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reminding her that she needed to get to the shore, and soon.
    On silent, painful feet, she padded over to the thick wooden door. A stream of faint light shone underneath. Her hands felt along the door jamb, looking for a doorknob, and came to a thick metal bolt. She moved it out of place and tugged on the door.
    It wouldn’t open. She was locked in.
    It didn’t register at first. She gave the door another tug, thinking that she’d underestimated the weight. When the second tug was equally useless, she began to panic. Using her good hand, she beat on the door, hoping that the ineffective sounds were heard.
    I can’t even call for help , she thought bitterly. She heard the shuffle of feet outside the door and the low murmur of voices. Encouraged, she pounded on the door again, her hand aching and raw.
    A few moments passed, and then there was a soft knock on the other side of the door.
    “May I enter, child?” It was a soft masculine voice, not that of Royce or his men that she had met.
    Leah hugged the blanket close to her and took a few steps back from the door, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting. A small man came in and smiled at her. He wore long gray robes, and his hair was cut in a thickly fringed cap. “I am Father Andrew. Lord Royce has asked me to sit with you for a time.”
    Probably to see if he could get more answers out of her , she thought wryly.
    The priest pulled a small wooden stool to her bedside and sat, smiling faintly. “Do you have a name, child?”
    Leah nodded and mouthed her name to him, trying to enunciate.
    It was useless. He gave her another faint smile and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you.”
    Frustrated, Leah mimed holding a pen and scribbling. Maybe she could write it down for him.
    He watched her motions and cocked his head to the side, trying to understand. “Your hand hurts you?”
    She wished she could groan her frustration.
    It must have shown on her face, for the priest gave her another look of embarrassment.
    “Perhaps we could narrow it down, then. Is yours a common name?”
    Leah shrugged. What was common to him?
    “Norman? Saxon? You have the look of the Irish about you.” When those suggestions garnered no more response than a wrinkling of the nose, he tried again. “Something from the Bible?”
    Her eyes lit up and she nodded, smiling at the priest. He thought for a moment, then hesitantly asked, “Mary?”
    She shook her head, and he continued down the list of names. It took some time before he worked around to “Leah?” but when he did, she exploded with excitement, grasping his hand in her good one and nodding enthusiastically.
    “Your name is Leah? How lovely.” He smiled at her. “And are you a noble’s daughter?
    Or one of the castle folk?”
    She shook her head, not sure how to respond to that. Peasant or noble didn’t factor in to her old life. Leah shrugged and looked away.
    The priest gave up at that point, letting the questioning die down. “Well, Leah, my lord FitzWarren is at a loss at what to do with you. His men suspect you are a spy, but he thinks you are the leman of Rutledge. Since he now owns all in this castle, that would make you part of the bargain. Do you understand what I am saying?”
    Her mouth thinned. She understood. The baron could do what he wished with her and the priest would not do anything to change that.
    She felt his hands clasp her own. “If there is anything I can do, child, please let me know.
    I know that you cannot give confession because of your affliction, but the Lord hears silent prayers as well. If there is anything that you need, I shall endeavor to get it for you.”
    She needed to get to the ocean before her legs gave her any more pain. Leah gestured at the door, and then made a swimming motion. She even held her nose to see if that had any more success.
    The priest shook his head again. “I do not understand.” Leah frowned in frustration, then touched her tangled hair and made a