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That, unfortunately, was true. Richard of Wiltshire had ordered Hugh stripped of all weapons while he unerringly found his way to the side of the only woman among the company, touched her under the chin, and asked who owned her.

Hugh wouldn’t soon forget that haughty little answer. “I am the wife of Hugh, earl of Roxford, Sir Knight, but no one owns me.”

“They do now.” Richard had linked his arm with hers and smiled quite wickedly into her face. “They do now.”

If Edlyn had understood the implications of that, she had given no indication. She just instructed Richard’s men to lift Almund onto a cart so he could be carried to a bedchamber, and after a nod from Richard, his men had scrambled to obey.

Hugh dropped his head onto his knees and muffled a groan. All the scorn he had heaped on Richard in previous encounters returned to haunt him now. What nefarious activities would Richard force Edlyn to endure as vengeance against Hugh?

The tiny door creaked open, and a flickering light stabbed the room with little blades of agony. His men stood, almost in unison, shading their dark-accustomed eyes, but Hugh remained on the floor leaning against the wall. A man-at-arms stuck his head in the low opening and said, “Me master wants Hugh o’ Roxford, an’ he wants him now.”

Hugh’s men turned and looked at him, and Hugh waited a few beats of the heart to show his indifference before he rose.

The man-at-arms stepped back, holding a sword on him with capable hands, and said, “I have orders t’ kill ye if do anything out o’ place, an’ I’d love t’ kill an earl, so please, m’ lord, try an’ rush me an’ me men.”

Hugh held up his hands to show his defenselessness and bent to exit the dungeon. Straightening, he looked around at the narrow, short corridor that led to the stairway, then at the dozen men who stood at various intervals with swords, maces, and quarterstaffs, all pointed at him.

Hugh found cold comfort in knowing Richard respected his fighting ability.

The men-at-arms placed him in the middle, then paced upward toward the cellars, which were on the windowless ground floor. Here servants scurried, tapping the casks of wine. They all stepped back as Hugh and his guards came through.

Up the spiral staircase they went, moving toward light and warmth and noise. Hugh could smell roasting meat and bread and the sharp, shrill odor of spilled ale, and his stomach rumbled noisily. The man-at-arms in charge laughed at the sound. “If ye please th’ master,” he said, “mayhap he’ll let ye eat—wi’ th’ dogs.”

Hugh waited until they entered the great hall before he replied. “The dogs would be better companions than my present company.”

The man-at-arms stopped short, then whirled and raised his sword.

“Halt!” Richard’s voice rang out over the babble of voices. “You’ll not kill that man while he lives on my charity!”

Hugh allowed himself a nasty smile as the man-at-arms lowered his sword. On one thing he knew he could depend—on Richard’s sense of fair play.

In this massive great hall, the rough trestle tables were set up in a U-shape, with the diners seated around the outside for the servers’ convenience. As usual, the bottom of the U was the raised dais where the noble folk ate, and there he saw Richard, sitting in the place of honor—with Edlyn at his side.

Hugh lunged toward the head table.

Blades gleamed as they flashed out of every scabbard in the hall.

Silence quivered as challenge met challenge and everyone awaited the next event.

“By the saints, you men are such children.”

Edlyn’s voice broke the tension, and she rose gracefully from the bench beside Richard. Richard grabbed her arm, and she glanced down at him. “I must go greet my husband and escort him to his place at the table.”

Richard watched her with a scowl, then she smiled at him, and he softened. “Go on, then.”

Hugh ground his teeth at the sight of raven-headed, wicked Richard of Wiltshire yielding to the charm of Edlyn, his countess of Roxford.

The sunlight streamed in through the thin arrow slits that cut through the massive stone walls. It fell on the dark heads, light heads, knightly heads, and servants’ heads with equal grace. The packed chamber vibrated with masculine ribaldry and rivalry, and Hugh expected one of these men to reach out a hand as Edlyn passed and pinch her rump or fondle her breast. He prepared himself to leap like a wolf to her defense.

No one did. Most of them turned their gazes away. A few of them responded to her smiles. A few blushed bright red and buried their faces in their curved horn mugs. And Hugh found himself wondering what the woman had done to tame this bunch of cutthroats.

She reached him before he could even begin to speculate. She held out her arms to embrace him, then stopped short and plugged her nose. “What have you done with yourself?”

He glanced down at the filth that covered him. “The river and the dungeon are a lethal combination, my lady.”

“Too true.” She flapped her free hand at him, then turned to the aggressive man-at-arms with his ready sword. “How can you bear to stand so close?”

The man-at-arms stared at her, then at Hugh. “I didn’t notice anything lackin’.”