Brooke whispered harshly to Edgar. They were sitting in a pitched tent, watching over a sleeping Geoff until Gray returned. But it had been quite some time and neither Gray nor Braxton had returned. Moreover, Sir Dallas was staring at Brooke from his perch several feet away. He had the strangest look on his face, seemingly lost in thought, as the rest of the camp moved busily around him. “I do not know,” Edgar wasn’t particularly interested in Sir Dallas at the moment. “Maybe he does not like you.” Brooke scowled at him. “Why are you so mean to me all of the time?” Edgar had no good answer. He lifted his skinny shoulders. “I do not know,” he fussed with the wrappings on his ankle. “Where is your mother? She was supposed to come back and look at my foot.” Brooke eyed the lad, still lingering on the insult he had dealt her. But she looked around, off in the direction she had last seen her mother heading. “She and Sir Braxton are off somewhere,” she sighed. “We’d best wait for them here.
