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Thank God he’d drunk no more than one ration of wine. Another goblet and he would be in a stupor right now. He needed his wits to avoid a misstep that might cost his life. “Where is my squire?”
    “I am here, my lord.” Stephen made his way around the soldiers and stepped into the room. The young man wore a worried expression, but he bowed low to Guy. “These men came to your chamber and demanded you be awakened. I did not know—That is—”
    “Never mind, Stephen. Did you see anyone enter my chamber last eve? Or leave it?” He frowned when Stephen shook his head, even though he had expected that answer.Stephen looked alert, but perhaps they’d drugged him as well. “Wake Sir Evard and bid him join me.”
    Baron Lonsdale clapped one hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Nay, I think not. You have no need for your second-in-command, Lord Guy. The boy stays here.”
    Guy shrugged as if unconcerned. He reached for his shirt and continued to dress, one eye on Lonsdale. The room swayed at a dangerous angle as he performed the mundane task, and he concentrated all his effort to appear unaffected. He could not afford any display of weakness. “What drug did you use, Lonsdale? I did not come here of my own will, and know well enough that one goblet of wine could not render me senseless.”
    “Are you trying to deny the evidence?” Lonsdale looked incredulous. He turned to Bishop Germaine. “You are witness to these lies, Bishop. ’Tis obvious to all that this man seduced an innocent lady with lies told just as smoothly. I demand retribution, yet I am a man of God. I will let the Church guide my actions in this matter.”
    Guy almost smiled at the bishop’s eager effort to appear surprised. Then he thought of the part Claudia had played in his betrayal, and the urge to smile disappeared. Thank God he’d retained enough sense to keep his mouth shut, to share his foolish plans with none but Evard. Had he really thought her so honorable that she wouldn’t betray him? A woman worthy enough to be his bride?
    He did smile then. At his own stupidity. He felt robbed, betrayed by his own misguided instincts. Baron Lonsdale’s fury seemed trifling in comparison.
    “This does not warrant bloodshed,” the bishop began. He crossed his arms over his generous girth and stroked his chin. “Only a woman’s husband has the right to take her innocence.” His dark gaze flickered toward Guy. “You do owe Baron Lonsdale reparations, Lord Guy. ’Tis my judgment and that of the Church that marriage shall be the reparation.”
    Guy crossed his arms in a gesture that mimicked thebishop’s stance, mocking and challenging at the same time. “And if I do not agree with your judgment?”
    The bishop shrugged. “Then I shall concede judgment to Baron Lonsdale. Think hard on your decision, Montague. As a guest at Lonsdale you are within Baron Lonsdale’s power, and at this moment you are the man who wronged his niece. You may find my judgment more to your liking.”
    “I see.” They were a simple lot, Guy decided, to plot such an obvious trap. Simpler still to believe they would snare him with it. “How long do I have to make my decision?”
    “We will have your answer by tomorrow morning,” said the bishop. “None will say you came to your decision in haste.” He paused as he would in sermon, to let the importance of his words take hold. A marriage performed by a bishop, with the groom given a full day and night to accept or deny his bride. It would be a hard marriage to annul. “I am sure you will do what is best for everyone, Lord Guy.”
    “There will be no marriage without a betrothal contract,” Lonsdale broke in. “I will not be denied the dower. The marriage cannot take place until the dower is in my hands.”
    “And what dowry will you provide for your niece?” Guy’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but Lonsdale paid it no heed.
    “Halford Hall will be her dowry,” he retorted. “I will provide nothing more than