It had been a murmur and yet, no mistake, the young man that was crumbling in front of her, holding on his feet only because of her grasp, had talked of love.
Above it had made her heart leap, not so because it had been what she had sought this whole time but because this sheep of a man had had the galls to speak up.
Suddenly all Joan cared for was to hear it again.
"What was that?" She pushed him closer with a carnivorous smile. "Try and say it again."
And the priest once more, with such a shaky voice and a pale face that he seemed ready to faint at any instant, still would not look away not stop trying to string sounds into more than a jumble of dread.
He had said it. She wasn't sure anymore but the mere idea that he could have had her delighted. Her whole body stiff and tense, the string of a bow, had the noble's horse agitated again.
"Say it!"
"Joan!" Corentin yelled.
She finally came back to her senses, released her grasp and the man fell in front of her, mud on his robe to the knees. One itch from her and he would have been laid on his back.
"Milord."
Her voice could not have been more grave, her not any more serious without her dropping submission. The twin faced a fiery warrior with unbreakable resolve.
"Bring this man back to the castle."
"And why would I do that?"
"He said he loved me."
He stayed silent a moment, then put both hands on his eyes and hunched on the saddle.
"I am not going to imprison mother Clothilde's protege for a whim."
"You know him?"
"Enough for me to know..."
His words trailed. The twin's steel blue eyes had returned to the priest who, still sit in the mud, was now rubbing his robe right where Joan had touched it. His face expressed marvel, the pure joy of a child.
Even Corentin was left speechless for a time.
But then the boy realized how both had gone silent and, raising his head, faced both Joan's cruel face and the cold, annoyed one of Corentin.
"I am so sorry milord!" He threw himself at the noble's horse toes. "I did not intend to interrupt your travel! Please forgive and ignore this miserable soul!"
"Stand up, brother." And when he would only stay sit: "No, really, I need you all the way up. Now listen and don't dare turn your eyes: this lady is to be my wife. To admire her is flattery, to desire her would be your end."
The priest's voice was so frail and young as to invite pity. His hands were tied in a prayer.
"Milord... It was... I..."
His words were faltering again.
Joan intervened: "Sir Corentin, I need that man. If you do not bring him to the castle I would be forced to leave with him."
He barely paid attention to her. She had not witnessed how the boy's face had melted again upon hearing her voice and those words, that she needed him. The moment she finished talking, he fell back on his knees, eyes on his pressed hands.
The twin sighed. "You heard lady Joan, brother. Clean that robe and wait for us at the gate."
He spun his steed around, left the young priest on the ground and paced away, the lady following quickly on the road back to the village.
She could still feel that man's eyes on her, even as distance grew, and felt the need to glance. But the longer it had been, the more she doubted her own ears. Such a coward, surely, could not bear love, let alone declare it to her face.
For a moment she had been fooled at the thought that love could be that easy.
They passed the watermill, entered the village and in those noisy streets, along craftsmen, women and kids all laboring they reached the forge.
In this village the blacksmith only had one apprentice, yet he had two people helping him around the furnace. One she recognized as Roland with his long black hair. The other was a neighbor who had come help with the fire and pincers.
"Sir Corentin!" The blacksmith greeted.
It was hardly friendly, but there was at least clear deference.
"As you see, we are hard at work. All weapons should be ready in time."
"Good. Which of you is Roland?"
At those words Roland could not help but freeze for a brief moment. There was no telling what thoughts had rushed through his mind to cause such dread.
But he finally abandoned the hammer to approach.
"I am Roland, milord."
"Would you know a man named Bernin?"
The young apprentice, tense already, tried his best to stay calm at that mention.
"Yes, milord. He is a good friend of man, a woodcutter near the woods."
"That good friend of yours has disappeared. Would you know where he could be?"
"Disa... disappeared?"
His eyes had slipped from the noble on his horse to fix a distant point. He stumbled back, then shook himself, but this time the fear was all too apparent.
"What happened? Milord, the last time I saw him..."
"When was it?"
"Early this morning. I had just delivered his axe. He was doing find, milord, he was heading to the forest."
"Interesting."
And sir Corentin came down from his horse to approach the apprentice, his fiery ginger hair against the wild black ones of his human peer.
"You are very busy forging weapons for us, but you had time to fix his axe?"
"Yes, milord." Roland's eyes fled for a moment. "He really needed one for work, so I shortened the blade to fix the crack."
"What zeal. You are exactly the person I need."
And finally the twin drew the dagger he had kept hidden under his mantle to throw it at the apprentice's feet.
"Any chance you could tell me which craftsman forged this?"
Joan recognized the weapon immediately. No two weapons were the same, from metal quality to the shape the blade had taken from both forge and wear. This one was simple and crude, the work of someone who still lacked experience.
A noble who had never touched a hammer surely could not tell. But the castle had its own forge, albeit smaller, where Corentin could have gleaned some hint.
The blacksmith intervened, picked the dagger and said: "Sorry, milord, it isn't signed."
"What a pity. Well, master Charlot, if you can make anything from it please inform the keep." And he looked at the livid face of Roland again. "We would love to hear it."
He turned away, put a foot on the yoke and stopped.
"Oh, and don't worry. We'll do everything to find your friend."
"Th... th... thank you milord."
The whole time Joan had waited from the other side of the street, so as to not frighten the horse anymore. But when the noble departed she moved as well and Roland, still shaken, finally noticed her silver hair among the passerbys.
He suddenly rushed out and called:
"Milady!"
Both she and the twin turned to look at that young man in disarray.
"Milady, have you seen a gray dog?"
She frowned, turned the head away and left without a word. The apprentice found himself ashamed in the street for having spouted those words at a noble.