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Edlyn’s attention wandered from the mysterious hut to the wreck of what had been a prosperous bailey, and she marveled at Pembridge’s capacity for destruction. The milking shed, the dovecote, and the henhouse had all been put to the torch. The abandoned cows had been slaughtered and left to rot and swell in the sun. The horses had trampled the vegetable garden and fed on the greens. The wood from the trees, green though it was, had been used to light the bonfires that burned late each night, and around one mighty oak fagots had been placed in ceremonious care. The fagots had been lit and the tree reduced to a blackened skeleton that remained ominously erect.

Sir Philip tried to get up but sank back after the attempt. “Set the shed on fire.”

Uncomfortable, the men-at-arms stepped back. They scratched and cleared their throats.

“What’s the problem?” Sir Philip answered. “A flaming arrow or a cauldron of boiling tar—”

“Pembridge is using our villagers to work there, I believe.” Edlyn looked at the men and in her inept English asked, “Is that not right?”

Grims nodded. “Aye, m’ lady. ’Tis my wife who works within, an’ th’ people that I know.”

“By the cross!” Sir Philip swore. He knew, of course, that the use of the villagers handicapped his soldiers in a way Pembridge could not have improved.

“Set the shed on fire anyway.” Sir Lyndon walked up from the far tower where he taken up residence.

“They can’t kill their own people!” Edlyn said.

“They’re just a bunch of peasants. It’s not like they have feelings.” Sir Philip shushed him furiously, and he said, “Oh, they scarcely even speak a civilized tongue.”

He was wrong about that, Edlyn thought, if the expression on Grims’s face was anything to go by.

“What does Pembridge hope to accomplish?” she wondered aloud, hoping to change the subject before a fight began. “Should Pembridge take it, the prince will have this castle back before the end of summer.”

“He’s a jealous lord, is Pembridge,” the chief man-at-arms explained. “’Twas not ever a good time when Pembridge came here t’ live. I remember one time when he wanted t’ bed th’ cook’s wife. She was a pretty thing an’ sweet. Pembridge gave her flowers, an’ her own cow, an’ a lady’s frock trimmed in fur. Th’ way he looked at her, I thought he truly loved her.” Grims rubbed his shield to keep his gaze away from Edlyn, as if the story was too intimate to share. “She didn’t want him, nor did her husband want t’ share, so she fled int’ th’ woods t’ hide until Pembridge left.” Grims stopped suddenly.

“Well?” Sir Philip demanded. “What happened?”

“Well, he hunted her down an’ killed her.” Grims managed to sound matter-of-fact. “Had th’ dogs tear her apart. Said if he couldn’t have her, no one could.”

Edlyn’s blood congealed as the man-at-arms finished his tale. “He would destroy Roxford rather than allow Hugh to have it?”

“He’ll not leave one thing that belongs t’ Lord Hugh alive,” Grims said.

Edlyn looked around at the inside of the crowded inner bailey. Every servant and villager who had escaped lived here now. Cattle bawled as they fought for grass. Chickens danced in and out between their hooves. Children tended their goats, and women sat in groups and discussed their situation as they spun. Ethelburgha stood over a fire and stirred a mixture of what would be ale. The keep rose in the middle of it all, and inside babies slept, toddlers played, mothers nursed. Burdett and Neda had their hands full keeping peace and spent their days hurrying from one crisis to another. They all, every one of them, depended on Edlyn.

And she’d been too proud to summon her husband to defend them.

Allyn hugged her. “All will be well, Mama.”

Parkin danced up to her other side. “We’ll save you! Wynkyn is teaching us everything about fighting.”

Edlyn looked around at the men, a crooked smile of gratification on her face. “I feel safer now.”

The men-at-arms grinned back at her. They understood motherly pride.

Sir Lyndon snorted.

“Hey, up there!”

Edlyn heard the cultured man’s voice clearly, and she recognized it. Releasing the boys, she moved back to the wall. “Pembridge.”

“’Tis he,” Grims agreed.

“I see you peering at us,” Pembridge called. “Is that the lady?”

She stepped out so those below could see her clearly.

Her appearance seemed just what Pembridge had waited for. His voice hardened. “Is this the lady who was once the wife of Robin, earl of Jagger? The lady who betrayed his memory by marrying his executioner?”