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mount the stairs, mere seconds, even though the stairwell in the east corner tower rose the two-storied height of the Great Hall to reach the third floor of the keep. At the top he set her down and, with a curt nod, immediately returned below.
    How chivalrous, she thought, then thought of him no more. The door to the lord’s chambers was right there, with the stairs continuing up to the battlements surrounding the roof, but Reina moved slowly down the narrow passage that cut through the thick wall of the keep, lit by several window embrasures. She passed the women’s quarters, where most of her ladies slept in a chamber beyond, with the weaving-and-sewing room in front where the chambermaids slept, and finally reached her own small chamber in the north tower. She could have long since moved into the spacious lord’s chamber, but her grief had kept her from it, and when she married would be soon enough to take up residence there.
    Her room was empty, as it should be this time of morning, and Reina slumped back against the door with a weary sigh, too tired to move even a few feet more to her bed. She could not think of the rest ofthe day, the entertaining she must do, the questions she had promised to answer for her guests. It was so hard speaking to visitors, never knowing how much to say, who might be aware of her circumstances, lying to anyone who was not. The lying was the worst, and it was her father who had started it all, thinking he was doing as she would want.
    If only Lord Raymond had not died, she would have wed before her father left to follow King Richard on Crusade two years ago. She had been betrothed to Raymond when she was only three, had never thought to object to the match even though she barely knew Raymond, had seen him no more than a half-dozen times in her whole life. But when it was time for them to marry, he had become a favorite of Henry’s court, and the old king had made much use of him, sending him hither and yon to do his bidding. There never seemed to be time for Raymond to send for her, or to come himself to Clydon so they could speak their vows. And then she had received the news that he had died while crossing the Channel, drowned while trying to save a child who had fallen overboard.
    Reina was saddened by the news, but ’twas not as if she knew the man well enough to truly grieve for him. Yet his dying had certainly put her in a fix, for her father had already taken the vow to go crusading with his overlord, Lord Guy, and the new king, Richard Lion-Heart. There she was, fifteen, unwed, and Roger de Champeney about to depart for the Holy Land, with no time to find her another husband.
    So he had bidden her to make some choices of her own and send them to him for his approval, and this she had done. But her first letter to him had not reached him. She heard from him first, of how theyhad stopped to conquer Cyprus, and of the king’s marriage there to Berengaria of Navarre. He had taken four of his vassals with him and had lost one to fever in Cyprus.
    There had been a cart full of loot with that letter, but she had been loath to sell any of it no matter how much she needed the money, for it came from the Crusade, and that made it almost holy.
    Her second letter had reached him still in Cyprus, for the king had stayed long there, and her father wrote again, approving of two of the men whose names she had submitted: Lord John de Lascelles, who used to be one of her father’s retainers until his brother died and he inherited the family lands in Wales, and Richard de Arcourt, heir to Lyonsford, and already in possession of Warhurst Keep and town, which was only a few hours’ ride from Clydon. Both men Reina knew fairly well and liked; both she felt she could deal well with as husbands. Both men were young and fair to the eye. Richard was possessed of a fine humor and could make her laugh; John was good and kind. She would be happy with either, but her preference was Richard.
    Her father died