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chamber, leaving Emma alone in the antechamber with Darian.
    “Kent!” he complained. “How am I supposed to catch a murderer if I am exiled to Kent?”
    He wasn’t the only one who preferred not to go to Kent.
    “I shall not be able to speak with the king about my sister from there, either. Sweet Jesu, how am I to explain to Nicole that I have failed her? What a mess!”
    He raised an eyebrow. “You will remember who got us into this mess.”
    She raised her chin. This unpleasant turn of events was
not
all her fault. “Perhaps next time you will keep better track of your belongings so you cannot be accused of murder!”
    He leaned forward, so close she caught his musky scent. “Perhaps next time you will do me the favor of not meddling in my affairs. And just how did you know I have a scar under my ribs?”
    Emma bit her bottom lip. She’d interfered and knew of his scar from a vision. She didn’t dare tell him how clearly she’d seen, and admired, more than his scar.
    “I guessed. All men who wield weapons bear scars somewhere, and I doubted the bishop would force you to remove your clothing to prove it.”
    “You guessed?”
    “Had I told him you have a scar on your right thigh, would I have been correct?”
    He backed away, his eyes widening in horrified disbelief. “Aye.”
    “Then my guesses are not too off the mark, are they? If we are to leave within the hour, had we best not prepare? We shall need a cart for my trunks.”
    Her change of subject brought a frown to his face. “How many trunks?”
    “Two.”
    “Must you take them both?”
    “For certes, I cannot leave anything here. If I send for them later, I might not get anything back, maybe not even the trunks.”
    “Should they not be safe in the queen’s solar?” “As safe as was your dagger in the barracks.”
    Darian traversed the long, narrow room lined with pallets the mercenaries closest to William occupied as their barracks when at Westminster.
    Marc, Philip, and Armand, all men he’d trusted, sat cross-legged on the plank floor at the end of the room, tossing dice. Had one of these men betrayed him? The very thought made him ill.
    Damn, he wished he didn’t have to leave, but William had ordered him to go to Hadone, so go he would.
    Where Emma de Leon required two trunks to hold her belongings, Darian needed but one leather satchel to contain all his worldly goods. He picked it up from where it sat on the pallet he’d been using, the same satchel from which someone had filched his dagger this morn.
    He flipped it open to see if aught else had been disturbed.
    He rummaged under a spare tunic to find a small pack containing his shaving knife and an ivory comb. A large, heavy sack of coins felt no lighter than before. ’Twas all he owned and aspired to nothing more. What a man owned could be taken away from him, as his father had been robbed of his family, property, and life. As Darian’s dagger had been taken this morning.
    From behind him he could hear the other mercenaries approach.
    “Heard rumors, Darian. What happened?” Marc asked. “Rumors already?”
    “The men loading de Salis into a cart possessed loose tongues. Is it true?”
    “What did you hear?”
    “That the watch found your dagger near de Salis’s body, and Bishop Henry hauled both the corpse and dagger before the king and accused you of murder. That the woman who you were with last night came forward and the king was forcing you to marry her. Quite eventful for so early in the day.”
    News traveled quickly at court, and Darian wasn’t sure which bothered him more, being unjustly accused of murder or being forced to marry Emma de Leon.
    Married. Ye gods.
    Surely Emma disliked being forced into marriage as much as he. Was it possible to have the vows declared illegal, obtain an annulment? A bright thought on a dreary morn. He’d have to speak to her about an annulment and would have plenty of time to do so in Kent.
    He almost groaned aloud. He did
not
want