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the dead.”
    Anger slammed through Nicholas. “Return to the keep now!”
    Thomas held his ground as if he would challenge Nicholas. On a broken sob the lad turned and fled.
    Blast it. Frustrated, Nicholas took the last few remaining steps to the bottom of the tower, then exited into the night.
    He caught the lad’s shadowy figure as he raced across the courtyard as if chased by the hounds of Hades. Near the center of the courtyard, Thomas halted and turned toward the gatehouse.
    Nicholas froze. Was the lad going to forsake his vow and flee?
    After a long moment, his squire glanced toward him, then sprinted to the keep.
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    Her each breath rough, Elizabet stumbled into the great hall, shoved the door behind her, then collapsed against the sturdy frame. Tears burned her eyes at the memories of her father’s body slung in the guard’s arms.
    Dead.
    Mary, Mother of God, what of Giric? Had her brother died as well? She wiped away the tears. Nay, he had to be alive!
    â€œGet on with you, lad,” a woman’s voice scolded.
    Dazed, Elizabet glanced behind her.
    A plump, elderly woman, with her hands on her hips, stood several paces away scowling at her.
    With a hard swallow, Elizabet fought for composure. “Yo—You asked me something?”
    The woman frowned, her pruned face sagging with disgust. “The castellan and his men will return posthaste and they will be expecting their meal.” She nodded toward a huge pot hanging above the flames in the hearth. “The meat needs to be ladled out. Go help instead of standing there dawdling. On with you now.”
    However much Elizabet wanted to escape and find privacy to try to come to grips with this eve’s horrendous discovery, she’d aroused too much suspicion with Nicholas moments before. Like it or nae she must continue to play her part in this role to discover if her brother lived.
    Fighting back the tears, she walked to the cook fire. The heat spewing from the hearth burned hot against her skin as she ladled out portions of roast pig, wild onions, and herbs onto the platters. Though she’d nae eaten for hours, her stomach rebelled at the idea of food.
    A short while later, the keep door scraped open.
    Her heart racing, Elizabet scoured the faces of the men entering the great room after their gruesome task, searching for one.
    The castellan stepped inside, halted. He grimaced as he scanned the confines, and his gaze paused on her.
    Unnerved by the concern in his eyes, she turned away and threw herself into her task, thankful when he didna confront her. And he would, of that she had no doubt.
    As the evening wore on, she moved about her duties, serving Nicholas his food, refilling his goblet when empty. Throughout the meal she listened for scraps of information, but learned naught that indicated if Giric was amongst those who had died.
    Frustrated by unanswered questions and exhausted from worry, she stood in the shadows watching Sir Nicholas, waiting for the moment he would signal her and she could leave.
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    The grumbles of his men and the clunks of their tankards as they ate echoed in the great hall as Nicholas speared the last chunk of meat. If only he’d known of the dead in the dungeon earlier. He chewed the meat, swallowed. And what would he have done? Besides removing the deceased earlier, naught. He shoved away his trencher. After wiping and sheathing his dagger, he signaled to his squire.
    He studied Thomas’s slow approach; exhaustion rode his fragile features and nervousness haunted his eyes. From the lad’s strong reaction to the dead noble, at some point, the prisoner had played a significant part in his squire’s life. But how? Had the earl taken Thomas into his home? Had he caught the lad reiving and cast him into the dungeon? Or was he the man, or one of many who had molested a homeless lad with nowhere to turn?
    His squire set the basin of water before him. “Water for you to wash,