Shaking Genith and the women awake, she issued orders. “Rise and dress quickly and go down to the hall to break your fast. I will join you soon, but must do something first.”

She left them and made her way to the stairs. Trusting that she would not meet any servants already beginning morning chores, she descended to the second level.

She had never been in Marcus’s bedchamber, but she knew it was here, along with another that he used as a solar.

His chamber door was open, making it easy for her. She slipped inside and glanced around. The bed was luxurious enough, with its rich red draperies and feather mattress, but there was something spare about the rest of the furnishings. Nipping around the bed, she discovered a straw pallet on the floor under the window, as if a servant slept here and not outside the door.

She could not find what she sought, and cursed under her breath. It must be in the solar.

She hurried into the other chamber, and halted in her tracks. It was not deserted as she had assumed it would be. The steward sat at a table near the window, perusing accounts.

He looked up at her entrance. “My lady?”

She scrambled for an excuse for being here, and grabbed the only one that might make sense. “I hoped to find Sir Marcus and he was not in the hall. I have good news for him about my sister.”

“He has already left. No doubt he will regret having done so if the news is that which he awaits.”

“No doubt.” She subtly examined the chamber. Her eyes lit on a familiar sack propped against the wall. Dylan’s harp.

She desperately sought a reason to take it with her, but there wasn’t any. The bard was ill, and would hardly be playing for entertainment in the early morning anyway. The steward appeared elbow deep in accounts, and she doubted he would leave this chamber soon.

Biting back her irritation, she retreated and headed down to the hall.

Her failure to get the harp created a terrible complication.

Noise wafted through the window from the yard. People shouted greetings and curses. The farmers were arriving with their provisions.

Nesta set a veil over Winnifred’s head, draping it so it fluttered low on her brow and over her cheeks. She secured it in place with a rolled circlet of cloth, and examined the results. Winnifred was the youngest and tallest of Genith’s servants, and the eyes peering back at her held wary fear.

Nesta flipped a long cloak around Winnifred, pulling the edge high on her face. “You will be in no danger, I promise you. Everyone will understand that you only do my bidding.”

Winnifred nodded. Nesta gave her one last inspection, grabbed a basket, and led the way down.