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with him, he did. And now him delayed.” He heaved a sigh.
    Ranulf pretended an interest in the food as he pondered Samuel’s words. The man was proving a good source of information. Perhaps he could learn more.
    Samuel did not disappoint. “Highly improper, I say, to allow Lady Lizanne to come home to Penforke with all this disorder. And she only makes matters worse with all her lordin’.”
    Penforke. Ranulf searched his knowledge of the southern lands in an attempt to determine his location. It was not far from Langdon’s castle.
    Samuel leaned down and removed the manacle from Ranulf’s left wrist. “Knows she can get away with it, of course. Ain’t a one ceptin’ her brother that’ll tell her nay, and even he usually gives in to her. I ain’t ne’er understood it. Been that way since me Lucy and I came here.”
    Ranulf accepted the warm, freshly baked bread Samuel shoved into his free hand.
    “He knows better ‘n to leave her to her own devices. That one needs supervision, I tell ye. And look what she’s done bringin’ ye here. Can’t say as I like it. Nay, canna say as I do.”
    Ranulf was tempted to insert his own comments on that subject but, fearful of alerting Samuel to his loose tongue, squashed the idea. He bit into the bread and glanced at the other men. Bent over a table, they were engaged in a game of dice.
    Samuel loosed another sigh. “Have a taste o’ that brew. ‘Tis the best fer miles around.”
    Ranulf lifted the pot of ale and took a deep swallow while he waited for Samuel to speak again.
    He did not. Hearing a cry of triumph from across the cell, the bald man looked over his shoulder to the others, one of whom tossed his newly won wealth from one hand to the other. Samuel grunted, shot Ranulf an apologetic smile, and trotted off to join the game.
    Ranulf was satisfied with what he had gleaned from the man’s grumblings, and now that he was forgotten, the need to secure the dagger was uppermost in his mind. Keeping his eyes on the three men, he retrieved it from beneath his leg, lifted the hem of his tunic, and slid the keen-edged weapon into the top of his chausses.

    Attired in men’s garb, Lizanne sat atop her gray palfrey and peered through the trees bordering the meadow. On a baldric passing from her right shoulder to her hip hung a two-edged sword. In a scabbard attached to the saddle was a second.
    Beneath her, the mare shifted restlessly, throwing its head to the right and straining against the reins Lizanne held in her gloved hands.
    “Shh, Lady.” Lizanne leaned over the mare’s neck and stroked the favored spot between the pert ears. “’Twill not be long now.”
    The mare was only recently saddle-broke, but she had a spirit and grace that had immediately caught Lizanne’s eye. In spite of Gilbert’s misgivings about the animal’s flighty temperament, he had gifted the horse to his sister for her eighteenth year that had come and gone a twelvemonth past.
    Lizanne straightened and glanced at the sun’s position, wondering not for the first time if Samuel had misunderstood her instructions, perhaps intentionally.
    But then she heard the thunder of hooves.
    Three horsemen entered the meadow from its southernmost corner. At the fore rode Samuel, and pulling up the rear was the armed escort. Ranulf Wardieu rode between the two, a long mantle about his shoulders, short boots on his feet.
    Lady whinnied in welcome. Thankfully, the noise went unnoticed, eclipsed by the beating of hooves. At its mistress’s command, the mare pranced backward and assumed a detached stance to await the next instruction.
    Lizanne watched as the horses were reined in at the center of the meadow and held her breath while Samuel scanned the bordering wood.
    He had made it clear he did not like the orders she had delivered at noon and had suggested they await her brother’s return before doing anything further. Lizanne had been adamant, instructing him to escort the prisoner to the meadow east