If Brian had been asked to find Justin Winterberry in a crowd, or at least his idea of the man, he would have had no trouble whatsoever. But that was before he had actually seen him in the flesh. After all of the stories and legends that preceded the name, he had half expected a seven-foot stone wall. Not at all what he had found.

Joseph Winterberry's son was but a boy. A mere child, looking even younger than his eighteen summers. His hair was a soft yellow. His eyes were the color of the noonday sky. And his face, smooth as cream and highly resembling a cherub.

From the new information he had received, perhaps an avenging angel would be a more accurate description. But try as he might, Brian could not see the boy in such a way. As a warrior. As a killer.

As soon as he reached the castle, he turned and looked back to the spot where he had left the man and fought back a smile as he saw the children running towards Justin once again. He looked on as the group attacked him, knocking him to the ground in play. The group rolled around, eventually rolling themselves down the small slope of the hill. The man even played like a child.

With a final fleeting glance at the spectacle, Brian strode towards the stables, knowing that would be the place to find his best friend and second in command.

"Milord! How fair you? Ready to take on Crimson again already?" Brian raised an irritated brow at the stable master. The man was short and stocky, dirty, balding and near toothless. But his appearance might be overlooked. It was his high-handed impertinence that Brian could not tolerate. His mention of Crimson, the unbroken stallion that had thrown Brian only three days prior, was a taunt meant to draw him out. Instead of bothering with a response, he simply brushed past the man and entered the make-shift stone enclosure that served as the stable.

"Benjamin?"

"Aye." Benjamin called out from the last stall. "Good day to you, friend."

"Good day to you. How does Michaela fair?"

Benjamin beamed, a grin splitting his face. "She is growing every day. Soon she will barely be able to move."

Brian laughed. "So it is with childbearing I suppose." Ben nodded and continued to brush a mare that was watching them with one big brown eye. Turning from the large orb, Brian shuddered and returned his thoughts to the reason he had sought out his friend in the first place. "Winterberry. His wife died, did she not?"

"Yes. About three winters ago."

"And her family still lives?"

"Her mother. She lives in the village."

"And what of his family."

"Only the son." Ben's hand paused in mid-stroke. "Should this sudden inquisitive nature have something to do with the return of young Justin?"

Brian smiled ruefully. "Am I so obvious?"

"No, my friend," he sighed. "We have merely known each other for that long. Every question that finds itself in your head will be asked, until you have solved the puzzle and put to rest any doubt that you may have in the young man."

"He is a good swordsman. Or so I have been informed."

"He is, milord. I have seen this for myself, in the final days of the battle."

"You trust him?"

"I do."

"And I should do the same?"

Benjamin laughed softly. "You, Brian, are going to do whatever you bloody well please. My advice to you...simply listen to your instincts."

Listen to his instincts.

Brian thought of all the stories Lindsay had shared with him about their childhood. He thought about the warnings he had received from many of his men. And he considered the advice Justin had so boldly dispensed, regarding Lindsay.

His instincts told him to wait. To reserve judgement. He would simply keep his eye on the man-child, son of a traitor and allow time to reveal the truth.

To Be Continued...