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Tupperware container that Cora had not yet noticed. “I call them Oatmeal Surprise.”
    Oh boy, cookies. Cora didn’t want to know what the surprise part of the recipe was.
    Still, it was thoughtful of Muffin to continually bake for her. At least someone remembered she existed. She took the offered container from Muffin and led her through the Abbey toward the kitchen. They passed a small hall mirror and Cora blushed at the sight of it, thinking of her late-night visitor.
    Well, perhaps Muffin wasn’t the only one that remembered her. The man in the mirror had. Of course, thoughts like that made her blush all the harder, and she tugged on the hem of the oversized shirt.
    They exchanged idle chit-chat as Cora made a quick pot of coffee and poured two cups. Muffin chattered on, asking about the weather here vs. America, how Cora was enjoying her trip, what did she think of the Abbey, etc. As soon as Cora lifted her coffee cup to her lips, Muffin changed topics on her.
    “You must be looking for something important in the gift shop,” she said calmly, giving Cora an inquisitive look.
    At the question, Cora choked on the coffee, scalding the roof of her mouth. She recovered a moment later, coughing and trying to play off Muffin’s question, her face bright red. “It’s nothing really.”
    “Is it something historical? I know a lot about the Abbey. You can ask me anything!” She leaned forward in her chair, twining her fingers in an eager, girlish fashion that matched her odd hair. “Anything at all,” she restated, prompting.
    Cora gave her an odd look. What did the old woman want to know? What was she curious about? “I was…looking for something about, well, heraldry. The red coat of arms that’s hanging in the gallery.” The gallery had several wall hangings displaying various coats of arms, but only one was the searing red that stood out so brightly and obsessed her so much. If she closed her eyes, she could still envision his tanned, callused hands holding the shield up for her to see.
    “The de Beauchamp arms?” Muffin gave a sound of approval.
    “Beauchamp?” Cora repeated, tasting the name on her tongue. She committed it to memory so she could look it up as soon as Muffin left. “Yes, I suppose that must be them,” she murmured.
    “They were one of the first families to own Stonewood Abbey,” Muffin continued in a cheerful voice, “before the lands were turned back over to the king.” She gave Cora a bright smile and lifted her mug. “Such a shame about their history. Real shame. The Abbey has seen its share of sad stories.”
    Cora stopped in her tracks, a dark feeling coiling in her stomach. “Their… history? Is it a sad story, then?” Oh no. She didn’t want to hear sad. She wanted to think of that beautiful man in the mirror and not associate tragedy with him, even though she knew—

    she just knew—that something terrible had happened. The loss and sadness in his eyes told all.
    “It’s a very sad story,” Muffin agreed. “No happy ending in this one.”
    “What happened?”
    The woman glanced over at her and put her coffee mug down, as if she couldn’t enjoy the beverage and tell the story at the same time. “I don’t recall all of the story, mind you.
    The Abbey has eight hundred years of history and my brain can only remember about six hundred years or so before it starts to leak.” Muffin leaned in as if sharing a secret, her voice lowering. “But the original de Beauchamp family died off very early. Very, very early. The father established the castle, and the heir went off on crusade with King Richard. And when he returned, he killed himself.”
    Suicide? “That can’t possibly be true.”
    Muffin blinked her eyes wide. “My goodness! It’s not?” She leaned forward, her mouth forming a little O of surprise. “Were you there?”
    “Well, n-no…” Cora stammered. “It was eight hundred years ago. I’m not eight hundred years old.”
    “If you are, you