Such was gladly left to her enthusiastic daughter, the only child of Allegra and Merle, and the sole heiress to Langumont’s vast holdings. It was only right that a woman who was heir to such large holdings must clearly understand the management of them—from every home of each villein and tradesman, to which fields belonged to the overlord, and which were left to the villagers. She knew every inch of every acre of forest as well, and rode out with her father as often as he allowed.

When she was near the bottom of the stairs, Maris took a moment to adjust her headdress and wimple. The Lady of Langumont might be busy, but she never appeared rushed.

At this time of the day, mid-afternoon, when the winter sun sunk low to the trees, the hall was empty of men-at-arms and bustling with serfs preparing for the evening meal. A lone, stationary man dressed in fine clothing stood near the stone fireplace that stretched nearly the length of one wall. He appeared to be surveying the room, and when Maris came into his view, he turned to look at her.

She approached him with regal bearing. “I am Lady Maris Lareux. You are well come to Langumont Keep.”

He was not overly tall, but taller than she, and his small, sharp black eyes scored over her as if snatching in every detail in a large gulp. More of an age with Allegra than Maris, the man was mayhap one and a half score.

He was not unpleasing to look upon, with his gleaming black hair, fashionable moustache and neatly trimmed beard, and at first, he appeared neat and well dressed. Yet as Maris returned his bold gaze with one of her own, she noted the splotch of a stain on the midriff of his tunic and the frayed hem of the cross-garters on his left leg.