreement." Gerald said, taking her hands in his.

"I don’t know." Eleanor said, looking away. "You dismissed me so easily. I should hope I’m never accused of murder again, but even in minor, every day trials, how can I be sure you will trust me."

"That is exactly what my agreement pertains to." he said, smiling. "Agree that I can write to you. You don’t have to write back, but agree that you will accept my letters."

"Done." Eleanor said with a smile.

"And agree that you will come and visit in the fall, to see if your mind has changed about me." He said, more serious now. He reached into the pouch at his belt and produced a shining silver ring. "Until that time, wear this, and think of me."

Eleanor felt tears come to her eyes, and she took the ring, sliding it easily onto her finger. "What of Anjelica and Richard?"

"Oil and water. But I will try and see what I can manage." he said, flashing a broad grin. "Now, go back inside. It is cold, and I won’t be able to bear leaving if you’re still in sight."

Weeks passed, the winter snow melting away, leaving soft moss and slick mud in it’s place. The castle messangers were run ragged delivering messages between Gerald and Eleanor, who not quite patiently awaited the death of summer to visit the person she now refered to as her "best friend".

Armus was surprised that Sir Thomas took the news of his son’s courtship with a peasant girl as well as he did. After a week he even began speaking to Armus again. Eventually Sir Thomas’ noted weak spot for his childrens’ happiness showed through, and he grudgingly acknowledged that Gwen was no ordinary serving girl. To the delight of gossips at court and in the kitchens of Covington Cross, Thomas allowed Gwen to have an apartment in the family’s quarters, and rumors of an impending addition to the Grey family flew.

Richard still pined for Anjelica, who refused his letters. Each had come back with an apologetic note from Gerald. Aparently the news of Richard’s brief involvement with Celeste Mullens upset her more than anyone had noticed in her last night at Covington Cross.

Richard had been mulling over the verdict issued by King Edward regarding Celeste. She had been sent to a convent, rather than hanged for the accidental killing of Lord Reginald Rutherford. Mullens had once again used his dramatic skills to get out of another scrape; he was absolved of any involvement in the crime, though many stories flew that he himself had wielded the dagger, and he had used his innocent young wife as a pawn in his deception.

Kicking a stone across the courtyard, Richard laughed ruefully. Innocent. It was the last word he would have used to describe the Lady Mullens. He took his amulet out from his shirt front. Running his thumb across the smooth surface of the charm, he remembered all too clearly the way the light had glinted off of it the night he had met Celeste in the armory. The pang of heartsickness that had attacked him.

The sound of hoof beats entering through the porticullis caught Richard’s attention. When he looked up, he barely believed his eyes.

"Richard?" The figure on horseback said, with nearly the same amount of disbelief.

Richard’s heart pounded. His blood rushed to his ears. The charm felt all together too warm beneath his fingertips, and he dropped it. It was her. She had returned.

"You’re back! You’re really here!" Richard cried, his throat choked by too many emmotions at once. He covered the distance between them in half a second, grasping her around her waist and pulling her to the ground, never letting her speak, covering her mouth with his, never wanting to let her go.

The sun set over Covington Cross, Richard and Rachel still embracing in the shadows of the castle yard.

To be continued........