For love he would have wed a commoner, and one hardly pure—a stretch near breaking point to believe of a noble.

Of course, now that Elias was heir, that breaking point had been reached. It was the way of the world. Would there ever come a day when it was not? When any who loved could join their life with any they loved without punishment, condemnation, loss?

One day, she thought and glanced at Elias’s arm around her waist. But not within memory of your days outside of heaven, Honore of Bairnwood.

She looked up, silently entreated, Lord, whomever Elias must wed to do his duty, let him grow to love her and her to love him.

Minutes later, he slowed his mount and Theo came alongside, Cynuit holding to his back. “Château de Sevier is over that rise.” Elias jutted his chin at a hill half a league distant, its edges blurred by rain so light it appeared more a mist. “Fortunately, we have good cause to keep our heads covered, and that we shall do lest Arblette has joined the troupe likely to make camp outside the walls. Understood?”

All agreed, then Elias said, “Providing we are granted admittance, Theo will see to the horses and Cynuit will accompany Lady Honore and me to the donjon. Once the horses are stabled, Theo will wander the troupe’s camp, keeping his head down and listening well.”

The squire nodded.

“Honore, you shall continue to play my cousin come from England, and methinks you ought to feign illness.”

She shifted around. “For?”

“To discover if Hart is with the troupe, we may require more than a night’s lodging, and that is more likely granted if you are unwell.”

And out of the way, Honore considered. Because of worry she would be unable to sustain playing the lady? Because her scar would draw attention? Because it would embarrass him?

She rejected that last, said, “For what other reasons would you hide me away?”

Though his face was shadowed by the hood, there was no mistaking his frown. “One only—Arblette. If he is at Sevier, it will be difficult enough for Theo and me to avoid alerting him we have come for Hart, and if you are confined abovestairs, there is good cause for Cynuit to remain near to ensure your needs are met.”

She nodded.

“Theo, fall back,” Elias said. “I must speak with Honore alone.” When there was distance between the horses, he said, “My word I give.”

“I believe you.”

“Honore—”

“I do!” she said more sharply than intended, then sighed. “I do, Elias.”

“I am glad.”

She started to turn forward.

“I would think it easiest to pretend malady of the…” His voice lowered. “…womanly sort. Can you do it?”

Rather than match his unease over talk of menses, she gave a short laugh. “I am not so old my experience with such is in the past. Indeed, this day I am not long from its reality that could make pretense unnecessary.”

As she felt his unease surge, she considered that if her monthly did arrive soon, the pretense would see her supplied with cloths for wherever next they journeyed.

“I did not mean to imply you are too old,” he said. “Simply, much has been asked of you thus far, and—”

“I know not your experience with such things,” she said, “but to be convincing I need not moan and bend over, though some women do suffer so much they are unable to put a stoic face upon their pain. I have but to express my need and discomfort to the lady of the castle. Unless she has no sympathy about her, she will see me provided for.”

His smile was wry. “My experience with such is limited, though there is no doubt as to the monthly suffering of my stepmother who is years younger than I.”

“I am sorry to hear that. There are some at Bairnwood who would agree with men it is the curse of Eve visited on them.”

“It is good you do not think it that, Honore.”

She did not, though like the sisters who would never gain the blessing of a child born of their bodies she might be justified in naming it a curse for having no reason to bleed.

They settled into silence, and she would have been content to remain thus if not for memories of the night past. “I thank you for the tale of Cant. I am glad to know it.”

“How much of it did Lady Susanna reveal?”

“Very little beyond it being a much darker time best told by you.”

He nodded.

“Methinks you loved Lettice very much.”

“I did.”

“Many a song you must have written her.”

After a long silence, he said, “Ever I meant to, and a few I began, but none I completed or committed to memory. Mayhap I did not love her as much as thought, hmm?”

“Of course you did.” Lest he recall his final parting with Lettice, Honore searched for something to move his thoughts elsewhere and landed on a curiosity. “There is something I would know.”

“Ask it.”

Moistening her lips, she felt the dip in the upper. “How did you learn of Hart so many years after his birth?”

His tension did not abate. “From the man who is as likely the boy’s father as I.”

She caught her breath. Then he knew Finwyn—?

Recalling what she had pondered on the night past as she watched for Elias moving among the trees, she realized it was more likely he spoke of the knight with whom he had found Lettice.

“The one who beat Elias Cant,” he said. “He whose sword and armor I took.”

“You saw him again?”

“Not long ago, I was in Rouen on business and paused at a tavern. As I finished my meal, several knights entered. It being dim, I did not recognize any, knew only from their accented French they were English. But ere they reached the bar, the boasting began, and I knew one of their numbers. Though I told myself to leave, it was as if Lettice entered with him, and I had to know what I had long denied myself—how she fared.”

A muscle at his jaw jerked. “When a stool became available beside him, I took it. Engaging him in talk, I watched to see if I was recognized. I was not, though I knew well his face, not only for the arrogance scored into it but the bend of the nose I had broken in rending him unconscious ere relieving him of his knight’s finery. I bought him a drink, asked after his stay in France, and was told his sword arm was so coveted he had recently left the service of a baron of northern England to serve a greater baron of the south who entrusted him with business in Normandy. Between expressions of great admiration, I probed, and when he revealed the name of the barony upon which he had previously served, I made much of having passed through one of its villages.”

“Forkney,” Honore said.

He smiled tautly. “I ordered more ale, and we talked of the village we both agreed had little to recommend it—except the women, I made great show of clarifying. He agreed and boasted of a buxom red-headed beauty. Obliged to boast of my own favored beauty, I described Lettice. He said she sounded familiar and had likely been amongst his conquests. When he asked her name, I struggled for it, submitting variations until he supplied it and said he had her many times until she lost her position at the castle and devoted herself to harlotry.”

Feeling his ache, Honore regretting asking him to satisfy her curiosity. It was cruel.

“I asked what caused her to lose her position,” he continued, “and he said the lady of the castle had her removed when she could no longer hide her pregnancy. The knight laughed, mused it could have been his babe she carried, then said perhaps it was mine.” Elias momentarily closed his eyes. “There was naught over which to smile or laugh, but I managed both and said the only way the child could be mine was if Lettice became pregnant eight years ago. He slapped me on the back and said the fathering of her bastard fit me as well as him.”

Longing to reach to him, Honore gripped the pommel tighter.

“The temptation to beat him again was great, and greater yet when I asked what became of her child. He said he did not know nor care, but when last he glimpsed her six months past she was not as lovely, that such it was with whores.”

“Elias,” Honore whispered.

He gave a shake of the head. “Knowing I must leave ere I did something I would regret, I concluded my business, collected my squire, and set sail for England.”

More silence, during which her mulling returned her to a question whose answer yet eluded. She hated using the opportunity to discover if he could as easily be Hart’s father as Finwyn or the knight he had beaten, but guilt over endangering him and his family for something not of his doing pushed her forward.

But if what he tells eliminates him, her conscience rebutted, will you reveal the truth? Risk losing his aid?

From what she now knew of Elias, and she hoped she did not fool herself in believing it was more than she did, he would keep his word to Lettice. And Honore would be the ungodly one who had said she could not recall the month in which the babe had become her responsibility.

I know not what I will do, she told her conscience, then said, “Did the knight reveal when last he was with Lettice so you might set it against when last you were with her?”

“I did not ask. He did not say.”

So either she rouse his suspicion as to exactly how much she knew by asking him when last he had been with Lettice or once more she let it be.

“What is it, Honore?”

In that moment she wished for her gorget, certain she was more easily read in its absence. Though she could think of nothing over which to turn her lips, she smiled. “I am grateful Hart has you for a champion and hope you are his sire. Methinks I would rather lose him to you than have him return with me to Bairnwood.”

“You honor me.”

She looked forward, silently bemoaned, All whilst further deceiving you.