"Well. That went well," Hugh muttered to himself with derision. Shaking his head, he turned and moved back to mount his horse. It was only a matter of moments before he reached Lucan.

"That did not take long," the other man commented as they headed back toward the keep.

"Nay."

"She seemed to take it rather well," he added. When Hugh turned a glare on him, Lucan shrugged, amusement tugging at his lips. "Well, at least she did not burst into tears and hysterics."

"Aye," Hugh agreed on a sigh. "There is that."

They rode in silence for a moment, then Lucan commented, "I noticed back at the field that she speaks well for a village brat."

Hugh frowned at the other man's words. He hadn't noticed, but, in retrospect, he realized that she had spoken well. She had the pronunciation and diction of a lady. That bothered him briefly, but then he shrugged it away. "Even the lowest-born serving wench can speak well if trained to do so."

"Aye. But then who trained her?"

"Not the hag. That is certain." Hugh really had no desire to think about the girl and the mess he had just made of rejecting her. He had wanted to be diplomatic and gentle. There had been no need to hurt her feelings. But he had botched the job horribly. Calling her a bastard to her face had been the action of a loutish ass, he thought with disgust. Then, because it was not in his nature to agonize over things that could not be undone, he reminded himself that, badly done or not, it was done. No matter how gently offered, rejection was painful. He knew that well from his experiences over the years since his father had lost the family fortune. He was sorry to have visited that pain on Willa, but the fault for it really lay with his diabolical dead uncle.

"The old bastard."

"What was that?" Lucan asked.

"Nothing. Let us hie back to Hillcrest ere the men drink all the ale."

"What does it say?" Willa asked unhappily. She paused to peer over Eada's shoulder. The woman who had been a mother to her for as long as she could recall had pressed a mug of wine on her the moment Willa had finished telling of Dulonget's rejection. Now, she sat reading the dregs at the bottom of the cup with concentration. Willa leaned closer to peer at the bits of sediment in the bottom of the mug, but could not make anything of the random shapes they seemed to form. She didn't understand how Eada could. But she did. And the old woman had always been right. Until now.

Eada had said that Willa would marry Hugh Dulonget and come to love him. She had said that they would have many children and much happiness. It now appeared that would not be the case. Not if he had any say in the matter.

Eada set the cup on the table with a shrug. "Same as ever. You shall marry the earl as the old earl wished."

Willa mulled over this revelation, trying to sort it out. She was quite sure that Hugh Dulonget truly had no intention of marrying her and could think of nothing that might change his mind. "Is it possible that Hugh may die and another become earl and marry me? Perhaps 'tis another I will love and - "

"Dulonget is the earl you will marry. The nodcock," Eada added under her breath. Willa heard the insult, but let it pass without comment. She was not feeling very charitable toward the man at the moment either. Despite her duty, she was finding it terribly difficult to love the arrogant lout. How dare he think her beneath him! As her betrothed it was as much his duty to love her as it was hers to love him. Yet he arrived here with his strong warrior's body and deep silky voice and announced that she was beneath him.

The clicking of Eada's tongue drew Willa from her thoughts. The old woman was examining the dregs of wine again. "Nay. He will not die. At least, not ere the wedding."

Willa stilled at this news. "What does that mean? He will die after we are wed? But you said - "

"There are forces at work here. Some possibilities are only now making themselves known," Eada explained calmly. "He'll marry ye, but how long he lives afterward depends on you."

"Me?"

"Aye. On whether ye give in immediately when he returns to announce his decision to marry ye, or whether ye wait."

"Wait? For what?"

"Ye must wait for him to crawl to ye on his belly."

Willa's eyes widened incredulously at this news. "Never. He shall never crawl on his belly to me or anyone else. He has too much pride."

"He'll crawl," Eada announced firmly. "And ye must not accept him to husband until he does, else ye'll lose him ere the next full moon."

"Ah, my lord. You are back."

Hugh halted in the keep doorway, eyes widening as he took in the tall, thin form of Lord Wynekyn, his uncle's friend and nearest neighbor. Realizing that he was standing there looking as taken aback as he felt, he forced himself to move again. Nodding politely in greeting to the man, he walked toward the table and the pitcher of ale waiting there. "A drink, Lord Wynekyn?"

"Aye, fine, that would do me well. Your servant offered me some when I first arrived, but I decided to await your return."

Nodding, Hugh began to pour three mugs of ale.

"Your servant mentioned that you had gone to the cottage. How did you find Willa? She was pale and thin when last I saw her, but then she was suffering from shock and grief over the loss of your uncle."

Dark ale splashed onto the scarred surface of the wooden table as those words struck Hugh. Cursing his own clumsiness, he poured the last drink, then straightened slowly and turned to hold it out to Wynekyn.

"You know the girl?" he asked carefully as Lucan stepped forward to take the drink Hugh now pushed along the table in his direction.

"Oh, aye." Wynekyn smiled with gentle fondness. "I have known Lady Willa since her birth."

"I see." Hugh pursed his lips, wondering how to inform the proper old man he had no intention of marrying the chit. Wynekyn wouldn't approve, of course. After all, it had been the earl's dying wish. Hugh was still considering this when Lucan, who apparently had been paying more attention to Wynekyn's words than himself, murmured, "You refer to her as Lady Willa?"

"Aye. Did you not know she was of nobility?" Wynekyn appeared startled at the possibility.

"Nay. I thought - " Hugh's gaze slid to Lucan.

"Surely, you did not think your uncle would marry you to a village brat?" When Hugh flushed guiltily, Lord Wynekyn shook his head. "You should have known better." He frowned at them both briefly, then shrugged his irritation away and set his drink down as he asked, "I take it all is well and you have no objection to marrying her?"

Hugh trained his gaze on his ale as he set it down. "What if I did?"

"Well - " The man looked as affronted as if it were his own daughter Hugh would dare to refuse. "Well then, you would inherit the title and this castle by right of primogeniture, but Lady Willa and the wealth would go to another. That would be... Now, let me think..." Pausing, he lifted a finger to his chin, tilted his head upward and pondered the matter, wholly oblivious to Hugh's horror.

He would gain the title and estate but not the funds to run it? Dear God! Feeling dizzy, Hugh dropped weakly onto the bench. That was like giving a penniless man a horse, but no food to feed it. It was autumn; the crops had already been taken to market; the monies gained from them. He'd learned that on his arrival this morning, along with the fact that his uncle had fallen ill ere buying those extra provisions the castle inhabitants would need to keep body and soul together through the winter. Hugh hadn't been concerned at the time, thinking that he could tend to the matter soon enough. But that was when he'd thought the fat coffers in the storeroom were his. If he did not marry Willa, they were not.

Dear God! No wonder she'd rebuffed his offer of a dowry and claimed she needed nothing from him. She really did not. But he needed her, he realized faintly, then glanced up when Wynekyn gave an exclamation of success. "Ah, ha! I believe 'twould be your cousin, Jollivet."

"Speak of the devil!"

All three men turned at that high cheerful voice. A slim young man now stood in the great hall entrance. Shrugging under the weight of their surprised eyes, he grinned, then raised his hands to pose palms upward and finished, "And he shall surely appear."

"Speak of the devil indeed," Hugh grumbled.

"Ta ra, cuz." Jollivet breezed into the great hall, smiling widely at them all. "Heard the ghastly news about Uncle dear and flew here on my charger to present my suitably sad, solemn and sober demeanor." Pausing before them, he waved his arms expansively and struck another pose. "Ta da. Here I am."

"Sober indeed." Lucan hid a laugh behind his mug as he gulped some more of the ale.

Hugh grunted his agreement, then addressed his cousin. "Sit down, Jollivet, or better yet, go outside and chase the stable boy about. We are discussing business here."

"So I heard," he rejoined cheerfully. He poured himself a mug of ale, then moved to sit on the trestle table bench, annoyingly close to his irritated cousin. Ignoring the warrior's immediate scowl, he asked, "So? Why was my name being bandied about?"

"I was just telling Hugh - " Wynekyn began, only to be rudely interrupted.

"We were just discussing who should be invited to my wedding," Hugh lied, ignoring Wynekyn's sharp glance. He had no intention of letting his cousin ever sniff out the fact that there was a possibility of his marrying money. The man was a fop, purchasing clothes and jewels he could not afford to impress those at court. Were he to learn that marrying Willa would gain him riches beyond his wildest dreams, he would charm the gown right off her to see it done. And recalling her wounded expression earlier that day, Hugh suspected that Willa would be susceptible to such charm just now. In fact, there was a distinct possibility that she might refuse to marry him. Though he hadn't realized that his uncle had settled his wealth on the girl, she obviously had. She would know there were any number of lords who would overlook her questionable birth for her dowry. Her looks would not hurt, either.

"Wedding?" Jollivet looked stunned. "Who would marry you?"

"Lady Willa," Wynekyn answered.

"Lady none-of-your-concern," Hugh snapped at the same time, but Jollivet ignored him yet again.

"Lady Willa of what?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge that," Wynekyn said.

"Well, surely - " Jollivet began on a laugh, but Wynekyn shook his head firmly.

" 'Tis for her safety," the old man said solemnly.

Hugh left off frowning at his cousin and turned his glare on the older man instead. " 'Tis not safe for us to know even her name? If I am to marry the woman, surely I have a right to know her name?"

"Whether I agree with you on that count matters little, my lord, since I myself do not know her full name... And I am her godfather."

Jollivet gave a titter of laughter at that. "You do not know her full name? But you are her godfather. How perfectly delicious."

Hugh spared a moment to grimace his displeasure at his cousin, then asked Wynekyn, "Why would you agree to be her godfather when you did not even know her name?"

Wynekyn smiled. "You have met the girl. The first time I saw her she was just a babe. She was lovely as a princess even then. Big gray-blue eyes and little wisps of that glorious blond hair. Richard showed her off to me. He was as proud as a father, and probably not unlike yourself, I assumed she was his. When he lifted her up and turned her for me to see her, I vow she smiled right at me. When I put my finger out, she clutched it in one of her wee hands and gave a little chuckle." He shook his head slightly. "She stole my heart right then."

"You agreed to be her godfather because she clutched your finger and chuckled?" Jollivet gave a giggle and Wynekyn frowned at him.

"Nay. Hillcrest did not ask me to stand as her godfather until much later. After ... the incident," he said.

"The incident?" Hugh asked.

"Aye. Your uncle was living at Claymorgan then. He had done so since he and your father had their falling out. Willa was about ten at the time. I was a regular visitor to Claymorgan and had become quite fond of the child. But that time I ran into Richard at court and we rode back together. Since Claymorgan was on the way to my own estate, I stopped to rest a night or two ere continuing on home, but when we arrived we found the castle in an uproar. Richard had a cook whose daughter was about the same age as Willa, and the two were friends. They were missing. They had sneaked out of the castle - they were not allowed to play outside of the keep, you see. Anyway, they had apparently gone out to play. Their absence was discovered and half of Richard's guards were out seeking them. The other half were searching every corner of the castle itself."

"I take it they were found, all was well, and that was when my uncle asked you to be her godfather?" Jollivet guessed.

When he shook his head sadly, Hugh scowled. "Well, they must have been found, Wynekyn. Willa is here."

"Oh, aye. They found them," the older man agreed. "But all was not well. Eada had barely finished telling us they were missing when the men returned. The first man through the gates was cradling a dead girl in his arms and at first we thought it was Willa. I thought Richard would have an apoplexy when he saw them ride through the gates, but then as they drew closer we saw that 'twasn't Willa, 'twas the cook's daughter. Willa was huddled up against the second rider, silent and pale. I thought her dead, too, at first until they reached us and I saw that she was shivering madly."

"What had happened to the cook's daughter?" Hugh asked curiously.

"Her neck was broken," he announced bluntly. Wynekyn allowed a moment for his words to sink in before continuing. "According to Willa, they were playing chase. Cook's daughter, Luvena, was a good distance ahead. Willa chased after her into a clearing just as the lass fell from above. She thought the girl must have tried to climb a small cliff to hide from her and fallen. Willa was terribly distraught. Luvena was like a sister to her."

A brief silence filled the room; then Wynekyn went on, " 'Twas shortly after that incident that Richard asked me to be Willa's godfather. I had always assumed, like yourself, that she was simply a bastard child of his, but he set me straight on the matter. He assured me that she was neither a bastard nor his own. She had been placed into his keeping, willed to him in effect, which was why he named her Willa. And he had vowed to protect her with his very life. He loved her as his own. Of course, I could not refuse. She was such a charming little thing, all curly golden hair and enchanting smiles."

A soft chuckle slipped from his lips. "It seemed every time I came to visit her here, she was chasing about with Wolfy and Fen, charging after the birds." He sighed, his eyes gone soft with memory; then he frowned. "She never played with other children, however. She never made friends with another child again. I - "

"Just a minute," Hugh interrupted. "When did Uncle Richard and Willa move here from Claymorgan?"

"Oh, dear. I am sorry. I forgot to tell you that part, did I not?" Wynekyn clucked and shook his head with mild self-disgust. "After the murder, he decided Willa would be safer here and - "

"Murder?" Jollivet cried shrilly. "What murder?"

Wynekyn was growing impatient with the constant interruptions. "I am sure I told you that. The cook's daughter."

"The cook's daughter? Murdered?" Hugh questioned. When Wynekyn nodded, he protested, "But you said she broke her neck in a fall."

"Aye. Well, that was what we assumed at first. But though the girl's neck was broken, we decided 'twas not from a fall. There were bruises on the child's arm as if she'd been grabbed roughly. There were also marks at the base of her neck, and red marks on her chin as if someone had grabbed her face and jerked it to the side and up. Richard thought, and I had to concur, that someone had broken her neck deliberately."

"Why would someone have killed the cook's daughter?" Lucan asked with confusion.

"He would have thought Luvena was Willa," Wynekyn explained patiently. "Cook's daughter was a fair-haired child and she and Willa had traded gowns that day. The mistake would have been an easy one to make." He shrugged. "At any rate, 'twas Luvena's death that persuaded Richard Willa was no longer safe at Claymorgan."

"Safe from what?" Jollivet asked with fascination. "Whom did he think was trying to harm Willa?"

Wynekyn shook his head. "I do not know. He never explained that to me. He only said that 'twas a very powerful man and that she was at terrible risk." Wynekyn grew silent, his expression thoughtful then he glanced at them. "Richard took great pains to keep her safe. He had Willa and Eada smuggled out of Claymorgan in the dead of night and brought to the cottage here at Hillcrest. Three of his most trusted and skilled warriors were sent with them. Alsneta, the cook, was brought here to the castle. Everyone but the men who had found the girls was told that Willa had died and that Richard could not bear to remain at Claymorgan with the memories of the child he'd loved as a daughter. The men themselves were sworn to secrecy. Fortunately, the ones who found Willa that day were Richard's most trustworthy soldiers."

Standing, he paced a few steps before adding, "Richard did not just place Willa in the most remote part of this estate. Once he had moved here himself, he not only refused to allow her entrance to the castle, he would not even allow himself to visit her for the first five years." He shook his head, his bewilderment showing. "She missed him terribly, of course, but still their separation was harder on him, I think. He adored the child. He wrote her letters every day. For five years that was the only contact the two had with each other. Letters and small gifts to her from him, and messages and small gifts she sent back. Your uncle also grilled the messenger every night on his return. I witnessed this on several such occasions. Richard would ask what Willa was doing, how her health was, how she had played that day, every word she had said." He smiled faintly at the memory. "I was questioned myself every time I stopped to visit on my way here. He was quite upset about her refusal to make any more friends. That troubled him greatly, but he... we... none of us had any idea how to make her feel safe to have friends again."

"You mentioned that before," Lucan said. "Why did she refuse to have friends after Luvena?"

"We never understood why, ourselves, until Eada explained it. Willa apparently overheard Richard and me talking about the child's death and our suspicion that she'd been murdered. After that, she refused to have playmates again lest someone else be accidentally killed in her place."

Hugh muttered something unpleasant under his breath and Wynekyn nodded.

"Aye. It made a lonely childhood for her, I think. She allowed only the old witch, her guards, Richard and myself close to her. Her only playmates were the animals."

"So Wilf and Fin are the guards my uncle sent with her. What happened to the third one?"

Wynekyn glanced at Hugh in confusion. "What?"

"Wilf and Fin. They are her guards?"

"Oh." He gave a slight laugh. "You mean Wolfy and Fen. Nay. Baldulf is her guard."

"You said she had three guards," Jollivet pointed out.

"Aye. She did. Howel and Ilbert were also her guards. But Richard's steward died some five years after the move here. Howel was the only man he trusted to take over the position, and since nothing had happened in all those years to suggest that Willa was still in danger, he called Howel back to be his new steward here. That is also when he finally allowed himself to see Willa again, though their meetings were always clandestine."

"What happened to Ilbert?" Lucan asked when Wynekyn fell silent.

"He died a year ago." When that announcement brought sharp glances from all three men, he quickly added, " 'Twas of natural causes. He fell ill. A fever. That left just Baldulf to guard her. Richard debated sending another man down to replace Ilbert, but decided against it in the end. There seemed little need."

"So where is this Baldulf now?" Lucan asked.

"And who are Wilf and Fin?" Hugh asked irritably.

"Wolfy and Fen?" Wynekyn murmured, apparently deciding to answer Hugh's question first. "Are they still about? Goodness I would have thought they would have moved on ages ago."

"Who are they?" Hugh repeated.

"Wolves."

"Wolves!" all three men exclaimed at the same time, expressions horrified. Wynekyn grimaced slightly.

"Aye, I reacted much the same way myself when they first appeared. It seems Wolfy got caught in a snare... Or was it Fen? I cannot remember now. Oh well, no matter. One of the beasts got caught in a hunter's snare. Willa found him halfway through the job of biting his - or her - own foot off. She somehow managed to get him undone and tended his injury, then fed him or her and the mate. Wolves mate for life, you understand, so she knew the mate would not be far away. The injured one was so weak, it could not travel for a bit and she fed and tended the beast until it mended. After that, the wolves stuck around. I guess even a wolf knows a good thing when it comes across it, hmm?"

Hugh and Lucan exchanged a grimace at that. Neither of them had recognized Willa for "a good thing" as they should have. As even a wolf was smart enough to do.

They were all silent for a moment, then Wynekyn cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "So, when is the wedding to be?"

Hugh knew they were all waiting for his answer, but his thoughts were in a bit of a muddle. He stood and began to pace. He would have liked to have said right away. Unfortunately, he very much feared that was not a likelihood. He suspected he would have to make some reparations before Willa would agree to marry him, and he didn't have any idea how long that would take. Oh, how quickly the mighty had fallen. Two days ago he was a poor knight. Then for a few glorious days he had believed himself a rich earl.

And hadn't he strutted as arrogantly as any of those women who had rejected him for his poverty? he thought with self-disgust. Now he was a poor earl and it did not seem any more glamorous than being a poor knight. In fact, it seemed worse to him at that moment. As a poor earl... His gaze slid over the servants moving busily about. Dear God.