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and in the creak of leather and clop of hooves, the group rode on.
    What had the leader been called? Sir Garley. So this must be the little warrior-nun’s brother. A muscle in Giles’ jaw twitched. He’d seen plenty like the petty lord—greedy, selfish, out for all he could grab. No doubt such a man could ruthlessly sell his own sister. But after the wedding, the brother’s claim ended. And when she became a widow…
    Then the obvious hit him like a club to the belly.
    The brother would never let her survive alone. He’d move on her holding, take everything she had, all in the name of brotherly protection. Oh, he’d pay coin for the privilege, no doubt. But with Richard desperate for funds to fight King Philip of France, there’d be little argument.
    What could he, Giles, do about it when the time came?
    Nothing. She was nothing to him. And nothing he did changed that fact. The thought left a taste of gall in his mouth.
    When all sound of the riders disappeared, Giles led Nuit to the road, mounted, and set out. The mission to Lord Henry weighed heavier with each step away from Lady Emelin. He had no choice. But once the message was in the hands of the king’s friend, Giles planned to return to Langley. With luck, soon.
    The afternoon advanced with no further problems. Giles halted at the site of the attack, hoping to examine the bodies. They’d disappeared. All that remained were dark splotches where blood had soaked into parched earth.
    If the surviving outlaws had returned to remove the dead, they might still lurk nearby. Yet a quick search turned up nothing. No way to distinguish tracks of the outlaws’ mounts from those of the Langley guards. He followed one short trail until it connected with another path where signs of several horsemen littered the ground. Useless to waste time there.
    Much as he wanted to locate the other three, Giles realized he hadn’t the time. He’d traveled another league or so along his original route when figures came into view. On the chance these might be the brigands he sought, Giles took to the trees alongside the road. As the travelers came closer, he identified six riders accompanying a cart.
    He drew Nuit to a halt. This must have been much how his own journey appeared earlier in the day. Had this party been subject to attack, as well? Then he recognized the knight wearing a green surcoat over chain mail. Lord Henry of Chauvere.
    Except for a helmet, the lord rode armed to a neighbor’s wedding? No fool he.
    Giles emerged onto the road and waited. He held the reins loosely in his left hand; his right relaxed on his thigh, ready to grab his sword if need be. He doubted the other man remembered their meeting some years earlier.
    Henry and a pair of his men galloped forward. The others surrounded the cart, which contained a lady. His wife? When they neared, the lord raised a hand to stop the other two, then urged his horse forward.
    “You ride alone. Are you well? Can I be of service?” Henry asked.
    “We both can be of service to the king, my lord Henry.”
    At the words, Henry stilled, muscles gathered, like a wolf in the instant before attack. A fire kindled in his eyes, and his chest expanded. This had been one of Richard’s most trusted captains. He was the man who nearly died defending the king three years ago.
    The corners of his eyes gathered in a squint. “Is that you behind the injuries, Giles of Cambrai? You are mighty far from Normandy. What are you doing here?”
    So Henry recognized him. Giles nodded toward the other two knights. “That’s a tale best told in private, and quickly.” Before the other man could speak, he added, “I’ve just come from Langley. You’re expected for the wedding, but this must come first.”
    Henry nodded at once. “Come with me. I’ll tell the others we’ll be delayed a few minutes. My sister will be glad to walk for a bit.”
    Ah. Not a wife, then.
    They stopped at the cart, where Henry spoke to the young woman gowned in