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heir. The boy was not present. He was
old enough to be a page by now, so he was most likely fostering at
another castle. Nor had Giles seen any sign of Lady Alda’s second
child. For there had been a second child who, if it had survived
infancy and early childhood, would be almost eleven years old.
    “You have already met my ward, the lady
Mirielle,” said Sir Brice.
    “We have, indeed. She made us most welcome.”
Giles wished Lady Mirielle would put out her hand so he might have
an excuse to touch her, but she only smiled a little and nodded at
him and Hugh.
    She was a rare beauty, slender and graceful
of figure but not fragile. There was a strength to Mirielle that
went well with the kindness of heart she had displayed toward
Robin, and toward two unexpected guests. There was intelligence in
her sweet face and her silvery gray eyes. Looking into her eyes,
Giles thought he could find peace with such a woman, and rest from
the worldly problems besetting him. He put the thought aside with
some difficulty, telling himself he could not afford to lose
himself in a woman. He had important work to do.
    With Brice organizing the seating at the high
table to his own taste, Giles was placed next to Mirielle and Hugh
sat beside Alda. Making a remark about the shortage of chairs and
benches that was intended to be humorous, Brice took the chair
usually reserved for the baron of Wroxley, seating himself between
the two women.
    From Mirielle’s point of view this
arrangement was both awkward and unseemly. She wished Brice would
not act as if he were the lord of Wroxley. Too often when guests
were present he took the baron’s chair. Sooner or later a guest
offended by this usurpation of rank would carry word of it to King
Henry, and if Henry in turn were sufficiently annoyed, he might
well remove Brice from his post as seneschal.
    On this particular evening Mirielle had an
even more personal interest in the arrangement at the high table.
She had planned to take the place beside Hugh for herself. She had
sensed upon first confronting him in the gatehouse that Hugh was a
brother soul, for by his indistinct features she had recognized
another who was cloaking himself in disguise as she was then doing.
And she had known, with a natural instinct well honed by Cerra’s
teaching, that Hugh was honest. Eager to improve her understanding
of the Ancient Art to which she was devoted, Mirielle wanted to
speak privately with Hugh, to ask him many questions. Since he was
so well-traveled, she was sure there was much she could learn from
him.
    Sitting beside Hugh would also resolve
Mirielle’s most immediate personal concern, for it would put her at
a safer distance from Sir Giles. This second guest frightened her
and excited her at the same time. She did not think he was
handsome. It was difficult to tell for certain, with his face
covered by his thick beard and mustache, but his nose was straight,
if a bit long, and his brow was high and wide. Unlike Hugh, Gavin
was not a mage, of that Mirielle was sure. Yet his blue eyes burned
into hers as if he could read all the secrets of her soul, all the
hopes and wishes she kept so carefully hidden. Giles was big—much
taller than Brice—and muscular and healthy looking. Much too
healthy for a man who claimed to be troubled by chronic pain from
an old wound.
    Mirielle suspected that Giles’s supposed
wound was an excuse formulated to allow him to remain at Wroxley
Castle beyond the single night that Christian charity allotted to
wayfarers. If he had some ulterior purpose for wanting to stay at
Wroxley for several days, then Mirielle believed it was her duty to
discover what that purpose was. She also admitted to herself a deep
curiosity about him. This was why she had arranged for the two
guests to sit at the high table. She knew Brice would question the
men about their recent travels. Their responses might provide some
useful information. While she considered how best to go about
learning what she