Chapter 13

A few days later, the first game of the two-day tournament took place. By tradition, the first day was considered the less thrilling of the two, though not lacking in entertainment. There were more events, but they were simpler and less strenuous than the mêlée and joust held the day after. Modest prizes were awarded the victors of each minor challenge, including small sacks of bronze or silver coins, barrels of apple cider, a fattened calf or pig, and the privilege of sitting at or near the head table during the ensuing feast.

The games included archery, dagger and hammer throws, curling, horseshoes, spears, bowling, wrestling, crossbow, wood chop and falconing. In addition to knights and nobles, peasants joined in these lesser games as well. Lord Rupert decreed it only fair to include everyone. The villagers were usually only excluded from the following day’s mêlée and joust simply on account of funding.

The day began just after the sun arose and lasted until the evening’s immense, mid-tournament feast.

Though Elsbeth enjoyed attending the first matches, she often missed them to assist in the evening’s banquet preparations. The vast arrangements kept the entire household staff busy.

As lady of the castle, Cecilia oversaw all the displays. She marched around in a new blood-red surcoat, barking orders and making sure everything was completed with exactness.

Elsbeth helped out where Cecilia bade her. Her aunt first sent her to the kitchens to pluck and gut chickens, pheasants, and peacocks, and then she went with several serfs to pick wild flowers for table and wall adornments.

She spent an hour in the great fields gathering various blossoms, picking lilacs for her personal store, and placing them in the large basket she carried. As she searched the wild flora, she found herself on a hill overlooking the games. Among the masses, she caught Genna waving to a pair of knights. The crest upon their tunics announced them as the Beaumont cousins. They started a friendly spar with one another for their captive audience.

Even from where she stood, she could feel Calan’s presence as if he were standing right next to her. She could even smell the cinnamon in the air. Or was it just her desire to sense it?

Feeling melancholy, Elsbeth returned to the castle with her blooms. She took the flowers to the kitchen’s herbal corner to be divided and arranged.

Arranging the flowers and placing them around the hall took another hour. Elsbeth strolled around the massive area inspecting her work and the room in general. Flowers and statues added color and variety to the brown wooden tables while flags, swords, and shields bearing the crest of Graywall—a yellow sun resting above a gray, turreted rampart—decked the gray stone walls. Well lit with torches and oil lamps, the room appeared happy and bright, the opposite of how Elsbeth felt. Within a day, if Calan won the tournament, he’d announce his intention to marry Genna.

As people flooded the hall, Elsbeth left to bathe and dress for the evening. Jillian added oils and fresh lilacs to the water before washing Elsbeth’s hair. Elsbeth scrubbed her own body. After Elsbeth stepped from the tub and into a light robe, Jillian opened the door, admitting two male servants to empty the tub of gray water out the window. Jillian gathered up Elsbeth’s work clothes and followed the other servants out the door, shutting it behind her.

Elsbeth rummaged through her trunks for something nice to wear. Eyeing the pink surcoat she frequently wore on the Sabbath, she remembered Randall had complimented her on it. As she reached for the pastel outfit, a soft rapping sounded at her door. Tightening the robe around her, she stood. “Who is it?”

“It is I,” came her cousin’s voice. “Are you decent enough for company?”

“Yes, dearest, come in.”

Genna flowed in wearing an alluring pink bliaut, the neckline dipping just low enough to tantalize. The dress hung about her curvy frame in silken folds, the long bell sleeves reaching almost to the floor. She posed a vision. Elsbeth suddenly wished she had something similarly beautiful to wear.

“Have you chosen a dress yet?” Genna asked.

Elsbeth glanced at the pink surcoat in her chest. They shouldn’t both wear pink, should they? No, let her cousin radiate the soft color, since she was the first to don it. Elsbeth would have to choose something else. Problem was, there wasn’t much else. “Uh, I was just trying to decide,” she muttered. “But I have little to select from,”

“I thought as much,” Genna stated with a smirk. “That’s why I brought you this.”

Genna pulled a large cloth bundle from behind her back. Giving it a shake, it unraveled into a radiant bliaut of light blue silk. Gold ribbon trimmed and accented the hem, sleeves and square neckline. Full bell sleeves and a gold tie gracing each side at the waist made it the most elegant dress Elsbeth had ever seen.

She stared at it, mouth agape, not sure what to say. Sure she’d wished for something nice to wear, but she didn’t think it would come in the form of what Genna had brought.

“Come now, Beth.” Genna giggled. “I’ll help you into it.”

“Is this yours?” Elsbeth asked as she donned the dress.

“Mm-hm, it was my mother’s before mine. Most of her things were given to Cecilia after she married father, but not before he let me have first pick from mother’s trunks. I chose several dresses, some shoes and a lot of jewelry. This one I’ve never worn, though.” Genna tied a side ribbon. “With all the other garments I have, it lay forgotten at the back of my wardrobe. I happened upon it—and this pink one—just this eve as I searched for something new to wear. I tried deciding between the two when I thought how wonderful the blue would match your eyes.” She moved around to tie the other side and then stepped back to inspect the dress.

Genna beamed. “Gorgeous, Beth! And you may keep it, too, for I daresay you look ravishing in blue.”

Elsbeth smiled at Genna, and then down at the bliaut. It tapered in at the waist, hugging her trim figure, and flowed in lovely folds over her hips, barely sweeping the floor. Though the neckline sported a modest cut, it accentuated Elsbeth’s average-sized bosom. The flowing bell sleeves fit snug at the shoulders and upper arms before opening wide into large, long flags that waved when she moved. The long roomy sleeves even covered her scars.

She turned to Genna. “Thank you, cousin. You are a saint.” She embraced her.

“But we’re not finished yet,” Genna said, pulling herself from Elsbeth’s grasp. She grabbed the hairbrush from the small table near the window and had Elsbeth sit down on her bed. Genna sat next to her and ran the brush through Elsbeth’s damp locks, causing wispy curls to form around Elsbeth’s face as they dried. Genna inhaled. “Mmm, lilac. It suits you. Always has.” Elsbeth wondered if Calan had ever noticed and if he liked it too. When Genna finished and turned to replace the brush on the table, Elsbeth reached behind her own head to braid her hair.

“No, Beth!” Genna all but shouted, gently shoving Elsbeth’s hands away. “Leave it loose for once. You aren’t working tonight, so there’s no reason to pull it back.”

“Genna, I’m not a young maid,” she argued, pushing Genna’s hands away before attempting to braid her hair again. “I should wear a wimple as well.”

“Nonsense!” Genna replied, lightly swatting Elsbeth’s hands and unfolding the hair. “You’re not a married woman—”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“—and you’re not old.” Elsbeth opened her mouth to protest that too, but Genna plodded on. “And so you may wear your hair however it pleases you—or me—and I think it’ll look charming flowing free.”

Elsbeth’s practical side knew she should appear more reserved, yet the tiny gregarious part of her wanted to appear as exquisite and youthful as possible. In the end, she let Genna have her way and left her hair cascading in shiny russet waves down her back. Genna braided a small bunch of hair near Elsbeth’s temples, interlacing a light-blue ribbon into each of them before letting the braids hang down, framing her face.

Genna rummaged through Elsbeth’s shoe trunk for acceptable footwear and returned with tan leather slippers. Elsbeth placed them on her feet. Glancing at Genna, she spied a mischievous grin on her cousin’s face.

Genna produced a small vial of medium-red beeswax, the color derived from raspberry and plum juice. “Now hold still,” she admonished as she rubbed a finger over the wax. She applied the red hue to Elsbeth’s lips. Elsbeth had worn lip wax on occasion, but not in recent years. With the work she did, it remained impractical, but the thought of wearing it tonight sent mixed ripples of joy and uncertainty coursing through her.

“So lovely, cousin,” Genna praised, leaning back to admire her work. “Why do you hide yourself in those old gray garments?”

“Because of the work I do, as well you know. Fine clothes and loose hair aren’t sensible for that.”

“But why do you feel the need to work? My father doesn’t require it of you.”

“Genna, I enjoy serving others, I really do. Helping others is far more satisfying than wearing fine apparel every day.” Genna looked guilty. But observing her this past week, Elsbeth knew Genna was emerging from her cosseted view of the world to see it as it really was, and she was growing into a fine woman.

Genna stood up and pulled Elsbeth with her, strolling once more around her elder cousin. “Well, good maiden,” Genna said, “we’re ready to join the carousal downstairs. And I believe we’re a tad late.”

Elsbeth nodded. “You go ahead, Genna. I’ll be down soon.” She remembered The Shadow’s caution to always carry the dagger, but she didn’t want Genna seeing it. “I’ve a small matter to attend to,” she eluded.

“Ooh,” Genna nodded, thinking Elsbeth’s “small matter” had something to do with the chamber pot. “I’ll see you soon then.” She gave Elsbeth a peck on the cheek and departed, closing the door behind her.

Elsbeth grabbed the pouch she’d worn earlier that day. She couldn’t wear it over the delicate bliaut. That would look irregular. Taking the dagger from the pouch, she searched the dress for a pocket. Maggots. It had no pockets. How would she carry the dagger? She stood thinking, tapping a forefinger against her waxed lips.

Of course! She strode to her herbal shelf, pulled two leather ties from some empty leather sacks and strung them through the slits at the top and bottom of the dagger sheath. She stepped her right leg up on a chair and tied the dagger to the outside of her calf, the top tie cinched just below her knee and the bottom tie a few inches above her ankle.

She felt a little silly dressed so exquisite yet armed beneath, but felt safer. Gathering the courage to show herself arrayed in such a fashion, she squared her shoulders and left her chamber with a determined gait.

Upon entering the great hall from the rear door, Elsbeth lingered in the shadows a moment to observe the grand scene.

Guests laughed and chattered as jugglers and acrobats entertained with tricks and flips. The assembly clapped and cheered at their astonishing antics. The jester, following their moves in a clumsy mimicry, caused the crowd to cackle and hoot.

Aromas of diverse meats, breads, and cheeses filled the spacious room as servants scurried in and out of the kitchen with food. Elsbeth’s eyes rested on Calan’s back, in his usual spot beside Genna. Giles flanked the young woman’s other side.

Cecilia, next to Rupert, fingered an opal necklace as she ate, a beautiful piece of jewelry Elsbeth had never seen before.

The vacant seat to Cecilia’s right awaited Elsbeth, so she took a deep breath and stirred from the shade. Her uncle turned his head and stopped speaking to Cecilia mid-sentence. He stared at Elsbeth in confusion before recognition lit his face. “Elsbeth, dear niece!” he beamed, awed at her atypical appearance. “I scarcely recognize you. Thought perhaps a new guest just arrived. You are the loveliest lady here this eve.”

Cecilia barely glanced Elsbeth’s way.

Though the corridor still carried some noise, Elsbeth realized it had tempered as guests gazed her way. Calan and Giles stared wide-eyed as though they’d never seen her before. Genna wore a satisfied grin.

Elsbeth’s face flushed bright red at the attention. She hesitated, having the sudden urge to take the meal in her chamber, but Calan jumped to his feet and moved to her side, pulling her chair out before a servant could so she could sit. She smiled in uncertain thanks and sat down, not daring to look anywhere but at the table in front of her.

Guests again commenced their chatter and, although she still squirmed in discomfort, Elsbeth admitted an enjoyment at the crowd’s awareness of her. Calan lingered a moment and then returned to his seat just as Genna appeared at her side.

She bent down to Elsbeth’s ear. “Beth,” she whispered, “did you see everyone ogling you? How positively wonderful!” Elsbeth chuckled and it calmed her nerves a bit. “I do believe the Beaumont boys are absolutely shocked at your appearance. Why, I’ve never seen Giles lose grip on his food before. Chicken grease now compliments his white tunic.” Genna giggled and patted Elsbeth’s arm before returning to her seat between Calan and Giles, the latter still wiping grease off his shirt.

From the corner of her eye, Elsbeth perceived Calan staring at her. Smiling innocently at him, she acted as if nothing at all differed about her. He gave her a heart-melting grin, lifted his goblet and nodded his approval. Her face heated a few more degrees, and she almost grabbed her round of flatbread to fan herself.

Thank heaven for a young servant boy filling her goblet with cider. He provided an excuse to look away from Calan’s heat-bestowing expression. The boy did little to ease her growing discomfort, however. He stared at her as if she’d grown an extra arm. He continued to steal glances as he moved to pour cider into Cecilia’s goblet. The boy overfilled it, spilling the drink on the table. He apologized several times for the mishap and scrambled away as Cecilia sent a murderous glare toward the poor lad.

It was ridiculous, really. Elsbeth normally would have passed the evening unnoticed by anyone at all. But now, she was suddenly something worth their while. She’d changed nothing except dress and hair. It seemed most people refused to see what lay on the inside, allowing the outward appearance to determine their entire opinion of others.

As Elsbeth sipped her cider, she could taste the spices mixed into it: cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon . . . cinnamon. Her eyes wandered over to Calan as she drank. He spoke with her uncle, but lifted his eyes to meet hers. Ah, those sparkling emeralds. So endearing to her, and yet such a cause of anguish and confusion. His eyes left hers and returned to her uncle. Elsbeth’s focus turned to the food placed before her.

Her eyes roved the hall and found Randall ogling her from a seat below. The feeling she received from Randall’s attention was altogether different from what she’d gained from Calan’s. Her reaction to Calan was timid, but peppered with delight. With Sir Randall she felt more like a piece of meat being examined in the marketplace. She squirmed in renewed discomfort, feeling almost embarrassed. She averted her eyes and concentrated on her meal, not looking at either man for a time.

About midway through the feast, Cecilia excused herself for the evening. She missed out on the delectable dessert, roz: cooked rice and raisins covered with sweet thick custard and a light dusting of ground nutmeg. Another favorite of hers, Elsbeth ate her entire bowl.

Genna, always dainty, ate a few bites before passing the remainder to Giles, who eagerly accepted the extra portion. He gobbled it up in record time. Genna’s carefree personality suited Giles more than Calan, Elsbeth thought. She was biased, of course, thinking Genna fit for almost anyone else but Calan, who Elsbeth felt matched no one better than herself. If only Calan also felt that way.

Her attention turned to her uncle when he stood and held his hands high. To quiet the room, he spoke in his booming voice. “Good guests and fine knights! This is the time we all look forward to with great anticipation. I’m pleased that through the years the popularity of my annual tournament—and liberal prizes—has brought so many folk to share my table and home. I welcome you all and toast to your health and happiness.”

He raised his goblet and everyone did the same. “Good health and happiness,” the guests shouted in unison.

“I hope,” Rupert continued, “that as you competitors have prepared for the tournament, you’ve taken time to acquaint yourselves with the fair maids on the list.” Smirks broke out on the men’s faces. They’d most certainly done this, some spending more time with the maidens than at honing their skills. “For as in years past, maidens of age willingly enter the list as available for the tournament champion to choose as wife. My daughter, the fair Lady Genevieve, has chosen to be listed this year.”

Genna blushed as men around the hall cheered and nudged their neighbors knowingly. Aside from her beauty, they were aware of her hefty dowry. “And so, as a token to all, she will delight us with a ballad in honor of the tournament participants.”

Giles momentarily forsook his third portion of custard-covered rice to pull out Genna’s chair. As Genna glided to the center of the room in her pink silk, all eyes followed her progress—including, Elsbeth noted, Calan’s. She berated herself for her dense observation. Of course he watched her. He was courting her, wasn’t he? Elsbeth forced her eyes from Calan, turning them on Genna as well.

“This is for all brave knights,” Genna announced. She nodded to Ludwig, who’d been awaiting her signal. The musicians played an introduction to the haunting tune, One Brave Knight, and then Genna sang:

I seek a brave soul, a knight he must be,

To deliver and save, and to watch over me.

Oh send me a champion, noble and strong,

To fight off my foes, triumph right over wrong.

Dear knight, I am captive, alone in the cold,

Oh come to me, come to me, sir, be so bold.

My hon’rable knight, who is courteous and kind,

Be gallant, dear sir, so for me, come to find.

One brave knight, for truly must be,

Pledge devotion on bended knee.

One brave knight, a hero divine,

Set me free and my heart is thine.

Good knight who is loyal, courageous and chaste,

Pray conquer my woes that so long I have faced.

Thy valor I seek to temper my fears,

To scatter the shadows of long, lonely years.

A man among men, thou hast ver’ly to show,

Stand up and step forth, so of thee I may know.

My delicate life ’tis in thy mercy’s sake,

I long for thee, sir, as my champion to make.

One brave knight, for truly must be,

Pledge devotion on bended knee.

One brave knight, a hero divine,

Set me free and my heart is thine.

Thy coat of arms shown in bright colors arrayed,

Oh, take up yon shield, sir, and fashion thy blade.

With helmet to guard and thy form shod in gray,

My life’s terr’ble dragons I plead thee to slay.

The strength of thine arm may prove worthy indeed,

But strength of the heart is the virtue in need.

So swift thou must be for to rescue and save,

I wait for thee, hope for thee, my knight so brave.

One brave knight, for truly must be,

Pledge devotion on bended knee.

One brave knight, a hero divine,

Set me free and my heart is thine.

The guests sat enraptured as Genna flowed down the center of the room, singing with sweet yearning. Elsbeth observed the many expressions as her cousin passed by. Some men wore obvious airs of lust, others of true admiration. Many of the youngest men bore faces that bespoke pure lovesickness. Elsbeth guessed they were all determined to win the tournament now.

Sir Wallace, in all his bravado, approached Genna while she sang the first chorus. She continued her ballad, not missing a beat as Wallace bent down on one knee to show his devotion to her. His bold gesture caused both Calan and Giles to stand, though they remained behind the head table. Wallace sent Calan a knowing smirk before returning to his seat below. The knighted cousins sat down again, but periodically eyed Wallace throughout the remainder of the song.

Elsbeth listened to the words with bittersweet sentiments and felt dismal in her isolation. She thought of herself as that maiden in the song, desperately needing a gallant knight to save her from her lonely state. Ever since Calan’s arrival at Graywall, Elsbeth had been lost in a great shadow of frustration, not knowing how to emerge from its absorbing darkness.

She looked at Sir Randall, his eyes not on her for once as he watched Genna’s performance. Was he her gallant knight? Somehow he didn’t quite fit the mold she pictured, or truly desired. She sighed with deflated reserve.

As the band played the last chords, shouts and thunderous applause resonated throughout the hall. Genna curtsied and returned to her seat. Guests toasted “the fair maiden” and “the brave knight” with renewed cheers. Elsbeth raised her cup, but didn’t share in the happy atmosphere. She felt tired, worn out, in both body and spirit.

During the sustained applause, she set her goblet down and discreetly exited the great hall intent on retiring to her chamber.

As Elsbeth wended her way down the hallway, Roland ran up to her from the courtyard entrance.

“Beth!” came his breathless cry.

Elsbeth read the alarm in his exerted face and large eyes. “What is it, Roland?” she demanded, bending down and cupping the boy’s cheeks in her hands.

“He’s here, Beth, in the yard!” he simpered. His eyes searched around as if expecting someone to come at them.

“Who, Roland, who is it?” Elsbeth prodded. Did he speak of The Shadow? She studied the boy’s frightened expression and thought not.

“Bartram’s friend . . .” he yelled, “the hairy man . . . he just left the tower.” He swallowed and caught his breath. “I was out there. I saw him!”

Elsbeth lost no time. She told Roland to find Emmy in the hall and to stay close to her. He nodded and ran off.

Her heart raced as she darted down the hallway. She stepped into the courtyard, stopping just outside the door to scan the area, but it appeared devoid of people. Was she too late? No. There he was, making his way along the opposite wall toward the servants’ quarters. She reached under her hem and pulled the dagger from its sheath.

“Halt fiend!” she shouted to the figure across the way. “Guards, seize that man!” she called to the watchmen standing near the tower and pointed in the bearded man’s direction. The brute sprinted off and Elsbeth pursued.

Someone rushed past her, racing toward the traitor. Calan! She recognized his powerful build. Where did he come from? She didn’t think anyone had seen her leave the great hall. She trailed after him.

Calan apprehended the man moments before Elsbeth and the guards reached him. Diving the last yard and wrapping his strong arms around the culprit’s legs, they both plummeted to the ground with an audible thud. The man’s beard flew several feet, landing in a shaggy heap on the ground. Calan scrambled to his knees and pinned the perpetrator’s arms behind his back before hauling him up. He whipped the prisoner around, and astonishment etched Calan’s face as he stared at the captive, his tight grip loosening as he recognized the slight form.

Elsbeth’s breath caught as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

Yancy!

There had to be some mistake. Yancy was too sweet and innocent to do anything like this. But there she stood with the telltale disguise on the ground beside her. Elsbeth gawked at the girl. She’d hoped the servant’s suspicious actions were nothing but coincidence, but evidently they weren’t. She felt a fool for telling The Shadow Yancy wouldn’t do anything deceptive.

Yancy, sobbing and frightened, pulled at Elsbeth’s compassionate strings. Elsbeth asked her what she was doing coming from the tower, but Yancy said nothing, just shook her bowed head and continued to cry. Calan had long ceased to hold her in place, standing by to gently apprehend her should the need arise. With a heavy heart, Elsbeth ordered Yancy to be locked up.

As the guards escorted Yancy away, Elsbeth turned to Calan, who was brushing off his dirty pants. “Thanks for the help, Calan.”

Calan shook his head in disbelief. “Had I known it was a woman, I’d never have brought her to the ground like that.”

“I know, Calan, but regardless of your rough strategy, you’ve accomplished a great service, and we’re now safer because of it.” Elsbeth viewed the somber procession moving into the tower. “A friend once told me that hoping for someone’s goodness shouldn’t be confused with trusting in it. I can see the truth of that now. But I still feel sorry for the lass. I wonder what drove her to this and if I could have prevented it somehow.”

“Elsbeth, don’t place responsibility on yourself where none is due. You often think there’s something you did or didn’t do that made someone act a certain way. But people do things of their own accord, and sometimes there’s simply nothing you can do about it.” At Elsbeth’s silent response, he glimpsed the weapon still clutched in her fist. “I see you’re already using the dagger. Good lass.”

Elsbeth studied the blade she held tight. “Well, I didn’t actually use it, but I did feel safer with it in hand.” Glancing at the tower again, she sighed. “I’ll have to explain all this to my uncle tomorrow.”

“What precisely did this woman do, and why not tell Rupert tonight?” Calan asked.

She turned back to Calan. “I, uh, can’t explain it just now, but I don’t want to bother my uncle with the heavy matter tonight. Let him enjoy the feast without any stress. Explanations can wait.” In truth she didn’t know what to tell Calan or her uncle. The Shadow had said not to tell anyone about the bearded person until the traitor’s identity became known. So now that it was, could she divulge it? And how much should she reveal? She’d have to solicit The Shadow first. “I’m tired,” Elsbeth confessed as she rubbed at her temples. The sadness she’d felt at the end of the feast had returned as a headache. “I was retiring to my chamber when this occurred, so I’ll bid you a good night, Calan. Thanks again for your help.”

She had turned away, but stopped when a gentle hand touched her shoulder. She looked back at Calan.

“You are radiant tonight, Beth.”

Elsbeth inhaled, the compliment bittersweet to her ears. She mustered a half-smile. “Thank you,” she whispered and then swiftly departed to her chamber before he could see the pain in her eyes.

So it had been the servant girl masquerading as the bearded man after all, Calan reflected. Signs of her guilt had been present, of course, if only noticed by Elsbeth. Through years of experience, he’d made it a habit of placing trust in his gut feelings, but he’d never strongly considered this servant a threat. Of course, being human, he was prone to mistakes, as he had been strongly reminded tonight.

It perturbed him that Yancy had been so elusive in her disguise at all other times, and yet she acted so carelessly tonight, daring to enter the tower on a night when so many people attended the feast. She chose a poor night to visit her comrade, Bartram. Was Yancy both the female from the forest and the bearded man who stashed money? Had he just killed two birds with one stone in catching her? He shook his cloaked head, puzzled, as he felt his way up Elsbeth’s hidden steps.

Because of this capture, it seemed that Sir Wallace, though an ardent pursuer of Lady Genna, no longer posed the fraud he thought. It appeared Wallace’s continued pursuit of Genna was for purposes unrelated to his mission.

It seemed the more Calan delved into matters, the more unanswered questions arose.

Calan found the wooden door and rapped on it. A moment passed before he heard Elsbeth ask in a loud whisper, “Who knocks?” though she must have guessed it was he.

“It’s The Shadow, milady,” he affirmed on the other side. A moment later, Elsbeth unlocked the small portal and pushed it toward him on the steps to admit him.

Light from the distant oil lamp on her bedside table illuminated his dark form but gave no details away under his hood.

“Good eve,” he greeted, stepping into the room. Elsbeth shut the door and took a seat by the hearth, indicating the other chair for him.

He sat down with his back to the dim light, the candle allowing him to make out Elsbeth’s bedtime apparel as well as her inquisitive expression.

“Why did you knock?” she asked with raised brows. “You usually just invite yourself in.”

“You mentioned you startled easy with my . . . how did you put it . . . ah yes, my ‘skulking.’” He smiled behind his mask. “So I thought to spare you the fright this time by knocking.”

“How thoughtful,” she returned with a grin.

Calan chuckled and leaned forward, “I’m infamous for my tact.”

Elsbeth laughed.

Calan caught her sweet fragrance. “A question of you?”

“Anything, sir.”

“How is it you’re ever surrounded by that wonderful perfume? Lilac, I believe.” He drew in a long sniff and let it out with an amplified breath.

She laughed again. “I’m flattered you noticed, for it’s my most favorite flower. They grew in abundance about my old home and here as well. I press them into oil of which I add liberal amounts to my bath.”

“Mmm,” he expressed, as if tasting a delicious dessert. “The flower suits you. It’s been your signature fragrance since we first met in the woods. I delight in visiting you for the pleasant feelings it sends.” He stared at her in the dark a moment before stating the reason for his visit. “I congratulate you on catching our perpetrator. You did well.”

“News travels fast, but I’m not to claim the honor myself for it must go to Sir Calan. He made the capture. He’s an admirable knight, one I am honored to call friend.”

“Do you love him?” The question that had swirled around in his mind since discovering he loved Elsbeth escaped before he could stop himself. He knew she’d been infatuated with him long ago, but so many things had changed since then. They’d changed. What were her present sentiments? With Randall’s plaguing nuisance and her seeing his own attentions on Genna, he simply didn’t know.

He held his breath, awaiting her answer.

Elsbeth inhaled and let it out slowly. “Verily, I do love him. Since I can remember I’ve loved him. Though why I’m exposing my feelings to you, I know not. Perhaps it’s a small relief that someone else knows.”

Calan’s heart flipped with joy. Love was a wonderful, yet alarming thing to experience. It was in Elsbeth’s presence alone he truly felt at peace with himself. With her, his soul had begun to emerge from the darkness attempting to overtake him, allowing a ray of sunlight to enter. Elsbeth was that sunlight. She existed as his hope, his saving grace. If he couldn’t have her, he’d surely diminish, giving himself up to his shadowed soul.

“But though my feelings for Sir Calan are tender,” Elsbeth continued, “they are not returned on his part.”

His throat constricted as tears formed on the brim of his eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms, to express his love for her so she’d know Calan loved her back, but he didn’t dare. He required a little more time, until the outcome of the tournament, for he hadn’t as yet publically ended his courtship with Genna.

Elsbeth looked at the floor. “I assume he can’t forget the bothersome lass from long ago, and I have little opportunity to show him I’m not that silly girl anymore.” She brought her head up. “But I’m contented to be good friends now . . . at least I’m trying to be. It’s no secret he pursues my cousin. And I blame him not, for she’s the most beautiful woman in these parts and I, too, love her dearly.”

“Beauty is no substitute for true worth.”

“For many it is, and she’s far more than beautiful.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“But no worries, Sir Shadow,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “As you’re already aware, I have a knight vying for my hand, and I feel he’s a good enough man. In fact, I believe he’s on the verge of proposing marriage. As I’m not getting any younger, I’ve decided to accept him when he does.”

Calan inwardly sneered. Randall remained an infuriating obstacle to be eliminated. He’d have to act before Randall made good on his soon-to-be proposal.

Elsbeth glanced at him but then looked down at her lap. “Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, “I must explain to my uncle about Yancy, but I don’t know what to tell—”

“Not to worry,” he assured, “I’ve just come from speaking with him, and I clarified all he needs to know at this time. He’s satisfied with my explanations at present.”

“I appreciate that,” Elsbeth said in obvious relief. “It takes some worry off my shoulders, but there are still questions needing answers. Until Yancy talks, we won’t know the whole story.”

“And we can’t let our guard down either. Who knows but there may be other dangers. Have you been carrying the dagger?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Good, keep doing so. Now I should go. It was simply a short visit to congratulate you on the capture.” And to see you again, he added to himself.

“What, no attempt to kiss me this time?” Elsbeth jested.

Calan laughed, tempted to take her up on the challenge, but resisted. “Alas, my cheeks dread the touch of your stern palm.”

Elsbeth smiled.

He stood and turned to the tapestry, the obscured image of Fairhaven catching his eye. “Magnificent place, wasn’t it,” he commented.

“Yes. I hope to rebuild it someday, but my father’s lands aren’t exactly mine for the taking.”

“How so?” Calan asked, turning to her.

“After fire desolated the castle, the lands fell under my uncle’s stewardship, until such time as I marry. Then they’ll be mine again.”

Alarmed, Calan’s body shuddered. He hadn’t known this. Elsbeth’s husband would inherit Fairhaven.

“It would be my dowry, so to speak,” Elsbeth continued. “I agreed to this, years ago. No one but my uncle and I know, not even Genna. It was my wish to keep it a secret to dissuade land grubbing suitors from persuing me.”

So Genna wasn’t the only one with a land dowry. Unnerving chills raced through his body. Could he have been protecting the wrong woman from suitors all this time? Could it have been Elsbeth the smugglers spoke of in the forest? They never mentioned a name. It was his assumption they referred to Genna. Could he have acted too rashly?

But Elsbeth said no one knew of the agreement. Of course that didn’t mean much. Secrets had a way of leaking out. Every mission he had undertaken had relied on gathering “confidential” information.

He swore under his breath. Could his focus have been so intent upon Genna’s suitors that he missed the real perpetrator pursuing Elsbeth?

Sir Randall.

His heart beat a fearful rhythm. Was this what had caused his constant unease about the man? Had it been more than mere jealousy? Calan felt an intensified need to get rid of the other knight, but Randall wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded if his goal was to obtain Elsbeth’s lands. Calan required more information, more proof. Just who was Sir Randall Bolkin of Nottinghamshire?

“I must be off,” Calan announced again, moving to the tapestry.

He swept it aside and opened the secret door, Elsbeth holding the textile out for him. Before ducking through the portal, he turned and took her hand in his, bringing it to his masked lips. “Till we meet again, my lilac lady.” He let her hand go and admonished, “Keep that dagger close . . . and stay watchful.” Stepping onto the verge, he disappeared into the passage.

Elsbeth closed the door and locked it tight, placing the brass key in the vase on the mantel. She moved to her bed, taking the dagger from her table and placing it under her pillow.

She felt giddy that her lilac scent had delighted The Shadow. She wondered again if Calan liked the scent too. At this thought, both her heart and body froze.

The scent! her mind yelled at her. His scent! She realized why The Shadow reminded her of something else, of someone else. He smelled of cinnamon! Calan was the one man she knew who claimed that cologne. How had she not realized it before?

Calan was The Shadow! The Shadow was Calan! It seemed absurd, but it had to be true.

She snatched back the key, causing the vase on the mantel to rock dangerously close to the edge. Grabbing the oil lamp from her bedside and throwing slippers onto her feet, she thrust the key into the lock, her fingers shaking.

Pushing the door open, she peered into the passageway. She saw and heard nothing. How far had he gone? Had he reached the outer wall? She raced as fast as she dared down the stone stairwell and through the long underground passage, holding the lamp as steady as possible in her haste. She listened for footsteps, but all she heard were her own, mingled with her rapid breathing.

“Sir Shadow,” she spoke into the expanse ahead. No response. “Calan.” Still nothing.

She reached the steps leading to the outer wall and climbed them two at a time. Half the oil sloshed from the lamp and soaked into the dirt floor beneath her feet. She reached the outer door, but it was locked tight.

He was gone.

“Oh Calan,” she whispered to herself, heaving a sigh and leaning her shoulder against the wooden door. She set her lamp on the ground and rubbed her tired eyes with both hands. As The Shadow, he’d accused Calan of being disloyal and as Calan, he’d dubbed The Shadow a fool who made up his own rumors to gain attention. As The Shadow, he’d been careful to call her ‘Lady Rawley’ and to lower his voice to a mysterious, almost hoarse, pitch, but as Calan, he remained informal, his voice customary. The Shadow had appeared in Graywall around the same time Calan arrived, and Calan had never once been present when The Shadow was. And then there was the cinnamon.

They had to be the same person!

She felt foolish for not noticing the coincidences earlier and more so for revealing her intimate sentiments to The Shadow about, well, him. She shook her head, feeling she had cast pearls before swine. Her heart wrenched in agony and embarrassment.

Maybe her heart just wanted Calan to be The Shadow because then all the embraces and kisses would have been Calan’s true feelings for her. But no, he pursued Genevieve. He and Genna were together all the time and Elsbeth witnessed first-hand his daily devotion to her cousin. He wouldn’t tease Genna with false affections just to keep his cover, would he? Or had he been deceiving her all along, pretending an attraction as The Shadow in order to keep Elsbeth from comparing his two characters? If he did, he played a cruel game indeed.

Elsbeth raised a hand to her cheek and blew out a shaky breath, warding off the tears. Maybe she’d had everything wrong. Perhaps she had just run down a dark secret tunnel at midnight like an idiot, only to find on the morrow that cinnamon is a rather common scent for men and that all the perceived similarities were just happenstance.

She squatted to pick up her lamp, but before she reached it, a familiar gloved hand covered her mouth from behind and another encircled her waist. She was lifted against his frame of solid muscle.

“It’s me, Beth,” came the recognizable whisper in her ear.

He let her go and she picked up the lamp. Turning to face him, she raised the lamp to the level of his masked face, illuminating his eyes.

Green.

“Calan,” she whispered, staring up at him.

He lifted the hood off his head and pulled his mask down, revealing his entire face.

They observed each other for an endless minute before Elsbeth broke the silence. “Calan how . . . why . . . when did you . . . ?” She wasn’t sure whether to embrace him or slap his handsome face for all the weeks of misguiding her, so she simply remained still.

Calan stooped down and picked up her lamp. “Return to your chamber, Elsbeth,” he advised after handing the light to her.

“No. I demand answers, Calan Beaumont, and I’ll have them this night.”

Calan shook his head. “Elsbeth, this is neither the time nor the place for a lengthy story.” As if to emphasize this, a brown rat squeaked and ran past before squeezing itself into a narrow crack in the stone tunnel wall.

Unaffected, Elsbeth began to protest anew, but Calan held up his hand. “I will explain, but not now. I must ponder on some things. Besides, it’s late, and we both need our rest.”

Elsbeth’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She didn’t want to wait for the answers, but she knew Calan’s stubborn side rivaled that of a mule. She’d get no explanations tonight.

“Speak of this discovery to no one, Elsbeth, swear it,” Calan pleaded.

Feeling defeated, she relented. “Of course. I’ll not tell a soul, but I’ll get no rest wondering over it all.”

Calan’s eyes exuded a silent apology. “I know, Elsbeth, but be patient. I do this for your protection as well as mine.” He brought his hand to her cheek and stroked it with the back of his gloved fingers. She pulled back from his confusing touch, her lips set straight in frustration. Calan dropped his hand to his side. “I know all this is a shock to you, but the answers will come soon enough, I promise. Please understand.”

Calan escorted her back to her chamber in silence. Her rigid body stood by the tapestry as Calan again departed, shutting the door behind him. She reached out and locked it in a daze before dragging her feet to the bed.

Her head throbbed in pain and confusion.

She extinguished the lamp, lay down, and pulled the covers up to her chin, but slumber eluded her. How could she sleep with all that had just happened?

As she stared at the dark ceiling, she thought of her short but happy childhood with the adorations and carefree concerns of a young girl. She recalled her parents’ death and her eternally scarred arms. She thought over her orphaned state, the charity of loving relatives and her service to others in keeping her pain and loneliness suppressed. She pondered the joy she’d felt when Calan had arrived a month ago and how it had turned to sorrow when she’d seen his interest in another. And now, with the discovery of The Shadow’s true identity, her bewilderment increased tenfold. She wondered if she could handle the truth when it came.

Her soul, crying out for release from the turmoil of lonely years, caused her eyes to water. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and then another, and another. She wiped them away, scolding herself for giving in to vulnerable emotions. She should be stronger, but being a pawn in this cruel game had taken its toll.

She felt that Sir Randall was her only viable option now. But dare she couple herself with a man who struggled with his temper, who physically grabbed and coaxed her to do his bidding, who avoided speaking about his own life? Though he seemed genuine in his affection, did she know enough about him? She turned onto her side and willed everything from her mind. Sleep continued to evade her until some unknown point when her heavy eyes closed of their own volition, and she sank into exhausted slumber.

Calan, surprised by Elsbeth’s discovery, hadn’t been prepared to explain, but her knowing him as The Shadow posed an even greater threat to them now. There were many who sought The Shadow’s death. If Elsbeth’s knowledge was discovered, she’d be bait for ransom or subject to torture from those attempting to get him.

His frustrated mind moved his legs around the wall and he stumbled over a patch of thick ivy overgrown from the stone foundation. His foot caught in the ivy, and he shook himself loose. In doing do, his boot hit something behind the ivy, making a hollow echo. That wasn’t stone he kicked.

He swept the ivy aside, exposing a small wooden door built into the wall, similar to Elsbeth’s secret door, but on the opposite side of the castle from hers. He pulled his picks from a pouch and worked the lock until it clicked. The door opened with an ease that suggested recent use. He swung it as wide as the ivy allowed, peering into the space. The moonlight lit the inside, and he distinguished a wall a short space back. No other door was visible.

Stepping inside, he viewed the outline of numerous trunks, sacks and barrels. It looked to be a storage room of some sort.

He opened the sacks along the wall. Wool! A good amount of it. He picked the lock of the first trunk and scanned its contents. Fine laces, silks and precious jewels. Was this a store room for Rupert’s goods or someone’s smuggled items? Yancy had had access to the castle and possibly to this area. These items could be hers. But since she’d been captured tonight, she’d not be getting to them again. The objects would remain untouched until after the tournament. He could return after tomorrow to investigate further. For now, he needed sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day indeed. He exited back through the door and locked it tight, concealing it again behind the thick greenery.