Baron FitzHalten glared at the men who stood on his hall floor. They'd dressed as peasants, but their bearing and the way their eyes assessed the hall betrayed them as military. Probably mercenaries. Who would be hiring mercenaries up here? FitzHalten knew he hadn't, couldn't afford to with the peasants not paying taxes. That snippet of a girl wouldn't, too weak. The villagers had neither the money nor the connections. 

"I have a man ready to take a message south." FitzHalten paced ...