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opened.”
    “You think he’s an avaricious suitor disguised as a minstrel?”
    “I won’t know until I meet him. Wait here.”
    She stood and faced him. “This is my home. You’re not my husband, I’m not under your rod. You can’t tell me what to do.” Jumbled emotions made her sound petulant.
    Would every issue result in a battle of wills, as if they were rams butting heads? Being at odds with him made her shoulders tense and her stomach churn. But so did giving in. Who was she without authority? A mere lump of clay, serving no purpose but to be pushed and pulled or left alone at the whim of others.
    “I’m here to ensure that no harm comes to you. I’m doing that.” With his wide stance, shoulders back and head high, Nicholas looked every inch a knight. Impressive and comforting at the same time.
    “And that means you can order me about like a servant?”
    “The king trusts me, but you don’t?” he asked.
    “Of course I trust you.”
    “Then let me do my job.”
    Life was so much simpler, less confusing, before he arrived. So much she wanted now she couldn’t have: Nicholas to care for her as a woman and to stay at Castle Rising.
    “Perhaps we could make decisions together,” she suggested.
    “I’ve never discussed defensive strategies with women. Not their purview.” He sat back down. She joined him. “Why not? If the visitor has a nefarious purpose, he might also have cohorts hiding in the trees, planning an ambush. I’ll talk to him from the walls.”
    “Thank you. I’ve little expertise in defensive strategies as you say, but I’d like to learn. I’d like to know what’s being done on my behalf at my home and contribute where I’m able. Maybe some women are content to let men tug their puppet strings. I’m not one of them.”
    “Very well. You may— Would you care to accompany me to the wall? But I need you to agree to remain behind a merlon in case he or any companions wield bows and arrows.” He stood again and held out his arm as if he were escorting her to a dance.
    “Yes.” With a smile of satisfaction, she also rose and lightly rested her arm on his, wishing the warmth of his skin permeated his wool tunic. She sensed his power, his strength. And she had to admit, she was proud to be walking with him. If only for a moment, she could pretend she was his lady.
    Nicholas duly approved the minstrel’s admittance. Amice welcomed seeing Nicholas display his leadership skills.
    After supper, all were sated on Maia’s fish pie with figs and raisins and ready to hear the minstrel, Geoffrey of Arundel. Long brown hair dangled beneath his hat. His particolored tunic was worn at the sleeves.
    “What news do you bring?” Nicholas asked.
    “I came from London, where all still talk of the recent Parliament and new taxes. But with your indulgence, I’d rather amuse than inform. Would you prefer a song or a chanson de geste ?”
    Amice loved the long poems centered on myths and legends. “Do you know any about King Arthur?”
    “Of course.” In a mellifluous voice, Geoffrey launched into the tale of Gawain, Arthur’s nephew and friend to Sir Lancelot whose honor was tested. Then he sang a song. The gentle lute strumming and the verses of love lost brought tears to some of the women’s eyes.
    Amice lifted her chin, trying not to blink and keep her own tears from falling. She wished she could take Nicholas’s hand, to share the moment more fully.
    As the “huzzahs” and applause faded, Amice smiled. “Geoffrey, that was wonderful. It’s been too long since I’ve heard the like. My thanks for sharing your talents.”
    Seated next to Nicholas, her people enjoying the respite, Amice could not have been happier. She’d commit the evening’s events to paper and always carry the memory with her. With her uncertain future, she feared she might need pleasant memories.

    After the minstrel was given lodging for the night, twinges of what could only be jealousy pricked Nicholas. Merely