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view their father, their grief nigh unbearable. Tears streamed down their cheeks. Nicole could barely look at her sire, hiding her face in Gwendolyn’s skirts. Emma closed her eyes, her mouth moving in silent prayer.
    Only Gwendolyn reached out to touch Hugh, her hand slipping beneath the shield to grasp his folded hands. She went very still, staring down at the shield covering her father’s chest.
    When she looked up she sought out Garrett, and Alberic could almost hear the question her expression asked of her father’s trusted knight.
    Father’s ring. Where is it?
    Not very gallant of him to hurt an already hurting woman, but maybe it was best this way. The daughters of Hugh de Leon must realize their lives had changed completely, that they were no longer the reigning princesses of Camelen.
    He slipped off the riding gloves he probably should have taken off earlier, if only to allow all to see the ring, the visible proof of his lordship. As the garnet in the center of the onyx flashed bright in the torchlight, he turned to Garrett.
    “I am ready for that room and food now.”
    “Immediately, my lord. This way.”
    They headed for the stairs. Gwendolyn bolted into his path, her ire high.
    “That ring belongs to my father. You may not wear it.”
    “Lady Gwendolyn, I am sorry for your loss, but you must accept that whatever once belonged to Hugh de Leon now belongs to me. His holdings, his people, even his ring.”
    He thought he’d been gentle, but she recoiled as if he’d delivered a punishing blow. Like the willow he’d compared her to earlier, she didn’t stay down long.
    “There are some things the king had no right to give away. The ring is one of them. I should like to have it back.”
    “Step aside, my lady. Go back to your mourning. Now is not the time to air your complaint.”
    She looked about to object, then took a deep, steadying breath before delivering what sounded suspiciously like an order.
    “Then we will speak of this later,
my lord.
”

Chapter Three
    A SERVANT HAULED the last full canvas sack out of the lord’s bedchamber. Gwendolyn stood in the doorway, her hand on the latch, trying not to wallow in grief.
    She’d thought burying her father and brother the most wrenching experience she’d ever endured. Now a full day afterward, she felt as though she’d barely survived ordeal by fire.
    The lord’s bedchamber didn’t look very different from when she’d begun removing her father’s belongings.
    The huge, four-poster bed claimed its normal space, the golden velvet draperies tied back against the posts. Though her mother had died ten years ago, Gwendolyn could envision Lady Lydia lying there during her last days. Only months ago her father had perched on the edge of the thick feather mattress, complaining about how his new boots pinched his toes.
    Mere weeks ago she spent nigh on an hour in this chamber with him, listening intently while he explained why he and William must go to Brian fitz Count’s aid at Wallingford, a vital stronghold for the Empress Maud, and what he expected of her in his absence.
    He had promised to return home before Beltane. And he did, but not in the manner he planned.
    So now the ornate trunk along the far wall no longer held her father’s tunics and breeches. His shoes and boots no longer stood beneath the wooden pegs where he’d hung his cloaks. A pewter flagon of wine and a gold goblet graced the heavy, round oak table where her father had tended to toss odd items until one could barely see the surface.
    Alberic’s gloves and helmet lay on the table. His cloak occupied a peg. She noticed no other of his possessions, and had thought it strange until remembering he’d come to Camelen straight off the battlefield. Surely he’d already sent someone to collect his personal belongings from Chester. Too soon he would make the chamber his own.
    Fighting back tears, Gwendolyn closed the door behind her and strode down the passageway to yet another