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on the wall walk nearby. Of that she was very sure, for she had looked for one when Sir Connor had first spoken to her.
    But she had not kept watch on the gate leading from the garden into the courtyard where Sir Connor had entered. Someone could have been there, watching in the shadows.
    Yet what would anybody have seen to report to the baron? A short conversation, a kiss on the wrist. Her body warmed and she blushed to think of that—but was it so terrible, really? Was it enough to try to causeserious injury, perhaps even death? Even for DeFrouchette?
    Or maybe it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the fact that the baron might fear a well-trained knight upon the tournament field.
    Perhaps it wasn’t the baron at all. She didn’t think there was any other man in the tournament who might be so ruthless, but there could be, she supposed.
    As if summoned by her tumultuous thoughts, Rennick DeFrouchette sauntered into the tent as if he were the master of all he surveyed. When he spied her, he surveyed her with the same insolent presumption.
    She wanted to march right up to him and accuse him of cheating, but caution, so long her guide in all things, held her back. Sir Connor had spoken in a drug-induced haze, and even if he truly believed what he had said, he must have evidence to prove it. Otherwise, his accusation would only earn the enmity of a merciless, powerful man.
    As for the baron’s possible motive, if he had done such a dishonest and dishonorable act, she had best ensure that he understood there was nothing between herself and Sir Connor except a brief conversation and a simple kiss on her wrist. And she would do well to see that it was so.
    She put a smile on her face as she approached the baron. “Is the melee over?”
    â€œYes. Sir Auberan owes me fifty marks,” he bragged before he glanced over at Sir Connor. “I see you’ve been looking after the Welshman. I trust I didn’t injure him fatally.”
    â€œYou did that?” she asked, feigning ignorance to try to gauge his feelings.
    â€œYes. Breeding shows itself in many ways, you know. He was doomed from the start.”
    â€œIt is a serious wound. He cannot travel for some days.”
    Rennick frowned. “You would have him stay at Montclair?”
    â€œAny who are hurt and unable to travel must stay. We can do no less.”
    â€œThe expense—”
    â€œMy father is the host, so until he informs me otherwise, they will all stay until they are well enough to travel.”
    Rennick’s eyes narrowed, and again she reminded herself of the dangerous path she trod. Any misstep—like last night—could have serious consequences. “It has always been so.”
    â€œCome, my lady,” he commanded.
    â€œMy place is here, until all the injured have been seen to.”
    â€œYou do not look overly busy.”
    Unfortunately, he was right. “Very well.” She moved away before he could take her arm. “I will come outside a few moments.”
    They went around the tent away from the tournament field, closer to the river and the willows that lined the bank.
    â€œI see no reason for all the injured to remain in Montclair, eating your father’s food and drinking his wine,” he said as they stopped in the shadow of the trees.
    You do , she wanted to point out. “We would not want it said that the earl of Montclair lacks hospitality.”
    â€œAs long as the earl and his daughter take care to whom they are hospitable. That Welshman, for instance. It would be better for him to be on his way.”
    Her heartbeat quickened, both with tension as she wondered if he was going to speak of last night and the hope that if he did not, she would get some answers to the multitude of questions she had about Sir Connor. “Why?”
    â€œHe is dishonored, cast out of Richard’s retinue by the king himself.”
    â€œWhy was he cast