"I can not say right now, because I do not know for sure," Francis had told her, as she gently stroked her daughter's hair. "Just be aware that if something untoward ever does happen, either myself or Humphrey may come for you, at any time, and you must do as we say, without asking questions. Do you understand?"

Isabelle wanted very badly to please her mother, but she really did not understand why she was asking her to do this. She shook her head, sadly and said, "No, mama."

That was when she had been six years old, and it was the first time her mother talked to her about preparing to flee this castle, which had been the only home she had known since birth. Over the next four years, Isabelle had come to understand the necessity for such a plan, and together they had selected a suitable wardrobe for her to wear and take with her, if this eventuality were ever to manifest itself.

Pulling a pair of leather riding breeches from the wardrobe, Isabelle decided that something must have happened to her mother, else she would have been here with Humphrey. Tears began to well up in her eyes at the thought of harm befalling her dear mother, but she quickly wiped them away. This was no time to be acting like a baby, she told herself, fiercely, tugging on the breeches and tying the pants cord around her waist.

Isabelle took a sleeveless woolen under tunic from the special pile of clothes and pulled it on over her head. She considered removing her long nightgown, but decided to wear it as an undergarment, since she had no idea when she might have a chance to obtain another one, and besides, the extra warmth it would provide certainly couldn't hurt. After selecting a thigh length, long sleeved over tunic, she pulled that over her head and tucked the hem of her nightgown into her pants, securing everything with a wide belt.

Humphrey had set his candlestick on a nearby table and moved down the hall toward the stairs, where he stood and listened for any sign of unusual activity, but the castle appeared quiet. He was somewhat disturbed by the fact that there were no guards at the princess's bedroom door, as there should have been. If nothing else, this fact alone would have indicated to him something was seriously amiss, and that his choosing to come for Isabelle now seemed a sound decision.

He moved silently back to the door--a large man; tall and thickly built through the chest and arms, he could still manage to make less noise than a cat, if he wished, and was nearly invisible within the shadows of the hallway, dressed in a black slouch hat and long, dark cape. Humphrey melted into a recess across from Isabelle's doorway and considered what he knew about the situation. King Harold, her father, had been away in the East, attempting to turn aside an invasion of heathens from beyond the Silent Sea for nearly two months. A messenger bird had arrived at the castle almost a week ago, and while the message had been written in haste and was badly garbled, it appeared that Harold had been defeated in a major battle. Although the message did not say so, it was obvious that the king was now either dead, or had been captured.

Fearing for herself and her daughter, Queen Francis had departed the next day to appeal to the Southern Barons for support, in case whoever had beaten Harold in battle decided to move west and extend their victory. They should have received a message from Francis by yesterday morn as to her progress, but no bird had arrived. Humphrey waited until well after midnight and still hearing nothing from the queen, decided to take no chances and prepared to remove Isabelle from any possible harm, immediately. If he was wrong, it would merely be good practice for the child--but if he was correct in assuming that some trouble was brewing, it would be safer have Isabelle far away from here. And the sooner they were ahorse, the better he would feel about things.