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John saw Philip leave a sturdy building next to the barracks. John knew he’d been working in the armory. Today he wore a battered chest and back plate, though he still carried an account book. When he saw them, he strode over.

“Sir John,” Philip said, nodding. “Good day, Anne.”

Philip could not have missed the way Anne stiffened and regarded him warily. Apparently Philip was the enemy now, too.

But Philip only continued to smile at her.

Anne pointed to the training exercise. “Philip, there are two of Bannaster’s men against one of Alderley’s.”

John was relieved that she’d let go of his hand.

Philip looked over his shoulder, and they all saw Alderley’s soldier drop to his knees, though his shield was still raised, and his sword absorbed the blows.

“Hmm,” Philip said, frowning. He glanced at John. “Shall I see to that?”

“If you can,” John said, thinking that Philip would use his judgment about whether too much interference would harm their masquerade.

But Philip must have taken it as a challenge, because he pulled his sword from the scabbard. “Never fear, Mistress Anne. I will right this wrong for you.”

John saw Anne bite her lip, almost as if she wanted to smile. With a laugh, Philip threw himself between the combatants, and gave Alderley’s soldier a chance to recover.

Elizabeth watched John’s man fight, and wondered if John was that much better. It was easier to concentrate on Philip—or whoever he was—than think of John. Philip was amusing and obviously compassionate. And he wasn’t the one who’d come up with the pretense of courting her to get to the tower.

Several soldiers had gathered to watch this new battle, and suddenly she remembered her attacker, though she didn’t see him. Would he want revenge now? Had John made everything worse by defeating him so easily while posing as an injured man?

“Do you think the bearded soldier is here?” she asked. The hesitation in her voice bothered her.

“The man who attacked you last night? I had a discussion with him this morn.”

“And?”

“I convinced him that you did not want his attentions, that I had your interest. And that I had Master Milburn’s ear.”

“Ah, I see.” He had remembered to protect her, without her reminding him. She could not bring herself to thank him. She gave him a sideways glance. “So you have my interest.”

“It must appear so.”

“A man who shares my interest would wish to be alone with me. So come.”

She took his hand again, felt the way he stiffened, though he remained silent. Her anger was ruling her, and she didn’t seem to be able to stop it, though a rational part of her urged caution. She led John to the lady’s garden. There was a half-wall cutting it off from the rest of the ward, and inside it was like a respite of welcoming plants and flowers. A gravel path wound through it, and she followed it deeper in, until the trees and shrubs hid them from passers-by.

When they reached a secluded stone bench, she said, “Please sit down and rest your leg, Sir John.”

“You know I don’t need⁠—”

But she gave him a hard push, and short of grabbing her for balance, he was forced to sit down.

“So we’re courting,” she began, considering him. “Shouldn’t I be sitting in your lap?”

With her knees pressed together, she sat down on his legs, her hip against his stomach, her shoulder against his chest. He leaned away from her, his hands bracing himself on the back of the bench, his eyes narrowed.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded. His breath was coming harder than a moment before, and his narrowed eyes burned into her.

“Isn’t this what you’ve been doing to me, deliberately courting me?”

“I was not so”—his gaze dropped down her body—“so intimate with you.”

In outrage, she leaned in closer and tried to ignore the heat emanating from his body. Having nowhere to brace herself but his chest, she laid a fist there. “And what do you call that kiss?”