She gasped and he frowned at her. “Yes, I suppose everybody will soon know. We broke our teeth on Pendleton. Boise and the CUT were there. With force much greater than we had expected. Czarnecki’s squire was killed in action. Young Odo Reddings was shipped out with Czarnecki and Terry’s body. They’re all at McKee Manor, as of this morning. And under guard. I am appointed steward for this land. My job is to determine how deep the rot has penetrated. Was it just your mother and uncle? Or are the rest of the adults in on it? We can’t risk them being Guelf’s agents or dupes.”

Yseult shuddered. Sad Aunt Theresa, who had lost the child her Uncle Jason had left her pregnant with when he was captured and murdered on a mission for Gervais, was unthinkable as an agent of evil; much less gentle Aunt Layella who had lost her babe just six weeks ago. And this man, the Regent’s agent, would have to question them hard and long. She shuddered again and blotted quick tears as a sudden thought obtruded . . .

Terry! Dead? How much more death will I see today?

The papers were sorted, docketed and bundled up, along with the charred fragments from the grate. Yseult could hear Sir Garrick’s men tramping through the castle, scaring the servants as they searched, their voices loud and echoing down the corridors. A few times she heard crashes.

Sir Garrick cursed under his breath and strode to the entranceway.

“This isn’t a sack! Have a care, there! Fulk, go see that they stay under control.”

Yseult felt a glassy calm descending on her, and a huge weariness. The housekeeper brought three packed duffel bags in for her and her fleece-lined cloak. She huddled Yseult into it as she whispered, “Courage, dear heart. I’ll be waiting to hear good news of you.”

For once Yseult didn’t care about the strictures on her conduct. With a sob she turned and hugged her, one armed.

“Take care, take care!” she whispered. “I will pray for you.”

“And I for you, chick.”

“Will you give your oath to stay with your escort and not try to escape?” asked Sir Garrick.

Yseult looked up at the knight with swimming eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “Parole. I will cast myself on the mercy of the Lady Regent. I swear by God the Father, God the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

She crossed herself and hesitated as the armored man gestured to the door.

“But, please, can I take my Bernadette and my Immaculate Conception from the chapel? I—I was going to go there to pray this evening”—a short hysterical laugh escaped her—“but matters seem to have overtaken me! I promised.”