hand and kissed it, bowing slightly from his hip. There was a sighing murmur from the surrounding men, and Alberon gently squeezed Wynter’s fingers as he rose from his bow. She closed her hand tight against his, overcome with gratitude for this public recognition of her loss, and for Alberon’s acknowledgement of her as an ally and a woman worthy of respect. She had no doubt that the dusty faces on the road were now suffused with sentimental protectiveness and sympathy; for there was nothing a soldier loved more than a tragically brave noblewoman. God help us, she thought, but Albi certainly knows his men. In this one greeting, he had transformed her from suspected murderess and harlot to a shining icon of feminine worth.
‘And your husband, Protector Lady? The man whose bravery and knowledge of the wilds has ensured your safety and that of the Lord Razi? Are we ever to be introduced, do you think?’
At the word husband, the gathered men fell utterly silent. Wynter was amazed that a hundred burning holes did not appear in Christopher’s rigid back as all eyes turned on him. She did not make the mistake of introducing Christopher herself, as if he were some ragged sailor picked from the street by a common jade. Instead, she waited for Razi, her acknowledged male guardian, to step forward and do his duty.
Razi bowed, indicated his friend with a little gesture of his hand and said, ‘Your Highness, as you wish, allow me to introduce to you my most trusted Second and bodyguard, the Freeman Christopher Garron. A worthy person, your Highness, and that most valuable of rarities, an honest man.’
Christopher bowed very low and did not presume to speak. Alberon regarded him with regal coolness. ‘I have heard much about you, Freeman Garron,’ he said quietly. ‘My brother feels he owes you much.’
Christopher’s eyes flickered to Razi, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Thank you, your Highness,’ he said, ‘but the Lord Razi owes me nothing. My debts to him, however, can never be repaid, though I shall spend the rest of my life attempting to do just that.’
Alberon’s face softened a little, as if Christopher’s words had thrown him, and he faltered a moment before nodding. When next he spoke, his voice was once more loud enough for the crowds to hear. ‘You would not be the first commoner to have proved himself worthy of the company of royals. All here know how steadfast a friend the Protector Lord Moorehawke was to my father the King. Welcome to my service, Freeman Garron. May you prosper in it.’
Wynter tightened her jaw at the wry irony in this last line, but Christopher, all unawares, straightened from his bow, relief evident in his face. Alberon leaned close, and in the guise of shaking Christopher’s hand, murmured low and private, ‘If you hurt my sister, Garron, you die a traitor’s death. Understand?’
The men met each other’s eyes. Christopher nodded, and Alberon spun from him. ‘Behold my brother,’ he cried, slinging his arm across Razi’s shoulders and turning him to face the camp. ‘He has journeyed here at peril of his life in order to aid us in our task of strengthening my father’s kingdom. No prince could wish a more steadfast supporter. No man could have a brother more loyal.’
The gathered men muttered uncertainly to themselves. Frowning, their eyes slid to Oliver, who stood at Alberon’s right, his hands folded blandly on his sword.
‘Let all my allies know this face,’ cried Alberon, grabbing Razi’s chin and wagging it. ‘It should not be hard to recall it, after all!’ He looked around the assembled ranks of his men, and though his smile did not slip, the warning in his voice was clear to all when he said, ‘Make it known that this is a face beloved to me. Make it known that no harm shall come to this man, by my allies’ hands or the hands of any other. He who harms my brother, harms me. Is this not so, Sir Oliver?’
‘Aye, your Highness,’ said Oliver. ‘There’s no man here who does not recognise the Lord Razi’s devotion to you. There is no man here who would not die in his defence. My sword is yours, my Lord!’ he cried, bowing his head to Razi. ‘My strength, my blood, my life, all pledged to your service.’
It was the standard pledge of allegiance from a knight to his lord, but the soldiers looked from Oliver to Razi with wide eyes, the knowledge