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Through a miracle he’d been spared. By God he’d do right by the lad, teach him, guide him to a better life. With a hard swallow, he helped his men haul out the dead.
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    Dressed in her new garb, refreshed after having washed off the layers of dirt and soot from her body, Elizabet descended the steps to the first floor. The great room unfolded before her, rich with the scent of roast pig, fish, and ale.
    The front door opened with a bang, and a knight entered. He glanced toward several knights near the hearth. “Simon and Giles, Sir Nicholas needs more men to haul the dead from the dungeon.”
    Air rushed from her lungs. On trembling legs, she pressed her hand against the stone wall.
    The dead?
    Giric? Her father? Their people?
    Tears burned her eyes as she struggled nae to race down the last two steps of the turret. As she entered the great room, the knights were exiting the keep. Several lads, a few women, and three old men continued to set up trencher tables. Otherwise, the enormous chamber lay empty.
    She must learn the truth! Ignoring a woman’s call to assist her, Elizabet hurried to catch up to the knights. Outside, she followed at a safe distance, and with each step, prayed for her family’s life.
    Across the bailey, the knights shoved open a door and headed up a turret.
    The dungeon! She gave a quick look to ensure no one noticed her, hurried to the entry, then pushed open the door. Heart pounding, she peered up the steps.
    The scrape and shuffle of feet on stone and a grumbled curse echoed from above. A moment later, torchlight illuminated a stocky man descending the stairs, a body draped in his arms.
    God no!
    â€™Twas the butcher, a man who’d faithfully served her family for years.
    â€œMove out of the way, lad,” the man grumbled.
    Panic swept her as she stumbled back.
    The man shoved past.
    More steps sounded from above.
    On trembling knees, Elizabet glanced up. In the knight’s arms lay the chandler, the man who’d gifted her with her first beeswax candle. Bile rose in her throat.
    â€œHelp or move,” a man’s curt voice ordered.
    Tears blurring her eyes, she moved aside.
    The man cursed and headed up the steps.
    Elizabet swallowed hard. She needed to know. As she reached the landing, the door above shoved open.
    A knight, with a body slung in his arms, stepped out. “Move back, lad.”
    Elizabet stared in horrified disbelief—her father! Bile welled in her throat and she almost retched. A tremor wracked her body, then another. Her father, a man whose love seemed elusive, a man whose respect she’d fought to earn, was dead. Grief for what would never be suffocated her.
    What of Giric? Please, God, let her brother be alive.
    Afraid to look, more terrified nae to, she gazed upward in anticipation of the next body.
    And froze.
    Halted several paces away, Sir Nicholas watched her with unfeigned interest. His eyes glittered with questions, questions she could never answer.

CHAPTER 4
    A s the guard departed the dungeon with the body of the previous Earl of Terrick, Nicholas analyzed the emotions he’d witnessed on Thomas’s ashen face—shock, disbelief, and finally horror. And when his squire had lifted his eyes to meet his, he’d seen fear.
    Why?
    He glanced at the body of the noble a brief moment before the guard disappeared from sight, then back to Thomas. Unease sifted through him. Did his squire know the deceased?
    Footsteps of an approaching knight echoed behind him. Nicholas needed to move, but he could not allow the lad entrance to the dungeon and witness the travesty above. “Thomas, return to the keep. Stay there until my return.”
    His entire body trembling, his squire held his gaze, but he didn’t move.
    God’s teeth. What had the dead man done to the lad that would warrant such trauma? “Thomas.”
    His squire’s lower lip trembled as he glanced up the stairs. “I-I came to help wi-with