Early summer 1143

Bryce of Ashforde squinted through the billowing smoke at the charred remains of Ashforde Keep. Nothing had been safe from the fire set to lay waste to his newly granted land.

He'd been gone seven short days. Long enough to meet his intended betrothed and her family, and to begin the marriage arrangements with Empress Matilda and her husband Comte Geoffrey of Anjou. A sennight ago, when he'd first come to claim Ashforde Keep as the new lord, it had been sound. Now...now it lay in smoldering ruins.

Much would be required to rebuild; men, more gold than he possessed and a great deal of time. But half of his men were missing. The majority of his gold now filled Empress Matilda's coffers. Time was sparse.

The final betrothal agreement was in his saddlebag, waiting only for his signature. Once it was signed, they would set a date to exchange their promises of the future. Then they would wed, a necessity for any lord of the realm. He needed a chatelaine for the keep and children--both requirements that could be filled by marriage. But he was to bring his new wife, Cecily of Glynnson, home to what?

He would have to hire someone to oversee the rebuilding of his keep. Because he would be gone, using those weeks...or months...hunting those responsible for this devastating act.

His nose burned. His chest tightened, protesting the dense, acrid smoke that made his eyes water and brought a harsh raspy cough tearing up his throat.

He'd counted seven bodies--apparently villagers by their obvious lack of weapons and chain mail. Why were his men not among the dead? It appeared they'd been removed from the keep. Or, that they'd run at the