“Lorne started in his hometown, but he stopped after blowing through only a few hamlets.” Itchy paced before his master in the early morning hours, and the readiness of the men to interrupt their slumber spoke their loyalty to Jameson. “I don’t think he was responsible for the marsh, because the Marshers know him, and the rumors would have escaped with a name. After that, though, he seemed to skip over most of the north of Banda and started a campaign along the southern stretch leading out from Capigan.”

“Probably because he was called to consult with Maximus. The first few targets don’t seem strategic,” Jameson added. “Then he shows up at Glowigham with uniformed troops – Capigan-made uniforms? At the furthest point from Capigan? It is obvious that he received resources from Maximus.”

“Were they in collusion from the beginning?”

“Does it matter?” Jameson countered. “Lorne without Maximus is an outlaw. With Maximus, he is a representative of my realm. I believe that his initial foray was all about Aylee, but he has moved beyond that for sure. We have now encountered another three towns since Glowigham, and all say he has sought me with an aggression he did not show before our encounter with him.”

“But to move against him as a force?”

“It is risky, but can I sit idly by and leave him to decimate more towns? He hit Ontria last night, only a few miles from Capigan – he has returned to Maximus for more resources.”

“But if we place approach near Capigan,” Itchy advised, “We place ourselves within the purview of the duchy. Will that spook Maximus into moving against your father?”

Jameson grew quiet – whenever he remembered his father, all of the strategy seemed trivial. “If we stay out here, we run an increasing risk of encountering the steeplers or one of their ilk. With Paulus’s unscrupulous policies, I almost do not blame the commoners for rising up, though I cannot condone all of their methods. Still, I wish I could ascertain my father’s well-being. If Maximus has grown impatient – if he has dispatched my father…”

“We will not consider thus.”

“But it matters strategically, as callous as that sounds. If he is – if he is dead, then I am fighting a much more dire battle. I am unsure that the support I have gathered will prove enough to stand against Maximus and the no doubt manifold nobles who have thrown in their lot with him. It was my father’s unfailing fairness and wisdom that kept the nobles from bickering overmuch. If they feel the need to fasten themselves to an avaricious ruler, their more avaricious tendencies will come out. My support will wane.”

“Not with the merchants.” Itchy encouraged.

“Who have no troops, save the volunteers of Bennigton and the surrounding hamlet. As it is, Malchus Lorne commands at least half of Maximus’s soldiers.”

Itchy leaned onto a tall stump. “Are you sure, though, that moving closer to Capigan is a good idea? So close to home base, it will prove easier for Maximus to render aid to his clandestine captain. And we lost the use of several men at Glowigham, though they will fortunately recover.”

“Too late to aid us. Glowigham was not a particularly successful exercise.”

“Not true,” Itchy disagreed. “I recognized it that night, that the enterprise rendered the men a troop in fact, not just in name. They followed you both into battle and fire, and you proved yourself a leader.”

“Even with the inauspicious ending to the night?” Jameson peered past the small courtyard created by the placement of tents before Jameson’s own, to where Aylee sat watching the preparations for movement.

“As many of the citizens who escaped, the men were elated. They had fought hard, but they had all been disheartened at their inability to warn the people of the danger. If not for the surprising resourcefulness of the assembly of villagers – the trek through the wall – many more would have perished.”

“An impressive feat, indeed.”

“And our troops know nothing of what transpired before I pulled you from the shed – even I know very little. Perhaps they have noticed a cooling of your friendship with Miss Hembry, but as you pointed out before, you had not publicly overstepped discretion up to this point. They may have held suspicions, but no one could have indicted you.”

Publicly? Had Aylee told him about the kiss? “Did you blame me?” he prodded, hoping to catch answers for the dual meaning.

“Only for your judgment, perhaps,” Itchy comforted as he opened the flap and signaled to a soldier. “I only sought ever to guard your honor – yours and Miss Aylee’s, that is all. And I understand the difficulty you faced in dealing with her.”

The arrival of Chester Hembry cut off further exchange.

“Good day, Master Hembry,” Jameson managed. “I hear we are to lose you for a few days.”

“I assured my parents that I would bring them periodic reports of our situation, and to offer them the discretion to call us home when they believe the time appropriate.”

“And your sister’s injury? How does it mend?”

“Oh, very well. It may leave a slight scar, but nothing worth noticing. She’s always been pretty – this won’t break her or anything.”

Jameson laughed at the odd but unaffected description of a younger brother who thought highly of his sister – just another reason for Jameson to like Chester.

“That is good news then.” Jameson managed a smile. “I believe, though, that next time you make this trek, your sister will accompany you. I’m afraid camp will not prove particularly stable for the next few weeks, and it might be safer for her to be away. I would love to have you back, however, even were your sister to return home. With the new direction of our plans, I sense that I will have special need of your talents in the coming days.”

“Absolutely, sir,” agreed Chester proudly. Though he still enjoyed tracking an injured deer, he had grown to appreciate the art of stealth in matters of war. Chester possessed talents in that area that few could boast, and he looked forward to honing the skill that he had newly acquired. He sought out his sister to offer her a quick farewell before he headed toward their parents' home.

Watching the troops’ leader and his friend, Aylee felt anxiety grip her chest. Itchy had offered her little hope the morning after the fire, informing her that for the moment, he could not manage her removal. When she had heard of her brother’s egress, she had imagined Itchy would manufacture a reason she should leave as well, but even that had ended in disappointment.

“Jess insisted that your brother go alone. He wants to ascertain that the path is clear before he sends you on it, and I agree with him – that is the wisest choice.”

With a grunt of displeasure, Aylee had spun away from him and disappeared to the edge of the camp, where she liked to walk in isolation. Away from the camp that had become a prison, and especially away from Jess. Saying good bye to Chester had almost sent her into a fit of misery, but she reasoned herself out of it. Even if Jess held some scheme or maneuvering, Itchy would not, and certainly, Chester would tell her the truth. If he gave a clear report, Aylee would leave with or without Itchy’s aid. Maybe with or without Chester, if she couldn’t convince him to get away. Her childish younger brother had turned into a soldier, and she would let him deal with his own choices.

Her restlessness had not been soothed by the atmosphere of the camp in general over the past few days. The entire mood of the people around her sent her into fits of nervousness. If she had been in her own home, she would have just solved the problems and moved on, but she held no resources in the middle of the forest.

Now with Chester’s egress, her sense of stability and connection with the camp began to crumble to sand around the edges. Since her very obvious rejection the night of the fire, Jess had not once sought her out, and she now wondered if he was rethinking his twisted affection for her.

After seeing Chester to the edge of the camp, Aylee settled herself in a hollow tree on the edge of a clearing, watching the colors fade through the sky with the sunset. Only when the chill of predawn began to reach her did Aylee come to her senses, realizing that she had dozed where she sat, and she made her way through the trees back toward her tent.

If she had slept the night, in the hollow of a tree, maybe she could manage alone after all. Maybe she could get away without being noticed. Unfortunately, Jess’s tent lay across a clearing, and the entrance to her tent was visible from his. When he stepped out and called her name, she had no choice but to turn and acknowledge him. She considered ignoring him, but, ironically, doing so would draw more attention to her. If she just seemed to submit to his request, he might speak his piece and go back to his own business, and she could effect her escape.

Staring at his face, though, remembering the feel of it under her fingertips that day in the field, she couldn’t quite manage cool indifference. Since the memory wanted her to approach him with affection, she felt quite proud of herself that she managed petulance instead.

“I have been considering,” he ventured, managing much more disinterest than she could, “…how I am to go forward from this point. In the next few days, I will enact some strategic moves, and I have determined that you cannot accompany the troops. If I can draw Malchus to me, I will feel more secure in your return to your parents.” The thought of leaving her exposed to the miscreant terrified Jameson almost as much as the thought of his father lying unprotected in the castle. He found himself pacing as he worried over the impending changes.

For a moment, Aylee merely stared at Jess, frozen to the spot. After spending every moment since Glowigham trying to escape him, was he really going to let her walk out of camp of her own free will. If she chose her words carefully…“I will be perfectly secure. It is not necessary for you to offer me protection,” she soothed, forcing herself not to twist her hands where she clasped them. “To be honest, I am not sure that there is any reason for me to have remained here for the last several weeks. Beyond the first few days when I feared reprisals from Malchus, I could have survived without requiring your troop to tend to me like a child. You have my gratitude for your initial aid and rescue, but I believe that I have long overstayed my need for protection.”

She sounded so…cold…and his hand flew to his hair as it so often did when he grew frustrated with her. He did not want her gratitude. “You misunderstand me, Aylee. I have gladly invested my troop's time in guarding you, and you have demanded so little that it has not burdened anyone. I just felt the need to inform you before a significant change takes place.”

Aylee nodded, reining in her brewing excitement. “Very well. I will prepare myself to leave.”

“It is possible that I will find a need to continue with my current campaign for as many as three more months, though under different auspices. With Malchus on the loose, it seems wise for you to return to stay with us. But I must undertake this task presently, and it may require significant time, so I must create an alternate solution for your security.”

“Please…” She huffed a nervous laugh. “One day, one week, three weeks. It is all the same. Please do not worry yourself over keeping me on once you have finished your important task.”

“It is no worry…”

“Just, Jess. I need to get home. If you think I should come back once you have finished your…mission, or whatever you must undertake, we can assess that at the time. Perhaps Malchus has raised his ambitions beyond tormenting an insignificant maid.”

“After Glowigham?”

“Let me go, Jess!”

Her vehemence shocked him, though it shouldn’t have. When he spoke to her, she seemed compliant and agreeable, but when had she ever been compliant? If anything, her new agreeability proved what he had seen since Glowigham – Aylee was determined against him. “You are not my prisoner here, Aylee. If you were, would I send you back to your family?”

As if he didn’t know that sending her back to her family would make her more submissive out of fear for their well-being. Why could he not just make a decision so she could make a plan? “Look, we both know why you really hold me here. Why pretend otherwise? Fortunately for me, doing so has become an inconvenience for you for the time being. But you have a dilemma: you are a noble. Taking me to your home is obviously not an option. I might – heaven forbid! – find out who you really are. You could hold me under lock and key, but then how could you keep up your benevolent charade? Surely, someone would notice a maid alone in the home of an unmarried man?” Assuming you are unmarried… “I think you would not risk it. I know. You could leave me tethered to a tree in the woods, though once your troops have disbanded, it would be quite difficult to monitor me.”

“You speak nonsense,” he scoffed. “Again, I cannot explain, but I possess resources that can protect you – and not tied to a tree, and not holding you hostage. You need not choose between propriety, security, and freedom.”

“You cannot explain…” After reining herself in for so long, the long-lamented phrase overcame her restraint. “No, I imagine you cannot. It would be rather inconvenient if I knew the truth, wouldn’t it? ‘I cannot explain.’ For a man who carries so much authority, someone holds a tight grasp on your tongue.”

“Aylee, you willfully persist in fruitless exercises. You know that my hands are tied.”

“Your hands are tied? I’ve seen what holds your hand. You are the leader of all these men, you call the shots, yet your hands are tied. Jess, I am grown tired of this pretense, and to say truth, I want to go home. You swear you are honorable yet my eyes have evidence of the opposite. You insist that I trust you yet you admit a lie. You dismiss my concerns about your character, yet you kiss me and detain me and conspire with – . My head spins with your manipulations and maneuverings so that I don't understand which way to go. At this point, if not for Itchy, I would believe myself in a den of liars. You have deceived me from the outset, and Itchy has done his best to mitigate the damage.”

“I, conspire?” he scoffed. “No, Aylee. You have been injured by others and so you attribute injury to me. I have bent and twisted to show you who I am around this one necessary evasion, yet you choose only to perceive the lie – which is not even a lie, in reality, because I have apprised you of it. You attribute unequivocal honor to my friend, and you misconstrue my actions without giving me a chance to explain, but I assure you. Though I admire him greatly, Itchy and I are of comparable character.”

“Oh, I know of Itchy’s character. He, at least, has shown me the kindness of a true gentleman. He has not lured me in by pretty words and feigned affections. In fact, I am almost convinced that Itchy holds more virtue in one hand than you possess in your entire being. He has no power to tell me the truth because he holds no power, yet his manner apologizes with every deflection. He goes out of his way to assist me on every occasion. And though I have sensed his preference for me, he has certainly never tried to kiss me!”

“His preference?”

Aylee knew she had overstated the facts, but she was so angry with Jess that she wanted to say what would most infuriate him.

“His preference…” Jameson repeated, stepping toward her at his full height. “Yet you claim he has restrained himself. Is it possible that you have misread him? Or maybe I have misread him; maybe he knows better than to step across that line, because he might regret it.”

“Regret it? So you would have him fear you?” An intense thrum filled her tone, and she mirrored Jess’s movement until she stood mere inches from him. She glared defiantly up into his face. “Why would he regret it? Because you would cause him harm? Your lifelong friend? You ask me to trust you, but he doesn’t even trust you. If he did, he would have told you his name.”

Her words brought a measure of calm, because he knew one thing about his dearest friend. “Itchy tells no one his name.”

Aylee sucked in a breath, wishing she could suck back the words. Had she just betrayed Itchy?

Staring at her, smug in his knowledge, he felt his confidence begin to unravel. Her expression – guilt mingled with self-satisfaction. She knew. Itchy had told her his name. Jameson felt behind him for a seat, and when he found it, he fell onto it with a thump. The air simmered with the words. It wasn’t the name – of course, Itchy could tell anyone whatever he wanted. What did the name signify, though? Jameson had suspected.

No wonder Aylee had resisted him so stubbornly. His mind flashed to the meadow, to the vision of her hand as she raised it to his face, to the feel of her fingertips as they brushed across his brow, the sight of her lips lifted in invitation. Had she lifted her lips in invitation to Itchy? Would she do such a thing? Would Itchy? He remembered her words as they had gazed into one another’s eyes: “You are cruel…” he had accused claimed, and now he recognized the reality of the words. That he should not have allowed such liberty, and that he should reveal all to her, and the whole time…it was she who was cruel. It was she who was lifting her lips to him while she was sharing secrets and training and commiserating with another.

“I think our conversation is at an end,” he insisted through clenched teeth.

“Well, despite what you have pretended for the past two months, you are not in a position to offer me mandates. If I want to say something, I will. If Itchy wants to say something, he will.”

“I suggest that you stop speaking,” Jameson finally commanded, falling to the tone of his office when his person threatened to crumble. He closed his eyes to control his reactions, but his mind compressed into a grey ball of stress and anxiety near to exploding.

“You suggest I stop – ” She laughed aloud, and he opened his eyes to stare into her newly tempestuous blue eyes. “And exactly why am I to stop? Will I regret it if I don’t? Like Itchy will regret it? You hold no power over me, even now after I have dragged around with your troops for over a month. After you have deceived me and portrayed yourself as friend, all the while conspiring with my enemy. Well, I am not one of your soldiers. Even if I were, though, a soldier retains certain freedoms. Itchy holds certain freedoms, and if he wishes to tell me his name, then he may. You cannot complain. No man should hold such power over another, especially over a man as amazing as Itchy.”

Every time she mentioned Itchy’s name, the simmering in Jameson’s mind bubbled higher. He couldn’t stop picturing Itchy and Aylee, her lips raised to his as they had been to Jameson’s. Jameson had tried to allow for the possibility early on, that Aylee might prefer his servant over himself. He had even resigned himself to the fact, had tried to step back. And then the garden, and then she had enticed him to chase her. Enticed him.

As perhaps she had enticed Itchy. If Itchy would tell her his name, what else would he reveal? How close had he grown with her, and had he developed a loyalty that competed with his commitment to his sovereign. Certainly, a pretty face and a deep distress would call strongly to any kind-hearted man. Jameson suddenly realized a truth: a victim may still be a criminal. Could he really stand back and let her subject Itchy to her manipulations as she had subjected Jameson himself? Jameson the friend would not. Jameson, earl of Capigan, would not. There were no laws to deal with her kind of treachery, but he would not let her injure his friend. “I hold every jurisdiction over Itchy’s tongue, as well as every other portion of his life and soul. ‘Til he ceases to live, he will remain my charge, and for the duration, you will hold no sway in his existence.”

Finally, Aylee could find nothing else to say. She looked to the sky and laughed at the stars where they followed their course like good, obedient servants. At last, Jess had lowered the mask and revealed an aspect of himself she could censure. Jess was the kind of noble who held full dominance over those who entrusted themselves to him, and if he spoke true, he was the kind of noble who would violate the laws of human decency to enforce his will on others.

“Your charge,” she challenged. “So, you have revealed at least one truth now. Itchy is not just a loyal friend. He is subject to you. Now I understand why Itchy has withheld so much from me. He did not dare risk your displeasure. Such transgressions are punishable by death, if one proves so unfortunate as to possess a vindictive master. So, is he vindictive, Itchy?” she called into the night. “Or can you not answer because you might compromise your loyalty? Well, I assure you…” She turned back to Jess. “…whatever privilege you hold in your little hamlet, whatever deference to which you are accustomed, you hold no power over me, and I will offer you no deference! And Itchy shouldn’t either.”

Jameson stepped to Aylee, reaching for her shoulders but coming up with empty air. Aylee lurched quickly toward Itchy's tent, suddenly forming a daring design. “Who is this master you serve, Itchy? Is he honest? Can you tell me? Why have you not trusted him with your name? Itchy?”

“Quiet, woman,” Jameson hissed. “Have you no soul in dragging Itchy into this?”

“I have no soul? You who said that ‘til he ceases to live he will remain your charge and obey you?’ Yet I am cruel? Explain to him what you have told me, and let me see that he does not fear you. He deserves to know that I understand why he has no power to indulge me.”

“You can’t – ” he tried to interrupt, but she seemed not to hear him.

“I can. I can make sure Itchy knows that I understand – he deserves that at least.”

After the repeated mention of his name, Itchy finally stirred from within his tent. He pulled on his boots and a cloak and stepped gingerly out of the tent. Aylee watched anger flash across Jess's face as he observed Itchy's exit.

“Do you more resent that he has told me his name?” Aylee wondered into the stunned face of Itchy. “Or is it the affection that I have found in my heart for the gentle, honorable man that perturbs you so? Did you assume I was yours?”

“Forgive me,” Itchy bowed slightly. “I have interrupted a private conversation. Feel free to awake me if you need me.”

“Wait, Itchy,” Aylee called after him. “Why don't you explain to me again how benevolent your master is?”

At the term “master,” Itchy turned to Jameson with shock. What had he told the girl? Jameson merely stared at Aylee with a mix of expressions between fury and longing, and Itchy could not handle the tension that strung, ready to explode, in the air. He read the pain behind Aylee’s outburst, and if he could have alleviated it, he would have, but it was not pain he could fix – it originated from others, from one man who had damaged her and another whom she could not trust. Worse, though, was the thought behind Jameson’s eyes, and Itchy found himself desperate to escape the moment. Jameson, for the first time in their friendship, now looked at Itchy with insecurity, with a doubt of Itchy’s loyalty and a question of betrayal. Still, Itchy did not know how to stop the crash he observed barreling toward them all.

“Wait,” Aylee insisted as she strode over to where the servant stood just in front of his tent. “There are a few things that I want you to understand, because I might not find another chance to share them with you since I am going away.” She reached out and took Itchy by the hands, piercing him with her gaze. “I believe you an honest man, Itchy. Though you might find yourself under orders to deceive, I believe you honest. And you, Itchy,” she leaned in farther to peer into his eyes, “are an honorable man. You have treated me as a lady and have comforted me like a friend.”

Jameson stared, aghast, at her display, but could not figure a way to interrupt it.

“And though Jess may believe you inferior,” she stepped onto a stone that raised her face closer to his own, lifting her hand to his face, “you should not concern yourself with the favor of a man like he. Even if society and policy and the views of a duplicitous noble dictate who you must be, I believe you superior to almost any man I have ever met.” With her final words, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a tender kiss upon the shocked man's lips.

After a defiant glance back at Jameson, she hopped off the stone and fled back to her tent. Despite her bravado, her heart thundered in her chest, and she did not know whether she wished Jameson to chase her down or defied him to do so. Somehow, she knew that if he followed her that night, the resulting altercation would end all pretense of civility between her and the erstwhile noble – either because he would unleash his anger, or because he would set to reclaim her from his friend. Either way, he would not retain his nobility, nor she her virtue, but at least she would find resolution. Maybe her offense would finally shake Jess out of his obstinate deception and compel him to reveal his hand. Lying motionless on her cot, Aylee stared at the darkness above her, her nerves on edge and her heart thundering in her chest as she waited for the sound of Jess’s footstep outside her door.

For a moment, Jameson stood impotent, his strength sapped by shock. He did not trust himself to speak, so he merely waved his horrified servant back into the servant's tent. One thing Jameson knew: he could not follow Aylee that night. Not that he blamed Itchy for the night's events, and not that he believed Itchy complicit in any way, but watching Aylee kiss the servant had stirred every burning bone of jealousy in Jameson’s body, and he found himself suddenly alert to a new possibility.

She was trying to lure him out. After so much time playing demure, she suddenly threw all of her subtly out the window and enacted the most incendiary act she could have performed. Any man would want to confront her, to demand an explanation for her duplicity, and she had to know that. No, he could not follow her. If, as so often happened with her, she had relented from her rejection, he just might press her beyond the bounds of propriety if she allowed it. And apparently, contrary to his initial impression, she was the kind of woman who would allow it.

Under no circumstances would such an action prove defensible, no matter her wishes and no matter his desires. Rather than allow himself even a moment to consider the possibility, Jameson pulled off his boots and lay down in his bed. He would not address the events so late at night, and especially not while they threatened to incinerate him and anyone who crossed his path before he calmed down. Closing his eyes, he pretended to sleep, hoping by mimicry to encourage reality. He might not find rest, but he would uncoil himself from the spring that threatened to burst out, unpredictable and promising numerous casualties in the fallout.