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After making sure her wimple still covered her hair completely, Elizabeth crossed the great hall and allowed the usher to open one of the double doors for her. She stood on the top step and tried to take satisfaction in the normal comings and goings of her people. She could hear a hammer striking an anvil from the blacksmith’s shop; one dairymaid called to another from the buttery; and dogs chased chickens across the hard-packed earth. Soldiers left the barracks heading for the tiltyard, shoving each other and boasting of their prowess. That was when her fantasy of her old life was shattered. They weren’t her soldiers. Hers were out in the forest somewhere, ordered to look for thieves—ordered not to return?

Bannaster’s soldiers eyed her people and her property with a lasciviousness that frightened her. As she walked down the stairs to the ground, she again drew the regard of more than one of them and wished she’d brought a cloak to wrap about herself, as if she needed protection. When her parents and first betrothed had died, she’d felt vulnerable, but nothing like this. There was no protection when she was masquerading as a simple maid. Where Sir John had looked at her with interest, these soldiers looked…lustful. She shivered. She’d thought to control her life by taking on Anne’s role, but the vulnerability of it stunned her.

She wanted to escape back into the castle, but if she showed fear, they might consider her even more a target. So she forced herself to walk toward the lady’s garden, her private retreat with trees and flowers and walkways, fenced off from the rest of the ward.

As she walked, she glanced up at the window of the bedchamber Sir John and his clerk had been given. Someone stood there, looking down on the ward below. Surely it was Philip the clerk, but somehow, just the sight of him gave her resolve. She was not going to allow fear to rule her. She had handled the bailiff and his clerk—she would handle these soldiers.

Her presence here would prove to her people that she had not forgotten them, that she would prevail. Even if no outsiders came to help them in time.

* * *

As the great hall was beginning to fill for supper that night, Elizabeth went to Sir John’s chamber to inquire whether he wanted a tray sent up. When she heard the summons to enter, she did so, and then came up short. Philip was absent, and Sir John was on his feet, propped up with a new wooden crutch rather than the makeshift branch. She had not realized how very tall he was, how he dwarfed the small chamber. When he saw her, he smiled, and the effect once again flustered her. She would have thought that a man with a narrow scar down the side of his face would be ugly, but it only made him appear even more a man. He had not gotten such a thing hunched over his account books. Even the bruises on his face did not bother her. He was wearing a tunic that covered him to his knees, probably to hide the fact that he couldn’t wear hose over his splint. His boots were laced all the way up his calf, though she imagined that when he sat down, his bare knees would show.

Why was she thinking about that? She had to remember her anger, the way he suspiciously questioned her too closely about things that were not his business.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and tried to appear distant, though pleasant. She did not want to encourage any more intimacy. “Sir John, I was going to ask if you wanted a supper tray, but it seems you wish to venture out of this chamber.”

“The hours have seemed long today, Anne,” he said, limping forward. “I sent Philip to find you, but you must have missed each other.”

“The corridors can be confusing at first.”

She eyed him with growing trepidation as he came closer and closer. The width of his chest was as great as any knight in training; surely he still wielded a sword in practice.

But she was so distracted by his physical being that she failed to notice his eyes widening as the crutch caught on the bed.

“Move aside!” he commanded.

The power in his voice was so great that she almost obeyed him. But how could she let an injured man fall to the floor? His hand flailed for a bedpost, but it was too late. Elizabeth stepped forward and grabbed his upper arms, trying to brace him. His chest hit her hard in the shoulder, but she was a strong woman, and bore his weight until he was able to get his good leg back under him. She felt the warmth of his body against hers. The muscles in his arms were thick and as hard as marble. When he righted himself, he stood far too close, looking down on her as she looked up. His gaze was intense, curious, and she wondered how she had felt to him.

Oh bother, she thought, backing away several steps. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He smiled. “I will be when I learn to use this crutch. Please forgive my clumsiness.”

“I’m glad the chamberlain found you a bedchamber on the first floor, so you could come to the great hall without using stairs. But you’ll need to use them to go outside.”

“Sending me away already?” he asked softly. “Did I so offend you this afternoon?”

She hesitated. “Nay, I was not offended.”

“You were.”

She bit her lip and met his gaze. “Aye, I was. I’ve since thought on it, and I know you were only trying to help. But I know you not, and I could never trust you.”

He nodded. “Trust takes time to flourish. I am patient.”

“Why do you want my trust?” she asked suspiciously.

“I worry for you and your mistress.”

She looked away. “Come, they will not hold supper for us.”

Elizabeth walked slowly at his side down the long corridor, relaxing as he limped with more and more confidence. She tried to imagine being able to rely on Sir John, but she couldn’t. How could a mere bailiff—and injured at that—help her? He and his clerk were alone in the world.

The trestle tables in the great hall were filling up with household servants, as well as those whose duties were out in the ward. Elizabeth was worried about the slight hush that occurred at her entrance, but immediately someone had laughed loudly, and the normal hum of conversation resumed. Trying to relax, she remained at Sir John’s side, keeping her eyes on his progress through the clean rushes on the floor, rather than on her people. Philip waved his arm, and they joined him at a free table.

Just as Elizabeth was about to leave Sir John and take a tray up to Anne, she heard Milburn call her name. He was seated at the head table on the raised dais, as if he’d become the earl of Alderley.

Elizabeth approached him. “Aye, Master Milburn?”