arm.
“Oh,” she said in sudden recognition, “yes. My mantle. How kind of you to come this far to bring it to me.”
“I did not come this far to be kind.”
The blunt words heightened her fears, but she merely smiled and lifted a brow. “I see. Whatever your reason, my lord, I am pleased to have my mantle returned.”
She held out a hand for it. The blond Norman hesitated, then at a gesture from Devaux relinquished it to her with a faint smile. He had a pleasant countenance. Pale hair longer than the norm brushed against mailed shoulders to frame his face; unobstructed by helmet or heavy nasal, hazel eyes were direct and humorous. He briefly met her gaze, curiosity a muted gleam in his eyes.
“Your servant, milady.”
Devaux shifted position, one foot moving to the shallower step of the threshold. His boots shone dully. “I would speak with you, my lady. In private.”
Her heart thundered, but the smile on her lips did not waver as she shook her head. “I am afraid you have caught me at amost inconvenient time, my lord sheriff. My household is not prepared to offer hospitality to such an esteemed guest, and—”
“Lady Neville, you misunderstand me. This is not a polite request for the pleasure of your company.”
He left her no option. With as much calm as she could, she said, “Grant pardon, my lord. I was unaware you had come on such an errand.”
He did not reply; no indication of why he had come eased her apprehension. Fully aware that he was close behind her, she went into the house. When her eyes adjusted to the change from light to soft shadow, she saw Dena staring at her from a doorway, her eyes wide and frightened. Calmly, she directed, “Dena, bring us refreshment.”
“Aye, milady.” Dena’s scared gaze flicked to the tall Norman and away again. Age and generous weight made her awkward; she dipped toward the sheriff in the slightest of curtsies and turned stiffly away.
Devaux was silent, all loose-limbed grace and resolve. The knot in Jane’s belly grew tighter; she drew in a deep breath for courage as they entered the hall.
Lime-whitened plaster walls were washed with ocher light that fell through latticed windows; timber posts formed a double line down the middle of the hall to support the ceiling. A new stone fireplace filled one wall, drawing smoke up the chimney with wonderful efficiency.
She heard him behind her, his feet crackling on clean rushes. She
felt
him behind her. A presence, silent but seeming to fill the empty hall; he intimidated her. She curled her hands into fists at her sides. If he had come to arrest her, she was powerless.
When she turned around, Devaux was frighteningly close. The light that streamed in through the windows in irregular squares left his face in shadow.
“You smell of mint, milady.”
It was unexpected; mundane and harmless. At a loss, she fumbled for a reply that would not sound inane or guarded.
When nothing came to mind and the silence stretched, one corner of his mouth tucked slightly inward. Not a smile, but an acknowledgment, perhaps, of her disconcerted state.
A little awkwardly, she put a hand to her throat; her fingers grazed the small, smooth globes of the prayer beads she had put on that morning. Cool stones that signified an appeal for redemption; unanswered pleas in pretty futility around her neck.
Devaux watched her. The silence was unbearable now. Words crowded her head, clogged her throat with misery and fear.
He knows
.
How? What had betrayed her?
She wanted to speak, to pierce the heavy stillness with her defense. Still, no words would come; her tongue was weighted with guilt.
Not guilt for the attempted robbery—but for the result. Four men had died. Even with her eyes wide open she could see them lying in the road, green jerkins soaked with blood.
Perrin, Oswald, Adam, Wace.
Names put to men to be mourned. Brave men all.
While she had fled with John, Will, and Alan—fading into the greenwood and abandoning the
“Oh,” she said in sudden recognition, “yes. My mantle. How kind of you to come this far to bring it to me.”
“I did not come this far to be kind.”
The blunt words heightened her fears, but she merely smiled and lifted a brow. “I see. Whatever your reason, my lord, I am pleased to have my mantle returned.”
She held out a hand for it. The blond Norman hesitated, then at a gesture from Devaux relinquished it to her with a faint smile. He had a pleasant countenance. Pale hair longer than the norm brushed against mailed shoulders to frame his face; unobstructed by helmet or heavy nasal, hazel eyes were direct and humorous. He briefly met her gaze, curiosity a muted gleam in his eyes.
“Your servant, milady.”
Devaux shifted position, one foot moving to the shallower step of the threshold. His boots shone dully. “I would speak with you, my lady. In private.”
Her heart thundered, but the smile on her lips did not waver as she shook her head. “I am afraid you have caught me at amost inconvenient time, my lord sheriff. My household is not prepared to offer hospitality to such an esteemed guest, and—”
“Lady Neville, you misunderstand me. This is not a polite request for the pleasure of your company.”
He left her no option. With as much calm as she could, she said, “Grant pardon, my lord. I was unaware you had come on such an errand.”
He did not reply; no indication of why he had come eased her apprehension. Fully aware that he was close behind her, she went into the house. When her eyes adjusted to the change from light to soft shadow, she saw Dena staring at her from a doorway, her eyes wide and frightened. Calmly, she directed, “Dena, bring us refreshment.”
“Aye, milady.” Dena’s scared gaze flicked to the tall Norman and away again. Age and generous weight made her awkward; she dipped toward the sheriff in the slightest of curtsies and turned stiffly away.
Devaux was silent, all loose-limbed grace and resolve. The knot in Jane’s belly grew tighter; she drew in a deep breath for courage as they entered the hall.
Lime-whitened plaster walls were washed with ocher light that fell through latticed windows; timber posts formed a double line down the middle of the hall to support the ceiling. A new stone fireplace filled one wall, drawing smoke up the chimney with wonderful efficiency.
She heard him behind her, his feet crackling on clean rushes. She
felt
him behind her. A presence, silent but seeming to fill the empty hall; he intimidated her. She curled her hands into fists at her sides. If he had come to arrest her, she was powerless.
When she turned around, Devaux was frighteningly close. The light that streamed in through the windows in irregular squares left his face in shadow.
“You smell of mint, milady.”
It was unexpected; mundane and harmless. At a loss, she fumbled for a reply that would not sound inane or guarded.
When nothing came to mind and the silence stretched, one corner of his mouth tucked slightly inward. Not a smile, but an acknowledgment, perhaps, of her disconcerted state.
A little awkwardly, she put a hand to her throat; her fingers grazed the small, smooth globes of the prayer beads she had put on that morning. Cool stones that signified an appeal for redemption; unanswered pleas in pretty futility around her neck.
Devaux watched her. The silence was unbearable now. Words crowded her head, clogged her throat with misery and fear.
He knows
.
How? What had betrayed her?
She wanted to speak, to pierce the heavy stillness with her defense. Still, no words would come; her tongue was weighted with guilt.
Not guilt for the attempted robbery—but for the result. Four men had died. Even with her eyes wide open she could see them lying in the road, green jerkins soaked with blood.
Perrin, Oswald, Adam, Wace.
Names put to men to be mourned. Brave men all.
While she had fled with John, Will, and Alan—fading into the greenwood and abandoning the
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