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began, speaking their common language.
    The giant folded his arms across his chest. “You’re too late. This manor is mine now. Move on.”
    “We won’t move on since I’m entrusted by King William with the oversight of this manor, to make sure it’s properly run and prosperous. I am Lord Hugh de Montbryce, and I’m accompanied by my brother, Lord Antoine de Montbryce. I’m your overlord.”
    Hugh noted with satisfaction that the name Montbryce registered with the brute as he lowered his sword. Shoulders hunched, his voice defensive, the man said, “All is well here. You can tell his Majesty that Melton Manor is in good hands.”
    “I’m confident that is true, however, will you not offer us the hospitality of your home? After a camp cot yestereve, a warm bed in a friendly Norman home wouldn’t go amiss. On the morrow we return to Normandie.”
    The giant hesitated before he agreed. “Very well, we’ll prepare a chamber. I am Renouf de Maubadon. Welcome!” he said without warmth. “Bemia! Aediva! Prepare a chamber for visitors,” he yelled to someone in the house. “ Mes seigneurs , enter. Torod will show you where you can wait while your room is prepared.” Without looking round, he pointed with his thumb to a scowling fellow who had appeared behind him, a man whose face put Hugh in mind of an unripe lemon rind.
    Hugh and Antoine followed Torod into the Hall, where preparations were being made for a meal. Hugh noted the high quality of the furnishings and tapestries, but then his eyes fell upon a dishevelled, wild-eyed Saxon woman slumped against the wall, mumbling incoherently. Her hand rested on the head of the dog that had sniffed Antoine. Two young Saxon girls scurried by, eyes downcast, carrying linens.
    Hugh spoke to Torod’s back. “Was this a Saxon holding at one time, Torod?”
    Torod didn’t turn around. “ Oui , but it’s Sir Renouf’s now. He wed the daughter of the thane.”
    Hugh arched his brow at Antoine, irritated the man had not had the manners to turn around to reply.
    Antoine nodded to his brother. “I hope we’ll meet his wife then,” he said to Torod.
    Hugh thought the man looked suddenly uncomfortable as he glanced first at them, then furtively towards the stairs. He seemed hesitant to reply, then said, “Lady Devona may come down and she may not. It depends.”
    Hugh noticed that Antoine had also arched his brows. “I see. Is she unwell?”
    “ Oui —unwell.”
    Unexpectedly, a tall, slender woman appeared at the head of the stairs and started down, her thin fingers gripping the banister. The dog rose, barked a welcome and wagged its tail, then returned to the crone.
    Antoine had green eyes, but the ones Hugh looked up into were the greenest he’d ever seen. They were eyes full of pain and hopelessness, and his heart thudded in his chest, echoing the thump, thump of the dog’s tail on the stone floor. Renouf reappeared, seemingly from nowhere, and Hugh was glad his gambeson hid his arousal.
    The lord of the manor rushed forward before the visitors could greet the woman and introduced her. “Lady Devona de Maubadon, my wife, these are milords Hugh and Antoine de Montbryce.”
    The lady nervously proffered her hand, though the long, wide, sleeves hid all but the tips of her fingers. Antoine kissed her hand and Hugh followed suit. The aroma of marigold stole into Hugh’s senses. She didn’t smile, didn’t look directly at him, but his heart lurched again. The hem of her dress swished against the wood of the staircase and her dead eyes flickered for a brief moment when they rested on his trembling hand.
    “My lords,” she whispered in a barely audible voice, effecting a curtsey.
    Because the wimple covered her hair completely, Hugh couldn’t discern its colour. Though the head garb also hid a goodly portion of her face, he could see she was beautiful, though pale and gaunt. The shabby overdress she wore clung to her breasts and hips, accentuating her figure. It was