The mounted men-at-arms now waited in the bailey, and the four knights with them had been brought into the hall. Wilda was sent to wake her lady. Sir Guibert frowned at her for hesitating outside the door, but, oh dear, she did not want to be the one to bring this news.
“Wilda!”
She sent Sir Guibert an aggrieved look before opening the door and stepping into the dark room. She lit a candle, stalling for time.
“I am not ready to rise, Wilda,” Leonie murmured sleepily as the light woke her.
“Sir Guibert sent me, my lady, to tell you there are men here, your husband’s men, waiting. They—they say you must go with them to Crewel.”
Silence from the bed. Then a tiny whisper. “Why?”
“They would not say,” Wilda admitted.
“Give me my bedrobe. Hurry.”
Wilda did as asked, not realizing that Leonie meant to rush out of the room wearing only that.
“My lady!”
Leonie didn’t stop until she saw the four knights gathered by the hearth with Sir Guibert, and then she wanted to run back before they saw her. She had expected only men-at-arms, servants she could demand answers from. But knights of the Black Wolf would not be intimidated. Why were there four of them? Was trouble expected—trouble from her?
It was not easy to carry herself forward into the room, but she forced herself.
“You are here by Rolfe d’Ambert’s order?”
Her question was met with silence. Three of the knights actually turned away. The fourth, the man she knew to be Sir Thorpe, scowled at her. She turned frightened eyes toward Sir Guibert, who lost his temper.
“You will answer my lady or she will not leave Pershwick!”
“Yourlady?” Sir Thorpe echoed, and the four knights looked at her with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. But Leonie was more embarrassed, realizing that they hadn’t guessed who she was. It was her own fault, dressed as she was, her hair not even covered.
“Your pardon, Lady Leonie,” one of the younger men began. “But we did not realize—”
She waved a hand. “I know. You must forgive me for not greeting you in proper attire. You are…”
“Richard Amyas.”
He hastily introduced the others to her. Amyas was a handsome young man with dark brown hair and green eyes that admired her frankly. Sir Reinald was even younger, with a devastating smile, golden hair, and brown eyes. His skin was a contrasting olive hue, and he was so handsome as to be almost angelic looking.
Sir Piers was the complete opposite. His face was so battle scarred that he aroused pity, but he had the loveliest violet eyes. He eyed her coldly, and she wondered why.
Thorpe de la Mare was the oldest of the four, and near Guibert’s age. He had the same dark coloring as Rolfe, and he seemed to find something amusing. His dark brown eyes fairly danced with laughter, and it was all Leonie could manage not to ask him what amused him so.
Sir Richard told her that her husband had charged them with seeing her safely to Crewel. She waited breathlessly for him to say more, but there was no more.
“Did he say nothing else?” she asked, perplexed and afraid.
“Only that you are to bring with you all that belongs to you by way of clothes and personal effects, so it is assumed you are to reside at Crewel.”
She nearly fainted. She had once been resigned to living at Crewel, resigned to suffering there, but then she was sent back to Pershwick and everything was all right again. Now, it seemed, all was lost.
“It will take time to pack everything,” Leonie heard herself saying in a dead voice.
“That is why we are here so early,” Sir Thorpe supplied cheerfully. “But do hurry as best you can, my lady.”
Hurry to what awaited her?Do not linger or you will begin to cry.
She said to Guibert, “See to their comfort and then send to me all the servants you can gather.” With a nod to the four knights, Leonie returned to her room. For the rest of the morning, if she did not allow herself to think, she was able to give crisp orders about the packing. If she did think, she became a mass of trembling nerves, and was overset by tears she could not stifle.
