if he was about to break into a fit of giggles. He was dressed in peasant garb and in need of a bath.
The child wasn't afraid. Thrilled was a far better description, for the man who had saved his life, the warrior who destroyed the band of men waylaying his protectors on the isolated route to London, was finally awake. The child's memory began with Lord Geoffrey, and although the leader could have no knowledge of this fact, he was impressed with the innocent acceptance and trust in the lad's eyes.
'You will not die now?' the child asked. Both Roger and Geoffrey showed surprise that the boy could speak, but before either of them could remark on the matter, the little one continued, 'Everyone heard you yelling and they smiled.'
The child sounded so relieved and so sure of himself that Lord Geoffrey found himself smiling.
'Tell me your name,' he commanded in a gruff voice.
The child opened his mouth, frowned, and then shrugged his shoulders. His voice held surprise when he replied, 'I do not know my name.'
'Do you know where you came from, how you came to be here?' Roger asked the question and the boy turned to stare at him.
'He saved me,' the child said, pointing at Geoffrey. 'That is how I came to be here,' he explained. 'I am to be a knight.' The boy's shoulders straightened with pride. He had figured that out all by himself.
Lord Geoffrey exchanged a look with Roger and turned back to the boy. 'Who do you belong to?' he asked, although he already held the answer.
'To you?' The child no longer looked so sure of himself. He clutched his hands together while he waited for an answer.
The nervous action was not missed by the warrior. He had rarely dealt with one so young, but the instinct to protect, to guard, pulled at him. 'Aye,' he answered, inwardly wincing at the harshness in his tone. 'Now leave me. We will talk again, later.'
The child looked relieved. The lord watched him run to the door, wishing the boy to smile instead of frown and wondering why he felt this way. The fever must have left him weak in spirit as well as body, he decided.
'My lord?' the boy asked from the doorway, his back facing the leader so that his expression was hidden.
'Yes?' the lord answered impatiently.
'Are you my father?' He turned then, and Geoffrey had a clear view of the torment and confusion on the boy's face.
'No.'
His answer brought tears to the youngster's eyes. Lord Geoffrey glanced at Roger with an expression that clearly stated, 'Now what?' Roger cleared his throat and muttered to the boy, 'He is not your father, lad. He is your lord. Your father was his vassal.'
'My father is dead?'
'Aye,' Geoffrey answered. 'And you are in my care now.'
'To train to be a knight?' the boy asked with a frown.
'Yes, to train to be a knight.'
'You are not my father, but you are my lord,' the boy stated very matter-of-factly. ' 'Tis almost the same thing,' he announced, challenging Lord Geoffrey with an unwavering stare. 'Is it not?'
'Yes,' the warrior answered with exasperation. ' 'Tis the same.'
Neither the lord nor Roger said another word until the door was closed behind the child. They could hear him boasting to the guards posted at the door, and Roger was the first to smile. 'Thomas surely had his hands full with that one,' he chuckled. 'And he was not a young man when the boy came along, if my mind serves me well.'
'How could I have forgotten?' the leader asked. 'Thomas had several children, all female, and fully grown before his wife gave him a son. His pride reached London,' Geoffrey added.
'And the girl?' Roger asked.
'She is his sister. You have only to look at the boy's eyes, Roger, to see the truth. They are replicas of hers.' Geoffrey swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His legs felt weak but he braced them against the side of the bed and took a deep breath, willing himself strength. 'She hides from me, Roger, and I will know the reason.'
'We were told that the entire family was killed,' Roger said. 'And the boy was dressed as a peasant…'
'Obviously for his protection, for he is heir to Montwright…'
'The servant who tried to take the lad, perhaps he can tell you the answers to this riddle,' Roger advised.
'Yes. I am sure he knows where his mistress hides,' Geoffrey agreed. 'He will tell me why she is afraid.'
'Afraid?' Roger laughed. 'I doubt she is afraid of anyone or anything. Why, she had all of us doing her bidding. Horace tells all who will listen how the golden one walked into the great hall and enchanted all who were present. All but me,' Roger added.
'You were not enchanted?' the leader inquired with one raised eyebrow.
'Humbled,' Roger admitted with a sheepish grin. 'I am too old to be enchanted.'
Geoffrey chuckled and walked over to look out the window. He stared out at the forest while he listened to Roger.
'When I first saw her, I was filled with anger. I did not expect a slip of a girl to tend you and I was convinced that you were dying. But she knew what she was about. Her lack of fear intrigued me. She was a contradiction,' Roger admitted, 'but I noticed the vulnerability in her when she asked me about the boy. I was too exhausted at the time to put two and two together. I see the connection now.'
'Why did she leave, knowing that her home was once again secure? To chance the outside when she could be well protected here…' Geoffrey turned from the window and added, 'I
'And when you do?' Roger asked.
'I will make her mine,' the warrior answered in a hard, determined voice. 'She will be mine.'
The vow was made.
It took less than an hour to conduct the necessary business of righting Montwright. Roger had been most efficient, and the men were all hard at work reinforcing the walls. Lord Geoffrey dressed-all in black, as was his mood-and waited impatiently in the great hall for the servant to be brought before him.
He was becoming wild with anger, frustration, and worry. Finding the girl before harm befell her was becoming an obsession. He admitted as much but could not explain it. He only knew that seeing her in the forest before the battle to regain Montwright Manor was indeed an omen, and the omen had become reality, had it not, when he awakened to find her caring for him? His reasoning reeked of superstition, yet he was powerless to control it, and for the first time in his twenty-seven years, he found himself ruled by emotion. It was a chilling admission. Emotion had no place in his life. It clouded reason. Discipline and logic, as cold and sharp as the blade he swung for power's sake, ruled his every action. And it would be so again, he pledged, just as soon as the girl was found. Found and claimed.
'Here he is, my lord,' Roger said from the doorway. He shoved the trembling servant to the floor in front of the lord.
Lord Geoffrey turned from his position in front of the hearth and gave the servant a hard look. 'Your name?'
'I am called Joseph, my lord. Loyal servant to Thomas,' he added. The servant knelt and bowed his head, showing his respect.
'You have a strange way of proving your loyalty to Thomas,' Geoffrey said in a hard voice. 'Trying to take his heir to the outside could well cost you your life.'
'I meant him no harm, my lord,' Joseph whispered. 'I was trying to protect him.'
'Protect him from me?' Geoffrey's bellow fairly unnerved the servant.
He shook his head and tried to find his voice. 'Nay, my lord! We only thought to keep little Thomas safe until you were recovered.'
'And you thought him unsafe here?' Geoffrey asked.
'It was overheard that Belwain, uncle to little Thomas, had been sent for. My mistress believes that Belwain
