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those who remain, suffice it to say, they are not . . . troubled.”
    A few of the men glanced askance at her. The dark knight,
Sir Kenneth,
simply locked his gaze on hers, the look in his eyes intensifying until she almost feared he could see straight into her heart.
    That he could sense her pain.
    Mayhap even sympathize with her.
    A possibility that struck a much too dangerous nerve as her father’s ne’er forgotten words tore through her, spiraling back to rip open her wounds and remind her of how poorly she’d judged.
    How easily she’d succumbed.
    Any man who professes to love you for naught but the sweetness of your smile and the bliss of your arms, is about to lead you down a sorrow-fraught path—straight to where’er he suspects your well-filled coffers!
    Anger pulsing through her, Mariota pushed the prophetic observation from her mind and welcomed the cold numbness she knew would soon sweep her.
    “I am Lady Mariota,” she said then, uncaring if the chill in her voice made her appear shrewish. “As lady of this castle, I can offer little hot food, nor even ale to quench your thirst, but you are welcome to what comforts are here.”
    Something flashed in the knight’s eyes, a glint of annoyance or perhaps dark bemusement. “You are kind,” he said, his features disturbingly handsome in the torchlight. “
Lady
of Cuidrach.”
    Well aware of the flush in her cheeks, Mariota gestured to the hearth where tendrils of steam still rose from the great iron cauldron suspended above the fire.
    “Some heated water yet remains,” she offered, her voice firm. “Mayhap attending your ablutions will compensate for our other lackings.”
    “Fair lady, I see no lackings save an honest explanation for your presence,” he returned, his stare darker, more probing than ever.
    “An honest explanation?” Her face flaming, Mariota indicated the hall’s hard-packed earth floor, its bare-swept coldness yet showing remnants of ash and lye.
    An unavoidable annoyance to be endured until she and Nessa could gather and strew a new layer of fresh rushes and sweet-smelling herbs—a necessity she hoped might now lend substance to the lies already spilling from her lips.
    “You think yourself deceived, good sir?” She hardened her face as best she could, tried to breathe past the tightness in her chest. “Then know that we would not have troubled ourselves sweeping out the old floor rushes and tossing them onto the dung heap did we not desire to ready the hall for my lord’s imminent arrival.”
    To her surprise, a faint gleam of amusement sparked in his eyes again. “Then I ought thank you, to be sure,” he said, nodding approval when an as-yet-unseen companion strode past with a large dog basket and a clutch of tatty, moth-eaten plaids.
    “Thank me?” Mariota blinked, her mind whirling.
    “Indeed,” the knight concurred, stepping aside to allow the passage of an ancient-looking hound. “For ensuring—”
    “Nay, do not say it.” She lifted a hand and took a deep breath, a sinking feeling spreading through her.
    “See you, in all my years functioning as lady-of-the-keep for my father, I saw to the needs of quite a few knightly guests, making certain their bellies were filled and their throats adequately quenched. I spent hours assuring the lordly ones received orderly lodgings, their beds kept warmed and their bathing water hot.
    But ne’er once have I seen a wayfaring knight escort a lame-hipped, aging dog across my hall and then settle the beast in his own bed beside the hearth fire.”
    She paused, drew a breath. “Until now.”
    And the implication made her shudder.
    She shot a glance at Nessa, but that one was already threading her way toward the hall’s main door arch, her purposeful stride showing that she, too, had guessed their visitors’ intent.
    Leaving
him
to follow her or nay, Mariota hastened after Nessa only to discover chaos in Cuidrach’s rain-splattered bailey.
    The courtyard hummed with