Emmaline wondered if there were philosophical implications to a con being too successful. She had been pretending to be a Brettonian damsel in distress for months, and now here she was imprisoned in a tower, or at least a remote villa, while a power mad noble schemed to have her married against her will. Never let it be said that Ranald lacked a sense of humor	.
 
In fairness she was not actually locked in a tower. This was clearly a summer retreat for  Schroder, more of an extravagant hunting lodge than a mansion and she had the run of the place. A score or so of guards and half that many servants staffed the place under the direction of Jan. As prisons went it really wasn’t so bad. The food was simple but filling and she was allowed to walk around the valley provided she took an escort with her. Guards were placed outside her chambers at night and it was clear that Colditz wanted to take no chances of her escaping. Not that there was much chance of that. Even if she ditched her guards and made a run for it, there was nearly a hundred miles of primeval forest between here and civilization. Emmaline was many things but woodswise was not one of them, even if you discounted the very real possibility of beastmen and other dark things that dwelled in the deep forest.
 
Paradoxically she also found it harder to play the Brettonian noblewoman here than had in Middenheim. She knew, in a general sense, what a noble did at court, she was less sure about how they spent their leisure in the country. Colditz politely refused to allow her to ride, stating that the valley was very steep and she might be hurt, a polite fiction that seemed to almost stick in the man's throat. Instead she took to taking long walks through the valley, picking flowers, gathering wild strawberries and other activities that a Brettonian might waste their time with. Each day she was sure to visit the stream that ran along the bottom of the valley, introducing herself to the smooth river polished rocks that glittered just below the cool mountain stream. 


Four days after her arrival a coach enamel in the red and buff livery of the Schroder family rattled down the path to the house. Emmaline was not summoned to meet it, but she went anyway wondering if this was the husband that Schroder was planning for her. Colditz and three guards were there as well, as were all the servants, immaculately turned out. The door opened to reveal a pimply man of perhaps eighteen summers, he bore a marked resemblance to Lucien though the frizz of red hair and wispy ill advised beard. His skin was drawn and he looked tired.

“Master Schroder,” Colditz bowed, leading a ripple of bows and curtsies from the staff. He smiled at them as he stepped down from the coach, a servant moving around to begin unloading his baggage of which there seemed quite a bit.

“For the last ime Colditz you can call me Jullian.It is good to see you all, I suspect I shall be here until father sees fit to let me return to civili… hello…” he trailed off as his eyes fell on Emmaline.

“Who have we here?” he asked crossing over to her.

“I iz Eleanor de Abberville and Yur fathair 'as imprisoned me hair,” she declared crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

“Oh well that… wait he has done what to your hair?”