In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,121

birthing fever. Just a tiny thing she was too. Lively as a may-bug, all curly brown hair and laughing eyes. He never laughed after that and was sent to do service in some godforsaken castle in Purbeck.’”

Ariel leaned back in her chair and smiled triumphantly. “I knew I had heard the name before. Do you not remember, Henry? Uncle Will and Lady Isabella were sitting in front of the hearth one night and he was recounting stories of this brave man and that; stories he knew would bring a tear to Aunt’s eyes and make her forgive him his long absences.”

“I confess the memory escapes me,” Henry said slowly. “But the description would seem to fit: a man as big as thunder …”

“… sent to a godforsaken castle in Purbeck. It must be the same man. How else would Uncle Will know he would help us?”

“He has not helped us yet,” Henry pointed out. “And may not, just because he mourns a dead wife.”

“Saints aggrieve me,” Sparrow muttered and peered hard at Ariel. “Did you quoth the earl marshal as saying the wife was possessed of a lively eye and curly brown hair?”

“As best as I can recall it, yes, but—”

Sparrow was already glaring intently at Eduard. “Think you: what does the little maid, Marienne, look like? Is she not here, in Corfe, loyal unto the death to our valiant Pearl? Did the marshal also not say she would be of some value to us in this venture?”

Robin gave a small gasp and felt the blood drain out of his face. “Marienne is here? In Corfe?”

“Who is Marienne?” Dafydd asked, floundering in the dark for the second time.

“The princess’s personal maid,” Eduard answered. “And possibly the very thing we need to help us gentle a giant.”

Marienne bowed her head to receive Father Wilfred’s droned benediction and a corkscrew of gleaming brown hair fell forward over her shoulder. She was kneeling behind her mistress and it was nearly driving her mad to know the burly captain was standing behind them both, less than a pace away. Her belly quaked with nervous anticipation and her skin felt sheathed in ice. She had risked only a single glance in his direction when she and Eleanor had first descended the tower steps, but his expression had betrayed nothing. His stance was casual, almost bored. Yet she sensed he had something of grave import to tell her; she knew it by the way her knees knocked and her chin refused to stop quivering.

“Dieu vous benisse” said the priest, making the sign of the cross over Eleanor’s bowed head. Marienne hastened forward to help her off her knees, earning a gentle smile of thanks in return. The two guardsmen—one of whom had scratched at his crotch and the other his nose throughout the entire proceedings—waited for the princess to begin the steep climb back up to her cell, then fell into step behind the priest, scratching and picking their way along the dimly lit corridor.

Marienne delayed as long as she dared before putting her foot to the bottom step. She had begun to think her intuition had been wrong when she felt Brevant brush past her, too close for it to be entirely accidental. She went off balance and would have fallen if not for the huge, hairy paw that caught her. When she straightened, she was holding something small and hard in her closed palm.

“From the Scarred One,” he murmured. “He says he wants proof I gave it to you.”

Marienne opened her fist but the ring was not familiar to her. It was sized for a woman’s finger, intricate enough in design to belong to royalty.

“What manner of proof does he want?”

“He says he will know it when he sees it.”

Marienne’s eyes danced with excitement as she looked up at him. “May I give you this proof tonight, after I have spoken with my lady?”

Brevant nodded and was rewarded with the sight of a brighter, wider smile than had been seen inside these glum walls in more years than he could remember. He stood for a long time after the hem of her tunic had flashed out of sight in the gloom of the stairwell, and, for as long as the image remained burning on his mind, he almost smiled back.

Marienne caught up to the princess halfway between landings, and nowhere near a source of light. Too eager to wait for either, she called out in an urgent whisper, “Your Highness, wait. Take this”—she pressed