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glinted back at him. The door opened wider. A man stepped out, flaming torch in one hand, spiked halberd in the other. ‘Lord Montague is not at home. Who are you, boy?’ He thrust the torch under Tom’s chin.
    â€˜Watch out!’ He dodged the lick of the sooty flame. Best to try and stay on the guard’s right side. He took a deep breath. ‘Please, sir. I’m Lord Montague’s . . . I’m his nephew, Tom Garnett.’
    â€˜Tom Garnett? Never heard of him! Now be on your way, rascal, unless you want to get better acquainted with my weapon.’ The man jerked up his halberd and pressed the cold blade against the side of Tom’s throat.
    His knees buckled. He glanced back at the causeway. If he made a run for it now . . . But no. He curled his fingers into fists. He wasn’t going to let the man beat him. Not when he’d come this far.
    â€˜Wait, please. I’ve got something to show you.’ He shoved his hand inside his muddy jerkin and pulled out the prayer book.
    The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what would I be wanting with a battered old book?’
    â€˜It’s my mother’s. She’s Lord Montague’s sister. He gave it to her, before she left. Here, look. He signed his name inside.’ He flipped to the page with the inscription and held it out.
    The man lowered his halberd and peered at the writing on the page. ‘Hmmm. Very pretty, but seeing as I can’t read . . .’ He raised the weapon again.
    â€˜But you’ve got to believe me. It’s the truth. Look, here’s his signature.’ Tom jabbed at the page.
    â€˜Sergeant Talbot, what is going on?’ It was a girl’s voice, clear and strong. The sort of voice whose owner got what she asked for.
    The guard looked over his shoulder. ‘Why, young Mistress Cressida, whatever are you doing out at this hour? I hope you haven’t been up that tower again. You know My Lady doesn’t approve.’
    Tom followed his gaze. A figure in a deep blue velvet cape and hood stood in the doorway behind them, a lantern clutched tightly in her milk-white hand.
    The girl from the battlements. So he’d been right. She wasn’t a servant.
    â€˜You are not my keeper, Sergeant Talbot. I am free to climb the tower if I choose.’ The girl raised the lantern and ran the light over Tom’s face. ‘Who is this?’
    â€˜I’m afraid ’tis a ruffian come here with mischief on his mind.’ The sergeant shoved his halberd against the door and grabbed Tom by the arm. ‘He claims he is His Lordship’s nephew, sent here by his mother.’
    Tom tried to wriggle free but the sergeant’s grip was too strong.
    â€˜Nephew?’ The girl threw back her hood and shook her curls free.
    Tom raised his eyebrows, surprised. From her tone she’d sounded older. But seeing her face in the lantern-light, she looked more his age.
    â€˜He claims this is the proof.’ Sergeant Talbot jerked hishead at the prayer book.
    The girl frowned. ‘Give it to me.’ She stepped through the door, put the lantern down and held out her hand.
    Reluctantly Tom handed her the book. She scanned the inscription, then looked up, eyes gleaming gold in the torchlight. ‘How did you come by this?’
    â€˜Like I said, it’s my mother’s.’ He made to snatch it back.
    The sergeant yanked him close. ‘You cheeky snipper-snapper. Stand clear, mistress. It’s time I sent this young cur packing.’ His grip tightened.
    The girl’s frown deepened. ‘Hmmm. It is the lord my father’s writing.’ She put her head on one side and fixed Tom with a hard stare.
    His cheeks burned. He looked away.
    â€˜Let him pass. I will take him to Great-Grandmother. We will see what she has to say.’ Before he could stop her, the girl slid the prayer book inside her cape.
    The sergeant shook his head.