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Ivette’s hand, he strolled toward the castle, his mind churning with ideas on how to handle the Cravenmoor dilemma.
    For some reason the melody of the little bird wouldn’t dislodge from his mind. A speck of a shadow flew off into the sparse green of the woods beyond the garden just as Falke climbed the forebuilding stairs.
    The men and women of Mistedge already huddled in tight groups, awaiting the arrivals. Ozbern came to Falke’s side, shrugged his shoulders and nodded toward the mayhem entering the inner bailey.
    The procession dragged through the barbican gate in a cloud of noise and dust. Sir Titus, seated on a hide-scarred palfrey, shouted curses at the servants.His crop slashed across the back of a bearer. “Drop that trunk and I’ll open your back with fifty lashes.”
    Falke watched the display of cruelty and noted to his friend, “Titus hasn’t mellowed with age.”
    Ozbern nodded and wagged his finger toward where Ivette stood with a cluster of ladies. She ripped the lace from her handkerchief as the women gossiped. Tiny shreds of thread floated to the ground like snowflakes. “’Tis plain Ivette is worried. Am I correct in assuming you knew not of this arrival?” Ozbern queried.
    “Aye, Merin must have been certain I’d agree to the arrangement.” Falke scratched his chin. “Or he thought ’twould be harder for me to deny the girl if she stood before me.”
    “Perhaps this girl will not be as sordid as her guardian.”
    “Growing up in a household ruled by Titus?” Falke crossed his arms and widened his stance. Revulsion tensed his muscles. “That man is the vilest human being I know. My aunt is certain he arranged his brother’s death and the widow’s. Just the fact that his niece is still alive tells me something.”
    “Titus is known as a lecher. Any man would be a fool to leave his daughter alone with him.” Grimness settled in lines around Ozbern’s mouth. “’Tis said Isolde, her mother, was the fairest woman of the realm.”
    “If Isolde’s daughter has any looks about her, you can be sure Titus has already tasted her wares. She’s probably as twisted as he is. Mark me, my friend,I’ll not wed away my freedom just to honor a dead uncle’s wish. Mistedge is mine, marriage or no. Henry has decreed me heir.”
    “Aye, so he has.” Ozbern cocked his head toward the assembled lords. “But should these vassals plan rebellion, with King Henry busy setting London to rights, your throat could be cut and a new lord in place before Henry has time to act in your behalf. A sliced gullet or marriage?” He rubbed his neck tentatively. “Of the two, I suggest the wedding. At least you would be able to enjoy a fine feast.”
    “As always, my friend, you add a bit of sunshine to my dreary day.” Falke slapped Ozbern on the back. As the party cleared the inner bailey gate, Falke sighed. ’Twas time to greet his guests.
    Horses and servants huddled around Titus, hesitant to move before he gave the signal to dismount. When the dust settled, Falke addressed his guests. “Lord Titus, welcome to my home.” He paused to allow the meaning of the words to sink in.
    Titus’s beady eyes searched the crowd for Lord Merin, then he smiled. The wide grin of chipped and crooked teeth reminded Falke of neglected tombstones. “So, Merin’s dead already. Didn’t waste much time, did you?”
    “My uncle died from a hunting accident.” Falke kept his eye on the cagey older man, but he searched the group for the girl. He saw no young maiden in the assembly, only a few knights and camp followers with the servants.
    “Hunting accident? I know a bit about those myself.” Titus gave a hearty laugh. “’Twas the same that happened to my poor brother. Now I’m lord of Cravenmoor because of it. ’Tis strange how fate unwinds…ain’t it?”
    “Lord Titus, we are all in mourning for my husband.” Falke’s aunt spoke with displeasure as she joined him. “Now, where is Isolde’s daughter, Lady