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Warin, my liege?”
    “Aye, have you seen him of late, Talan?”
    “Not long past, I saw him enter the woods at the base of the
motte.”  
    “Thank you,” Fulke responded absently, skimming the distant tree line
for any sign of the siblings.   
    He entered the hall behind the men with an uneasy feeling in the pit of
his stomach.
    Sir Everard picked from the platters set before him as the men took
their seats.   Off to the side, Lady
Baldith stood waiting with Sibilla.
    To avoid sitting with Sibilla, Fulke moved to the opposite side of the
table, squeezing in between Gervase and Guy, to the surprise of them both.  
    Undaunted, Sibilla came to stand behind Gervase.  
    Hazarding a glance at Fulke’s deepening scowl he stood to face her.
“Would you care to sit here, Mistress Sibilla?”
    “How chivalrous, Sir Knight.” She pressed up against Fulke’s side as
Gervase slid further down the bench.
    Gervase swallowed nervously as Fulke’s angry gaze swept him before
coming to rest on Sibilla.   Acknowledging
her with a curt nod, he speared a slice of venison from a platter with his
knife.
    Intending to request a private meeting with Sir Everard at the
conclusion of the meal, Fulke tipped his tankard back.   Choking on the ale he just swallowed, he
stood abruptly when Sibilla’s hand slid up his thigh to cup his groin beneath
the table.
    The table fell silent, all heads turned towards him in question.  
    Alarmed, Lady Baldith was the first to speak. “Is there aught amiss,
your lordship?”
    Furious with Sibilla’s lack of decorum, Fulke could not think of an
adequate excuse so refrained from offering one. “Please excuse me, my lady.”
    “You scarcely touched your fare.   Does it not suit you?”  
    “I find I am not at all hungry at the moment,” cursing his traitorous
body when his stomach growled.
    Before Baldith could say anything further to deter him, he stepped from
the table.
    Striding for the door, he called to his surprised men, “Coming?”
    Glancing with longing at their full trenchers, they excused themselves.
    He was halfway to the stables by the time they reached the courtyard.
    Entering the cool shade of the stalls behind him, Albin noted Fulke’s
aggravated bearing as he saddled his horse.  
    Gervase was about to speak when Albin silenced him by gripping his
shoulder. “Hold your silence, lad.”
    For once grateful to Albin for interfering, Fulke rode out. The rest of
the men hastening to catch him.
    After several passes at the quintain to cool his rage, Fulke dismounted.   Wiping the sweat from his brow, he caught
sight of Hylda returning from the village.   Prepared to ask after Reina, he started down the slope to meet her.
    Drawing near, he could see Hylda’s distressed state. His heart
pounding, he quickened his pace to a jog.
    She looked up at him with tear-swollen eyes as he drew to an anxious
halt before her. “Where is your mistress, Hylda?”
    Bowing her head in despair, Hylda mumbled just loud enough for him to
hear, “My Reina is gone.”
    “Gone you say?   What do you mean
she is gone?”   Fulke grabbed her thin
shoulders without realizing it.   “Egad
woman. Tell me where Reina is.”   Seeing
her grimace in pain, he immediately dropped his hands.   “Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you,
Hylda.”   Striving for a calmer tone, he
tried again. “Where is Reina?”
    Tears slipped from her warm brown eyes as she stammered, “Sir Everard
has banished her to a Cistercian Convent in Rotheram.”
    Stumbling back from her words, he breathed, “Is she to take the veil of
the church?”
    Hylda shook her head sadly. “No, your lordship, were that it so.   My beloved Reina is to be nothing more than a
lowly servant.   Father Godfrey said it
would be her decision to take the veil.   If it makes her way easier, I pray that she does so.”
    Fulke felt as though lead had suddenly filled his empty stomach.   “When did she depart?”
    “This morn at sunrise.”