"You have the look of an alchemist gazing into his crucible, my lord." Dunstan indulged in his old habit of spitting over the edge of the nearest obstacle. In this instance it was the old wall that surrounded the bailey of Lingwood Manor. "I like it not. In my experience the expression bodes ill for my aging bones."

"Your bones have survived worse than an unpleasant frown or two." Hugh rested his forearms on the top of the wall and gazed out over the dawn-lit landscape.

He had risen half an hour ago, prodded from sleep by a familiar restlessness. He knew the mood well. The storms that abided deep within him were stirring. They shifted and swirled in new patterns. It was always like this on those occasions when his life was about to take a new turn.

The first time Hugh had experienced the sensation had been when he was eight years old. That was the day he had been summoned to his grandfather's deathbed and told that he was to be sent to live in the keep of Erasmus of Thornewood.

"Sir Erasmus is my liege lord." Thomas's pale eyes had burned in his thin, haggard face. "He has agreed to take you into his household. He will see that you are raised and trained as a knight. Do you understand?"

"Aye, Grandfather." Hugh had stood, subdued and anxious, by the side of the bed. He had stared in silent awe at his grandfather, unable to believe that this frail old man who lay at death's door was the same fierce, embittered knight who had raised him since the death of his parents.

"Erasmus is young, but strong. A fine, skilled warrior. He went on Crusade two years ago. Now he has returned with much glory and wealth." Thomas had paused, his words briefly severed by another racking cough. "He will teach you the things you will need to know in order to achieve our vengeance against the house of Rivenhall. Do you comprehend me, boy?"

"Aye, Grandfather."

"Study well. Learn all that you can while you are in Erasmus's care. When you become a man, you will know what to do and how to do it. Remember everything that I have told you about the past."

"I will remember, Grandfather."

"Whatever happens, you must do your duty by your mother's memory. You are the only one left, boy. The last of your line, even though you were born a bastard."

"I understand."

"You must not rest until you have found a way to wreak vengeance upon that house from whence sprang the viper who seduced my innocent Margaret."

To young Hugh, it had not seemed altogether right to seek vengeance on his father's house, in spite of what he had been taught about the evil nature of the Rivenhall clan. His father, after all, was dead, just as his mother was. Surely justice had been done.

But that justice had not satisfied Hugh's grandfather. Nothing could satisfy Sir Thomas.

Eight-year-old Hugh had dutifully brushed aside his moment of uncertainty. Honor was at stake and nothing was more important than his honor and that of his grandfather. That much he fully comprehended. He had been steeped in the importance of honor since the moment of his birth. It was all a bastard had, as Sir Thomas had frequently pointed out.

"I will not rest, Grandfather," Hugh had promised with the fervent intensity only a boy of eight could muster.

"See that you don't. Never forget, honor and vengeance are all."

Hugh had not been surprised when his grandfather had died with no words of love or a farewell blessing for his only grandchild. There had never been much in the way of affection or warmth from Thomas. The brooding anger that had resulted from the untimely seduction, betrayal, and death of his beloved daughter had tainted all of the old man's emotions.

It was not that Thomas had not cared for his grandson. Hugh had always known that he was vitally important to his grandfather, but only because he was Thomas's sole means of vengeance.

Thomas had died with his daughter's name on his parched lips. "Margaret. My beautiful Margaret. Your bastard son will avenge you."

Fortunately for Margaret's bastard son, Erasmus of Thornewood had made up for much of what Thomas had been unable to give Hugh. Perceptive, intelligent, and possessed of a gruff kindness, Erasmus had been in his early twenties when Hugh had gone to live with him. Fresh from his triumphs in the Holy Lands, he had played the part of father in Hugh's life. As a boy, Hugh had given his mentor his respect and youthful admiration.

As a man, Hugh now gave his liege lord absolute and unswerving loyalty. It was a rare and much-prized spice in the world in which Erasmus moved.

Dunstan wrapped the edges of his gray wool cloak more securely around his stocky frame and studied Hugh out of the corner of his eye. Hugh knew what he was thinking. Dunstan did not approve of this business of chasing after the green crystal. He considered it a waste of time.

Hugh had tried to explain that it was not the crystal itself that was valuable, rather what it represented. It was the surest way to secure his grip on Scarcliffe. But Dunstan was impatient with such notions. In his opinion good steel and a stout band of men-at-arms were the keys to holding Scarcliffe.

He was fifteen years Hugh's senior, a battle-scarred veteran of the same Crusade that Erasmus had taken. His tough, weathered features reflected the harshness of that time. Unlike Erasmus, Dunstan had returned from the quest with neither glory nor gold to show for his troubles.

Dunstan's skills as a warrior had been useful to Erasmus but everyone, most especially Erasmus, knew that it was Hugh's uncanny ability to plot stratagems that had made Erasmus a quietly powerful man. Erasmus had recently rewarded his loyal man with Scarcliffe, a manor that had at one time belonged to Hugh's mother's family. Dunstan had chosen to go with Hugh to his new estate.

"No offense, Hugh, but your frowns are not as other men's scowls." Dunstan grinned briefly, exposing the gaps between his stained teeth. "They convey a remarkably oppressive air of doom. Even I am struck by it on occasion. Mayhap you have perfected your legend as a dark and dangerous knight a bit too well."

"You are wrong." Hugh smiled faintly. "I have obviously not perfected my legend well enough if I am to judge by Lady Alice's reaction last night."

"Aye." Dunstan's expression turned glum. "She certainly did not shrink and cower as she ought to have done. Mayhap the lady does not have very keen eyesight."

"She was too busy attempting to bargain with me to notice that my patience was stretched thin."

Dunstan's mouth curved sourly. "I vow, that particular lady would not back down from the devil himself."

"A most unusual female."

"It has been my experience that women with red hair are invariably trouble. I met a red-haired wench once in a London tavern. She plied me with ale until I fell into her bed. When I awoke both she and my purse were gone."

"I'll try to remember to keep an eye on my money."

"See that you do."

Hugh smiled but said nothing. They both knew that watching over his money and accounts would pose no undue hardship. Hugh had a talent for business affairs. Few of his acquaintances could be bothered with such mundane matters. They spent lavishly and depended upon the usual sources—ransoms, jousts, and, for those fortunate enough to possess land, income from poorly managed estates—to replenish their treasuries. Hugh preferred a more certain approach to securing his income.

Dunstan shook his head sadly. " 'Tis a pity that the trail of the green crystal has led to one such as this Lady Alice. No good will come of it."

"I'll grant that matters might have been simpler if she were more easily intimidated, but I am not yet certain that this is an unfortunate twist of events," Hugh said slowly. "I have been thinking on this for the better part of the night. I see possibilities here, Dunstan. Interesting possibilities."