“Does she have advice for how to accomplish that?”
“Put down the poker.”
“Seems risky.”
Joan set the candle on the table and crossed the room. She smelled of rushes, soap, and kitchen smoke, and beneath thefear in her face was something bright and thrilling. A girl who had discovered the world contained secrets, danger, and a red-haired woman willing to insult armed men to their faces.
Amelia recognized the look. It was the look Bree got right before doing something everyone would discuss for years.
“Sir Roger sent for Father Martin,” Joan said softly.
Amelia’s grip tightened. “Where is he?”
“In the lower chamber. He refused to come up until Dame Margaret was allowed to attend you.”
“Smart man.”
“Aye. Too smart, mayhap. Sir Roger doesn’t like smart men.”
“That explains Crale.”
Joan’s eyes flashed with delighted horror. “Mistress.”
“Sorry. Nope, I’m not really. Continue.”
Joan leaned closer. “Father Martin says he’ll speak to you in the chapel before Compline. He said a woman accused falsely should be shriven where witnesses can see she still has a soul.”
“That sounds very holy.”
“It means he doesn’t want to be alone with Sir Roger’s men in the hall.”
“That also sounds very smart.”
Joan nodded, then glanced toward the door. “He said to tell you wax remembers.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“But he does.”
“Aye.”
The sound of steps came down the corridor. Heavy. Male.
Joan snatched the poker from Amelia’s hand and shoved it under the bed with surprising efficiency. “Look sad.”
“I am sad.”
“More helpless. Less stabby.”
“I don’t do helpless.”
“Try badly, then.”
The door opened before Amelia could answer.
Dame Margaret entered first, and behind her came Sir Roger Belmaine.
