Hugh glanced at her fleetingly and recognized the healer, a woman named Katherine. She was a lady of somber, melancholy mien who appeared to be in her late forties. He had met her the night that Prioress Joan had sent for him to inform him of the loss of the green stone.

Hugh prayed that he would never need her professional services. The notion of being treated by a healer whose expression indicated she expected a poor outcome was not particularly appealing.

He raised a hand to bring his men to a halt. When the clatter of hooves and wagon wheels had stilled, he urged his horse slowly toward the prioress.

Joan waited with a smile that was composed of equal parts of relief and welcome.

Hugh was only a few paces from the convent gate when a scrawny, hulking figure in a brown monk's cowl surged out of the crowd. The hood of the man's robes concealed his face, but Hugh swallowed a silent oath when he recognized Calvert of Oxwick.

Hugh had hoped that the wandering monk would have wandered on to another village by the time he and his company returned.

"My lord, I bid you welcome to Scarcliffe," Calvert intoned in a rasping voice that grated on the ears. "I give thanks to God that you have returned alive."

"I had no intention of returning in any other fashion, monk." Hugh drew his horse to a halt and waited until he had everyone's attention. "Bring forth the stone, Sir Dunstan, so that all may see that it is safely returned to Scarcliffe."

"The stone," someone muttered. "He has found the stone."

An expectant hush fell over the crowd.

"Aye, m'lord." Dunstan rode forward. There was a small wooden chest balanced on the pommel of his saddle.

A gasp of anticipation rippled through the throng of onlookers. All eyes were fastened on the chest. With a suitably grand flourish, Dunstan unlocked the chest, raised the lid, and revealed the contents.

The ugly green crystal gleamed dully in the gray light.

The sharp silence was broken by a great cheer. Caps soared into the air.

"I knew this was our rightful lord." The blacksmith swung his anvil against the forge. The crash of sound mingled with the clang of a church bell.

" 'Tis the crystal, right enough." John the miller grinned at his wife. "Lord Hugh has brought it back, just as the legend says."

His youngest son, a child of four called Young John, bounced up and down and clapped his small hands. "He found it. Lord Hugh found it."

"Lord Hugh has recovered the stone," another boy called gleefully to a friend. "All will be well now, just as my father said."

Amid the uproar, Prioress Joan stepped out from the shadow of the gate. She was a woman of middle years with strong, well-defined features and warm, cheerful blue eyes.

"My lord, I am delighted to see that you have been successful in your quest to recover the stone."

"Hear me, good people of Scarcliffe," Hugh called out in a voice that was loud enough to carry to the brewer's cottage at the end of the street. "The legend has been fulfilled. I have recovered the green crystal and I vow to keep it safe in my hands. Just as I shall keep Scarcliffe and its people safe."

Another shout went up.

" 'Tis not only the stone I have brought back with me," Hugh continued, "but also my betrothed, Lady Alice. I ask you to welcome her. My future and yours is now bound up with hers."

Alice flinched and then shot Hugh a sharp glance but she said nothing. Any words she might have spoken would have been lost beneath the villagers' roar of approval.

Calvert's hot eyes glittered in the shadow of his cowl. Hugh ignored the monk. He was more concerned with Alice's reaction to this clamoring welcome.

She recovered quickly and swept the crowd with a genuinely gracious smile.

"I thank you for your kindness," she said with grand composure.

Calvert threw back his hood, exposing his cadaverously thin face and feverish dark eyes. He raised his staff to command attention.

"Hear me, daughter of Eve." He fixed Alice with a burning gaze. "I shall pray that you will be a meek and proper wife to Lord Hugh. As there is no priest in this village, I, myself, will undertake to instruct and guide you in your duties as a bride."

"That will not be necessary," Alice said coolly.

Calvert paid her no heed. He aimed a skeletal finger at her. "Under my direction you shall become the most estimable of wives, one who is neither quarrelsome nor difficult. One who is modest in her dress and restrained in her speech. One who embraces her position at her husband's feet. One who will find glory in humbling herself before her lord and master."

Hugh was about to silence the irritating monk when another, far more interesting stratagem occurred to him. He would allow Alice to deal with Calvert.

A woman of Alice's temperament needed to be able to exercise her many skills and talents else she would be discontented and unhappy. Furthermore, as with all those who took a professional approach to their business, she required respect and appreciation for those skills and talents.

Hugh strongly suspected that one of the reasons Alice had caused her uncle so much trouble at Lingwood was that Ralf had never comprehended the true extent of her intelligence and capabilities, nor had he given her the opportunity to wield them. Instead of respecting her abilities, he had attempted to treat her as though she were a servant.

Hugh had no intention of making the same mistake. He made it a rule to employ the most adept individuals and then he gave those individuals the authority to carry out their duties. The stratagem had always worked well for him in the past. He saw no reason not to apply it to a wife.

Hugh readied himself for Alice's response with a sense of relish.

"I thank you for your generous offer, monk," Alice said in an icy, polite voice, "but I fear I am too old and too set in my ways to learn such things. Lord Hugh must take me as I am."

"Red-haired, green-eyed women always have sharp tongues," Calvert snapped. "They must be taught to control them."

"Only a coward fears a woman's tongue," Alice said, far too sweetly. "I assure you, monk, that Lord Hugh is no coward. Do you dare to say otherwise?"

An audible gasp greeted the soft taunt. The onlookers edged closer.

Calvert blanched. He cast a hurried glance at Hugh and then quickly returned to his tirade. "Do not twist my words, my lady. 'Tis a fact that flame-haired women are known to possess shrewish tempers."

"I have heard it said that although Hugh's temper is difficult to arouse, 'tis akin to the darkest of storms once it is raised," Alice murmured. "Surely a man who possesses such a temper of his own need not flee a lady's ill humors."

Calvert sputtered furiously. He seemed to be having great difficulty finding words.

Hugh decided the combat had continued long enough. The monk stood no chance against Alice.

"You have the right of it, madam," Hugh said easily. "Furthermore, I would have you know that there are other parts of me that can be aroused and raised up with far less effort than it takes to coax forth my temper. I trust that you will discover those parts to be far more entertaining."

Laughter flowed through the crowd.

Alice scowled with confusion. Clearly she did not immediately comprehend his meaning. Then she turned a pretty shade of pink.

"Really, my lord," she muttered repressively.

Calvert, meanwhile, turned an interesting shade of purple. For a moment Hugh wondered if the man's bulging eyes would literally pop out of his head.

The monk glowered at Alice in outrage and then whirled toward Hugh. "Beware a woman who will not submit herself to the guidance of men, my lord. Such a woman will cause naught but trouble in your household."

Hugh grinned. "Do not concern yourself, monk. I do not fear my betrothed's tongue. Indeed, I find her speech… interesting.'"