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king meant no insult to you personally. He merely strives to ensure Lelleford is under sound management in your father’s absence.”
    Her nostrils flared. Then, as quickly as her ire ignited, she doused the fire with the ice of her will. He’d never met a woman who could alter her emotions so quickly, so completely. Once again she appeared calm, regal, in control.
    “You may inform the king we have no need of an overseer,” she finally said in that sublime manner that demanded immediate obedience.
    He didn’t mind disappointing her in the least. “I fear neither of us is given a choice in the matter.”
    She looked to Simon in an appeal for assistance the steward couldn’t possibly grant, his answer a shaking head.
    “Milady, if the king so orders then we must yield. I grant you, ’tis insulting, this whole business. But better Sir Roland as overseer than others the king might have assigned the duty.”
    Simon’s acceptance of the inevitable didn’t sit well with her, and Roland didn’t doubt she’d accept most anyone else’s authority over Lelleford with less distaste. That bothered him, but he didn’t need Eloise’s approval or support. The knights’ cooperation was far more important to his success.
    Lelleford boasted a grand great hall, fit for the residence of a royal personage, a tribute to the Hamelins’ heritage, wealth, and high position. So, too, was it an impressive fortress, with solid defenses and a highly trained garrison. Should the household knights band together against him, they could easily toss Roland out the gate and lower the portcullis.
    A man accustomed to following orders, Sir Simon seemed resigned to accepting what his mistress dreaded. Roland could only hope Sir Marcus and the others would be sensible, too.
    Roland glanced at Kenworth, still standing by a trestle table, currently content to pour himself a second goblet of what was sure to be fine wine.
    “We had best gather the others,” he told Simon. “And quickly. I do not wish to leave Kenworth to his own devices overlong.”
    Simon leaned slightly toward Eloise. “Be wary of Kenworth, milady. The earl is easily provoked into foul temper. We shall return as soon as we can.”
    Eloise crossed her arms and shot them both a scathing glance. Whatever biting comment she longed to make she withheld, uttering only a mild, “Very well.”
    Simon headed for the door. Roland hesitated before following, concerned over leaving Eloise alone with Kenworth. But the earl had ordered him to accompany Simon, and he’d already provoked the earl enough for one day. Surely, she’d be safe enough in the hall for a short time—if she didn’t state her opinions to Kenworth.
    “Simon is right about the earl. Have a care.”
    Her chin rose, tilting her nose to a haughty angle. Without a word she spun around and headed for the man he’d just cautioned her against.
    Well, she’d been warned. Perhaps she would heed the caution if only because Simon told her to be wary, too.
    Out in the bailey, Roland fell into step beside Simon, who marched toward the inner gate.
    “What precisely is Sir John accused of?” Simon asked, his voice rough, his jaw set in a hard line.
    The worst charge against an English lord that Roland could imagine in this time of unrest.
    “He stands charged with conspiring with the Scots.”
    “Ha! John? Never. The king believes this idiocy?”
    “I know neither all the details nor who brought the charge against Sir John, only that the king is in possession of a condemning missive.”
    Simon struggled to absorb the news, then declared, “Sir John is no traitor.”
    Roland admired the steward’s steadfast loyalty, even if misplaced.
    “That is for the king to decide. My duty is to ensure Lelleford and its people suffer no undue hardship until the matter is resolved one way or the other.”
    “Why you?”
    Why him, indeed? Roland hoped the king considered him trustworthy and sought to give him the chance to prove