Five long days Aylee had trudged around with Jess’s troops. Though someone had procured a cot for her – Itchy claimed it had been on Jess’s orders, but she thought it as likely a gift from Itchy himself – she awoke with a neck stiff from the unfamiliar setting and the relentless tossing of her dreams. The first night, she had hardly slept at all, but by the second, she started to believe that no one would bother her, so she let herself fall into fitful slumber.

On waking and exiting her tent, she often notice either Itchy or Jess standing within sight of her abode, engaged in conversation but with eyes trained on the entrance as if waiting for her. Whenever Itchy saw her, his face broke into a grin of acknowledgement, but when Jess saw her, she could only describe his expression as relief. So strange…what was his intent? Did he care so much what happened to her, or did he hold some scheme that relied on her presence in the camp? Her fear insisted on the latter, but her instincts held her still, so now on the dawning of the sixth day, she sat in the middle of his camp, willingly staying under the care of a man she had so many reasons to distrust. What was wrong with her?

What was wrong with her? Options. She could not see any other options. Aylee could not go home and put her family in danger. If she made it home safely, her father would feel compelled to stay with her to protect her. How would he support the rest of her family if he did that? Also, now that Malchus had found her at Lady Willen's, Aylee could not return there. She wouldn't dare, anyway, because her presence really would bring danger to an already ravaged marsh. Only Jess, if sincere, offered her any sort of refuge. Jess and Itchy. If her mother proved wrong and Jess were a rake, maybe Itchy would protect her.

"Aylee," a voice hissed from the darkness beside her.

A yelp escaped her lips before she could restrain herself.

"Quiet, stupid," came the adolescent reprimand, and Aylee jumped to her feet as she recognized Chester in the lightening air around her.

"Chester?" she whispered excitedly, wrapping him in the tightest hug with which she had ever embraced a soul. "Chester, what are you doing here?" She only just kept her voice from squeaking with joy.

"Mother and da sent me after you," he shrugged. "When the fight broke out, I hid in the barn, and when I told mum and da, they wouldn’t let me come right away. I can't believe that man carried you away before you got to slug Malchus." Genuine disappointment painted Chester's face, and Aylee grinned at him.

"I was pretty disappointed, too," she agreed.

From the dark behind Aylee, a form flew swiftly and menacingly toward Chester. Without thinking, Aylee flung herself in front of her younger brother. A quiet curse shot through the darkness, and the form sidestepped her at the last moment. To her surprise, Chester shoved her out of the way, retrieving a rock from the ground with unexpected agility. Just before Chester hurled the rock, Aylee caught sight of her attacker's profile in silhouette.

"Chester!" she shrieked. "Stop!"

Chester arrested his arm's motion halfway through his swing, and Aylee began a string of angry chastisements, thrown first at Chester and then at what she had figured out to be Jess.

"Don't ever push me behind you, Chester! I am your big sister, and it's my job to protect you. And you!" she turned on Jameson. "Why in the world did you come upon us like that, completely unannounced? We almost killed you!"

"If I had announced myself, he who had apprehended you would have more easily eluded me. And your brother did the exact right thing to push you out of the way. I almost killed you, not the other way around."

"'He who had apprehended me’ hadn't actually apprehended me! If I hadn't prevented you, you would have killed my brother!" she retorted.

"I could have taken him," Chester narrowed his eyes in assessment of his opponent.

"It's very possible you could have, young man. With reflexes like yours, you have a bright future ahead of you."

Chester beamed, but Aylee rolled her eyes. Not that her brother had proven completely useless during his sixteen years, but he had certainly never seemed physically adept either.

"He would have had no future if I hadn't stepped in front of him. Why did you come out here?"

Without answering, Jameson gestured to Chester who stepped obediently in the direction indicated. Before she could protest, Jameson had grasped Aylee by the arm and begun to lead her back toward the camp. Despite his earlier interference, Chester said nothing to stop the coercion.

"Let go of me," Aylee squirmed.

"If I do, you'll find a new way to get into trouble."

"So, I'm a prisoner, then?" Aylee tilted her head coyly, painting her lips with the most angelic of expressions.

"Is your sister always this stubborn?" Jameson queried his new recruit.

"Nah," stated Chester noncommittally. "She never has a problem with my mom and da, but she gets in trouble a lot with people who think they're in charge when they're not, or who don’t deserve to be in charge and they are."

A snicker burst from Aylee’s lips before she could restrain it. Chester had described Aylee perfectly, and if Jess had any illusions of impressing her with his authority, they had just been dashed by her brother. From the look on Chester's face, he had not caught the irony in his statement, but Aylee had. She turned petulantly to flash a smug grimace at her "captor," and to his credit, he looked a bit sheepish. When his hand relaxed, Aylee shook herself free, but she did not run. With Chester by her side, she felt surprisingly comfortable. Most of her earlier objections evaporated with her brother’s presence.

"You have to go back and tell mother and da that I'm okay," she insisted to Chester. What would her parents think if Chester disappeared, too?

"If I do, I’m coming back here afterward," he retorted.

Jameson shook his head. "If communicating your safety is your only purpose in sending your brother back, I can manage to send a messenger to them, one who won't draw attention to himself."

"But Chester will be in danger if he stays with us!"

"Danger is a boon to a young man!” Jameson laughed. “How else will he prove himself mature?"

Aylee gasped, incensed. "You cannot give him permission to stay with you. That right belongs to my father."

"She is right," Jameson admitted.

“I addressed this with my father before I left. I have permission to stay, but I must return to them with my report of Aylee.”

“Of course,” Jameson allowed. “You will have some job finding us once we have vacated this camp, but if you are a good enough tracker to locate our new position, I will welcome you back eagerly. If I’m right, I could use someone like you among my men.”

Even as Jameson smiled with satisfaction, Aylee growled low with exasperation. It was as if everyone were conspiring against her to keep her there! “But you are going to be the death of him if you keep him!”

“You do not give your brother enough credit, Aylee. And I will not use him in battle until I have trained him,” Jameson shrugged, and Chester bustled with obvious enthusiasm at the promise of the education. "Now, Chester, let me introduce you to my second in command."

To her surprise, the two men – if she could use that term to refer to her brother – walked away from her, leaving her alone. Apparently, Jess wasn’t too concerned that she would find trouble after all. If she could have convinced her brother to leave with her, though, she might have taken to the forest with him alone and relieved herself of the pressure she always felt from the setting of the camp, with its dozens of soldiers and Jess’s unpredictable presence.

Chester would not leave now, though. Not now that he had gained the ear of someone as impressive as Jess. Instead of helping her, Chester spent the better part of the day with Jess and Itchy, and Jess paid her brother an inexplicable amount of deference. If she weren’t careful, Aylee might lose some of the suspicion that currently protected her from the handsome “leader” of the troop. After almost a day of working to make up reasons not to like “Jess,” Aylee glanced up in shock at the late afternoon sun. Without preamble, Chester strode past her with scarcely more than a wave and a mumble “G’bye.”

“Wait!” Aylee chased him down, disappointed to again be alone. “You’re leaving already?” Could she convince him to camp in the forest with her?

“You know that I’m going back home for a few days. I want to catch up with the soldiers.”

“Soldiers?”

“The ones Jess sent to help the marshers. I’m supposed to vouch for them with Lady Willen, since those other ones were bad and did all those bad things and stuff.”

Sent to help the marshers? She found herself anxious that Chester catch up to them, not to vouch for them, but to monitor them. Even if it delayed her own plans, she could not leave the marshers without an ally. He will be back soon, and then we can leave. “Stay with the soldiers and help for a few hours,” she urged, deferring her own plans for the sake of her friends. “Since you want to be a soldier, you should take this opportunity to find out all the responsibilities of a man.”

“Don’t lecture me, sister. You don’t lecture soldiers, either.”

With a wry smirk, Aylee reached up and gripped her little brother by the ear. “I lecture whomever I want, if they need it,” she retorted as Chester complained at her grip. She released him quickly. “You can ask Jess about that – I have held no qualms about unleashing my words on him when warranted.”

Chester returned her grin, unbothered by her cheek or by the residual twinge in his ear. “To about as much effect as you have on me, I imagine. I wouldn’t want to cross purposes with you.”

“Then I have trained you well.” She ruffled his hair. A moment later, her levity softened as she recognized his anxiousness to be on his way. “I wish I could return with you,” she lamented. Of course she should not, because with her presence would return the threat of Malchus; she knew she could not leave. “Will you give father my love? Mother, too, but father did not see me before I left. Here,” she removed a butterfly-shaped comb from her hair, loosing the tresses to fall around her face. “Give him this.”

“Why would he want this?” Chester stared in confusion at the small trinket adorned with mother-of-pearl.

“It’s just something of mine, something for him to look at and remember me by.” She sighed in exasperation. “Someday you’ll understand.” Tucking the comb into his pack, Chester shrugged and recommenced his journey. “Tell Mother and the boys and Agnes that I love them!” Aylee yelled as he darted from tree to tree in his strange manner of stealth. Though she tried, she couldn’t suppress the pang of loneliness that filled her chest as she watched Chester scurry off into the shadows of the forest. Her world had upended in a matter of days, and even worse, the foundations of her emotional stability had weakened from immovable granite into a brittle, dusty sand.

Instead of moping back to her tent, Aylee decided to peruse the camp, perhaps visit Itchy or find a clearing and watch as the sun continued to set and the stars began to appear. The autumn had grown brisk, and within the hour, the frosty air would lend the torches and campfires that were to be lit a shimmered halo. Despite her circumstances, she looked forward to the beauty of it. After half an hour of taking in the lay of the camp, she wandered back toward Jess’s tent, noting Itchy in his usual spot, seated with rapt attention at the feet of Jess. Jess paced relentlessly back and forth, and Itchy’s head swiveled slightly as he watched his companion.

Aylee held in a snicker.

After a moment, Itchy turned and reclined against a tree stump that stood convenient to the log seat on which he reposed. He peered into the forest as if pondering some deep thought, and Aylee grinned at her mother’s idea that he might be a servant. What servant would lounge around in his master’s presence? It could not be, so her mother was wrong. She needed him to be more, because if Jess proved a cad, she would want someone who would dare to assist her against his leader’s wishes.

A motion caught her eye from Jess’s direction, and when she glanced at him, she realized that he had stopped pacing for the first time. He pulled something from a pocket in his pants and peered at it with a strange longing before glancing guiltily at his friend and then resuming the pacing. Aylee chewed her lip – Jess was hiding something from Itchy! The bosom friends, the close companions, yet Jess had not lain all bare to his friend. Aylee tried to suppress her glee at the thought. Well, Aylee would just need to point that fact out to Itchy, and maybe the giant would relax his fierce loyalty a tad.

With a calculated smile, Aylee spun and made her way toward the center of the camp, where she heard the rattle of plates and silver. Perhaps the most redeeming event of her unpleasant ordeal had come through meeting Itchy. A kind man, Itchy seemed poised and pleased to assist anyone in need. Even so, if Jess needed him, Itchy would abandon his task and hasten to fulfill whatever chore Jess had for him. Everything else about Itchy, Aylee liked. He was down-to-earth, helpful, strong, conscientious, and without a hint of pretense. With Jess, though, he dropped all other intent and rushed off to whatever sessions of strategy they engaged in.

Well, she would have to do something about the men’s situation. What else did she have to do? Maybe Itchy suffered from the same disease of boredom, and that was why he answered so readily to Jess. There were several kind men among the troop, but none particularly educated or philosophical, and with Jess the only choice, perhaps Itchy thirsted for decent conversation. He would do well to expand his horizons.

Not only that, but Aylee would welcome the diversion from her errant thoughts. With untold hours to fill, her mind regularly played over the events of the corridor with Malchus. Before the camp, when Lady Willen had not supplied mundane activity for Aylee, Aylee had often found herself replaying her walk down the corridor, the inexplicable sense of unease when she had recognized Malchus and seen him slip off of his horse. She had never liked him, she had always considered him a bully and a cheat, but she had never feared him.

Of course, the circumstances of the darkness and the corridor carried their own sense of foreboding, but they had not sent Aylee’s heart into a rapid thrum. No, her sense of peril had erupted once she had looked into those green, animal eyes. When she had heard that which was manic and hungry in his voice. When those details about Malchus had registered in whatever instinctive portions of her mind in which they resided, Aylee had begun to quake.

She wished never to quake like that again.

A masculine voice interrupted her thoughts, and with Malchus’s tone that night fresh in her mind, Aylee flinched away from the man who approached her. When she recognized the pained reserve and regret on the approaching face, her heart upbraided her, and she stood to greet the giant of a man who usually held his place at Jess’s right hand.

“Itchy,” she welcomed him warmly, clasping one of his hands affectionately before releasing it and reestablishing a proper distance between them.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he apologized.

“It is hard not to startle me at the moment, unfortunately.” Though she offered the words with a hint of levity, she felt the gravity of them, and Itchy also could not miss her melancholy mien.

“I hope that after your time here, you will begin to regain your sense of security. Your tent is comfortable.”

“Very comfortable, thank you.” She forced her spirits to rise lest she burden another soul with her struggles.

Itchy seated himself on a nearby log that stood on its end, and he looked Aylee nearly in the eyes. Against her better judgment, Aylee found herself breathing more evenly as the steady man before her emitted an imperturbable calm.

During a few moments of only slightly awkward silence, Itchy considered the woman before him. Certainly, he had recognized that she was lovely, but in his estimation, most ladies were lovely in their own way, as were most people on some level. What differentiated Aylee at the moment, though, was her distress. Her distress, and the fact that she hid it, whether due to her fear of her surroundings or to her wish not to add to other’s own struggles. Itchy suspected that she carried some of each motive.

“If I am overstepping our level of acquaintance, feel free to tell me to bury my head in a pot of ale.”

Laughing, Aylee nodded. “That is the most unusual introduction to conversation I have ever encountered.” Itchy smirked, and Aylee found herself grinning. “Please, go ahead,” she prompted.

“I have played, but I am wondering on a more serious topic. Is there anything we can do here to offer you a greater sense of safety.”

Indeed, the question stirred up anxiety in her breast, and she had to force even breaths. “I am secure enough.”

“Lies,” Itchy insisted, his eyebrows raised skeptically.

Rather than take offense, Aylee squinted her eyes at the man in front of her. Though tall and handsome and funny, at the moment, the dark-haired apollo seated before her carried himself rather more like an alehouse patron than a rakish charmer – or even the bosom friend of a grand noble, or a grand noble himself. She didn’t know why, but her mind wouldn’t see him as a threat. “You are quite bold, first in asking me such a personal question, and second in pointing out my sins.”

“And you are avoiding the topic. I am a busy man, what with all my responsibilities to remain at the beck and call of our fearless leader, but I have taken time out of my endless chores – you have seen how he has me polishing his buskins and swords, scrubbing his fingernails – ”

“His fingernails?” There he was, with his feigned commonisms again.

“All I request is that you answer my questions when I ask.”

Aylee crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. I am as secure here as anyone could be, wandering the woods in a dress, at the mercy of men of questionable character, and removed from every familiar face and haunt.”

“That does sound awful,” Itchy allowed. “Especially the part about wandering the woods in a dress.”

“You needn’t worry. I know no seamstress who could make a dress long enough for you, so you need only consider the latter two discomforts.”

“I asked for that,” Itchy grinned, and Aylee had to reassess her initial impressions of the two men. Itchy was no less handsome than Jess; just less…forward. Though his questions seemed quite forward at the moment. “The first problem is easily managed – we can go speak to the tailor right now, and you will have a new outfit in half an hour.”

Itchy motioned with his head for her to follow him, and he continued the conversation as they walked. “The second is, I’m sorry to say, not an issue for which I can offer you more than my word, which is meaningless in the circumstances. The character of both myself and my friend are as elevated as you might find, though I admit he is a little more noble. I am too circumspect to be selfless. He never thinks of himself, instead intent to save everyone he meets.”

“And you think of him…”

“It is my one failing,” Itchy gibed. “I am a self-centered, self-indulgent creature, and he will draw me out! I find it quite unforgivable.”

“So, you have no choice?”

“I understand that you do not know me well, but you might expect that I am not easily pressured into anything. He does know me well, so he would not attempt it.”

“I don’t believe you…”

“That is because you don’t see us in our natural states. I am a surly recluse, and Jess thinks he has to save everyone. If not for a childhood affection, I would have told him to eat his foot when he enlisted me to this quest. No, I just can’t stand to see him mope about trying to rescue the world.”

“So, I guess I should not feel special,” Aylee interrupted, a tad disheartened.

Itchy leveled her with a glare. “That is not what I said. I would never deign to speak for him, but I know him well. I can assure you that you should feel quite special.”

For a moment, Aylee chewed her lip in consternation, caught between elation and awkwardness. Why the words excited her, she did not know. Itchy, in the meantime, seemed quite amused by the effect his words worked on her.

“As for the third issue, those can only be remedied either by time and better acquaintance or your removal back to your family, an event that can only take place when we quit the forest or Master Lorne is brought to some sort of justice.”

“I do not foresee that,” Aylee murmured. “Men like Malchus do not face justice.”

“You might be surprised, though it might require more time than you would like.”

“Well, you are kind to say so, and to offer your precious time to ask after my well-being. But I am not sure what else can be done to help at the moment. Maybe my time here will prove short enough that I will not need to address any of those concerns. Maybe the portreeve will alter his declarations so that my father does not need to travel as much.”

Unfortunately, Itchy knew that could not happen until Jameson had completed his current course of action, and that would likely take several weeks at least. She might plan to wait until an alteration of her circumstances, but he would not. “In the meantime, I have an idea that might take your mind off of the recent chaos – I have at least half an hour before I next have to sweep up the chocolate shavings from Jess’s gourmet feast….

“Itchy, be serious!”

“It is the one thing I cannot be. If we delay, though, I will go sweep and send Jess to manage your boredom.”

She knew Itchy toyed with her, but her heart stuttered at his words. Even if Jess liked her as much as he seemed to, Aylee did not know what to make of the man. How could she look him in the face while the memory of the gallop through the woods with him constantly haunted her? “Oh, please do not inconvenience him,” Aylee begged, arresting him with a desperate plea.

“At some point, dear Aylee, if I do not speak with him of you, then he will likely come seek you out himself, and though I think that inevitable, I intend to ease some of the awkwardness of the exchange.”

Aylee knit her eyebrows in confusion, and Itchy snickered at her. “But with so many issues to manage, why would he spend his time troubling over me?”

“I assure you, he does not mind and has been ‘troubling’ over it since your arrival.”

“Why did he not come to me himself, then?”

For the first time in their conversation, Itchy seemed truly burdened by the question. “He has much to worry him, and a heavy burden to bear. But his guilt over your situation weighs on him. In truth, I am here for his benefit as well as yours, since helping you will lighten his responsibility.”

“So, you are not here for yourself?” Aylee wondered, surprisingly disappointed.

Itchy smiled at her indulgently. “For myself as well, friend. But I am highly practical and not given to fancies. I hold no romantic notions of playing the hero or shouldering someone else’s burdens.”

“Only Jess’s…”

“He bears everyone else’s…” Itchy murmured, but he quickly glanced into Aylee’s face as if afraid he had said too much. She worked to seem uninterested – though, of course, he had stirred her curiosity to a great extent. Though she ached to seek enlightenment of Itchy’s meaning, their journey encountered the tailor, and Aylee spent the next half hour with measurements and fitting, so that once the tailor had finished, he had altered a nice pair of trousers and a tunic for her to wear over her blouson and pantalons. Once Itchy saw her, he broke into a grin.

“If not for that hair, I might mistake you for my much shorter, much prettier brother. Tie it up, and you’re a go.”

Having heard the exchange, the tailor materialized with a length of ribbon, and in short order, Aylee had done just that and stood in much more comfortable clothes with her hair tied off of her neck. “This is wonderful, Itchy. Thank you. And now that you have taken care of that issue, there is no reason for either of you to burden yourselves overmuch. I am used to taking care of myself and others, and I do not need a rescuer from boredom or insecurity. I will manage both of those fine.”

“For the moment, I hold no responsibility. So I would like to offer you a diversion that I think will also offer you a measure of confidence after your ordeal. Follow me.”

Obediently, Aylee walked behind Itchy for around fifty steps over tree roots and leafy shrubs until she reached the edge of a clearing.

“What is this?” she wondered.

In answer, Itchy paused at a large banded trunk and began to pull out wooden swords for training the soldiers, and he turned back to her with a grin.

“Have you ever seen one of these?”

“A training sword? I’ve seen them, but I have not used one. My father trained me on real swords.”

Itchy laughed. “Why, knowing you, does that not surprise me? So, show me…remedy for boredom number one. Though, since you hold experience with these, perhaps you had better try something new.” He stepped back to the trunk and pulled out two wooden knives. “If you are ever in close quarters with someone like Malchus again, this may have a much greater effect than a mallet.”

“Knives…” she mused, grinning at his comment. “Interesting.”

Itchy showed her the proper stance, and a moment later they had begun an exchange of blows.

No doubt, Itchy required much patience in the exercise, dealing not only with her physical weakness and shorter reach, but also with her utter lack of experience. When she pointed out her frustration, he laughed at her. “Do you know the mindless scrubs who have followed Jess out here? Sure, some are sure-footed and quick learners, but to be honest, you stand in the top third of my beginners.”

Aylee suppressed a swell of personal pride at the words, and she was relieved that she didn’t humiliate herself a moment later when she quickly parried a covert strike from Itchy’s skilled hand. After half an hour, Itchy stood to his height and raised his hands.

“I believe…” He glanced up toward the horizon. “…that it is close to the dinner hour, and I have duties which I must now see to before the evening. Shall we return for another session day after tomorrow?”

“You have to see to shining Jess’s sword or some such menial responsibility…”

When Itchy lowered his eyes to hers, squinting at her with judgment, she realized the irritation that had painted the words, and she turned to replace the knife in the chest as a diversion from his censure.

“Why do think so ill of him?” Itchy prompted.

“I…I don’t think ill of him, exactly. I do not trust him.”

Itchy huffed. “What reason has he given you to mistrust him? From which of his actions have you derived poor character?”

Listing to a large tree, Aylee leaned her shoulder against it, staring into the woods beyond the camp so she did not have to look into her companion’s face.

“It is not his actions, though he has shown a measure of disrespect for me, but it is his lack of forthcoming.” Turning back to Itchy, she narrowed her eyes at him. “I have believed I could trust you, but perhaps in light of your loyalty to him, I had better hold my thoughts in reserve.”

“Of course, that is your right…” Itchy shrugged, not overly bothered by her mistrust. “If you hold so little trust for us, though, mayhap you should consider another way to preserve yourself than with our troops. If we are such miscreants, with a troop at our command, you might be better off handing your fate to a lone villain like Malchus Lorne.”

Aylee shot him a glare, but he had a point. “I intend to leave when I can find a better option,” she retorted. “But I do not believe the troops capable of infamy as a group, though in any troop there may lie half a dozen who would reveal bad character given opportunity. I worry much more about allowing myself to invest in your purpose here, to develop…a sense of kinship with either of you. So far, you are the lesser threat, as you never seem to approach me with an agenda.”

For the first time since she had known him, Itchy seemed uncomfortable, peering at a stone he kicked on the ground. “It is true I hold no agenda, Miss Aylee, but that is only because I hold that position of privilege. No one relies on me for anything. Jess holds responsibilities, and therefore, to step away means he must neglect those to seek you out. If he seems unnatural or distracted, that is why.”

Aylee threw up her hands. “So much talk about responsibility, yet you will not tell me…who is Jess, really? Just tell me. How bad can it be?”

“It is not bad, only it is his story to tell – not mine.”

“So you lie for him?”

“I protect his secrets, as I protect yours. The men do not know your reason for accompanying us through the woods, as that would transgress discretion. I withhold that because that is yours to disclose as you wish.”

“They know I am Aylee Hembry, and that I am the daughter of a merchant from Bennigton.”

“Because you have chosen to disclose such. You might have desired to withhold your identity, and even if I knew it where others did not, I would refrain from exposure. There are valid reasons for discretion.”

Aylee pursed her lips. For now, she could think of no argument to contradict him, but she would think of something.

“You let his actions speak for him, Aylee Hembry. I defy you to see him respond with impatience or self-importance, to place his own preference above others. You speak of disrespect, and perhaps you know something I do not, but if you speak of how he pulled you out of that battle with Malchus Lorne, you will not find agreement from me. I say he had no choice –”

“But –” she started to protest, but Itchy cut her off.

“I believe you can fight, but you have not seen battle. Where I am from, a few women have joined the soldiers or law enforcement, and they are competent, but they are well-trained. Perhaps after your time here, I will change my mind, but for now, I cannot blame Jess for what he did.”

Sighing, Aylee turned back to gazing at the trees. She pondered her other claim to “disrespect” – when he restrained her at her home. In light of Itchy’s opinion of her actions at the marsh, he would not likely sympathize with her complaint about her home. As to his other point, her distress after witnessing the attack in the woods, the fact that she mourned the deaths of the men who intended her harm, meant that Itchy was right about her experience. Though she imagined herself brave, she had never seen a battle. Still, she would not admit her concession. “Well, we can disagree on some things, then. And I will consider your position regarding your friend’s secret – not to excuse him, but to excuse your protection of his secret. I can understand your position. And the fact that he is your leader can’t make exposing him any easier.”

“Aylee –“ he complained.

“No,” she turned back to him. “Don’t plead his case anymore to me or I will consider you complicit.” Though she attempted stubbornness, her statement rang far more coy than she would have liked, and Itchy peered at her with skepticism.

“Well, I am very afraid of a rebuke by you…” He did not sound afraid. “So, I will say only this: watch him and let his actions speak for his character. You believe me a good man, it seems, but I am far less good than he, and far more selfish.”

“That is why you came to help me!” She didn’t believe it.

“I came so Jess would not neglect his other responsibilities. If he believed you disheartened, he might forget his purposes – which would cost more than just himself, and I would have to clean up the mess he made of things. So it is selfish.”

“Well, then I will be offended by your attention.”

Itchy grinned, and Aylee found her own lips twitching up at the corners. “Oh, I’m certain you will,” he posited with near-tangible irony. “I guess I will just take Jess’s job upon myself and let him show you the attention he would allow by his instincts.”

With a slight stumble, Aylee stepped toward Itchy, her hand outstretched with a plea. “Oh, please, no…” she begged, her tone breathy. “That would not serve…”

“And that panic tells me what I already believed – such protest!” He crossed his arms across his chest and lowered his gaze to hers as she pulled up her step and stood to a more contained stance. “Alright, Aylee Hembry. You are safe for now, but I repeat what I requested. Watch him and take note of his character before you judge him. Perhaps he is a bit of a fool with you, and as his near brother, he tends to allow more familiarity with me than he ought, but where he deals with others, I think you cannot fail to find some comfort for your suspicions.”

He reached his hand for a brotherly pat on the arm, and then he turned and made his way toward the camp. Their little discussion had taken the sun below the treeline, and Aylee realized that she might have cost him more time than he had to give. Next time they talked, she would avoid discussion of Jess altogether lest she carry the conversation into similar frustration.

Over the next two hours, Aylee managed to avoid both Itchy and Jess, and she inspired a relieved breath as she leaned her back against a tree at the edge of camp and watched the men prepare for their repose. Several laughed and bantered as they made their way to a small brook that ran along the side of the area where she stood. They splashed their faces and rinsed their mouths, then made their way back through the lamplit paths to the area with the tents. One group of men cleaned up from dinner, and another shined and oiled the weapons, but soon all were finished and the camp grew quiet with only an occasional murmur of “goodnight.”

With the quiet, a deep ache gripped Aylee’s chest, and it took a moment for her to realize what had caused the sensation. She was grateful. Grateful that, even in an encampment of near a hundred men, she felt safe. Was it that she happened to have stumbled into a group of the one hundred most honorable men in the region? No, she realized. She felt safe because Jess had established an order and an environment of stability – somehow, in the middle of the woods, with rumors of bandits and rogues, his camp was calm and orderly…and safe.

Aylee stamped her foot in irritation. She did not want to credit Jess with anything positive in her life, though she didn’t exactly know why. Perhaps because, despite her claims of mistrust and disrespect, her instincts had already told her what Itchy had tried to convince her of during their earlier discussion.

If she listened to her instincts, not only was Jess the kind and generous man who surreptitiously handed a bag of coins to a poor mother in the square, he was the man she could trust to keep her safe. She did not like her instincts. She did not like that he had restrained her on two occasions, even if he claimed to have done so for her benefit. She did not like that her mother trusted him, she did not like that Itchy swore so blindly by his leader, and she did not like that she trusted a man whose identity she did not know.

Whatever her instincts told her, the idea was highly naïve and irrational, and so she must fight it.

The night had settled a deep sable, lit from below only by the scattered lamps glowing from within the tents of those too alert for sleep. Of course, the group included Jess. Above the trees, the spirits had swallowed the moon that night, and it lay encircled by a shimmering white ring of their nebulous attire. Aylee giggled at herself for the superstitious thought – she knew the phenomenon derived from some natural event, but she had heard the tale throughout her childhood and could not abandon the myth in her thoughts. Spirits swallowing the moon, she snickered.

She realized with a start that she had inadvertently wandered toward Jess’s tent. Itchy’s tent, too, she reminded herself, though the latter thought had carried little weight in her mind, if she were honest. Aylee could not understand either of the men, if she thought about it. Itchy always stood fixed in a kind of permanent, casual readiness, whether to help Jess or to pick up some duty that arose elsewhere. Still, he engaged in very little motion. Jess, on the other hand, never stopped moving. His near anxiety was what created the obscurity of their roles in the friendship. Her mother had claimed Jess a noble, but would a man trained in the etiquette of the court express so much nervousness? Perhaps her mother was mistaken about both men. Itchy, a servant? Not likely. Who were they to each other, then? Mentor and acolyte? Master and servant? Older and younger brother? Not brothers of birth, perhaps, or at most half-brothers with their disparate appearances. Whatever the case, the pair were not easy to define. Itchy provided all the steadiness, but Jess carried the energy and drive.

Suddenly, she grew aware of heated tones emitting from Jess’s tent, and she eased closer to see if she could discern the matter of the discussion. All of the words hummed, muffled, through the cloth, so she stepped to within a few feet of the tent, obscuring herself behind a tree, out of sight of the tent lest someone notice her and wonder at her strange behavior.

“We depart in half an hour,” came Jess's clear command as, apparently, he stepped out of the tent. Aylee pressed herself against the tree, unwilling to breathe. She could make out the stamping and snorting of a horse, and she wondered that she had crept quite so close. “Prepare the advance team,’ Jess continued, “and I will join you on the ridge.”

What would occasion a midnight run from a forest encampment – for a merchant, or whatever he claimed to be? Curious. Not quite midnight, she knew, but close enough to escape any logical reasoning. When Itchy stepped from the cabin, he headed to a small cluster of tents that stood several yards separate from any of the others. Aylee had noticed the isolation of the tents, but she had attributed it to the lay of the land; the separation occurred at the site of a natural outcropping of rock about four feet high. What if Jess and Itchy had set the camp up in such a way intentionally, so that they could contact the smaller group without attracting attention among the other soldiers? A clandestine purpose?

Once Itchy had gone to retrieve the men, Jess returned inside his tent. When he emerged a few minutes later, Aylee froze in shock. From the first time she had seen “Friend Jess,” lounging carelessly in a gentleman’s carriage, she had considered him one of the most striking men she had ever seen. Now, though? The carriage seemed a child’s sketch set next to a master’s portrait. Jess stood atop the ridge, robed with a grandeur the likes of which Aylee had beheld only in books. Who was this man? If not a noble, the most gifted charlatan she had ever encountered. His regular linen blouson had been cinched by a fine ruby-hued doublet of rich velvet, and sueded leather buskins hugged his feet and calves. From under the modest chaperon hat, the sable waves of his hair curled around his ears and along his neck, and there showed no hint of the dimple that sometimes softened his expression. He was all strong angles and intensity.

Aylee had never given significance to a title, but she was not a simpleton. She recognized power, and she recognized significance. Jess wore both as a natural cloak, much more natural than his humble tradesman’s mien or his nervous pacing. When she watched Jess with Itchy, she doubted her mother’s impressions, but as Jess stood on that ridge in the moonlight, he bore the confidence of authority the likes of which Aylee had never encountered. She remembered what she had noticed of his expression on her first encountering him. That his eyes…absorbed the world around him, sucking it in and rearranging it to his own image.

She wanted to laugh off her intensity – she was imagining things. Jess, who teased her and fumbled for words, who glanced at his friend for approval, who stood aside to let his soldiers pass when they encroached each other’s space. Jess, who bore some inexplicable melancholy and seemed almost awkward when he encountered Aylee alone. Staring at Jess now, in what seemed his most natural form, Aylee found herself fascinated. Who was he? A high lord of some sort? A noble as her mother believed? A troubled noble with some secret sadness? Aylee shook off the compassionate thought. Likely, he was a spoiled prince whose only pain came from his father’s disapproval.

You don’t believe that, a voice in her mind countered immediately.

When Itchy exited the tent and draped a heavily-ornamented indigo cape across Jess’s shoulders, Aylee couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, though, her vision narrowed, and she registered a bronzed medallion, with an insignia that she could not make out, clasping his cape. It appeared to bear a flower and a branch, The clasp itself appeared bronze, but the flower and branch shone gilt with gold against the torchlight. Could the seal reveal his identity? She would have to get a closer look and then quiz the soldiers to find what it revealed. Despite her earlier confliction, she suppressed a thrill at the potential discovery.

A motion pulled her attention back to the moment, and when she glanced at Jess, he peered around himself before gliding silently along the back of his tent until he stood before the now-equipped cluster of men. Similar to Jess, the men had adorned themselves with much more ornamentation than their usual generic attire. Because the moon had risen full above the trees, a silver glow permeated the canopy in shafts of illumination, and as Jess mounted the ridge with a single leap, Aylee slowly blew out the breath she had been holding.

Behind her, a slight clatter crackled into the still night. When she turned, Aylee spied Itchy where he had returned to Jess's tent. Jess had left his closest companion behind? Why? None of it made sense, and despite her earlier sense of safety, she knew herself – she would not be able to rest until she found a satisfactory answer to her questions. On the morrow, she would begin the process of finding out exactly what she had gotten herself into.