By Queen's Grace. Shari Anton

Norman baron of the vast fief of Wilmont, tossed back his mane of long blond hair and laughed. The falcon perched on Gerard’s thick leather glove flapped her wings in protest of the sharp sound, straining the belled jesses that secured the bird to her master’s arm. The highly trained palfrey on which Gerard sat, however, moved not a muscle.

      “Safe? Nay,” Gerard said. “I shudder to think of what Ardith has planned in retribution for not being allowed to hunt with us. Would that I could stay away until nightfall.”

      A tempting thought. Corwin couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than out hunting with Gerard, especially when they hunted with falcons-a bird a man of Corwin’s rank had no right to fly. Few Saxons in Norman-ruled England enjoyed the privileges he did, and at times like this Corwin thanked the fates that his overlord had possessed the good sense to fall in love with and marry his twin sister.

      Corwin held the tidbit of meat in his gloved fingers, raised his hand high in the air and whistled thrice, inviting the falcon back to her former perch. “I shall do you a great favor, my lord,” he offered. “If I praise this bird to the very heavens, ‘twill sweeten Ardith’s mood so greatly she may forgive you your folly.”

      “How good of you, Corwin,” Gerard said wryly.

      “My pleasure, my lord.”

      Corwin snatched away the meat an instant before the falcon landed, leading with widespread talons. He tensed his arm to accept her weight, swiftly secured the jesses, then gave her the prize she expected. For so fierce a hunter, she took the meat from his fingers gently-a mark of Ardith’s training.

      “You might do well to remember that Ardith is none too pleased with you, either,” Gerard chided. “She is not happy that you leave on the morrow after so short a visit. Since your father’s death, you do not come often enough or stay long enough for her liking.”

      Since his father’s death several months ago, Corwin’s life had changed, not all for the better. He was now the lord of Lenvil, a prosperous manor that had been in his family for generations. While he enjoyed the running of it, he also chafed, at times, at the loss of the luxury to come and go as he pleased.

      “Ardith knows I now have Lenvil to oversee, and I have duties to perform in your service. Besides, she will have Bronwyn here with her until after her babe is born. Our sister will surely be more of a comfort to her than I could be.”

      “She understands why you leave, yet it sits hard with her. Mayhap, after the babe is born, you can return to Wilmont for a fortnight or so.”

      Corwin heard the command with Gerard’s suggestion, and decided he would be happy to complyafter Ardith gave birth. Until then, he wanted to be as far away from his twin as possible.

      The twin link he and Ardith shared could be both a blessing and a curse. It allowed them to feel each other’s pain, and had saved both of their lives over the course of the years. The link had weakened as they became adults, and distance proved a buffer. Still, when Ardith had given birth to her first child, he’dknown, even though he’d been at Lenvil, a full day’s ride away from Wilmont. This time, he would be in the far south of England, hundreds of leagues away.

      “You have only to send for me and I will come.”

      Gerard nodded slightly, then turned toward the game bearer who approached him.

      “My lord, all but one sack are full,” the game bearer announced. “Should one of us return to Wilmont for more?”

      Gerard smiled at Corwin. “What say you, Corwin? How long do we wish to delay our return?”

      “I say we had best fill the last sack or Ardith will accuse us of being sluggards.” He sighed. “Then I suppose we should go back. I still have several things to do before I leave on the morn.”

      Twice more they unleashed their falcons. Gerard’s took down another heron. Corwin claimed the better prize of a swan. He hated to see the hunt end, but knew it must. Along with Gerard, Corwin hooded his falcon and turned his palfrey toward Wilmont.

      The gates stood open, as was usual during daylight hours, allowing the hunting party to pass through without hindrance into the bailey. Game bearers headed for the kitchen; stable lads rushed forward to take charge of the horses. Tenants, merchants and servants bustled about the bailey, going about their work or errands.

      As Corwin dismounted, he glanced toward the stables, and the four wagons waiting nearby. One had been packed with tents and provisions for his week-long journey; the others would be loaded with planks, shingles-and nails.

      On the morn, along with six mounted guards and the wagons’ drivers, he would leave for Cotswold, a manor in southern England near Romsey. In Romsey, he would hire the carpenters necessary to make the improvements Gerard had in mind for the estate. That Gerard had asked him to captain the entourage to Cotswold was a favor to Corwin, giving him an excuse to be far from Wilmont for several weeks. The added responsibility of hiring the carpenters and directing their labors was a mark of Gerard’s trust-a trust Corwin had earned several times over, both as a friend and knight. A trust he’d tested sorely only once, for Ardith’s sake.

      “‘Twould seem the loading is nearly completed,” Gerard commented.

      “I will inspect them after I see to the falcon,” he said, hoping the wagons passed his inspection. He wanted nothing to go wrong on this journey, not so much as a shifted plank to unbalance a wagon and tip it off the road.

      Corwin followed Gerard and the hunting hounds up the outside stairs that led to the stone keep’s second floor, then through the oak doors that opened into the great hall.

      The servants had begun to prepare for the noon meal. Trestle tables were being set up in rows down the length of the hall. Soon serving wenches would bring out the bread trenchers upon which to place food and cups to hold ale. Only those who ate at the high table-the lord’s family and guests-would eat off of clay plates and drink wine from goblets. Corwin considered himself honored to take his meals here as family.

      Indeed, he felt as at home at Wilmont as at Lenvil. As a boy, he’d spent many months each year at the home of his overlord-had learned to read and write, to skillfully wield a sword and lance, and had become fast friends with Gerard and his brothers.

      In Gerard’s wake, Corwin crossed the hall, kicking up the scent of rosemary from the recently changed rushes. At the far end of the hall, beyond the dais, he unwrapped the jesses from his arm and reluctantly returned the falcon to her perch among her fellow hunters.

      Corwin ran a finger down the falcon’s softly feathered chest, feeling the taut power in the beautiful, deadly predator. He wanted her as any man who appreciates fine hunting birds would want her.

      At Lenvil, Corwin kept several hawks, good hunters all, his favorites being a lovely goshawk and a daring little kestrel. This peregrine would be a pleasure to own, a joy to fly whenever he pleased. Though he’d become a landed knight, a warrior whose skills rivaled nearly all but Gerard’s, a man whose education far surpassed that of most Normans, he wasn’t of noble birth.

      An unfair restriction, in his opinion, but one King Henry refused to consider changing. Indeed, the king was most adamant about enforcing the Forest Laws. Poachers weren’t tolerated in the king’s woodlands. Bringing down a deer could mean a hunter’s death. Henry grudgingly allowed his nobles to hunt smaller game. Gerard, thankfully, allowed his landed knights to hunt within the boundaries of their holdings-but held to the restrictions on hunting birds.

      Once more Corwin stroked the falcon’s chest, knowing that dwelling on the unfairness of the law served no purpose. There were simply some things he couldn’t have, rights he would never obtain, all because he’d been born to the wrong family.

      Gerard interrupted Corwin’s musings. “While you inspect the wagons, I will go up and see how Ardith fares.”

      “I fare just fine.” Her voice came from the bottom of the stairway that led up to the family chambers.

      For Corwin, looking