The old man’s smile drifted to nothingness as Wulfgar pulled back the cowl of his cloak, revealing himself.

“Always full of surprises, Wulfgar is,” Temigast said.

“You look well,” Wulfgar offered, and he meant it. Temigast’s white hair had thinned a bit, perhaps, but the last few years had not been rough on the man.

“Is that….?” Temigast asked, nodding to Colson.

“Meralda’s girl.”

“Are you mad?”

Wulfgar merely shrugged and said, “She should be with her mother.”

“That decision was made some three years ago.”

“Necessary at the time,” said Wulfgar.

Temigast sat back on his seat and conceded the point with a nod.

“Lady Priscilla is gone from here, I am told,” said Wulfgar, and Temigast couldn’t help but smile—a reassurance to Wulfgar that his measure of the steward was correct, that the man hated Priscilla.

“To the joy of Auckney,” Temigast admitted. He set the reins on the seat, and with surprising nimbleness climbed down and approached Wulfgar, his hands out for Colson.

The girl shoved her hand in her mouth and whirled away, burying her face in Wulfgar’s shoulder.

“Bashful,” Temigast said. Colson peeked out at him and he smiled all the wider. “And she has her mother’s eyes.”

“She is a wonderful girl, and sure to become a beautiful woman,” said Wulfgar. “But she needs her mother. I cannot keep her with me. I am bound for a land that will not look favorably on a child, any child.”

Temigast stared at him for a long time, obviously unsure of what he should do.

“I share your concern,” Wulfgar said to him. “I never hurt Lady Meralda, and never wish to hurt her.”

“My loyalty is to her husband, as well.”

“And what a fool he would be to refuse this child.”

Temigast paused again. “It is complicated.”

“Because Meralda loved another before him,” said Wulfgar. “And Colson is a reminder of that.”

“Colson,” said Temigast, and the girl peeked out at him and smiled, and the steward’s whole face lit up in response. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.” He grew more serious as he turned back to Wulfgar, though, and asked bluntly, “What would you have me do?”

“Get us to Meralda. Let me show her the beautiful child her daughter has become. She will not part with the girl again.”

“And what of Lord Feringal?”

“Is he worthy of your loyalty and love?”

Temigast paused and considered that. “And what of Wulfgar?”

Wulfgar shrugged as if it did not matter, and indeed, regarding his obligation to Colson, it did not. “If he desires to hang me, he will have to—”

“Not that,” Temigast interrupted, and looked at Colson.

Wulfgar’s shoulders slumped and he heaved a deep sigh. “I know what is right. I know what I must do, though it will surely break my heart. But it will be a temporary wound, I hope, for in the passing months and years, I will rest assured that I did right by Colson, that I gave her the home and the chance she deserved, and that I could not provide.”

Colson looked at Temigast and responded to his every gesture with a delighted smile.

“Are you certain?” the steward asked.

Wulfgar stood very straight.

Temigast glanced back at Castle Auck, at the short keep where Lady Meralda kept her flowers. “I will return this way before nightfall,” he said. “With an empty carriage. I can get you to her, perhaps, but I disavow myself of you from that point forward. My loyalty is not to Wulfgar, not even to Colson.”

“One day it will be,” said Wulfgar. “To Colson, I mean.”

Temigast was too charmed by the girl to disagree.

One hand patted the soft soil at the base of the stem, while the fingers of Meralda’s other hand gently brushed the smooth petals. The tulips would bloom soon, she knew—perhaps even that very evening.

Meralda sang to them softly, an ancient rhyme of sailors and explorers lost in the waves, as her first love had been taken by the sea. She didn’t know all the words, but it hardly mattered, for she hummed to fill in the holes in the verses and it sounded no less beautiful.

A slap on the stone broke her song, though, and the woman stood up suddenly and retreated a fast step when she noted the prongs of a ladder. Then a large hand clamped over the lip of the garden wall, not ten feet from her.

She brushed back her thick black hair, and her eyes widened as the intruder pulled his head up over the wall.

“Who are you?” she demanded, retreating again, and ignoring his shushing plea.

“Guards!” Meralda called, and turned to run as the intruder shifted. But as his other hand came up, she found herself frozen in place, rooted as if she was just another plant in her carefully cultivated garden. In the man’s other hand was a young girl.

“Wulfgar?” Meralda mouthed, but had not the breath to say aloud.

He put the girl down inside, and Colson turned shyly away from Meralda. Wulfgar grabbed the wall with both hands and hauled himself over. The girl went to his leg and wrapped one arm around it, the thumb of her other hand going into her mouth as she continued to shy away.

“Wulfgar?” Meralda asked again.

“Da!” implored Colson, reaching up to Wulfgar with both hands. He scooped her up and set her on his hip, then pulled back his cowl, revealing himself fully.

“Lady Meralda,” he replied.

“You should not be here!” Meralda said, but her eyes betrayed her words, for she stared unblinkingly at the girl, at her child.

Wulfgar shook his head. “Too long have I been away.”

“My husband would not agree.”

“It is not about him, nor about me,” Wulfgar said, his calm and sure tone drawing her gaze back to him. “It is about her, your daughter.”

Meralda swayed, and Wulfgar was certain that a slight breeze would have knocked her right over.

“I have tried to be a good father to her,” Wulfgar explained. “I had even found her a woman to serve as her mother, though she is gone now, taken by foul orcs. But it is all a ruse, I know.”

“I never asked—”

“Your husband’s actions demanded it,” Wulfgar reminded her, and she went silent, her gaze locking once more on the shy child, who had buried her face in her da’s strong shoulder.

“My road is too arduous,” Wulfgar explained. “Too dangerous for the likes of Colson.”

“Colson?” Meralda echoed.

Wulfgar merely shrugged.

“Colson…” the woman said softly, and the girl looked her way only briefly and flashed a sheepish smile.

“She belongs with her mother,” Wulfgar said. “With her real mother.”

“I had thought her father had demanded her to raise as his princess in Icewind Dale,” came a sharp retort from the side, and all three turned to regard the entrance of Lord Feringal. The man twisted his face tightly as he moved near to his wife, all the while staring hatefully at Wulfgar.

Wulfgar looked to Meralda for a clue, but found nothing on her shocked face. He struggled to figure out which way to veer the conversation, when Meralda unexpectedly took the lead.

“Colson is not his child,” the Lady of Auckney said. She grabbed Feringal by the hands and forced him to look at her directly. “Wulfgar never ravished—”

Before she could finish, Feringal pulled one of his hands free and lifted a finger over her lips to silence her, nodding his understanding.

He knew, Meralda realized and so did Wulfgar. Feringal had known all along that the child was not Wulfgar’s, not the product of a rape.

“I took her to protect your wife…and you,” Wulfgar said after allowing Feringal and Meralda a few heartbeats to stare into each other’s eyes. Feringal turned a scowl his way, to which Wulfgar only shrugged. “I had to protect the child,” he explained.

“I would not…” Feringal started to reply, but he stopped and shook his head then addressed Meralda instead. “I would not have hurt her,” he said, and Meralda nodded.