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bedchamber. There, too, several sacks awaited her.
    Stepping into William’s chamber was akin to drowning. She struggled for breath while waves of grief battered at her resolve not to cry again. Her heart ached, her throat hurt, her eyes burned. Tempted to retreat, Gwendolyn swallowed the lump threatening to choke her as she crossed the room to yet another trunk that must be emptied.
    She knelt down and opened the lid, only to lose sight of the contents through another wash of tears.
    The swish of silk slippers on the rush mat alerted Gwendolyn to Nicole’s entry. A deep breath helped steady her, bolstering her resolve to hide the worst of her distress. As she turned she hoped her smile didn’t look too feigned.
    “What is it, dear?”
    Nicole bent over to pick up a sack from the stack, then brought it toward Gwendolyn. “Shall I help?”
    She rose, feeling her face soften into a genuine smile at Nicole’s offer. But if the task was agonizing for her, ’twould be sheer misery for Nicole.
    “Nay. Truly, ’twill take me little time.” She took the sack. “Done with your lesson?”
    “Father Paul ended it early. Neither of us could concentrate on adding numbers.” She waved at the trunk. “What will you do with it all?”
    “Give some away to needy soldiers or peasants. Keep some.” She shrugged a shoulder, not yet sure what to dispose of and what to keep.
    Nicole glanced at the table that held several items dear to William. “Their weapons, too?”
    Gwendolyn placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “The swords and daggers should hang in the hall. The others? We shall see.” She gave Nicole a brief hug. “Perhaps you should go sit with Emma for a while. I believe her headache begins to wane.”
    “All right,” she agreed with lack of enthusiasm. Having never been sick a day in her short life, Nicole didn’t deal with others’ ailments with much compassion.
    Gwen walked her little sister toward the door, wanting her out of the chamber so she could get the unpleasant chore over with.
    “Will his lordship allow us to hang the weapons?” Nicole asked.
    Gwendolyn hadn’t thought to ask Alberic’s permission. Would he give permission? Likely.
    “I should think so. Weapons from Camelen’s past lords hang among those Father collected. ’Tis tradition.”
    “Is it also tradition for the new lord to plunder the stores of the old?”
    Gwendolyn stopped walking. “What do you mean?”
    “Alberic inspected the storage rooms this morn. He pulled several ells of fabric from a crate and gave orders for the seamstresses to make him some tunics.”
    She tamped down a swell of ire. “Did he?”
    “Aye. And Cook says he opened a sack of Father’s favorite almonds and devoured a handful as if he had never tasted the like before.”
    Gwendolyn imagined Alberic going through the storeroom, grabbing at this, handling that. Looting whatever suited his fancy. Laughing at her misfortune and his gain.
    Except the vision didn’t come clearly, nor ring true. As much as she hated to admit it, he had the right to the fabric, and she could hardly begrudge him a handful of almonds. He didn’t need to loot or plunder what now belonged to him.
    “What belonged to Father now belongs to Sir Alberic, both the fabric and the almonds. And the lands and the falcons and the hunting dogs. All of it, Nicole. We have no say in the matter.”
    “He does not own us, does he?”
    “Nay, we are royal wards, not Sir Alberic’s. Out with you now. Go pester Emma.”
    “She is likely asleep,” the girl grumbled, but obeyed.
    As Nicole disappeared into their bedchamber, the devil himself appeared at the top of the stairway. Alberic slowed as he came near, bobbed his head as he stopped.
    “Lady Gwendolyn.” He looked past her into William’s chamber, frowning. “A beastly task you set for yourself, and so soon.”
    “Someone must do it.”
    “Set a servant to the task.”
    Emma had suggested the same, and Gwendolyn had bristled