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like her mother. Death was following her everywhere.
    That accursed Sir William! He had done this! He had taken him away. Why did he have to come after her?
    “M’lady...”
    She lifted her head to find Sir William standing before her. Vile murderer! She should have expected nothing less of this monster. He had slain the archbishop, so what did the life of a simple knight mean to him? Now he had murdered her friend, too. “You killed him,” she whispered, her voice ragged.
    Sir William stood stoically before her. No emotion crossed his rugged face. Icy blue eyes gazed at her. Finally, he turned and moved into the cottage. When he emerged, he was holding a shovel.
    Grace was surprised when he began to dig a grave, surprised at this honorable act. She lifted her chin. That still didn’t change the fact he had murdered Curtis nor that his soul was damned for all eternity.
    The sun was setting, spreading a deep red across the sky, when William finally finished burying Curtis. He patted the shovel on top of the grave.
    Grace stood in the shade of the tree, watching William bury Curtis. With Curtis gone, Sir William would take her back to her father and insist she marry him. But she never would. Her life was being buried with Curtis in that grave. Their life. She would not betray him. She would never make his death, his sacrifice, meaningless. She would never marry William. But how was she going to stop it now? Desperation filled her. She couldn’t just stand here and do nothing! She glanced over her shoulder into the woods. The leaves swayed in a soft breeze as if beckoning her. She could run. But she knew that would be even worse. Without protection, she wouldn’t stand a chance against the outlaws and bandits roaming the woods. And Sir William would come after her anyway. She was trapped. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She was not going back to her father.
    William straightened, wiping a hand across his sweat drenched forehead. He arched his back. He had removed his chainmail armor and his gambeson and worked in a tunic.
    She lifted her chin slightly and determination filled her. She prepared for a fight.
    He put the shovel on his shoulder and turned to her.
    Her entire body clenched in dread. He would take her back to her father, regardless of whether she wanted to go or not. The thought was agony. The thought was horrible. She wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t return. She couldn’t. She squeezed her arms.
    He bowed his head and his long dark, damp strands fell forward. “We’ll stay here for the night and start out in the morning.”
    She didn’t acknowledge she heard him. She looked at Curtis’s grave, a lump rising in her throat. Grateful relief swept through her. She had one more night to think of a solution. She would do anything not to return to her father.
    He lowered his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
    Shocked at the sincerity in his voice, she looked at him. Dark strands hid his face from her.
    “You can stay inside the cottage. I will remain outside.”
    For a moment, she couldn’t move. It was more sympathy than her father had shown her after her mother’s death. He was allowing her grieving time. She had to use the time wisely. Yes, she would miss Curtis and she did grieve for him. But she had to think of her future. There would be time to mourn him later. She glanced again at Curtis’s grave before brushing by William to enter the cottage and begin planning.

    William sat beneath a nearby tree with his horse, Hellfire, standing nearby. The moon was far overhead, casting the surroundings in a surreal muted glow. Curtis’s steed whinnied softly, perhaps missing his owner. William had tied him to another tree where there was plenty of grass to feed on. He lifted his head to gaze at the moon. It had been almost fifteen years since he had last gotten a good night’s sleep. He had spent time fighting in Jerusalem, had participated in many skirmishes, had nearly lost his