Outwardly oblivious to the men's frank appraisals, and flanked by her loyal wolfhounds, Elizabeth turned and made her way to the great hearth at the far end of the hall. All were silent as she warmed her hands before the roaring fire. She wasn't really cold, but used the time to compose herself before confronting her audience. When she could delay no longer, she turned and met the gazes staring at her. The dogs sat, one on either side of her.

Slowly she scanned the room. Home was gone; the banner and tapestry hanging in shreds against the damp stone walls, a reminder that death had entered Montwright; no echoed laughter remained in Elizabeth 's memory, only screams and torment filled her soul. This was just a bare room now; she could not even picture her mother sitting next to her father at the long oaken table… no, only see again and again the raised sword swinging toward her mother's neck…

A cough stopped her thoughts. The heavy silence was broken. Elizabeth willed herself to turn her gaze from the torn and charred banner and focus on her audience. A bold red-haired soldier with a ready smile jumped up from his position at the great table and rushed over to stand directly in front of Elizabeth, blocking her view of the rest of the men. She judged him to be a squire, for he was too old to be a page, yet too young to have been knighted. His silly grin almost made Elizabeth smile but she was careful to keep her expression neutral.

The squire gazed into Elizabeth 's blue eyes and said in a loud voice, "You are a beauty. How will you care for our lord?"

When she did not respond to his gibe, for, in truth, she wasn't sure just how to answer his question, he called to another, saying, "She has hair born from the sun. I wager it feels like the finest of silks." He raised his hand to touch the curls then, but her voice, though soft, cut through his action like a knife.

"Do you not value your life?"

The squire stopped in midstride, his smile vanishing, for he had not missed the sound of the low growling from the dogs. He glanced at each animal and saw that the hair on the backs of their necks was raised and that their teeth, gleaming with dagger edges, were bared for attack.

When the young man looked again at Elizabeth, his face had paled, and he wore an angry frown. "I would do you no harm, for you are under the protection of the Hawk," he whispered. "You need have no fear from me."

"Then have no fear of me," Elizabeth whispered for his ears only. She smiled then, and the squire's anger evaporated. He knew that though the soldiers watched, they were unable to hear the exchange. She had saved his pride, and he was thankful. He smiled again. Elizabeth signaled the dogs and both relaxed against her sides, tails thumping against the rushes.

"Where is your leader?" she asked.

"If you will follow me, I will take you to him," the squire suggested, his voice eager.

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and followed the boy. Joseph waited at the bottom of the steps and she gave him another smile as she accepted the bundle of herbs. She then hurried up the winding flight of steps. It was a difficult task but Elizabeth forced herself to remove all memories of times past when she had raced up the steps with her sisters and her little brother. The time for weeping would be later. Thomas's future depended upon her now.

At the top of the first landing, another, older knight appeared. A scowl marred his sharp features and Elizabeth braced herself for another confrontation. "You are a woman! If this be some trick…"

"'Tis no trick," Elizabeth responded. "I am versed in remedies that could help your leader and I will do all that. I can to save him."

"Why would you give your help?" he demanded.

"I offer no explanation," Elizabeth answered. Irritation and weariness flowed through her but she was careful to hide these emotions. "Do you wish my help or not?"

The knight continued to glare at her for a moment longer. It was obvious to Elizabeth that he was suspicious of her motives, but she refused to calm his fears, remaining stubbornly silent while she matched him stare for stare.

"Leave the dogs here and follow me." The order was clipped and fairly shouted.

"Nay," Elizabeth promptly replied. "They go with me. They will cause no mischief unless someone tries to harm me."

To her surprise he did not argue over this, though she noticed that he ran long fingers through his brown-and-gray-speckled hair in a gesture she was sure was pure exasperation.

He did not lead her to the triangle of doors housing the larger bedrooms to the left, but turned to the right and, lifting the burning torch from its lodging against the stone wall, hurried down the narrow corridor to stand before her very own bedroom. Two sentries guarded the door and both looked up in surprise when they glimpsed Elizabeth.

With marked trepidation Elizabeth followed the knight through the entrance. Quickly she scanned the room and was frankly amazed, for it was exactly as she had left it. Her chamber was smaller than the others, but it had been her favorite of all the bedrooms, both for its isolation from the others and for the breathtaking view it allowed from the small window that overlooked the forest beyond.

The hearth took up most of the far wall, and was flanked by two wooden chairs with royal-blue cushions her sister Margaret had sewn for her.

Her gaze moved to the banner hanging above the hearth, its blue color matching the cushions with pale yellow threads interwoven in the design of her two wolfhounds. The banner's only other coloring was that of a deep burgundy, near the top of the tapestry, outlining the design of her pet hawk. Her heart ached as memories of the many times she and her mother had worked on the banner assaulted her.

No! her mind cried. 'Tis not the time. Elizabeth shook her head and this action was not missed by the watching knight. He, too, studied the banner and then turned back to Elizabeth. He recognized the fleeting torment she tried to hide. Speculation and curiosity appeared in his eyes but Elizabeth gave him little attention. She had turned to look upon the bed, and with the blue and yellow draping tied back on each side, she had a clear view of the leader. She was immediately struck by the largeness of the man, thinking he was even taller than her grandfather.

His hair was the color of the raven, and almost touched the drape at the head of the bed while his feet nearly hung over the other end. For some unexplainable reason, even in his weakened condition, he frightened her, and she stood transfixed while she studied the harshness of his features. He was a handsome knight, she admitted, handsome and… hard. The warrior began to thrash about from side to side, moaning in a weakened yet deep voice, and his movement prompted her into action. She quickly placed her hand upon his damp, bronzed forehead, gently brushing the wet hair out of her way as she felt his skin. Her milky white hand was in stark contrast to his deeply tanned and weathered skin, and her touch stilled his motion.

"He burns with fever," Elizabeth remarked. "How long has he been like this?" Even as she spoke, she noticed the swelling above his right temple and gently probed around it. The warrior's companion watched her from his position at the foot of the bed, a frown upon his face.

"I saw him take the blow. He fell to the ground and has been like this ever since."

Elizabeth frowned in concentration. She wasn't sure what she should do next. "This makes little sense," she countered, "for a blow does not bring the fever." She straightened then and with determination in her voice commanded, "Help me strip him."

Elizabeth did not give the companion time to question her motives, for she immediately began to unfasten the lacings at the warrior's back. The knight hesitated for a brief minute and then helped by pulling the chausses from the lower half of the now-sleeping form.