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nod he gently took her arm.
    She was grateful for the support he lent, for otherwise she would surely not have made it down the steep stairway, so blurred was her vision.
    At the bottom she expected him to send her on ahead, but he did not. Instead he led her past the curious stares of the castlefolk and soldiers and did not relinquish his grip until they stood within the hall.
    She offered him a brave smile. "My thanks, Sir ..."
    "Abelaard," he said with a sweeping bow.
    Her smile grew more certain, but nonetheless remained a thin, tight-lipped line. "If you will wait but a moment," she said, stepping away, "I will gather blankets that you might take them to ensure my father's comfort."
    A thick silence followed that had her turning back to face him. Too late she realized it would be beneath the knight's rank to perform such a duty for her.
    "My apologies," she murmured. "I will send a servant."
    Looking relieved that he didn't have to refuse her, he offered her an uneven smile. "My sister is a nun," he said gruffly. "'Tis not a bad life she has."
    Graeye stared at him, watching as he grew uncomfortable with the effects of his poorly timed, though well-meaning, disclosure. "I fear you do not understand, Sir Knight," she said, then turned and left him.
    It was difficult to find privacy where she could vent her distraught emotions, and in desperation she returned to the small chapel abovestairs.
    Kneeling before the altar, she clasped her hands to her breast and tried to offer up prayer. However, there was simply no room for such devotions. All of her hopes were dashed forever by the coming of the treacherous Baron Balmaine. She drew a shuddering sob, then cried as she'd never cried before—and vowed she would never cry again.

Chapter 3

    W ith all the extra mouths to feed and bodies to bed in a hall that suddenly seemed inadequate, Graeye had had little time throughout the day to dwell on the terrible misfortune that had befallen her father—and the fate awaiting her.
    Now, however, as the night deepened and sleep refused to wrest her churning thoughts from her, she found herself reliving each nightmarish detail. She did not allow herself to dwell on the confrontation between her and her father. It simply hurt too much. Instead she fixed upon the events that preceded and followed that encounter.
    She recalled the painful conversation with Sir Royce, Sir Abelaard's parting remarks, the flood of emotions that had assailed her in the chapel, and afterward her encounter with William—one that might have gotten out of hand had she not put a quick end to it.
    Amid the preparations for the noon meal, she had come face-to-face with the angry knight who had sought no cover in which to deliver his cutting, hateful words.
    Without thought, and before the servants, she had struck him across the face with all the strength she could muster. Fortunately, he had been too surprised to retaliate, allowing her to flee the hall and seek safely in the kitchens.
    During supper, the tables overflowing with the addition of the king's men, she had spent an uncomfortable hour beneath the watchful gaze of both Sir Michael and William. Afterward the younger knight had twice attempted to corner her, but each time she had successfully evaded him. No good could possibly come of allowing him too near.
    Truly, it had been the most difficult day of Graeye's life. But it was the pity that bothered her the most. It shone from the eyes of the castlefolk, and, surprisingly, many of Edward's knights. Even the king's men cast their sympathy upon her.
    Pity, though, was not what she needed. She had already wasted far too much time indulging in that useless emotion. What she needed was a plan, one that would make it possible for her to stay at her father's side. Though it seemed all was well and truly lost, after her time in the chapel she had determined she would not abandon her quest to remain free of the Church. She would find a way. But how?
    Twisting upon her