So he was returning to his father’s castle, with his brother. That thought, which should have been a victory, brought Hugh no pleasure. He was estranged from David, who was as remote and unfathomable as the moon these days. His father would give them no welcome, and he mistrusted Sir Brian, too. The fellow seemed honest enough, but when was that a guide? Before David turned against him and Joanna, Hugh would have said that his brother was as true as steel.

Most of all, he disliked this traveling out on the open road. Elspeth had heard nothing from West Sarum. His own men, also, had no news, but that meant nothing. It could be that the bishop was playing a new and more subtle game, one that involved the Templars. What if Bishop Thomas and that smooth bastard Sir Gaston de Marcey of Templecombe had joined forces? His own men, though seasoned, were a small, tight force. If the Templars and the bishop’s men came at them on the road, it might go hard.

Worse, Joanna was with them. He had left the other maids at Elspeth’s, and Solomon, ever sanguine, had taken over the painting of her hall, but Joanna would come. She had wished to come and in truth he wanted her with him. He wanted this nonsense of her being his mistress resolved. He wanted to kiss the top of her head as she rode before him, in her now accustomed place, but David was watching.

No grief to me, Hugh thought defiantly, and kissed her, squeezing her lightly with his legs. She briefly released her iron grip on Lucifer’s name to pat his hand and he smiled at her forced daring. She was a brave little wench: they would have doughty youngsters.

Soon, soon, I will get you alone and then I will know the truth. I have seen enough mares in foal, I will know. Once I have you stripped, I will know.

He could think no more of plots or counterplots. Daydreaming of Joanna, he let the miles slip by.

Arriving unannounced with Hugh at Castle Manhill just after midday, Joanna found SirYves at his dining table. Sitting beside him, in the place of honor, was a slim, handsome, dark-haired man she knew well, even though neither she, nor any other, could put a true name to him.

She tugged on Hugh’s sleeve but he had already leaned down to whisper, “Look who it is: Master Mercury. Looks well, does he not, for a man with no memory?”

He did indeed, Joanna agreed. Sprawling on his chair with a pale hand draped languidly about a pretty serving maid, he sported new clothes and a broad new smile: a possessive, contented smile, all dimples and teeth. He looked cared for and in control. He ordered the servers as if they were his and not Sir Yves’s.

With a pang and a certain exasperation, Joanna saw that Mercury’s fine black hair shone and waved, as Hugh’s had once done, before he daubed it with red dye.

“What is this?” demanded Sir Brian, who had entered the great hall and taken up a space beside her. On her other side was Hugh, waiting for his father to notice him. David, meanwhile, detached himself from them and sank to his knees in the herbs strewn on the floor. Snatching up a handful of rushes and meadowsweet, he buried his face amidst the heady white blossoms.

“David, attend me here,” Hugh commanded in a low growl, but Joanna doubted if his brother had even heard. She sensed that for the first time since returning from Outremer, David felt to be truly at home.

Which was a pity when his own father did not seem to recognize him. SirYves was peering at Joanna through the steam from a dish of stewed fruit of some kind, and seemed puzzled by her sudden appearance. She watched his eyes pass over her, then Hugh, then look very quickly away from David. He clicked his fingers at a page and the lad approached, clearly about to ask them who they were.

“He has very bad sight at long distance,” Hugh said, “and with my hair changed, he will doubtless not know me. And he has not seen David for two years or more.”

“Yes,” said Joanna. She understood Hugh’s need to make excuses and truly she could think of nothing else to say. “Yes, Hugh, I understand.”

“Well, I do not.” Sir Brian rocked on his feet as if he wished to hurl himself at the seated diners. “That is David’s father? Hugh’s, too?”

Joanna felt a rush of indulgence for the older knight. His clear indignation at Sir Yves’s casual treatment made her want to laugh—it was that, or weep. “Hugh’s also,” she said softly, to make him turn to her. The page had not yet reached them through the milling servers and she thought it would be more seemly for all if the lad could whisper to the lord here that two of his sons were before him. Perhaps then Sir Yves would make a semblance of welcome.

“But I know him.” Sir Brian flicked his eyes at Mercury: for him a most discreet gesture. He looked at David, still kneeling in the rushes, and obviously decided it was better to whisper urgently to Hugh. “My lord, why did you not say that you are connected to the king?”

“King John? What mean you?” hissed Hugh.

But Joanna hushed them both. Mercury was rising from the table. He had deigned to glance at the latest supplicants to SirYves’s justice and charity and now his pale face was a little less smooth.

“Sir Brian!” he called out, strong and clear. “God’s bones, this is a blessed day! You restore me to myself! You are Sir Brian de Falaise, late of Outremer. In recognizing you, I know myself!”

“Truly, Mercury?” Sir Yves had finally risen. Clasping Mercury’s outstretched arm, he regarded him as fondly as any father might a favored son. “Your memory has at last returned?”

“It has indeed,” said Joanna and Mercury together. Joanna could almost predict his every word and gesture: the surprise, wonder, and delight. As a performance, she thought it as good as any dance.

“Finally, we come to it,” remarked Hugh, grimly. “Will he remember you and David, I wonder?”

Joanna shrugged: she thought it unlikely that Mercury would trouble to recall her, but she was mistaken. He leaped right over the dining table, almost knocking a basin of washing water flying, and ran straight to her.

“My lady Joanna! My sweet lady!” He fell on his knees before her. “My dearest dreams and wishes have come true, now you are returned!”

“The alchemist woman who was with Hugh?” Sir Yves was slowly walking round the table, his earlier pleasure fading quickly. “She is here? What is happening?”

“And your sons, Sir Hugh and Sir David!” Mercury winked at Joanna, jumped to his feet, gripped Hugh’s arm, and brought David off his knees. “My former comrade in captivity!”

He made it sound a great adventure, Joanna thought, as Sir Yves stared at Hugh.

“You are a mess, sir!” he barked, his mouth a rigid line of distaste.

“Nothing changes,” said David, speaking for the first time in an age. “I am home and nothing changes.”

“But the kin that is true stays true,” said Hugh, and now David finally stretched out a hand to him and shook Hugh’s: a silent compact of reconciliation, Joanna guessed, and one she was glad to witness.

Still, she wanted more and wanted to know more. “What should we call you?” she asked Mercury directly.

Mercury again dropped to his knees before her and kissed the hem of her gown. “You, lady, may call me your slave.”

“And to the rest of the world?” Joanna asked, determined not to smile.

“I am Lord Roger-Henri Angevin of Aquitaine, a son of King John of this proud country.”

The whisper, “The king’s son!” rustled through the great hall like a flood of water. Joanna’s own heart was racing again. She had guessed him to be noble, but a son of the king, even a bastard son of the king, as surely Lord Roger-Henri was, changed everything.

“How came you into the bishop’s tender care?” Hugh asked. Of all of them, he seemed the least alarmed by this revelation.

Lord Roger-Henri snapped his fingers for wine and only replied when he had taken a sip. “My main estates, you understand, are in France.”

Which perhaps accounted for why Sir Brian de Falaise knew him, Joanna thought.

“The journey to my English holdings is not one I wish to make: I do not like the sea.” Lord Roger-Henri sighed. “But then I thought in good conscience that I should come, and so I ventured from the places I knew best.”

There was doubtless more to this pretty tale, Joanna thought, but they would never know it. She listened intently as the prince explained a little more.

“I chose to come with a modest escort. I wished to travel discreetly, you understand.”

Everyone in the hall nodded and no one dared ask why.

“Coming into the barbarous west, we were set upon by bandits. These ruffians wished to take me hostage for gold and coins, but then I and they were swept up together by the bishop’s men, and I was deposited in the bishop’s donjon as a likely hostage.”

Where it was prudent for him to lose his memory, Joanna thought, and where he was content to remain unknown, at least until Bishop Thomas decided that this noble stranger might be too dangerous to keep.

“But my lord,” stammered Sir Yves, coming late to the threat that he was now under, “you have never been a hostage here! You have been my guest!”

“I know that and I thank you for it,” said Lord Roger-Henri. “You and yours have ever treated me with kindness and respect. And you will be rewarded.”

He smiled, and the whole hall, including Hugh, thought it best to applaud and kneel to him. Joanna would have also knelt, but the prince stopped her. “I do not forget your care for me, my lady,” he said in a low voice, as the men and women in the hall tried to outdo themselves in clapping. “I will help you in return.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She inclined her head so he would not read her face, or her rebellious eyes. Over and over, a question beat in her mind.

If Sir Brian had not come with them, for long how would this prince have kept up the pretense of his lost memory? And what of his men, still languishing in the bishop’s cages? Or were they free now? Whichever, it was clear that Lord Roger-Henri did not care. If he was in comfort and safety, then the world could go to the brink of hell, that much was plain.

He will do nothing for Hugh or me. Nothing.