He slipped across the corridor and was about to knock on the door, when it opened and Isabelle looked up at him. Humphrey was a bit surprised at what he beheld--she looked somehow older of a sudden, dressed in dull brown cloak and leather, as well as faded green homespun, rather than the usual colorful and bejeweled clothing she was wont to wear about the castle. There was also a hint of determination and courage reflected in her eyes. He smiled down at her and said, "Well met, my lady."

Isabelle smiled back at him, pleased by his compliment. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head--her hair now tied back in a loose braid--and slung the bag of extra clothes over one shoulder. "Lead on, then, Sir Humphrey," she told him.

He picked up the candlestick and leaned toward her. "Stay close and stay quiet, my lady," he said, softly, then headed down the corridor, toward the rear stairs.

Isabelle followed close behind, quiet and swift in her soft boots. She had no idea what Humphrey had planned, but she trusted him with her life. He had been her companion, her teacher and her friend, for as long as she could remember. Aside from those of her mother, the earliest memories Isabelle had were of a dark, looming, shadowy figure, always standing in the background, everywhere she went. That figure was Humphrey, watching over her and protecting her, since she had been but a babe.

In his youth, Humphrey had been a celebrated knight, both in tourney and on the battlefield, and was King Harold's close friend and advisor for many years. When Harold's two sons both died at a young age--one of a fever when barely six months old, the other stillborn--and the healers advised against Francis having any more children, the king's hope for a successor rested on Isabelle's slim shoulders. Wanting his daughter and heir protected at all costs, Harold gave over the task of her welfare to the only man in his realm he knew he could trust, beyond doubt. With no family of his own, Humphrey quickly became attached to the little princess, and for the last eight of her ten years he had been her mentor and companion.

He taught her to ride--something women rarely did in this day and age--and taught her the use of weapons; bow and dirk and short sword. But, he taught her other things, as well; things a young lady was required to know if she were to attend court. Though many would find it hard to believe, Humphrey was quite the dancer and he taught Isabelle all of the new steps, along with proper etiquette and poise, as she would have to deal with many upstart nobles and barons at dinners and other court functions. Humphrey also taught her to read and write, and while the knight's singing voice would frequently frighten livestock, Isabelle had a delightful, lyrical voice and she would often sing in the evening, after supper, while accompanying herself with a small harp. She owed much of what she had become in her short life to this mountain of a man; a man who could be both extremely gentle and kind, or fearsomely dangerous.

So now Isabelle followed her friend and teacher down dark stairs and through the silent corridors of her castle, running away from something she did not understand. When they finally came to a closed door, Humphrey stopped and blew out the candle he carried. He set the candlestick down on the floor and then waited quietly for some time. Isabelle knew what he was doing--giving their eyes time to adjust to darkness before opening this door on the night.