Léofe's good humor, questionable under normal circumstances, was long gone as she was going through the barracks. She did not like the barracks one bit: they were smelly, and dark, and made her nervous. Alfrida had wisely arranged for Léofe to do this errand during a training drill when the barracks were empty, for which she was thankful, but perhaps if there had been men there they could have simply done her task for her.

She was gathering all the linens; all the items where lice could possibly inhabit. It was a nasty business: Alfrida was not normally responsible for the barracks' living conditions, but since the pestilence could infect everyone in the Keep, the job of scrubbing clothing and drapes for the entire fortress had fallen to her. To them, Léofe thought. She could easily admit to herself that since she had been brought back to the Keep the second time, she herself had been filling a role as the lady's assistant. And she liked it! Truly, it did not have the excitement and freedom of raising horses, but it was a satisfying pastime and Léofe did prefer to be useful. A final point, which she could barely admit to herself and would not to any other, was that she was learning a variety of skills that just may benefit her, were she to marry Théodred. Which, unless Fate had an intervening plan, she intended to do.

So despite the smell and dark and overall grossness, Léofe was smiling to herself as she took down drapes, stripped bedclothes, and gathered any bits of personal clothing that were lying around. She had spread an enormous tarp in the middle of the room with which to bind everything up to transport to the laundry. At least she did not have to do the scrubbing herself—there were servants enough for the laundry, if nothing else.

Nearing the end of the barracks, (which could hold two éoreds; roughly 240 beds meant a lot of linens!), Léofe began to feel relieved, and she began to hum to herself.

O, I see, I see the big mountains;

O, I see, I see the big mountains;

O, I see, I do see the corries,

I see the mist-covered glens.

I see as I linger the land of my birth;

I am welcomed in the language I cherish.

There I receive hospitality, and love when I reach it

That I'd trade not for tons of gold . . .

A shuffling to her left caught her attention, but when Léofe turned her head she saw nothing. Frowning, she returned to her task, blowing a bit of hair from in front of her eyes.

An arm like iron fastened around her waist, and before she could open her mouth to scream, a large, dirty hand clamped over it. "No noise yet, missy." Stank breath brushed across her face. "Not until the prince comes along looking for ye."

"You promise sport!" A second voice wined in the darkness, and Léofe began to struggle with all her strength, kicking and flailing her limbs, which earned her a cuff across the face from—a third? How many men were there? Her heart was hammering so hard she thought it might burst from her chest, and another scream caught in her throat.

"No sport," the first man growled, and spit landed onto her neck. "No need for it. He'll be along soon enough."

Léofe strained against his grip, but it was no use. She tried stomping on his foot—no avail, and she was hit again.

"I think I 'ear 'im comin'," The second speaker now sounded as if he were speaking from the entrance before he returned to the darker interior. "Let 'er go."

The hand was removed from her mouth, and almost against her will, Léofe shrieked, redoubling her efforts to escape. This time, a punch collided with her head rather than her face, and she dropped like an anvil, lights blossoming in her eyes. She shook her head, trying to orient herself. Was Théodred coming? Were they going to kill him? It certainly seemed to be so—and she had been the bait. The stupid bait.

She thought she heard the clashing of swords, but the noise came from far away to her ears, which felt as if they had been stuffed with cotton. Three men against her prince—the odds were not good. Gritting her teeth, Léofe pulled herself to her wobbly feet, and now unencumbered by the attacks, she thought quickly.

Several of the bunks had knives in them: men and their weapons! She got lucky—the nearest one had a lethal looking blade about six inches long. Léofe gripped it tightly, wishing her hands would stop trembling. Shaking her head again, Léofe turned to the frenzy but was immediately knocked over by a falling body. Her head hit the ground, and in her eyeline she saw the man who had fallen—blood spurted from his neck, which he tried to stop with his hands, gurgling and gasping. She felt very little sympathy for the villain.

The knife had been knocked from her grip as well, but the man's sword was within easy reaching distance. Her fingers closed about the hilt. Béma, it was heavy! She stood once more.

Théodred was holding off the other men very well on his own, but he was bleeding from several places and one of the men had two knives. Léofe scowled. How dare they threaten their sovereign! These...monsters had no right to be called Eorlingas!

Another man went down, howling and clutching the back of his leg. The other one, with the knives, got a lucky shot at Théodred's face and blood spurted into the prince's eyes, and he staggered. Léofe stumbled forward, raising her sword just as the attacker clenched a knife, ready to shove into Théodred's chest. Her blade hit home first, and the man fell with a strangled gasp before he lay unmoving between them.

Léofe was breathing rather heavily, and perhaps it was the fear that was coursing through her veins—everything around her seemed hazy and red. She had never wielded a sword before, let alone killed a man, and she felt the contents of her stomach rolling.

"Léofe," Théodred was wiping his sleeve across his face, blinking at her. "You're safe!"

"Yes," she said, her voice sounding high and wavering. "They did not want me. They only wanted you."

The bloodied sword fell from her fingers, and Léofe stepped across the body to allow Théodred to wrap an arm around her, though he groaned. "I am going to have a hell of a headache," he muttered. "Penance for our foolishness. What were you thinking, Léofe! To enter the barracks alone?"

She buried her face into his tunic, the smell of blood filling her nose even more. "Lice outbreak," she said, voice muffled. "Everything needs to be cleaned. Not enough servants."

Théodred grunted. "Do not go anywhere alone. Please."

"You do not need to tell me that!" Léofe said fervently. "I have learned a lesson!"

He released her, limping over to the second man who had fallen, who lay moaning. "Do not look," he advised her over his shoulder, and Léofe closed her eyes tightly. More gurgling, then silence. Then a hand grasped hers, and she opened her eyes to see Théodred lifting her hand to his lips. "Let us leave this scene," he said quietly. "Dear heart, you do not look well!"

"Neither do you," she said, smiling despite his gruesome features. Blood still trickled from his head wound, which had smeared across his face.

"Flesh wounds only. Painful enough, but quick to heal. Perhaps I will even have a scar." He grinned and pointed to his head. "Would you still love me, Léofe, if I was scarred?"

"Even more so."

Alfrida shrieked and dropped a plate holding several loaves of bread when they made their appearance in the kitchen to seek assistance. Théodred was leaning on Léofe, his sword still drawn. Léofe probably could have laughed—she was feeling giddy from their narrow escape, were she not in a significant amount of pain herself.

"What on earth happened!" the lady cried.

"Léofe was attacked in the barracks," Théodred said. "I was walking past when it happened."

This little lie, omitting the fact that Théodred was the target, did not fool Alfrida, and her features changed from concerned to angry. "Go through," she said, pointing to the door on the far end of the kitchen. "I will fetch a healer."

"Alert Grimbold as well," Théodred said. "He will know what to do."

Léofe had never been through that particular door, and when she and Théodred lumbered through, she saw it was an infirmary. Right off the kitchens? She grimaced—how disgusting! She helped her prince to sit down on a low cot, and he frowned.

"I have not come off this badly in a fight for years," he said as she sat next to him. "I am utterly embarrassed. Erk is going to tease me mercilessly for this."

"Do not be embarrassed," she said. "How often do three attackers rush you at once while you are unprepared?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it, and smiled ruefully. "I will not tell you," he said. "I do not want you to worry." He lifted a strand of her hair with a gentle finger, tucking it under her head wrap. "So what is this about lice?"

Léofe sighed. "There was an outbreak about two days ago. There have been over two dozen servants and Riders who had to have their hair shaven. We have been working on cleaning everything in the Keep. It has been a disaster, on top of everything else!"

"Everything else?"

"Servants have been leaving their posts in droves," she said. "Now there is only a handful, apart from Alfrida and I."

Théodred frowned. "I did not know this."

"Of course not. You have been away!"

"I could have helped," he sighed. "I will help. There are many soldiers here; I will make several available to Alfrida."

Léofe clasped his hand even though he winced at the touch. She was just considering the technicalities of kissing him—her lips were split and bruised, and his were just covered in blood, when they were joined by a handful of individuals.

Grimbold strode in with a face of thunder, and began, if not to yell, then to speak to the prince in very loud tones. Théodred ignored him, lifting his arms to allow the healer to strip him of his tunic. To Léofe's great regret, Alfrida drew her away from the men and began attending her, dipping cloths into warm water to clean her face.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?" Alfrida asked.

"—wandering around alone, could have died! Foolhardy and immature!"

Léofe suspected that Grimbold was not talking about her. "I am not," she said to the lady. "I was not the target."

"I know," Alfrida murmured. "And so does Grimbold. But do not let his words affect you; you are not to blame."

"—should have let her die instead of putting yourself in such danger!"

"Should have let her die!" Théodred's calm manner dissipated, and he stood to face down Grimbold, his brows drawn together in dark rage. Alfrida flinched beside her, and Théodred continued to growl, "Should have let her die? Who am I to demand an innocent woman perish to spare my life?"

"You are the prince—"

Théodred was snarling. "I am a protector, not a deity! It is my duty to keep my people alive, even at the cost of my own!"

"Do not throw away your life so recklessly! The king is dying, and if you die as well, we are even weaker! Saruman will raze the Mark without a second thought. We will be defenseless." The older man's voice was increasing in volume, and Théodred towered over him, matching his tone.

"And what is the purpose in keeping our lands if there is no one to live in them? For pride?"

Grimbold had no response to this, though he continued to scowl.

Théodred sat down again, his shoulders weary but his voice still angry. "Dispose of the bodies. Search them for any evidence that might connect them to Wormtongue, or any other traitors."

With a sweep of his cloak, Grimbold departed.

"Well!" Alfrida said. Mesmerized by the scene, she had stopped cleaning Léofe's face. The lady shook her head and returned to her task, muttering again, "Well!"

Léofe felt frozen on her cot. As flattered as she was that Théodred had defended her twice in less than an hour, she did not know what to think beyond that, apart from being offended that Grimbold had given her life for naught. It was guilt that caught her then: guilt that Théodred was wounded because of her, guilt because her life had driven a wedge between Théodred and one of his trusted commanders, guilt that her prince always had to be concerned about her. The euphoria of being alive faded.

Alfrida must have sensed her discouragement, for after Léofe's wounds were dressed, she was ordered to remain in the infirmary until the following morning. With that, she was tucked into her cot and given a sleeping draught from the healer. She could not see where Théodred was, and feeling immeasurably sad, she closed her eyes.

.

.

It was the smell from the kitchens that woke Léofe. For a moment she wondered where she was, and the distant throbbing in her head reminded her: the attack in the barracks. Théodred bleeding. Grimbold shouting. The medicine! It was no wonder her mind was feeling so foggy. She turned in the cot, grimacing as her head pounded.

"Do not move if it pains you."

Such advice was fair, but she did not like it. Especially when the speaker sounded so calm! She opened her eyes and scowled to see Théodred sitting near her, though not too near, and watching her in amusement. His head was wrapped in a snowy white bandage, but he otherwise looked unharmed. That was well—for then she would not feel guilty for her temper.

"Are you going to scold me?" he asked, setting aside a packet of parchment. "If you intend to, you may wish to keep your voice low. There are guards outside the door."

"If my voice is quiet, it is because my head is splitting," she croaked. "I would like nothing more than for everyone to hear what I have to say to you!"

He frowned. "You were not angry before your rest; I wonder what has caused this."

Léofe sat up as best she could to glare at him better, the thin blanket falling from her shoulders. "Who did you tell? Those men knew you would come for me! I have kept my lips sealed as you demanded—who did you tell?"

"I have not shared our secret," he said. "I already thought of it: we are too obvious, despite our efforts. What is your next grievance?"

Grimbold's words came flooding back. Should have let her die. "How could you be so foolish to rush three attackers at once?" she demanded, her offense sharpening her words. "They would not have hurt me!" Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. One of the men had wanted sport, and she shuddered. Yes, they would have hurt her.

Théodred was watching her, his brows drawn together. "I have proven my foolishness where you are concerned a hundredfold, even before yesterday," he said. "If getting a little battered and bruised is the price of loving you, I will pay it as often as I must."

A little battered and bruised? He was mad! She had seen his wounds. Tears pricked at her eyes, and Léofe brushed them away angrily. "It is not fair!" she burst. "To feel as a pawn in men's games to hurt the one I love! You could not understand the helplessness."

"I do understand," he said, his tender tone unwavering. "I am helpless in many ways myself. I do not like your being used any more than you do—perhaps even less. There are times—" His glance darted to the door, and Léofe's eyes followed his. It was shut, but the clanking of armor was not far beyond. "There are times when I wish I could take you and Brego and run! Anywhere but here; anywhere safe. But I cannot."

Léofe turned her face away. Théodred shifted in his seat. "Tell me," she said. "Why did you admit that you cared for me when I ran away, if you did not want to endanger me? Would it not have been easier to maintain a farce of mere acquaintance without sharing our feelings for one another?"

"Yes, it would have been easier," he said, after a moment of silence. "But I am selfish. I want to be happy, and loving you without being able to hold you was a most miserable feeling! I felt that denying myself was clouding my judgment. And—" here he looked sheepish. "I did not think it entirely through. You have the great ability to tie my tongue!"

She half-sobbed, half-laughed. "I cannot imagine you ever acting irrationally!"

"If you intend to be my wife, you had best become accustomed to the idea. I—" Théodred's words were cut short by the door swinging open. Léofe felt brick-red at the thought of his words.

A soldier bowed to Théodred, who said, rather harshly, "What is it, Ceorl?"

"Attack, sire. Thirty miles northeast. What are your orders?"

Léofe felt very small and helpless as Théodred closed his eyes briefly before assuming the role of marshal. He stood. "Summon my éored; we have been off duty the longest. Send word that we ride in one hour. Who brought the news?" The two men left the room together, Théodred looking back at Léofe before the door to the infirmary closed behind them, with a regretful smile.