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“You were not thinking of leaving the great hall,” he said reprovingly.

“I was going up to my mistress to eat with her.”

His jaws clenched together. “Nay, I have been studying the efficiency of the servants at meals and more help is needed. Go to the kitchen and help serve.”

Elizabeth nodded and turned away, but she could not miss the wide-eyed gazes that stared back at her in shock. She smiled pleasantly at her people, hoping they understood that this did not bother her, that they must keep calm. But after taking a serving tray from Adalia and beginning to offer slices of roast lamb to the nearest table, the muttering grew worse. Laughter died. When she could, she tried to reassure stable grooms and dairymaids alike with quiet whispers, but the looks cast at the steward grew in ferocity.

Elizabeth did not want to be discovered. She smiled and encouraged people to help themselves from her tray. She saw Sir John frowning as he looked all around him, then back at her. Even Milburn seemed mildly surprised by the reaction.

She neared a table of Bannaster’s soldiers, and one grabbed her arm. He had a thick beard and long hair, which seemed to merge together at his shoulders.

“Ye passed me by,” he said angrily.

She tried to shake off his grip, but he held on. “I was returning to the kitchens for more lamb. Would you not rather have fresh, hot meat?”

“Aye, I would,” he said, sharing a raucous laugh with his tablemates.

He pulled her closer, until she was forced to lean over him, or lose the use of her arm. Did this fool not hear the angry silence that had greeted his treatment of her? Or mayhap he did not care.

“You are not an old hag to be wearing the likes of that,” the soldier said, gesturing at her wimple. “Take it off, so I can see the color of yer hair.”

Several of the stable grooms had risen to their feet, as well as the blacksmith, who flexed his enormous arms in preparation for a fight. A soldier behind her assailant stood as well, his face ferocious with anticipation.

And then someone touched her shoulder from behind, and she screamed. Were they coming at her from all sides?

Six

John felt Anne’s cry reverberate through her tense body where they touched. She struggled against the man still holding her arm, even as she glanced over her shoulder. When she saw John, some relief showed through her fear.

“Release the maid,” John said coldly.

The bearded soldier rose to his feet and tugged even harder on Anne. The tray fell from her hands to spill into the rushes, and she stumbled into him.

John could not allow her to be mauled. He slid his arm around her waist from behind to steady her. He wished he could wield a sword—or even the crutch—but he must not draw more suspicion on himself.

Anne was warm and soft, trembling violently. Yet still the soldier gripped her arm. John balanced on his crutch and used his free hand to draw his dagger.

“Are you goin’ to prick me with that little thorn?” the soldier called, roaring with laughter. “I’ll go through you before I get to the maid.”

The hall had grown so quiet that this boast rang out, drawing the attention of the steward.

“Enough,” Milburn called in his usual clipped tones. “Anne, sit down and amuse our guest. He does not know anyone here but you and his clerk.”

The bearded soldier released her slowly and let his fingers trail hard down the length of her arm. “Another time,” he growled, low enough that only she and John heard him.

As she pulled away, the man’s grip lingered too long. John felt a rush of uncommon rage that threatened to overrule his good sense. He envisioned the damage he could do to the soldier’s face with one thrust of the dagger.

But at last Anne was free of threat, and John reluctantly stepped away from her. With her head held high, she turned and headed for his table. She was a brave woman, obviously unused to such poor treatment, especially having been raised with an earl’s daughter.

John gazed into the eyes of her attacker as he slowly sheathed his dagger. And then with a deliberate insult, John gave his back and limped away. There were whistles and hisses behind him, but he did not turn around. He would have felt it, had the soldier come at him. But he had made an enemy this day.

Anne sat down on a bench, looking back to give John a smile that tried for polite and came across as grim. “My thanks, Sir John. But you should not have endangered yourself when you are ill.”

He took his seat opposite her, frustrated at having to back down. With a rough voice, he said, “You thought I should watch that son of a⁠—”

“Anne,” Philip interrupted, “might I fill your plate for you?”

John stifled his anger.