LITMIR.BIZ

      At the bottom, next to where the scribe had written her name, there was an awkwardly formed cross and a large ink blot. She wouldn’t be used to holding a quill.

      Stupid woman, what was she doing leaving town when Geoffrey’s family had such need of her? Had the outlaws approached her? Had she been bullied into leaving?

      Crushing the message into a ball, Arthur shoved it in his pouch. There was a cold lump in his belly.

      ‘When did this arrive?’

      ‘Not half an hour since, Captain.’

      Arthur forced himself to relax. Half an hour. She’d be on foot—she couldn’t have got far in half an hour and he’d be able to track her, whichever road she’d taken. He was on the point of retracing his steps to inform Count Henry of what had happened when it occurred to him she might not yet have left her lodgings.

      * * *

      Arthur raised his hand to knock at the door. Inside, a child was crying. Nell. Lord. He knocked hard and the crying cut off. A bolt squealed and the door opened. Nell’s face, puffy with tears, appeared in the crack.

      ‘Sir Arthur!’ Sniffling, Nell wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

      ‘Holà, Nell.’ The child’s woebegone face told him that Clare had already left, but he had to ask. ‘May I speak to Clare?’

      ‘She’s not here.’ Nell’s eyes filled. ‘Mama says she’s gone away. Mama says—’

      ‘Nell?’ a faint voice cut in. ‘Let Sir Arthur enter, if you please.’

      Arthur bowed his head under the lintel and stepped into the room. It had been a while since he’d set foot in lodgings as basic as this. Smoke from a fire at the back filled the low-ceilinged room with smoke. A kettle sat on the hearth and a small clay pot lay slightly askew among the embers, steaming gently. Clothes were drying on a crooked clothes-rack.

      Nell’s sick mother, Nicola, lay on a cot by the fire. And she did look sick. The light was poor, but not so poor that Arthur couldn’t see that her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets. The skin over her cheekbones was wafer-thin.

      Age-spotted hands plucked at the blankets. ‘Sir Arthur Ferrer?’

      ‘At your service, ma dame. As you doubtless heard, I am looking for Clare.’

      Nicola’s lip trembled. ‘I am afraid you have missed her. She has...moved away.’

      Nell jumped into his line of vision, fists clenched. ‘No, she hasn’t! She’s gone for salt.’ A small hand batted his. ‘Sir Arthur, Clare told me she was going to buy salt.’

      Arthur looked at Nicola. He wasn’t used to dealing with children and, sweet though this one was, he was helpless in the face of her tears.

      ‘We have plenty of salt, sir,’ Nicola said, gesturing at a pot by the fire. ‘Clare’s not coming back.’

      Tiny fingers curled into his tunic. ‘She is! She is coming back! She forgot we had salt. She’ll be back soon, I know it.’

      ‘Nell,’ Nicola’s voice, though weak, held a warning. ‘Shouldn’t you be watching our soup?’

      The small fingers uncurled and, sniffing, the child went to the fire.

      ‘I knew this time would come, sir,’ Nicola said. ‘I hoped she would stay, but in my heart I knew she would leave us.’

      Nell had found a wooden spoon. Arthur watched her stirring. ‘Was Clare threatened, do you know?’ he asked quietly. Thanks to Geoffrey’s change of heart, a priceless relic had slipped out of the thieves’ hands. It was more than likely they bore a grudge. Had they demanded recompense? Were they taking their anger out on Clare?

      ‘Threatened? Why should anyone threaten Clare?’ Nicola gazed thoughtfully into the fire. ‘I suppose there could have been something. Clare kept her thoughts to herself much of the time. When Geoffrey brought her here, a scrawny waif whom he found on the road to Ravenshold, I had my doubts.’

      Arthur stared. ‘Sir Geoffrey found her on the road?’

      ‘Yes, sir. She had nowhere to go, so he brought her here. My Geoffrey offered her board and keep in return for looking after us.’ Nicola’s eyes were glassy with tears, her voice was a thread. ‘She was a tower of strength when Geoffrey died, but more than that, I have grown fond of her. She stayed longer than I dared hope.’

      ‘Do you know where she’s gone?’

      ‘No, sir. Will you...’ her expression brightened ‘...will you try to find her?’

      Arthur hesitated. ‘I shall try, but I am sworn to serve Count Henry.’ He moved to the door.

      ‘You are Captain of the Guardian Knights and must follow the Count’s orders?’

      ‘I must.’

      ‘Perhaps, sir, if you asked for Count Henry’s permission...?’

      Arthur reached for the door latch. Mon Dieu, the last thing he wanted to do was to leave Troyes, particularly to chase after a chance-met girl, even one who might be Count Myrrdin’s by-blow. It was an honour to be Captain of Count Henry’s Guardians—an honour that had been hard won. Being Captain of the Guardians was no sinecure. Several knights were jostling to take his place, young Raphael of Reims to name but one. If Arthur were to leave Troyes, even with the Count’s blessing, the post of Captain of the Guardians might be lost to him for ever.

      However, it wasn’t safe for a vulnerable young woman to be wandering the highways without protection. Never mind that it was midwinter, there were rogues everywhere, anything could happen. A fist formed in his stomach. She must be found.

      ‘That will depend on Count Henry, ma dame. Rest assured, I shall inform him of Clare’s disappearance. I shall also inform Lord d’Aveyron.’

      Nicola’s head came up in a way that reminded Arthur of her son. ‘Thank you, sir, but there’s no need to speak to Lord d’Aveyron.’

      Clare had mentioned that Nicola was unaware of the trouble Geoffrey had embroiled himself in before his death. Was it wise to leave her in ignorance? If, as he suspected, Clare had been bullied out of Troyes by a gang of outlaws—might they take their revenge out on Nicola and the child? He must speak with Count Henry again.

      In the meantime, he didn’t want to

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