Greenweld raised an eyebrow at Allistair. The Scot frowned slightly, then understanding came to his face and he sighed. “The fire. I have not seen the room since the fire. He may be right.”

Grunting his disgust at that, Greenweld set the man reluctantly down, propping his clenched fists on his hips as he questioned him. “He claimed the passage is straight with no side trails to confuse a body; is that true?”

“Aye. ’Tis good it is, too, for things happened so quick, I did not manage to collect a torch on the way. ’Twas black as pitch in there. I had to feel my way out.”

Greenweld frowned at that. “We shall need torches then. I shall take half my men and go in through the passage. The rest will continue to work on the new mangonel so that those inside do not suspect anything.”

Iliana glanced toward the man named Hugh, fully expecting him to inform Greenweld that their leave-taking had been witnessed, and that the passage was most likely blocked by now. It seemed he was not eager to pass on that news, however, for he stood, pale, trembling, and as silent as stone, his eyes locked warily on Greenweld’s fists as he eased carefully step after step away from him. Her gaze slid to Allistair as he nodded in agreement with Greenweld’s plans.

“You’d best move quickly. ’Twill not take long fer them to notice Iliana missing.”

“Aye. Take her to my tent and keep her out of sight. I shall order the men to make up torches.”

Turning away, he left the clearing, and Iliana felt herself relax somewhat. While Allistair was a traitor to his own blood kin, at least he seemed unwilling to beat her. He had stopped the man from hitting her. That gave her some hope that there was a drop or two of humanity left in him. Mayhap she could persuade him to switch sides again.

“Come.” Taking her arm, Allistair urged her from the small clearing, leading her through thick woods to the temporary camp they had set up. There were three tents huddled close together beneath the trees. Allistair ushered her inside the largest one.

Pushing her in the general direction of a pallet set up along one side of the tent, he moved to a small table against the opposite wall and grabbed a dented and tarnished mug from the tabletop. Dipping it into the open barrel of ale beside it, he raised the mug to his lips and turned to eye her over the top of it as he drank.

After glancing with disgust at the rumpled pallet, Iliana had decided she would prefer to stand. She faced him, waiting warily for what came next. At first, nothing happened. Allistair leaned against the wobbly table and continued to drink, eyeing her thoughtfully as he did, but after several moments he spoke.