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We sit, the warmth of the fire a welcome respite from the cold. I’ve suddenly no desire to visit Murwood End in the winter.

“Aye. And was curious, before I spoke to Lorenson, why Silvester’s man and the queen’s sister had arrived with the king’s messengers. Even now,” he says as he pours a drink for Hilla, “I still wonder at the company you keep, my lady.”

Hilla reaches for her goblet, thanking him and pulling a piece of bread onto the pewter plate in front of her.

“As do I, at times, Master Aldwine.”

He laughs easily, and I cannot help but agree with d’Abella. He told me, as did Lady Aedre, Aldwine was born for the role his father wishes him to fulfill. A warrior, a gentleman, with a kindness that is evident, even though he cannot mask his unease at our presence.

“Dal said Aedre bid you to come here? Why would you help Galfrid after what he’s done?” he asks Hilla.

I hold my breath waiting for her answer. Lord d’Abella, Lady Aedre, and indeed Galfrid himself were quite clear. Aldwine refused the king’s summons because he hates the man for abandoning his mother. D’Abella, one of Galfrid’s most trusted men and like a son to him, told me the full story before we departed.

When the queen learned of her husband’s affair with one of her own ladies-in-waiting—Aldwine’s mother—and insisted she and the babe leave d’Almerita, the king reluctantly agreed. He made provisions for the safety of the mother and son, hiring the most skilled swordsman of his day, a mercenary with a highly regarded reputation in both kingdoms to bring them to Murwood End.

Galfrid was pleased to learn of the marriage between his former lover and the mercenary, even more so because the man had returned the trunk of gold coin he’d been paid to escort her to Murwood End. His son would be raised by an honorable man. Throughout the years, Galfrid sent men to Murwood End to check on Kipp.

The boy was well cared for . . . until his father died in battle and his mother succumbed to the same sleeping illness that took my own parents. Aldwine has never forgiven the king for sending his mother away and blames him for her death at too young an age.

Hilla now knows this story as well and is clearly being careful with her words.

“My father was a good king for many years,” she says. “He’d never been a particularly kind man, but always a good king to his people. When my mother died, he changed. Became bitter. Vengeful. After the affair that saw me banished and my sister named his successor, I cared for only one thing. Helping my sister rule the only home I’d known.”

Aldwine’s eyes narrow as he thinks on her words, mayhap realizing how much he and Hilla have in common.

“As I said, he was a good king, and Cettina had learned much from him. But whereas my father hated all Merians, your—” she clears her throat, “—King Galfrid included, Cettina does not. Indeed, she was quite angry that he’d sent two hundred men to Galmouth Bay. No doubt, had they landed, a bloody battle would have ensured many more years of enmity between our kingdoms.”

“No doubt,” Aldwine quips, clearly impatient with the topic. Each time the king is mentioned, he tenses.

Because I serve both kingdoms, I interject now. “He sent those men because of the attack on village of Saitford, where innocent Merians were killed.”

Hilla looks at me, but she does not dispute it.

“We now know,” I continue, the time having come for me to share my own piece of the puzzle, “that attack had been facilitated, not by sanctioned forces but by renegades, to cause the very war it nearly precipitated.” I take a deep breath and share my own story. “As you know from Dal Lorenson, I am not an Elderman. Few know the truth, even fewer the reason for my mission. Father Silvester has been busy these past years, securing his own continued influence. When King Malcom died and Cettina became queen, he wrongly saw an opportunity where one had not existed before.”

Aldwine frowns. “Because she is a woman.”

“Aye. And because he knew some in Edingham would seek to take advantage of what they saw as a weakness. You know the Highlander Lord Rawlins, I am told?”

Hilla eats in silence, listening. She knows some of this, but not all.

When I turn back to Aldwine, the look on his face startles me. If I thought his grimace at King Galfrid’s name was anger, it seems I misinterpreted it. But there is no mistaking his expression now as anything but true anger, for Aldwine’s knuckles are white as he grips the goblet so tight I would not be surprised if it bent beneath his fingers.

“Aye,” he grinds out, “I know the man well.”

Lady Aedre told me that story back at Castle d’Almerita.

Kipp holds Rawlins more responsible for his father’s death than he blames Galfrid for his mother’s. Indeed, Kipp commissioned a sword from my father once and told him his intention was to kill the Highlander with it someday. You see, Rawlins lost his estate and hired an army of mercenaries to gain it back. He did, at a considerable loss of life. And one of those mercenaries was Kipp’s father, Sir Nicholas. Worse, he refused to pay Kipp even though he fought alongside his father, saying his agreement was with the father and not the son.

But I already knew that story. I knew Sir Nicholas had met the man more than once. I would tell Aldwine, except that I cannot. My vow prevents it.

“Silvester sent me,” I continue, “to the Tournament of Loigh to treat with men in his service. Rawlins. Lord Whitley, Hilla’s late husband . . .”

Aldwine’s head snaps toward Hilla.

“I had not realized Lord Whitley was dead. My condolences, Lady Hilla.”

“No condolences necessary, my lord. He was not a good man and had planned to attack Craighcebor as another attempt to incite a war.”