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“My lady?”

Hannah opened her eyes, blinking against the light that peeked through the shuttered window of her chamber. She should be grateful to even have a window, since many areas of the castle did not.

Instead, she wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

Two days had passed since they’d returned from Leannan Falls. She kept hoping to wake up and realize this was all just a dream. But it wasn’t, and if her sisters were indeed marooned in the past with her, there was no sign of them.

“Aye, Joan, I’m getting up.”

Waking. That would have been the preferable thing to say. Every time Hannah opened her mouth, it seemed she spoke a word or phrase that was foreign to the fourteenth century. Her presence was already a circus sideshow, and she didn’t need to bring additional attention to herself. But she simply couldn’t help it.

From the way she ate to the words she spoke, everything about her seemed strange to Tristan’s people. He had told them she was a widow, but apparently that had done little to sway them. Hannah wasn’t stupid. There were not many women here, and all of them shot her scornful looks that told her how inappropriate it was for her to be here, alone and unchaperoned.

As for the men . . . they either seemed to hold her in suspicion or want to sleep with her. She’d had to swat away more than one wayward hand.

So much for the chivalric code.

But it was Gerard, Tristan’s steward, who appeared to trust her the least. He eyed her with suspicion, as if she would take his job. Or perhaps she only imagined it knowing his duties most closely aligned to her skill set. Gerard was one of the first people Tristan had met when he began to train under Lord Kenton. Perhaps it was simply their close bond that made the man so leery of her.

Back home, his attitude would have mattered. Hannah liked to be liked. But here she was an outsider. An unwelcome guest. An interloper who wanted nothing more than to leave and never come back. She did not belong, and so the usual rules did not apply.

And yet . . . at least one person seemed happy to have her here.

Tristan had been an utter gentleman since their trip to the falls. True to his promise, he’d sent his men on a mission that she hoped, prayed, would find some answers. In the meantime, she waited. And tried her best to acclimate to life at Saxford Castle.

Hannah had spaced out while Joan helped her dress up in her newest doll-like outfit—a silken chemise and cranberry velvet gown. When she snapped back to attention, Joan was saying, “With Kenton comin’, Cook is as irritable as ever.”

“Kenton?”

“Aye, my lady. Lord Kenton is coming to Saxford.”

Tristan hadn’t mentioned his mentor would be visiting. Although she’d hardly seen him, so maybe she shouldn’t be surprised.

“Why does that make Cook irritable?”

Joan’s eyes widened. “You’ve not met ’im yet?”

Hannah shook her head. “No. And I don’t believe I care to if he’s that irritable.”

“Aye, you’d do well to avoid him.”

Hannah smiled. “Duly noted.” Dammit. “I meant to say, very well. Thank you.”

Joan wasn’t fooled. But for some reason, she didn’t seem to hold Hannah’s strangeness against her.

“May I ask you something, Joan?”

Hannah turned as Joan began to work on her hair. She’d tried to tell the woman she was perfectly capable of brushing her own hair, but she’d have none of it. Apparently she had been assigned to Hannah’s care, and from what she could tell, it was a job that was taken seriously, even if the “lady” was of questionable moral standards.

“Of course, my lady.”

She would never get used to that. Though Tristan had explained it was an address of respect more than one that denoted a title, which, of course, she didn’t have, it rang false to her ears.

“Why are you so kind to me?”

The question seemed to surprise the older woman.