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speak to Hugh, Adam hurried to catch up with her. He walked at her side toward
the dogs being coupled and put into carts.
    “I pray you will forgive Matthew’s lapse last evening, sir.”
Her voice was low, meant only for his ears. “Matthew is spirited and loyal, but
ofttimes lacking in manners.”
    Adam rubbed his shoulder. “I can hardly fault the hound but
a few hours after I’ve had my life saved by his fellows.”
    She took a deep breath, and said, “You are good to be so
generous.”
    “I would still like to offer you some recompense for—”
    “Nay, please, say nothing more.” She looked not at him, nor
at the men who followed a pace or two behind, but at her father. “I should not
have had the dogs out. I would rather—”
    “I understand.” He searched for an opening to further
conversation. She looked ready to run, the high color back in her cheeks.
    “I much admire the way you handle the hounds,” he said.
    She smiled. “Nat taught me all I know. He’s a true master
with the hunting hounds.”
    Adam could not help smiling back. Her brown eyes were
flecked with gold. Freckles were scattered across her nose and cheeks like sand
over a silken cloth. He imagined Lady Mathilda would weep an hour for each one
if ‘twere her face so marked.
    “Has your father been master long?” Adam remembered Nat but
not because of his hounds. Nat had meted out discipline to his kennel lads—and
the lord’s sons—in equal measure.
    “For over three decades.” Her voice was filled with pride.
    Adam wondered why he did not remember Joan as a child here
at Ravenswood. Surely, she should have made an impression on him, although she
was probably five or six years younger than he. The females of the keep had
always flocked around him, no matter their age—much like men flocked about
Mathilda, he thought, ruefully.
    Hugh and Brian gained on them. Adam found himself outflanked
by Hugh, who shouldered his way next to Joan.
    “Has your father any pups to sell, mistress?” Hugh asked
her. “I’d like to have one as canny as that spotted hound.”
    “I’m sorry, my lord, not now, but we would be most honored
to give you the pick of the next litter.”
    Brian and Hugh engaged her in a long discussion on the
spotted bitch’s lineage while Adam listened.
    Why did he not remember this forest sylph? He’d have surely
called her Dog Wench or some other derisive name. It was what boys did to
female servants, especially young ones.
    Nat Swan kept glancing over at them, and Adam turned away
with a sudden apprehension the hunt master might recognize his former lord’s
son.
    “I must go, my lords, sir.” She curtsied, then turned to
Hugh. “I’ll tell my father you would like one of the pups.”
    She walked away with a sleek grace that matched that of her
hounds. As Adam watched, she fisted her hands. Two dogs rose from where they
lay in the grass and flanked her. The way the dogs moved with her smacked of
some magical communication. He smiled. Maybe she was a forest deity after all.
    “Plain Joan little resembles her father,” Hugh said. “Her
mother must have been a beauty.”
    “Actually,” Brian said, “Nat is not her father.”
    Adam swung his attention from Joan to Nat Swan, who called
out orders to his huntsmen, setting the carts of dogs in motion. “How so?”
    “If I have the story right, Nat was sent by the former lord,
Durand de Marle, to purchase hounds in Chichester. Upon Nat’s return he came
upon Joan’s family. They’d been traveling to Winchester Cathedral. She could
not have been much more than ten at the time. I believe her father was a
scholar of some note and wanted to consult the books there.”
    “A scholar? How curious,” Hugh said.
    “Go on,” Adam said, impatient with Hugh’s interruption.
“What happened?”
    “As I said, Nat came upon her family. Joan’s mother was
being raped by three men. Her father and brother had been butchered by the trio
and lay there beside the