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And when she finished, they paid homage to her skill in stunned and worshipful silence.

Hugh paid homage, too, until she stared into his eyes and he woke from the spell with a start.

He looked at the sword he grasped tight in his hand.

It was even his sword.

He’d taken it from the scurvy wretch who had stolen it from him—and he’d forgotten to use it. Edlyn had used her voice, her skill, her cleverness to bind the thieves, and she’d bound them so tightly he could have slit every throat and each would have died with a smile on his face. But she’d bound him at the same time.

He’d never felt so foolish in his life. By the saints, he’d never been so foolish in his life.

From the head table, he heard a quivering sigh. Richard of Wiltshire was recovering.

Both Hugh and Edlyn snapped their attention to their host and saw him wiping his eyes on the edge of the grimy tablecloth. The other men, sniffling and clearing their throats, lifted their cups in silent tribute.

Standing, Richard inclined his head humbly to Edlyn. “My lady, you have indeed followed through on your vow to entertain us most nobly. I put my hand, my heart, my possessions at your feet.”

She swept him a curtsy. “Good Sir Knight, I thank you for your praise of my feeble efforts.”

“There is nothing I would not do to give you your heart’s desire, and that desire, I believe, is for…freedom.” He winced a little as he said it, but when he saw that dismay made Hugh’s jaw drop, his voice strengthened. “Aye, freedom for you, for your men, for your possessions.” His men interrupted with shouts of complaint, but he laid about him with the flat of his sword and cowed them into silence. “Your possessions,” he repeated. “And your husband.” His gaze shifted to the sword Hugh held, then he smiled mirthfully at Hugh. “Aye, let your husband know he owes liberty and life to his bride.”

13

Edlyn waited in horrified anticipation for Hugh to reject Richard’s offer. She could see the pride working on him and could see, too, Richard’s waiting with confident expectation for Hugh’s challenge.

This was not about her or her skill at storytelling but about two men who saw the chance to settle an old rancor.

But she had children lost in the wilds outside Castle Juxon, and Hugh had allowed himself to be intoxicated by her telling of a legend. She cleared her throat meaningfully, and Hugh tore his furious gaze from Richard. She mouthed the words. “Thank him.”

Hugh curled his lip. “We accept with gratitude, Richard of Wiltshire.” He bent as if to bow in low obeisance and instead swept a scabbard off the floor.

Richard stepped back in sudden alarm, but when Hugh made no hostile move, he grinned mockingly. “You didn’t get to be the prince’s commander by being stupid, did you?”

Hugh looked at Edlyn. He knew how he must behave, but like a child he appealed to her for sympathy.

She did understand his distaste. When Richard grinned like that, she wanted to do him an injury.

Staring at Richard without expression, Hugh buckled the scabbard around his waist.

“Hey!” The knight sitting near Hugh pointed. “That’s my scabbard and my sword. I stole it honestly!” He dove for Hugh and attempted to snatch it back.

Hugh used the knave as a substitute for Richard and took the opportunity to beat him half silly.

The grunts and shouts of the brawl assaulted Edlyn, but she pretended not to notice.

Meanwhile, Richard shouted to his men until they started moving, very slowly, to bring out the goods they had stolen from Hugh’s company. What had been packed away was now heaped together with other loot taken from other travelers, and Edlyn moaned softly as she considered the coming task of repacking the carts.

Satisfied he had been obeyed, Richard appeared at her side. “My lady.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Should you ever have need of any kind, send a message and we will come at once.” He kissed her palm, then lapped it with his tongue.

She jerked her hand free and slapped him.

Richard didn’t even flinch. He just flashed his usual cocky grin and indicated the still-fighting Hugh. “Too bad he found you first. You would have made a fabulous outlaw.”

“I doubt that.” She nursed her stinging palm and wondered at herself. She had never hit anyone—now, in the space of one afternoon, she’d slapped two men. Not that they didn’t deserve it. “My sons would disapprove.”

Both black eyebrows lifted. “You have sons? Not in my dungeon, I hope.”

“Somewhere in the forest,” she answered.