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never even guessed existed, much less witnessed herself.
    She thought instantly of the hateful things she’d said about him, thought about him, only the night before at the feast. Things she’d said to Sybilla, August’s lover, who had known the details of the man’s death. And then Cecily combined it with the memories she had of the way Oliver had loved her, so fiercely, so passionately.
    And she knew a shiver of discontent in her heart.
    “I was to meet with him that day,” he continued. “I had only just returned from France, and he had wanted to speak to me of family business. I was late for our appointment, and August was already gone from his rooms when I arrived. I was impatient to be reunited with my friends, and did not inquire of him. I didn’t care what had transpired at Bellemont in my absence. It mattered not to me, any of it. His man, Argo, fetched me from my bed, still half drunk.” He paused and his voice grew wistful. “And now he is gone, and Bellemont is mine. And I do not want it .”
    Cecily swallowed again. “I am sorry for the loss of your brother, Lord Bellecote.”
    Oliver chuckled. “Each time someone addresses me as Lord Bellecote, I think that August must be in the room.” He opened his eyes, his head still tilted back against the stones, and looked at Cecily down the length of his nose. “Any matter, I thank God for your foolishness, Lady Cecily. I believe it is only through His grace that you were there last night. You saved me.”
    Cecily shook her head. “I didn’t. Don’t martyr me, Oliver.”
    “Saint Cecily,” he sighed, and closed his eyes again. “So sweet. So forgiving. Indeed, I should witness at your beatification.”
    Cecily’s cheeks burned. “You’re tired, in pain. Rest a while,” she suggested.
    His eyes snapped open and he frowned slightly.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    “I believe we are about to be rescued.”
    Cecily turned her face toward the jagged stone doorway and indeed, heard the sound of riders approaching. She gave a short sigh and a frown that matched Oliver’s.
    Now, she would know the beginning of the rumors. Perhaps then ...
    “I’ll wave them over,” Cecily said, and prepared to rise. But before she could gain her feet, Oliver Bellecote seized her wrist.
    “Forgive my boldness in touching you,” he said. “But I swear to you now, no matter who is without, I will not allow a whisper of scandal to touch you. Any who speaks against you will answer to me.”
    Cecily tried to smile and gave him a pathetic nod. “I do not fear idle talk, Lord Bellecote.”
    He released her and chuckled again. “Of course not. Mere words cannot shake you, can they?”
    “I’ll be right back,” she said, and then rose before he could see her cross frown.
    She marched to the doorway and swept from the ruin. Did no one think her capable of human error? Not even the man she’d slept with the previous night?
    And then all her questions of rumor were laid to rest and her heart shriveled up and fled to her stomach as she saw the riders approaching. Sybilla, racing toward the Foxe Ring, leading the party upon the wild Octavian; Alys and her husband, Piers, each of them leading a riderless horse.
    And, almost as a spiteful afterthought, Joan Barleg rode behind them all.

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Chapter 8
    After leaving Oliver Bellecote, Cecily first went to the kitchens, where she returned the tray and then spoke briefly with a maid regarding the preparation of a hearty meal for the lord when he awoke, as well as the manner of inquiring as to the discomfort of his broken ribs. Oliver likely expected Cecily to return to his chamber this evening, and should she receive word that his ribs needed binding, she would see to it as she had promised. The very thought of seeing him again caused her heart to pound with anticipation.
    She didn’t seem to know who she was when she was in his presence.
    After quitting the