"I truly am sorry for the trouble, sirs," Brielle said, her voice pitched in a perfect, trembling tone of breathless apology. She smoothed the front of her apron with frantic, jerky motions, dipping into a low, respectful curtsy that bordered on the pathetic.
The guards, who had spent the last twenty minutes helping the "clumsy, distraught maid" look through the tall grass near the old storehouse wing, sighed in unison. One of them wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of a gauntleted hand.
"Never mind it, lass," the older guard grunted, straightening his back with a groan of protest. "We found it, and that's what matters. But you need to be more careful. The Duke doesn't like staff wandering near the restricted wings after dark. If the Captain of the Guard had seen you out here, he wouldn't have been as patient as we were."
