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be so brave. Pretty little mite. Who is she and how did she get shot?”
    A thick, furry blanket was shoved under Leah’s chin and the cloak was pulled away from her body. Christophe’s grim voice rose again. “One of the rebels was still at the arrow slits in the west tower. She must have seen him. Strangest thing – she pushed Lord FitzWarren out of the way and took the arrow herself.”
    I didn’t mean to . Leah’s eyes remained squeezed shut, her lips tight. The pain was easier when she didn’t have to focus on the strange world around her.
    The woman clucked, and warm hands touched her bare arm again. “And you said that Lord FitzWarren believes her to be a spy?”
    “She won’t talk,” Christophe stubbornly insisted. “She appeared in the midst of camp, naked, and won’t say a word. The only logical explanation is that she’s a spy of some sort.”
    “Mayhap the little mite is a mute. It happens sometimes. Did she cry out when the arrow struck her?”
    “No.” Christophe’s voice was sullen.
    “I see.” The woman’s voice was soft, understanding. “And when Beorn nearly knocked her aside in the courtyard?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Mmm.” The woman’s voice was bland. “Perhaps she cannot speak after all. She’s not much of a spy if she cannot report what she finds, is she?” Before Christophe had the chance to comment, the motherly voice grew fainter, as if she were turning away. “Stoke up the fire, lad.
    We’ll need it nice and hot. Fetch me a blade, as well. The wound’s gone clear through to the other side. After we’ve removed the arrow, we’ll sear the wound shut.” Leah’s eyes flew open at that. Sear the wound shut? Take the arrow out? The damn thing hurt so much she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone touching it, much less ripping it out. She shook her head, trying to pull the covers off.
    A face loomed over hers, a rounded one with bright red, flushed cheeks. It wasn’t a pretty face, but it was a kind one, an elder woman with her hair pulled back in a tight coronet of braids, the brown streaked with gray. “Relax, child. You can’t go anywhere until we get that arrow out of your arm. Be brave.”
    Leah didn’t want to be brave. She wanted out. She swung her legs over the edge of the odd, lumpy bed that she was on and tried to push herself up. A wave of pain shot through her arm and she nearly collapsed. “Don’t move,” the woman warned again. “You’ll only make it worse.”
    Nervous, Leah’s eyes searched the small chamber. It was dark save for the fire roaring in fireplace against the far wall. The bed she lay upon smelled of old sweat and musty hay, and the walls around her were bare. There was nothing to grab hold of and use as a weapon against this woman with the kindly face who was determined to burn her. Even now the woman turned back to the fire, stirring it up hotter. A whimper died in Leah’s throat.
    The door swung open, and instead of Christophe with the knife, it was Royce himself. He lit up in a smile at the sight of the wide-faced servant. “Maida! It is good to see you here.” The woman smiled and gave him a cheerful embrace. “It is good to see you return, Master Royce.”
    “Lord Royce, now,” he said, pride in his voice. “And now Lord of Northcliffe, thanks to the king. Where is Rutledge?”
    Maida waved a hand. “Scuttled out of the keep last night, I hear. You know these halls are riddled with secret passages. He likely crept out once he heard you were coming.” Royce came to Leah’s side, his face drawn into grim lines. She averted her face, staring down at the thick blankets as he examined the arrow protruding from her arm. “Has she said anything, Maida?”
    “Not a sound from her, milord. Not even when Christophe let her get smacked about by your soldiers.”
    Strong fingers touched her chin, angling her face toward his. “So you were telling the truth the whole time, my little silent one? You cannot speak?” The look on his