"Are they mostly recruited serfs, or hired men?"

"Serfs I think, since most speak only English," Thorpe replied.

"Then I will offer them what we offered the Axeford and Harwick soldiers. They can stay and fight for me or go. The hired men, too, because the fewer of our own men we have to leave here the better. Who do you suggest I put in charge?"

"Walter Wyclif. He has asked for Wroth, and since Richard and Piers and Reinald want to stay with the army—"

"But I would have given Sir Walter a larger keep, one of those we've yet to win."

"He wants to be settled now. He's tired of riding back and forth from Axeford Town where his wife is staying. He wants Lady Bertha with him, because he says she causes too much mischief when she's left alone."

Rolfe chuckled, but Thorpe frowned. "I would not laugh, my friend.

You yourself have a wife who is prone to mischief-making."

"She's caused no trouble since she married me," Rolfe said defensively.

"Not yet," muttered his friend.

Rolfe was in the midst of defending his wife when they heard horses galloping into camp. As they left the tent, a rider dismounted, nearly bursting with news.

"My lord, Nant Keep has surrendered!"

"What terms?" Rolfe demanded.

"No terms. Their food supply ran out, and it seems they had rationed it so long, they were too weak to fight. The vassal simply begs mercy."

"I believe my luck has turned, Thorpe," Rolfe said, grinning.

But as the words left his mouth, another rider skidded to a halt and shouted, "My lord, your mill at Crewel has been set afire!"

Rolfe glowered at Thorpe. "Have five men ready immediately, but you stay to lead the army to Warling Keep."

"Sir Piers can lead the army—"

"I do not need a keeper! I will see to the fire myself. Do as I ask, Thorpe."

Less than ten minutes later Rolfe was riding toward Crewel, five men-at-arms following in his wake. Fifteen miles separated the two properties, and they rode hard, the ancient road leading through forests and open fields.

Rolfe's large destrier was not bred for speed, yet he reached the area of the Crewel mill well ahead of his men. Pausing beside the rapid stream that cut through the woods north of the village, Rolfe saw dozens of village men as well as several of his soldiers. They were moving slowly, so he guessed the fire had been put out.

He urged his horse ahead, but there was no longer any need to race the wind. He was barely within shouting distance when the arrow struck him. It tore through several chain-mail links and then it lodged in his hip.

Rolfe caught a fleeting glimpse of forms slithering away into the shadows of the woods before a full measure of pain washed over him.

Chapter 24

LEONIE was accustomed to seeing blood, even as much blood as this.

She had treated many wounds, but she became almost hysterical at the thought of treating Rolfe.

Their eyes met as he was carried, conscious now, into the hall. The look in his eyes froze her. There was fury in that look, furious accusation.

Why?

"My lady?"

Wilda and Mildred were looking at her anxiously.

"Yes?"

Wilda said, "Sir Thorpe wants to move my lord Rolfe to his—your—room. Will you see to him?"

"Has he asked for me?"

Wilda could not meet her eyes. "He asked for the leech."

That hurt more than his accusation. "Then that is that."

"But, my lady," Mildred whispered, "Odo is only a barber! I know many barbers have some knowledge of healing and serve as leech, but Odo is a fool. He would rather let a man die than admit he cannot help him. You remember Odo, my lady. He is the one you chastised when he nearly let my mother die."

Leonie stared hard at Mildred, then turned away. Had she mistaken Rolfe's look, or did he truly believe she had somehow contrived to wound him?

Upstairs, she found a guard in the antechamber, barring her entrance.

She tried to pass him and he moved quickly to block her way.

"I am sorry, my lady," was all he would say.

"Did my husband order you to keep me out?" she demanded.

He looked down at his feet without speaking. That was answer enough.

"Is the leech with him now?" she asked.

"I—"

He was interrupted by a bellowed curse and a crash from behind the closed door. Leonie turned stark white, and then the color rushed back into her cheeks as her temper exploded.

"I could have saved him that pain!" Her eyes stabbed the guard with her fury. "Let me pass now before he suffers more."

"I am sorry, my lady, but you must not—"

"You have no more sense than that fool in there who dares to call himself a healer. Do you hear that, Odo?" she shouted at the door. "If you harm him or maim him with your ignorance, I will see you hanged by your thumbs until they fall off! And if he dies, you will wish a thousand times that you had died instead!" Then she whirled at the guard, now staring at her wide-eyed. "And so will you!"

Inside the room, Odo had heard her clearly. He hesitated as he bandaged the gaping wound where he had ripped out the arrow. But it was quiet outside the door now, and as long as the lord was now unconscious, he could bandage him easily.

Leonie had been heard below the stairs, and she received many strange looks when she returned to the hall. She paced, in anger and frustration, striding back and forth before the cold hearth. No one dared speak to her.

Sir Evarard refused to go against Rolfe's orders and admit her to their room, althoughhewas allowed inside. Leonie finally sent a messenger to Thorpe de la Mare, hoping that Rolfe's friend, an older and wiser man, would put an end to this foolishness.

But Sir Thorpe arrived early that evening and closed himself in the room with Rolfe, not emerging until late that night. Leonie waited for him in the hall, and attacked him the moment he came down the stairs.

"How is he?"

Thorpe eyed her coldly. "Sleeping."

"And the wound?"

"He will mend—no thanks to you."

"You too?" she hissed. Knowing she was too angry to restrain herself, she turned aside, staring at the ceiling, reining herself in. Then she turned back to him. "Sir Thorpe, no matter what you think—no matter whathe thinks—I was not responsible for what happened. Nor would my people attack him now. He is my husband.Whydo you believe I caused this?"

she demanded.

Thorpe settled into a chair and bellowed for a servant to bring food.

Not until food and wine had been given him did he pierce her with his dark eyes . . . eyes so like Rolfe's. "He saw whoever fired the arrow moving off through the woods toward Pershwick. Evarard says that you have returned to Pershwick since coming here."

"That is true. My aunt Beatrix continues to live there. I have every right to visit her. How does that condemn me?"

"You had time to plan your husband's death while you were there. It is well known that you did not want to marry him and are still not reconciled to the marriage. It is equally well known that before you even met him, you caused him much grief. The conclusion is obvious. You want to rid yourself of him."

"If that is so, why did I help him take Wroth Keep? Also, I could have poisoned him myself at any time and blamed it on that filthy kitchen. But I had his kitchens cleaned instead."

"Youdid that?"

"Oho! So another one is quick to believe that the changes were Lady Amelia's doing. After living here in this filth hole for so long, she all of a sudden decided to take his property in hand, is that right? Oh, believe what you like. Believe also that I would leave to a chancy arrow what I could easily have done properly. I do not do things in half measures, Sir Thorpe. If I had wanted my husband dead, he would be dead."

"You have always been against him, Lady Leonie. Can you denythat?"

"I shall neither make denials nor offer excuses for what I felt in the past. I was told the Black Wolf was a monster, Alain Montigny was my friend and your lord meant to kill him if he could find him. Yes, I despised him for coming here. Alain, whose home was stolen from him, had to flee for his life. I would even have gathered my people to help Alain keep what was his, but he chose not to fight."

"Butyouchose to do so, Lady Leonie."

"There you are wrong," Leonie said frigidly. "I cursed the Black Wolf for the usurper he was, only that. My people did the rest, taking my anger as theirs. It became their cause. But the only harm I have ever done him was when I wounded him on my wedding night." She added hastily, "And that was an accident— one he doesn't even remember."

Thorpe scowled blackly. "Then it is good that Rolfe doesn't want you near him."

Leonie gasped. "You have not heard a word I've said! I wish to help him. I can ease his suffering. I can—"

"You can stay away from him. Even if he would relent and let you treat him, I do not trust you, Lady Leonie. It is because of my foolish tongue that you are wed. Once I saw you, I was foolish again, thinking it was not so bad that you and he marry. But I was wrong. And he is wise enough now not to trust you again."

"You are a stubborn man, Thorpe de la Mare, and I will pray for my husband's sake that you do not remain so. Odo will do him more harm than good."

"The leech? He is finished now, and Rolfe will heal quickly, as he has always done. Did you think this was his first wound?" Thorpe shook his head.

"I hope you are right."