The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) by Christine Pope Page B

of look. The scar on his cheek tended to twist all his expressions. “And why did you not tell the rest of us about her, Lewyn?”
    “Because Master Merryk told me not to, that’s why,” Lewyn responded. He seemed somewhat older than the man-at-arms with the scarred face, perhaps as much as forty, with laugh lines bracketing his bright blue eyes and a few flecks of grey in his dark hair.
    My lips parted. I wished to thank him for his kindness in hearing me and bringing me inside and out of the storm, but I did not have the opportunity, for the other man-at-arms spoke again.
    “Don’t see why she had to be such a secret.”
    If the way the scarred man kept looking at me was any indication, I thought I could guess why the steward had wished to conceal my presence here. Since Lewyn, the older man, seemed far more sympathetic, I addressed my next words to him. “Do you know where Master Merryk is? I fear I cannot find my way back to my chambers, and so that is why I have come in search of him.”
    Lewyn began to reply, but the scarred man overrode him, saying, “Surely you don’t want to go back into hiding quite so soon, pretty lady? Come and sit with us by the fire. There’s warm cider.”
    The very last thing I wanted to do was go and sit anywhere with him. True, Lewyn seemed steady enough. But still, I was a woman alone, and the thought of being surrounded by men I didn’t know quite unnerved me. “I — I thank you for your kind invitation,” I said. “But I think it is better if I go back upstairs. I am sure if I retrace my steps, I shall be able to find my room.”
    “And hide yourself away? That would be quite the waste, now, wouldn’t it?”
    He laid a hand on my arm, fingers encircling my wrist. I wanted to jerk away from his grasp, but feared that doing so would only cause more of a scene. Lewyn seemed distressed on my behalf, but not enough that he apparently intended to intercede. Was the scar-faced man his superior, even though he was clearly younger?
    A wave of cold air entered the hall, causing the fire to flicker. Despite the man-at-arm’s grip on my wrist, I turned to see the source of that cold blast, and realized it had come from Lorn Merryk entering through a side door, one that possibly led to the castle’s courtyard. Snow thickly coated the hood and shoulders of the dark cloak he wore. My attention, however, was caught by his two companions: a pair of great white dogs, their coats quite as snowy as the world outside. They looked at me with keen golden eyes, then shook mightily, flinging bits of snow in all directions.
    “What is this?” Master Merryk demanded.
    At once the scar-faced man-at-arms let go of my wrist. “Nothing at all, Master Merryk. It seems Mistress Sendris here lost her way, and we were only trying to put her to rights.”
    The steward’s keen dark gaze flicked toward me. “Is this true? Are you lost, mistress?”
    That much I could admit to. “I confess I am. When I was finished speaking with Lord Greymount” — there was a nice understatement! — “I retraced my steps to my room, but I must not have been paying as close attention as I thought to the route, for I did find myself in an unfamiliar part of the castle. So I came down here, as I heard voices and thought I might find someone to assist me.”
    “Well, I can take you up,” Master Merryk said. The dogs he held pulled at their leads and came over to me, sniffing curiously at my skirts. One of them pushed his snout against my hand and whined faintly. I began to scratch his ears, and his eyes shut in ecstasy. “Now, that’s odd,” the steward commented, even as he gave a stern look at the two men who had been standing next to me. They both slipped away to join their companions near the fire — but not before the scar-faced man gave me a last, lingering glance.
    I repressed the urge to shudder, instead saying, “What is odd, Master Merryk?”
    “Doxen and Linsi,” he replied with a nod toward the two