Chapter 11

Elsbeth’s sleep had been peppered with unsettling visions of her attempts to save her parents and the orphans from fire, only to fail and be burned alive with them. After waking in a sweat-soaked bed, she realized the occurrence had only been a harmless reflection conjured up by her deepest fears. She calmed herself by taking several deep breaths and returned to her slumber.

She went on to have a perplexing dream where The Shadow, Calan, and Sir Randall were all participants. She was kissing The Shadow under the tree again, closing her eyes to the sweet sensation, but when she opened them in her dream, it was Calan who held her in his arms. She longed to ask him how he could embrace her so intimately yet continue to court her cousin, but an evil chuckle in the branches deterred her. She looked up to find Sir Randall hovering over them with a dagger in hand. As he flung himself at Calan, she screamed, waking herself for the second time that night. Her heart pounded against her chest, and she again tried to regulate her flustered state. Her dreams reminded her she hadn’t seen the Shadow in over a week, but she had no news to report, so attempting to contact him would make her seem like a suspicious fool . . . or a lass desperate for company.

Though she could have used more sleep, she decided she’d not get quality respite with those disturbing images invading her mind. She forced herself out of bed and dressed with sluggish movements, managing to leave her chamber a little before noon.

She went to check on Emmy and the children, but was told they’d already left the chamber several hours before on an outing.

A nice long walk in the open air sounded good to Elsbeth, too. It was just what she needed to clear her mind. She wended her way to the practice field where knights honed their skills. Clusters of ladies looked on, hailing and waving at them.

Elsbeth scanned the field of knights. She didn’t see Calan. She figured he’d be there with a few days left before the tournament.

A familiar giggle turned her attention. Genna, evidently feeling well enough to be out and about, stood by the field surrounded by a slew of other noble maidens. The girls flirted with the knights when they strode by.

Genna turned and greeted her. “Oh Beth, isn’t this exciting, seeing the preparations for the tourney? I just can’t wait for it. I wonder who’ll win and whom he’ll choose.” Still harboring remnants of her cold, Genna paused to rub her pink nose with a handkerchief, and then giggled at a maiden waving to a fine-looking knight galloping by on his horse. He dipped his head in salutation. “It’s my opinion, however,” Genna continued, “that Calan Beaumont is the most skilled and has the greatest chance of winning . . . unless, of course, his cousin shows up. They’re quite equal in skill you know.”

Calan’s cousin, Sir Giles, was indeed as good a knight as Calan. Though Elsbeth remained partial to the latter, she liked Giles very much. Giles’s lineage was actually unknown. He was left on Calan’s aunt and uncle’s doorstep as a babe, and with tender hearts for the wee one they raised Giles as their own. But when Giles was three years old, they died in an accident involving an overturned carriage. He went to live at Castle Egbert where Calan’s father took him under his wing. Being the same age, though quite diverse in personality, Calan and Giles became best friends, considering themselves true cousins. They were rarely seen apart throughout childhood. Giles grew into a suave lady’s man with his fine face and debonair talk, making people laugh with his silly antics and jokes. Calan remained the more reserved of the two.

Elsbeth also recalled Giles’s appetite rivaling an elephant’s. Seldom found without some ration in hand, she couldn’t fathom where the food went for his trim, muscular frame. Perhaps he had multiple stomachs, she thought, almost laughing aloud. She and Genna hadn’t seen Giles for a full year. He’d passed through Fairhaven last summer while she and Genna visited the ruins. He’d taken a respite from his long travel and spent the day with them, mostly chatting with Genna.

“Speaking of Beaumonts,” Elsbeth said, “I noticed Calan’s absence. He’s not so prideful of his skills, I trust, that he’d miss a practice so close to tournament time.”

“Oh, he was here earlier,” Genna informed her, “but left a few hours ago. Said he had something to do in town and not to expect him for the evening meal. He left me in the charge of my maiden friends, warning them of serious repercussions should any man come within fifty feet of me. The girls have stuck to me like glue, much to the trepidation of poor Sir Wallace. You should have seen his face upon seeing the armada surrounding me.” Genna laughed. “Needless to say, he simply made do with a long-distance bow before taking his leave.”

“Oh dear.” Elsbeth smiled. Poor Wallace, indeed. The power women evoked in groups contended with that of a full-blown army of knights. It was remarkable how intimidated a man became when confronted by a large company of the fairer sex, even a man as bold as Wallace. And he was bold, making no secret of his interest in Genna. If not for Calan’s presence, Sir Wallace would have staked his claim on her fair cousin for sure.

Ah, Calan. She relished the rare moments with him, thankful she’d been blessed to have an entire day with him yesterday, even though it had ended the way it did. But she’d not be seeing him tonight, according to Genna. It was odd that she didn’t feel the same loneliness when Randall wasn’t near, but then Randall wasn’t as dear a friend to her as Calan was.

“He’ll surely be back on the morrow, though,” Genna said as if reading her thoughts.

Elsbeth nodded and Genna turned back to the field. Elsbeth left Genna in the maidens’ care and continued her stroll. She neared the lake and spotted the five orphans, washed and wearing new clothes. They fished along the bank, Roland instructing the brown-haired Betsy on hooking a worm. The little girl seemed content despite her recent trials, and Elsbeth was glad of it.

Emmy sat on the grassy water’s edge watching the little group.

Elsbeth sat down beside her. Though Emmy’s eyes still radiated sadness, she seemed determined to take what life had spared her and move forward. Emmy’s strong example of faith and optimism was an inspiration to Elsbeth.

When mealtime arrived, they gathered the children and headed to the hall. Roland, having caught a fish, wished to cook it up for dinner, though the small thing was only the size of his palm.

With sympathy, Elsbeth guided Roland to the kitchen to prepare it. She found a corner away from the frenzied kitchen servants as they scurried to prepare the evening meal. Elsbeth showed Roland how to clean his fish before dropping the scaly animal into hot oil, drawing it out after a minute or two. Just as Elsbeth placed it on a dish to cool, Yancy ran into the kitchen.

“Milady, come quick! The Shadow has caught another man.”

Elsbeth’s heart jumped and Roland forgot about his fishy meal. “The Shadow! The Shadow!” he yelled, jumping up and down.

“Pray settle down, Roland,” Elsbeth bid, putting a hand on the lad’s bouncing red head. “Who is it, Yancy? Whom did he catch this time?”

“The wool monger . . . Master McCaulch,” the servant replied. “I came to fetch you the moment I saw. The Shadow’s in the yard as we speak!”

Elsbeth and Roland raced from the kitchen. As they entered the courtyard, Elsbeth saw her uncle speaking with the masked man near the stables. Several guards led McCaulch to the tower prison.

Roland gasped and tugged at Elsbeth’s dress. “Beth, Beth, that’s the man who grabbed me!” he cried, pointing at Bartram.

“Grabbed you?” Elsbeth asked, her brows drawn together. She knelt down to his level and searched his hazel eyes. “Explain, dearest.”

“Yesterday when I headed back home from helping the Gillam’s, it was almost dark, so I cut through his sheep field. I heard voices by his house and saw him talking to a hairy man. There was another too, but he stood in the dark by the wall. All I saw were spurs on his boots.”

The hairy man was probably the bearded man from the library. And a third . . . with spurs? Sure sign of a knight! Several knights resided at Bartram’s, including Wallace and Randall. Randall couldn’t be in league with the smugglers, could he? She didn’t believe so, but would he sit by and say nothing while something shady went on? Doing nothing about something one knew to be wrong was the same as participating. No, Sir Randall was a good and loyal knight. It had to be someone else.

“I was gonna leave, Beth,” Roland continued, cutting into her thoughts, “honest, I was, ’cause it isn’t nice to snoop, but when I heard him talk about The Shadow, I stayed. Oh Beth,” the boy cried, his bottom lip quivering, “he said The Shadow interfered too much and they’d set a trap to kill him! The hairy man gave him a sack of coins. I got scared and ran, but tripped and fell and they heard me.” His body trembled from the memory and Elsbeth put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “They turned around and M-McCaulch lifted me up by my arms, holding me against the wall. He yelled ‘You again! What’d you hear this time? What’d you hear?’ I knew then that it was him I saw in the field before May Day and that they’d seen me. Scared he’d hurt me, I told him I heard nothing. He said he knew I lied and I’d be sorry. The hairy man and the other just watched. They did nothing to help me, Beth, so I kicked his legs as hard as I could. He let go and I ran home. I didn’t look back, not once!

“But I later saw him outside my window, and I hid under my blanket. When I peeked out, he was gone. I went to sleep and the next thing I knew, the house was afire and you were pulling me from my bed.” His skinny chest heaved as if he’d just sprinted a mile. “You’re the sole person who knows, Beth. I didn’t tell anyone ’cause I thought he’d find out and come after me again.” Roland stared at the tower Bartram had disappeared into as if expecting Bartram to emerge from its iron doors and attack him.

Horrified over Roland’s experience, Elsbeth held the boy tight in her arms. Bartram must have set the fire to dispose of the boy. Thank goodness she and Calan had arrived when they did. She looked over at The Shadow still communicating with her uncle.

“Roland dear,” she said, turning back to the sniffling lad, “would you like to meet The Shadow?” Perhaps meeting the hero would provide him with a ray of light, dulling the dark memory of his frightening tribulations.

Roland’s eyes brightened, a beam replacing his forlorn countenance. “Truly, Beth, truly?” He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand.

She nodded and took his hand—the clean one—and led the boy toward The Shadow. As they approached, both her uncle and The Shadow turned to them.

“Forgive me, Uncle, I mean no intrusion,” Elsbeth said, her eyes shifting to the masked man. His eyes were obscured by his low-hanging hood, but she felt their gaze.

“It’s all right, niece,” Rupert assured. “We’ve finished. The Shadow was just parting.”

“It’s The Shadow I wish to address,” she said. “If you please, sir, this young lad is quite fond of you and can think of little else when your name is spoken.” She gently prodded Roland, releasing her hold on him. Eyes wide and mouth agape, the boy stared in speechless wonder.

The Shadow squatted down and put his large hand on Roland’s boney shoulder. “How now, young Roland. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re a strapping lad, to be sure.”

“H-How do you know my name?” Roland stammered.

“I know a great many things, my boy. I also know you’re a brave and honorable young man. Do me a favor, Roland.” The boy nodded. “You see this pretty maiden here?” The Shadow glanced at Elsbeth and Roland followed his gaze. “I need you to watch after her for me, to keep her safe. Can you do this?”

Roland’s mouth broke into a huge grin, resonating pride over such an important task. “Of a truth, sir, I will! I promise!” He grabbed Elsbeth’s hand, showing he meant to make good on his vow. Elsbeth’s mouth cracked a grin.

The Shadow nodded and tenderly ruffled the boy’s wavy hair. “Good lad.” He stood and gave his adieu to Lord Shaufton and Elsbeth before disappearing around a dark corner.

“Beth,” Roland whispered, “I just met The Shadow!”

Elsbeth chuckled. “Yes, and he thought very highly of you.” Roland’s face mirrored the kind of joy he’d express at receiving a special gift on his birthday.

Elsbeth wanted to hear about Bartram’s capture, but she felt it wasn’t for Roland’s ears. He’d experienced enough at the hands of that brute. “Roland, there’s still a fish in the kitchen waiting to be eaten,” she reminded him.

As if on cue, his stomach gurgled. “Of course!” he replied, placing his hand on his belly. He turned in the direction of the kitchen, but stopped. “Wait Beth, I promised to look after you.”

“Not to worry, sweetheart, I’m in good hands with my uncle just now.” Content with her present state of protection, Roland ran off to the kitchen.

Elsbeth turned to her uncle just as Cecelia approached, seemingly from nowhere, her black braid hanging over her right shoulder. Elsbeth gave her aunt a quick curtsy, noting a new broach on her surcoat, before turning back to Rupert. “Uncle, tell me how he captured the man.”

“Come,” Rupert invited. The three made their way to the hall, but stood just outside its doors while he explained. “According to The Shadow, Master McCaulch had avoided the king’s tax by smuggling his wool out of England. The Shadow caught him selling a load to a merchant vessel harbored in the bay, not ten miles from here. But McCaulch had carried out more treacherous deeds than that, including extortion, assault, battery and arson. He’ll be kept in my tower until King Edward decides his fate. Bartram’s life will probably be a short one.”

“How do we know that this Shadow,” Cecilia interjected, sneering the hero’s name, “isn’t the one needing imprisonment? Maybe he’s the real smuggler, placing blame on innocent persons like McCaulch to cover his own guilt.”

Elsbeth couldn’t believe her ears. The Shadow stood for everything good and just. How could Cecilia accuse him of such a crime? And as for McCaulch’s being innocent . . . “There’s absolutely no reason to doubt The Shadow’s credibility,” Elsbeth said to her uncle, avoiding the glower Cecilia sent her way. “He’s proven his loyalty more times than we can count, and you can be sure he was certain of Bartram’s culpability before arresting him. I’m confident that after questioning, the louse will admit to his crimes, thus further supporting The Shadow’s actions.”

Lord Shaufton pursed his lips. “I’m sure you’re right, Elsbeth. The king will be certain to investigate thoroughly before condemning him. For now, it’s time to eat.” He turned, ending the argument, and entered the double doors.

Cecilia didn’t follow Rupert into the hall but headed to the living quarters with an angry gait, her delicate hands balled into fists. Elsbeth shook her head at the peculiar woman and followed her uncle into the hall. She scanned the room, but Calan’s absence was apparent to her. Sir Randall, however, readily greeted her, apologizing repeatedly for his absence the day of her trip to Fairhaven. He said he’d felt quite ill that day and hadn’t woken from his deep slumber until well past the time she’d left. By then, he’d learned someone else had accompanied her. Randall didn’t mention names, but by the way he scorned the words someone else, she guessed he knew it was Calan.

Randall escorted her to the head table where they sat together. Though she enjoyed his lighthearted conversation, it did little to fill the empty void Calan’s absence had left.

Later that evening, Calan, dressed as The Shadow, stood in the farthest corner of Elsbeth’s chamber. Waiting for her to enter allotted him time to ponder. Though little Betsy’s father would have been hanged anyway for his involvement in the ambush, Calan felt a gnawing guilt that it was his hand, his impulsive action, that had left the man’s daughter an orphan. Since holding the innocent girl in his arms the night Emmy’s house burned, Calan had begun to second guess his black and white view of criminals. He didn’t often think about their having families and loved ones. In all honestly, he tried not to think along those lines because it made executing justice even harder. But was it justice to kill a man in his sins without giving him a second chance to redeem himself? Would the man have repented if given the chance? Was it Calan’s call to make? Holding that sweet child on the way back to the castle had exposed his heart to a real sense of compassion that no words spoken had ever offered. He vowed anew to control his rage, to calculate his actions with a clear, unobstructed mind, before doing something he regretted.

On a sudden impulse he closed his eyes and prayed for aid in this struggle for more sympathy toward his adversaries.

Calan’s eyes opened when he heard the door latch creak. Elsbeth entered the room with a candle in hand. She rubbed her eyes with the opposite hand, took two steps and then paused. “Sir Shadow,” she whispered into the dark beyond her candlelight. “I don’t know how, but I sense your presence.”

Calan didn’t answer right away, silently delighting in her brave and honest soul.

“Pray show yourself, for I scare easily with your skulking.”

Calan smiled and emerged from the corner. “As you will, Lady Rawley.”

He crossed to the shuttered window and opened it, allowing moonlight to flood the room. It covered half the chamber in a mystical silver glow. “It’s bright enough by the moon, so you may snuff out your flame,” he suggested, keeping his voice at a different tenor than Calan. She blew it out, and before her eyes could adjust, he took her hand in his, guiding her to sit near the stone hearth. He sat opposite her on another wooden chair.

Elsbeth waited, still quiet. But he sat a moment, meditating on this woman silhouetted before him. He held ultimate trust in Elsbeth, a privilege he didn’t retain for many these days. Her young, fickle manner of yesteryear had developed into a maturity he found inviting and utterly refreshing.

Yet he couldn’t act on his deep feelings until his situation changed, which made this a meeting of business only.

“Well,” he started off, “it was a successful day indeed, having caught one of England’s most elusive smugglers. He’d snuck a large amount of wool from the coastal caves in return for silks, fine wine and precious jewelry from the Far East. For years he’d avoided the king’s tax through his sly deeds, so King Edward will be pleased to hear of Bartram’s capture.”

“How did you seize him?”

Calan stood and stepped to the fireplace glowing with tiny embers. He removed his warm gloves, set them on the mantel, and leaned a shoulder against the stone wall. “With his comrades’ deaths weeks ago, no one else dared join McCaulch’s gang for fear of a similar fate. Even the promise of a larger payoff didn’t procure him more men, so he was left to do his own dirty work for once. He took more than half his wool to the coast, and that’s when I apprehended him. I have testimony from a villager that he witnessed McCaulch setting fire to the widow Firthland’s house, as well. But as for the bearded man and the female that I believe to be passing missives to Bartram’s abode, I haven’t as yet determined who they are.”

“Oh dear,” Elsbeth murmured. His eyes narrowed in curiosity as she rose from her chair and wandered to the open window. She gazed at the moonlit landscape below, her brows furrowed as she frowned. “I think I know, but . . . I suppose I just didn’t want to believe it.”

“What, Lady Rawley?” he prodded, tense, wondering if she’d figured out his identity.

“The cloaked figure,” she said, “the one going to Bartram’s dwelling—” Calan breathed in relief that it wasn’t about him “—I believe it might be a young servant in my uncle’s employ. Her name’s Yancy Inish. I should have told you before, for I’ve suspected something a while but never felt quite certain. Perhaps I’m still not sure, but she frequently goes out at late hours to visit a ‘friend’ I believe to be a man in the village. She stammers excuses for her excursions and one time alluded to doing something shameful. I’m privy to no other details, I’m afraid, and this may not mean she’s the betrayer we seek. The world is full of coincidences and misunderstandings. In fact, as for her writing notes to Bartram, it’s not possible, for she’s illiterate. I feel in my heart Yancy’s a good girl, just a tad ignorant. I fear this leaves her open to the deception of others.”

Yes, Calan thought as he stood up, Yancy had posed a valid candidate. He’d observed the lass on occasion, among countless others, and although she provided good service, he was hard-pressed to believe she carried enough aptitude to execute complex business transactions. Still, she was competent enough to pass notes that were written by others.

According to a comment Elsbeth made awhile back, the night before Fairhaven, in fact, Genna had been oddly secretive about her letters. He knew Genna wrote missives, but they were something he’d seen fit to leave alone. But was he being deceived by the very person he’d sworn to protect? Could she be writing to Bartram and sending the notes through Yancy? Perhaps it was time to search the contents of Genna’s private chamber.

“Your information has been valuable, Lady Rawley, though it adds more labor to my investigations,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

Elsbeth nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact. There are no eyes that affect me as Bartram McCaulch’s evil ones do, but I felt the same eerie sensation when I saw the bearded man’s eyes. I have little more to go on than a gut feeling, but I wonder if the two could be kin. I don’t know his family at all. I suppose he could have a cousin or a brother I’m unaware of.”

“It’s certainly plausible,” he nodded. He may have to delve deeper into Bartram’s family history. He glanced at Elsbeth’s illuminated form, thinking what a good informant she’d proven to be . . . as well as a total distraction to his senses. “Well,” he said, moving closer to her, keeping the moon to his back, “gut feelings often hold more accuracy than what we perceive with our own eyes and ears.”

Calan’s hand lifted of its own accord to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered at her cheek, then cupped it. As he ran his thumb over her soft skin, she closed her eyes. He saw an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Pulling his mask down, he claimed her lips with his. She stiffened, but didn’t pull away. She tasted of cinnamon apple cider. He deepened the kiss, devouring the sweet nectar, and felt her body relax into him. Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed her closer. It wasn’t just the kiss that delighted him, it was the sense of peace Elsbeth provided, a tranquility he’d been missing for so long.

What was he doing? This wasn’t the time for such intimacy. He must keep his passions under control and his mission at hand. His bold actions weren’t at all honorable, either. He broke the kiss and pulled his mask up again. Elsbeth opened her eyes, and he steeled himself for another slap to the cheek. But Elsbeth simply gazed at his hidden face. He could see in her eyes how he affected her and guessed she’d not experienced such behavior from Randall. He valued her innocence in that regard.

“No slap, Lady Rawley?” he queried with a hoarseness he hoped didn’t betray his obsession with her.

“Would it do any good?”

“Maybe” he smirked, half joking, after which Elsbeth’s palm hit his face with a powerful whack, resulting in a stinging pain. He couldn’t help smiling at her exuberance. “I deserved that again, thank you.” He turned and moved from the window, stepping back into the shadows.

The thought struck him that if even he took slight advantage of Elsbeth, as he just had, then others with less self-control might do far worse. He frowned, picturing the worm, Randall. Calan wanted so much to be near Elsbeth at all times, to guard her from ignoble men, including the bearded man, but that just wasn’t possible with his numerous responsibilities. She needed more protection than he could supply at present. “Lady Rawley, do you carry a weapon?”

Elsbeth cocked her head. “Other than my sharp tongue, I do not.”

He smiled at her wit. “With deceivers still at large, you should carry some weapon other than that.” He reached into his cloak and drew out his dagger. The sharp blade was tucked in a silver sheath interlaced with gold trim. The leather-wrapped handle housed a dazzling emerald at its end. He handed it to her. “In light of all that’s occurred,” he spoke in a firm, but gentle voice, “I advise you to keep this with you at all times—in the castle, at mealtime, even in church—until the others are caught. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do so.” She took it in hand. “But I know not how to use such a weapon.”

“You don’t need great skill to stab an attacker.” He paused and smiled to himself. “However, Sir Calan is extremely proficient in the art of combat. Ask him tomorrow to teach you some skills. Promise me this.”

“I will,” Elsbeth answered, hugging the dagger to her chest.

“Good,” he nodded. “I’d show you myself, but it’s better done in daylight and . . .”

She nodded in understanding.

“It’s late and I must go.” He had more investigating before the night’s end. He moved toward the tapestry, retrieving his gloves from the mantel as he passed by. Elsbeth followed him. After pushing the tapestry aside and opening the small door, he turned to face her in the dark. “You’ve been most helpful, Els-Lady Rawley.” Fie, he almost slipped up in using her informal name. He couldn’t afford such mistakes while acting as The Shadow. “I look forward to our next meeting.” It grew harder each day to stay away from her. He clasped her hand in his and brought it to his masked lips. He inhaled the fragrance of her supple skin, and then reluctantly let her hand go.

Reentering the castle by way of the gatehouse, having removed his mask and hood, Calan went with candle in hand to the chamber he’d occupied for the past few weeks at Graywall. Upon entering his room, he stepped on a missive that had been slipped under his door while he was out. He picked it up. The wax seal pressed into the parchment bore his family mark. The letter was either from his parents or from Giles. He hadn’t told them yet of his presence here, but word had obviously reached Egbert somehow.

He cracked the seal and opened the letter. It was from Giles. Sitting on his bed, he scanned the contents.

The news it contained wasn’t bad in the least, but it did surprise him. For the past year, unbeknownst to him or anyone here, his cousin Giles had been courting Genna through secret correspondence. They’d been writing each other as frequently as the distance between them had allowed. Giles couldn’t leave Egbert to see Genna for all his responsibilities at home, but planned to take part in Graywall’s tournament to win his beloved’s hand.

Giles explained the reason for their secrecy. Genna knew that Giles had no known lineage. She believed her father wouldn’t allow her marriage to Giles because of it. So they devised a plan. Genna would enter the maiden list so Giles would have the opportunity to win her hand in a fair competition. Her father would have no choice but to honor the victor’s selection, as stated by Rupert’s own tournament rules. Genna’s last letter to Giles informed him of Calan’s presence in Graywall and his setting himself up as her personal bodyguard to ward off other suitors vying for her hand. From this letter, Giles clearly assumed Calan knew of their secret courtship and thanked Calan for protecting Genna for his sake.

Calan couldn’t help laughing at this turn of events. He was no longer interested in searching Genna’s chamber. And the secret couple believed he merely guarded Genna for Giles. What a wonderful idea. His separation from Genevieve would be easier than he’d originally thought.

One problem: Giles planned to win the tourney to claim Genna, but Calan had his own plan for the tournament, and it included winning as well. He’d have to think things over and strategize some more. Giles said he would arrive tomorrow.

Though Calan would still remain alert to smugglers and dangers surrounding Lord Shaufton’s household, he could pass Genna’s security on to his trusted cousin as soon as the next day.

He still couldn’t tell Elsbeth about his being The Shadow, but at least he’d be free to pursue her as Calan.

He frowned, wondering if he could even maintain his role as the Shadow and court Elsbeth. His desire for revenge still haunted him and consumed most of his time. Could he give it up?

Then, as on the wings of a merciful angel, Elsbeth’s wise words spoken to “The Shadow” weeks ago entered his turbulent mind. “You’ll run yourself ragged trying to catch every thief, forgetting that much of that business is God’s, not yours,” she’d said. God, aware of his efforts, would take care of the rest, doling out punishment in His own time and wisdom. Yes, he should not allow the vice of vengeance to steal the peace that only forgiveness could bring. He’d do what he could as an instrument for King Edward and the Almighty, but be content to leave the rest to God and the law of the land.

As dew evaporates upon glimpsing the sunrise, his overwhelming feelings of revenge and anger dispersed, allowing his soul to fly free as it never had. Had God led him to Graywall so Elsbeth could heal his soul with her astute counsel? He truly believed so.

But what of Sir Randall? Calan frowned again. The man still posed an obstacle. How could he dispose of the louse? It would prove difficult scaring him off if Elsbeth had already considered marriage to Randall. And to be honest, he didn’t know if the feelings Elsbeth once claimed for him had continued strong all these years. Calan had seen her growing acceptance of Sir Randall, and though he hoped his sporadic interventions helped ward off her thoughts of marriage, he wasn’t sure he’d been successful. He should tread lightly on this ground, for jumping into a new courtship soon after “ending” one with Genna might make him appear ambivalent and untrue, neither of which were good virtues to demonstrate.

Calan lay down in bed. So where to go from here? With so many thoughts on his mind, it was a miracle he fell asleep at all.