Loyse caught up the key so eagerly that he laughed. “So that much of you is female — you want gauds as much as any wench. Give us another storm or two and we can make up what you drag out of the storehouse anyway.”

He strode out, leaving the door wide open. As Loyse followed him to shut it once again, she treasured that key tight in her hand. For months, years, she had schemed to get that same bit of metal into her holding. Now she had been given it openly and none would dispute her rummaging for what she truly wanted in the storehouse of Verlaine.

Rights of wreckage and plunder over wave and shore! Since Verlaine Keep had risen on the heights between two treacherous capes, the sea had brought its lords a rich harvest. And the storehouse of the pile was indeed a treasure room, only opened upon its lord’s orders. Fulk must believe that he had far the best of the bargain with Yvian to allow her unsupervised plundering there. For the company of Bettris she did not fear. Fulk’s latest bedfellow was as greedy as she was fair, and she would not cast any eye on Loyse’s choices, given a chance to hunt on her own.

She tossed the key from right hand to left, and for the first time a thin smile curved her pale lips. Well might Fulk be surprised at her choices from the treasure of Verlaine! Also he might be astounded at other things she knew about these walls which he accepted as such safe barriers. Her gaze flickered for a moment to the one where the shield mirror hung.

There was a hurried rap at her door. Loyse smiled again, this time with contempt. It had not taken Bettris long to act upon Fulk’s orders. But at least the woman dared not intrude upon her lover’s daughter uninvited. Loyse went to the door.

“The Lord Fulk—” began the girl who stood without, her plump beauty as full and vivid as Fulk’s virility.

Loyse held up the key. “I have it.” She named no name, gave no title to the other, but glanced at those well-rounded shoulders bursting out of the robe which strained over every luxuriant curve the other advertised. Behind Bettris were two of the serving men, a chest between them. Loyse raised her eyebrows and the other laughed nervously.

“Lord Fulk would have you select your bride-clothes, lady. He said there was no need to be timid in the storehouse.”

“The Lord Fulk is generous,” returned Loyse tonelessly. “Shall we go?”