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Sara tried not to smile.

“He is harmless. But he’s also a staunch supporter of the prince, so I thought you should know he and his wife—”

“Lady Susanna will not be making an appearance this evening.”

Again, both women spoke at once, but this time it was Emma whose appeal was louder.

“Trust us, please,” she pleaded. “Do you think we, and Geoffrey, and Alex—” she emphasized that last name, “—would ever put you in danger? Tell her, Sara.”

The countess’s smile calmed her just a bit. “You know I’ve made some inquiries,” she said. “And by all accounts, you’ve nothing to fear. In the last three years, none of de Montfort’s supporters have been taken into custody or. . .” She swallowed. “Killed since the provisions at Marlborough.”

It was hardly a comfort given that several of the man’s supporters had been killed and imprisoned in the first three years of her self-imposed isolation.

“Furthermore,” Emma added, “you aren’t even using your real name. There’s no danger, and no question that you—”

“I’ll do it,” she said, surprising both of them—and herself.

Although she was terrified to go against Gilbert’s advice, she trusted Alex. And these women.

“You will?” Emma hugged her as a relieved-looking Sara smiled.

“I will,” she repeated. “But there is another problem.”

Before her new friends could become too concerned, she added, “I will never find my way back from here.”

“Follow me,” Emma said. “’Tis a bit of a surprise. I rather thought you would insist on not joining us tonight.”

She remained quiet as they walked, Clara allowing Emma to lead the way.

“I’d much prefer to dine in the hall.”

The swish of Emma’s gown as they turned the corner caught her attention.

“Thank you for allowing me use of your wardrobe while I’m here.”

Emma waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve more gowns than I need. When we first came here after living quite simply with our aunt and uncle, Sara insisted on them.”

“Have you ever thought of returning home?”

Perhaps one of the reasons she and Emma got along so well was their similar histories. Both had been forced from their homes.

“When Geoffrey and Sara wed, Bristol was still. . .”

She stopped, and Clara knew why. “In the hands of the Kerrs,” she prompted.

They rounded another corner, reaching a part of the castle that Clara recognized.

“Aye,” Emma said. “Geoffrey convinced me to stay here. Though fortifications have since been added, Bristol is quite close to the border.”

“I can’t imagine Kenshire being taken,” Clara agreed.

“When her father died, Sara was in real danger here. From reivers, the Scots—no disrespect to Alex, of course—or monarchs too busy overseas to care much for Northumbrians. The borderers will always be in danger.”

“But you are able to go outside the walls alone,” Clara said. “Travel to the village. Or even farther.”

They’d arrived at her bedchamber, or just outside of it.

“Geoffrey doesn’t like it, but if I didn’t, I’d be no more than a prisoner. What kind of life would that be?”