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and hollow within her. "The Morningstar and his followers are a primary example contrary to that statement, I think."
    "That was their evil, not His," he said.
    "Ah, but who created them?" She pushed her trencher forward. Her dark gaze seemed lit with inner fire. "He must have known what would happen and allowed it. Is the evil theirs, or His? Why give the individual free will, then punish them for the wrong decisions, when He must know the wrong decisions will be made? Is everything a test?" Lilith's eyelids lowered. "We all fail."
    Hugh stared at her, his stomach twisting into a knot at such blasphemy. "The mother who has lost her babe asks the same question. Why allow such a thing to happen, and innocence to be lost? 'Tis not a new question, but one we do not need to ask. If He planned it, it must be right. There are many questions I could ask, many laments: why was I not born into a noble family, but a foundling? Why are those without honor or piety rewarded now? I don't question, but accept what I've been given and make the best of it, and trust that we receive our due in time."
    "Then you shall sing with the angels in no time at all," Lilith said.
    He frowned at her sarcasm. "I don't pretend to be without flaw. None of us are."
    "Except, of course, your Lady Isabel."
    How had the conversation delved into this? He ran his hand through his hair, strove for something lighter. "She snores in her sleep." She pursed her lips, and he hastily added, "I know because I was guarding her, not because I made a habit of sleeping near her."
    "She desired otherwise."
    He shook his head, rejecting her claim.
    "Aye," Lilith said. "And how could she not? Look at her husband: powerful, but thrice her age and nothing to desire."
    "He is a good man," Hugh protested.
    "You think that matters to a girl such as she? In ten years, she will become a powerful woman in her own right. She is not a silly girl, but she is a fanciful one at times. Tell me, Sir Hugh: in the Angevin court, did you hear the songs of the troubadour, the tales of the beautiful maidens and their loyal knights? Don't you think she spun you into her dreams? What is that popular one? About the knight in the cart who abases himself for love of a married lady? Who saves her by crossing a bridge of swords? Who bleeds when he breaks through the bars of her bedchamber to have her?"
    "Nay," he managed. "She knows her duty."
    "Aye, duty. Her mind does, but does her heart?" Her gaze pierced him. "And what of yours? If a tournament were held tomorrow, and she asked you to do your worst and to wear her favor, would you?" Her voice lowered further, and he strained to hear her, though part of him rebelled against her words. "No one would think anything of it; her husband would not fight, for he is too aged, and it would seem natural for her to pick you in his stead. But the two of you would know the significance behind such a choice. If she asked, would you lower yourself before her to prove your devotion, like the knight in the cart? Would you give your life, your good name, and your soul for the adoration of a woman who will never be yours, and who, within ten years, will have lost the innocence you so cherish in her?"
    "My life, my good name—aye," he breathed, and it was as if she had pulled that exhalation from him. "But not my soul. She would not ask for it."
    "She asks for it with each longing glance she fails to hide," Lilith said.
    "And what do you ask? With your wicked words and your suggestions? What is it you want from me?"
    She held his eyes over the rim of her cup. "The same as Isabel."
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CHAPTER 3
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    Even in the dead of night, the castle never quieted; always a noise intruded, from human and animal. Lilith lay between the daughter of the Chelmsford sheriff and Colchester's youngest sister, staring at the ceiling and counting lines of wood grain until she thought she might go mad from it. She could hear Isabel's snores, and she grinned into the darkness,