Sheriff John Little had just extinguished his house lamp for the night when he heard someone open the creaky second-floor window. He unsheathed his sword as he headed for the upper office; he suspected he knew who was breaking into his house at midnight, but it never hurt to be careful.

John waited until his eyes had adjusted to the night, then slid noiselessly into the room.

The intruder wasn’t who he expected.

“Lady Marion!”

The young woman turned towards the startled sheriff, face pale and set. Marion said nothing, but John was not too startled to notice her pocketing her dagger. He moved over to her. “What are you doing here?”

Marion shook her head mutely; now that he was next to her, John could see that she was shaking – with fury or fear, he couldn’t tell.

A light flared in the hall. “John?”

“In here,” John hissed, steering Marion towards the door. Quick, light footsteps sounded in the hall, and a moment later, Hannah Little appeared in the doorway. Her keen dark eyes took in Marion’s appearance; in moments, Hannah had the shaken woman settled in the warm kitchen and was stoking up the fire in the hearth.

Marion sat in the chair, looking dazed. John watched, worried, as his wife coaxed the girl to drink some cider. Finally, Marion put down the mug and looked at the Littles. After a moment, she extended a handful of crumpled papers; John took them, but his eyes never left Marion’s.

“It’s about Duncan.”

“The king’s son?” Hannah asked.

Marion nodded, still watching the sheriff. “He’s an imposter.”

A log in the hearth snapped; a footstep from the hall startled everyone in the room.

“I thought as much,” Rob said, stepping just inside the doorway.