John Flanagan: The sorcerer of the North

To complete the effect, she was keeping her naturally deep voice in a higher register, mimicking the slightly querulous upper-class tones that would have come naturally to someone like Lady Gwendolyn.

As a result, Alyss began to feel increasingly confident. But she could see a chance to gather information here.

"Did the traitor Orman strike you with his sword?" she asked, pretending concern for the man. He snorted derisively.

"That gutless bookworm! He couldn't lift a sword to save his miserable life. No, it was that blasted jongleur who did the damage, damn his stinking hide!"

"Language, Buttle," Keren said warningly. Buttle looked at him, uncomprehending, and Keren nodded toward Alyss.

"Eh? Oh… yeah. Anyway, the cowardly little swine shot me. Wouldn't face me like a man. Skulked off three or four hundred meters and put an arrow through my leg."

Must have missed what he was aiming at, Alyss thought. What a pity.

"Three hundred meters?" Keren said with a note of disbelief "That's some kind of shot."

Buttle shrugged. He was the sort of man who would always exaggerate.

"Well, maybe not three hundred. But long enough. He's no jongleur, mark my words. Never saw a jongleur who could shoot like that."

Alyss felt a small thrill of alarm.

"He seemed like an excellent jongleur to me," she said, hoping to head the discussion away from dangerous ground. "After all, he had a most pleasing voice, did he not, Sir Keren?"

Keren nodded thoughtfully. It hadn't occurred to him to doubt Barton's identity or profession. From what he'd seen, the man was a quite adequate jongleur.

"He certainly seemed professional enough," he agreed. "And the dog was definitely well-trained to perform too."

Oh God, Alyss thought. Buttle looked up with mild interest.

"Dog? What dog was that?"

Keren made a disclaiming gesture with one hand. The subject wasn't really important, it seemed to say.

"Oh, he had a black-and-white border shepherd with him. Used to join in the act."

Oh God, Alyss thought again. She had to work to keep her expression from revealing her mounting panic. Buttle's eyebrows had contracted into a deep frown of concentration as he put facts together. An expert bowman, in fact, far more than expert. And a black-and-white border shepherd. Suddenly, he took a pace toward Alyss and his hand shot out, finger pointing at her. He'd known there was something familiar about her!

"Stand up, you!" he demanded. Keren looked at him in something close to alarm. The man seemed to have taken leave of his senses.

Alyss regarded him with a disdainful smile, as befitting a noble lady who has been ordered around by a commoner.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Buttle?" she said with great dignity. She turned to Keren. "Really, Sir Keren, my fiance will hear of th-"

"Stand up, I said!" Buttle demanded, shouting at her now. Keren stood and took a pace toward him, laying a hand on his arm.

"Buttle, what in God's name is wrong with you?"

"I thought I recognized her. I thought there was something about her!" he said. Alyss remained seated, outwardly calm, a look a mild amusement and disdain on her face. She knew all too well why Buttle wanted her to stand. Her height was the one thing she couldn't disguise.

"Sir Keren, would you mind removing this man from my rooms?"

The door to the anteroom opened and Max, alarmed by Buttle's shouting, looked in.

"My lady?" he said. "Is everything all right?"

His hand was hovering close by his dagger. Alyss waved him away. The last thing she wanted was a physical confrontation. Her best chance was to bluff it out.

"Leave us. Sir Keren will deal with this coarse man," she said. Max looked around the room doubtfully. She made eye contact with him and nodded, almost imperceptibly. He shrugged and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Now Keren stepped between Buttle and Alyss. He was furious with his henchman for this ridiculous confrontation. Lady Gwendolyn was due to move on in a week or so. But if he were forced to detain her, her fiance might come looking for her-probably with a party of armed men. That was the last thing Keren wanted at the moment, with his plan so close to success.

"Buttle," he said, very quietly, "I'm warning you. Shut up and get out of here. Now!"

But the tall, bearded man was shaking his head before Keren finished his order.

"She's no noblewoman!" he said. "I've seen her before, I know it. Now make her stand!"

Keren turned apologetically to Alyss and shrugged.

"Perhaps if you'll humor the man, Lady Gwendolyn…" he began, but she shook her head indignantly.

"I'll do no such thing!" she said angrily. Keren hesitated, a sudden doubt in his eyes. Buttle seized on it as he made the final connection in his mind.

"She's a Courier!" he said triumphantly. "I saw her down south! And she was with a Ranger!"

Now Keren's expression was one of alarm. "A Ranger?" he asked, and Buttle nodded several times.

"Make her stand. You'll see. She's near as tall as I am!"

Keren turned to Alyss. "You are rather tall," he said thoughtfully. "Please do as Buttle asks. Stand up."

Alyss sighed inwardly, knowing she had lost. She could bluff for a few more minutes, but Keren's suspicions were alerted now. Gracefully, she stood, hearing Buttle's quick gasp of triumph.

"That's her!" he said. "I knew it. Knew I'd seen her. Now that she's standing, there's no mistake. And I'll wager that jongleur Barton is no more a jongleur than I am. I'll bet he's her Ranger friend!" he searched his memory again, trying to recall the scraps of conversation he'd overheard outside the cabin. "What did you call him? Will! That was it!"

"Will?" Keren was definitely interested in this piece of news. "And isn't that the jongleur's name too? What a coincidence! I think you have a little explaining to do, Lady Gwendolyn."

He smiled at her. But the smile never reached his eyes. They ere cold and full of suspicion.

Orman had stirred briefly, calling out in his sleep, and Malcolm went inside to tend to him. Xander, of course, hovered at his heels, peering anxiously around the healer's small frame to watch his master.

When Malcolm emerged, he found Will tightening the girth straps on Tug's saddle. He'd unsaddled the other horses and placed them in Malcolm's small barn. Malcolm sensed the air of urgency about the young man.

"He's fine now," he said, nodding back toward the room where Orman lay quietly. "Were you planning on leaving us?" he added mildly.

Will tightened one last buckle and put his foot in the stirrup.

"I'm going to get Alyss," he said grimly. Malcolm raised his eyebrows.

"Just like that?" he asked.

"Just like that," Will repeated. Malcolm glanced around, looking at the position of the sun in the sky. There were still four or five hours of daylight left.

"You're going to ride in there in broad daylight and rescue her, is that it?"

Will hesitated awkwardly. He was off balance with his foot in the stirrup, so he removed it and stood beside Tug. Now that Malcolm put it like that, he realized that he could hardly go barging into the castle looking for Alyss. He didn't even know where she might be. If her identity had been discovered, she'd be locked up somewhere-and he had no idea where. But he was seething with anxiety for her, desperate to get her away from the danger that menaced her. He'd done what duty required and helped Orman escape. Now his duty lay to his old friend. And it didn't help to have Malcolm calmly pointing out that he was riding off with no idea as to what he was going to do.

"I'll probably wait till dark," he admitted. Malcolm nodded as if this was a wise idea.

"In that case, you might as well wait here in comfort," he pointed out.