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Hugh crossed the drawbridge without incident. The walls of the gatehouse closed around him. It had been constructed as a corridor of death for attackers who had somehow breached the moat and shattered the drawbridge. The walls contained arrow slits where men-at-arms could safely dispatch the enemy. Murder holes through which boiling tar could be poured pocked the ceiling.

Hugh approved.

Yet the back of his neck twitched, and he wished he could see someone, anyone, from within who offered a peaceful gesture.

Then he broke out into the outer bailey. The large, open area between the outer walls and the inner walls contained an orchard, numerous gardens, and more buildings than he could guess the use of. Yet nothing moved. Nothing except…

Behind him, he heard the clatter of hooves over the drawbridge. Edlyn broke out of the gatehouse corridor and glanced around. “Where is everybody?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want you here.”

His stern tone didn’t seem to impress her at all. “Surely you don’t expect an attack?”

“I don’t know, and until I do, I want you to remain in safety.”

“Look.”

She pointed toward one of the outer buildings, and Hugh drew his sword as he turned.

“I saw someone peek out the door. They don’t know what to expect.”

“That makes two of us,” Hugh mumbled. He’d never claimed a castle for himself before, and his tension and uncertainty surprised him.

“If they were going to attack, they would have done it by now,” Edlyn said decisively. Going back to the opening to the gatehouse, she waved through the corridor and called, “Come on. They won’t hurt you.”

Unwillingly, Hugh grinned. He could imagine how his knights felt about a woman assuring them of their safety.

Now that she had pointed out the signs, he could see the furtive movements as the servants sought a glimpse of their new lord. With greater confidence, he moved toward the second gate. Another gatehouse protected this much smaller passage through the inner curtain wall. He had to stoop almost to his horse’s neck to enter, and when he could straighten, he almost dropped the reins.

Nothing had prepared him for the grandeur of the inner bailey. Years of tender care had created a lush vista of gardens and stables and trees, and in the middle, rising with turrets and towers on every corner, stood the keep. He’d never seen a keep like this, so great and tall, softened by the green drape of ivy that reached to the very highest stones, yet imposing enough to awe him with its majesty. Beside him he heard a shaky exhalation of breath.

“The prince must love you dearly.” Edlyn craned her neck around like a yokel visiting a cathedral. “This is even finer than George’s Cross.”

Hugh tried to suspend his awe and deal with realities. “Defense might be a problem.”

“Defense?” She stared at him. “You are taking possession of this noble estate, and you’re worried about defense?”

“I would hardly need to worry about it if it weren’t mine, would I?” he asked coolly. “There’s no way in at the ground, of course, but the stairs to the second floor look quite sturdy.”

Edlyn dropped her head into her hands.

“There may be a way to disconnect them from the building.” He scanned the keep some more. “There are windows, too, although not many and they’re high. Mostly it’s just the size that’s the problem. Where would I concentrate my defense?”

“I don’t know.” Edlyn’s voice became diplomatic. “Why don’t we ask them?”

A man and a woman, richly dressed, had stepped onto the second-floor landing and stood looking down at Hugh and Edlyn and the trickle of men and carts now clearing the inner gatehouse. The woman bowed her head, but the man took her by the hand and, with a whispered word, led her down the stairs.

“Who are they?” Hugh’s hostility must have transmitted itself through the reins, for his palfrey danced until a whisper of dust rose beneath its hooves.

Edlyn leaned over and patted his animal’s neck until it calmed. “The steward and his wife, I suspect. They’ve come to greet us and surrender the castle.”

She removed her riding gloves and dismounted, but Hugh did not. These people were Pembridge’s servants, the managers of this great estate, the supervisors of both house and fields.

They would have to go.

Clearly they both knew it. As they drew near, the woman fought back tears and the man clenched his jaw tightly. They weren’t young people; both were of an age to have grandchildren and probably did. The grandchildren would have to go, too. Every last relic of Pembridge would have to be wiped from the estate so Hugh could start over with his own people, loyal only to him.

“My lord.” The man’s voice trembled. “I am Burdett, the steward of Roxford, and I extend a welcome from the inhabitants of Roxford Castle.”