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hand, Penelope crept from her cranny and hurried down the tower steps as fast as her feet could fly. At ground level, she burst from the tower, tripping over a calico-cat and nearly knocking flat a girl carrying two plucked geese to the kitchens.
    "Hey—watch where ye're—" Upon recognizing Penelope, one of the baron's daughters, the serving girl back-stepped. "Oh, m'lady, 'tis sorry I am. I didn't see ye. 'Tis all my fault."
    " 'Tis nothing. Worry not." What a twit! Penelope couldn't waste time with excuses or apologies. She raced behind her mother's bench in the garden, leaped over a puddle, and flew into the kitchen, rounding the corner as a boy threw bundles of wood onto the cook fires and another turned the spit where a pig was sizzling, grease dripping into a collection pan on the floor. A girl was grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle, another slicing apples, while the cook was stuffing sliced eels that were split from one end to the other.
    But Penelope, intent on her mission, barely noticed. The cook glanced up as she raced to the back stairs. "Miss Penelope, should ye be—"
    She didn't hear the rest. Her boots were already pounding up the stairs to the third floor, where breathless, she threw herself into Elyn's room.
    "He's here!" she panted, flinging herself onto the bed and looking up at the whitewashed ceiling while a small fire crackled in the grate and a few sparse candles flickered in the surrounding sconces. "The Lord of Penbrooke's arrived."
    Kiera's stomach turned. She had two choices—to tell the truth and let both Penbrooke and her father be embarrassed, or to go along with Elyn's ludicrous scheme. Just last night, before bed, Elyn had come to her chamber and held her hand, lacing her fingers through Kiera's. "I just want you to know that I would do anything for you," she'd said. "Even if things were reversed and you were the one to marry the Beast of Penbrooke, I would stand in for you, for just one night, especially since Penbrooke will not know the ceiling from the floor once he drinks the potion. After all, 'tis not that much to ask, for I am to be married to a man I detest for the rest of my life. I can only hope 'twill be short." Blinking against the tears in her eyes, Elyn had hugged Kiera fiercely.
    Kiera felt as if she hadn't slept a wink. All night long she'd stared miserably at the dim shadows cast upon the ceiling by the fire and wondered if she'd been entirely too selfish. How would she feel if she'd been promised to a man she'd never met who was rumored to be a rake? She'd dozed near morning and dreamed that Elyn had come to her and whispered, "I'm sorry," as she'd left their mother's jeweled cross in her hand. Kiera had woken with a start, sweating, her heart pounding, the room empty. She'd wanted to dismiss the silly dream but found the necklace wound around her wrist. And Elyn was nowhere to be found.
    And now the Lord of Penbrooke was here.
    He would insist upon meeting his bride. Sweet Jesus!
    Upon the bed, Penelope rolled onto her stomach.
    "How many men are with him?" Kiera asked, the wheels in her mind turning sweat collecting upon her skin. Could she go through with her sister's mad plot if only to save her father from embarrassment?
    "A handful."
    "And a priest?"
    "I couldn't tell."
    Kiera's heart was pounding wildly, her pulse racing. She rubbed her damp palms upon her skirt. It would only be for a few hours. That was all. Then her sister would be wed, her father happy, an alliance with Penbrooke in place. Soon it would be done. 'Twas nothing. Yet her throat was dry, her stomach twisting, her heart a frightened drum.
    "What?" Penelope asked. "Kiera, what are you thinking?" Kiera glanced at Elyn's wedding dress. White lace and tufted velvet, draped over a screen that partitioned off part of the chamber. Could she go through with it? Don the dress and veil, utter the sacred vows ...
    "Elyn's not returned?" Penelope asked.
    "Nay." Pushing her hair from her eyes, Kiera slumped