"Oh…" she breathed at the sight of the strangers. Motioning toward a back room where the duke sometimes held intimate conferences with other lords, she said, "Quickly, in there."

"My lady?" Robert asked in confusion. Had Elizabeth indeed called for these… people?

She ignored him and hurried past, moving toward the strangers.

The girl was still staring at Robert, almost as if she knew him. Though shaken by his own reaction to her, he had no intention of allowing Elizabeth to take these three into a back room alone. The men looked like thieves or lowborn assassins-or both.

He walked after his lady, gripping the hilt of sword.

She held up one hand. "Wait out here," she ordered.

He couldn't believe what was happening. Elizabeth had never deigned to look at such people, much less speak to them.

"My lady?" he repeated, uncertain what to do.

But she ushered all three strangers into the back room, and he was powerless do anything but obey her orders. The gypsy girl continued to stare at him until the door was closed.

He walked over in near panic and stood directly outside, ready to break through the moment he was called. Then he noticed Francis was still standing across the hall in the archway, equally disturbed.

"You're dismissed," Robert said. "I'll speak with you later."

Francis went pale, turned, and left.

Robert didn't want anyone else here. His fears did not surround only his lady's safety. What was she doing? His mind raced for any reason she would call upon armed vagabonds in the middle of the night, and the only possible answer left him cold.

She was arranging to have someone murdered.

Only two choices were possible: either the duke or Bess Holland.

He paced before the door, searching for some way out of this. Though troubled by her actions, he could not blame Elizabeth. How might anyone react to the treatment she'd received? But he had to stop this. If the target was Bess, his lady would only bring further shame and scandal upon the house. And if it was his lord…

He listened to the low voices beyond the door, hearing mainly Elizabeth's and the smooth tones of the young woman. Elizabeth's voice rose several times, and at one point, he thought she sounded horrified, but he couldn't make out the words.

Thinking more clearly, he rationalized that his lady would never arrange to have her husband murdered. Even if she managed to keep her life afterward, she had too much to lose by way of title and wealth and position were she to be found out-and he did not believe she would risk the future of her children. No, she was going to punish Bess.

Beyond the door, Elizabeth's voice rose again, and the door was jerked open. She stood on the other side, looking out at him. Her features was drawn tightly, her eyes full of pain. But she appeared more composed now.

She stepped out of the room. "Robert, please have them escorted out." Her voice was ragged. As the strangers seemed to slide into the dining hall, he noticed the young woman carried a velvet pouch. Elizabeth had paid them already? What was going on?

"Francis!" he barked, hoping the guardsman was within earshot.

"Sir?" Francis appeared the archway.

"See these people all the way out of the gates."

Robert wasn't leaving the hall-not yet. The gypsy was staring at him again. He tried not to look at her as Francis led the strangers out. They went quietly. As of yet, he hadn't heard either of the men even speak.

Then he was alone with Lady Elizabeth.

"Robert," she whispered. "I almost made a mistake tonight. But I changed my mind. I could not… could not…"

The relief flooding him was so intense his legs felt weak. She had changed her mind.

"You paid them?" he asked.

"For their time. For their trouble. For their silence."

In the moment, it did not shock him that she was speaking to him of such things, as if he were her brother or cousin or her equal.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

She lifted her head to look at him. "Think of my children. I must work for their futures. I have no way to fight my lord."

"Then don't," he said coldly.

Her brow wrinkled.

He hesitated only a few seconds before the words came pouring out. "Do you not see why he chose Bess Holland? Your washing woman? Who would cut you more? Ignore the fact that Bess exists. She is not worth your notice. When the duke speaks to you cruelly in front of others, regard him with disdain or pretend he has not spoken. Show him that he is not worth your notice."

Her eyes shifted back and forth as she listened, absorbing Robert's counsel, appearing as if such a tactic had never occurred to her.

"Yes," she whispered.

Then she looked him in the face again, and they suddenly both realized the inappropriate nature of this discussion considering their ranks. And they were both acutely aware of everything that had taken place in the last hour.

Robert stepped away. "I should make my rounds outside," he said.

She did not bother responding to him but walked to the other end of the hall, out the arch, and toward the stairs.

He sucked in a deep breath and steadied himself on the edge of the table for a moment, and then he, too, fled the hall, going outside into the cool night air as fast as he could.

He did not want to be in the house.

The thread that had held him here protecting Lady Elizabeth was broken. This had become a madhouse of dark secrets and hatred, and he wanted no part of it.

He kept walking, not even checking in with the guards outside, just walking, until he reached the outside of the stables. He could hear the horses moving about inside, and the sound was slightly calming-or at least grounding.

"Do you like being out at night?" a smooth voice asked from his left.

He whirled and felt his heart stop briefly as the gypsy stepped from behind a tree. The sight of her made him tense up again. His experiences with women were limited to the occasional girl along the road, and only in his much younger life.

"I had you escorted out," he said.

"You did," she answered lightly. "I came back."

He moved closer, intending to grab her arm. "I won't have assassins near this house."

"I'm not an assassin," she said. "My companions are, but I met them only a few nights ago, and I bet them five sovereigns your lady would change her mind once she heard the details."

He stopped. "What?"

She shrugged. "I saw her face when we first made arrangements, at a tavern in the village. To dream of murdering a rival is one thing; to hear the effects of poisons or drowning or strangulation is another. I knew she would change her mind."

"A tavern?"

Then he remembered that Elizabeth had gone into the village for a while a few evenings ago. He'd stayed behind and sent a small contingent along as escort.

The gypsy girl was so close that even in the darkness he could see every detail of the lashes around her black eyes. Her close proximity made his chest ache, and he fought to keep his hands at his sides. Did she not fear being alone with him in the night?

"Why did you come back?" he whispered.

"For you."

He didn't move, and the sound-or perhaps the quality-of her voice changed.

"You long to leave this place," she murmured. "To run and seek adventure, to travel, to see other sights and hear other sounds."

As she spoke, the pain in his chest faded, replaced by excitement. Her words began to create pictures in his mind of the wonder of constant travel, living on the road with her, and she… she would never be at a loss for something new to explore. She was a fountain of ideas and adventure, always delighted by the joys of the journey.

She embodied everything he had ever wanted.

"Come with me," she whispered, moving close enough to speak in his ear. "Come with me now. I've waited for you for a hundred years."