Emma glowered down at her husband. "Sir, we are guests in this house. I bid you respect Lady Alice's request."

"But her lord has suggested this sport," Vincent called. "How can I refuse?"

Alice leaned farther out the window. "Sir Hugh, kindly inform your guest that you wish to pursue other sport with him."

"What other sport would you suggest, madam?" Hugh asked innocently. "Shall we engage in some practice with the lance, mayhap?"

Alice lost her temper. "Show Sir Vincent the new refuse ditch, if you cannot think of anything more entertaining. I do not care what you do, but I will not allow the two of you to stage a joust in this keep. Do I make myself clear, sir?"

A breathless silence emanated from the bailey. All eyes were on the tower window.

Hugh studied her very intently for a moment. "You will not allow it?" he finally repeated carefully.

Alice took a deep breath. Her fingers dug into the sill. "You heard me. 'Tis not a seemly way in which to amuse a guest."

"Madam, it may have escaped your notice, but I am lord of this keep. I will entertain my guest as I see fit."

"Do you recall the boon you promised me last night, sir?"

"Alice."

"I am claiming it now, my lord."

Hugh's expression was more dangerous than it had been at any time during the meal. He held himself quite still for a few taut seconds and then, with a lethal whoosh, he rammed his blade back into its scabbard.

"Very well, madam," he said without inflection. "You have claimed the boon and it has been granted." He smiled coldly. "I shall show Sir Vincent the village ditch."

Vincent gave a roar of laughter, sheathed his sword, and clapped Hugh roughly on the shoulder. "Do not concern yourself, sir," he said, not without sympathy. "I have every confidence that you will soon adjust to married life."

A short while later Hugh rode past the convent in the company of the man he had been taught to hate since birth. Neither he nor Vincent had spoken since they had ridden out of Scarcliffe Keep.

"Are you actually going to show me the village ditch?" Vincent asked dryly.

Hugh grimaced. "Nay. In truth there is a matter we should no doubt discuss." He had been debating how much to tell Vincent concerning the murder of Calvert and he had finally come to a conclusion.

"If you intend to lecture me further on my duties to Rivenhall, you may save your breath. I have finally acquired enough money from the jousts to enable me to see to my estates. I do not intend to leave them again."

Hugh shrugged. "That is your affair. But as we are neighbors whether we like it or not, you should know that murder has been done very recently on these lands."

"Murder?" Vincent shot him a startled glance. "Who was killed?"

"I discovered the body of a wandering monk named Calvert of Oxwick in one of the cliff caves. I believe he may have been killed by robbers."

"Why would anyone kill a monk?"

Hugh hesitated briefly. "Because he was searching for the Stones of Scarcliffe."

Vincent snorted in disbelief. "That is nothing but an old tale. If there ever were any Stones of Scarcliffe, they have long since disappeared."

"Aye, but there are always those who believe in legends. The monk may have been one."

"And the murderer?"

"He may have also believed in the legend," Hugh said softly.

Vincent frowned. "If a thief killed the monk for the sake of a nonexistent treasure, he has no doubt realized his mistake by now. Likely he has already departed these lands."

"Aye. But in light of the fact that you've decided to return to your manor and assume your responsibilities, I thought you might want to take note of the incident. Neither of us needs a murderer in the neighborhood."

"You wield sarcasm as well as you do a sword, Sir Hugh."

" 'Tis the only weapon my wife has seen fit to leave me today," Hugh muttered.

Vincent was quiet for a moment. The hooves of the horses thudded softly in the dirt. Several of the nuns at work in the convent gardens glanced at the pair. The miller's son waved energetically from the shelter of his parents' cottage.

"Sir Hugh, Sir Hugh," the boy cried happily.

Hugh lifted a hand in greeting. Young John laughed with delight.

Vincent watched the boy disappear into the cottage. Then he looked at Hugh. "They say that Erasmus of Thornewood is near death."

"Aye."

"I shall miss him," Vincent said sincerely. "Other than his demand that you and I not go to war with each other, he has been a good liege."

"Very good."

Vincent glanced around at the repaired cottages. "You have accomplished much here in the past few months, Sir Hugh."

"Aye. With the aid of my wife." Hugh knew a deep sense of pride and satisfaction. Order and stability had been brought to Scarcliffe. In the spring, it would begin to know prosperity as well.

"Tell me," Vincent said, "do you still hunger for Rivenhall, or are you content with these lands?"

Hugh raised his brows. "You are asking if I will take Rivenhall when my oath to Erasmus is severed by his death?"

"I am asking if you will attempt to take it," Vincent corrected dryly.

"Attempt?" Laughter welled up out of nowhere within Hugh. It roared forth from the depths of his being. It rang in the street, drawing the attention of the nuns on the other side of the convent wall.

"I'm glad you find the question amusing." Vincent watched him with wary eyes. "I'm still waiting for your answer."

Hugh managed to control his mirth. "I suspect that Rivenhall is safe so long as my wife calls your wife friend. I do not care to contemplate the endless scolding I would be obliged to endure were I to lay siege to Rivenhall."

Vincent blinked owlishly and then he started to grin. "Something tells me that you have already begun to settle in nicely to the life of a married man."

"There are worse fates."

"Aye. There are."

The following morning dawned dark with ominous clouds. Hugh was forced to light a candle on his desk so that he and Benedict could work.

Hugh was midway through an examination of a list of spices when he noticed that the flame of the taper was shimmering in an odd manner. He put down his quill and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. When he opened them again he saw that the flame had grown very large. Too large.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Benedict leaned across the desk, his expression one of concern.

"Nay." Hugh shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs that seemed to have enveloped his wits.

Benedict's features started to run together. His eyes and nose flowed into his mouth.

"Lord Hugh?"

Hugh forced himself to concentrate. Benedict's face returned to normal. "Have you finished those sums?"

"Aye." Benedict pushed aside the cups of green pottage that had been brought to the chamber a short while ago. "I will have the amounts ready for Julian to take to London on the morrow. Sir, are you certain you are well?"

"Why in the name of the devil is that candle dancing about? There is no draft in here."

Benedict glanced at the candle. "The flame appears steady, sir."

Hugh stared at it. The flame was leaping wildly. It was also turning a strange shade of pink. Pink flames?

He tore his gaze from the candle and focused on the tapestry that hung on the wall. The unicorn woven into the center came alive even as he watched. It turned its graceful head and regarded him with a politely curious expression.

"The pottage," Hugh whispered.

"My lord?"

Hugh looked at the half-empty cup of pottage in front of him. A terrible premonition pierced his fogged brain. "Did you drink any?" His voice was a harsh whisper of sound.