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dismissed that fanciful notion. He was flesh and blood like any man. Like any animal. Not an ox, though, despite the massive chest. He was more like a war stallion, fluid and powerful in his muscles.
    Oh, Father, poor Father. Did you have to face men like this?
    He scanned the room again, then looked back at her. She guessed he had been seeking out the other maid of Summerbourne, and because of her dull clothing had taken her for a servant. Since neither her mother nor grandmother could be his wife, he now knew it was she.
    Her grandmother had been right.
    He was no fool.
    He frowned slightly as he pushed back his chain hood to reveal wavy brown hair falling down to his shoulders, and onto his brow. Then he shook himself like a dog coming in from the rain and moved closer to the warmth of the hearth, holding out his hands.
    The very ease of the action, the possession it implied, offended her in a more direct way than her deeper hurts. He’d assessed them all, decided they were rabbits, and was sure he was safe.
    It would be immensely satisfying to kill him simply to wipe the smugness off his face!
    He bowed to her mother. “Lady Murielle. I assure you I am sincerely sorry for the events that have led up to this moment.”
    Oh certainly
, sneered Claire silently.
Events that have led to you seizing a handsome property
.
    Her mother twittered nervously and introduced him to Lady Agnes. He’d probably taken her for an ancient servant, too. Corrected, he gave her a courtly bow and his sorrow over the death of her son.
    Claire gritted her teeth and waited for Lady Agnes to ingratiate herself with the conqueror.
    Her grandmother, however, stared up with cold, weary eyes. “You just watch yourself, young man. I’ve no quarrel with you. But hurt my chicks and I’ll fix you. There’s not much you or your king can do to make my life more miserable.”
    “I have no intention of hurting anyone, Lady Agnes. But if anyone here attempts to hurt me or mine, not only will the hostages suffer, the king will doubtless visit his own revenge. It is always best to have these matters clear.”
    On the last words, he turned to Claire. “Would you not agree, my lady?”
    It was a direct challenge that took her breath away.
    She made herself look him in the eye, frightened by how hard it was. “Certainly, Sir Renald.” She deliberately did not give him his rightful title of Lord. “I wish to make it clear that you are not welcome here.”
    He didn’t so much as blink. Without looking away, he snapped his fingers. “Ale.”
    Claire didn’t let the flurry distract her, but in seconds a tankard was in his hand. His strong, warrior’s hand…
    She jerked her eyes back to his face where she’d intended them to stay.
    “Since Ladies Felice and Amice are in my camp, you must be Lady Claire.”
    For answer, she just dropped a curtsy.
    “A still tongue. Virtue as well as comeliness.” He drank deeply of the ale. “When you’re cleaned up a bit, that is.”
    As he took another draft of the ale, he frowned at her hair. “My lady, neither of us has been permitted our choice in this. It would be foolish to set out to be miserable.”
    “Since I am completely miserable, Sir Renald, the question doesn’t arise. Must I remind you that we are mourning my father, whom I loved deeply?”
    For a brief moment, his lids shielded his eyes and she was fiercely glad of it. At least she’d managed to jab him in some way.
    But then he looked at her again. “This is certainly not the time to discuss our future. It can at least wait until he is laid to rest.” He turned back to her mother. “I assume you have a solar here?”
    “Of course—”
    “I and my men will sleep there. My possessions will be brought over soon.”
    “That is my parents’ room!”
    They both turned to her, and her mother flapped her hands. “Hush, Claire. All here is now Lord Renald’s to do with as he wishes. Of course that room will be his!”
    “And yours too when we