Table of Contents

GENTLE WARRIOR

HONOR’S SPLENDOUR

LION’S LADY

‘IDEAL MAN’ EXCERPT

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JULIE GARWOOD

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Praise for Julie Garwood’s splendid New York Times bestseller

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“AN ENTHRALLING TALE. . . . In this powerful story, passion, loyalty, friendship, and mystery superbly blend with realistic, three-dimensional characters.”

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—Under the Covers Book Reviews

BOOKS BY JULIE GARWOOD

Gentle Warrior

Rebellious Desire

Honor’s Splendour

The Lion’s Lady

The Bride

Guardian Angel

The Gift

The Prize

The Secret

Castles

Saving Grace

Prince Charming

For the Roses

The Wedding

Come the Spring

Ransom

Heartbreaker

Mercy

The Clayborne Brides

One Pink Rose

One White Rose

One Red Rose

PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS

This book is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to nonhistorical figures are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such incidents, places, or figures to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 1985 by Julie Garwood

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN -13: 978-0-671-73780-1

ISBN -10:         0-671-73780-5

ISBN: 978-1-4516-8188-8 (eBook)

First Tapestry Books printing October 1985

First Pocket Books paperback printing November 1989

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Cover art by Lisa Litwack

Cover photo © Gary Yeowell/Tony Stone Images

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

“Gentle knights were born to fight, and war ennobles all who engage in it without fear or cowardice.”

Jean Froissart, French Chronicler

1086, England

IN SILENCE THE KNIGHT PREPARED FOR BATTLE. HE SAT astride a wooden stool, stretched his long muscular legs before him, and bade his servant to pull on the steel-mailed hose. He then stood and allowed another to fasten the heavy hauberk over the quilted cotton undershirt. Finally he raised his sun-bronzed arms so that his sword, a gift prized mightily for it came from William himself, could be attached to his waist by means of a metal loop.

His thoughts were not of his dress nor of his surroundings, but of the coming battle, and he methodically reviewed the strategy he would employ to gain victory. Thunder broke his concentration. With a frown the knight lifted the opening flap of the tent and raised his head to study the heavy cloud formation, unconsciously brushing the dark hair from his collar as he watched the sky.

Behind him the two servants continued their duties. One picked up the oiled cloth and began to give yet another polish to the warrior’s shield. The second mounted the stool and waited, holding the open-faced conical for the knight. The servant stood thusly for several long moments before the warrior turned and noticed the helmet outstretched before him. With a negative shake of his head, he disclaimed it, preferring to chance possible injury in return for freedom of movement. The servant frowned at the knight’s refusal to wear this added protection, yet wisely chose not to give verbal argument, having noted the scowl upon the warrior’s face.

His dress complete, the knight turned and walked with quick long strides until he reached and mounted his powerful steed. Without a backward glance, he rode from the encampment.

The knight sought solitude before battle and rode hard and fast into the nearby forest, oblivious to the scraping both he and his destrier suffered from low-hanging branches. Having reached the top of a small rise, he reined his now-snorting animal to a halt and gave his full attention to the manor below.

Rage filled him anew as he thought about the infidels nestled within the castle below, but he pushed the anger aside. He would have his vengeance after the manor was once again his. Only then would he allow his rage to go unchecked. Only then.

The knight turned his attention to the layout before him, again impressed by the simplicity of the design, noting the wide, uneven walls stretching almost twenty feet into the sky and completely surrounding the multiple structures within. The river banked the walls on three sides and this pleased the knight considerably, for entry from the water would be almost impossible. The main building was constructed primarily of stone with but an occasional piece of sod, and was flanked on both sides by clusters of small huts, all facing the large grassy courtyard. When it was all once again his, he would make it impregnable, he vowed. This could not be allowed to happen again!

Dark angry clouds linked together in an attempt to block the rising sun, resulting in gray streaks arched in protest across the sky. The wind gave sound to the eerie sight. Gusty howls intermingled with low whistled moans that caused the warrior’s black mount to prance in agitation, but the knight quickly calmed him, using his heels as his command.

He again looked to the sky, saw that the swollen clouds were now directly overhead, and thought that it was as if night would once again descend. “The weather does nought to quiet my mood,” he muttered. Was this a bad omen, he wondered, for he was not entirely without superstition, though he scoffed at those who were ruled by it, ritualistically seeking signs before each and every battle to predict the outcome.

The knight once again reviewed his bid for victory, looking for possible flaws in his battle plans, and could find none, yet still he could not feel content. In frustration, he picked up the reins and turned the charger, intent on returning to camp before total darkness was full upon him. And it was then that the sky exploded in a silver flash of light, and he saw her.

She stood slightly above him on the next rise, and seemed to gaze directly down at him. But she was not looking at him, he realized; no, her gaze was directed beyond him to the castle below.

She sat erect upon a flecked mount and was flanked by two enormous creatures vaguely resembling dogs, but of what breed he knew not, since their stance suggested more wolf than dog. He drank fully of the picture before him, noting she was slight of stature with long pale hair free about her shoulders, and even from that distance he could make out well-rounded breasts cupped tightly against the white material of her gown by the force of the persistent wind.

His mind could make little order out of what he saw but that she was indeed more beautiful than any he had ever known. The light receded but was replaced within seconds by another more powerful burst, and the knight’s initial surprise gave way to stunned disbelief, for now he sighted the hawk flying low toward the girl. She seemed unafraid of the beast circling overhead and in fact raised her hand as if to salute an old friend.

The knight closed his eyes but for a moment, and when he reopened them she was gone. With a start, he goaded his steed into motion and raced toward the vision. Horse and rider rounded each tree expertly and with great speed, yet when they reached their destination she was nowhere to be found.

After a time the knight gave up the search. His mind accepted that what he had seen was real, but his heart insisted she was but a vision, an omen.

His mood was greatly improved when he rode full gallop into camp. He saw that his men were mounted and ready. Nodding his approval, he gestured for his lance and his shield bearing his coat of arms.

Two servants hurried toward the waiting knight, holding the kite-shaped shield between them in order to share its weight, and when they reached his side, they waited in silence for the warrior to lift it. To their confusion, the knight hesitated, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth, and stared for long seconds at the shield below him. His next action further bewildered not only his servants but his watching followers as well, for he leaned down and with his index finger slowly traced the outline of the hawk embedded upon the shield.

He then threw back his head and relented to a deep resounding laugh before effortlessly lifting first his shield with his left hand and the lance with his right. Raising both high into the air, he gave the cry for battle.

Chapter One

LONG THIN FINGERS OF LIGHT SLOWLY BEGAN THEIR ritualistic climb into the darkness, uninhibited by clusters of pale and empty clouds, in their unchallenged bid to bring forth the dawn. Elizabeth leaned against the splintered frame of the hut’s open doorway and watched the progress of the sun for several long minutes before she straightened and walked outside.

A massive hawk, gliding effortlessly in wide circles high above the trees, saw the slender figure emerge from the hut and increased his speed, descending to a large mud-splattered boulder adjacent to the girl. His screech and vigorous flapping of brown and gray wings announced his arrival.

“There you are, my proud one,” Elizabeth greeted. “You are early today. Could you not find sleep either?” she questioned in a soft voice. She regarded her pet with a tender smile and then slowly raised her right arm until it was stretched taut just slightly above her slender waist. “Come,” she commanded in a gentle voice.

The hawk tilted his head from side to side, his piercing gaze never leaving her face, and began to emit a gargled sound from deep within his throat. His eyes were the color of marigold, and though there was a wildness about them, she was unafraid. Indeed, she met his stare with complete trust and again bid him come to her. Within a whisper of a second, the hawk had landed on her bare arm, but she did not flinch from either his weight or his touch. His jagged claws were blade sharp, yet she wore no glove. Her smooth and unblemished arm gave testimony to the hawk’s gentleness with his mistress.

“What am I to do with you?” Elizabeth asked. Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter as she studied her pet. “You grow fat and lazy, my friend, and though I have given you your freedom, you refuse to accept it. Oh, my faithful pet, if only men were as loyal as you.” The laughter was gone from her eyes, replaced by overwhelming sadness.

The sound of approaching horse and rider startled Elizabeth. “Go,” she commanded the hawk, and he immediately took to the sky. Panic edged her voice as she called to her two wolfhounds and ran for the safety of the surrounding forest. The two dogs were at her side by the time she had flattened herself against the thick bark of the nearest tree, and she gave them the hand signal to be still. Her heart was racing wildly as she waited, silently cursing herself for leaving the dagger in the hut.

Marauders, entire gangs of displaced, unclaimed destitutes, roamed the countryside, and all those out-side the protection of the walls were easy prey for their violence and depravity.

“My lady?” The sound of her faithful servant’s voice penetrated the terror gripping Elizabeth, bringing relief immediately. Elizabeth slumped forward, her head bent, while she recovered her breath. “My lady? It is Joseph. Are you there?”

The rising alarm in his voice forced Elizabeth from her hiding place. She quietly rounded the tree and slipped up behind Joseph, gently tapping his stooped shoulder with one trembling hand.

With a startled yelp the old man jumped back and whirled around, very nearly knocking down his mistress in the process. “You gave me quite a start,” he chided, but at the look of distress on Elizabeth’s face, he forced a smile, showing an absence of several teeth in the process. “Even though you frown, your lovely face still has the power to humble me.”

“You flatter me as always, Joseph,” Elizabeth responded with a grin, and her servant was again bewitched by the husky yet musical lilt in her voice. He watched her as she turned and walked to the door of the hut and was mildly surprised that her beauty still had the power to startle him each time he would gaze upon her, for he had seen her raised since infancy.

“Come and share a cool drink with me and tell me what brings you here this day,” Elizabeth said. Her proud bearing faltered then, confusion clouding her eyes. “I have not forgotten the day, have I? This isn’t your usual day to bring me food, is it? Or have I truly lost all sense of time?”

Joseph noted the despair in her voice and wanted to take her into his arms and offer comfort. It was an impossible ambition, he realized, for she was his mistress and he her humble servant.

“It has been nearly a month since my family—”

“Do not speak of it, my lady, and do not fret,” Joseph soothed. “You do not go daft, for I was here just two days past. Today I bring important news and have a plan I wish you to consider.”

“Joseph, if you again suggest that I go to my grandfather, then you have wasted a trip. My answer will be the same today. Never! I will stay close to my home until I can bring vengeance to my family’s murderers. This I have vowed!” She stood glaring at him as she spoke, her stubbornness outlined by the defiant tilt of her chin, and Joseph found that he was forced to gaze at his boots in order to escape the chill from her eyes.

Elizabeth folded her arms and waited. “What say you?” she demanded. When her servant did not immediately reply, Elizabeth sighed with exasperation and continued in a softer voice. “Be content, Joseph. I have sent little Thomas to safety. That must be enough.”

His reply was not what she expected. Elizabeth watched his shoulders slump even further than was their natural inclination. The servant rubbed his bald head and cleared his voice. “The evil ones have gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone? How can this be? Where have they gone?” Her voice increased in volume with each question, and she was unaware that she had grabbed the loyal servant by his cloak and was vigorously shaking him.

Joseph raised his hands and gently pulled free from her grip. “Please, my lady, calm yourself. Let us go inside,” he suggested, “and I will tell you all I know.”

Elizabeth agreed with a quick nod and hurried inside. She tried to compose herself as was befitting her position, but her mind rebelled at the task, concentrating on the number of unanswered questions and conflicting emotions instead.

The one-room hut was sparsely furnished. Elizabeth sat on the edge of one of the two wooden stools, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight, while she waited for Joseph to light the fire in the hearth. Though it was late spring, the hut was damp and chill.

It seemed an eternity before Joseph was seated across from her. “ ’Twas shortly after I left here last, my lady. The day of the storm,” he qualified, “I had just reached the second rise above the manor when I first saw them approach as a cloud of dust on the winding road below. Though there were only two hundred or so of them, they still looked to be a deadly fighting force. Why, the ground fairly trembled beneath me so awesome was the sight. I saw their leader, for he rode well ahead of his men and was the only one without benefit of a helmet.

“Once they had battered down and entered the gates, for it was obvious to me that they cared not for the element of surprise, I rode closer, my curiosity pushing aside all caution. By the time I found a better vantage point, their leader had drawn up his force into a half-circle, and behind a wall of shields, they advanced. It was a sight to see, little one. I watched their leader take his stand, a gigantic figure, I must admit, for he carried a great sword I wager two lesser men could scarcely lift. I watched as his sword swung countless times and lay low as many. ’Twas then that the storm broke—”

“Were they from Lord Geoffrey?” It was a bare whisper, but Joseph heard.

“Aye, they were Lord Geoffrey’s men. You knew that he would send forces.”

“Of course I realized this, Joseph,” she sighed. “My father was vassal to Geoffrey, and his lord would reclaim what is his. Still, we did not send word to him. How did he arrive so soon?”

“I do not know,” Joseph confessed.

“Belwain!” The name was a shout of despair. Elizabeth jumped up and began to pace.

“Your uncle?” Joseph asked. “Why would he—”

“Of course,” Elizabeth interrupted. “We both know that my uncle was behind the massacre of my family. He went to Geoffrey. My God, he betrayed his own men to win Geoffrey’s favor. What lies he must have told.”

Joseph shook his head. “I always knew he was an evil man, but even I did not think he would go to such extremes.”

“Our cause is lost, Joseph,” Elizabeth replied in an agonized whisper. “Lord Geoffrey will listen to my uncle’s lies. Thomas and I will be placed in Belwain’s hands, and Thomas will be murdered, for only when my little brother is dead can Belwain become master of my home. Only then.”

“Perhaps Lord Geoffrey will see through Belwain’s plan,” Joseph answered.

“I have never met Lord Geoffrey,” Elizabeth said, “but I know he is said to possess a fierce temper and is most disagreeable at times. No, I do not think he would listen.”

“My lady,” Joseph implored, “perhaps—”

“Joseph, if I had only myself to consider, I would go to Lord Geoffrey and beg him to listen to my words, for Belwain’s perfidy should be told to all who would listen. But I must protect Thomas. Belwain thinks both my brother and I are dead.”

Elizabeth continued to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. “I have made up my mind, Joseph. Tomorrow we leave for London and the safety of my grandfather’s home.”

“And Belwain?” Joseph asked with hesitancy. A dread of what her answer was going to be made Joseph brace himself. He knew his mistress well. She would not allow Belwain acquittal for his evildoing.

“I will kill him.”

A log sizzled and a loud pop sounded in the silence that followed Elizabeth’s statement. A chill settled in the old servant’s bones. He had no doubt that his mistress would do as she said. Still, he had not explained all of his news, and bracing his leathery palms against his trembling knees, he rushed to finish the task. “Geoffrey’s men have Thomas.”

Elizabeth’s pacing abruptly stopped. “How can this be? He is with grandfather by now. You saw him leave with Roland. Surely you are mistaken.”

“Nay, my lady. I saw him at the castle with my own eyes. Thomas was asleep by the fire, but it was him. I had a clear view. Upon inquiry I learned that he is considered mute.” Joseph raised his hand when he saw his mistress was about to interrupt, and hastily continued the tale. “How he came to be with them I do not know. Geoffrey’s men will tell me nothing, but one thing is certain: they do not yet realize who the boy is, and he is being well cared for. Why, the one near death is the very one who saved his life, it is said.”

“Joseph, you talk in riddles. Who is near death?” In her frustration, Elizabeth pulled at a stray lock of golden hair blocking her vision and swiftly brushed it back over her shoulder. Joseph in turn let out a long sigh and scratched his heavy beard before he continued.

“Their leader took a blow to his head during the battle. They say he is dying.”

“Why did you risk going to the manor, Joseph?”

“Maynard the stable master sent word to me that Thomas was there. I had to see for myself,” Joseph explained. “When I heard that the leader of Geoffrey’s men was dying, I sought out the next in command. I thought of a rash plan and . . .” Joseph again cleared his throat before continuing. “I told them I knew of one well-versed in the art of healing and that I would bring this healer to tend their master on the condition that once he was well, the healer could safely leave. The lord’s vassal argued mightily over this, saying that he need make no promises, but I could not be budged, and in the end he agreed.”

Elizabeth had listened intently to Joseph’s plan, and with angry words demanded, “And what if he does not mend, Joseph? What, then?”

“It was all I could think of to get you near Thomas. Perhaps you can find a way to free him once you are inside. Do not frown so,” the servant pleaded. “Your mother tended the sick and many times I saw you accompany her. Surely you have some of her ways.”

Elizabeth considered what Joseph said. Her stomach seemed to twist into knots as she worried over what course of action to take. Getting Thomas to safety was the most important issue. If Lord Geoffrey’s men learned of her brother’s identity, they would take him to their leader. According to the law, Thomas would be next in line to rule the manor, but he would be placed under her uncle’s care until he was of age. As Thomas’s guardian, Belwain would make sure his only obstacle to his position of power was removed. The law was the law.

No, there wasn’t really any choice. “It is a good plan, Joseph. God be willing, their leader will mend. If not, we will have done all we can.” Elizabeth slowly made the sign of the cross, and Joseph quickly followed suit.

“God willing,” Joseph repeated as a prayer. “God willing.”

“I would prepare myself for the journey while you saddle my mare, Joseph.” A smile softened the command. Joseph immediately retreated, shutting the door firmly behind him. He rounded the hut and hastily readied the animal for his mistress. A few minutes later he was back and saw that Elizabeth had changed into a blue gown, simple in design yet rich in texture, and of the exact color of her eyes.

He accepted the bundle of herbs his mistress handed him and helped her into the saddle. He was having second thoughts about his rash plan, and his worry was not missed by his mistress. Elizabeth leaned down and gently patted his wrinkled hand. “Do not worry, Joseph. It is long past the time for action. All will be well.”

As if to ensure that his mistress’s words would hold true, Joseph again crossed himself. He then mounted the gelding he had borrowed from Herman the Bald, the assistant stable master, and led the way through the forest, his dagger drawn and ready in case of mischief along the way.

In less than an hour’s time Elizabeth and Joseph reached the battle-damaged gates to the manor at the top of the winding road. Two burly guards stood back to allow them entrance, standing clear of the menacing wolfhounds that flanked Elizabeth’s horse. Surprise registered on their faces but they kept their silence, only grinning with raised eyebrows at each other when the group had safely passed.

When the pair reached the inner bailey, Joseph was first to dismount and he quickly rushed to assist his mistress. He felt her tremble when she placed her hand in his, and knew that she was afraid. A surge of pride fairly overwhelmed him when he gazed into her eyes, for her outward appearance showed only a calm and composed exterior. “You do your father proud, my lady,” he whispered as he lifted her from the saddle. Aye, she had inherited her bravery from her father, Joseph knew, and he only wished that Thomas could see her now. For in truth, it was Joseph who was terrified of what was to come, and his gentle mistress was his calming tonic.

The sounds of men at work had been loud and furious when they first entered the manor, but now an ominous silence descended, chilling in its intensity. A sea of foreign faces stared at her intently. Elizabeth stood next to her horse for a moment and then summoned all of her courage and, head held high, started to walk into the throng of watching men.

Hadn’t Joseph said that there were barely two hundred of them? she wondered. Well, he was mistaken, she decided, for there were at least two times that number. And all of them were gaping! Their crude behavior didn’t intimidate Elizabeth. Pride straightened her shoulders, giving her a regal appearance. The wind caught her hood and snatched it from her head, and the heavy mass of sun-lightened curls quickly accepted their freedom, falling in disarray about her shoulders.

Elizabeth continued to walk with quiet dignity into the great hall, pausing only long enough to remove her cloak and hand it to the hovering Joseph. She noticed that he clutched her bundle of medicines in a tight grip, for the veins in his hands seemed to bulge from the pressure, and she gave him a quick smile in an effort to relieve some of his anxiety.

Outwardly oblivious to the men’s frank appraisals, and flanked by her loyal wolfhounds, Elizabeth turned and made her way to the great hearth at the far end of the hall. All were silent as she warmed her hands before the roaring fire. She wasn’t really cold, but used the time to compose herself before confronting her audience. When she could delay no longer, she turned and met the gazes staring at her. The dogs sat, one on either side of her.

Slowly she scanned the room. Home was gone; the banner and tapestry hanging in shreds against the damp stone walls, a reminder that death had entered Mont-wright; no echoed laughter remained in Elizabeth’s memory, only screams and torment filled her soul. This was just a bare room now; she could not even picture her mother sitting next to her father at the long oaken table . . . no, only see again and again the raised sword swinging toward her mother’s neck . . .

A cough stopped her thoughts. The heavy silence was broken. Elizabeth willed herself to turn her gaze from the torn and charred banner and focus on her audience. A bold red-haired soldier with a ready smile jumped up from his position at the great table and rushed over to stand directly in front of Elizabeth, blocking her view of the rest of the men. She judged him to be a squire, for he was too old to be a page, yet too young to have been knighted. His silly grin almost made Elizabeth smile but she was careful to keep her expression neutral.

The squire gazed into Elizabeth’s blue eyes and said in a loud voice, “You are a beauty. How will you care for our lord?”

When she did not respond to his gibe, for, in truth, she wasn’t sure just how to answer his question, he called to another, saying, “She has hair born from the sun. I wager it feels like the finest of silks.” He raised his hand to touch the curls then, but her voice, though soft, cut through his action like a knife.

“Do you not value your life?”

The squire stopped in midstride, his smile vanishing, for he had not missed the sound of the low growling from the dogs. He glanced at each animal and saw that the hair on the backs of their necks was raised and that their teeth, gleaming with dagger edges, were bared for attack.

When the young man looked again at Elizabeth, his face had paled, and he wore an angry frown. “I would do you no harm, for you are under the protection of the Hawk,” he whispered. “You need have no fear from me.”

“Then have no fear of me,” Elizabeth whispered for his ears only. She smiled then, and the squire’s anger evaporated. He knew that though the soldiers watched, they were unable to hear the exchange. She had saved his pride, and he was thankful. He smiled again. Elizabeth signaled the dogs and both relaxed against her sides, tails thumping against the rushes.

“Where is your leader?” she asked.

“If you will follow me, I will take you to him,” the squire suggested, his voice eager.

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and followed the boy. Joseph waited at the bottom of the steps and she gave him another smile as she accepted the bundle of herbs. She then hurried up the winding flight of steps. It was a difficult task but Elizabeth forced herself to remove all memories of times past when she had raced up the steps with her sisters and her little brother. The time for weeping would be later. Thomas’s future depended upon her now.

At the top of the first landing, another, older knight appeared. A scowl marred his sharp features and Elizabeth braced herself for another confrontation. “You are a woman! If this be some trick . . .”

“’Tis no trick,” Elizabeth responded. “I am versed in remedies that could help your leader and I will do all that I can to save him.”

“Why would you give your help?” he demanded.

“I offer no explanation,” Elizabeth answered. Irritation and weariness flowed through her but she was careful to hide these emotions. “Do you wish my help or not?”

The knight continued to glare at her for a moment longer. It was obvious to Elizabeth that he was suspicious of her motives, but she refused to calm his fears, remaining stubbornly silent while she matched him stare for stare.

“Leave the dogs here and follow me.” The order was clipped and fairly shouted.

“Nay,” Elizabeth promptly replied. “They go with me. They will cause no mischief unless someone tries to harm me.”

To her surprise he did not argue over this, though she noticed that he ran long fingers through his brown-and-gray-speckled hair in a gesture she was sure was pure exasperation.

He did not lead her to the triangle of doors housing the larger bedrooms to the left, but turned to the right and, lifting the burning torch from its lodging against the stone wall, hurried down the narrow corridor to stand before her very own bedroom. Two sentries guarded the door and both looked up in surprise when they glimpsed Elizabeth.

With marked trepidation Elizabeth followed the knight through the entrance. Quickly she scanned the room and was frankly amazed, for it was exactly as she had left it. Her chamber was smaller than the others, but it had been her favorite of all the bedrooms, both for its isolation from the others and for the breathtaking view it allowed from the small window that over-looked the forest beyond.

The hearth took up most of the far wall, and was flanked by two wooden chairs with royal-blue cushions her sister Margaret had sewn for her.

Her gaze moved to the banner hanging above the hearth, its blue color matching the cushions with pale yellow threads interwoven in the design of her two wolfhounds. The banner’s only other coloring was that of a deep burgundy, near the top of the tapestry, outlining the design of her pet hawk. Her heart ached as memories of the many times she and her mother had worked on the banner assaulted her.

No! her mind cried. ’Tis not the time. Elizabeth shook her head and this action was not missed by the watching knight. He, too, studied the banner and then turned back to Elizabeth. He recognized the fleeting torment she tried to hide. Speculation and curiosity appeared in his eyes but Elizabeth gave him little attention. She had turned to look upon the bed, and with the blue and yellow draping tied back on each side, she had a clear view of the leader. She was immediately struck by the largeness of the man, thinking he was even taller than her grandfather.

His hair was the color of the raven, and almost touched the drape at the head of the bed while his feet nearly hung over the other end. For some unexplainable reason, even in his weakened condition, he frightened her, and she stood transfixed while she studied the harshness of his features. He was a handsome knight, she admitted, handsome and . . . hard.

The warrior began to thrash about from side to side, moaning in a weakened yet deep voice, and his movement prompted her into action. She quickly placed her hand upon his damp, bronzed forehead, gently brushing the wet hair out of her way as she felt his skin. Her milky white hand was in stark contrast to his deeply tanned and weathered skin, and her touch stilled his motion.

“He burns with fever,” Elizabeth remarked. “How long has he been like this?” Even as she spoke, she noticed the swelling above his right temple and gently probed around it. The warrior’s companion watched her from his position at the foot of the bed, a frown upon his face.

“I saw him take the blow. He fell to the ground and has been like this ever since.”

Elizabeth frowned in concentration. She wasn’t sure what she should do next. “This makes little sense,” she countered, “for a blow does not bring the fever.” She straightened then and with determination in her voice commanded, “Help me strip him.”

Elizabeth did not give the companion time to question her motives, for she immediately began to unfasten the lacings at the warrior’s back. The knight hesitated for a brief minute and then helped by pulling the chausses from the lower half of the now-sleeping form.

Though she tried mightily, Elizabeth was unable to pull the quilted hauberk, made of thick cotton, and soaked with the fever’s sweat, over the massive shoulders, and she finally admitted defeat. She instinctively reached for the dagger she carried at her waist, thinking she would have to cut the material in order to sponge the heat from the warrior’s chest.

The companion saw the glint of metal and, not understanding her reasoning, knocked the knife to the floor with the back of his hand.

The dogs began to growl but Elizabeth quickly silenced them and turned to face the knight. Her voice was gentle and devoid of all anger. “Though you have no reason to trust me, you need have no fear. I was merely going to cut his shirt.”

“What is the need?” the knight demanded with frustration.

Elizabeth ignored the question and bent to retrieve her dagger. She split the shirt at the neck and tore the garment wide with her hands. Without looking at the angry companion, she commanded that he bring her cool water so that she could bathe the sweat and heat from his lord.

While the knight relayed her orders to the sentries outside the door, Elizabeth scanned her patient’s arms and neck, looking for possible injuries. She willed her eyes to travel lower and felt her cheeks grow warm. Knowing that she blushed at the sight of his nakedness made her angry with herself, though in truth she had never seen a naked man before. Although it was the custom for the daughters to assist in the bathing of the visiting gentry, her father held too much distrust with the appetites of his friends and decreed that the servants would do the assisting, not his daughters.

Curiosity overcame embarrassment and Elizabeth quickly looked at the lower half of his body. She was mildly surprised that he did not display the fiercesome weapon she had heard that all men possess, and wondered if the female servants she had overheard had exaggerated, or if all men were built like this one. Perhaps he was defective.

Elizabeth concentrated on the task at hand and crossed to her chest. She removed clean linen and tore the material into long strips. When the water arrived, she began to sponge the warrior’s face.

He is as still as death, she thought, and his ragged breathing is much too shallow. He carried an angry red scar that began at the edge of his left eye and curved, as a half-moon, ending somewhere behind his ear, well hidden by the black, slightly curling hair. With the wet cloth she gently traced its jagged outline, thinking that the scar did little to detract from the leader’s appearance.

She washed his neck and chest, noting still more scars. “He has too many marks to suit me,” she voiced aloud.

Elizabeth stopped sponging when she reached his waist. “Help me turn him,” she said to the companion.

The companion’s patience was at an end, his frustration evident with his bellow, “By all the saints, woman, he needs not a bath but a cure.”

“I would know that the blow to his head is all he carries,” Elizabeth replied just as loudly. “You have not even taken the time to remove his battle clothes.”

The companion’s response was to fold his arms against his chest, a fierce glare upon his face, and Elizabeth concluded that she would get no assistance. She gave him what she hoped was a scathing look, and then turned back to the warrior. She reached across the bed and grabbed the unresisting hand with both of hers. Though she pulled with all of her strength, the warrior did not budge. She continued to pull, unconsciously biting her lower lip in her effort, and thought she was making progress when the hand she held jerked back to its former position. Elizabeth went with it, and ended up draped across the lord’s massive chest. She frantically tried to pry her hands free, but the knight now had a firm grip and seemed, even in sleep, disinclined to cooperate.

The vassal watched Elizabeth’s puny attempt to free herself, shaking his head all the while, and then yelled, “Out of the way, woman.” He released the hold and roughly hauled her to her feet. With one sure movement, he flipped her unresisting patient over onto his stomach. Irritation turned to horror when the vassal saw the blood-covered undershirt stuck to the warrior’s back, and he stepped back in shock.

Elizabeth was most relieved when she saw the injury, for this was something she could handle. She sat on the side of the bed and gently pried the material from its festering imprisonment. When the companion could clearly view the extent of the diagonal gash, he raised a hand to his brow. Unashamed that tears filled his eyes, he whispered in an anguished voice, “I never thought to check . . . ”

“Do not berate yourself,” Elizabeth replied. She gave him a sympathetic smile before continuing, “Now I understand what is causing the fever. We will need more water, but this time it must be hot, just to boiling, please.”

The vassal nodded and hurried out of the room. Within minutes a steaming kettle was placed on the floor next to Elizabeth. In truth, Elizabeth dreaded what she must do, had seen her mother do countless times in the past for those with similar injuries. Repeating a prayer for guidance, she dipped a clean strip of cloth into the kettle and grimaced from the discomfort it caused her hands. She ignored the pain and rung the cloth of excess water. She was now ready, and yet she hesitated. “You will need to hold him down, I fear,” she whispered, “for this will pain him considerably . . . but it needs be done.” She lifted blue eyes to meet the vassal’s anxious frown and waited.

The companion nodded his understanding and placed both of his hands on the broad shoulders of his leader.

Still she hesitated. “I must draw the poison out or he will surely die.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she was convincing the vassal or herself that the pain she was about to cause was necessary.

“Aye,” was the companion’s only response. If Elizabeth had listened closely, she would have heard the gentle understanding in his voice, but she was too distraught over the agony she would soon inflict.

Taking a deep breath, she placed the steaming cloth full upon the open wound. The leader’s reaction was swift and furious. He tried to lift the branding cloth from his back with a fierce jerk, but the vassal’s hold was great and he was unable to shed his torment. The agonized cry from the leader tore at Elizabeth’s heart and she closed her eyes in distress.

The door to the bedroom burst open and the two guards rushed inside, swords drawn. Fear and confusion showed in their expressions. The vassal shook his head and told them to put their weapons away.

“It must be done.” The words from Elizabeth calmed the guards and they retreated to their posts outside the door.

“He would never cry out if he was awake,” the vassal said to Elizabeth. “He does not know what he is doing,” he explained.

“Are you thinking it makes him less a man to vent his agony?” Elizabeth asked while she placed a second cloth over the wound.

“He is a fearless warrior,” the vassal replied.

“The fever rules his actions now,” Elizabeth answered.

The companion’s nod made Elizabeth want to smile. She turned back to her patient and lifted both strips from the wound, bringing yellow and red residue with them. She repeated the procedure countless times, until only bright red blood oozed from the deep opening. By the time she was finished, her hands were as red as the wound, and blistered. She rubbed them together in an effort to ease the sting, and then reached for her bundle. Speaking more to herself than to the vassal, she said, “I do not think there is need to seal the wound with a hot knife, for it bleeds clean and true and not overmuch.”

The leader was unconscious, and for that Elizabeth was thankful for she knew that the medicine she must pack the wound with was not soothing. She applied a liberal amount of the foul-smelling salve and then bandaged his entire back. Once this was done, the companion turned the leader for her and she forced water containing crushed sage, mallows, and night-shade roots down his throat.

There was nothing more to do. Elizabeth’s muscles ached from the strain and she stood and walked to the window. She lifted the fur blocking the wind and was surprised to find that darkness had descended. She leaned wearily against the stone and let the cool air revive her. Finally she turned back to the companion, noting for the first time how tired and haggard he appeared. “Go and find some rest. I will watch over your leader.”

“Nay,” he replied. “I can sleep only when the Hawk has recovered. Not before.” He placed another log in the fire while he spoke.

“By what name are you called?” Elizabeth questioned.

“Roger.”

“Roger, why do you call your leader the Hawk?”

The vassal looked at her from his bent position in front of the fire and then gruffly answered, “All those who fight in battle with him call him thus. It is the way of things.”

His noncommittal reply made little sense to Elizabeth but she didn’t want to irritate him by questioning him further on the matter. She would get to the heart of the need now. “ ’Tis said there is a boy here who does not speak and that the Hawk saved his life. Is this true?”

“Aye.” Suspicion was back in the vassal’s expression and Elizabeth knew she would have to tread softly.

“If he be the one I am thinking of, I know of his family and would be willing to take him with me when I leave.”

The companion eyed her thoughtfully. His lack of reply was maddening but Elizabeth forced herself to remain calm. “What say you, Roger?”

“I will see what I can do, though only the Baron can make that decision.”

“But Baron Geoffrey never travels here! It would take a month of masses before word returned that I might take the boy. Surely he would want the child reunited with his parents. Can you not act in his stead? I am sure he would be pleased not to be bothered, for Montwright is but a small, insignificant holding compared to his others.” Elizabeth almost added that she had heard her father say so on countless occasions. And she knew it to be true, for Baron Geoffrey had never paid her father a visit. No, Lord Thomas always traveled to the Baron’s main holding when business needed to be conducted.

The companion was surprised by her vehement out-burst. “A month? You have only to wait until the fever leaves and he awakens to ask him,” he argued. “And you are mistaken, lass. There is no such thing as a holding too insignificant for Geoffrey’s inspection. He protects all who pledge fealty, from the highest to the lowest.”

“Are you telling me that the Hawk can give me permission? He can act in the Baron’s stead?” Elizabeth asked, her voice hopeful. “Then of course he shall,” she rushed to answer herself, “for I have taken care of him. He can do no less.” She smiled with relief and clasped her hands together.

“Do you not know who you have just tended?” Roger asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Elizabeth frowned at him and waited.

“The Hawk is Lord Geoffrey, overlord of Mont-wright.” Roger sat down in one of the chairs and propped his feet up on the other, waiting her reaction.

“He is Baron Geoffrey?” Astonishment sounded in her tone.

“Aye,” Roger acknowledged. He crossed his ankles and smiled. “Why are you so surprised? All know of the Hawk,” he said with arrogance. “His reputation is well known.”

“Yes, but I thought him to be old . . . older than . . .” She motioned to the sleeping warrior and studied him a long minute, her mind racing with this turn of events. Her father had never mentioned that his overlord was so young. Elizabeth had just assumed that he was an old man, like the lesser barons she had met. She leaned back against the cold stone and looked back at Roger. He seemed amused by her ignorance.

“He is the youngest and the most powerful under William,” Roger answered. Pride underlined his words.

“If the lord mends, then he will be under my obligation, will he not?” Elizabeth asked. She said a quick prayer that it would be true, that Geoffrey was an honorable man, for then perhaps he would listen to her. She could convince him of her uncle’s evilness. She must convince him! If he mended . . .

A loud rap on the door interrupted Elizabeth’s thoughts. Roger motioned her to stay and went to open the door. He spoke in whispered words to the sentries and then turned back to Elizabeth. “Your servant wishes to speak with you.”

Elizabeth nodded and followed one sentry to the end of the corridor where Joseph stood waiting. She could tell by his expression that he was upset. “Joseph, it is the Baron himself who I am caring for.”

“Aye,” Joseph said. He waited until the sentry was well out of earshot and back at his post before continuing, “Will he heal?”

“There is a chance,” Elizabeth said. “We must pray now. It is Thomas’s only hope,” she added.

Joseph was frowning more ferociously and Elizabeth shook her head. “This is good news, Joseph. Can you not see that the lord will be under my obligation whether I be a woman or not. He will have to listen to me. . . .”

“But the one in charge,” he said, motioning toward her bedroom, “the vassal. . .”

“His name is Roger,” Elizabeth informed her servant.

“He has sent for Belwain.”

“What is this?” Elizabeth demanded. She lowered her voice and said, “Why? How do you know this?”

“Herman the Bald overheard his orders. The messengers left an hour ago. It is true,” he said when Elizabeth began to shake her head, “Belwain will be here in a week or more.”

“Dear God,” Elizabeth whispered. “He must not arrive before I talk with Geoffrey.” She clutched at the servant’s sleeve, panic in her voice, and rushed on, “We must hide Thomas. We have to get him away from here until I can be sure of Geoffrey. Belwain must not know we still live.”

“It isn’t possible, my lady. Belwain will know as soon as he is within the walls. Too many have seen you return. He will know. And it is only a matter of time before this Roger learns the truth.”

“I must think,” Elizabeth whispered. She realized she was pulling on the servant’s tunic and dropped her hand. “Talk with Herman. He is faithful and will keep his silence. And he is a freeman, Joseph. The two of you, you must take Thomas, hide him. There are many places. Can you do this?”

“Aye,” Joseph answered, straightening his shoulders, “I’ll not fail you. I will find a place.”

Elizabeth nodded, placing her trust in the humble servant. He would not fail her. “It will only be for a short time, until Geoffrey awakens,” she said.

“But what of you? If the lord does not awake, if the sleeping spirits continue to hold him and Belwain gets here . . . and if the lord dies . . .”

“I will have to leave,” Elizabeth said, more to herself than to Joseph. “I’ll not be here when Belwain arrives. If the lord awakens soon, perhaps I can speak with him before Belwain has a chance to weave his lies.” She shuddered and then said, “If not, and he dies, then you must bring Thomas to me. Somehow we will make it to my mother’s father. He will know what to do.”

“Will you return to the waterfall?” Joseph asked, fear in his voice. He would not be able to ride with her now that he was given the duty of taking Thomas, and his worry for his mistress was tremendous.

“I will not stay here,” she whispered in a harsh voice. “Belwain has violated these walls. I’ll not be here to see him return. I’ll not.”

“Aye, my lady, calm yourself. Surely the warrior will awaken before you must leave, before Belwain arrives, and he will listen to you,” he said, his voice soothing, as if he were speaking to an injured child.

He waited while his mistress calmed her breathing. The change that came over her whenever her uncle’s name was mentioned frightened the old man. He knew that she had witnessed the slaughter, understood the anguish and torment pulling at her soul, and believed, as she did, that Belwain was behind it all. Still, he wished she could speak of it, tell to let some of the pain out. . . . She was so very different from her two half sisters, Margaret and Catherine. Perhaps it was because she was half-Saxon.

When Master Thomas had arrived at Montwright with his two little daughters, he was a hard, unhappy man. But all that had changed within six months, for he had met and married a fair-haired Saxon beauty. His Saxon wife was a hellion, to be sure, but Thomas had a way with her, and soon all could see the couple were coming to terms with each other. A year later, little Elizabeth was born. Thomas decided he was not destined to have a son and poured his love into the little blue-eyed babe. Those two held a special bond between them, and when, ten years later, little Thomas was born, the bond still remained.

While Elizabeth did not copy her father’s masculine traits, she did imitate his reserved manner, his way of masking his feelings. Both Catherine and Margaret would wear their emotions on their faces, for all the world to see, but not Elizabeth. Joseph believed that Elizabeth was the thread that held the family together. She was so fiercely loyal, and family was the most important thing to her. She was the peacemaker and the rebel-rouser, her father’s pride when she rode beside him on the hunt, her mother’s frustration when she tried her hand at sewing. Aye, it had been a happy, contented family, until now. . . .

“Did I tell you that Herman has sent three men to Belwain’s holding? Mayhap they can gather the proof we need, for if they talk with Belwain’s servants . . .”

“Herman is a good man,” Elizabeth interrupted. Her voice was relaxed now, and the servant let out a little sigh of relief. “But I do not think Belwain’s servants will speak the truth. They fear him too greatly. Joseph, tell Herman I thank him for his effort,” Elizabeth whispered.

“He loved your family too, my lady. It was Thomas who freed him. You were just a babe and probably do not remember, but Herman will not forget the debt to the Montwrights.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth returned, “I have heard the tale.” She smiled and added, “I could not understand why everyone referred to Herman as the Bald, for his head was thickly covered with hair, and my father would grow quite embarrassed whenever I asked him the reason.”

Joseph assumed that she still did not know the reason, and blushed. He hoped she would not ask him to explain. It was a silly men’s joke and he certainly would not damage his mistress’s delicate ears with the truth.

The happy memory with her father helped to lift Elizabeth’s spirits. She whispered, “We will get through this, Joseph. Now I must get back to the Baron. Pray, Joseph. Pray Geoffrey heals. Pray that he will listen to me. Listen and believe.”

She patted the servant on his stooped shoulder and slowly made her way back to the bedroom. Her stomach was churning again and she fought the urge to throw up. The thought of Belwain returning to Montwright was overwhelming. Had there been no little brother to consider, then Elizabeth would have welcomed the news. She would have planned her trap, and met Belwain with an eager embrace, her dagger at the ready.

She would bide her time. Revenge would be hers. Her resolve kept her upright, her steps sure. It kept her sane, in this insane time, this insane situation. Revenge and her duty to her little brother. Only when her brother’s life was protected and his lands secure and only when Belwain paid with his life for his mortal sins could Elizabeth allow the abyss of desolation yawning before her to make its claim. Only then.

When Elizabeth opened the door to the bedroom, she found her two animals had taken up vigilance on either side of the lord’s bed. They had taken to the warrior, Elizabeth surmised from their watchful attendance. She resumed her seat on the wooden stool next to the bed and once again sponged the lord’s forehead.

For two more days and nights Elizabeth continued her vigil beside the lord. She changed his dressing countless times, saying the Paternoster twelve times each and every time she sprinkled marrow and sage upon the healing wound, just as her mother had taught her.

She took her meals in the room and only left the leader’s side when absolutely necessary. On one such occasion, as she made her way down the steps, she spotted Thomas in the great hall. He looked up and gave her a glance, and in that fleeting second, Elizabeth recognized that he did not know who she was. She did not let that disturb her, for there would be time in the future to help him mend. And perhaps it was for the good that little Thomas did not remember. He too had seen his family murdered, and if God was indeed a good and compassionate God, then mayhap little Thomas would never remember any of what took place.

Elizabeth turned her attention to Joseph, standing next to her little brother. The servant looked pointedly at the boy and then nodded to Elizabeth. With a little nod of her own, Elizabeth acknowledged that he would do what was necessary, and continued on her way.

She had made up her mind that she could wait only one more day. Then she would leave. And tonight, while the soldiers slept, Thomas would be taken by Joseph. If only the Baron would cooperate! If he would just wake up and listen to her! With these thoughts Elizabeth returned to her patient.

Roger had taken control of the dogs, seeing to their food and exercise, a task he disliked immensely if his grumblings were any indication. The reason was the dogs’ strange behavior whenever Roger approached the sleeping knight. “They act as if I would harm my lord,” he muttered with disgust.

“They protect him,” Elizabeth said, smiling. She too was surprised by the animals’ obvious loyalty to the warrior and could not explain it.

Several times during the second day Roger left her alone with his lord and Elizabeth acknowledged that she had finally gained his trust.

It was the middle of the second night when Elizabeth, sitting beside the sleeping form, again took up the damp cloth and bathed his brow.

The warrior now lay in a deep, seemingly untroubled sleep, his breathing no longer shallow. Elizabeth was pleased with his progress but thought that the fever still held him prisoner.

“What manner of man are you,” she whispered, “that so many are so loyal?” She closed her eyes then, for the quiet was soothing, but when she reopened them, she was shocked to find the warrior’s deep brown eyes intently watching her. Elizabeth’s reaction was instinctive; she reached out to touch his forehead. His left hand intercepted hers and slowly, effortlessly, he pulled her toward him. When her breasts were pressed tightly against his bare chest, and their lips were but inches from each other, he spoke. “Protect me well, nymph.”

Elizabeth smiled at his words, sure that he spoke with delirium.

They continued to stare at each other for an eternity of seconds and then the lord’s other hand moved to the back of her neck. With gentle pressure he forced their lips to meet. His mouth was warm and soft and the feeling was not unpleasant, Elizabeth decided. As soon as it began, the chaste kiss ended, and again they studied each other.

Elizabeth could not seem to draw her gaze away, for his eyes, rich and velvet and as dark as his hair, seemed to hypnotize her with their intensity.

Like a child who knows he will not be caught, Elizabeth grew bold and gave in to her innocent curiosity, carefully sliding her hands behind the knight’s neck to rest entwined in his hair. The softness against the hard muscles surprised her and she slowly began to massage his neck. Still they watched each other. If Elizabeth had been more astute, she would have noticed that his eyes were no longer glazed over with fever.

She made her decision. This time it was she who pulled him to her and touched his mouth with her own in a sweet, gentle caress. She did not really know how to proceed, for she was totally unskilled in the art of making love and was much like a struggling toddler taking his first cautious steps as she experimented against his lips. A warm tingling sensation began to spread through her limbs and she enjoyed this novel feeling.

Her curiosity satisfied, she tried to pull back but the lord was no longer passive in her embrace. His hold tightened and he became the aggressor, his mouth suddenly hard and demanding as he forced his tongue deep into her parted mouth, bruising her tender lips in his assault. Elizabeth’s body reacted swiftly to his sensual attack, tentatively touching his tongue with her own in the beginning of the duel as old as time. It was an amazing moment. Feelings Elizabeth had never known she possessed fought for recognition, urging her onward in this new unsatiable quest. Alarmed more by her uninhibited response than by his assault, Elizabeth jerked back from his rapidly weakening hold. She fought to control the trembling of her body, rubbing her swollen lips with her fingers, looking everywhere but at his face, for she knew her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

Finally she willed her gaze to return to his face and sighed with relief. The warrior was falling asleep. Within seconds his eyes were closed.

With a soft laugh she whispered, “You burn with fever, my lord, and will remember none of this.”

To her consternation, the warrior slowly smiled.

Chapter Two

ON THE SIXTH DAY THE LORD AWAKENED.

The mist from the drug-induced sleep was slow to recede and in its wake, confusion and momentary disorientation clouded the warrior’s mind. He opened his eyes to bright sunlight and stared at the area visible to him from his position on his side while he struggled to remember where he was. It looked so familiar and yet so strange and new. A frown marred his rugged features as scenes of the battle flashed before his eyes, interfering with his need to know what had followed.

With a muttered oath of frustration, the knight rolled onto his back. A stab of pain, not unlike the initial thrust from the enemy’s sword, shot up his shoulder blades and he inhaled deeply in an effort to stop the tremors coursing through his body. The brief flicker of pain in his eyes was his only acknowledgment of the injury, for pain was an accepted constant in his life. To give it voice was to weaken. Strength, invincible and absolute, was Lord Geoffrey’s power, and weakness, the hated antithesis, belonged only to lesser men.

“Welcome back to the living, my lord.” The gruff voice of his faithful vassal, Roger, removed the scowl of concentration from the knight’s face. Now he would have some answers. He nodded, noting his vassal’s haggard appearance. The proof of his companion’s vigil during his illness was obvious. His loyalty pleased the lord.

“What day is this?” Geoffrey asked, his voice rough from sleep.

“It has been six days since you were felled,” Roger answered.

The lord frowned over this information, glancing around the room once again while he formulated questions in his mind. The sight of the banner hanging above the hearth halted his wondering gaze. For a long silent moment, Lord Geoffrey studied the design. Suddenly the memory of his “vision” blocked all thought, all movement. She was alive, she was real, and the scenes of what had transpired within this room were as clear and fresh as the new day.

“Where is she?”

“You remember?” Surprise sounded in the vassal’s voice.

“Yes,” Geoffrey answered in a soft voice. “Bring her to me.” The terseness of the command after the gentle acknowledgment jarred Roger.

“She has gone.”

Lord Geoffrey’s bellow of outrage could be heard in the courtyard below, and was both intimidating and somewhat heartening. It clearly stated his displeasure over some matter, but also indicated that he was well on the mend. Roger took the verbal blows with practiced ease, knowing full well that the tirade would soon end and that he would then be allowed the opportunity to explain all. Lord Geoffrey possessed a fierce temper that was quick to ignite, but he was a fair man. One only had to wait until the anger eased, provided one was courageous enough, Roger mused, and then state his case.

The command finally came. “From the beginning, Roger. Tell me.”

Roger’s narrative was swift and without interruption. Only when the telling was complete did he pause for breath, for though he had served his lord nearly five summers, it was a fact that his leader still had the power to undermine his ability to think clearly when he was as upset as he now appeared.

“My lord, I would have bargained with the devil, and met his terms willingly, to save your life.” It was said as a fervent vow, and Geoffrey could find little fault with his friend. His loyalty was absolute. “Still, I did try to find out where she lived. Yet everyone I questioned seemed not to know her.”

“Do they speak the truth?”

“I do not think so. I think they try to protect her, but I do not understand why.”

“The boy she asked about . . . bring him to me,” Geoffrey commanded. He forced himself to control his frustration and alarm. She was gone! Outside the walls, unprotected . . .

Roger hurried to the door and gave the order to one of the sentries. He then returned to the chair before the hearth and sat down. “The boy almost got away,” he began, shaking his head. “One of the guards intercepted the girl’s servant stealing away with the lad. I have questioned the servant but he will tell me nothing. I thought I would wait for you to make sense of all of this.”

“The boy will tell me all I need to know,” Geoffrey said.

“He still does not speak, my lord. How—”

“Do not question me,” Geoffrey interrupted, his tone sharp. “I must be certain.”

Within short minutes, the child stood before the lord. He showed neither fear nor timidity, meeting the leader’s probing stare with a wide grin. Geoffrey was amused by the lad’s fearlessness, for it was true that grown men were known to quake in their boots when Geoffrey turned his attention to them, yet this wisp of a boy acted as if he was about to break into a fit of giggles. He was dressed in peasant garb and in need of a bath.

The child wasn’t afraid. Thrilled was a far better description, for the man who had saved his life, the warrior who destroyed the band of men waylaying his protectors on the isolated route to London, was finally awake. The child’s memory began with Lord Geoffrey, and although the leader could have no knowledge of this fact, he was impressed with the innocent acceptance and trust in the lad’s eyes.

“You will not die now?” the child asked. Both Roger and Geoffrey showed surprise that the boy could speak, but before either of them could remark on the matter, the little one continued, “Everyone heard you yelling and they smiled.”

The child sounded so relieved and so sure of himself that Lord Geoffrey found himself smiling.

“Tell me your name,” he commanded in a gruff voice.

The child opened his mouth, frowned, and then shrugged his shoulders. His voice held surprise when he replied, “I do not know my name.”

“Do you know where you came from, how you came to be here?” Roger asked the question and the boy turned to stare at him.

“He saved me,” the child said, pointing at Geoffrey. “That is how I came to be here,” he explained. “I am to be a knight.” The boy’s shoulders straightened with pride. He had figured that out all by himself.

Lord Geoffrey exchanged a look with Roger and turned back to the boy. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, although he already held the answer.

“To you?” The child no longer looked so sure of himself. He clutched his hands together while he waited for an answer.

The nervous action was not missed by the warrior. He had rarely dealt with one so young, but the instinct to protect, to guard, pulled at him. “Aye,” he answered, inwardly wincing at the harshness in his tone. “Now leave me. We will talk again, later.”

The child looked relieved. The lord watched him run to the door, wishing the boy to smile instead of frown and wondering why he felt this way. The fever must have left him weak in spirit as well as body, he decided.

“My lord?” the boy asked from the doorway, his back facing the leader so that his expression was hidden.

“Yes?” the lord answered impatiently.

“Are you my father?” He turned then, and Geoffrey had a clear view of the torment and confusion on the boy’s face.

“No.”

His answer brought tears to the youngster’s eyes. Lord Geoffrey glanced at Roger with an expression that clearly stated, “Now what?” Roger cleared his throat and muttered to the boy, “He is not your father, lad. He is your lord. Your father was his vassal.”

“My father is dead?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey answered. “And you are in my care now.”

“To train to be a knight?” the boy asked with a frown.

“Yes, to train to be a knight.”

“You are not my father, but you are my lord,” the boy stated very matter-of-factly. “ ’Tis almost the same thing,” he announced, challenging Lord Geoffrey with an unwavering stare. “Is it not?”

“Yes,” the warrior answered with exasperation. “ ’Tis the same.”

Neither the lord nor Roger said another word until the door was closed behind the child. They could hear him boasting to the guards posted at the door, and Roger was the first to smile. “Thomas surely had his hands full with that one,” he chuckled. “And he was not a young man when the boy came along, if my mind serves me well.”

“How could I have forgotten?” the leader asked. “Thomas had several children, all female, and fully grown before his wife gave him a son. His pride reached London,” Geoffrey added.

“And the girl?” Roger asked.

“She is his sister. You have only to look at the boy’s eyes, Roger, to see the truth. They are replicas of hers.” Geoffrey swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His legs felt weak but he braced them against the side of the bed and took a deep breath, willing himself strength. “She hides from me, Roger, and I will know the reason.”

“We were told that the entire family was killed,” Roger said. “And the boy was dressed as a peasant . . .”

“Obviously for his protection, for he is heir to Montwright. . . . ”

“The servant who tried to take the lad, perhaps he can tell you the answers to this riddle,” Roger advised.

“Yes. I am sure he knows where his mistress hides,” Geoffrey agreed. “He will tell me why she is afraid.”

“Afraid?” Roger laughed. “I doubt she is afraid of anyone or anything. Why, she had all of us doing her bidding. Horace tells all who will listen how the golden one walked into the great hall and enchanted all who were present. All but me,” Roger added.

“You were not enchanted?” the leader inquired with one raised eyebrow.

“Humbled,” Roger admitted with a sheepish grin. “I am too old to be enchanted.”

Geoffrey chuckled and walked over to look out the window. He stared out at the forest while he listened to Roger.

“When I first saw her, I was filled with anger. I did not expect a slip of a girl to tend you and I was convinced that you were dying. But she knew what she was about. Her lack of fear intrigued me. She was a contradiction,” Roger admitted, “but I noticed the vulnerability in her when she asked me about the boy. I was too exhausted at the time to put two and two together. I see the connection now.”

“Why did she leave, knowing that her home was once again secure? To chance the outside when she could be well protected here . . . ” Geoffrey turned from the window and added, “I will find her.”

“And when you do?” Roger asked.

“I will make her mine,” the warrior answered in a hard, determined voice. “She will be mine.”

The vow was made.

It took less than an hour to conduct the necessary business of righting Montwright. Roger had been most efficient, and the men were all hard at work reinforcing the walls. Lord Geoffrey dressed—all in black, as was his mood—and waited impatiently in the great hall for the servant to be brought before him.

He was becoming wild with anger, frustration, and worry. Finding the girl before harm befell her was becoming an obsession. He admitted as much but could not explain it. He only knew that seeing her in the forest before the battle to regain Montwright Manor was indeed an omen, and the omen had become reality, had it not, when he awakened to find her caring for him? His reasoning reeked of superstition, yet he was powerless to control it, and for the first time in his twenty-seven years, he found himself ruled by emotion. It was a chilling admission. Emotion had no place in his life. It clouded reason. Discipline and logic, as cold and sharp as the blade he swung for power’s sake, ruled his every action. And it would be so again, he pledged, just as soon as the girl was found. Found and claimed.

“Here he is, my lord,” Roger said from the doorway. He shoved the trembling servant to the floor in front of the lord.

Lord Geoffrey turned from his position in front of the hearth and gave the servant a hard look. “Your name?”

“I am called Joseph, my lord. Loyal servant to Thomas,” he added. The servant knelt and bowed his head, showing his respect.

“You have a strange way of proving your loyalty to Thomas,” Geoffrey said in a hard voice. “Trying to take his heir to the outside could well cost you your life.”

“I meant him no harm, my lord,” Joseph whispered. “I was trying to protect him.”

“Protect him from me?” Geoffrey’s bellow fairly unnerved the servant.

He shook his head and tried to find his voice. “Nay, my lord! We only thought to keep little Thomas safe until you were recovered.”

“And you thought him unsafe here?” Geoffrey asked.

“It was overheard that Belwain, uncle to little Thomas, had been sent for. My mistress believes that Belwain was behind the murders of her family. She did not want Thomas here when her uncle arrived.”

“And that is why she has left?” Geoffrey asked, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

“Aye, my lord.” Joseph sagged his shoulders and chanced a look at the fiercesome man before him.

“And are you loyal to me?” Geoffrey asked.

“Aye, my lord,” Joseph answered, placing a hand on his chest where his heart beat a wild pace.

“Stand and prove your loyalty,” Geoffrey demanded in a harsh voice.

Joseph immediately obeyed. He stood with his head slightly bowed and waited for the next order. It was not long in coming.

“Tell me where your mistress hides.”

“Near the waterfall, about an hour’s ride from here, my lord,” Joseph answered without hesitation. “When she learns that you are awake, she will return to talk with you,” he predicted.

“Her name?” Geoffrey demanded, though his tone was not as forceful now that he knew the servant would cooperate.

“She is Elizabeth, and she is youngest daughter to Thomas,” Joseph answered. His hands began to ache, and he only then realized he was gripping them. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tried to calm himself.

“Was she here when the attack began?”

“Yes, my lord,” Joseph replied, shivering with the memory. “All but Lady Elizabeth and her little brother were killed. I was able to help them escape but not before they both witnessed their mother—”

“I know,” Geoffrey interrupted. “I was given the body count. . . and the way of their deaths was recounted to me.” His mouth settled into a grim line at the memory of Roger’s recent description of the mutilated bodies. “And you say she witnessed this?”

“Both she and the boy. The little lad has not spoken a word since, until today,” he amended. “And he seems to have no memory of the event.”

“Do you know who was behind the attack?” he asked the servant.

“I did not recognize any of them, for several wore black hoods, but my mistress believes Belwain responsible. With your permission, my lord, I will bring her to you.”

“No,” Geoffrey answered. “I will bring her back.”

Roger’s voice interrupted the discussion. “My lord? The priest has arrived.”

Geoffrey nodded, inwardly sighing with relief. Though the dead had been buried, they had not been blessed. “See-to his comforts, Roger. He is to stay here until I return.”

“May I show you the way to the waterfall, my lord?” Joseph’s timid voice turned Lord Geoffrey’s attention back to him.

“No,” Geoffrey answered. “I go alone. Her father was a loyal vassal. It is my duty. You have done your mistress a disservice by keeping silent, but I will not fault you, for I have heard of her stubborn inclination. And you did save her life. I will not forget that! Still, the responsibility for her well-being now rests with me. Your job is done.”

Joseph felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He watched Lord Geoffrey as he strode out of the hall, thinking that Elizabeth would indeed be well protected. Lord Geoffrey appeared to be a man of steel, Joseph gauged, and his strength would be Elizabeth’s shield against all who would try to harm her. One question remained, nagging Joseph from the recesses of his mind: who would protect Lady Elizabeth from Lord Geoffrey?

Not a cloud marred the horizon as Geoffrey made his way through the forest in search of the waterfall. He had ridden hard for over an hour when the sound of rushing water, echoing through the lush green foliage, drew his attention. He quickly dismounted and secured the reins to the nearest tree branch and then began to make his way through the denseness. The mist from the cascading water mixed with the heat from the afternoon sun and formed a blanket of steam that covered his boots.

He knew from Joseph’s description that the hut was well hidden within a cluster of trees just beyond the gathering pool. He was headed in that direction when a splash, followed by a faint cough, stopped his advance. Geoffrey automatically drew his sword and turned, waiting for another sound that would give him advantage over his enemy, when he caught a glimmer of gold reflected through the branches. He moved slightly to get a better look. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. His vision—the golden one, as his men had so aptly named her—rose out of the water like the goddess Aphrodite. He watched, hypnotized, as she moved to the shallow end of the pool and stood. Her legs were braced apart and she stretched her arms high over her head in a lazy, unhurried motion. Streamers of sunlight poured through the canopy of branches and bathed his goddess in gold.

With a slow, graceful motion, Elizabeth brushed the hair back from her forehead. She sighed, content for the moment, enjoying the feel of the sun’s warmth upon her shoulders and the contrasting cold of the clear water slapping against her legs. She forced herself to block all thoughts, all worries. In her heart she knew that her trusted servant would move heaven and earth to hide Thomas from Belwain’s eyes, until Geoffrey could be made to listen. But the waiting . . . it was becoming unbearable. Perhaps the fever had returned, and the warrior was dead. Perhaps Belwain had arrived at Montwright and convinced everyone that he had nothing to do with the murders. Stop, she demanded. There is nothing to be done but wait, she told herself. Wait and pray. A woman’s lot in life, Elizabeth decided with despair.

Scooping water into her cupped hands, she poured the liquid down her neck. Geoffrey was close enough to see her shiver, to watch the drops of water slip down between her full breasts, past the narrow waist he was sure he could span with but one hand, and farther down, into the blond, curly triangle at the junction of her legs. Her nipples grew hard from the chill but it was Geoffrey who shivered in reaction. Innocent sensuality radiated with her every motion and Geoffrey was hard-pressed to control his emotions, to suppress the primitive desire raging inside of him.

The gentle sway of her hips as she walked from the pool and gathered her clothes nearly made him wild with need. He took a deep breath, gaining control. He was Baron Geoffrey, overlord of all William had bequeathed! He would not take her now, though he thought he would go mad if he didn’t taste her soon. Yes, he would have her. Of that there wasn’t any question. She would belong to him. It was a simple fact of life. The law. What the lord wanted, he took.

The dogs Geoffrey remembered suddenly appeared at their mistress’s side, hovering while she completed her dress. The animals were huge creatures, but from the way they both nudged her as she turned and disappeared into the forest, Geoffrey knew they would protect her well.

He was about to replace his sword and follow Elizabeth to the hut when an abrupt scream penetrated the stillness. It was a woman’s scream. Geoffrey raced toward the sound, his sword at the ready. He could hear the dogs’ ferocious growls, screams and shouts from men . . . at least three, judging from the different guttural sounds. Geoffrey crashed into the clearing in front of the hut and took in the tableau in one second’s breath of time. There were three of them. Two were struggling with the dogs while the third half-carried, half-dragged the resisting girl toward the hut. The sight of such filth holding such beauty, his beauty, completed the transformation. The fair and noble ruler of the manor was gone, replaced by the Herculean warrior intent on a single action: to kill. There would be no hearing, no fairness, no understanding. The enemy had dared to touch what was his, and whether they realized that fact or not bore no significance. The price for their lust, for their stupidity, would be death.

The warrior’s bellow of outrage stilled Elizabeth’s attacker. Terror washed the lust from his eyes as he flung Elizabeth from his arms and turned to face the challenge. The look of fury on the warrior’s face changed the attacker’s mind. He turned to look for a means of escape from the intent he read in those cold black eyes. His hesitation was his death sentence. Geoffrey’s blade whistled as it sliced through the air, guided by the warrior’s strong arm, until it plunged down through the man’s shoulder, cutting bone and muscle as easily as if they were sheep’s fur, in its quest to find and pierce the heart. With one additional jerk of his wrist, Geoffrey completed the kill, removed the sword, and turned to deal with the two men behind him. “Call your animals,” he ordered over his shoulder, and Elizabeth, stumbling to her feet, obeyed without question.

Geoffrey allowed both men time to stagger to their feet and reclaim their weapons before he moved forward. Then he stood, his legs braced apart, his sword at his side, waiting. The two men crouched and began to circle the warrior, and their puny attempts to kill him brought a smile to the warrior’s face. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Before either man could issue a scream, Geoffrey killed them with two swift slaps from his blade.

Stunned, unable to comprehend how the lord came to be there, defending her, Elizabeth could only watch in a daze. When Geoffrey finished the deed and turned his attention to her, Elizabeth felt her knees buckle from the power, the raw force that radiated from him.

“Come to me.” The harshness of his voice startled her. There was a different kind of terror pulling at her now, and Elizabeth couldn’t understand what was happening. Shouldn’t she feel relief? This man had saved her life, killed for her. Perhaps it was because he was so much larger than she remembered, or perhaps it was because he had killed so easily, so effortlessly . . . so unemotionally. She was too confused, only knew that the danger was still there, clinging to the air, mingling with the scent of death and sweat. Tension enveloped both of them as they stared at each other. Elizabeth stood rigid and straight, facing the force that poured from him. Power. It was there in his stance, in his muscled legs braced apart in sureness and victory, in the tightly fisted hands resting on his hips, but most of all in his face. And the power drew her to him.

Elizabeth met his stare and slowly walked over to him. She stopped directly in front of him and waited. For what, she knew not.

Geoffrey’s body relaxed. Elizabeth could see the tension, the violence, evaporate. He took a deep breath and his eyes warmed a little. And the fear left her.

“I have just killed for you.” His tone was arrogant and challenging.

Elizabeth watched as Geoffrey cleaned his blade and then replaced it before she replied, “Yes, you have saved my life. I am in your debt,” she acknowledged, her voice soft.

“That is so.”

“But I have also saved your life,” Elizabeth added, “for I was the one who tended your wounds.”

“I remember,” Geoffrey answered.

“And therefore, you are in my debt, are you not?”

“I am your lord.” What was Elizabeth leading to? Geoffrey wondered. What was her plan? “You belong tome.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer, waiting for him to continue. A long moment passed and the lord frowned his displeasure. It would do her cause no good if she alienated him, for her fate was in his hands. In truth she did belong to him. Was that all he wanted? Her acknowledgment that he was now her lord?

“You belong to me,” he repeated.

Elizabeth was about to agree when his hand moved as lightning to the back of her neck, his fingers locking forcefully in her hair. “It is I who decide your future,” Geoffrey stated.

Elizabeth frowned with frustration. He was supposed to be in her debt. He should be grateful, but instead, he was demanding that she acknowledge her position to him.

Geoffrey was not pleased; he twisted her hair until she cried out in pain. Still he did not relent, but pulled her closer until her chest was flat against the cold steel links of metal covering his. Elizabeth shut her eyes against the pain and the look in his eyes, her mouth tightly closed so that she would not cry out again. She was trembling inside but vowed he would not know of her apprehension.

Geoffrey stared down at Elizabeth’s face, smiling at the way she tried to mask her fear. There was a streak of rebellion in her eyes. He had not missed that, and it pleased him. He judged she would not intimidate easily. She was spirited and courageous, Geoffrey guessed, for she had lived outside the walls with only her animals for protection. ’Twas unheard of for a gently bred lady to do such a thing, yet she had done it. Stubborn too, Geoffrey knew, with perhaps a bit of wildness in her nature. He would tame the wildness without breaking the spirit. And the taming would begin now. His mouth descended to hers in a kiss that was meant to conquer. He would have her submission! He felt her jerk with the initial touch of his mouth, but he ignored her efforts for freedom, forcing her by merely tightening his hold in her hair until she opened her mouth to protest. And then his tongue invaded, tasting, probing, taking. His assault was not gentle, for in truth he knew little of wooing the weaker sex; still, he made an effort not to overwhelm her. She was gentle-bred, he reminded himself, and while he thought to drug her with his sexual prowess, he soon found that it was he who was fast losing control. She tasted so sweet, so fresh, and when she finally began to respond, when her tongue timidly touched his, he felt a wave of hot fire race through him.

The effect on his captive was just as startling. Did she struggle? Elizabeth thought that she did, but when the kiss ended, she found that her arms were wrapped around his neck. Had he placed them there? No, she answered herself, she had done that herself. Her face rested against the mail covering his chest. Shame tried to claim her attention, but Elizabeth fought it. She had not forced his embrace but only submitted because of his superior strength.

She felt Geoffrey’s hand tighten and only then realized that his arms were around her waist. He smelled of leather and sweat. It wasn’t unpleasant to be held by him, Elizabeth admitted.

“Your kissing has improved, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey said against her forehead. A deep contentment he had not known before enveloped him; the feel of her against him was right, he felt it was right in his heart. He inhaled the fragrance of wildflowers scenting her hair and almost sighed aloud, his pleasure was so great. He knew he should let go of her and take a firm, intimidating stand so that she would well understand their relationship from the beginning, for he was her lord and she his subject, but he couldn’t seem to drop his hands, to erase the smile. He would have to guard against letting her know the power she held over him. It would most likely be his downfall if he showed her his weakness for her. He knew from past experience that the fairer sex could easily manipulate any man, regardless of their physical strength, if the man allowed it. No woman would lead him around by the crook of her finger; no, he would do the leading, and she would be most thankful to follow.

“I was but curious,” Elizabeth stated, referring to the kiss she had stolen when she was caring for him. “I have not kissed much,” she added as she pushed against him to break the hold.

“I have no doubt that you are pure,” Geoffrey remarked, and Elizabeth noted that the arrogance was back in his voice. His smile warmed her, and Elizabeth returned the gesture. She would have to watch herself with this one, she decided. He had a way about him that pulled at her, beckoned her. But he was too powerful, too overwhelming for her likes, she reminded herself; he would be like the stone walls of her fortress, unbending, and it would do her no good to become involved with such a man. No, she could never allow such an attraction to nurture. She had no wish to be swallowed up by his strength, only to be spit out as a former shell of herself when he turned his attention elsewhere. She turned her back on him and tried to remember what they were talking about. Pure, he thought her pure, he had said. “How could you know?” she found herself asking, “that I am pure,” she qualified. She turned back to him and waited for his reply. Although she thought he had made the remark to ease her worry that he might have judged her wanton, she found herself irritated. Instead of being relieved that he did not think her a camp follower, she found herself somewhat insulted. Were her kisses so lacking?

“It was obvious, Elizabeth,” the lord answered. “Though to take advantage of a man in a weakened condition tells me much about your character.” He was teasing her, the laughter was there in his eyes. It surprised her, for she didn’t think he was a man who laughed much. She returned his smile.

She could see that the kiss had lightened his mood, and sought to take advantage of the moment. “You are feeling well now?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied.

“You have called me by my name, my lord. How did you learn—”

“It was easy to solve part of the riddle,” Geoffrey answered. “Still, I would like more answers. When we return to the manor . . .”

“I would . . . if it pleases you lord, I would like to talk with you now, before we return to Montwright.”

Geoffrey frowned over this request and then nodded. He walked over to the mud-splattered boulder adjacent to the hut and leaned against the edge, his long legs outstretched before him. He wasn’t aware that he stroked the dogs leaning against his sides as he watched Elizabeth. “Begin by telling me why you did not stay inside the walls. Why did you come back here?”

“I could not stay there with Belwain coming, I could not.” Elizabeth calmed her voice and walked over to stand between Geoffrey’s legs. She folded her hands as if she was preparing for her morning prayers and said, “It is a long story, my lord. Will you listen to me?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied. He was eager to hear her tale, to understand what had transpired at Montwright.

“My parents, my sisters, one of their husbands . . . all killed,” she whispered. “And Belwain, my father’s younger brother . . . he is to blame. He must be punished.”

“From the beginning, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey encouraged in a gentle tone. “Tell me what you saw, what you heard.”

Elizabeth nodded and took a deep breath. “I did not see them arrive. Little Thomas and I were out riding when it began. The family had gathered to celebrate my little brother’s birthday. It was a tradition,” she explained.

Geoffrey nodded and then realized that she was looking right through him, didn’t seem to notice his encouraging gesture at all. Memory had control of her mind now, and from the torment etching her features, Geoffrey knew a chilling account was about to be told. He wanted to gather her in his arms, to hold her and offer comfort, but he sensed she would not accept his compassion from the way she held herself erect. Memory was taking her to hell’s nightmares, and all he could do was listen.

“My eldest sister, Catherine, and her husband, Bernard, came all the way from his holding near Granbury, but Rupert, ailing from liver upset, could not attend. He allowed Margaret to come, though . . . Oh, God, but if he had not been so agreeable! She would still be alive.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, a calmness setling over her features. She told the rest in a flat, emotionless voice. “Thomas and I came in through the side entrance, intent on changing our clothes before our mother caught sight of us, for we were covered with mud. There is a stairwell, well hidden from the great hall, with a tapestry hung over the door on the second landing. As I neared the top I could hear screams and shouts. I knew then something was wrong. I made Thomas stay on the steps and opened the door. No one saw me, but I could see everything from my position. There were bodies, dead, mutilated bodies, strewn about the floor like so many soiled rushes. Those doing the killing were dressed as peasants but they wielded their swords like trained soldiers. Several of the men wore black hoods to conceal their faces. I tried to find the one in charge when I caught sight of my sister Margaret. I saw her stab one of the men in his shoulder, and then run toward our mother. The man she injured followed her and plunged his knife into her back, and Margaret went down. I felt little Thomas against my side then, and turned to shield him from the view and to find safety for him. One of the attackers, his voice was somehow familiar to me even then, called the order to find the boy. ‘Find the boy or we fail,’ that is what he screamed, and I knew they meant to kill little Thomas. I had to protect him. He was now heir . . . I couldn’t help my mother, but I couldn’t seem to move either. It was as if I was frozen in place. I just kept watching her. They were tearing at her clothes. My mother’s clothes! She broke away and raked her nails against the face of one of her captors. He screamed with pain and then the one who had killed Margaret. . . he came up to my mother with an ax in his hand. He raised it high into the air and the blade came down, down and across her neck, and her head, her head was torn from her body!”

She had never said the words until now. She wanted to crumble to the earth and die. The pain was so intense, the screams of her family so agonizing, so deafening, that she involuntarily placed her hands over her ears.

Geoffrey did not say a word. He gently reached out and pulled her hands from her face and held them.

His action helped Elizabeth gain control. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the compassion in his eyes. “I don’t remember much after that. I took Thomas back down the stairway and we stayed there until Joseph found us and took us to the outside. We sent word to Bernard’s relatives and to Rupert.”

Geoffrey pulled Elizabeth toward him, wrapping his strong arms around her. He wanted to erase the horror but knew that wasn’t possible. “Did you recognize any of the men?” he asked.

“No, but the man Margaret stabbed . . . his voice was familiar to me,” Elizabeth suddenly remembered. “Blood covered his garb.”

“What of the other men? Did you know any of them?”

“No,” Elizabeth replied, her shoulders sagging.

“Your servant told me that you sent your brother to London. Why?” he asked after a time.

“I did not know what else to do,” Elizabeth said. “The law would give Belwain guardianship and I thought you old and senile. And I had no proof that it was Belwain behind the deed. My mother’s father lives in London and I thought to keep my brother safe with him until I could find the proof. . . or kill Belwain myself,” she said.

“Tell me your reasons for believing Belwain is responsible,” Geoffrey said.

“He is the only one to gain,” Elizabeth began. “He was my father’s younger brother and lusted after Montwright. Father gave him a portion of the land for his own but Belwain was not content. Still, my mother told me Belwain used to be a merry man until little Thomas was born, then the relationship changed with my father. I do not know if that is so, for I was too young to pay much notice. I do know that last time my uncle visited my father they had a terrible argument and Belwain said he would never return to Montwright land. He threatened my father and I remember being frightened by his words, but my father seemed unaffected. I heard him tell my mother that Belwain’s temper would calm and he would become content once again.”

Elizabeth pulled her hands free of Geoffrey’s hold and said, “Belwain would inherit the Montwright lands if we were all dead, wouldn’t he?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey acknowledged. “But you are not all dead,” he reminded her.

“This same law gives Belwain guardianship of little Thomas, does it not?”

“That is so,” Geoffrey replied.

“And if you give my brother over to his care, he will kill him,” she predicted. “And me also,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“You will not be given into his care,” Geoffrey stated.

“Then you believe me?” Elizabeth asked, her voice hopeful. “You will kill Belwain?”

“I believe that you think Belwain responsible,” Geoffrey hedged, “and he has the greatest to gain, but I need proof before I challenge him.”

“Proof! There is no proof,” Elizabeth all but screamed. She pushed away from Geoffrey and added, “Belwain will not go free. He must pay for what he has done. I will kill him.”

“If Belwain is responsible, I will kill him,” Geoffrey said. “When he arrives at Montwright, I will question him.”

“And you think he will admit his sins?” Elizabeth asked in a desperate voice. “He will lie.”

“Lies can trap,” Geoffrey returned. “I will find who is behind the deed and I will determine the punishment. It is my responsibility.”

“Will you give me your word that Belwain will not become guardian to Thomas?” Elizabeth asked.

“If Belwain is innocent of your charges, I could not break the law,” Geoffrey stated. “Thomas would be placed under his guardianship. If he is innocent.”

Elizabeth took a step back, shaking her head. “You are overlord to Montwright lands, and now that my father is dead, little Thomas is your vassal. It is your duty to protect him!”

“Do not tell me my responsibilities,” Geoffrey barked. He stood up and unconsciously put his hands on his hips. “I know them well enough. Until I know the truth in this matter your brother will stay with me.” His voice gentled as he added, “Trust me, Elizabeth. I will not let any harm come to the lad.”

Elizabeth wanted to believe him. While he had not promised to charge her uncle immediately, he did state that he would keep her brother safe for the time being. It would have to be enough. At least Geoffrey had listened to her and had not pushed her accusations aside. If he decided Belwain innocent, then Elizabeth would take matters into her own hands.

“Come, Elizabeth. The hour grows late. We will talk of this when we are within the manor.”

“I need not be there when you question Belwain,” Elizabeth argued. “And I have no wish to look upon his evil face. No,” she continued, ignoring the anger she read on his face, “I will stay here until Belwain has been—”

The roar interrupted Elizabeth’s sentence. In one swift action the lord lifted her high up into his arms. The dogs began to growl but the warrior ignored them as he turned and started back toward the waterfall.

God, but she was a stubborn bit of goods, Geoffrey thought with irritation. She seemed to have absolutely no fear whatsoever of her master, and that both amused and angered the knight. He wasn’t used to such brashness. And yet, he reasoned, he did not wish her to cower in his presence. She confused him, he admitted, confused . . . and delighted him. Still, he would have to do something about her disposition, her inclination to argue. She would have to learn her place, her lot. He couldn’t very well present her to William until she learned to curb her tongue. While William’s opinion did not rule Geoffrey’s life, he admitted that he did not wish his king to think Geoffrey’s wife was but a shrew! Wife! Aye, he told himself, she would be his wife. There could be no other way to keep her with him. It would be a grave insult to the late vassal, Elizabeth’s father, if he took Elizabeth as mistress. Thomas was a loyal and honest man; Geoffrey could not shame his memory by soiling his daughter and then casting her aside.

I do this for Thomas, Geoffrey found himself thinking. He did not think that he loved Elizabeth, for he did not think he could love any woman. Past betrayal had sealed his heart against such vulnerability. Yet the fates had decreed, from the moment he sighted her on the rise above the manor before the battle, that they be together. He did not understand why he wanted her at his side, why she had come to mean such a great deal to him in such a short time, but he would follow his inclinations. Perhaps it was all superstition on his part and she was his talisman. He did not know and did not care.

Besides, it was time, he almost said aloud. Time for the begetting of sons.

“Put me down, my lord,” Elizabeth ordered for the third time. She saw that the scar on the side of his cheek had grown quite red and decided that she had over-stepped her position. “Please,” she amended in a soft voice. “I have my horse and my possessions to gather.”

“Tomorrow your servant can fetch your things.”

What a stubborn, unbending man Lord Geoffrey was, Elizabeth thought. Odd, but she found she wasn’t upset any longer. A deep faith that he would right the wrongs to her family made her content for the moment.

They did not speak again until they were well on their way back to the manor. Elizabeth sat in front of the lord on his powerful charger and could not help but lean against him as they rode through the forest at a neck-breaking pace.

“Do you know what you will do with me? Where you will send me?” Elizabeth asked, thinking that she would like to stay near her brother.

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied in a rough voice. He was trying to concentrate on getting them to safety, his senses alert, but Elizabeth’s nearness was unsettling. From the moment he had lifted her into his arms, a sense of well-being, of calmness, invaded the warrior. It was as if he could breathe again, and she was the fresh air he needed to survive. He tightened his hold, pleased when she did not protest. The top of her head was nestled just under his chin, and the knight found it a hard task not to rub his cheek against the softness of her golden hair.

Elizabeth waited for what seemed an eternity for Lord Geoffrey to continue, but the lord seemed disinclined.

“My father had signed a marriage contract when I was just a babe,” Elizabeth finally said, “but Hugh, the man I was to marry, died two years past. I do not know if another was arranged,” she added. Perhaps Geoffrey could tell her, for Thomas would have to gain his permission for any marriage contract to be valid. It was the law.

“There will be no marriage contract,” Geoffrey stated with finality.

“I will not be married?” Elizabeth asked with surprise.

“Yes, you shall be married,” Geoffrey said. “To me.”

Had not Geoffrey been holding her secure, Elizabeth would have fallen off the horse. She twisted around until she could look him directly in the face, and blurted the first thing that came to her confused mind. “Why?”

The lord did not answer, and from the hard line of his jaw Elizabeth surmised he would not tell her any more.

She turned back and stared straight ahead. Mont-wright came into view as they rounded the water’s bend, and fear twisted her stomach into knots. She found herself clutching Geoffrey’s hands but could not let go. Belwain and his men might well be waiting inside.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Nothing can ever be as it was, she lamented. Her parents and sisters were dead, and now she was solely responsible for keeping little Thomas safe. She had no one to turn to, no one to champion her cause, save this stubborn, battle-scarred lord. Would he be strong enough, cunning enough to keep them safe?

Chapter Three

THE WEDDING WOULD BE TODAY!

Elizabeth could not understand the reason for the hurry, yet she was powerless to stop the proceedings. The lord’s mind was made up. And her demands for an explanation were completely ignored. It was as if Geoffrey was in a race against time, and he must be married by nightfall. It made absolutely no sense to Elizabeth.

Geoffrey lifted her off the horse and carried her into the castle, like so much baggage, up the curving staircase and into her bedroom before she could catch her breath.

“I wish to see my brother,” she demanded against his neck, but the warrior refused with a shake of his head. God but he was stubborn!

“After the wedding,” he finally told her as he dumped her on the bed. “I shall have a bath prepared for you,” he added. And with that, he left.

For the first time since finding Elizabeth, the lord was pleased to see that she was fairly speechless. The look of confusion on her face when he announced that they would be wed this very day would be remembered, and savored, for many a night. Good, Geoffrey thought. He would keep her confused.

In truth, he did not understand the hurry for the marriage, only knew that he could not go another night without her beside him. And since the priest had arrived to see to the blessing of the dead, Geoffrey saw no need to wait. It would not be a traditional wedding with the participants proclaiming their vows on the steps to the manor’s church, for the church had been burned to the ground. The ceremony would have to take place in the great hall, but it would still be a valid marriage. And once she was his, in name and body, then Geoffrey could find peace. Only then could he get back to the business of being a baron.

Elizabeth tried to understand her lord’s reasoning for marrying her, and finally decided that he did it to protect her, and to honor her father. “He thinks he’s failed my father,” Elizabeth said aloud, for her father had placed his loyalty in Geoffrey’s hands for his protection. It was the way of the times. Still, it was Thomas’s duty to protect his own home, not Geoffrey’s.

Elizabeth paced the confines of the room, her mood growing quite ugly by the time two men entered the chamber with a large wooden tub. They returned with buckets of steaming water, again and again, until the tub was near to overflowing with hot water. No one spoke a word during the entire procedure, although Elizabeth did a lot of scowling, and the two men a bit of grinning.

A warm bath, instead of the frigid water from the waterfall, beckoned. Elizabeth found the rose-scented chips of soap her mother had given her on her last birthday, still wrapped in the strip of white linen at the bottom of her chest. She quickly removed her tunic and climbed into the tub. Taking her anger out on her hair, she scrubbed until her scalp began to sting in protest. She had thought the bath would be soothing and help her straighten out her thoughts, but found she could not relax. Belwain had not yet arrived, and Elizabeth found herself praying that some terrible mischief befell him on his route to Montwright. No, she decided, that was a wicked prayer, and more important, an inappropriate way to meet his death. Vengeance would not be cheated.

A fire was blazing in the hearth, and Elizabeth, wrapped in the bed cover, knelt before its warmth and began to dry her hair. There was too much to consider, too much to deal with, and Elizabeth felt overwhelming fatigue.

Lord Geoffrey found her in such an unguarded position. His eyes were tender as he leaned against the door and watched her. Elizabeth heard the door open but refused to acknowledge the intrusion. She adjusted the cover more securely against her bosom and continued to dry her hair. Had she turned, she would have glimpsed the gentleness in his gaze, the smile that came upon him when he watched her struggle with the cover. He thought she was the most beguiling, the most enchanting nymph, all soft and silky and smooth. The light from the fire cast a glow on her uncovered shoulders, giving her a golden look, but by her stiffly held frame he knew she was upset. The hint of defiance warmed him as much as her appearance. He considered that her anger, fully unleashed, could scorch a lesser man.

Elizabeth couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Are you going to stand there all night?” she asked. She turned and he saw that her face was flushed from the heat of the fire, her eyes a blazing blue.

“You are not eager for this marriage?” His voice was soft, his expression mocking to Elizabeth’s ears.

A lioness, Geoffrey decided, from the mane of rioting curls to the wild, wary expression in her eyes. He fought the urge to grab her, touch her.

“I have no feelings one way or the other,” Elizabeth lied. She stood then, thinking that kneeling in his presence would give him the idea that she was of the submissive sort. Whether he be her lord or not, she would never cower before him.

Geoffrey acknowledged her comment with a nod and walked over to the window. He lifted the heavy piece of fur blocking the wind and gazed out. It was as if he had dismissed her, Elizabeth thought, wondering what she was supposed to do.

“You need not marry me, my lord. Your protection is enough,” Elizabeth pointed out. “And you are in a position to marry anyone . . . to marry even for love.”

He acted as if he hadn’t heard a word she said, and Elizabeth continued to wait.

“Foolish men marry for love. I am not foolish.” He hadn’t bothered to turn to her but continued to look out the window as he spoke. Odd, but his voice, though forceful, was lacking any emotion.

Foolish, she repeated to herself. He thought love foolish. She didn’t disagree with him. She could be as realistic as he. And he was right. It was unheard of to marry for love. It wasn’t practical. And yet. . . there was a romantic corner of her mind that wished Geoffrey did love her and that she did love him. Aye, foolish indeed. Wasn’t it enough that she was drawn to him? Found him physically pleasing? No, she admitted, physical beauty should have no importance in a lasting relationship. Her mother had taught her that. It was what was buried beneath the surface that determined a good match. Besides, Elizabeth was a little frightened by Geoffrey, and that wouldn’t do at all! She hated being frightened. She had already glimpsed a stubborn inclination in his nature, larger than her own. No doubt the marriage would be a stormy arrangement, and after all the turmoil she had recently been through, the prospect of more was as welcome to her as a sore tooth.

Elizabeth realized that Lord Geoffrey knew very little about her, had no idea just what he was getting for his wife. What would he think when he learned that she was far better versed in hunting and skinning a rabbit than needlepoint and homemaking? How often had her father blamed her Saxon heritage for her wild ways? Blamed her mother’s full Saxon father for encouraging her unorthodox behavior? It was the grandfather who gifted Elizabeth with the hawk and then the wolf-hounds on his annual visits to the manor, all to irritate his daughter’s husband. The two protagonists played goading games with each other. And it was Elizabeth who benefited from the friction between the two men. Grandfather boasted that his granddaughter was a throwback to their Viking ancestors, and he only had to point to her blond hair, her blue eyes, and her proud carriage to prove his statement.

But if the grandfather was to blame for Elizabeth’s independence, so was her father. Had he not treated her as a son for many years?

How would her grandfather get on with Geoffrey, Elizabeth wondered, should they ever meet? Would the gentle giant play the same antagonizing games with Geoffrey that he had with her father? The thought of the chaos he could cause made Elizabeth smile. Geoffrey turned from the window in time to catch her smile. He wondered at its cause, frowning.

Elizabeth met his gaze and waited. She noticed then that he too had bathed, for his hair was wet and slightly curling around his collar. He had changed too, into a tunic as black as midnight, with the design of his crest, in gold threads, upon his right breast. The fabric was tight against his powerful chest, and each and every time she saw him, his largeness appeared greater than before. She did not like feeling intimidated by him, but couldn’t continue to match his stare, for his hot gaze was so lustful that she feared he would soon see the terror she was trying so hard to hide.

“The priest is waiting,” he suddenly announced, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“Then you have not changed your mind?” Elizabeth asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

“Aye, I have not changed my mind. We will be married,” Geoffrey said. “Get dressed. The guards will escort you when you are ready. Do not keep me waiting,” he warned. He did not wait for her response but turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him with such force that the logs in the fireplace shifted from the wind that stirred them.

Elizabeth found herself hurrying to do his bidding. She would have the marriage over and done with! She dressed in a plain white gown, winding a gold chain around her waist as her only decoration. Her hair was damp and it was difficult to get order achieved, but she finally managed to secure it to the back of her head with a gossamer-thin strip of ribbon.

Her hands trembled as she opened the door and followed the guards down the corridor, toward her fate.

Geoffrey stood at the bottom of the stairway, his hand extended. Elizabeth placed her hand in his and walked with him into the great hall.

She was startled to see that all the men in the room were kneeling, their heads bowed. It was awesome to see so many show such respect.

The priest’s benediction turned her thoughts back to the vows she was about to exchange. He was asking her to pledge herself, body and soul, into the keeping of the man kneeling beside her.

It was all happening so fast. Elizabeth could not even remember kneeling. How had her hand gotten into his? Where had the ring come from? “To love and to honor, to cherish . . .” The priest’s monotone voice insisted, quietly demanded. I do not know if I love him, Elizabeth found herself thinking, even as she repeated the words, “I, Elizabeth Catherine Montwright, do hereby . . .” Her voice was a thread of a whisper, but the priest seemed content, merely leaning forward with a benevolent smile upon his leathered face as he listened to her replies.

“I, Geoffrey William Berkley . . .” His voice, proclaiming his many titles, was forceful and clear. And then it was over, and Geoffrey was lifting her to her feet. He gave her a firm kiss and then turned her, presenting both of them to his men. She heard his deep sigh just seconds before the hall was filled with a resounding cheer.

The noise and the shouts escalated in volume and intensity. Elizabeth saw her brother, standing next to the lord’s companion. She instinctively started to go to him, only to be stopped by her husband’s hand. “Wait,” he instructed, placing his hand on her arm.

He nodded to Roger and a path was cleared. Roger pulled Thomas to stand before the couple. The little boy only had eyes for Geoffrey, the worship there for all to see. He hadn’t given his sister so much as a glance. “I do not think he remembers you,” her husband said. “But that will change,” Geoffrey added when he noticed her distress, “for his voice has returned and he now talks constantly.”

Elizabeth nodded and smiled and then knelt before her brother so that they were at eye level. He ignored her as she softly called his name.

“Thomas, I am your sister,” she insisted for the second time. The little one finally turned when Roger nudged the back of his head.

“I am to be a knight,” he boasted. Then, remembering his manners, he knelt down and bowed his head. “I will guard you, my lady, from this day forth.” He peeked up at Geoffrey to see if he had pleased his lord.

Geoffrey nodded and helped Elizabeth to her feet. She turned to take her brother’s hand but found that he was already halfway across the hall, following Roger.

Elizabeth turned back to her husband and allowed him to lead her toward the table and the wedding feast. “Where are Thor and Garth?” she asked as she sat down.

“Who?” her husband asked.

“My dogs,” Elizabeth explained. “They are called Thor and Garth. My grandfather named them,” she added with a small smile. “I was wondering if perhaps little Thomas remembered them.”

“The dogs are locked in the quarters below,” Geoffrey answered. “Your brother is afraid of them.”

“But that cannot be true!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She had reached her limit for surprises in one day. “He saw them raised from pups.”

“I do not lie.” Geoffrey’s voice was quiet but firm. Elizabeth studied him while he settled himself at the table beside her, but could tell nothing from his expression. It was as if he wore a mask to keep his emotions carefully concealed from her. Yet, even so, she decided that she might have offended him.

“I believe you,” she replied. “I was not suggesting that you lie,” she qualified, “it was just a surprise.”

Her explanation pleased her husband and he favored her with a smile that showed beautiful white teeth. The smile was almost boyish but the scar that marked his cheek canceled any suggestion that he was a playful youth. That, and the way he looked at her, Elizabeth thought with a shiver of nervousness. His eyes held a sensual promise of things to come.

“The boy hides behind Roger whenever the dogs are about. The animals obviously remember your brother,” he said, “and are constantly trying to nudge him into play. The future heir of Montwright lands wailed until Roger could not stand the sound another second. If his fighting arm is as strong as his lungs, your brother will be a mighty warrior when he grows up.”

It was Elizabeth who now felt like wailing. Tears filled her eyes and she squeezed her hand into a fist, only then realizing that Geoffrey was holding it. She promptly relaxed her grip, lest he think she was being overly emotional. “He never used to be afraid of anything or anyone,” Elizabeth said. “Father worried that he would never develop any common sense.” Sadness underlined her explanation.

Geoffrey seemed unaffected by her distress. “He has seen much to change him.” He handed her a cup filled with sweet red wine before adding, “In time your brother will mend. It is the way of things.”

And will I mend? Elizabeth asked herself. Will time make the memory of my mother’s screams fade into insignificance? Will time make the murders less an atrocity? And if healing includes forgetting, then perhaps the wounds should stay raw and bleeding. I cannot put the hate aside, Elizabeth thought, not until Belwain is dead.

“Congratulations, my lady.” The softly spoken words and the familiar voice shocked Elizabeth. Her head jerked up and she met the stare of her mother’s elderly servant, Sara.

“Sara,” she exclaimed with a smile. “I thought you dead.” Elizabeth turned, the smile still in place, and said to her husband, “My lord, may I present my mother’s most loyal servant, Sara. Sara,” she said, turning her gaze back to the white-haired woman, “my father’s overlord, Baron Geoffrey William Berkley.”

“Nay, Elizabeth,” her husband contradicted against her ear, “no longer your father’s overlord but your husband.”

Elizabeth blushed slightly and nodded at the gentle reprimand. She would correct her error now. “My husband, Sara . . .” she began. Her attention was distracted by the number of familiar-looking servants carrying platters of food into the hall. “Where . . . how . . . ”

“They have all returned, now that you are here,” Sara said, folding her hands in front of her. She was looking at Elizabeth but sensed the Baron’s frown and quickly amended her sentence. “When word was told that your husband had rid our home of the defilers, then we returned.”

The servant glanced at the lord and then lowered her eyes with respect. “With your permission, my lord, I would help my lady prepare for bed this evening. Her serving girl was slain during the raid.”

Geoffrey nodded his consent. The servant smiled, reached out her hand as if to pat Elizabeth, and then thought better of it. Elizabeth caught the action and it was she who patted the servant. “Thank you, Sara, and praise God that you are well,” she said.

When the servant had returned to her duties, Elizabeth turned back to her husband. There were tears in her eyes.

Geoffrey was amazed at her composure. There was a fragile strength about her. She was not like other women he had known, but he had recognized that fact from the beginning. A quiet dignity radiated from her. Her temper was quick to flare, Geoffrey knew, but the tears were closely guarded.

He wished to see her smile again. “And do you wail as loud as your brother?” he asked her.

Elizabeth could not tell if he was teasing or not. “I never wail,” she said, shaking her head. She thought then that her boast sounded terribly prim.

Her husband grinned with delight. “And do you never smile at your husband?” he inquired against her ear.

The sweet, warm breath against her earlobe felt like a gentle stroke and Elizabeth found she had to pull away before she could answer. “ ’Tis too soon to tell,” she tried to tease, though her voice sounded like a husky whisper to her ears, “I’ve only been married a few short minutes, my lord.” She lifted her gaze to his then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and Geoffrey was struck speechless by their intense color. She continued to become more magnificent, more desirable, and he wondered how that was possible.

“And are you pleased to be married?” he asked when he could find his voice.

“It will be a most difficult adjustment,” Elizabeth said, her voice serious. She continued to meet his stare and added, “My husband is not well known by me and the stories about him are terrible indeed.”

Geoffrey was taken aback. He thought she might be jesting, the sparkle in her eyes told him that, but her expression was neutral and her voice most serious. He found he didn’t know how to reply. No one had ever spoken to him in this manner. “I am your husband,” Geoffrey said, frowning. “What stories have you heard about me?” he demanded.

“Too many to count,” Elizabeth replied, trying not to laugh.

“I will hear them all!” His voice increased in volume, keeping pace with his escalating temper. As soon as he snapped the order, he wished he had not. He did not wish to frighten his bride on this their wedding night, but he obviously had. Elizabeth had turned her head away from him, shielding her face from his view. Now, as awkward as it might be, Geoffrey would try to soothe her. The problem, of course, was that he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

He slammed his goblet down on the table to vent his frustration and then turned Elizabeth’s chin toward him with the tip of his finger. He decided that he would simply smile at her and then she would know that she was still in his good stead.

He was totally unprepared for the smile that formed her expression, the soft lilting laughter that reached his ears. “I was teasing, husband. Please do not frown. I did not wish to upset you,” Elizabeth said, trying to control her smile.

“You are not afraid?” He found himself asking the absurd question and had to shake his head.

“You do not like to be teased?” Elizabeth answered his question with one of her own.

“I do not know if I like this teasing or not,” Geoffrey said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. Her smile was like the sun entering the damp, candle-casted room, warming him. “Unless I am the one to tease,” he admitted with a grin.

Elizabeth laughed again and said, “Then this marriage—”

“A toast!” The command came from Roger, in a loud, forceful voice. Elizabeth glanced up and saw that the vassal held a goblet high above his head. Balanced somewhat precariously on one shoulder was little Thomas, giggling while he held on to the knight’s head of hair with both hands.

Geoffrey found himself irritated with the interruption. He had enjoyed the easy banter with his wife and wondered what she was about to say. He forced himself back to the festivities but first whispered to Elizabeth, “Later, wife, you shall tell me these terrible stories about my character later.”

Keeping her stare directed on Roger and her brother, Elizabeth answered in a soft voice, “Perhaps, my lord. Perhaps.”

A sense of rightness settled over Elizabeth with each sip of the warming wine. In fact, she felt warm all over, inside and out. “Where have you found this wine, my lord? We are unaccustomed to such quality,” she said.

“Even when you celebrate?” Geoffrey asked with surprise.

“We drank ale on every occasion,” Elizabeth replied. “And shared from each other’s trenchers,” she added, referring to the wooden plates the servants were placing on the table.

“Your father was a wealthy man,” Geoffrey stated.

“Aye, but frugal,” Elizabeth said. She laughed then and leaned toward her husband, her hand casually resting over his. “My grandfather used to tease my father something fierce over his tight purse,” she confessed in a conspiratorial voice.

“You have a fondness for your grandfather, don’t you?” Geoffrey asked, smiling at her behavior.

“Yes, we are very alike,” she acknowledged. She took another sip of her wine and smiled at her husband over the rim of her goblet.

“Enough,” Geoffrey decreed, removing her goblet. “I want you awake on our wedding night.”

His indelicate reminder of what was to come removed Elizabeth’s warmth. The smile faded and she lowered her gaze to her plate. She had eaten but a fraction of the quail pie and none of the swan or the wildberry tarts prepared for the celebration.

She watched as more and more delicacies were placed on the table. There were appreciative ohs and ahs when the cooked peacock, redressed in its skin and feathers, was placed before her. Geoffrey served her after he had washed his hands with the wet cloth his squire provided him. A page assisted Elizabeth.

The priest and several of Geoffrey’s thegns joined the couple at the table. Little Thomas was not allowed to sit with them, due to his age and his position, but each time Elizabeth saw him, she noticed that his cheeks were as swollen as a chipmunk’s with food. His manners were equal to her dogs, she thought, but soon he would become one of Geoffrey’s pages and learn the correct way of things.

Several of the men broke out into verses of a popular and somewhat risqué ballad. And then the red-haired squire, flushed with drink, began to sing in a deep baritone voice. The hall quieted and all listened to his song.

His ballad was about the hero Roland and his faithful sword, Joyosa, and how the brave man led the ancient troops to victory. According to the verse, Roland rode well ahead of the invaders, singing in a clear voice while he tossed his sword countless times into the air like a juggler. He was the first to die and offered no resistance. And now he was legend.

To Elizabeth, Roland was foolish indeed. She decided she was not of a romantic nature. Dead was dead, whether one became legend or not. She wondered if Geoffrey would agree with her observation.

“It is time,” Geoffrey announced when the song ended and the cheers to Roland’s memory subsided. He took her elbow, nodded to her servant, and stood. “Go. I will join you shortly.”

Elizabeth wanted to leave, all right, but her destination was the great doors leading to the outside, and not her bedroom. She almost smiled at her childish thoughts of escape. Almost.

She lifted the hem of her gown and followed Sara, keeping within the light of the torch the servant carried, stopping only once on her way up the curving staircase. She found her husband in the middle of a group of men, watching her. He seemed ignorant of the soldiers’ talk, staring intently at his bride. Elizabeth’s heart raced at the sensuous caress, the promise his dark eyes held.

“Mistress?” Sara’s voice pulled at her, but Elizabeth couldn’t break the force that held her gaze locked with her husband’s.

“Yes,” she whispered, and then, “I’m coming,” but it wasn’t until the servant tugged at her elbow that she was able to turn back to the kind woman.

Sara kept up a steady chatter of village news until she had Elizabeth stripped of her garments and a new fire blazing in the hearth. Elizabeth’s hair remained twisted in the ribbon atop her head with several wisps falling and framing the sides of her face. She brushed a loose tendril aside and slipped into the robe the maid held open for her.

Having Sara there, helping her, did much to calm Elizabeth. The day had been quite overwhelming. Elizabeth felt both exhausted and keyed up.

“Your hands are trembling,” the old woman remarked. “Is it from joy or fear?”

“Neither,” Elizabeth lied. “I am just overly tired. ’Tis been a long day.”

“Mistress? Did your mother ever talk to you about the duties of a wife?” Sara asked with a bluntness that made Elizabeth’s cheeks grow warm.

“No,” she answered, avoiding Sara’s gaze, “but I have overheard stories my sisters exchanged. Besides, a woman doesn’t have to do anything, does she?” Her voice held a note of panic, an echo of her inner turmoil.

The servant nodded. “When a man becomes excited, he wishes his mate to respond,” she said very matter-of-factly. “I worry that you will make him angry if you—”

“I do not care if he becomes angry or not,” Elizabeth replied, straightening her shoulders. “I just hope that he will be quickly done.”

“There are ways you can make the deed quick,” the servant hinted. She folded back the covers on the bed and turned back to Elizabeth. “But it will take courage . . . and boldness, my lady.”

Elizabeth found herself intrigued with the conversation. Sara wasn’t acting the least bit embarrassed by their delicate topic but stood there with a tranquil expression on her face and spoke as if they were discussing new ways of stuffing quail. Sara, Elizabeth reminded herself, was at least three times her own age, and maybe that was why her attitude was so blasé.

“What must I do?” Elizabeth asked, determined to do anything to get the night over and done with.

“Entice him,” Sara announced, nodding her head at Elizabeth’s puzzled expression. “He is eager to bed you,” she said. “I saw the look in his eyes. Every man has only so much control, mistress. You must—”

The door to the bedroom suddenly opened and Geoffrey filled the entry. Elizabeth was standing in front of the fireplace, unaware that the light from the fire outlined the slender shape of her body through the thin robe. Her stomach knotted at the look in her husband’s eyes as he slowly took his fill of her, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, which peeked out beneath the robe, but she matched his stare and his appraisal and prayed that her trembling would soon stop.

Sara left the room and she was alone with her husband. His gaze was intimidating, and when she could stand it no longer, she turned her back to him, pretending to warm her hands before the fire. Her mind raced for an ending to the discussion she was having with Sara. Entice him? Play the whore? Is that what the servant suggested? No, she decided, she could never do that. And why would enticing speed the deed?

Realizing that she probably looked like she was hiding, Elizabeth slowly turned back to her husband. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots and staring at her.

If only he would smile, Elizabeth thought, instead of looking so serious, so intent. She felt like he was trying to see inside her, know her thoughts and feelings, find her soul. And capture it. He looked capable of the task, and Elizabeth almost made the sign of the cross but caught herself in time.

Without saying a word, Geoffrey stood and began to remove the rest of his clothing, surprised to find that his hands were fumbling with the simple buckles. Had he not known better, he would have thought his hands shaking. He continued to look at his wife, willing her to show him some of the fear she kept so well hidden. He knew it was there, locked behind the rigid stance. Yet he was not displeased when she did not. She was his wife, his property. And he had chosen well.

Elizabeth watched him try again and again to undo the latchings. She wanted to suggest that he give some attention to his task instead of staring at her but did not think he would understand that she was teasing. Instead, she slowly walked over to him, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and unlatched the three buckles.

Geoffrey watched her, inhaled the sweet clean scent of her.

“I should change your bandage,” Elizabeth said, taking a step back, “and apply more salve.”

“It has been attended to,” Geoffrey answered, his voice husky. He was removing the rest of his clothing as he talked. Elizabeth tried to remind herself that she had seen him naked before, but that was when he was unconscious and raging with fever. His desire now had changed his physique considerably, and the transformation terrified her.

“Do not be afraid.” The softly spoken command confused Elizabeth. Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders. He did not draw her to him but seemed content to lazily study her eyes, her nose, and most especially, her mouth.

“I am not afraid,” Elizabeth contradicted, her voice clear and strong. “I have seen you without your clothes on.” At Geoffrey’s puzzled look, Elizabeth explained, “When I took care of you, it was necessary—”

“I remember,” Geoffrey said, smiling inside at the way his wife’s face colored with her admission. His hands began to gently massage her shoulders, stroking the knots of tension he knew he caused. “And I have also seen you without your clothes,” he said.

His words startled Elizabeth and she was only vaguely aware that his hands had moved to her waist, to the knot that held her robe secure.

“When was this?” she asked, frowning.

“At the waterfall,” Geoffrey answered. “You were bathing.”

“And you watched me?” she asked, both embarrassed and somewhat indignant.

“I had already decided to wed you, Elizabeth. It was my right.”

Elizabeth pushed his hands away and took another step back. She felt the bed behind her knees and knew she could go no farther.

“When did you decide,” she asked, her voice a whisper, “that you would wed me?”

Geoffrey did not answer her but stood there and waited.

He wasn’t making this moment less awkward, and the uncertainty of what was to come was agonizing. I must get the deed done, Elizabeth decided. Slowly she untied the belt to her robe. Before her courage could desert her, she removed the covering and let it drop to the floor. “And do you still want me?” she asked, her voice husky and, she hoped, enticing.

From the surprised look on her husband’s face, Elizabeth decided that maybe enticing was easy work. His stare was so hot that she felt the heat, like an embrace, wrapping around her. She felt like she was being caressed. “Aye, wife, I want you,” Geoffrey answered, his voice hypnotic. “Come to me, Elizabeth. Let me make you mine.”

It would not take much more to push his control over the edge, Elizabeth naïvely decided. Then, in her mind’s view, he would most probably throw her upon the bed and take her. It would be painful, she knew, but quickly over.

An overwhelming need to have him hold her first, to stroke and comfort her, made Elizabeth’s head spin. She took the first step and was but a breath away from touching him when she stopped and lifted her hands to her hair. She pulled the ribbon free, and the tight crown of curls quickly unwound, falling down below her shoulders. And still her husband did not move. He did not seem overly crazed with excitement or lust either, and Elizabeth realized that she would have to play a far better temptress than she first thought, if she was going to cause him to lose all control.

She raised herself on tiptoes and placed her hands around his neck, moving forward until her breasts were touching the warm mat of hair covering his chest. The contact of her skin against his was surprising; her eyes widened in reaction. Geoffrey smiled then, as if he was pleased with her aggression.

He picked her up and gently placed her on the bed. Before she could move over to allow him room, Geoffrey came down full upon her, all sinewy strength and power touching silky smoothness from neck to toes. His frame seemed to swallow hers. He braced himself on his elbows to share some of his weight, and watched his wife’s reaction to his intimate touch.

Elizabeth closed her eyes against the rioting feelings tugging at her senses. His skin was like warm steel; his maleness, the very scent that was Geoffrey, intoxicated her. She felt herself tremble and bravely tried to move her legs apart, knowing, in her heart, that the power of him would most probably tear her apart. I will not scream, she repeated again and again to herself, squeezing her eyes tighter still as if that single action might help lessen the pain of what was to come. “I am ready,” she whispered in a ragged voice.

Geoffrey felt her brace herself against him and smiled. “Well, I am not,” he whispered in return, and widened his smile when her eyes flew open with obvious distress and confusion. His eyes were full of tenderness and golden chips that showed his amusement. ’Tis not funny, Elizabeth felt like screaming. Instead she whispered in a voice that sounded very much like a plea, “Be done with it, husband.” She tried to move her legs farther apart but Geoffrey blocked their movement with his own. Elizabeth looked into his eyes and waited. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, an unconscious gesture, and forced her body to relax.

And then Geoffrey slowly leaned down and kissed her, a deep, draining kiss that played havoc with Elizabeth’s emotions. Her mouth opened under his tender assault, and she accepted his invading tongue with a sigh, pulling him closer. For long moments he continued to taste the sweetness she offered. He demanded, and he gave, and she did not want the drugging kisses to end. When he pulled his mouth free and moved to her throat, Elizabeth tried to force him back. Geoffrey took hold of her hands and held them secure with one of his, yet she did not feel the prisoner, for his thumb gently stroked the palms of each, sending little shivers that reached the tip of her toes. She felt like she stood on the edge of a storm and that streamers of lightning were shooting through her limbs. Geoffrey moved to her side, keeping one muscular leg securely anchored on top of hers. And all the while his mouth continued to taste, moving with deliberate thoroughness to her straining breasts. The torment was becoming unbearable and she could not keep the moan from echoing throughout the room when his mouth finally touched her breast. His tongue teased her nipple erect, flicking and circling with excruciating thoroughness that pushed Elizabeth further and further into the eye of the storm. Finally he took the aroused bud into his mouth, sucking it until tremors of pleasure shook Elizabeth.

She was unaware that her hips had begun to move in an erotic motion, back and forth. Heat of such intense need was building deep within and Elizabeth could remain passive no longer. She pulled her hands free and began to touch and stroke her husband. His muscles felt like knotted iron, the hair on his chest crisp and warm. Elizabeth marveled at the difference in their bodies, wanting to know all of him. Her hand slid lower but suddenly stopped at Geoffrey’s indrawn breath. She hesitated another second and then continued her exploration. When she reached the heat of his desire, Geoffrey’s hand stopped her. His voice was harsh when he said, “No, wife. I do not have that much patience.”

“It is wrong?” Elizabeth asked, horrified that she might have done something terrible. She pulled her hand back with a forceful jerk but Geoffrey caught it.

“No,” he answered, stroking her cheek with his other hand. “Nothing is wrong between husband and wife.” He placed her hand around his neck and looked deep into her eyes.

“Then why—”

Geoffrey’s mouth stopped her question. His movements then became more forceful, more concentrated. His knee forced her legs apart and his hand slid into the soft curls protecting the core of her need. Elizabeth tried to push his hand away but Geoffrey ignored her. With each touch, each stroke against the velvet softness, Elizabeth felt her control slip further away. She clung to him, kissing his neck, his shoulder, rubbing her tongue against his hot skin, tasting the salty film, inhaling the musky scent that was her husband.

The sensations she was experiencing were too raw, too new. She became frightened by the power he was yielding and again tried to push his hand away.

Geoffrey held her still by locking his hands against her hips. “You are so beautiful, Elizabeth. I would know all of you.” His voice was a growl against her skin. He lowered his head to her waist and began to circle her navel with his warm wet tongue. Elizabeth groaned and automatically sucked in her breath. She tried to find her voice to protest, to tell him no, what he was doing was wrong, he must not . . . but his mouth was moving lower, and lower still, and all the words, all the thoughts parted with her trembling legs, exploding into fragments of white-hot pleasure so intense that she thought she would die with the sweet agony when his tongue began to stroke her there. The intimate sparing of his tongue against the most intimate, the most guarded part of her very being, the rough caress of his unshaven face against the ultrasensitive skin on her inner thighs, drove Elizabeth to the brink. She begged him with her moans to cease this tender torture while her hands held him there, against her.

“You taste so good . . . so sweet,” she heard him say in a ragged whisper.

He was slowly driving her crazy. “Please, Geoffrey,” she moaned as she arched against him. “Please . . .” She didn’t know what she asked for, only wanted the agony to end.

“Easy, my love,” Geoffrey whispered, but Elizabeth was beyond understanding what he was saying. His voice was soothing, his touch wild; she arched her hips more forcefully and raked her nails through his hair.

Her frenzied movements made Geoffrey wild with need. His body trembled and Elizabeth could feel the raw hunger take over. Instead of frightening her, she became more excited, pulling him up toward her face.

Geoffrey’s control snapped. He covered her mouth with his, hungrily taking her with his tongue. Elizabeth matched his passion, kissing him again and again with desperate urgency. She found herself becoming the aggressor, wanton with her need, and Geoffrey tried to let her have her way a while longer, until her nails, digging into his shoulder blades, became painfully insistent.

“I want you as I have never wanted another woman,” he told her in a ragged whisper. He knelt between her legs, his hands holding her hips. Elizabeth reached up and locked her hands behind his neck, trying to pull him back down to her. She felt him hesitate at the threshold and instinctively arched at the same instant that he plunged. Pain ripped through the sensual haze and she cried out. She tried to pull away but Geoffrey held her tightly against him, and only when he was deep inside her did he stop, giving her time to adjust to him.

He soothed her sobs with honeyed words, promising again and again that the pain was over.

“We are done?” Elizabeth managed to ask, her voice trembling.

“Only just begun,” her husband answered. He sounded as if he had just run a great distance, and Elizabeth knew the control he was maintaining for her sake. His consideration for her made her want to please him. He was breathing hard against her cheek. Elizabeth turned her head and found his lips, kissing him passionately.

Geoffrey returned her kiss, cupping her face with the palms of his hands. Then, slowly at first, he began to move. And the pain was forgotten.

Her legs slipped up around her husband’s hips. She heard him tell her to hold him, and she tightened her arms around his neck. And then she heard nothing more. She could only feel. Escalating pleasure had taken control. She was racing with the wild beat of her heart into the center of the storm and her husband was guiding her, pushing her.

“Now, Elizabeth,” came his ragged whisper, “come with me.” And she was there with him; she felt the separation of body and soul, felt the explosion as bolts of lightning ignited and burst into flame inside her with the forceful thrust from her husband. It was terrifying, and it was magnificent.

She called his name and heard him say her own.

It was some time before Elizabeth returned to reality. The gentle descent back to the present was made warm and safe by her husband’s body covering her own. She opened her eyes to find Geoffrey smiling down at her. “I never knew . . .” she whispered. The sense of wonder and amazement at what they had just shared was impossible for her to put into words, but Geoffrey knew from her expression. He tenderly pushed a wet strand of hair away from her temple and kissed her there. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and realized that she had been crying.

He smiled again—a pleased and arrogant smile, Elizabeth decided—and she wondered just who had enticed whom.

She closed her eyes and smiled. Geoffrey rolled onto his back with a loud, contented sigh and Elizabeth immediately felt the cold sweep of air chill her glistening skin. Sleep demanded her attention, sleep and the warmth of her husband’s body. She pulled the covers up and over both of them and rolled into his arms, nudging him until he turned to his side and wrapped his arms around her.

She was just about to drift off to sleep when she heard her husband’s voice. “You are mine.” It was a quiet statement of fact.

“Yes, husband, I am yours,” Elizabeth acknowledged into the darkness. “And you are mine.” Her tone challenged him to deny it.

Elizabeth waited for what seemed to her impatient nature an eternity. Geoffrey did not answer. His deep, even breathing told her that he had fallen asleep. Her irritation turned to exasperation when he began to snore.

Elizabeth refused to give up. He had demanded her pledge, and now she would have his! She shoved him as hard as she could and fairly yelled into his ear, “And you are mine, Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey still did not reply, but he did give her a quick squeeze and a hint of a smile. To Elizabeth, it was an acknowledgment of her claim. It was enough. The pledge was given.

Content, husband and wife slept.

Chapter Four

ELIZABETH WAS AWAKENED BY THE SOUNDS OF MEN AT work in the courtyard below. In that instant before memory cleared, she thought she heard her father’s deep voice yelling instructions to his soldiers. She pictured him strutting around the training men with his hands locked behind his back. No doubt his pride and joy, little Thomas, was just two steps behind, his hands also locked behind his back, imitating his father’s every move.

Roger’s bellow jarred Elizabeth. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Nothing can ever be as it was, she realized, and the past could not be undone.

Yet in the morning light, the future did not look as bleak, as forbidding. Until yesterday Elizabeth had no thoughts or cares for the future; her only concern was Belwain and planning her revenge. Now it appeared that she would have both: a future and justice.

Elizabeth rolled over onto the spot where her husband had slept. The linen was cold beneath her and she knew her husband had been gone for some time.

She was glad for the solitude. So much had happened so fast that Elizabeth hadn’t had time to do more than react. Now perhaps she could sort out her feelings. She stretched and felt the soreness caused by her husband. Her husband! She was now married, and Baron Geoffrey was hers. In the light of day, the events lasting deep into the night before made Elizabeth blush. What a contradiction this man was turning out to be! He was such a gentle lover, sensitive to her wants and needs, wants and needs she hadn’t been aware she possessed. Elizabeth would never have guessed that such sensitivity lurked behind her husband’s shield of strength. Tender and gentle . . . her gentle warrior. Aye, it was a contradiction. What other surprises were in store for her? she wondered.

Perhaps it will be an easy arrangement, being married to Geoffrey. By the standards of nobility, it was an excellent match from her position. Her parents would have been pleased.

More significant, her brother’s future was now secure. Elizabeth believed that Geoffrey would indeed protect little Thomas. “We are no longer alone, little brother,” she whispered. Hope, newfound and fragile, eased Elizabeth’s worry.

Kicking off the covers, she slipped out of bed and knelt down, automatically making the sign of the cross before her knees touched the cold stone floor. In the habit of rushing through her morning prayers, all recited aloud in Latin as her mother had taught her, Elizabeth finished the ritual in bare minutes. She added an additional Paternoster for the repose of her family’s souls, and ended the prayer with the same vow she had made each and every morning since the massacre. She promised to see Belwain punished, and would give her life, if need be. The fact that she was praying for vengeance, an act in great contradiction to all the Church taught, did not deter Elizabeth. In this instance she would follow her grandfather’s beliefs. It would be an eye for an eye. The oldest law would prevail.

The ritual completed, Elizabeth hurried to dress. She wished to look her best when she joined her husband. Never having given her appearance more than a necessary glance in the past, Elizabeth was a little surprised at herself. Being pledged to Hugh for so many years removed the need for primping for the opposite sex, for Hugh had always been far more interested in the number of new horses purchased and by how many coins whenever he visited Montwright Manor. He never remarked upon her appearance. Father had called Hugh frugal, which by her father’s tight standards was quite a compliment. Elizabeth had come to think of her future husband as . . . predictable. Predictable and boring.

Her wardrobe was sadly lacking in choices. Long ago, her father had dictated that too many clothes made one give undue attention to one’s appearance, and such attention more than hinted of vanity. And vanity was a sin.

Elizabeth decided on a beige gown with blue borders. It fit rather snugly across her breasts and was high-necked, with long flowing sleeves. She tied a blue rope around her waist and slipped her dagger into its leather sheath and onto the loop of the belt.

It took her another ten minutes to find the mate to her beige leather shoes, lodged behind the drape at the head of the bed, and when both shoes were found and slipped into, she turned her attention to her hair. She brushed it until it crackled and then tied it with a ribbon at the base of her neck.

There, she was done. Pinching her cheeks to give them additional glow, and wishing she could find her tiny mirror to check her appearance, she straightened her shoulders and went in search of her husband.

She found Sara in the great hall, and saw the disorder. The castle must be made as spotless as it used to be, Elizabeth decided, in honor of her mother. Elizabeth deterred her search for Geoffrey and organized the servants, placing Sara in charge to supervise the sweeping and scrubbing.

“Throw out these reeds,” she said, referring to the soiled rushes. “And replace them with new. Perhaps we should sprinkle some rosemary about to get rid of the staleness that lingers. What say you, Sara?” Elizabeth asked the servant.

“Aye, my lady. And Dame Winslow will bring us fresh wildflowers just like she used to do for your mother. We will have the place as right as new in no time.”

Elizabeth nodded. Her gaze turned to the shredded banner hanging by sheer willpower of its own on the far wall. “Sara, have someone remove the banner,” she ordered in a whisper. “I do not need to look upon it to remember what was done here. I’ll not forget.”

The servant impulsively grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll see to it, my lady. None of us will be forgetting.”

“Thank you, Sara,” Elizabeth replied. She gave the banner one last look and then turned to leave the room.

The servant used the hem of her sleeve to wipe the gathering tears from her eyes as she watched her new mistress. Oh, if only she had the power to lift some of the weight and heartache burdening one so young! “ ’Tis so unfair,” she grumbled to herself.

“Pardon me, Sara?” Elizabeth turned from the doorway and smiled. “I did not hear you.”

“I was just asking myself if you and the Baron will be leaving soon,” Sara improvised. She knew it wasn’t her place to ask such a question, but she had no wish to talk of the killings again.

Elizabeth was surprised by the question. She had not even considered the possibility of leaving Montwright. It was her home. Yet leaving, and soon, was more than likely. Geoffrey had many holdings superior to Montwright lands and he had his own domain. “In truth, I do not know,” Elizabeth told the servant. “Where is my husband, Sara? Have you seen him about? I must discuss this issue with him.”

“I have not seen him this morn,” Sara replied. “Perhaps he is in the courtyard, or in the soldiers’ keep below. I could send Hammond to check,” she added, for while Elizabeth could freely roam about the estate, it was strictly forbidden for a woman to enter the soldiers’ quarters located one flight below the great hall.

“I will find him,” Elizabeth said.

It was easier said than done. Elizabeth strolled around the courtyard but did not interrupt any of the men to ask of her husband’s whereabouts. She stopped and watched several knights struggle with a large vat of sand, wondering what their plan was. The redheaded squire, called Gerald, was glad to give her an explanation. “Vats of sand will be placed at intervals along the ledge circling the top of the wall, my lady.”

“For what purpose?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.

“See the one that is in place already, over there?” Gerald asked, pointing to the west. His voice fairly screamed the question into Elizabeth’s ear.

“Aye, I see it,” Elizabeth answered.

“And see how it perches on those stones?” Elizabeth nodded, inwardly smiling at the squire’s loud enthusiasm.

“The fire to heat the sand will be contained within the circle of stones.”

“But for what purpose?” Elizabeth asked.

“To heat the sand,” Gerald restated, “until the sand is so hot it is almost liquid sun.”

“And when it is almost liquid sun?” Elizabeth asked.

“Then it is propelled by the metal discs over the wall and will do much damage to anyone trying to gain entrance . . . if there be another attack.”

From the look on the squire’s face, he was a bit disappointed that she wasn’t showing much enthusiasm. “I had not heard of such a thing, such a weapon,” she said. “It is truly effective?”

“Aye, my lady. The sand can burn the body something fierce. Why, if it lands right, it can blind—”

“Enough,” Elizabeth hastened to interrupt, for he was painting a gruesome picture for her and she had the feeling he was just beginning to warm to his topic. “You have convinced me,” she added.

The squire nodded and grinned. Elizabeth thanked him for his time and explanation, and thought that he reminded her of her pet hawk the way he puffed up with her praise.

She continued to look for her husband but did not find him in any of the small huts clustered in semicircles around the courtyard. She was pleased to see that all the huts were being reinforced with fresh-smelling straw and wattle, long thin wooden rods that gave additional support. The huts were the real foundation of the castle, and though they were built on a small scale by others’ standards, they housed trained craftsmen who were highly skilled and most efficient in seeing to all the needs of the manor. The leatherworker resided in one hut; the baker with two cooking pits and one clay oven in another; the falcons and their trainer with his variety of cages and perches in yet another. In another cluster the carpenter resided, next to the candlemaker. The last and, by her father’s standards, the most important was the oversized hut set to one side of the castle, all alone, and nearest to the barn. It contained the toolsmith and his supply of iron and steel. The weapons were made there.

In the bailey beyond the walls, the slaughter of the animals was seen to and the making of honey fermented ale watched over. There had been plans to add a winepress, but that reality had not come to pass before her father’s death.

Elizabeth wondered when the craftsmen had last been paid. Was that now her responsibility? She considered. In the past her father had paid the freemen in coin and food. Deductions were taken from their pay for protection and a place to live, and for the number of candles used and recorded by Dame Winslow. The candlemaker’s wife could not write, but her method of keeping track was just as efficient. She used small pebbles. Each time a candle was handed out, Dame Winslow placed a pebble in that freeman’s cup. When payday arrived, the cups were placed before Elizabeth’s father and it was he who would calculate amounts. Who would see to this duty now? she asked herself. Another question to put to her husband, Elizabeth realized. But Geoffrey was nowhere to be found. Elizabeth went into the barn and found her mare in one of the stalls and made a mental note to thank Joseph for bringing her animal back for her. She saw that Geoffrey’s huge stallion was gone. A knot of fear grabbed at her when she realized he had ridden into the forest, for there was danger out there, and then the absurdity of her reaction made her laugh. Had she not survived with but her dogs on the outside for weeks? And was not her husband capable of taking care of himself?

The thought that perhaps Geoffrey was touring the outer bailey, seeing what damage was done to the peasants’ huts residing at the base of the winding road below Montwright, made Elizabeth head in that direction. She reached the gates to the outside but found her way blocked by two guards.

“Please open the gates,” Elizabeth asked.

“We cannot, my lady,” one of the men said.

“You cannot?” Elizabeth frowned and looked from one soldier to another.

“Our orders,” the second explained. “From the Hawk.”

“What order did my husband issue?” Elizabeth asked. She kept her tone pleasant and neutral.

“That you remain inside the walls,” one of the guards answered in a hesitant voice. He did not like the frown that came upon his mistress’s face and hoped that she wouldn’t press him. He had no wish to upset her, though he would obey the Hawk’s orders no matter what.

“So I am . . .” Elizabeth started to comment that she was a prisoner in her own home and caught herself in time. She would discuss this with her husband. It would be unseemly for her to make any comment, good or bad, to his guards. They were doing their duty for their lord. “Then you must follow your orders,” she said, smiling.

Turning, she started back, wondering why such an order had been given. Did it apply to everyone or just her? Was her husband worried that she might try to leave? Return to the forest? Elizabeth could understand his unsureness of her up until yesterday evening. But last night she had given him her pledge. She had admitted that she belonged to him. She was his wife. Didn’t he realize that her pledge was the same as a sacred vow to her? Shaking her head, Elizabeth decided not. Trust. It must be earned. And in time, she was sure she would gain his trust, his confidence.

And how sure of him am I? Elizabeth asked herself. Do I trust him? She thought that she did, knew that he was an honest man. He had dealt well with her father, she remembered. And her father had called him a fair man. High praise from one who was as frugal with his praise as he was with his coins.

Elizabeth admitted that her knowledge of her husband was quite limited. She knew nothing of how he dealt with women, how he would treat a wife.

A blur in the sky caught her attention. Elizabeth glanced up and saw her hawk circling, and without so much as a second thought for her audience, she extended her arm and waited. She was so intent on watching her pet descend that she didn’t notice the hush that came over the group, or see the startled, disbelieving expressions.

The hawk landed on Elizabeth’s arm and met her stare with a loud gargle of greeting. Elizabeth noticed that her pet was full-breasted from a recent meal and whispered words of praise for his hunting ability.

The hawk increased his gargling and then suddenly began to flap his wings with distress. “I hear him too,” Elizabeth whispered, for the sound of approaching horse and rider was growing closer. Her voice soothed the hawk and the flapping ceased. Elizabeth looked up and saw her husband, sitting on his horse, watching her. Her dogs flanked the stallion’s sides, their breathing labored from their run. Knowing how nervous the hawk became whenever the dogs were about, Elizabeth took mercy on her pet and commanded, “Go.” The hawk immediately left its soft perch and took to the air.

Elizabeth lifted the hem of her gown and started toward her husband, intent on asking him to spare her a few minutes. She focused on the hard line of his mouth, remembering his lovemaking, and wondered what he was thinking. She could feel the soldiers staring at her and realized from their gaping expressions that she had made a spectacle of herself with her pet hawk. She felt embarrassed that she had drawn so much attention. Keeping her eyes firmly on her husband’s features, she continued her slow, dignified pace.

The cheer caught her by surprise. Startled, she turned to see what the commotion was all about. They were still staring at her. And they were yelling. Had they all gone daft? She looked back to her husband for an answer, but his face was a mask as he watched her.

It was Roger who gave her an explanation. He came up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder, saw her husband’s scowl, and quickly removed it. “They honor the Hawk . . . your husband,” he said, “and cheer the Hawk’s mistress. You are worthy, my lady.”

“But they do not realize. The hawk is my pet,” she said, looking to the sky. “I have raised it from—”

“It does not matter,” Roger interrupted, smiling. “The hawk has his freedom and still he returns. It is because you are worthy.”

It is because they are all silly, superstitious men, Elizabeth thought. And of what am I worthy? Being wife to Baron Geoffrey, she supposed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband dismount and start toward her. So he was finally going to acknowledge her, Elizabeth thought with irritation. She suppressed the feeling and turned from Roger to smile at her husband. He must have a considerable amount on his mind, and she needed to burden him further with matters concerning her brother and herself. There wasn’t any place for irritation. Besides, Elizabeth admitted, it was a childish reaction. And she was no longer a child, but a woman, a wife.

She was the first to speak. “Good morning, my lord.” She gave a small curtsy as she spoke and then started forward, about to lean up and place a chaste kiss on his cheek as her mother had done whenever she greeted Elizabeth’s father, but his frown canceled her intent. It was as if he had read her aim and did not wish the contact.

Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm from the subtle rejection. She also felt awkward. She took her gaze from his, embarrassed, and noticed the dogs. Instinctively she patted her side with one hand, a silent command she used to bring her dogs to her sides. The dogs ignored her and continued to hover next to her husband, nudging him for attention. Their switch in allegiance was the last straw. She felt like screaming. And what would her husband think of that? she asked herself. To make such a scene in front of his knights . . . why, she doubted that he would ever live it down. Not that she would ever cause such a scene; she had far too much pride and dignity. Still, it was an amusing fantasy, and it did help to lighten her humiliation.

Geoffrey was speaking to Roger. Elizabeth waited as patiently as possible for him to finish his orders and give his attention to her. She noticed that the longer her husband spoke, the harder Roger scowled. What was causing his change in mood? She moved forward again so that she could hear her husband’s conversation.

“How many ride with him?” Roger asked her husband.

“No more than fifty, according to Riles,” Geoffrey answered.

They both looked so intent, and then Geoffrey turned his gaze to her, and in that instant, she knew. Even as the realization hit, the sounds of thunder in the distance, thunder from the hooves of hard-ridden horses, came to her ears. Belwain was coming!

All color drained from her face. Instinctively her hand went to her waist, to the sheath containing her dagger. She pulled the weapon free, holding it so firmly that the handle felt like it was a part of her hand. The wildness in her eyes mirrored her thoughts. I must find Thomas. I have to hide him. Where is he?

Geoffrey watched the transformation in his wife with a heavy heart. He longed to take her into his arms and offer comfort, to soothe the wildness in her gaze, to heal the injury. But he could not. And she would have more torment before the day was out.

Elizabeth turned, her destination unknown, her only thought to find her brother. Find and protect. She seemed to forget the dagger in her hand and that her husband was even present.

Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Do not do this,” he said in a soft voice.

Elizabeth stepped back and broke the hold. She tried to walk around her husband but he moved and blocked her path.

“I must find Thomas,” she explained in a hard voice. “Do not stop me.”

“Go to our bedroom and wait,” Geoffrey ordered. Elizabeth began shaking her head but Geoffrey ignored her refusal. “I will send your brother to you.”

“Now? You will send him to me now? Before Belwain sees him?” she asked. The desperation in her voice washed over Geoffrey like liquid sun, like the sand from the vats, scorching him with her grief and terror.

“Roger,” Geoffrey said, never taking his gaze from his wife, “the boy is in the tanner’s hut. Take him to Elizabeth’s room.”

“Aye, my lord,” Roger replied. He turned and headed toward the hut at a fast pace.

Elizabeth stared after Roger until she felt Geoffrey’s hand on hers. Looking down, she watched almost as a third person, as her husband pried her fingers loose, one by one, from the dagger. Only when he had possession of it did she react. “I must have my dagger. . . .”

“You will not need it. You will stay in our room.” His order was hard. He pulled her to him, held her secure with one arm, and lifted her chin with his other. “I will have your word on this, Elizabeth.”

“And you would believe my word?” Elizabeth asked. She was trembling and knew her husband could feel it.

“I have no reason to doubt you,” Geoffrey countered, looking deep into her eyes.

“I do not know if I can give it,” Elizabeth answered. “First you must tell me what you will do with Belwain.”

Geoffrey was not angered by her order as he could well understand her hesitancy. “I need not explain my actions to you, wife. Remember that.” He softened his tone and added, “Trust me.”

“And if I do not?” Elizabeth asked.

“Then I will post guards and lock you in our room,” Geoffrey answered. “Until I talk with your uncle, hear his side—”

“He has no side, only lies,” Elizabeth said.

“Enough! I will have your word.”

“Aye, husband. I will give you my word. I will wait until you have spoken with Belwain.” She relaxed in his hold but her gaze continued to be defiant. “But hear me well, husband. I will trust you in this matter. And if you do not deal with Belwain, then I will.”

“Elizabeth!” Geoffrey raised his voice and felt like shaking her into understanding his position. “Do not threaten me. Your uncle will have a fair hearing. It is William’s law I follow. To hear all sides of an issue before rendering judgment. And you will abide by my decision.”

Elizabeth could not answer him. She knew in her heart that she would be unable to accept any decision other than total guilt for her uncle. Yet she did not voice this admission because she believed that Geoffrey would find in her favor. He believed her, had said as much when they talked at the waterfall and she told him what had happened.

“I will go to my room now,” Elizabeth said, hoping to end the conversation.

Geoffrey decided not to press her. The approaching soldiers would be at the gates in bare minutes. Still, he did not wish to end the discussion in such a harsh manner. “I have promised to protect you and your brother. Remember that.”

“Aye, husband,” Elizabeth said. She kept her expression neutral and started toward the doors. When she reached the top step, she turned back to her husband, found that he watched her, and nodded. “I trust you, my lord.” To herself, she added, Do not fail me.

Chapter Five

AS SOON AS ELIZABETH WAS SAFELY INSIDE THE CASTLE, Geoffrey turned his attention to the waiting men. “Harold, double the number on the walls,” he said to one knight. To another he announced, “Only Belwain will be allowed entrance this day.” Roger caught his glance and he stopped his orders while he watched the older knight carry little Thomas, like a sack of grain under his arm, toward the castle doors. Without turning back to his soldiers he said, “Send Belwain to me when he arrives. I will be waiting inside.”

Geoffrey started toward the great hall when he was intercepted by his loyal squire, Gerald. He ignored him until he reached the handle to the heavy doors. Roger, finished with his duty of delivering the boy to his sister, almost collided with the eager squire, who had lunged ahead of his lord to open the door.

“Stay outside with the men,” Geoffrey told the squire.

“I would stay near you, my lord,” the squire argued, a worried frown on his freckled face.

“For what purpose?” Geoffrey asked.

“I would protect your back,” the squire stated. “That is my duty,” Roger all but barked at the lad. The reprimand had the desired effect on the squire. He seemed to shrink considerably before his lord’s eyes. “You two believe that my back needs protecting?” Geoffrey asked.

“From what is being said, my lord,” the squire answered before Roger could open his mouth.

“Then Roger will see to the task,” Geoffrey announced. “Today you will protect my walls,” he added. “Your duty is to watch and listen. And learn.”

The disappointment of not being in on the interview with his new mistress’s uncle showed on the squire’s face but Geoffrey was in no mood to appease. He had too much on his mind. “Follow my orders without question, Gerald. There are no second chances if you are to become a knight. Is that understood?”

The squire placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Aye, my lord. I will follow your orders.” He glanced up, saw the nod from his leader, and quickly turned to leave.

“He needs to learn to hold his tongue, that one does,” Roger told Geoffrey as they walked side by side into the great hall.

“Aye, and to cover his emotions. But he is still young—only fifteen, if I remember. There is still time to mold him properly.” Geoffrey smiled at Roger and then added, “He is quite skilled on the battlefield, always there to hand me whatever weapon I desire, seemingly fearless of injury to himself.”

“But that is his duty,” Roger protested.

“True, but he does it well, does he not?” he asked his companion.

“Aye, he does, and he is loyal,” Roger admitted.

“Perhaps I will assign him to you, Roger,” Geoffrey decided. “You could teach him much.”

“No more than you, my lord,” Roger stated. He sat down on the bench and leaned his elbows on the wooden table. The linen cloth had been removed and the scratches in the wood were visible. “Besides, the lad would drive me to the brink with his eagerness. I’m too old to waste what patience I have left.”

Geoffrey chuckled. “You are not that much older than I, Roger. Do not give me such paltry excuses.”

“If you order it, I will see to the boy’s training,” Roger conceded.

“I will not order it, my friend. The choice is yours. Think on it and advise me later.”

“Think you Belwain responsible for the murders?” Roger asked, changing the subject.

Geoffrey’s face lost its smile. He leaned against the table’s edge and rubbed his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “I do not know,” he said after a minute. “My wife believes him guilty.”

“And so do the servants I spoke with,” Roger added. “They all remember the argument the two brothers had and how Belwain made many loud threats.”

“That is not enough to condemn a man,” Geoffrey answered. “Foolish men say many things in anger that they later regret, and an angry tongue does not mean one is guilty. I will hear what he has to say before I decide.”

“It would seem to me that he is the only one to gain from his brother’s death.”

“Not the only one,” Geoffrey contradicted in a quiet voice. “There is another.”

His scowl stopped Roger from asking more. He would have to be content to wait and see what happened. He had no doubt that his lord would get to the bottom of the riddle, find the one responsible. Having been in Geoffrey’s service for so long, Roger had come to understand how his lord thought, how he reasoned. The Hawk was a careful man, given to logical inclinations, and did not make rash judgments. He believed in fairness and rarely based his decisions on hearsay. In truth, Roger acknowledged with pride, his lord was a fair and reasonable ruler.

Would his lord’s reasoning be affected or influenced by his new wife? Roger considered. Geoffrey certainly was taken with her, Roger knew, though he tried mightily to act quite indifferent when she was about. But then Roger was also taken with her. No, whether it be his wife’s family or not, Roger felt sure his lord would proceed as he always had in the past. He would not kill without just cause.

The door to the castle opened and both men turned. Two guards appeared at the entrance, a stranger between them. Belwain had arrived.

Geoffrey motioned to the guards and they quickly departed. Belwain, small in stature and elegantly dressed in peacock green and yellow, but with a wide girth, hesitated at the entrance to the hall. “I am Belwain Montwright,” he finally announced in a nasal whine. He dabbed at his nose with a lacy white handkerchief while he waited for a response.

Geoffrey stared at the man before him for a full minute before answering. “I am your baron,” he said in a forceful voice. “You may enter.”

The lord leaned against the wooden table again and watched his wife’s uncle as he hurried into the room. The man was walking as though he was being hindered by an imaginary rope tied to both ankles. Geoffrey found Belwain’s voice as offensive as his motions. It was high-pitched with a scratch attached to it.

There was absolutely no resemblance to Thomas Montwright, Geoffrey thought. He remembered Thomas as a tall, vibrant man. The younger brother, now kneeling before him, appeared to be an old woman in men’s garb.

“I pledge you my fealty, my lord,” Belwain said, one hand over his heart.

“Do not give me your pledge, for I will not accept it until I know what is in your mind. Stand!” The harshly ordered words had the appropriate effect. Belwain was suitably intimidated, Geoffrey decided. His eyes, glazed with terror, told Geoffrey that.

When Belwain was standing before him, Geoffrey said, “Many blame you for what happened here. You will now tell me what you know of this matter.”

The uncle took several gulping breaths before answering. “I knew nothing of the attack, my lord. I heard of it only after the fact. As God is my witness, I had nothing to do with this. Nothing. Thomas was my brother. I loved him!”

“You have a strange way of mourning your brother,” Geoffrey said. At Belwain’s confused expression, Geoffrey continued, “It is proper to wear black, and you do not.”

“I wore the best that I owned, to show honor for my dead brother,” Belwain answered. “He liked colorful tunics,” Belwain added, stroking the sleeve of one arm as he spoke.

Disgust welled up in Geoffrey’s throat like burning bile. This was no man standing before him but a weakling. The lord kept his expression neutral, but found it a difficult task. To gain additional control, he turned and walked over to the hearth.

Turning back to Belwain, he said, “The last time you saw your brother there was an argument?” Geoffrey’s voice was almost pleasant now, as if he was greeting an old friend.

Belwain didn’t immediately answer. His eyes, like a cornered rat, darted from his lord to the knight sitting at the table, and then back to Geoffrey again. He seemed to be considering his options. “It is true, my lord,” he answered. “And I shall carry the burden of saying harsh words to my brother for the rest of my days. We parted last in anger, of that I am guilty.”

“What was the argument about?” Geoffrey inquired, totally unmoved by Belwain’s tear-filled admission. Compassion was the last thing in Geoffrey’s mind.

Belwain watched the lord, saw that he seemed unmoved by his impassioned speech, and continued in a less dramatic voice. “My brother promised me additional land for planting. Yet each year he would further the date for handing over the land, always with some insignificant reason. My brother was a good man but not given to generosity. And the last time I saw him, I was sure I would get the land. I was sure! He had used up his reasons,” Belwain added, “but again he dangled the carrot before me and then at the last minute withdrew it.”

Belwain’s face had turned a blotched red as he spoke, and his voice lost some of the whine. “I had reached my limit and was tired of his games,” he said. “I told him as much and we began to yell at one another. He threatened me then, my lord. Yes, he did! He threatened his only brother. I had to leave. Thomas had a terrible temper and many enemies, you know,” he added. “Many enemies.”

“And you believe one of his ‘many enemies’ killed him and his family?”

“Yes, I do.” Belwain nodded vigorously. “I tell you again, I had nothing to do with it. And I have proof that I was nowhere about. There are those who will tell you if you will allow me to bring them inside.”

“I have no doubt that you have friends who will state you were with them while your brother and his family were slaughtered. No doubt at all,” Geoffrey said. His voice was mild, but his eyes were chilling.

“Yes,” Belwain said, standing taller. “I am not guilty and I can prove I am not.”

“I have not said you are guilty,” Geoffrey replied. He tried to keep his voice neutral, for he had no wish to let Belwain know what he was feeling inside. Belwain, he hoped, would be lulled into a false sense of security, and perhaps become more easily trapped. “I have only just begun to look into this matter, you understand.”

“Aye, my lord. But I am sure that in the end I will be a freeman. Perhaps the new lord of Montwright lands, eh?” Belwain stopped himself just in time. He almost rubbed his hands with delight. It was easier than he had anticipated. The overlord, though quite intimidating in appearance, was most simple in his reasoning, Belwain hastily judged.

“Thomas’s son is heir to Montwright,” Geoffrey answered.

“Yes, that is most true, my lord,” Belwain hurried to correct himself. “But as only uncle, I assumed that, once proven innocent of this terrible deed, that I . . . that is, that you would place the boy under my guardianship. It is the law,” he added with emphasis.

“The boy’s sister does not trust you, Belwain. She believes you guilty.” Geoffrey watched Belwain’s reaction to his statement and felt a rage begin to boil inside. Belwain was sneering.

“She knows nothing! And she will change her tune when I am in charge,” he scoffed. “Too much freedom that one has had.” There was genuine dislike in his voice, and he almost lost his life in that moment it took for Geoffrey to gain control.

He is a stupid man, Geoffrey thought. Stupid and weak. A dangerous combination.

“You speak of my wife, Belwain.”

His statement had the desired effect. Belwain lost all color and almost collapsed to his knees. “Your wife! I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I did not mean, that is—”

“Enough!” Geoffrey barked. “Return to your men and wait until I send for you again.”

“I am not to stay here?” Belwain asked, the whine back in his voice.

“Leave me,” Geoffrey bellowed. “And be content that you still have your life, Belwain. I have not ruled out your guilt in this matter.”

Belwain opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and snapped it shut. He turned and hurried from the room.

“God! Can he be brother to Thomas?” Roger said when the doors were closed. He all but shuddered with revulsion.

“He is afraid and yet brazen at the same time,” Geoffrey answered.

“What think you, Hawk? Is he the one? Did he do it, plan it?”

“What do you think, Roger?” Geoffrey asked. “Guilty,” Roger stated.

“Based on?”

“Based on . . . disgust,” Roger admitted after a time. “Nothing more. I would like for him to be guilty.”

“That is not enough.”

“Then you do not think him guilty, my lord?”

“I did not say that. It is too soon to tell. Belwain is a stupid man. He thought of lying about the argument with his brother but decided against it. I could read the indecision in his eyes. And he is weak, Roger. I think too weak to plan such a bold thing. He appears to be a follower, not a leader.”

“Aye, I had not thought of it that way,” Roger admitted.

“I do not think he is completely innocent, but he did not do the planning. Of that I’m sure. No,” Geoffrey said, shaking his head, “someone else is behind the deed.”

“What will you do now?”

“Draw the guilty out,” Geoffrey stated. “And I will use Belwain as my tool.”

“I do not understand.”

“I must think over my plan,” Geoffrey said. “Perhaps I will take Belwain into my confidence. Make false promises to him. Suggest that the boy will be given into his care. Then we will see.”

“What is your reasoning, my lord?”

“Whoever planned this wanted my lands. They attacked Montwright and they therefore attacked me. You operate on the premise that it was only Montwright the guilty was after. I do not limit my thoughts in just one direction, Roger. I must look at all the possibilities.”

“Sometimes the most simple conclusion is also the most correct,” Roger answered.

“Know this, Roger. Nothing is ever as it appears. You fool only yourself if you believe what is easiest to believe.”

“A good lesson, my lord,” Roger said.

“One I learned early in life, Roger,” Geoffrey admitted. “Come,” he suddenly said, “there is much to do today. Set up the table outside and I will see to the disputes among the freemen and pay them for their work.”

“I will see to it,” Roger said, hurrying to stand. He knocked over the bench in his haste but didn’t bother to right it. His lord was already at the doorway, waiting. “Roger, I again place the boy Thomas in your care. I will go up and talk with my wife and send the lad to you. Wait here.”

Roger nodded his ascent, silently wondering what his lord would say to his wife. He knew that Lady Elizabeth expected immediate death for her uncle. How would she react to her husband’s decision to wait for justice? The Hawk was about to ask a great deal from a mere woman, Roger thought. But then, from his contact with the Baroness, she was far more than a mere woman.

“My lord?” Roger suddenly asked.

Geoffrey turned from the stairway, one raised eye-brow his question.

“What of Lady Elizabeth? Would you wish me to look after her today?”

“No, that is my duty,” Geoffrey answered. “As unseemly as it is for a woman to stay at my side, it will be done today. I would know where she is every minute that Belwain and his men are about.”

“You would protect her from Belwain,” Roger said, nodding.

“And Belwain from her,” Geoffrey said, with a hint of a smile. “She would try to kill him, you know. And there is a thought in my mind that she just might be capable of the deed.”

Roger nodded again and tried not to smile.

It took Elizabeth some time to get control of herself. She alternated between grabbing the squirming little boy and holding him against her to trying to explain to him why she was in such a state.

Little Thomas remembered nothing. Not even how to play checkers, a game the two of them had played countless times in the past. It was just as well, Elizabeth decided, for her mind was too preoccupied for games.

When Geoffrey opened the door to their room, he found Elizabeth standing by the window, clutching her brother’s hand. The little boy looked bewildered.

“Go to Roger, lad. He waits for you at the foot of the steps.” Geoffrey’s order lightened the expression on Thomas’s face. He pulled free of Elizabeth’s hold and ran for the door. It was Geoffrey’s hand that stayed him. “Listen to me, Thomas. You do not leave Roger’s side. Do you understand me?” His voice was firm.

The boy felt the seriousness of the order. “I will not leave his side,” he said, frowning.

Geoffrey nodded and the boy hurried out the door. Slowly, while he gathered his thoughts and considered how much to tell his wife, Geoffrey shut the door. He turned to deal with Elizabeth and was surprised to find her bare inches from him. Her face and posture appeared relaxed, but her eyes told the truth. There was torment etched there, torment and pain.

Unused to comforting, Geoffrey awkwardly placed his hands on her shoulders. In a soft voice, he said, “I will have your word, Elizabeth, that you will hear what I am going to say. Hear and abide by my decision.”

Elizabeth frowned. He was asking the impossible. “I cannot give you my word, my lord. I cannot! Do not ask this of me.” She tried to control the anguish in her voice but found it impossible.

“Will you listen to me, then?” Geoffrey asked.

“You have found Belwain innocent.” Geoffrey could feel Elizabeth’s shoulders sag beneath his hands.

“I have not said that,” Geoffrey answered.

“Then he is guilty in your eyes?”

“I have not said that either,” Geoffrey snapped, growing irritated.

“But—”

“Stop this! I have asked you to listen to me,” Geoffrey stated again. “And I do not want your interruptions until I am done. Will you give me that much, wife?”

Elizabeth could tell her husband was irritated with her and knew that he was finding it difficult to keep his patience. She was puzzled also by his manner. “I will not interrupt.” The promise was made, and she would keep it.

“To begin,” Geoffrey said, lightening his tone, “I do not have to tell you anything. You understand this?”

Elizabeth nodded, wishing him to go on. “You are my wife. I need tell you nothing. In future I most likely will not. It is not your place to know what I am thinking, what I am doing. Do you also understand this?”

In truth, Elizabeth did not. Her father had shared all his joys and worries with her mother. And that was as it should be. Why didn’t her husband understand this? Were his parents so very different from her own? she wondered. She made a mental note to question him on this later. For now, she would agree. She nodded again and folded her hands.

Geoffrey let go of her shoulders and turned from her. He walked over to the two chairs, adjusted his sword, and sat. Propping his feet up on the edge of the bed, he looked over at his wife.

“Your uncle is nothing like your father,” he began. “I find it hard to believe that they are indeed brothers.” He stopped then, looking past Elizabeth.

“It is too simple, this solution,” he said, more to himself than his puzzled wife. Elizabeth longed to interrupt, to ask him what he meant, but she kept her silence.

“I do not think Belwain is the one behind the massacre.” There it was said. Geoffrey watched his wife react.

Elizabeth met his stare and waited. She sensed he was testing her somehow, but didn’t understand his reasons. Didn’t he know the agony she was going through?

Her composure pleased the warrior. “Answer me this, Elizabeth. Do you consider your uncle to be intelligent? Tell me what you know of his character.”

Elizabeth sensed her answer would be important to her husband, though she did not know why. “I believe him to be self-centered and interested only in his pleasures.”

“Your reasons?” Geoffrey asked.

“Whenever he came to visit, he never took time with my sisters or my brother, or me for that matter. The family didn’t interest him. And as soon as my father came home, Belwain would begin with his wants, his needs. He was always asking for more, but never giving.” Elizabeth walked over to the bed and sat down before she continued. “There was no love inside of Belwain, that is why I think him more than capable of doing the killings. He was totally lacking in loyalty too. I cannot give you an example of this but I know it in my heart. And to me, there is nothing more unholy than lack of loyalty. As to intelligence, no, I do not think Belwain uses his mind overly. Otherwise he would have learned long ago how to deal with my father. He would have used a different approach to get what he wanted.”

“He is weak. Don’t you agree?” Geoffrey asked.

“Yes, he is weak,” Elizabeth agreed. “But full of evil too.”

“I do not disagree or agree with you,” Geoffrey said. “His manners do not please me,” he admitted.

“My mother told my father that Belwain suffers from the king’s complaint,” she whispered. “I heard her.”

“The king’s complaint?” Geoffrey had never heard the expression.

Elizabeth’s cheeks colored but she answered her husband’s question. “To prefer men to women . . .”

Geoffrey acted like a bolt of lightning had been shot through his body. He came out of the chair in one giant bound. “William would cut out your tongue if he heard your blasphemy,” he bellowed.

“Then it is not true?” Elizabeth asked, outwardly oblivious to her husband’s anger.

“No, it is not true,” Geoffrey barked. “Never utter those words again, wife. It is paramount to treason.”

“Yes, husband,” Elizabeth agreed. “I am glad it is not true.”

“William is married,” Geoffrey snapped. “And it is not proper to discuss—”

“But you can be married, can you not, and still prefer the company of other men?”

“Stop this, I say!” God, but she was exasperating! To speak of such a subject as though she was discussing family trivia both infuriated and amused him. She had much to learn.

“Yes, my lord.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded repentant, but Geoffrey wondered how sincere she really was. “I am sorry, husband. I have led you away from our topic.”

“Uhmmm,” Geoffrey grumbled deep in his throat. He sat back down and shook his head, in an action meant to clear his thoughts.

“I will tell you what I have thus far concluded, wife. Your uncle is a weak man. Weak and stupid.”

“May I question you, husband?” Elizabeth asked, her tone mild.

“You may,” Geoffrey stated.

“Will you kill him or must I?” Her softly spoken question jarred Geoffrey.

“For now, neither will. We have need for Belwain, Elizabeth. Now you will ask no more questions until I am done,” he hurried to add.

Elizabeth nodded, frowning.

“I do not think he is the one behind the plan, though I feel he somehow participated. He is a follower, and too stupid to plan such a feat.”

Elizabeth knew her husband spoke the truth. It was a difficult admission for her to make. Yet even from the beginning, while she concentrated all her hate on Belwain, there was a nagging uncertainty that he was not alone in the deed. Guilty, yes! But others involved? It was a possibility she had refused to consider until now.

“Belwain will be the bait, wife. I believe he will lead us to the one in hiding. I have a plan,” he added, “and you will give me your word that you will cooperate.”

“But who else stands to gain, husband?” Elizabeth asked, unable to keep her silence a moment longer.

“There is another,” Geoffrey said. “Though I will not speak his name to you yet. I could be wrong. You will have to trust me in this, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth didn’t respond but continued to look at her husband and wait.

“I now ask a most difficult thing from you,” he said. “It will require courage.”

“And what is that?” Elizabeth asked.

“You saw what happened, and you remember what those who didn’t wear masks looked like,” Geoffrey said. “Tonight the troops of Belwain will be allowed inside.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened but Geoffrey continued on. “Do not worry, we far outnumber his soldiers. There will be no danger. I will have you beside me at dinner, and you will have a chance to see if any of his men were part of the attack.”

“Belwain will sit with us?” Elizabeth asked.

“He will sit with us,” Geoffrey acknowledged. “I want him to think he is innocent in my eyes, Elizabeth. If he feels secure, he will slip.”

“You ask a great deal,” Elizabeth whispered. “I do not know if—”

“Can you be content with Belwain’s death and live with the thought that there is another just as guilty?” Geoffrey argued.

Elizabeth took a long time to answer. “No, I could not be content. I would know all of the truth.”

“Can you do what I ask?”

“Aye,” Elizabeth answered, wondering inside if she really could or not. She honestly didn’t know. “But could we not ride to their camp outside the walls instead of allowing them entrance?”

“No,” Geoffrey announced. “It is safer for you here.”

Elizabeth squared her shoulders and stood. “There is much to be done before tonight. I will instruct the cook,” she said. Her hands were trembling. There was so much to think over. Elizabeth felt overwhelmed with contusion.

“Come here, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey ordered, his tone gentle.

Elizabeth nodded and slowly walked over to stand at her husband’s side. Before she could so much as blink, Geoffrey pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly on the lips. His breath was warm and mint-tasting. Elizabeth began to respond when Geoffrey ended the kiss. “I did not hurt you last night?” he asked in a quiet voice, smiling at the becoming blush his question spurred.

“Not overly much,” Elizabeth answered, turning her gaze to his chin. She felt him chuckle and glanced back up to look into his eyes. There was tenderness there now. “I did not hurt you, my lord?” she asked innocently.

“Not overly,” Geoffrey answered when the surprise of her question receded. He found he liked it when she teased him, liked to see the hint of a sparkle come into her eyes. God, but if he could end her torment over her family’s deaths as soon as possible, he would. He wished to see only joy in her expression, hear her laughter.

He lifted her off his lap and stood up. “This is not the time for loving, wife. It is daylight,” he explained.

“We may only show affection during the night?” Elizabeth asked. She had meant her question as another jest, but her husband was vigorously nodding his head in agreement. “You are serious?” she asked, all but laughing.

“Of course I am serious! Do not mock me, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey said in a firm voice. “It is unseemly to show affection in front of my men. You would do well to learn that,” he admonished. “Know your place, woman!” His tone did not sound angry to Elizabeth but reminded her of an elder instructing a younger one in the ways of the court. She found herself furious over his attitude.

“And where is my place, husband?” Elizabeth let her anger show. She placed her hands on her hips while she waited for an answer.

Geoffrey walked to the door and opened it before turning back to his wife.

“I asked you, where is my place, husband? Where do I stand?”

Geoffrey found himself confused by the obvious anger in his wife’s voice. She acted much like his stallion when a burr was caught under his saddle.

“Where do you stand?” he repeated, frowning. “What is your meaning?”

“Aye, where do I stand?” Elizabeth all but shouted. “Do I stand beside you or behind you, husband? Answer me that.”

“Why, behind me, of course. It is the way of things.” From his wife’s expression, Geoffrey gauged his answer had not pleased her. He slammed the door before she could reply, shaking his head. Aye, she had much to learn, this new wife of his. Much indeed!

You are wrong, husband mine, Elizabeth thought as soon as the door slammed. I’ll not be hovering behind you, she vowed. Like my mother, I will stand beside you in this marriage. Oh, he had much to learn, this new husband of hers. Much indeed!

Chapter Six

GUYTON, THE BAILIFF IN CHARGE OF THE ENTIRE MANOR, had been slain during the attack, as had Angus, the reeve, a first tenant in charge of cultivation of the lord’s land. And there were others missing, unaccounted for, Elizabeth knew. New appointments had to be made, and soon, for Elizabeth could all but feel the chaos and confusion in the atmosphere.

Although her husband was in charge of all that transpired, Elizabeth knew it was also her responsibility to help in any way she could. Her mother had ruled with her father, at his side, and often remarked that it was her lot in life to ease the burden of leadership. Elizabeth could do no less.

The first thing she would do was what she had promised her husband. She searched out and found Sara and placed her in charge of the arrangements for dinner. She felt confident that she could trust Sara to see that her orders were carried out, and when the servant had repeated each instruction back to her mistress, Elizabeth was content that all would go as planned.

“The fare will be meager by Belwain’s standards, Sara. There would be sufficient quantities of shoulder of wild boar with pheasant pasties and pigeon pie, but no delicacies such as roasted peacocks or swans, nor poultry either. “Make sure that there is more than enough sweetmeats for dessert, and have the servants include cloves and ginger after that.”

“We’ll need plenty of ale, my lady, for the sweet-meats and the spices will make the men ravenously thirsty.”

“That is the plan, Sara. Tell the servants that no cup is to be left unfilled. Enough ale will muddle their minds and loosen their tongues.”

Sara nodded vigorously. “I see your plan, mistress, and I tell you I am greatly relieved. At first I could not understand how that . . . man could be allowed to sit at your father’s table. Why, I thought it was sacrilege you encouraged,” she added in a whisper.

“There is reason.” Elizabeth found herself comforting the old woman. “You must continue to have faith in me, Sara. Do not doubt my motives. Trust me.” Familiar words, Elizabeth thought. Easily asked but quite difficult to give.

Elizabeth patted the woman on the arm and left the room. Her destination was the courtyard, where her husband was holding court. The villeins, those who worked for her father but had some rights of their own to the land, and the cotters, those who usually had no rights to any property but served the lord faithfully, had all been informed that Geoffrey would hear their disputes and offer decisions. Elizabeth was anxious to observe her husband, to see how he questioned, to have some insight on how he reached his decisions.

Geoffrey’s back was to Elizabeth when she started down the steps. A long wooden table had been placed a little distance in front of the steps, and her husband sat in the same high-back chair that her father had used. Roger stood behind Geoffrey, his hand resting almost absentmindedly on the hilt of his sword at his side. There was a crowd gathered, all men, split into two sides in front of the table, with a cleared space in the middle. A lone man, Elizabeth recognized him as one of the leatherworkers, stood in the center, his head bowed.

The squire gestured to Elizabeth and pointed to a stool next to him. Elizabeth walked over to where the lad stood. “You are to sit here,” the squire informed Elizabeth.

“My husband’s orders?” Elizabeth asked in a whisper so as not to interrupt the proceedings.

The squire nodded, pleased that his mistress understood.

Elizabeth turned and stared at the back of her husband’s head, willing him to look over his shoulder at her. So I also sit behind you, husband? Stand behind you, sit behind you, is that your way of thinking? she asked herself. Well, I think not, Baron Geoffrey. You have much to learn, husband mine, and the lessons will begin now.

Elizabeth smiled, more to herself than the grinning squire, and then lifted the wooden stool. The squire could do no more than gape as his mistress carried the stool to the table. Roger was watching her, Elizabeth realized, and she glanced up to see his expression. He gave her a small shake of his head, hoping she would understand that what she was about was not acceptable, but Elizabeth only increased her smile, nodding that she understood well enough. Roger’s expression turned from a frown to a bland, almost bored expression it must have taken years to perfect, but his new mistress wasn’t the least bit fooled. She could see the laughter in his eyes.

Oh, but she hoped Geoffrey wouldn’t make a scene! Why, she didn’t even know if he was inclined to beat his wife. And though she had heard that he had a fierce temper, she had yet to see it.

Well, it was too late for second thoughts now. She took a calming breath and placed the stool next to her husband. Smoothing her gown, she sat down and folded her hands demurely in her lap. Though she wished more than anything to chance a glimpse at her husband’s expression, she did not. With total concentration she kept her gaze straight ahead and waited.

Geoffrey was in the middle of a sentence when his wife appeared at his side. He lost his train of thought as he watched her out of the corner of his eye take her place next to him. Her audacity stunned him into temporary speechlessness.

Elizabeth felt his anger blow over her like a hot wind and she braced herself for the explosion. Had she misjudged him so completely? she asked herself. She thought he would never make a scene in front of his men. Never mind, she told herself, what will be cannot be stopped. But if he does rant and rave, and if I am cast out and back inside, I will return to his side, again and again, until he must tie me in chains to keep me behind him.

Geoffrey refused to acknowledge his wife sitting beside him. He had no wish to cause a commotion, to give those watching the impression that his wife did not fear him, that she was disobedient. Later, he thought with a scowl, later he would see to her punishment.

Elizabeth felt the threat of immediate danger pass. The wind cooled the goosebumps on her skin. Odd, she thought, but she hadn’t realized how nervous she had become. Why, she was almost frightened! Almost, she reminded herself.

It was hard not to smile, but Elizabeth did her best. It was not so very difficult training a new husband, not too difficult at all.

You have much to learn, Elizabeth, Geoffrey thought with irritation. He judged it would not be a difficult task, once his new wife understood his rules, his way of thinking. Not too difficult at all.

Geoffrey cleared his throat and tried to remember what he had been saying when the interruption occurred. “Where was I?” he muttered over his shoulder to Roger. The vassal bent down and said a few words into his lord’s ear but stopped when Geoffrey nodded.

“The charge against you is grave indeed. Did you understand that it is forbidden to hunt in your lord’s forest?”

“I understood the rules, Baron,” the leatherworker replied. “I have been a loyal freeman to Thomas Montwright for many years.”

Several men in the crowd nodded their agreement. Elizabeth knew the man standing before her husband and wondered what charge had been brought against him. He was called Mendel, she recalled, and he possessed a gentle nature. She could not imagine Mendel guilty of any crime, grave or small. Elizabeth fought the urge to ask her husband who had brought what charges against the man, but decided to wait. Being throttled in front of a crowd did not appeal to her.

“The charge is hunting within the lord’s forest,” Geoffrey restated, “and while it is my understanding that Lord Thomas, rest his soul, allowed the hunting of some animals, the deer was off limits to all but himself. Yet you were seen dragging the dead carcass.”

“I do not deny it,” Mendel answered. “I did kill the animal, but there was good reason.”

Elizabeth almost nodded her encouragement but caught herself in time. It was extremely difficult to stay an impartial witness to the proceedings, and she only then realized the weight her husband carried. Justice was a heavy burden.

“State your reason,” Geoffrey ordered.

“The deer was injured and in pain,” Mendel replied. “The front right leg was broken. I do not know how it happened, but when I came upon it, I could see the agony. I made a clean kill to stop the pain and was bringing the carcass when I was intercepted by your soldiers. That is the truth as I know it,” Mendel said.

“Is there one here who can give testimony to this man’s good faith?”

“Aye, my lord,” called out a voice. The crowd parted, and Maynard, the stable master, walked to the center.

“State your case,” Geoffrey said.

“I have known Mendel many years, my lord, and have always found him to be honest and truthful.”

“Roger? Did you check the animal as I instructed?” Geoffrey asked.

“Aye, Baron. The bone was broken,” he said.

“Tell me this, Mendel. Why were you in the forest? To hunt rabbits, perchance?” he asked, his tone mild.

“Nay, my lord. I have paid a pence and one-half for the privilege of keeping two pigs within the area, and I was but checking on them.”

“Uhmmm,” Geoffrey grumbled. He stared at the man before him for a long minute while the crowd shuffled from foot to foot.

“I find you innocent, Mendel.”

The crowd was pleased. A cheer rolled through the crowd and Elizabeth smiled her pleasure.

Elizabeth found herself content to sit beside her husband for the next two hours and listen as one after another came before their lord to state their grievances.

By the time court was done, Elizabeth had a better understanding of how her husband’s mind worked. His questions were always direct and to the point; yet when two men told opposite stories, Geoffrey was quick to find the truth. Seeing him as judge made her feel more confident that he would be able to find and punish all those responsible for her family’s deaths.

The crowd began to disperse, and Elizabeth thought it wise to excuse herself before her husband turned his attention to her. She had no wish to push him too far with this first lesson in just where her place was.

She was, unfortunately, not quite quick enough. Her husband’s hand rested on her arm like the weight of three trebuchets. “Because Belwain and his men are about, I have today allowed your bold behavior.” He squeezed her arm and added, “I have made an exception, wife. Do you understand?”

“I hear you, my lord, though I do not know why you are so displeased. My mother always sat beside my father. It is the way of things,” she said, looking at him with innocence.

“It is not the way of things,” her husband answered. His voice had risen in volume and the scar on his cheek grew a starker white against his tanned skin, a dead giveaway, Elizabeth had learned quickly, that he was indeed angry. He applied more pressure on her arm, willing her to lose her calm expression.

“It is not?” Elizabeth asked with as much innocent surprise as she could muster. She placed her hand gently on top of his. “I have only my parents’ example to follow, my lord.”

Geoffrey released the hold on her arm and pulled his hand free. “It is not proper to touch as this in public, wife.” He sighed when she did not agree with him, knew she did not from the look on her face. Why, she seemed fairly amazed with his statement. “This is not the time for a discussion, Elizabeth,” he decided aloud. “Tonight I will take the time to instruct you in your duties and your place.”

“I look forward to the lesson,” Elizabeth replied, trying hard to keep the irritation out of her voice. And tonight I will instruct you, my lord, she thought.

Geoffrey considered his wife, glimpsed her anger, and was surprised by it. Didn’t she realize how patient he was being with her? He guessed she did not, and felt great frustration. She had been through a great deal and he knew her emotions were strained to the limit of her endurance. For that reason he would continue to be patient.

Where had he received his ideas? Elizabeth asked herself. Not to touch in public? To show no affection except at night, in the privacy of their bedroom? Ridiculous, she scoffed to herself. There was nothing wrong with husband greeting wife with a kiss, or wife placing a chaste kiss upon her husband’s cheek when first they met during the day. Who had raised him? A pack of wolves perhaps? She knew his parents were now dead, Roger had told her that, but what were they like with each other when her husband was a little boy? Did they never show any affection for each other? Perhaps there was no love between them, she decided. But then, there is no love between Geoffrey and myself, yet. It was too soon for love, wasn’t it? And wasn’t the touching, the showing of consideration for each other, a necessary beginning for true and lasting love to grow? Oh, what a confusion! Elizabeth’s head felt like it was spinning with all the rules her husband kept hinting at. Am I the one so amiss in my thinking? she asked herself. Is it wrong to wish for laughter and shared secrets, an occasional embrace to show a specialness for one’s spouse? A longing for these very things brought loneliness and sadness. Without another word to her husband, Elizabeth stood up and took her leave, walking slowly back into the hall. Sara immediately intercepted her, and Elizabeth thankfully put her confusing thoughts concerning her husband and his behavior aside. There was work to be done.

An hour later, Elizabeth felt very much like a limp rag. It appeared to her that no order could be undertaken until Elizabeth herself said the words, sometimes again and again until the servants understood just what she wanted. Most of the servants were untrained in the tasks she requested, and Elizabeth kept her patience. They were doing the best that they could.

“If Gerty breaks another cup we will not have enough for the drinks, Sara,” Elizabeth muttered when she heard a third crash.

Sara might have answered but Elizabeth couldn’t hear her over the wail coming from outside. She recognized the voice and knew little Thomas was terribly upset about something. Just as she was about to see what the problem was, the doors burst open and the little boy came flying into the great room. Roger was right on his heels, trying to grab the wolfhounds, who were busy nudging the youngster in his shoulder blades, propelling him along.

“They think you are playing, Thomas.” Elizabeth found she had to yell over his screams to be heard. She grabbed Thor, the bigger of the two animals, by the fur on the nape of his neck, while she watched Roger lunge for and miss the other, falling to the floor with a loud clatter. She almost fell down herself when her brother tackled the back of her knees and clung to her skirts. “Stop that screaming,” Elizabeth yelled, “or I will give you something to yell about.”

“Amen to that,” Roger muttered, struggling to stand up. It was a difficult task, for Garth, a most affectionate dog, was standing with front paws on the knight’s chest to give him better advantage while he licked at the scowl on Roger’s face.

“What is happening here?” Elizabeth and Roger both looked up and saw Geoffrey standing in the doorway. Even little Thomas peeked out from behind Elizabeth’s back to look at the lord. Elizabeth decided that her husband, legs braced apart and hands on hips, looked quite exasperated. But then, so was she. Another crash resounded in the background, and Elizabeth felt like grinding her teeth in reaction.

“Come here, Thomas,” Geoffrey commanded. His voice was harsh, and Elizabeth immediately wanted to shield her small brother from her husband’s anger. She did not think that Geoffrey would harm the lad, but she worried that his hard words would upset her sensitive brother immensely.

Geoffrey pulled the dog off the knight with one sure motion. “Sit,” he told the animal, and praise be, the dog decided to obey. “I am waiting, boy,” Geoffrey told her brother, folding his arms across his chest.

Couldn’t he use a little gentleness in his tone when addressing such a small child? Elizabeth asked herself. She frowned at her husband, hoping he would see her displeasure and soften his commands.

Little Thomas saw that both dogs had quieted, and making a wide circle around the dog his sister held, he ran to Geoffrey.

“Was that you I heard all the way from the walls, bellowing like an infant?” he asked the boy.

His reference to a baby had the desired effect. Little Thomas quit crying and wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his tunic. “I do not like them,” he stammered. “They want to bite my arms off.”

Elizabeth could not keep silent any longer. “That is nonsense, Thomas,” she snapped. “See how their tails wag? They only do that when they are happy.”

“I will keep the dogs chained a while longer, Thomas,” Geoffrey said. “But from now on, it will be your duty to take them their food and see that they have enough water. And if I hear that you have not done this duty, you will be punished. Do you understand me?”

“I will do it, my lord,” Thomas answered. “And I won’t be afraid. If the dogs are tied, they cannot bite me.”

Geoffrey let out a sigh and nodded. “No, they cannot bite you, and after you have seen to their food, they will grow to rely on you.”

“Mistress?” Sara called from behind. “The new vat of ale has been spilled. It was an accident.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes against Sara’s excuse for yet another accident. “See that it is cleaned up, Sara,” was her only reply.

“I will chain the dogs,” Roger interrupted. “Lad, you come with me.”

The call that someone was approaching the gates stopped the knight’s action. He looked at Geoffrey and then grabbed Thomas, slinging him up and over his shoulder.

“We have company,” Geoffrey announced. He was looking at his wife as he spoke. “Your grandfather.”

His calmly stated news lifted the fatigue and frustration from Elizabeth. Joy welled up and she all but hugged her husband. “He is truly here?” she asked in a breathless voice, smoothing her hair in an unconscious gesture.

Geoffrey watched the excitement in his wife with a hint of a smile. He was pleased that she was happy with his news, and decided that he liked it considerably when she smiled. Soon, he thought to himself, she will realize her good fortune, and she will smile like that at me. Not that it truly mattered, if she smiled or not. Still, it would make for an easier arrangement. He did not ask himself why that was so, why he liked to see her content, for he considered it insignificant. Happy or not, she belonged to him. That was the way of things. “You are pleased?” he found himself asking Elizabeth.

“Aye, my lord, most pleased,” Elizabeth answered, clasping her hands. She started to hurry past him then, intent on greeting her grandfather, but Geoffrey’s hand stayed her.

“We will greet him together,” he announced.

Elizabeth realized that that was the proper way and nodded her agreement. Geoffrey let go of her arm and walked beside her to the top of the steps leading to the courtyard.

The gates opened with her husband’s order, and her grandfather, riding a white charger Elizabeth had not seen before, came galloping into the courtyard. He was dressed, as he always was, in gray tunic and hose, with the fur of some wild animal’s skin draped as a cape over his shoulders and around his feet. Another band of fur covered most of his white-blond hair, tilting over one blue eye like a patch. He stood proud and tall, this radical grandfather of hers.

If Geoffrey was amazed by the figure dismounting before him, he hid his feelings well. Elizabeth glanced up at him, a smile on her face.

Her grandfather was an extremely tall man with a gait as enormous as his build. As bold as ever, he smacked the back of his horse and sent him flying away and then turned to walk toward Elizabeth.

“I came as soon as your word reached me,” her grandfather began in his powerful voice. “You are the baron here?” he asked.

“I am,” Geoffrey acknowledged.

The giant nodded while he studied the man standing next to his granddaughter. When he was through with his appraisal, he nodded again and turned his attention to Elizabeth. “You have no greeting for your grandfather?” he asked in a soft voice.

He was watching her closely, saw the fatigue in her eyes, the lines of worry.

Elizabeth needed no further urging. Nor did she turn to her husband for approval. She ran down the steps and threw herself into her grandfather’s open arms, clasping her hands behind his neck. “Thank God you have come,” she whispered into his ear as he lifted her high into the air.

“We will talk later, child,” her grandfather whispered back. In a louder voice he said, “You are well, little Viking?” using his pet name for her.

“I am no longer little Viking, Grandfather, but a Baroness. Put me down and I will introduce you to my husband,” she said. She glanced over at Geoffrey, read his scowl, and added, for his benefit and his pride, “My husband is a most patient man when my behavior becomes improper.”

Although he knew the man holding his wife was her grandfather, he still found himself irritated that another touched her.

The grandfather placed Elizabeth back on the ground, gave her another enthusiastic hug, and then turned to Geoffrey.

Looking at the warrior, he said, “Granddaughter, was the marriage forced?” There was a hint of a threat in his voice, but Geoffrey remained composed. He too turned to his wife and waited her response. Her words would determine his action.

“No, Grandfather, it was not forced.” She was looking at her husband as she spoke, her expression serious. “I am most content.”

Geoffrey’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit to Elizabeth’s way of thinking, though he still did not smile. But then he rarely smiled, Elizabeth reminded herself. Why, coaching a bit of lightheartedness into his expression was as difficult as trying to force the sun to shine during a rainstorm. It was simply beyond her power.

Her grandfather’s voice interrupted her wonderings. “Then, why the hurry, I’m asking. I would have liked to see you wed,” he said.

“There was so much chaos that my husband thought it best to hurry the vows. And it would not have been proper to celebrate the event after what took place here, Grandfather.”

“Still another reason to wait,” her grandfather argued. He still hadn’t taken his gaze from the tall warrior, and Elizabeth noted that the friendliness was gone from his tone. He antagonizes, Elizabeth realized as she watched him fold his arms across his chest and continue to stare at her husband. What was his game, his purpose? she asked herself, growing worried.

“It was my decision,” Geoffrey answered. His tone matched her grandfather’s and Elizabeth thought the two resembled hostile opponents now. “Do not dare to question it.”

Geoffrey well knew he was being tested, though he did not understand the reasoning. Regardless of the motive, it was time he showed this new challenger who was in charge.

“You do not kneel before me,” Geoffrey said. “You have failed to give me your pledge, though you know I am baron here.” His hand settled on the hilt of his sword, a silent message that he was prepared to battle if necessary.

“I am an outcast,” her grandfather answered. “You would consider my pledge honorable? Binding?”

Geoffrey nodded. “I would.”

The scowl left her grandfather’s face as he considered his next move. “Know you all the facts, my lord? I am Saxon, full blood, and once a noble. Still you ask my fealty? I have no lands to protect.”

“I would have your loyalty or your life. The decision is yours.”

Elizabeth could not understand what was happening between the two men. Fear swept over her as she watched the mental battle going on between her husband and her grandfather. His life? He had demanded his fealty or his life? No, she wanted to scream, do not ask this. He is his own man, loyal to no one but his family. Family! Aye, she realized, that was the key to this frightening game the two played. Was Geoffrey demanding acceptance by asking the pledge? And if so, why?

Geoffrey witnessed his wife’s distress and hoped that she would not interfere. It was imperative that he have her grandfather’s trust and loyalty, and though he had not voiced his reasons to his wife, he expected her to keep her silence.

“Go to your husband.” The quiet instruction was heard by Geoffrey.

Elizabeth felt torn in half between the two. She wanted the time to explain her grandfather to her husband, and to explain her husband to her grandfather, but there was no time. She let go of her grandfather’s embrace and walked to stand on the step, beside her husband.

Silence filled the area as the two giants considered each other. It was a most difficult moment for Elizabeth. She did not know what she would do if her grandfather refused to bend to her husband’s will, did not know if her husband would truly carry out his threat to do battle . . .

The game ended. With absolute ease, her grandfather flipped off his cap and knelt on one knee before her husband. He placed his right hand over his heart and said in a clear and forceful voice, “I, Elslow Kent Hampton, give you my loyalty and vow on this day nare to betray you.”

It was an emotional moment for Elizabeth. She had never seen her grandfather so intent. His word was his bond, and all he had to give. It was his honor, his soul. Did her husband sense this about her grandfather? she wondered. No, he could not, for he barely knew him, she reminded herself. He could have no idea that her grandfather was as fiercely loyal as she was.

“Stand,” Geoffrey said. All harshness was gone from his voice and Elizabeth could tell he was pleased. Her husband walked down the steps and placed a hand on his new relative’s shoulder. “There is much I would discuss with you, and before night arrives, now that I have your loyalty.”

Geoffrey was not prepared for the mighty whack he received on his shoulder, nor the deep bellow of laughter that filled his ears, making them ring. “You will have my time, my lord, for time is all I have to give. And there is much on my mind also . . . much I would like to ask you.”

“So be it,” Geoffrey responded.

“You would have fought for my pledge?” the grandfather asked, chuckling.

“Aye, and won too,” Geoffrey replied, smiling.

“Do not be too sure of yourself. I’ve still strength left in these old bones. I’m thinking I’d have the advantage of the wisdom age gives.” His eyes sparkled at Geoffrey’s reaction.

The lord began to laugh. “Not a chance,” he replied. “I have the strength of younger bones, old man, and would have cut you down in one quick blow.”

“Ha! We will never know for sure, now, will we?” her grandfather teased. He threw his arm around Geoffrey just as if they had been boyhood friends and changed the subject before her husband could answer. “Know you the treasure you have in your new wife?” he asked. And then, before Geoffrey could speak, he said, “I have a terrible thirst for a cool drink, Baron. Share a toast with me to your marriage.”

Geoffrey was chuckling as the two men walked up the steps and disappeared behind the doors. Her grandfather was saying something in a low voice and then her husband’s deep laughter reached her ears. He was actually laughing! Elizabeth looked to the sky and saw that the sun was shining. Amazing, she thought. There wasn’t a single rain cloud in sight!

It was nearly the dinner hour, and still Geoffrey continued in deep conversation with Elizabeth’s grandfather. They sat at the long table, across from each other, with cups of ale before them. Twice she tried to join them in their discussion but both times the talk would stop and both men would simply stare at her. They made it very obvious that they did not wish her present.

She knew the talk concerned Belwain and the “other” that Geoffrey had hinted at and decided that they were planning their course of action. God, give me the strength to see this charade through, to look at Belwain and not plunge my knife into his heart.

Elizabeth grew increasingly restless. She sought solitude and went for a walk, and although she could not bring herself to visit the graves, she headed in that direction. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow to the horizon. In the distance, on the knoll, she could see the wooden crosses anointing the freshly turned earth, marking the area where her family was buried.

“Granddaughter?” Her grandfather’s voice intruded and she turned and watched him make his way to her.

“I was this very minute wishing you were by my side,” she said, smiling. “Grandfather, I am so very glad you are here.” She grabbed his hand with both of hers and held it in a tight grip.

“You were going to the graves?” her grandfather asked.

“No,” Elizabeth admitted. “I cannot say good-bye yet.”

“And have you wept for your parents, your sisters?” he asked, his voice soft.

“No. Perhaps when it is done, when Belwain is punished—”

“Do not wait,” her grandfather said, “cry for them now, before it becomes too bottled up inside you. It will tear at your insides then and make you a bitter woman. Your mother would not have wanted that.”

Elizabeth considered his advice and nodded. “I will try, if it will please you, Grandfather.”

“You always please me, Granddaughter. Don’t you know that?”

Elizabeth smiled. What he said was true. He gave her his love without restrictions, without rules. And most important, he accepted her for what she was.

“You have a new life now, Elizabeth. Are you truly content with Geoffrey?” he asked.

“It is too soon to know that,” Elizabeth replied. She let go of his hand and the two began to walk, side by side. “I try to follow my mother’s example in playing the wife, but find it a most arduous task. Geoffrey is nothing like father. He is so hard . . . like steel. And he covers his emotions so that I am never quite sure what he is thinking. I do not think he is content with me but that too is too soon to tell.”

“What makes you think him discontent?” her grandfather asked. “You have only been married one day,” he said, trying not to smile.

“Almost two, Grandfather, but you are right, it is too soon to make such a judgment. Still there are his rules . . .” Elizabeth paused, gathering her thoughts. Was it disloyal to discuss her husband with her grandfather? she considered.

“Rules?” her grandfather asked, nudging her into a decision.

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered. “Rules of how I should act, what I should do. I think he considers me ill-prepared to be his wife, and in truth, he is right. It is but a role I play and I do not know how long I can wear the mask of deceit.”

“I do not understand,” her grandfather said.

“I have not shown my temper once since meeting Geoffrey and have tried to act with great humility.” She saw that her grandfather was about to laugh and frowned up at him. “I have been a gentle, obedient wife these past two days.”

“The strain must be terrible,” her grandfather said, chuckling. His tone grew serious but the twinkle remained in his eyes when he added, “I do see your problem. You wish to be meek but find it not in your character.”

“Exactly.” Elizabeth was pleased that her grandfather understood. “It is most difficult indeed. To keep my thoughts inside.”

“Is it that you wish to be master here?” he teased.

“No, of course not!” Elizabeth was surprised by his question. “Please do not jest with me. I am most serious.”

“Then what is it you wish?”

Elizabeth stopped walking and turned to her grandfather. “To be a good wife, to rule with my husband, to stand at his side.”

“And you do not think this will come to pass?” her grandfather asked.

“Nay, I do not,” Elizabeth answered, shaking her head for emphasis. “He would have me locked inside the walls, without a comment of my own, I fear. And when he discovers I have no talent with the needle, or with the household affairs, he will undoubtedly despair. Oh, but I wish I had spent more time with my mother. It will mean nothing to Geoffrey that I can hunt with the best of his men and bring down as many kills. Worse, when he sees me without my mask, I fear he will—”

“Why do you think he married you?”

“Because of my father, and his failure to help him in his time of need,” Elizabeth responded. That was such an obvious conclusion she couldn’t understand why her grandfather hadn’t realized it.

“Think you he marries each time there is a situation like this?”

“Well, of course not, but this is the first time he has been called on to—”

“Elizabeth, you confuse yourself with your thoughts and conclusions. Your husband was not at fault for what happened here. The safety within these walls fell to your father. A trap was laid for him, and there wasn’t any way that Geoffrey could have prevented what occurred.” Her grandfather sounded a little exasperated and Elizabeth grew irritated.

“Then why do you think he married me?” she asked.

“I do not think that Geoffrey does anything he does not want to do. I think he wanted you for a wife.”

“Because I was his responsibility,” Elizabeth added. “He felt it was his duty.” Elizabeth sighed and added, “Honor is the reason, he is an honorable man.”

“I agree that he does not know you in full yet, but I believe he will be most pleased when you remove your ‘mask’ and be yourself. Do not try to imitate your mother. In time you will learn the duties of being a good wife, just as Geoffrey will learn how to be a good husband.”

“Do you like him, Grandfather?” Elizabeth asked. His answer was important, as she valued his opinion. He was an astute judge of character, and not easily fooled. She hoped his reply would be favorable to Geoffrey, admitted that she wished him to admire her husband. Why, she couldn’t explain.

“Yes, I do like him. He seems an honest man. He is much younger than the other barons of his stature, from what I was able to learn. And much favored by the king himself.”

Elizabeth swelled with pride, as if it was she who was receiving the compliments. She nodded and said, “Roger hinted that he saved the king’s life.”

“I would believe it,” her grandfather agreed. “He seems to possess many good qualities, Granddaughter.”

“But there are faults too,” Elizabeth said to counter the praise. She did not wish her grandfather to become overly impressed, to place her husband upon a pedestal. He was, after all, only a man. And pedestals could crumble. “He is very stubborn.”

“And you are not?”

“No! I am a most agreeable person.”

“Then you will have no problem adapting to your baron’s rules?” her grandfather teased.

“I did not say that,” Elizabeth replied, laughing at the way her words had been twisted. “Perhaps it will be easier if I ignore the rules completely. What say you to that?”

“He will not be so easily led, Elizabeth,” her grandfather warned. “But there will be joy in the battle, I believe.”

“Have you seen your grandson?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Aye, he was brought to me,” her grandfather answered. “He did not recognize me and I felt like weeping like a woman when he did not.”

Elizabeth could not imagine her grandfather weeping and shook her head. “You carry your grief inside you too, Grandfather. Why, in all these years, the only time I have seen you cry was when you bested my father and laughed so hard that tears rolled down your cheeks.”

“I will miss them all,” he said in a quiet tone.

“Even my father?” Elizabeth asked.

“Especially your father. I’ll miss our battle with words, the jests we played on each other. He was a worthy opponent and a good husband to my daughter. She was happy.”

“Yes, they were happy.” Elizabeth nodded, feeling the sadness in her shadow.

“I have a heavy heart that little Thomas does not remember them. Heavy, indeed.”

“But, Grandfather, he saw it happen. And it was too much for him,” Elizabeth replied. “Geoffrey says in time he will remember, when his mind stops protecting him from the horror.”

“We will find the ones who did this,” her grandfather muttered. “They will all die.”

“Did Geoffrey tell you his thoughts? I believe Belwain is the one responsible but he considers my uncle only a follower. He hints of another who would have equal gain.”

“Aye, we talked and he shared his thoughts. He believes we must not rule out all the possibilities.”

“And what do you think, Grandfather?”

“I am an old man and need time to think on this,” her grandfather stalled.

“You only remember your age when it is convenient,” Elizabeth replied.

“And you know me well,” her grandfather answered. “Tell me this. Do you remember the stories about Hereward the Wake?”

“Only that when the battle for control of England was waged, it was Hereward who fought the longest.”

“He was a powerful Saxon noble and held out the longest against the invading Normans. He fought near the fens around Ely.”

“I have heard ballads sung in his praise,” Elizabeth whispered, “though I do not think our king would be pleased if he heard them. The songs glorify his enemy. Why do you bring this up?” she asked, frowning. “What has Hereward the Wake to do with Montwright? There is a connection?”

“Perhaps,” her grandfather said. “Hereward is long dead, but there are still his faithful followers. And more have recently joined their ranks, those who wish William removed from power and the return to the old ways. Geoffrey knows of this band of men and must consider that Montwright was attacked to cause havoc.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened while she considered what her grandfather said. “How do you know of this group of rebels?” she asked after a time.

“I was asked to join with them,” her grandfather admitted. He watched Elizabeth closely, judging her reaction.

She was horrified. “It is treason you speak,” she whispered. “Oh, but you would not—”

Her grandfather smiled and said, “No, I would not. It is not honorable, for I had already accepted William.”

“Did you tell Geoffrey that you—”

“No, I did not mention that I was approached by one of their leaders, child. But I did tell him that they were a threat, to be careful. I feel caught in the middle of this struggle, Elizabeth. Some of the leaders are old men now, displaced and full of hatred for all they had to give up. I do not feel loyalty to them but I am not inclined to name them either.”

Elizabeth took hold of her grandfather’s hand again and squeezed it.

“Why do these rebels persist, Grandfather? William has been our king for many years now. Can they not accept him?”

“There have been several uprisings over the years, many in the first two years of William’s rule, but nothing I fear on the scale that is soon to come. Greed is the motivation, I think. These men do not wish for a better way of life for all, only themselves. They make rash and foolish promises to all who will listen, even promising that when William has been dethroned, the danegeld will be done away with.”

“But wasn’t there a tax levied in the time before William?” Elizabeth asked. “Called by another name perhaps, but—”

“It is not significant, child. What matters is that they are all fools, these rebels, but with a deadly purpose.”

“I am frightened for you, Grandfather. Will there be penalty for not joining with this band?” Elizabeth found herself wringing her hands and stopped herself.

“I do not know,” he whispered. “Perhaps it is no coincidence that my only daughter and most of her family were murdered just days after I refused. I do not know,” her grandfather said, “but as God is my witness, I will find the truth.”

Both Elizabeth and her grandfather could hear the footsteps on the path behind him. They turned as one and saw that Roger was approaching.

“Roger comes,” Elizabeth said. “Have you spoken with my husband’s vassal yet? He is usually by my husband’s side.”

“I have met him,” her grandfather answered. He said no more until Roger stood before them.

“The Baron wishes to speak to you,” Roger said, addressing Elizabeth.

Elizabeth nodded and started down the path. Her grandfather did not follow and she turned, waiting for him. “Grandfather?”

“You go on, Elizabeth. I will visit the graves first. I would say good-bye to my daughter.”

Elizabeth nodded, knew that he needed to be alone for a few minutes. She motioned Roger to her side and walked beside him back to the hall.

“Is it true that my husband saved the king’s life?” she asked.

“Aye, and he was only a boy at the time,” Roger said.

“Tell me, please,” Elizabeth asked.

“There was poison in the wine that Geoffrey carried to William,” he said. “Geoffrey knew this as he had seen the deed done by one of the nobles. As he approached William’s place, he tripped and the wine spilled to the floor. William was angry over the clumsiness and was about to punish the lad when one of the dogs began licking the wine from the floor. Within seconds the dog went into fits and died. It was obvious to William that the wine was the reason. He made everyone save Geoffrey leave the hall and then questioned the boy. The plot was uncovered and the guilty punished.”

“Why did he not just yell out what he had seen?” Elizabeth asked.

“He had only been a page in William’s court a short time, but already knew not to speak unless asked. It was a rule he would not disobey.”

“Aye, my husband seems to place great import on rules,” Elizabeth said, smiling to herself.

“It is the way of things,” Roger announced, borrowing his lord’s phrase. “Without rules there would be chaos.”

“But being rigid at all times,” Elizabeth began, “seems most predictable. Surprises are sometimes a nice change from the daily hardships. Don’t you think?”

Roger glanced over at his mistress and shook his head. “Surprises imply that one is not prepared. Geoffrey is always prepared.”

“Therefore nothing can surprise him?” Elizabeth asked.

“Nothing.”

“You make my husband sound most predictable, Roger.”

“It is a compliment I give him.”

Elizabeth did not agree that describing her husband as predictable and rigid was a compliment. Rigidity left little room for spontaneity. No, it was no compliment, she decided. In truth, it sounded quite dreary.

“And do all follow his rules, Roger?” she found herself asking.

Roger looked surprised by her question. “Of course,” he said. “He would have it no other way. Nor would we! He is our lord, our leader.”

“Do not frown so, Roger. I was not discrediting my husband or your loyalty. I merely wish to learn as much about my husband as I can.”

Her explanation placated the knight and he relaxed his scowl.

She decided to change the subject and said, “Roger, I wish to thank you for your guard over my brother. I know you do this because my husband ordered it, but it must be a hardship and I—”

Roger coughed and Elizabeth guessed it was with embarrassment. “I do my duty,” he muttered, “and would give my life to protect the boy.”

Elizabeth smiled and knew that what he said was true. “My worry is lessened because you are in charge of him,” she admitted. “Tonight—”

“He will be well guarded,” Roger interrupted. “Have no fear concerning him.”

“With you about, I have no fear. Thank you, Roger.”

He was about to say that he did only what his lord ordered, but recognized the lie. He would protect the boy whether he was ordered to or not. Had not his new mistress helped him in his hour of need? When his lord lay near death and he had no notion as to what to do? And now he had an opportunity to lessen her fear. He could not refuse, nor did he wish to. She had captured his loyalty.

He nodded, indicating that he had heard the remark. Compliments make him feel awkward, Elizabeth decided. For that reason she did not smile or make a jest about his discomfort but changed the subject once again. “I fear my parents’ room will be overrun with rats.” She sighed and continued, “It must be made ready for my grandfather, and I am sure he has no liking for their company.” Her chattering ceased when the only reply she could get from Roger was a recognizable grunt, telling her that he was not interested in mundane household matters, she surmised.

They reached the doors and Roger escorted her into the hall where her husband waited. There were several of Geoffrey’s men in the room, all wearing serious expressions. There was tension in the air and Elizabeth knew the talk was concerned with grave matters.

Later she would excuse her behavior on her nerves, the tension that was building up inside her over the coming encounter with Belwain, but that was only half the truth, she admitted. He just looked so forceful standing there, so rigid. And those hands, those velvet hands he held in such iron fists upon his hips, as if he was just about to let go with some great wrath. Oh, he was predictable, this new husband of hers, she thought as she stood at the entrance and waited for his attention. Predictable indeed. And that, she later told herself, that was the other half of the reason. He was so sure of everyone’s reactions, and yes, their behavior too. He was too sure!

She was through waiting. She knew he saw her out of the corner of his eye as he listened to what one of the knights was saying. She tried to listen too, but the distance was too great and the knight’s voice too low.

When Geoffrey nodded to his vassal, Elizabeth took that as his dismissal and started across the hall. He turned to watch her, his expression well hidden, as usual. Could he read the determination in her eyes? She hoped not, and suddenly increased her pace until she was almost running. She threw herself into his arms. Geoffrey’s reaction was instinctive; he placed his hands on her waist to steady her, a most surprised look on his face. She saw it and was immensely pleased. I am not so predictable, she wanted to shout, not so easily molded, husband.

She was not done. Before he could mask his reaction and stand her away from him, she clasped her hands behind his neck and stretched up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “Good evening to you, my lord,” she whispered. She let go when she felt his intake of breath but continued to smile. Taking a step back, she tried to assume what she hoped was a subservient and obedient stance, though she had no previous practice in the art of docility, and said, “You wished to speak with me?”

The lilt in her voice, the sparkle in her eyes . . . Geoffrey felt as if the sun had just penetrated the walls, amazed at the joy she brought into the room. He glanced around and saw the soldiers watching and smiling.

He could not allow it, of course, should not, this independent streak in her, this need to disobey his most explicit order to behave in public with absolute decorum. Why, she was openly defying him! Aye, that was the truth, he decided. She wished to irritate him, but for what purpose? What was her game?

Her manner told him she awaited his reaction. He was about to chastise her with hinted threats he would carry out later, to give her what she expected. The teasing challenge in her eyes stopped him. It is what she expects, he realized.

His expression had turned back to the mask and so Elizabeth was quite unprepared for what happened next. Without saying a word, Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. Her reaction pleased him, and he favored her with a smile of his intent seconds before his mouth settled on hers. It was no gentle kiss, not from start to finish. His mouth opened on hers, demanding a response. She felt overwhelmed and quite embarrassed, felt his hands holding her hips against his in a most intimate way. She tried to pull away but could not. He was too strong.

How dare he? she demanded as she tried to push his tongue away with her own, how dare he maul her like this?

Her anger kept her from responding for a time, but then that too dissipated, and the warmness of remembrance, last night’s passion, filled her. She found herself responding in spite of her intentions. And that was more humiliating than being kissed so passionately in front of an audience.

Geoffrey found her resistance fade and relaxed his hold. He continued to take his fill but stopped when he found himself more affected than he wished. The taste of her was intoxicating, he decided.

He kissed her once on the forehead after releasing her lips and chuckled out loud at the dazed expression on her face.

“You forget yourself,” she whispered in a furious voice, pushing at his hands, which still lingered on her hips.

“I never forget myself,” Geoffrey answered, grinning. “You have indicated by your embrace that you have a desire to be treated as a—”

It was as far as he got. Elizabeth’s foot came down on his with a gasp of outrage. “Whore?” she interrupted. “You were going to say whore? Well, you are very mistaken, Baron. I wish for affection and you give me a mauling.”

He continued to smile and her temper exploded. “Fine, lord and master! I have learned this lesson. In future there will be no display of affection. None! I will give you the cold indifference you seem to wish.”

It was a wonderful exit line, Elizabeth thought, but found that her husband disagreed. He wouldn’t let go of her.

“I have heard of your temper, mistress,” he said. His voice was gentle and soothing, the exact opposite of the anger she had thought her words would have caused. “Perhaps later we might find time to discuss this unladylike bellowing of yours. You are lucky that you find yourself married to such a mild-tempered husband.”

She could only listen to his words with an open mouth, could not think of a single retort to his ridiculous analysis of his temperament.

And then he was gone, exited from the room, and only the echo of his deep laughter remained.

Elizabeth shook her head with despair. So much for predictable, she thought. Aye, she repeated. Predictable indeed!

Chapter Seven

WHEN ELIZABETH HAD FINISHED HER DUTIES HELPING TO clear the varmint and the clutter from her parents’ room, she went to her own bedroom. More dust had settled on her than the dustbin. She washed and changed into a gown of pale green, with an overtunic a shade darker and decorated with silver threads circling the top. Sara helped her fix her hair into a coronet atop her head, saying it looked quite lovely, even with the wisps of curls that kept slipping out.

Elizabeth waited until Sara had left the room before tying a second knife to a piece of ribbon and securing it under her gown around her thigh. She then clipped the silver chain that went with her overtunic, her bliaut, around her waist, letting it ride low, just above her hips, and slipped the other dagger in place there. She would use it to cut the meat, as it was the only utensil used and each carried his own, and no one would consider it unusual for her to carry it. But I could also use it to kill Belwain, she considered, if there be a need.

Little Thomas and Geoffrey’s main squire, Gerald, were waiting in the hall when she opened the door. Behind them stood three soldiers, all holding drawn swords. “With your permission, we are to wait in your room until the visitors have left,” the squire announced. “I am to keep your brother company and they,” he said, motioning to the guards with a tilt of his head, “they will watch the door.”

Elizabeth took a step back and allowed the two to pass by. She patted her brother on the top of his head and said to Gerald, “There is a chess game and checkers too, in the chest next to the fire-place.”

“I am quite good at both games,” the squire boasted.

“I do not know how to play,” her brother answered.

“Of course you do, Thomas,” Elizabeth replied. “You have just forgotten. In time you will remember.”

She shut the door behind her and slowly walked to the landing. From the sounds coming from below, she knew Belwain and his men had arrived. She hesitated at the top step, felt her courage try to desert her, and admitted that she honestly did not know if she would be able to see the evening through without trying to kill her uncle.

She touched the dagger at her side, patted it as if it had life, and whispered, “Our time will come.”

“Who are you talking to?” her grandfather asked from behind.

Elizabeth turned and tried to smile. She was relieved to see him, knew that he would help her get through this evening. “My dagger,” she said. “I console my weapon. You do not think me crazed?”

“I do not,” he answered, shaking his head. “And does your dagger have a name?”

“You tease me,” Elizabeth said. The smile was more natural now for her grandfather.

“I do not tease,” her grandfather answered. “It is most common to name your sword or your dagger.”

“I thought only kings named their swords.”

“They also, child. Do you remember the tales of the mighty king Charlemagne?” With her nod, he said, “There are songs about his love for his sword, named Joyosa. Truly.”

“Roland’s name for the sword at his belt was Durin-dana, and there are songs about it,” she volunteered.

“So you are not so daft to talk to your dagger, Elizabeth,” her grandfather said. “I wager your husband talks to his,” he added.

Elizabeth doubted that but said, “I know he places great pleasure on his weapon but I do not think he talks to it.” She found herself chuckling over their ridiculous conversation. “Knights are filled with superstition, I think. To name their weapons, to—”

“It is most serious, this work of killing or being killed. The knight knows that without his weapons he is powerless. That is why he honors his equipment. Every item in his stock has its significance.”

“You are making fun of me,” Elizabeth said. “I do not believe you.”

“Your education is lacking, Granddaughter,” her grandfather answered. He took hold of her hand and started down the steps. “Take the knight’s spear,” he said. “Now, that is a most useful weapon, is it not?”

“Aye.”

“The straightness of the spear symbolizes truth to the knight’s way of thinking and its iron head suggests strength.”

“So a curved spear would never do,” Elizabeth said, smiling at her absurd remark.

“Of course not,” her grandfather answered, “and it would be most ineffective.”

“What about the other ‘stock’?”

“The helmet indicates modesty, and the spurs diligence.”

“My husband does not always wear his helmet so he is not modest?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Do not bait me when I try to teach you something.” Her grandfather’s voice was full of laughter.

They had reached the bottom of the steps and started into the great hall. He felt his granddaughter increase her pressure on his arm and knew her stress. Still, his voice continued in the same light tone as he said, “Now, the shield is almost as important to the knight as his sword, though he does not have it buried with him, of course.”

“And what does the shield remind the knight of?”

“That by using it he has saved his body and therefore remembers to use his body to protect his lord. In your husband’s case, his lord is King William.”

“What about the bow and arrows that you made for me? What do they represent?”

“You know that the soldiers do not use the small bow,” her grandfather chided her. “They are fitting for a knight’s use.”

“My father thought my new weapon—”

“Ineffective?”

“Actually, he called it stupid, useless.”

“Enough! You wound me, for I carved the arrows myself, and well you know it!” He laughed then and added in a whisper, “Why do you think I gave you such a bizarre present?”

“To irritate my father, of course,” Elizabeth answered, smiling. She was looking into her grandfather’s sparkling eyes and hardly noticed that they stood in the center of the room, surrounded by Geoffrey’s men and Belwain’s soldiers.

“I admit it,” he answered, chuckling.

“And that is why you gifted me with the dogs. They were so small when I first began to care for them, but you knew, didn’t you? You knew how huge they would become.”

“I did, indeed,” her grandfather immediately answered. “Though I did not share the information with your father.”

“I am surprised he did not challenge you.” Geoffrey’s statement turned her grandfather’s attention to him. He stood to Elizabeth’s side, a smile of greeting on his face.

“It was all a game we played,” her grandfather explained. He took Elizabeth’s hand, resting on his arm, and placed it on Geoffrey’s. “Thomas not only looked forward to my visits, but he demanded them.” Elizabeth showed her surprise and her grandfather nodded. “It is true. He would send for me. Did you think I just appeared when the fancy took me?”

She nodded and he continued, “Thomas would send word to me that I was being remiss in my duty as father to his wife. I would then travel to Montwright and he would act as surprised as everyone else when I arrived.”

Her grandfather winked at her and turned back to Geoffrey. “I have gotten her down the steps, my lord. I leave the duty of removing her dagger to you.”

Geoffrey nodded and pulled Elizabeth close to his side. “You have no wish to offer me a greeting this evening?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I do not,” Elizabeth replied. “And I will keep my dagger at my side.”

“Only if I allow it,” her husband said in a mild tone. “I do not like your hair twisted like that on top of your head. Wear it down when we are together.”

Elizabeth’s hand automatically went to her hair. Then she realized his aim. “You are as bad as my grandfather, my lord. You confuse me with nonsense when more serious matters need be discussed. You truly do not like my hair this way?” she couldn’t help but ask, and almost bit down on her lower lip for her foolishness.

“I do not,” Geoffrey answered. “And your garments do not please me much either,” he added. He saw his wife’s back arch in protest and did his best not to smile. “Tomorrow we will see about having new chainses and new bliauts fashioned for you.”

“Is there anything you do like about me?” Elizabeth asked. She let her irritation show by jerking her hand from his arm.

“Perhaps,” Geoffrey answered. “I will have to think on it and advise you later.”

His strategy was working. He was forcing his wife to think of other matters and hoped, when she came face to face with Belwain, she would not have had time to build her rage. She was like a small fire now, and as long as he and her grandfather continued to throw bits of water in her direction, she could not grow in intensity, becoming an inferno of emotion, out of control.

Elizabeth looked around the room and saw that Geoffrey’s men were being friendly with the new soldiers. Everyone held cups of ale and already a free atmosphere prevailed.

“Where is he?” There was no inflection in her voice when she asked the question.

“Outside,” her husband informed her. “He is seeing what repairs and changes have been made.”

“Perhaps it would be best if I went outside to greet him,” Elizabeth suggested in a flat voice.

“I think not,” Geoffrey replied. At her questioning look, he continued, “I have your word that you will not try to harm him, and I know you will keep it.”

“Then why—”

“Come with me to the table,” he said, dismissing the subject. “You are not to leave my side this eve.”

Elizabeth nodded and once again took hold of Geoffrey’s arm. The crowd parted as they made their way to the long table and sat down. Geoffrey leaned toward his wife and whispered, “Look about you, wife. Do you recognize any of the men?”

“Not yet,” she answered, turning her face so that she was just inches from her husband’s. She felt very safe sitting so close to him, and that gave her the courage to look around the room, to study each newcomer. “So many wore hoods,” she reminded her husband in a whisper.

When Geoffrey took hold of her hand and casually wrapped his arm around her waist, she knew that Belwain had entered the hall. She felt her husband’s hand rest on the hilt of her dagger.

Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and gently removed her husband’s hand from her waist. “You will trust me as I trust you in this matter?” she asked.

Geoffrey looked down at his wife and nodded.

She turned away from him then and watched her uncle walk toward her. Roger was at his side, wearing a look of disgust.

Her gaze was as cold as winter’s sleet, her eyes unblinking, as she studied her uncle. He was dressed as a rooster, in bright reds, except for the brown stain in the middle of his bulging stomach, and Elizabeth thought that he strutted like a rooster too.

Belwain glanced at her and found her stare unnerving. He faltered in his steps and turned to look at her husband.

“Good evening, Baron,” he said when he reached the table. He had to turn to his niece and acknowledge her, though he dreaded the task. “You are looking well, niece.”

Elizabeth did not answer him, only continued to stare. Belwain cleared his throat and sat down opposite the pair. “My heart aches for your loss, Elizabeth. I, too, feel a great sadness,” he added in a hurry.

A goblet of ale was placed before him and he grabbed at it, almost overturning it in his haste and nervousness. He downed the contents in two huge gulps and tried to cover the belch as he wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve.

“Where is the boy?” he asked then.

“You will not see him.” Elizabeth’s voice was hard.

“It is past his bedtime,” Geoffrey stated, his tone almost pleasant.

I cannot do this, Elizabeth decided as she watched the man sitting so calmly across from her. I cannot share a meal with this vile creature. She turned to look at her husband, willed him to understand, and then started to stand. Geoffrey would not allow it. He placed his hand on her shoulder and held her down, though to Belwain, who was watching the couple closely, it looked like an awkward show of affection on the lord’s part. Belwain’s eyes darted from one to the other and back again, his mind racing with his thoughts. Thank God I did not speak my true feelings concerning Elizabeth to her husband, he thought with a shiver. For some reason, the Baron has found favor with the bitch and would probably be outraged if he knew what I thought of her.

Belwain looked at Elizabeth and smiled. What a shame she did not die with the others, he thought. Such a disobedient, outspoken child, always so unimpressed with his attempts to win her favor. She seemed able to look through his exterior, and know his hatred. He didn’t like her, aye, he did hate her . . . all of them, he thought. They were all trying to do him out of what should have been his. And when I am in charge here, she will be gone with the Baron. That, too, was a shame, he decided. He would have liked the chance to make her as miserable as she was now making him. To finally get even with her. He would wipe that expression of cold disdain off her face, skin and all, and then marry her off to one of his friends. Their sadistic ways with women would teach her a lesson she would go to hell with. His smile increased at his fantasy and he almost chuckled out loud. He caught himself in time and coughed.

“Have you given consideration to my rightful re-quest?” Belwain asked Geoffrey, being sure to stress the word “rightful.”

What request? Elizabeth asked herself. She turned to her husband and awaited his answer.

“This evening is not the time to discuss the law and your request,” Geoffrey answered. He motioned to his servants and pointed to Belwain’s empty cup.

Belwain knew better than to press his issue. He nodded his agreement. He could wait. And he would win, no doubt about that, he thought. The law was on his side.

He looked at Elizabeth again and had to quickly pull his gaze away. She knows, he thought, but she can do nothing! His eyes became slits and his shoulders began to tremble with suppressed laughter. He felt himself grow hard with his thoughts and slid his hand between his legs hidden beneath the table linen. There is nothing she can do, he repeated as he stroked himself, nothing. You have no proof, slut, his mind screamed with glee.

Oh, that he could tell her! Yes, he would say, I helped with all of the planning and more! It was I who gave the design and the flaws of your fortress, and my only remorse is that I could not be here when they were all killed. Still it gave me great pleasure just to hear the telling . . . such pleasure that it took all three of his male companions to catch his orgasms, one after the other. It was the greatest day of his life, he decided.

He chanced a look at the Baron and his smile vanished. She has gotten to him, the whore! She has turned his head with false stories about me, that is why he looks upon me with such disgust.

But no matter, he consoled himself. The law be the law, Baron. There is nothing you can do either; you are too honorable, he thought, and almost snorted aloud. You would have proof before you challenge or deny.

Elizabeth found that she could not look at her uncle a second longer. She kept her gaze downcast and did not say another word until the meal was done. She refused to touch the food. It was tainted, with Belwain sitting at the table. She had no stomach for it but noticed that Belwain ate as if it was his last meal on this earth. And well it might, she thought just to ease her torment. Perhaps Geoffrey would change his mind, see that Belwain was the only one behind the murders. She knew she fooled herself, knew Belwain wasn’t the only one involved. Her husband’s reasoning made sense. Belwain was stupid, too stupid . . . but God’s truth, the waiting was becoming unbearable.

When the meal was over and the table cleared, Belwain stood and strutted around the room. He grows more cocky with each drink, Elizabeth saw, and dresses the fool.

She closed her eyes against the sight of him and wished it was possible to close her ears as well. The noise from too much drink was becoming deafening.

And then she heard it. The laugh. It was more like a screech, unusual in sound, but one she had heard before, the day of the massacre. Her eyes flew open with the recognition and she tried to find the one making the sound. There were too many blocking her view. She would find him, she would, she told herself. She stood, jarring her husband with the force, but her eyes were not on him. She continued to search the room, watching and waiting.

The sound issued again, and she found him. He stood near the archway, laughing, with a group of men. She memorized his face and sat back down. Outwardly calm, she turned to her husband and said, “By the door. He was there.”

Geoffrey had turned when his wife jumped to her feet. He saw the paleness in her face, the tension in her posture. He felt like drawing his sword and standing in front of her, to protect her, but he could not. Not if they were to find proof. And so he continued to sit, keeping his expression almost bored if Belwain or any of the others should chance to notice his wife’s strange behavior.

He was visually relieved when she spotted one of the attackers. He did not ask her if she was certain, for he knew she was. “Did I not tell you that your uncle was a stupid man?” he asked.

Elizabeth could not answer. She kept her eyes centered on the soldier.

“A fool would bring the very ones back into the nest,” he muttered.

“He wore a mask,” Elizabeth said, turning back to her husband. “But his laugh was high-pitched and unusual . . . and I remembered it. What will you do now?”

“I will see to it,” Geoffrey answered. His tone was grim, but his words told her nothing.

“You do not answer me,” Elizabeth returned. She found that tears were clouding her vision and knew that she had reached her limit of endurance. She had to dab at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand to stop them from touching her cheeks.

Geoffrey brushed her cheek with his hand and caught one of the tears. “Do not let him see you cry. It would give him pleasure and he would smile. And then I would have to kill him, and our plans to find the other would be at an end.”

Elizabeth was overwhelmed by his tender words, his gentle touch. She looked deep into his eyes, read the tenderness there, and in that instant she glimpsed the inner man, usually so well hidden behind the tough exterior.

She was about to say, “You would do this for me?” but did not, for she knew that he would. Instead she whispered, “You forget yourself, my lord. I have told you that I never cry.”

She gave him the gift of her smile then, and Geoffrey felt it was the finest of all gifts he had ever received. He had to stop himself from touching her. Lately, he realized, he found himself touching her, patting her, even kissing her in front of an audience. He knew better, but when she was about, he did not seem to care. She will have me acting like a pup following her about if I do not watch myself, and my men will no longer follow me. He cleared his throat to shake his thoughts free and said, “And you forget yourself, wife. I have told you to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Elizabeth said in protest, “and I honor your decisions. If I did not, Belwain would be dead by now.”

Geoffrey had to smile. Her thoughts concerning her capabilities pleased him. He stood up and took hold of her elbow. “You have shown considerable courage tonight, Elizabeth, though I expected no less, you understand. Still, I would tell you I am pleased.”

“So you have found something about me that pleases you?” Elizabeth remarked, agreeing to his lightened mood.

When Geoffrey admitted that what she said was true, she said, “Then perhaps, since you are so well pleased, you will tell me what you are about to do with—”

“I will tell you soon,” Geoffrey interrupted. “I must see to the necessary preparations first. Now I think it is time for you to retire. The songs grow raw and your presence dampens the men’s moods.”

“Dampens their moods! You think I care that—”

“The ale has loosened their tongues,” Geoffrey interrupted in a low voice. “And once you have gone, their talk will become more free, less guarded.”

He was right, she admitted. “I will wait until you are done here,” she said. “No matter how late, I will wait up for you. And then you will tell me your plans?”

“We shall see,” Geoffrey stalled. He walked by her side all the way to their bedroom. She did not try to kiss him when they reached the door, and he found himself disappointed. He had grown used to her inappropriate displays, and that puzzled him. But there wasn’t time to understand it. He had much to do, and before the night was done.

Elizabeth found little Thomas curled up in a ball and sound asleep in the middle of her bed.

“He calls out in his nightmares,” the squire named Gerald told Elizabeth.

“Thank you for your assistance this evening, Gerald,” Elizabeth said. “I did not worry knowing that you watched over my brother.”

The squire blushed with her praise. He offered to carry the child to his quarters but Elizabeth told him that her grandfather or Roger would take the boy to his room.

When she was alone, she found that her hands shook. She took off her shoes and sat down on the bed to unwind her hair. Where had her grandfather disappeared to? she wondered. She had meant to ask Geoffrey if there was a reason for his absence during the dinner, but never got the chance. It was just as well that he had taken his leave, Elizabeth decided, and it was most probably his own idea. She couldn’t imagine him keeping his temper around her uncle.

Her brother’s sleep became fitful. Elizabeth stretched out beside him and patted his back whenever he would cry out. Her voice seemed to soothe him and his breathing became more regular. Within minutes Elizabeth too was sound asleep.

Geoffrey did not return to their room until the early hours of the morning. He found his wife asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers, with her brother cuddled up to her side. He saw that she was barefoot and smiled. She seemed more vulnerable without her shoes on, he thought as he lifted the little boy and carried him to the door, where Roger stood, waiting. “Take him to his grandfather and let him sleep with him,” he ordered in a soft tone.

He shut the door and turned back to his wife. She looked so peaceful, so very innocent in her sleep. He found it difficult to undress, preferred instead to look at her and dropped his sword in his clumsiness. It clattered against the stone floor, making a sound Geoffrey thought was loud enough to wake the dead. His wife’s only reaction to the jarring noise was to roll over onto her stomach.

He finished stripping and began to undress Elizabeth. The small clasp on the back of her gown defied his awkward fingers but he persisted until he had it opened. Geoffrey paused in his chore to touch her soft, flawless skin, noticed that goosebumps appeared wherever he touched her, and most especially on the base of her spine. Elizabeth began to shiver and Geoffrey hurried to finish the task. He pulled the undergarments from her body and then had to pause once again. He grinned when he caught sight of the knife secured to her thigh, shaking his head at her precaution. She places great store in her own ability to defend herself, he thought, and wondered if she ever considered the possibility that the knife could easily be taken from her and used against her. Probably not, he decided. It pleased him that she thought herself so capable, but it made his work all the more difficult too. Weren’t women prone, by their nature, to swoon at the sight of battle, and cling, with gratitude, to their protectors? Wasn’t it a fact that they were weak and found their strength in their knights? Well, he decided, somewhere along the way, his Elizabeth had failed to learn this most important information concerning her nature. No one had instructed her, told her that she was weak and in need of constant direction. Odd, but that forgotten lesson pleased the lord. It was enough that he knew she needed him . . . even if she did not!

After talking with her grandfather, Geoffrey had a clear idea of just where his wife had formed her radical opinion of herself. Aye, Elslow was quite a character, in both his dress and his mannerisms, but filled with loyalty and other redeeming qualities too. It is good that I do not judge a man by his appearance, Geoffrey thought, praising himself and knowing it.

Geoffrey yawned for the third time. He was thankful that his wife slept, and had no wish to wake her. She would want her questions answered then most probably, and he was too fatigued to give her the long explanations needed. Under ordinary circumstances, he would not discuss such matters with his wife, but in this instance, it was her right, her family buried at the south end of the courtyard.

Elizabeth shivered again. Lifting her, Geoffrey pulled the cover back and placed her beneath the spread. He found he had to discipline himself against the urges filling his mind and body when he touched her. She needs her sleep, he told himself even as he trailed his fingers down her thigh. With a sigh of acceptance, he turned back to his fallen sword. He picked it up and stationed it by the other side of the bed and then joined his wife.

His back itched where the wound healed and he stretched back and forth several times before he got settled. He was about to pull his wife into his arms and let her sleep aginst him, but Elizabeth had the same idea and was quicker. She turned and snuggled up against him, throwing her leg over his thighs too quickly for him to dodge or protect himself. The result was a loud groan, as her aim was most accurate.

Elizabeth tried to stop the giggle but found it impossible.

“You are awake, wife?” The surprise in his voice made her laugh all the more.

“How could I not be?” she asked him.

“For how long?” he asked, pushing her onto her back so that he could look into her face.

“From the moment you opened the door, my lord,” Elizabeth admitted. She grinned and tried to roll back into his arms but Geoffrey pinned her to the bed with his hands, a look of exasperation in his eyes.

“And yet you let me undress you when you should have undressed me?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“Is that another rule, husband?” Elizabeth teased.

“It is,” Geoffrey announced. “And you have broken it.” His eyes teased, as did his chest, rubbing against her breasts in slow motion.

“And the penalty, husband?” Elizabeth whispered, finding it difficult to continue with the teasing tone. His nearness was making her warm all over, and she found she wanted him to kiss her.

Geoffrey read the desire in her gaze and smiled. “I will let you decide the punishment, wife,” he said in a husky voice.

“I shall have to kiss you, my lord,” Elizabeth said with a mock sigh.

“And that is a punishment?” Geoffrey inquired with a raised eyebrow. His voice was gruff, his eyes full of golden chips.

Elizabeth did not answer, only continued to look at her husband with a look that made the fire in his loins explode into passion. Slow down, he told himself, go easy for her benefit. He took a shuddering breath and rolled onto his back. “Then give me a kiss, Elizabeth. But first, first you must call me Geoffrey.”

“Why?” Elizabeth asked. She leaned up on one elbow and considered her husband.

“I like the sound coming from you, and you do not say it enough.”

“As you wish, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth whispered into his ear. She pulled back, saw that he smiled, and was pleased. “And now I shall kiss you,” she told him. “Do I have your permission, Geoffrey?” she teased.

“You have it, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey replied.

“Then come here, my lord,” Elizabeth said, waiting. Geoffrey did not move. Elizabeth began to drum her fingers on his chest, but that didn’t get much of a reaction either.

“I am too weary,” Geoffrey announced. “You will have to come here.”

“Too tired to turn to me?” she asked, trying to sound irritated.

“Aye, that is the truth,” Geoffrey said. “Besides, you are to come to me. Always, Elizabeth.” His voice grew intense and Elizabeth puzzled over what he was trying to tell her.

Elizabeth sat up in bed and pushed her hair over her shoulders. Geoffrey had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. He wanted her to be the aggressor but could not explain his reasoning, only that he wished her to take from him. He placed his hands behind his head and smiled at her.

The anticipation of touching him excited her. Still, it was best not to appear overly eager, she cautioned herself, for if he knew his effect on her, he would have another weapon to use against her. No, that would never do, she concluded. First, before she showed her emotions, she would make him want her as much. Perhaps, she thought with newfound confidence, even more.

She placed her hands on either side of his chest and slowly leaned down toward his mouth. But when she was just a breath away from touching him, she changed her course and kissed him on his chin. He was in need of a shave and his new growth of whiskers tickled her lips. She smiled to herself and kissed him again, on his chest, allowing her breasts to caress as her hands could not. Geoffrey did not say a word but his breathing became more rapid and Elizabeth knew he was not impervious to her. Her mouth moved lower, to the nipples hidden beneath the thick mat of hair on his chest, and her tongue circled each in a motion that caused her husband to flinch. But still he kept his silence, and Elizabeth let out a low, throaty laugh. She felt like a temptress and a nymph too, full of absolute power over the man responding to her. It was an exhilarating feeling.

Geoffrey’s hands touched the sides of her face and he gently pulled her up. “I am still waiting for my kiss,” he said, his voice deep and velvet.

“Here?” she asked with innocence, pointing to his lips. “Or here?” she suggested, touching the tip of his nose. “Or perhaps,” she whispered, sliding her hand below his waist, “here?”

Geoffrey’s gaze told Elizabeth he could not remain passive much longer. She was pushing his control away, touch by touch. He knew her game and was amazed by her uninhibited display; his mind would have allowed her to continue, to see just how far she would go, but his body was demanding with his need, becoming more painfully insistent with each passing second. “You will kiss me now,” he ordered, caressing her shoulders to soften the harshness in his voice.

“As you wish, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth whispered. She was no longer smiling as she reached up the length of him and touched his mouth with her own. The kiss ended the game for both of them. Her mouth opened for his tongue, her hands cupping his face to hold him still. And then the embers of passion ignited and Eliza, th too lost her control. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, tugging at the hair on the back of his head to keep him prisoner.

Geoffrey rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body while he continued to kiss her. The taste of her, sweetened by the ale, made him thirsty for more. His hands stroked and touched, rough in hurry, and when his hand slid between her thighs and he felt the wetness there, he knew her passion matched his own.

He could wait no longer. Nor could Elizabeth. She parted her legs and arched against him, eager to have him inside her. Geoffrey was breathing so heavily that he could not speak, could not form the words to tell her how very much she pleased him, could only groan with his need. He thrust deep, shuddering for control, and heard her cry out. Her nails scraped his shoulders as she tried to push him away.

“You hurt me, Geoffrey,” she sobbed into his ear as she continued to struggle against him.

He heard her and immediately stopped all motion. Lifting himself on his elbows, he looked into her eyes, saw the tears streaming down her face. “Shhh,” he comforted, “it will not last long, Elizabeth. The pain will be gone.” He leaned down to kiss her but she turned her face away.

“I am too sore,” she whispered, “you must stop.” She was crying now, both from the pain and from the need so conflicting inside her. “But I don’t want you to stop either, Geoffrey.”

He could not stop, wanted to tell her he could not, and knew she would not understand. She was too innocent of men to understand. Sighing, he rolled with her to his side, willing himself to keep his patience, keeping inside of her by holding her firmly by her hips, whispering all the while words he hoped would soothe her.

Geoffrey pulled her leg up and rested it on his hip. “It will be better now,” he said, and when the sobbing stopped, he knew he was right. He kissed her then, a long, intense kiss meant to melt away her resistance and rekindle her passion, and after a time, Elizabeth began to respond. Her hands quit pushing against his chest and began stroking again. And the soreness was gone, or unnoticed, with her renewed passion.

“It is better?” he asked, thinking that he could not remain still inside of her much longer.

Elizabeth moaned a reply and her hips began to move against him. It was all the urging that Geoffrey needed. His mouth covered hers, capturing her moans while his hands pulled her hips closer. He meant to move slowly but could not, thrusting again and again, deeper and deeper still. He heard her cry out again and thought that he caused her more pain, but still he could not stop until the explosion rocked him from the mountaintop he had just climbed. He felt her shudder beneath him and only then realized that he had rolled her onto her back and that her legs were clenching him with the force of her reaction.

When his breathing calmed and he felt her relax beneath him, Geoffrey said, “You are all right?”

She nodded against his shoulder and Geoffrey relaxed. He rolled to his side and pulled her next to him, glancing down into her eyes. They were still glazed with passion, causing Geoffrey to think that she remained unfulfilled. “I have not satisfied you?” he asked, concern in his voice. Elizabeth adjusted herself to his side and settled her head on his shoulder. “I am most satisfied, Geoffrey,” she whispered. Her voice was full of wonder and sleepy pleasure. He worries that he does not please me, she realized, and felt a glow of contentment warm her. Soon, she thought, he will realize how much he is beginning to care for me. And one day, she considered, one day he will say the words.

“And have I satisfied you?” she asked, though she knew in her heart that she had. She had heard him cry her name and felt his strength explode into fragments just seconds before her own explosion. Aye, she had remembered calling his name too.

Elizabeth was sound asleep before Geoffrey voiced a reply. He chuckled to himself and closed his eyes. Contentment was here, in this room. It was there, whenever Elizabeth was by his side. He admitted it without argument and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Chapter Eight

ELIZABETH OPENED HER EYES THE FOLLOWING MORNING with a thousand questions floating through her mind. Geoffrey was still sound asleep, one arm holding her prisoner against him.

She decided to let him sleep a while longer and took great pains not to disturb him as she slipped out of bed. Clothes were spewn about the floor, and once Elizabeth was wrapped in her robe, she quietly saw to cleaning up. She would have to tell him that he snored, she thought, smiling to herself. He won’t like hearing that, she knew, and that pleasured her all the more. Ah, but she loved to tease her husband! Too much of her grandfather’s character in her, she supposed with a shrug. And he was the master of the game. Geoffrey was such an easy victim, with such a serious disposition and an inclination to scowl most of the day. Why, his very personality made it most appealing to try to goad him, she admitted without guilt.

Elizabeth walked over to the window and lifted the piece of fur. Looking out, she saw that it was a grand day indeed, if the warmth of the air and the brightness of the sun were any indication. It felt as hot as summer, the gentle breeze upon her face.

Grand, she thought again, for today she would find some answers. Her gaze turned to the forest’s edge, to where her uncle and his men camped. Today he would receive justice, she thought as she scanned the area. Something was wrong but her mind could not grasp what it was. She shook her head and cleared her thoughts. The men were gone! No, that cannot be, she argued with herself. She ripped the fur from the wall and leaned out for a better look. The facts did not change. Belwain and his men were gone, fled during the night.

Enraged, she turned to her husband. God but he would be furious, she predicted. Why didn’t the warning sound when Belwain broke camp? Why wasn’t her husband informed? “Geoffrey! They are gone!” she yelled the news. “All of them gone.”

Her husband’s reaction did not please her. He opened one eye, scowled, and rolled over onto his side, away from her.

He does not understand, Elizabeth thought. She raced over and knelt on the bed, poking him in the shoulder, and repeated, “They are gone, Geoffrey. Wake up and clear your head. You must get up now. You must . . . do something.”

Geoffrey groaned, making a sound like an angry beast, and rolled onto his back. “Quit bellowing,” he yelled.

“You do not listen. Belwain has gone, fled,” Elizabeth said again, and still did not lower her voice. “You must get dressed. We have to go after him. We—”

“I know he has gone,” Geoffrey said. At her look of astonishment, he sighed and got out of bed. “I sent him back to his home.”

She could not believe what she was hearing. He had let Belwain leave? “And the soldier I pointed out to you last evening?” she asked in a subdued voice. “You let him leave also?”

“I did,” Geoffrey answered, yawning. He walked over to the chest and bent to splash cold water on his face from the basin placed there the night before.

Elizabeth watched him. She tried to keep calm, thinking that Geoffrey must have had good reason. A rage was building inside her but she kept control.

“Will you tell me why you allowed this?” she finally asked. She was still kneeling on the bed but now her head fell forward with undisguised despair, the long strands of golden hair shielding her torment from Geoffrey’s gaze.

Geoffrey heard the threat of anger in her voice, and never at his most pleasant early in the morning, he found himself yelling an answer. “Always you question me, woman! I know the import to you, and for that reason I will tell you what plans are being carried out.” He came back to the bed and lifted her chin with his hand. “But you will calm yourself and let me wake up first? Do you understand this, wife?”

Elizabeth listened to the clipped speech, so cold and hard, and could only nod. She was too incensed to answer him. Well, the gentle warrior has turned into the angry beast again, she thought. So be it, she decided, and I will match him word for word, shout for shout, if his answers and his explanations do not appease me. There has been enough blind obedience and trust he so easily demands. Yes, he orders me to trust, yet he gives me no reason to do so. No more! I will conform to his will no longer. “I have given you my trust, husband, and I would know now if it was a mistake.” Her voice was as hard and as cold as his.

Geoffrey ignored her outburst and continued dressing. She knew that he had heard her, he would have had to be dead not to have heard her, but his face was turned from her and she could not see his reaction to her demand. Well, she would have his reaction, his attention. She got off the bed and went to stand in front of the door, blocking it, and stood there with her arms folded in front of her. Let him see my defiance, let him taste my rebellion. I will have my answers!

When his sword was securely anchored at his side, Geoffrey walked over to his wife and gave her his total concentration. His expression hid nothing, for he wanted her to know just how furious her words had made him. Acting much like the hawk he was named for, Geoffrey’s arms flashed out and grabbed her by the shoulders before she knew what he was about. He literally hauled her off her feet so that her eyes were just inches from his. “Never,” he said in a harsh whisper that chilled her to the bone, “never demand.” He shook her once and she could feel his hands trembling against her skin. He looked ready to explode, Elizabeth thought, noticing that the golden chips in his dark eyes now resembled chips of ice; yet she refused to use caution. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that it was her right to know what he intended, but Geoffrey shook her again. “Do not say a word to me unless it is an apology.”

Elizabeth promptly shut her mouth. There would be no apology, save one he should rightfully give her, she decided.

“So be it,” Geoffrey muttered. He knew from the look on her face and the angry glaze darkening her eyes that he would get no apology. He had never laid a hand in anger on any woman, but God’s truth, this brazen wife made the thought less repugnant. He shook his head again, disgusted with his own thoughts. “You have the stubbornness of a mule,” he muttered. He placed her back on the floor, out of the door’s path. One final glare, and he was gone.

“So be it,” he muttered on his way down the steps. The stubborn wench! Oh, but she could infuriate him like no other. He made the vow that she would pay the price for her stubbornness, her disobedience. He would keep her waiting all through the day before he spoke to her again. By nightfall, he predicted she would apologize.

He slammed out of the great doors and called for his horse. A hard ride through the forest would clear his mind and rid him of his anger. It was either that, or go back to the bedroom and throttle his wife. He smiled at that ridiculous thought, knew he could never harm her, and felt some of his frustration evaporate with the sun’s rays. Ah, wife, he thought as he slowed his pace to the stable, there is much for you to learn about humility.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Elizabeth began to jerk her robe off. She muttered and swore—in Latin, should anyone chance to overhear her—all the while that she dressed. A dark blue tunic fit her mood, as somber in its cut and design as her thoughts. She was so angry she found it difficult to know what to do. She needed to get outdoors, feel the sun on her face and the wind lift her hair, feel the freedom she could only find riding hard and fast on her mare. The exercise would calm her, bring her reasoning ability back.

She didn’t do more than brush her hair before she headed for the stable, pausing only long enough to gather her small bow and arrows. The bow she slipped over her shoulder, the arrows she secured in the pouch her grandfather had fashioned for her. She clipped the leather pouch to a thin, knotted rope and then slipped it over her head and under one arm.

Geoffrey was just leaving the stable when Elizabeth arrived. He did not acknowledge her, though he was immensely pleased that she had come in search of him. Already she seeks me out to give me her apology, he thought with satisfaction.

Her husband rode past her without a word, and that suited Elizabeth just fine. She didn’t even give him more than a passing glare as she ordered her mare saddled for her.

Geoffrey was gone before she commanded the stable master to saddle her horse. The stable master incorrectly assumed that the lord had given his permission and hurried to do Elizabeth’s bidding. No doubt the master was waiting outside for his wife.

The doors to the walls were being pushed shut when Elizabeth galloped full speed through the narrow opening.

She would not ride far, she reasoned as she raced down the winding road, knew even in her anger and frustration how foolish it would be to take such a chance. No, she would only make a half-circle of the area, stay within sight of the walls for protection, where the outlaws would never dare to venture.

Geoffrey paused in his ride, heard the sound of horse and rider approach, and turned back. The sight of his wife riding at a neck-breaking pace down the winding road almost unsaddled him. A yell of fury escaped him before he remembered he was ignoring her, and he found he had to shake his head again at his own behavior. He goaded his stallion and took out after his wife, hoping to intercept her before she reached the narrow path only wide enough for one horse.

Elizabeth saw Geoffrey approach and braced herself for another confrontation. She pulled her mare to a stop, gasping for breath, and waited.

“You defy me again, wife,” Geoffrey bellowed when he was within earshot.

“I do not,” Elizabeth yelled back. “You never—”

“Silence!” It was a roar she could not dismiss. She nodded agreement, finding herself quite afraid suddenly. The outlaws now seemed preferable to her husband, she thought a little desperately. Would he beat her? she wondered. The look in his eyes when he reached her side told her he was capable of it. Still, she did not think he would. It was a common enough practice for husbands to batter their wives into obedience, but Geoffrey was no common husband.

“You will not hit me.” Her calm statement was like a slap at Geoffrey’s pride. Of course he would not, he almost yelled. He took a deep breath and grabbed the reins she clutched in her hands.

“I would not,” he admitted in a low voice. “I am a reasonable man, Elizabeth, and reasonable men do not beat their wives. They may wish to, but they do not.”

He waited for her to absorb what he had just said and then continued, “Now tell this reasonable man why you ride unescorted. Were you thinking to catch up with me?”

She dared not smile. Odd, but she wanted to, and realized her anger was gone. She saw the control he was seeking to maintain and decided that meekness was called for. The problem, of course, was that she wasn’t sure if she knew how to show meekness. “My answer, if I tell you the truth, will probably anger you,” she said with eyes downcast.

“Impossible,” Geoffrey contradicted. “I cannot become any more angry. And you must always tell me the truth, Elizabeth.”

“Very well,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I was not trying to catch you, Geoffrey. I just needed to ride, to feel free from my worries and my burdens for a time,” she admitted with a rush of honesty and an open gaze. “I do not like yelling at you . . . or you yelling at me. It is most distressing for a new marriage.”

The intensity of her speech astonished him, pushing all residues of his anger aside.

“It is important that we try to keep our silence when we think harsh words. I learned that from my mother, Geoffrey. Elsewise this marriage will be most unpleasant. You would say things that you would later regret but then it would be too late. The hurt would have already been inflicted.” She graced him with a small smile then and added, “Of course your words could not hurt me as I, I mean, we do not share a deep love like my parents. But if that is to happen, I mean . . . Oh, I make a mess with my explanation.” She busied herself with arranging her hair behind her shoulders, embarrassed that she had spoken such thoughts. It was too soon to tell him such things.

“It is your wish that we love each other?” He seemed amused at his question and Elizabeth thought that his eyes fairly sparked with arrogance.

“I did not mean that,” Elizabeth stammered. “I only wish to get along with you, and not as your servant, Geoffrey. I am your wife and should stand beside you . . . not hovering somewhere in the background. I think your ideas about marriage most unusual.”

“This is my opinion of your views, wife. It is your ideas that are most unusual,” he argued in his defense. “And it is because you are so very difficult to deal with that I find myself losing my patience. Think this will change when you are settled in my home?”

Elizabeth shrugged a reply. “It would seem that you are the one with the problem, my lord, for you have just admitted that you have trouble keeping your patience.” She smiled at her logic and the expression on his face. “I will be happy to help you overcome this problem,” she added, “if you will allow it.”

“I am not the one with a problem,” Geoffrey responded. He smiled and said, “You try to make me yell again, don’t you? What is your aim?”

Elizabeth did not immediately answer. She lifted her shoulders and turned her gaze away from him.

“You bite the lion and chance being swallowed by him,” he said, rubbing his chin.

“And you are the lion, my lord?” Elizabeth asked, thinking to set another trap.

“I am,” Geoffrey acknowledged, seeing the sparkle in her eyes and wondering at the cause.

“Then that makes me your lioness, does it not?” she inquired with a soft voice.

“I had not considered it, but yes, it would make you my lioness,” he said with a chuckle.

“Interesting,” Elizabeth told her husband. “Did you know that the lioness is the one who hunts and brings the food to her husband?”

“Only because he allows it,” Geoffrey stated with conviction.

“And will you allow it for this one day?” she asked. Geoffrey frowned. “What is it you ask of me?”

“To ride with me into the forest. I will hunt for you and fix your meal and then we will return to our duties.” And perhaps, she thought, you will tell me your plans for Belwain when we are alone and you are not distracted.

Geoffrey threw back his head and laughed, causing his mount to prance in agitation. “You think you are so capable?”

Elizabeth nodded and he laughed all the more.

There was much work to be done, orders to be given, Geoffrey knew, weighing his responsibilities against the pleasure his wife was offering. Ah, but it was too good an opportunity to let pass by, Geoffrey decided with extreme smugness, this chance to show Elizabeth her limits as a woman.

“Lead the way, lioness,” he said, throwing the reins back to her. “Your lion is hungry.”

Elizabeth laughed with delight, feeling very much like a child about to play a new game. All the problems would still be there when the game was ended, but the respite was welcome. For this one day, Elizabeth decided, she would rest from her burden. And show this arrogant husband a thing or two in the process.

She spurred her horse into motion, anticipation taking hold. Geoffrey stayed right behind her, letting her set the pace, as she rode into the forest, her golden hair flying with the wind behind her. He caught her laughter and found himself laughing too. Her enthusiasm was catching, he thought to himself, feeling a lightness of spirit he hadn’t known he possessed.

Elizabeth finally grew tired of the race and pulled to a stop. She slid from her horse before her husband could reach her side. It was she who grabbed his hand and led him to a sturdy-looking tree and commanded him to sit and rest while she saw to their food.

He could not allow that and said as much. “I will not interfere with your hunting but I must stay by your side. That is the way of it,” he added when he saw she was about to protest.

“Then do not make a sound or you will have no dinner,” she warned.

Geoffrey watched her take an arrow and position it against the string of the puny bow, and he could not contain himself. He started to laugh again. “You intend to use that. . . toy to catch our game?” he asked.

“I do,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Then I will surely go hungry,” Geoffrey predicted, though he admitted he didn’t mind.

Elizabeth ignored his barb. She walked a short distance from the horses and then stood, as still as the tree beside her, waiting. The arrow was ready . . . If only the rabbit would cooperate!

So intense, Geoffrey thought as he watched his wife. He stood a short distance behind her, listening to the sounds of the forest, his hand in position above his sword. When would she give up this pretense? he asked himself. Admit that she was ill-prepared and needed his assistance? It would be a while longer, he predicted, for she was most stubborn. He sighed and shifted his weight, prepared to outwait her. Elizabeth turned then and glared at him and he ceased his noise.

She didn’t miss the smug look on his face, but wished she had. So smug, so sure of himself and his ability only. He waits for me to fail so that he can gloat, she thought. He prepares his laugh and his barbs.

If she had to stand there all day and into the night, she vowed she would. Failure could not be allowed, not if she was to keep any of her pride.

Her prayers for victory were finally answered. A fat, though nimble rabbit raced across the small clearing; Elizabeth took aim and sent the arrow whistling through the air, and if Geoffrey had so much as blinked, he would have missed the kill. The rabbit collapsed to the ground, nailed to the earth by her arrow.

His mouth opened before he had a thought as to what he would say. Truth was, he admitted with a bit of sheepish astonishment, he was fairly speechless.

Oh, how she longed to look back over her shoulder and see her husband’s reaction! She did not, of course, as she wished to act most blase about her accuracy, and she knew that if she looked at him, he would read the gloating victory in her eyes. She pulled another arrow from her pouch and positioned it against the tensed string of the bow, keeping her smile to a minimum.

Elizabeth waited until her arms began to ache and then she changed her strategy. Ever so slowly she began to walk into the denseness, hoping to startle game into motion. Her aim worked, and Elizabeth felled another rabbit.

When she had gathered both rabbits, she turned to her husband and smiled. “I am most fortunate that the rabbits do not know I use a toy, my lord. Don’t you agree?”

Geoffrey laughed and said, “They are most stupid animals, wife, but even so, I must tell you, well done.”

Elizabeth made a formal bow and replied, “I thank you for the compliment, Geoffrey. I do believe it is your first. You have my appreciation for your kind words.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with merriment. She felt like throwing her head back and laughing, just for the sheer joy of it.

“I would rather have your kiss,” Geoffrey said, and only then realized how very much he wanted to touch her.

Elizabeth almost asked him if he had forgotten that it was daylight and that he had informed her that kissing was only for the privacy of their bedroom. He was breaking one of his rules, and that fact pleased her. “Then you shall have it, husband,” she answered. She dropped the rabbits and walked over to him, swinging her hips in what she hoped was a provocative manner. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she concentrated on her task, wetting her lower lip with the tip of her tongue before she pulled his head down to hers. Their lips met in a long, searching kiss that left them both unsatisfied. And so they kissed again. The playfulness was suddenly gone and Geoffrey became demanding, wrapping his arms around her and pulled her up against his chest. Her reaction to his forcefulness was an uninhibited enthusiasm; her arms clung to him while her tongue circled and entwined with his in this sensuous battle for fulfillment. He turned her and braced her against he bark of a tree, never breaking his hold on her lips. Stroking her breasts through the material did not appease his appetite, nor did her motion with her hips, rubbing so seductively against his own, give him respite.

He growled low in his throat and Elizabeth whimpered an answer. The need to touch her satin skin drove all thoughts aside. He lifted the hem of her skirt with both hands until the material was caught at her waist and then caressed the smoothness that was Elizabeth, pleasured beyond belief when he felt her tremble beneath his hands. He leaned one arm above her head against the bark, trying to ease the growing ache in his loins. He pulled his mouth free and rested his head against the side of her face, breathing heavily into her ear. “This is foolish, wife. We must stop. It is not safe here.” His voice, harsh with frustration and need, sounded as if it came from a great distance.

Elizabeth kissed the side of his cheek, her tongue stroking the line of his scar. “It is safe,” she whispered. “It is always safe when I am with you.” She caught his mouth then and kissed him hungrily. “Please, Geoffrey,” she moaned when he tried to pull away from her.

“There are other ways to ease your torment,” Geoffrey whispered in a rough voice. He captured her mouth in a devastating kiss that promised fulfillment and slipped his hand beneath her undergarments. When he touched and began to stroke the dewy softness between her legs, she cried out in ecstasy. Geoffrey’s tongue began to slowly move in and out of her mouth while his fingers imitated the motion below. And then Elizabeth’s hips began to arch more forcefully against his hand; she buried her head in the cup of his shoulder, trembling against the need and desire coursing through her body. Release came in such a rush, shaking Elizabeth with such force that she collapsed against Geoffrey.

Geoffrey thought that he could withstand the sweet torment of holding Elizabeth so near and giving her the pleasure he wished her to have, but found that it was not enough. He held her tightly against him until her breathing slowed and the trembling had stopped, and then stood back from her. Without a word, he began to take his clothes off, willing her with his gaze to do the same.

She was quicker than he, standing proud though shy before him, her clothes at her feet.

Geoffrey took his time looking at her, his passion warm and full of promise. Elizabeth’s breasts were heavy with need, the nipples erect and waiting, straining for his touch.

His control amazed her. She watched him place his tunic upon the ground and turn back to her, and was almost overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of his body. He seemed the Viking god her grandfather had told her stories of, she thought, for he was surely as magnificent in build. And he belongs to me, she thought with wonder, just as I belong to him.

Geoffrey’s hand reached out for her and Elizabeth rushed into his embrace. He seemed content to hold her against him, rubbing his hands down her back with a sigh of pleasure, as he inhaled the sweet scent.

He knelt down beside his tunic and pulled her down beside him, resting her on her back before stretching out beside her. His movements were slow and almost lazy now as he trailed the tip of his finger over one breast and then the other.

Elizabeth pulled his head down and kissed him passionately on the lips, willing him to lose his control.

“God’s truth, Elizabeth, you make my blood boil with my need for you,” Geoffrey whispered.

“It is the same for me, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth admitted, blushing. “I fear you think me wanton,” she added. She parted her legs and tried to pull him on top of her, but Geoffrey held back.

“Not yet,” he whispered as his mouth traveled to her breasts. His tongue began to stroke first one and then the other, always close to the nipples but never touching. He was driving her crazy with his tender torture and she found herself pulling at his hair to stop him. She heard his soft laughter and then his mouth gave her what she wanted, what she silently begged for, as he touched the nipple with his tongue and then took it into his mouth.

Elizabeth sighed her pleasure, let the exotic feeling surge through her body, content.

Her limbs felt blissfully lethargic. Geoffrey leaned up and stared into her eyes, knew that he pleasured her and determined, before he took his fill, to show her more of this new sexual world he had introduced her to.

The need to taste her drove him on. His mouth trailed light, feathery kisses in a circle, around her navel and then slowly moved downward. He found the heat, the wetness he had caused, hidden by the triangle of blond curls, and began to make love to her with his mouth, his searching tongue.

Elizabeth was shocked by the initial touch, did not know that man and woman worshiped each other in such a way, and began to protest. The words died in her throat, washed away by the waves of pleasure her husband caused. She clutched at his shoulders, straining against him as she fought the tension she felt building inside. “Geoffrey!” It was a demand, softened by her gasp.

Her husband knew what she wanted, what she needed to find her release, but held back, keeping her on the brink of the summit until he was sure she was completely out of control. Her throaty moans and the motion of her hips against him told him that it was time. He lifted his head and looked into her passion-glazed eyes as he thrust his fingers inside the velvet heat just once. Elizabeth’s entire body arched in splendor. She shook with the force of her climax and then felt herself floating in a sea of colors, all exploding and blending and finally fading.

She opened her eyes to see her husband smiling with arrogant satisfaction.

“You think me terrible?” she whispered with embarrassment.

“I think you beautiful,” Geoffrey answered. His voice shook and Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude for the control he had exercised.

And now it was his turn, she decided. She wasn’t sure what she was to do but continued to look directly into his dark gaze as she said, “And does the wife touch her husband in the same way?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied in a low growl.

“Like this?” Elizabeth asked, taking hold of his hand. She slowly touched one of his fingers with the tip of her tongue and then slipped the whole of it into her mouth and began to suckle it.

Geoffrey’s control snapped. His growl of pleasure was her only warning before he covered her with his body and thrust into her. His mouth captured her moans as he continued to plunder her body and her soul, pushing harder and harder.

Elizabeth wrapped her legs around his powerful thighs and rode with him on the journey toward fulfillment yet again. He was the warrior now, intent on his victory, but Elizabeth was there with him, sharing in his intimate conquest.

“My gentle warrior,” she whispered when the storm was ended and the sun was again allowed to shine.

Geoffrey heard her and smiled. He rolled to his side with a contented sigh and said, “You are wrong, wife. I think perhaps you are my gentle warrior, with your dagger at your side and another hidden beneath your skirts; aye, you would be a warrior if you could, but you have set yourself an impossible task, for you will never be able to shed your gentleness.”

He kissed her temple after his speech, saw that his words had affected her, for her eyes were filled with tears, and felt most content. He was finding it easier and easier to tell her what was inside him, and admitted that he felt no foolishness with his confessions.

“This lion grows hungry,” he yelled with mock fierceness, slapping her soundly on her hip.

“This lion is always hungry,” Elizabeth laughed, rubbing her hip. She stood when he did and only had to hug him twice while they dressed.

“It is most difficult for you to keep your hands off me,” Geoffrey said with extreme smugness in his voice. “Do not pretend such outrage,” he added with a chuckle when she tried to glare at him. “I will have to get used to this clinging nature of yours, I imagine,” he added with a feigned sigh.

“And is that so terrible, husband?” Elizabeth asked. She picked up the rabbits and turned away from him, looking for a spot to set the fire.

“No, only foreign, that is all,” Geoffrey answered. “I will skin the game while you gather twigs for the fire,” he announced.

Elizabeth nodded and threw the rabbits to him.

“Why is it so foreign?” she asked. She made a basket out of the hem of her skirt and began to fill it with bits of branches as she talked.

“What?” Geoffrey asked. He was squatting on the ground, a small hunting knife in his hand, and glanced up to look at her. He smiled when he saw that she was barefoot still and thought that she looked like an enchanting wood nymph.

“This showing of affection, Geoffrey . . . there was none between your parents?”

Geoffrey was surprised by her question, but lost his train of thought as he appreciated the enticing curve of her ankles. “Put your shoes on before you hurt your-self.”

“After you answer my question,” she replied in a saucy voice. She saw that he continued to stare at her legs and smiled. “I like to go barefoot.”

“They died before I had much memory of them,” Geoffrey answered. “Now put your shoes on or I will do it for you.”

Elizabeth dropped the hem of her dress and the twigs fell beside Geoffrey. She spotted one shoe by the base of the tree but couldn’t locate the other. “Then who saw you raised?” she asked as she knelt and burrowed under a thorny bush. The tip of her dark boot was visible and she had to flatten herself on the ground to wiggle close enough to reach it. It wasn’t a very dignified position, but necessary. And Geoffrey observed the whole scene.

“You were overly zealous in removing your clothes,” he remarked with a chuckle. “Always in such a hurry,” he chided. The sparkle in his eyes matched his voice and Elizabeth found herself agreeing.

“I hate to wait for anything,” she answered with complete honesty. She sat on the ground and shook her boots free of any surprises before slipping her feet into them. “And I especially hate having the subject changed all the time. Now answer me, please.”

“Answer what?” Geoffrey asked.

“Who raised you?” She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“The king himself,” Geoffrey answered. “Throw me your dagger,” he ordered, “mine is too large for this task.” He was still squatting in the middle of the small clearing, looking at the arrows he had just removed from the game, studying how they were fashioned. “Did your grandfather design these?” he asked when he saw that she was watching him.

Elizabeth stood up and began to brush the dirt from her skirt. “I made those,” she boasted, “once my grandfather showed me the way. They are most effective, are they not?”

“That they are, though too puny for a knight to carry,” Geoffrey said.

Elizabeth handed Geoffrey her dagger and then knelt down beside him. She began to arrange the twigs in a circular stack and then asked, “How old were you when you went to the king? Did you become his page?”

“One of many,” Geoffrey answered. “I was six, maybe seven years old.”

“Six! But that is too young. You must be at least eight years old to become a page, is that not so?” She sat back on her heels and frowned.

“Aye, that is usually the way,” Geoffrey acknowledged, “though some leave their homes by the age of seven. In my case, there was no one else, save the king, and he was a close friend of my father’s.”

“Tell me about your parents. Do you remember what they looked like?” she asked.

“No, I do not remember,” Geoffrey answered in a gruff voice. He seemed irritated by her question and Elizabeth wondered at his reasoning. “Now quit your chatter and see to my food,” he ordered.

They did not say another word until the meat was cooked and eaten. Geoffrey ate most of the game and Elizabeth was content to nibble on one of the roasted legs.

Geoffrey removed a small sheep’s skin from his saddle and offered Elizabeth a drink. Thinking it filled with water, Elizabeth took a large swallow and promptly choked. Geoffrey grabbed her by the shoulders and began to whack her on her shoulders and she didn’t know which was worse, to die from lack of clean air, or from being beaten to death.

“Always in a hurry,” Geoffrey snapped when she had stopped coughing and could hear him. “It is amazing that you have lasted this long.” He shook his head and then decided to shake her too.

“I thought it was water,” Elizabeth said in her defense. “And I was thirsty. And you have probably made my shoulders black and blue with your help.”

“Your face is still bright red,” Geoffrey said, ignoring her sarcasm. Why, he had barely tapped her between her shoulder blades, but then he had come to realize that his wife tended to exaggerate. It was a fault he would have to tolerate. “Come and sit down,” he said, hauling her up into his arms.

He lifted her high into the air and then pretended that he was about to drop her to the ground, but his wife was not amused by his play, only glared at him and held on tighter.

He sat down and leaned against the tree, holding her in his arms. Elizabeth rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh. For long minutes they were content to keep their silence, each thinking his own thoughts.

Now is the time for me to bring up the subject of Belwain, Elizabeth thought. His mood is light and perhaps he will be more receptive to telling me his plans.

“Your brother will go to the king to be his page. I have not decided on the time yet. Perhaps in the fall.”

His statement jarred Elizabeth and she spoke before thinking, “You would not! He is still a baby. And I have heard terrible stories about the king. I will not allow it.” She knew as soon as she said the rash words that her husband was not pleased. She felt him tense beneath her. His arms tightened around her.

Before he could answer her, Elizabeth said, “I know I cannot allow or disallow, but I cannot believe that you would do such a cruel thing. Surely you jest?” Her voice was soft and hopefully sincere. She lifted her head and looked at him, tracing a finger along the wrinkle on his brow his frown caused. “Being his guardian now, I feel this responsibility, and since he is so much younger than I—”

“Elizabeth,” Geoffrey said her name as a sigh, “I am the boy’s guardian now that I am your husband, and I am also his overlord in future. Now what nonsense is this about the king? You should be proud that your brother will join his court. Don’t you know the honor I bestow upon him?” He removed her hand from his brow and held it against his chest. Her touch had an unsettling effect on his senses and he needed to be clearheaded when dealing with his argumentative wife.

Elizabeth nodded while her mind sought a way to make him understand her position.

“What stories have you heard about William?” he asked with mild interest. He pulled her back against him and began to rub the goosebumps from her arms.

“He has a terrible temper and is not of a forgiving nature,” Elizabeth said. “I do not want my little brother placed in such harsh conditions. He has been through too much already.”

“There are those who say I have a terrible temper, Elizabeth, and yet you do not seem afraid.” He chuckled with his statement, secretly pleased that she had never shown fear of him.

“But they do not know you as I do,” Elizabeth stammered, “and you are reasonable. You said so yourself. But King William—”

“Yes?” Geoffrey encouraged when she did not finish her sentence. “King William what?”

“Have you not heard of the town of Alençon?” Elizabeth whispered. She closed her eyes and waited for his answer.

“Ah, Alençon. But that was a long time ago, when William was young and rash and intent on gaining his rightful title,” Geoffrey explained.

“Then it is true? He actually became crazed when some fool called him bastard and truly cut off the feet and the hands of sixty men? It is really true?”

“No, it is not true,” Geoffrey corrected, and Elizabeth felt a wave of relief. “There were but thirty-two of them, not sixty.”

“What! He really did such a terrible thing?” She was so aghast that she almost fell off his lap, as much from the knowledge that the story was indeed true as from the blasé way her husband confirmed it. Why, he acted as if they were discussing chickens or rabbits instead of men.

“It was a long time ago,” Geoffrey replied with a shrug. “He holds his temper better now.”

“God be praised,” Elizabeth muttered. “And you would send little Thomas into his care?”

“Do not upset yourself. We will wait until the boy is older and then I will decide what is to be done. How old is he now?”

“Four.” Elizabeth blurted out the lie, thinking he might believe her, as her little brother was on the short side.

“More like seven,” Geoffrey stated. “Do not lie to me. Ever.”

“I did not lie, only exaggerated,” Elizabeth replied. She leaned back against him, the top of her head just under his chin, and had a sudden thought. “He could live with us. There is so much you could teach him, Geoffrey,” she said, hoping to stroke his ego into seeing her reasoning. “That would be an honor for him to become your page, as you are a—”

“Enough,” Geoffrey groaned. “Your praise has a purpose, wife. I am not so simpleminded that I do not see what you are about. I have promised to wait to make my decision. That will have to satisfy you for the moment.”

“As you wish,” Elizabeth answered in a demure voice. He couldn’t see her face, so he missed the smile of victory. Oh, how easy it was to deal with him, she concluded. He really is a reasonable man. “And now perhaps you feel inclined to talk with me about Belwain?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I do not wish to ruin our pleasant morning,” Geoffrey said with a sigh.

“But you promised to tell me what you planned, and I gave you my trust. I did not try to kill my uncle. I held my word,” Elizabeth reminded her husband.

“Still, having you so docile and affectionate . . . Very well, I will tell you and you will become angry. It is your right to know—”

“You are stalling, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth said. She turned in his arms and placed her hands against the sides of his face. “I will continue to be affectionate, for I can be no other way with you. And I will always have faith in you,” she whispered. It was true, she admitted with a nod, she did have faith in her husband. He was a righteous man.

Geoffrey read the trust in her eyes and made a gruff sound in his throat. He pulled her hands away, hoping his action would stop the heat building between them. “There were three possibilities I could act on,” he said. “The first was, of course, the most simple and perhaps the one you would approve of: I could kill Belwain and be done with it. But,” he said in a louder voice when he saw she was about to interrupt, “then I would not know if he acted alone. We both agree he does not have the intelligence to plan such a well-designed attack and therefore know that there is at least one other just as responsible. Therefore, I ruled out the first possibility.”

“Why didn’t you just force Belwain to tell you what you wanted to know?” Elizabeth asked.

“If you knew that admitting to a crime would mean your death, would you not keep your silence?” Geoffrey asked. He didn’t wait for her answer but continued in a patient voice, “He knows my reputation. No, he would never have admitted his part, even if tortured.”

“And the second possibility?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.

“To place the matter before William, challenge Belwain for the truth in court.”

Elizabeth was already shaking her head before Geoffrey could explain. He stopped her with his hands and said, “I did not choose that possibility for two reasons. One, I do not wish to bring my petty problems to my overlord. It is my duty to deal with my vassals. William has much on his mind these days,” he said, “trying to keep peace in his kingdom and his household too. It is a melancholy time for him,” he added. “And two,” he continued, “there is the chance that Belwain and his friends, his witnesses, just might convince the king that he had nothing to do with the murders of your family. Then the boy would have to go into his guardianship. It is a risk I do not wish to take.”

“But the king would listen to you,” Elizabeth argued. “Though I admire your decision not to place the problem before him,” she hurried to add, in case she irritated him. He was being most informative and she did not wish to stop his train of thought. “Belwain deserves death, but not at the king’s hands,” she couldn’t help but add.

“Elizabeth,” Geoffrey said her name with a weary sigh. “You have but a single purpose and do not know what you are talking about. It is not the king’s way to kill anyone these days.”

“I do not understand, I admit it,” Elizabeth answered, frowning. “What does he do when one is found guilty of some terrible crime if he does not kill them?” she asked with simple logic.

“He does not believe in such harsh action and has not put a man to death since Earl Waltheof.”

“Then what does he do?” Elizabeth asked. “Pat them on the back and send them on their way to do more harm?”

“Hardly that,” Geoffrey answered. “His methods are just as harsh as death, to my way of thinking. It is the usual custom to cut off their limbs or put their eyes out. Sometimes the punishment kills the guilty, other times not, but I imagine they wish themselves dead.”

Elizabeth trembled. She guided the talk back to what she wanted to know. “And the third choice?”

“To wait. I have decided to do nothing for the moment.” He took hold of her hands in anticipation of her reaction.

Elizabeth frowned but did not otherwise react. Surely he would continue with his explanation, she thought.

Geoffrey waited for the explosion, surprised and somewhat relieved when it did not come. He had no wish to argue with her. He smiled at her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I see you are learning patience, wife. That pleases me,” he praised. “And now I will tell you the rest of my plan.”

Elizabeth kept her somber expression but nodded, urging him with her intense gaze to get on with the telling. She wanted to understand and to agree with him, to find peace and have vengeance too; she found that placing the burden of punishment in his hands was not so very difficult.

“The soldier that you pointed out last night?” he began with a question and continued before she could respond. “He too has been allowed to leave. One of my men, his forty days of work for me completed, has joined Belwain’s group. He let it be known his duty to me was ended and that he was in need of extra coin. He will watch and listen and then report his findings to me.”

“Why didn’t you just force the soldier to tell you the truth?” Elizabeth asked.

“You suggest that I torture him, sweet wife?” he asked, smiling.

“Do not smile at me, Geoffrey. I am not normally such a vengeful person. But you were not there, you did not see them, what they did. I do not mean for you to torture the man, only make him tell you—”

“You are right. It is no smiling matter, this.” He pulled her back into his arms and squeezed her. It was the closest he had ever come to saying he was sorry, and he decided that she would have to be content. He could give her no more.

“I accept your apology,” Elizabeth said. Her expression was still serious. Geoffrey started to tell her that he had not actually apologized but decided against it. She certainly could twist his words, he thought with some admiration.

She was looking directly into his eyes and Geoffrey read the innocent acceptance there. She has given me her loyalty, without question or much argument. And God help me, I will not fail her. In such a short time she has turned my world upside down and sideways too with her very existence; he would accept the responsibility she trusted him with, just as he had already accepted her as his wife. He refused to ponder the reasons for his feelings, knowing that if he did, he would have to admit to feelings and emotions he thought long ago dead.

“But what is your plan for Belwain?” she asked.

“I have told it,” Geoffrey said. “I am going to wait.”

“Geoffrey, I am trying to see your reason,” Elizabeth said with irritation. “But getting you to explain to my satisfaction is the same as trying to pull a tooth, I swear it.”

Geoffrey felt he had told her enough. As far as Belwain was concerned, it was his plan to let him be for the time. She did not need to know that he was setting a trap for the other, and when the trap was closed, Belwain would be named as accomplice. It was too soon to tell her. She would have to wait.

“Have patience a while longer,” Geoffrey tried to soothe. “Proof will—”

“Will what?” Elizabeth said, struggling out of his arms. “Pop up in front of you like the flowers of spring?” She stood and turned her back on him. “It could be years before such proof is found unless you look for it. You put all your hopes in one man, this soldier you sent off with Belwain’s men. And that is not enough. I made a promise, aye,” she yelled, “a vow, to avenge my family and I will see it through.”

“You will do nothing,” Geoffrey commanded. He came to his feet in one bound and grabbed her by her shoulders. “I will have your word. Leave this business to me.” He was yelling again, infuriated for the second time in the space of one morning’s time. It was more than any man should tolerate, he decided. She would know her place in this matter.

“I will not give it.” Her defiance was like a piece of dry wood thrown on top of his sparks of fury, and an explosion was the only possible outcome.

“You will,” he bellowed, “and you will not see food or water until you realize that fact.” The way she stood, facing him with her defiance, her small hands balled into tight fists and resting on her hips, both amazed and incensed him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, yet she thought she could glare him into her way of thinking.

He pulled her roughly into his arms and all but threw her on top of her mare.

Elizabeth struggled to right herself, and when she was done, she stared straight ahead. “Then you will soon be a widower, my lord,” she yelled. Her voice trembled with conviction. “I will starve to death before I give a promise I cannot keep. My word is my honor.”

“You have the audacity to imply that mine is not?” Geoffrey demanded in another roar that made her mare prance with fright.

He will soon go hoarse if he continues to scream and yell at me, she thought, and then decided that that was not so very terrible at all. It would do him good to lose his voice as penance, and give her ringing ears some quiet.

“I would challenge a man for such foolish words.”

“Then challenge me,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Enough! Do not speak to me,” he said. “And do not raise your voice to me ever again!”

Do not do this, do not do that . . . always he orders, and I am truly sick of it. He has no understanding, no sympathy for my feelings. No, she thought with despair, he cannot see my torment, else he would not demand that I wait.

Geoffrey slapped the back of her horse and then followed behind her. Elizabeth never looked back during the ride to the manor. There must be something I can do, she thought, trying to think of a plan. Something . . . someone I can turn to . . .

Chapter Nine

EVERYONE TRIED TO INTERFERE. EVEN THE SERVANTS, Geoffrey thought with exasperation. He should have been angry over their disregard for his orders, but found that he was not.

Two grim weeks had passed, and Geoffrey was ready to call a truce—yes, he admitted without shame, even to concede defeat. He would welcome it just to glimpse one small smile from his wife.

His every thought concerned her, he realized as he walked into the great hall. There were several servants busy cleaning the area, and two of his loyal knights sat, drinking from cups at the table. He walked over and sat in the chair he had used when he assumed the role of judge, placed next to the hearth, and waited. He was conditioned to what was happening around him, and sat there without expression until one and all had fled the room on missions they just then remembered. Aye, even my knights desert me, Geoffrey thought. But he was smiling; he knew the reason for their vanishing act. They feared him. It was true, and it did not displease him overly. It was a fact that he had been known to blow his temper on occasion . . . but what man, pushed to his limit of endurance, would not? he asked himself.

It did not matter, he told himself. He was used to being alone. It was his way . . . as a child raised among the battle-hardened warriors and now as his own ruler—save William as his overlord, of course.

Yet he was not alone, not even now, in the emptiness of the silent hall. She was always with him. She haunts me, Geoffrey muttered with disgust.

He could not understand it, this hold she locked him within. As a small boy he had learned to harden himself against the need for food or water; as a squire he had braved the frigid winter nights, all for short periods but long enough to learn the discipline of body. But how to discipline himself against Elizabeth? he found himself asking. What form of exercise could he call upon to accomplish that?

He braced his hand against his brow and closed his eyes. He was weary of the fighting with his wife, though they had barely exchanged a word since their argument in the forest. Except at night, when their bodies came together, only then did they speak. He remembered that first night after their argument with both arrogant pride and a little shame. He had not forced her, knew that he could never force her, yet he was not gentle with her either.

The sight of her had inflamed him when he had finally sought his bed. He had indulged in perhaps one too many cups of ale, but his head was still clear. She had thought him drunk, and he did not tell her otherwise.

She was standing in the center of the room, but once she read the intent in his eyes, she began to slowly back up, until she could not take another step. “You stalk me like a panther,” she had whispered, “and I do not like it.”

“So now I am compared to a panther, when only this morning I was your lion,” Geoffrey had drawled as he began to strip his clothes from his body. “You have a fixation for animals, wife,” he said. His gaze never left her mouth, for, God’s truth, he was fascinated by the pouting lips, remembered the magic of their touch.

Elizabeth wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. She was nervous, clutching her robe together like a shield against his raking gaze.

“I do not want you to touch me,” she said, trying to sound forceful and knowing she failed miserably. Every pore in her body was beginning to tingle with anticipation of his touch, but there was no way that he could know, was there? “I do not—”

“I do not care what you want,” Geoffrey muttered. He stood just inches from her, completely nude, his hands resting on his hips. “Take your clothes off, wife, or I will tear them from your body. I want you.”

Elizabeth thought about refusing him, but from the intent look in his eyes, she knew it would be futile. She was his wife, she reminded herself as she began to remove the robe. It was her duty. Duty, yes, she thought, but there will be little pleasure in the deed, she promised him.

She let the robe fall to the floor and matched his stance, her hands on her hips, her head tilted back defiantly. “You are an arrogant, unreasonable brute, but you are my husband and I will not deny you. Be warned, Geoffrey, you will get little pleasure from the marriage act this night, for I absolutely refuse to respond to your touch. Is that understood?” she asked. Her breasts were heaving from her nervous speech and his grim expression.

He surprised her by throwing his head back and laughing until tears filled his eyes. He was surely drunk, she thought with disgust. How could she teach him a lesson if he was too drunk to care? “I believe you are right, wife. There will be little pleasure, indeed. When I touch you, ‘little’ is the last word I would use to define both of our reactions.” He did not give her time to react to his words, but hauled her up against him, felt her gasp at the intimate contact, and laughed again. “So you will not respond to me this eve?” he asked with a challenge in his voice.

“I will not,” Elizabeth whispered in a shaky voice as her husband trailed wet kisses down the side of her neck. She found she had to clutch his arms, thick with sinewy strength, to stay on her feet. His tongue, stroking against the sensitive area at the base of her neck, was already forcing moans from her throat. She was able to continue to stand quite rigid in his embrace, until his hands slid down her back and began to massage her bottom. When she began to melt like butter against him, he pulled her roughly up against his hard desire, kneading her softness against his body.

“You will beg me to take you,” he whispered, jerking her head up for his kiss. His mouth silenced her protests, his tongue invading and seeking hers.

Elizabeth instinctively began to suck and pull on his tongue, and was pleased when she heard him groan.

He lifted her high in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he forced her on her stomach, coming down on top of her. She thought she would suffocate before he lifted himself and began to kiss her, all the way down her back. By the time he reached the base of her spine, Elizabeth was clutching the covers with both of her hands and moaning her need. Geoffrey slipped one hand between her legs and began to stroke the fire building inside Elizabeth.

“Tell me you want me,” he demanded. His fingers were relentless and Elizabeth would have told him anything to stop the sweet torment he caused.

“Yes, Geoffrey,” she gasped when his fingers invaded her warmth, “I want you.” She groaned. She tried to roll over, to take him into her arms and body, but Geoffrey stayed her actions. He knelt between her legs and lifted her hips.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice harsh.

“I want you,” Elizabeth cried. “Please, Geoffrey,” she begged, beyond caring that she was indeed begging him.

Geoffrey growled his satisfaction and entered her swiftly, filling her completely. Elizabeth began to sob with pleasure, her eyes closed in building rapture. She was reaching the peak when Geoffrey stopped, turned her, and pulled her up into his arms. He kissed her deeply, hungrily before falling to the bed with her in his arms. He stretched out on his back and pulled her on top of him. Elizabeth clung to his mouth, moaning against him when he once again entered her. She leaned back, moving slowly at first and then increasing her speed until the explosion of mind and senses caused her to sob his name. He answered her call, arching against her with a force that penetrated her soul. He held her securely against him with his hands on her hips while the tremors of release enveloped both of them. Their gazes found and locked with each other’s, and there was no victory in Geoffrey’s expression, no submission in Elizabeth’s; no, there was only shared wonder by both.

Elizabeth slowly closed her eyes and collapsed against his chest, rose and fell with his labored breathing, and tried to gather her wits. It was a difficult task she set for herself. Everything continued to be heightened. Her senses were still finely tuned, yet flooded with stimuli. The musky scent of their lovemaking permeated her body, making it difficult to do more than sigh with acceptance. Even the candle, casting a golden glow on their glistening bodies, seemed an erotic happening.

Please, Geoffrey, do not gloat or laugh at me, she silently begged. She realized she was stroking the hairs on his chest and stopped. “Each time is like the first,” she whispered against his skin, and then wished she had kept her thoughts to herself. His breathing had slowed and there was the possibility that he would soon fall asleep. Perhaps he would not remind her of his challenge and his obvious victory.

“No, love, each time is always better,” he said in a husky voice. His hand began to leisurely stroke and caress her thigh. “Look at me, Elizabeth,” he commanded, “I would know if I hurt you.”

Elizabeth propped her head up on her hands and gazed into his eyes. She fought the urge to lean forward and kiss him once again. “You did not hurt me,” she said in a soft voice.

His hands smoothed her hair away from her face before cupping the sides of her cheeks with such excruciating tenderness that tears filled Elizabeth’s eyes. He leaned forward and placed a warm, gentle kiss on her parted lips. “What we have . . . this thing between us, it would be blasphemy to use it as a weapon to hurt the other. Never will you try to hold back what is mine,” he said. His voice held no anger, only a sweet caress as he continued, “And never will I hold back what belongs to you.”

“But, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth whispered in return, “how can—”

“The battle between us stops at the bedroom door, wife.”

“And resumes in the light of each new day?” she asked, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice.

“If you wish it,” Geoffrey acknowledged.

Elizabeth did not have an answer for him. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his chest. His words confused her. Perhaps, she thought with a yawn, perhaps in the light of day she would be able to sort it all out.

Geoffrey had been so sure that the following morning, after he had demanded that neither hold back from the other in the privacy of their bedroom, that his docile wife would give him the apology he had demanded. Docile! Ha, Geoffrey snorted aloud, that was certainly not the word to describe his new wife. Why she had had the temerity to ignore his request for an apology. He shook his head as he remembered how she had boldly walked over to the window and pointed to the sun. Oh, how she angered him! And at first that anger kept him unaffected. He locked Elizabeth in their room and commanded that she was to receive neither food nor water . . . nor visitors. And everyone seemed inclined to let him have his way, he thought, smiling to himself, most probably reasoning that the spat between husband and wife would be settled by nightfall.

But it was not, of course, and the interference began the next day, subtle at first, and then more obvious to the most ignorant of men. Geoffrey would go to the bedroom and find the door unlocked. Food would mysteriously appear in their room on trays no one remembered carrying. But his wife did not take a bite or a sip. By the third day, it was Geoffrey himself trying to entice her. And by the end of the fourth day, he commanded it. “I will not have you dead at my feet,” he remembered telling her. And when she had raised one eyebrow in question, he had muttered something about becoming fond of her grandfather and her little brother and not wishing to distress either of them.

It was then that he devised another plan to pull her back in line, and had actually thought it would work. And with other women, it might have, he told himself. But not Elizabeth. She was like no other! The bolts of fine material went unnoticed and the seamstress had to ask him to command her into being fitted for new gowns. He, of course, had done it, more furious with himself than with her. Know your opponent! How often had that statement been drummed into his head. The problem here, Geoffrey admitted, was that he did not know Elizabeth’s mind as well as he might; and in truth, he did not want her to be his opponent.

“With your permission, Geoffrey, I would have a few words with you.” The interruption brought Geoffrey back to the present. He looked up and saw that Elizabeth’s grandfather, Elslow, stood before him.

“You walk with the silence of a hunter,” Geoffrey complimented. “I did not hear you.”

“Your mind was elsewhere?” Elslow asked, smiling with knowledge.

“Aye, it was,” Geoffrey admitted.

“On my granddaughter, no doubt.” Elslow stated it as a fact, and waved his hand in dismissal when Geoffrey started to protest. “Enough of this, Geoffrey. You behave like a child in this matter.”

Geoffrey was so flabbergasted by his new friend’s statement that he could only shake his head. “You risk much with your errant words, Elslow,” he said in irritation.

Elslow was unaffected by the implied threat. “Nonsense, Geoffrey. I risk nothing. It is you who risks it all.” He pulled up a stool—without permission, Geoffrey noticed—and sat down facing the lord. He took a long time adjusting his long legs in front of him and only when he was comfortably settled did he look again at the Baron. “She gets her stubbornness from her father’s side of the family, you know,” he said, grinning.

Geoffrey found himself laughing. “She is that,” he acknowledged. “I cannot give her what she wants, Elslow, not yet. And because of it she has no faith in me.”

“She thinks you do not care,” Elslow said. It was the first time in the two weeks that Geoffrey had spoken about his wife, and Elslow was very pleased. He sensed his grandson-in-law wanted to make peace.

“How can she think I do not care! Why, I actually called her ‘love’ one evening. Granted, it was in the heat of passion, but still, it was an . . . endearment. She is the only woman I have—”

Elslow was trying hard not to laugh. “Talk with her and use more honeyed words. Explain your position,” he urged.

“I will not.” The quiet refusal was devoid of anger. “It is not my place to explain,” he argued. “She must learn patience. That is the way of it.”

“And did you get your stubbornness from your mother or your father?” Elslow asked, grinning.

Geoffrey looked surprised by the question. “Neither,” he said. “I do not remember my parents.”

“That explains your confusion over her feelings,” Elslow said very matter-of-factly. “But I tell you this, Geoffrey: I have learned over the years that we dislike in others what we find in ourselves.”

Geoffrey stood up and almost tripped over Elslow’s feet. “Walk with me and explain your riddle.”

Elslow nodded his agreement and followed Geoffrey outside. He did not speak until they were out in the courtyard and headed toward the south end of the area.

“You are both stubborn and that is fact,” Elslow said. He imitated Geoffrey’s pace, also clasping his hands behind his back as they both charged up the slight incline. “Geoffrey, you are older and stronger in both spirit and body, and therefore you should make amends. Teach her what you expect with a gentle hand and a sweet tongue, else you will lose her.”

“And did I ever have her?” Geoffrey found himself asking.

“Oh, yes, son,” Elslow said. He smiled to himself and thought, They do not yet know that they love each other and that is their problem. Each guards against the other. “From the moment she said the vows, she became yours.”

Geoffrey shook his head and hurried the pace. “You are mistaken,” he muttered. When Elslow did not answer, Geoffrey glanced over at him and continued, “Always she talks about the great love between her mother and her father. I have never seen such a love, not even between William and Matilda, God rest her soul.” He gave Elslow another long look and then said, “At times I thought Elizabeth made her stories up. No two people would let themselves become so attached to each other . . . so vulnerable. It is foolish.”

“They did not have a choice,” Elslow stated. “But it did not happen overnight as my granddaughter would have you believe. Your king married my daughter to Thomas to gain Montwright, and I can give testimony to the fact that the two newlyweds fought like lions and tigers in the beginning. Twice my daughter ran away from him,” he said, laughing. “She even took his two daughters with her!”

“Tell me this tale,” Geoffrey asked. He found him-self grinning as he thought about what Elslow was telling him, wondering if Elizabeth knew these details of her parents’ lives.

“Thomas had two pitiful-looking little girls,” he began. “They looked like orphans, though dressed in finery, with a sadness in their eyes that tore at the hardest of hearts. They were little more than babes when their mother died and then they were taken from all they knew and placed in the cold home at Montwright. It only took my daughter a month to right the situation. The first time she ran away from her husband, she came to me, in London, and the transformation that had taken place with the little girls was amazing. She loved them and the children blossomed under her care.”

“But what did Thomas do?” Geoffrey asked.

“Why, he came after her, of course,” Elslow replied. “Used his daughters as his excuse for not beating her. He loved her from the start but was too stubborn to admit it.”

Geoffrey stopped in midstride and turned to Elslow. “I do not understand why you did not hate him. He took what was yours and cast you out.”

“My mind was set against him, I’ll admit that,” Elslow replied. “But then I saw my daughter with his two little girls. She had become their champion. I saw too how Thomas looked at her and read the caring in his eyes. I told him I would kill him if he harmed her, and instead of becoming angry with my threat, he agreed that I should do just that. He gave me his word to honor and protect her, and he held it to his dying day.”

Geoffrey tried to picture Thomas in his mind but the image was vague. “He was a humble man, as I recall, and on the quiet side.”

“He was content.”

“Like I used to be,” Geoffrey snapped. “Until your granddaughter came into my life. I will have this chaos end, Elslow, and things returned to normal.”

Elslow knew he had said enough. He nodded and took his leave. He would give Geoffrey time to absorb what they had discussed, and then he would again prod him. The role of peacemaker was new to Elslow and he found himself quite thirsty from his effort. He quickened his pace in his quest for a cool goblet of ale. Maybe he could challenge Roger into another game of chess, he considered, smiling with anticipation.

Geoffrey stood where he was, his mind considering what Elslow had said. He straightened his shoulders and took a different direction, his hands once again clasped behind his back, as he circled the side of the fortress.

Little Thomas called out a greeting, and Geoffrey paused in his walk. He watched the little boy run toward him, holding a small spear in his arms. Elslow had fashioned the toy spear just the evening before.

“And what are you about?” he asked in what he considered his pleasant voice.

“I am going to learn the quintain,” the child yelled.

“And who is going to teach you this exercise?” Geoffrey asked, smiling.

“Gerald,” Thomas said, pointing to the squire, who was now coming around the side of the fort with his horse trailing behind. “See what he made?”

Geoffrey looked to where Thomas pointed. There, pounded into the ground, stood a five-foot post. Across the top was another piece of board, placed crosswise. Hanging from one end was a straw figure of a knight, and from the other end hung a bag of sand. The object of the exercise was to thrust the lance at the pretend knight, but with sureness and quickness, else the bag of sand would swing around in time to knock the rider from his saddle. The quintain was an exercise that the older squires preferred, and too dangerous for one as small as the child standing in front of him. “Today,” he said, “you will just watch. And perhaps tomorrow you can sit in front of Gerald while he practices this most difficult exercise,” Geoffrey stated.

Gerald swung up into the saddle of his horse then and showed Thomas how the exercise was done. The child was so impressed that he dropped his spear and clapped his hands with approval. “Again,” he shouted, running closer to the squire, “do it again.”

Gerald, seeing that he had his lord’s undivided attention, was eager to comply. He was anxious to show his lord how nimble and quick he was. He turned the horse and raced him toward the target and swung his lance like an ax. His aim was for the area of the chest, but he misjudged in his enthusiasm, and the lance severed the clump of straw just below the helmet, causing the body of straw to fall in a heap while the head swung in its decapitated state.

Gerald was mortified. To show such clumsiness in front of his baron was humiliating. He started to call an apology for his aim when he caught sight of the child’s face. What he saw there stopped him cold. He could only stare. And then the scream erupted from the lad, piercing the air like the release of a tormented soul from hell, the sound so devastating that Gerald had to cover his ears to keep the torment from reaching his soul.

Geoffrey was the first to react. He raced over to the child, turned him to look into his face. The anguish he saw there caused an ache to lodge in his heart. Again and again the child screamed, and all Geoffrey could do was hold him fast against him. It was little comfort, he knew, as the boy did not seem to recognize that he was being held.

Roger, with Elslow trailing behind, raced toward them. Geoffrey motioned to them that it was all right, and then lifted the child into his arms. The screams lessened then and the boy began to sob. He was soon exhausted from his shock and rested his head on Geoffrey’s shoulder, clinging to him with his hands while he confronted his memory. “My mama,” he sobbed.

“You are safe now, Thomas. Safe,” Geoffrey chanted while he patted the boy on his back. His words calmed the child and the heart-wrenching sobs subsided.

Both Roger and Elslow stepped out of his path as Geoffrey walked by, still holding the child in his arms. His intent was to take the boy to his sister.

And then Elizabeth appeared. She came running toward them with a look on her face that saddened Geoffrey as much as the child’s distress. She stopped when she saw they were coming toward her, though she continued to look terrified.

Geoffrey could tell by the way she was staring at her brother’s back that she thought him injured, and he shook his head and said in a gentle whisper, “He remembers.”

Elizabeth understood. Tears filled her eyes and she nodded, reaching one trembling hand out to touch her brother. Geoffrey took hold of it and pulled her into his other side. With his arm circling her shoulders, he began to walk again.

She found herself leaning against him. The terror that her brother was horribly injured was over. She felt the safety and the peace of Geoffrey’s hold and, for the moment, called a truce. They were united for this short time, both offering their comfort and their strength to the little one in need. Without exchanging a word, the three of them walked into their home.

“Thomas, do not hang out that ledge,” Elizabeth ordered. “You will fall two stories down and lose your brains.” The boy ignored Elizabeth’s command and continued to lean out the window of her bedroom, spitting down at his unsuspecting victims between giggles of absolute seven-year-old delight.

Geoffrey opened the door to their room in time to hear his wife’s next words. “If you do not climb down from there this very instant, I will tell your lord and he will be most angry,” Elizabeth threatened. “And if I ask it, he will give you a sound thrashing.”

The promise worked, and her little brother hurried to the floor, knocking over the stool he had climbed as a ladder. “Maybe he will not listen to you,” Thomas said with another giggle. He liked to see his sister lose her patience on occasion, especially when he was bored with confinement.

“He will listen.” The quiet assurance nearly knocked the child over. Thomas turned wide blue eyes to his lord and turned a scarlet red.

Geoffrey frowned at the boy and then turned to his wife. Holding his mask of indifference for the child’s benefit, he said in a serious tone, “Do you wish me to thrash him or not?”

Elizabeth knew that he was teasing from the glint of warm gold lighting his eyes. She almost laughed and then saw that her brother was watching her.

“I must think this over, husband,” she said, pretending to consider the idea. “Since yesterday this impetuous brother of mine has caused much havoc. He placed honey in Gerald’s helmet—”

“I thought he would think it funny,” Thomas interrupted with obvious distress. He did not like having his sins paraded before his new lord.

“Gerald did not think it the least bit funny,” Elizabeth snapped, keeping her expression firm, “and today Roger has confined him to our room because he tries to ride on the backs of my dogs. And now,” she ended, “he disregards my orders and tries to spit on your soldiers. What think you of this behavior, my lord?”

Geoffrey shook his head and considered the child bowing his head before him. It had been five short days since the little one had regained his memory and in that time Geoffrey saw a complete transformation overtake the boy. He was wild and totally without caution, and had been saved from certain death at least twice a day by someone or other.

“What say you in your defense?” he asked the child. Laughter was building inside of him but he dared not show it. The child needed to know that there were limits and that he must stay within them, else he would never see his own knighthood. Besides, Geoffrey reasoned, if he so much as showed a grin, his wife would most probably thrash him.

Thomas knelt down and put his hand over his heart. He peeked up to see if his dramatic action had pleased the warrior and found the huge man frowning still. Closing his eyes tightly, he said, “I am sorry and I won’t do it again. I promise,” he said in a hopeful voice.

“You are totally without discipline and I wonder how you will ever become a knight,” Geoffrey stated. “Now stand and follow me. I will put you to work so that you cannot get into further mischief.”

“Husband? May I have a moment with you?” Elizabeth’s softly spoken question felt like a tender stroke against his heart.

“Go and wait for me at the bottom of the steps,” he told the child.

As soon as the door shut behind the child, Geoffrey began to chuckle.

“It really isn’t funny,” Elizabeth said with exasperation. “Father let him run like a wild cub. He has absolutely no manners.”

“He is not so very bad,” Geoffrey answered, “and in time he will learn what is expected of him.”

“Sara told me that you ordered the packing begun,” Elizabeth said, changing the subject. “What—”

“I was going to tell you tonight, when we were alone,” Geoffrey said. He was still cautious when he visited with his new wife, for he enjoyed the temporary settlement between them and did not wish it to end. “We will leave for my home in a fortnight. I must see to a matter away from here first,” he said, deliberately not telling her his destination or intent, “but it will not take overly long, and when I return I wish you ready.”

“And Thomas?” Elizabeth asked, finding herself dreading his answer. She clasped her hands together behind her back so that he would not see her trembling.

“He will stay here with your grandfather as his temporary guardian for a time,” Geoffrey said. “I do not wish to pull him from what is so familiar to him yet. He has been through enough changes for a time.” He smiled at his wife when he saw her surprised reaction to his words. “You think me such a monster that I would not consider the boy’s feelings?”

“I do not,” Elizabeth whispered, returning his smile. “I think you most reasonable.”

“Next summer Thomas will come to live with us. That should give me ample time to nail down my possessions so that he cannot destroy them.”

His jest concerning her brother’s wildness and clumsiness widened her smile. She nodded her agreement and said, “I will help you, husband.” She walked over to him, shy but determined, and put her arms around his waist. “Then you will not send my brother to the king?” she asked. “You have changed your mind?”

“I have,” Geoffrey admitted, liking the feel of her against him. He stroked her hair and added, “I find that lately I have changed my mind about many issues.”

“Such as?” Elizabeth inquired, smiling up at him.

He started to answer but Elizabeth reached up and kissed him before he could utter a word. He returned the light touch with another and then another. “Such as liking your affection for me,” he said finally. “I have become most accustomed to your blatant displays, wife, understanding, of course, how you cannot help yourself.”

Elizabeth laughed and a sparkle entered her eyes. Geoffrey had come to know that certain look and waited for the jest or trap she was about to set. Aye, he thought to himself, he was beginning to understand her well.

“Think you so irresistible?” she asked.

“In truth, I did not, until you came into my life,” he answered. “The scar bothers many,” he said when she began to place soft kisses, one after another along the length of it, “but you . . .” He could not remember what he was saying as his wife’s mouth had reached the lobe of his ear and her warm breath was making him warm with desire. “Stop this foolishness, wife,” Geoffrey demanded. “It is daylight and there is much I must see to.” He tried to keep his voice strong and determined but knew he failed miserably.

Elizabeth pulled back and gave him a long, sultry look. “Aye, husband,” she agreed in a whisper that felt like a stroke against his groin, “there is much to be done.”

Geoffrey pulled her back into his arms and kissed her hungrily. “You are without discipline, wife,” he told her with a sigh.

It had begun as a game for her, this intent to show him that he found her irresistible too, but Elizabeth forgot her aim. The game was ended with his ravishing kisses, his exciting promises whispered against her ear.

She did not remember later who undressed whom, or how, only knew the explosion to her senses when she was back in his arms and skin was touching, caressing skin.

“So hot, Geoffrey,” he heard her moan against his mouth, “you make me so—”

His tongue stopped her words, thrusting inside with velvet insistence.

Elizabeth let her wild need take over. She dug her nails into his shoulders when he turned her and braced her against the wall and entered her. He wasn’t gentle with her, nor she with him. He held her against his hips and tried to concentrate on slowing the pace, wanting her to find fulfillment before he, but her frenzied movement against him made that thought leave his mind. He drove into her again and again, as wild now as she, and barely heard her throaty cries against his shoulder.

“I love you, Geoffrey.” The words, the verbal commitment, tumbled out with her physical release. She could no more stop their flow than she could stop the tremors racking her body. “I do, I do,” she whispered as a litany when she felt her husband shudder against her.

Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder, traced a circle with the tip of her tongue, tasting the salty perspiration she had caused, inhaled the rich, sensual scent that was Geoffrey, and glorified in pleasured contentment. He was holding her so tightly against him that she had trouble catching her breath, but she didn’t mind or make protest. She closed her eyes in blissful peace and relaxed her grip on him.

Geoffrey’s breathing slowed, but he continued to hold her against him, unwilling yet to let the moment pass. “You intoxicate me,” he whispered in a husky voice.

“Just as you intoxicate me,” Elizabeth answered. Her voice sounded lazy and as soft and light as her mood. She smiled and knew that she was smiling inside as well.

Geoffrey straightened his shoulders and let Elizabeth slide to the floor. He was looking intently into her eyes, as if he was searching for something there, Elizabeth thought.

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes wide with innocent trust, and Geoffrey thought she was the most beguiling, most enchanting woman in the world.

“I have not pleased you?” Elizabeth asked in confusion. She did not understand why he continued to look at her so intently.

Geoffrey placed his hands on the sides of her face and answered, “You have said that you love me, Elizabeth. Was it spoken in passion only or did you mean it?” He frowned then, waiting for her answer, his heart suspended above the abyss of uncertainty.

“I love you.” She admitted the truth again in a shy voice and wished that he would let her go so that she could shield herself from his stare. She was opening herself to him, giving him the vulnerability she usually kept well hidden and protected. “I did not know it until I said it,” she whispered then.

Geoffrey smiled, his eyes full of tenderness. He rubbed the side of her cheek with his thumb before leaning down and kissing her gently on her lips. “You please me, wife,” he whispered. “I do not know about love as you do. My years of training did not expose me to such feelings.” Geoffrey let go of her then and began to pick up his clothes. Elizabeth stood still, willing him to continue his speech.

Geoffrey knew that she waited and found himself irritated that she wanted more from him. He ignored her while he dressed and then turned back to her. “I am most pleased that you love me,” Geoffrey said. “And mayhap when I am an old man I will tell you the same.” His arrogant voice stunned Elizabeth and she folded her arms in front of her, ready to do battle. She realized then that she was quite naked, and hurried over to the foot of the bed to reach her robe. When she was covered and the belt secured, she turned back to him and said, “I have not asked for your love, Geoffrey, and God’s truth, I do not know why I love you.”

“You do not understand, wife,” Geoffrey placated. “There is no place for love in a warrior’s life. Only foolish men allow this feeling to guide them. When I am old and have many sons, then I can allow myself to become—”

“Foolish?” Elizabeth asked. She found her anger gone and suddenly felt like laughing. Poor Geoffrey, she thought with exasperation. He had so much to learn yet! You will love me, husband, else I will throttle you.

“Do not dare to laugh at me when I tell you my feelings.” Geoffrey shook his head at how easily she could make him angry.

“I was not laughing,” Elizabeth said, trying to sound contrite. “Only smiling.”

“Do not correct me,” Geoffrey muttered.

A loud knock sounded at the door, and Geoffrey found himself thankful for the interruption. “What is it?” he yelled louder than he had intended.

“Both messengers have returned, my lord,” a soldier called to her husband.

Elizabeth frowned, wondering where the messengers came from, but decided, from her husband’s sour expression, not to ask him. There were easier, less noisy ways to find out, she thought.

“Geoffrey?” Elizabeth’s voice called him back as he started out the door.

“What is it?” he snapped. His mood was fast becoming furious, and all because she tried to make him reach into his soul and give her words he was not ready to release. In truth, he did not know if they were there, these words of declaration she prodded for. There was a chance that he did not possess them, and that, Geoffrey admitted only to himself, frightened him more than the vulnerability she wanted him to give her. He had never been frightened before. There was much to think over, and the sooner Geoffrey left her presence, the sooner he could confront his confused feelings. He did not like the chaos she paced him through, would not have it. “Our subject is ended, wife, until I decide to speak of it again.” He turned again and was out the door before Elizabeth could move.

“Geoffrey!” She yelled his name at the top of her voice, and then covered her mouth with her hands, so that her laughter would not reach him.

Her husband appeared at the doorway, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. “What is it?” he roared in a voice that would have knocked a grown man to his knees.

She was totally unintimidated. Well, by God, he would remove that smile from her face and show her fear or . . .

“You have forgotten your boots, my lord.”

Elizabeth laughed the whole time she dressed, stopping several times to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Aye, she loved him, she thought when she regained her control. There was freedom with her new knowledge, and a lightness of spirit. She pictured the expression on his face when he realized he was barefoot, and promptly went into another fit of giggles.

And then she remembered the messengers and decided to find out what they were reporting, where they had come from. She hurried with her hair, brushing it back and free, and smoothed the hem of her new lavender tunic.

As quietly as possible she hurried down the steps but paused at the entrance to the hall when she heard her husband say in an angry voice, “He ignores my summons, does he?”

Elizabeth moved to the wall, else her husband spot her and lower his voice, for her curiosity was great. Who had ignored his command and why? she wondered. Curiosity removed any guilt of the sin of eaves-dropping. After all, her husband was yelling loud enough to wake the dead, as was his usual custom, Elizabeth thought.

“I did not speak to him directly, my lord,” the messenger said. “One of his men told me that he had locked himself in his room and was mad with grief over the loss of his wife. He also told me that he has refused food and is trying to starve himself to death.”

Geoffrey leaned against the hearth, rubbing his chin in thought, but glanced up in time to see a flash of lavender by the edge of the doorway. He waited a moment and, when the spot of material did not move, knew his wife was listening. He smiled and determined to give her something to hear that would irritate her as much as she irritated him by listening to his conversation. Aye, he thought, he was beginning to like these games the two of them played. He cleared his throat and said, “Mad with grief?” His voice was full of disbelief. “No man becomes mad with grief over the loss of a wife. No man! Why, they are too easily replaceable. Now a horse, this is another matter,” he added in a loud voice.

Elizabeth reacted to his barbs with a gasp of outrage. Now it was she who stood at the doorway with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “A horse?” she yelled at him across the room. “You would better me with a horse? You dare to—to—”

“Why, Elizabeth, did you chance to overhear?” he asked. His eyes laughed at her discomfort, though his voice was quiet and full of mock surprise. He grinned then, and Elizabeth knew she had been tricked.

“Do you see through walls, husband?” she asked with exasperation. She walked into the hall and came to his side, waiting for his answer.

“It would be well for you to think so,” Geoffrey answered. He winked at her, right in front of the messenger, Elizabeth realized, and she found herself blushing at his small show of affection.

“I apologize for the interruption,” she said, smiling up at him.

“And?” her husband demanded with one raised eyebrow.

“And for overhearing,” she muttered. “Though I will most probably do it again.”

“It is undignified,” Geoffrey retorted.

“It is that,” Elizabeth admitted, “but it is also the only way I can find out what goes on, too,” she reasoned. “Where is this messenger from,” she asked, “and did I miss the other?”

“You missed the other,” Geoffrey advised her, thankful that she did not know he came from Belwain, “and I was now listening to a report concerning your ‘crazed’ brother-in-law, Rupert.” He could not keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Rupert!” Her voice was a whisper of anguish. Oh, poor Rupert. Elizabeth found herself overwhelmed with guilt and shame. She had not given her sister’s husband a thought since the tragedy. No, she decided, she had been too wrapped up in her own grief to think of the torment he must be going through. Dear God! How would she feel if she had lost Geoffrey as Rupert had lost his love, his wife! Elizabeth bowed her head and said a silent prayer for her thoughtlessness.

“. . . and that is all I have to report.” The messenger’s last words brought her attention back to what was being discussed.

“You have done well,” Geoffrey said. “Go and find food and drink now.”

The messenger genuflected before Geoffrey and then left the room.

Geoffrey immediately turned to his wife and said, “Elizabeth, tell me what you know of this Rupert.”

“I am so ashamed, Geoffrey. I should have gone to him to offer him my comfort. He was my sister’s husband and I knew that Margaret and he dealt well with each other, from the way they behaved when they visited us. They were a well-matched couple, my mother used to say.”

“But what of Rupert himself?” Geoffrey asked. “What can you tell me about him? Can he really be ‘mad with grief,’” he asked. “Is he so weak that he cannot leave his room to see his wife’s grave?” There was ridicule in Geoffrey’s voice and Elizabeth shook her head, saddened by his questions, his tone.

“You do not understand,” she whispered. And now I fully know the difficulty in your nature, she thought. You do not love me, else you would comprehend. A weight, like a stone, lodged against her heart, and Elizabeth turned away from her husband so that he could not see the sorrow in her eyes.

Geoffrey misunderstood his wife’s obvious withdrawal, incorrectly assuming that discussion of her relatives opened the wound she was trying so hard to cover. He placed his hand on her shoulder and slowly turned her to face him once again. “Tell me the story of what took place here once again, Elizabeth. I know that it is painful for you and I am sorry, but I have need to hear it all again. To make sure,” he said.

Elizabeth puzzled over his last words and wished he had not asked her. “Will my telling you help you understand something?” she asked. Geoffrey nodded, and Elizabeth added, “Then I will tell you.” She took a calming breath and closed her eyes and repeated her story. Geoffrey did not interrupt once and she was thankful he did not, as she wished to finish as quickly as possible. When she was done, she looked up into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, his conclusions.

“You have left something out,” Geoffrey said, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner.

“What is that?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.

“Before, with the first telling, you said that one of the men wearing the hoods was injured . . . stabbed, I think you said.”

“Yes, I did forget that,” Elizabeth answered. “Margaret stabbed him. Why? Is that important?”

“Perhaps. Where did she stab him?” he asked, his voice casual, his eyes alert.

Elizabeth concentrated and pictured the scene again, trying to keep herself as detached as possible. In her mind she saw Margaret turn and raise her dagger and . . . “Just below the shoulder, the right shoulder. I saw the blood come through the cloth.” She looked again at Geoffrey but found no answer in his gaze. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Not now,” he hedged. “But when I return from my journey you will have your answers.”

“Always you ask me to wait,” Elizabeth said, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

“You have given me your trust,” Geoffrey reminded her. He almost added that she had pledged him her love too, but decided not to bring that subject up again. “You have made a pledge to me,” he substituted instead.

But I have made a pledge to my parents and my sisters too, she argued to herself. Should they not come before her pledge to her husband? She sighed with weariness. If only he could understand her position, she thought.

“I made another pledge,” she whispered. She turned before her husband could respond and hurried out of the room. There was much she had to consider, and she needed to be alone. She went back to the bedroom and sat down on the bed. Have I become obsessed with my vengeance? she asked herself. Is it so wrong to want justice so that their souls will reach heaven?

The sobs caught her by surprise. She couldn’t hold them back any longer. She buried her face in the covers and cried until she was exhausted, weeping for the loss of her family. I will not fail you, she told her parents, her sisters. I will find a way to bring justice so that you may rest in peace. The vow was barely repeated in her mind when the idea took hold. Rupert! She would go to him, pull him from his grief with her knowledge of her uncle’s treachery. Aye, she would give him cause to leave his room. She would give him her vengeance. The transfer of the vow would also, she admitted, leave her free.

Vengeance had kept her sane when she would have elsewise gone mad, it would do the same for him, Elizabeth decided. It would give him purpose. Rupert would vow revenge and was strong enough to challenge Belwain for the truth. He would not be so concerned with the law, Elizabeth thought.

She dried her eyes and bounded off the bed. There was much to do, and before the day was over. She must convince Hammond to accompany her and order him to find another willing to aid her. He would do it, she thought with determination, if she threatened to go alone. And he would not betray her to Geoffrey either. No, she thought, he is loyal to me first.

She would leave as soon as Geoffrey and his men were on their way, early tomorrow morning. And it wasn’t such a great distance to Rupert’s home, not if she could remember the way of the cut-through her father had chanced upon. With any luck she would be back before Geoffrey returned. She hadn’t a hope that her absence would go unnoticed by the men he left behind, but by then it would be too late and the deed would have been done.

Chapter Ten

ELIZABETH SOAKED IN THE WOODEN TUB OF STEAMING, rose-scented water for a long while. Geoffrey had washed and changed and she sent him away to the dinner table with a wave of dismissal. “I will join you shortly,” she promised with a wink.

“Perhaps I will join you now,” Geoffrey teased, hesitating at the door. He wanted to stay and gave her a look that told her as much.

“You cannot,” Elizabeth replied, laughing. “Your men and my grandfather wait for you. If you are late, they would know what we . . . my grandfather would guess . . .”

Geoffrey threw his head back and laughed at her discomfort.

The wet rag hit his forehead and he was forced to pull Elizabeth from the tub and give her a long kiss. “Until later,” he said in a husky voice full of promise.

“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered, “until later. But now you will have to change, my lord, for I have shared my bath with you.” She laughed again and sat back down in the water, casually splashing him with one hand while her other covered her breasts from his view.

Ah, he was a magnificent man, she thought as she seductively studied her husband’s physique. He was dressed all in black, save for the golden crest proclaiming his worth, and the water was truly invisible against the dark fabric. She was pleased that he had worn the black, for it would go well with the surprise she had planned and had even gone to great lengths to see that he did. Both the black braies and the bliaut were spread out upon the bed, with the white chainse atop, and Geoffrey, though he had raised an inquiring eyebrow when he saw that his wife had selected his outfit, changed into it without a question.

What a contradiction she is, Geoffrey thought as he watched his wife. She hides her breasts from me with the shyness of a virgin, yet stares at me with a hunger that matches my own. “Your lust is showing, wife,” Geoffrey said with extreme smugness. He shook his head with feigned despair and walked back to the door.

“Ever you would delay me,” he said in parting.

She heard his laughter through the door and smiled with anticipation. “Tonight, dear husband, you will delay me from my sleep. I will see to it.”

She hurried with her task of drying herself and then pulled the black ankle-length chainse from her chest. It was one of the new gowns the seamstress had fashioned for her, under protest, for the chainse was usually of a lighter color to give added contrast to the bliaut worn, but Elizabeth had been insistent. She would match her husband tonight, in both dress and passion. Sighing, she pulled the gown over her head and let it fall against her bare skin. She had decided that she would not wear a chemise, and felt herself blush with her wanton behavior. Oh, the surprises I have in store for you, husband, she thought, smiling with anticipation. Even when she slipped the black, knee-length bliaut over the chainse, it still hugged her curves. She brushed her hair, deciding against plaiting it, and then hurried back to the chest once again to remove the wide piece of material she had hidden there. She had designed this herself, though the gifted seamstress had been the one to do the actual sewing, and Elizabeth was extremely pleased with the result. Embroidered upon the golden strip of material was her husband’s crest, sewn in contrasting black threads, looking quite wonderful, she thought with pride.

She slipped the material over one shoulder and draped it across one breast, down to the opposite hip, where it tied into place. Then she pulled the black cloth shoes from under the bed and put them on. She was ready.

She reached the door and opened it wide, just as the squire Gerald was about to knock. His hand was poised in the air, but he stood frozen in the act as he looked at his mistress.

“You are beautiful,” Gerald blurted out. “You wear his crest.”

“It is fitting, is it not?” Elizabeth asked with a smile.

“It is, it is,” Gerald stammered with embarrassment.

“I did not mean that it was not, my lady.”

“I know that you did not,” Elizabeth soothed. “Did you wish something?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I did,” Gerald admitted, though he did not continue his explanation. He just stood there, grinning from ear to ear, and Elizabeth wanted to laugh at his silly expression. She did not, of course, for she had no wish to hurt his feelings.

“And what is it you wished to see me about?” she coaxed, folding her hands with a relaxed stance that suggested she would stand there for as long as it took for the squire to gather his thoughts.

“Your husband. He awaits you and grows impatient,” Gerald remembered to say.

“Then I will go to him,” Elizabeth answered.

She scooted around Gerald and started down the hall. “It is a warm evening,” she said, trying to put the boy at ease, “and I can smell the scent of new flowers in the air. The warm weather will be welcomed by the men, don’t you think?”

Elizabeth turned to hear his reply and found herself alone at the end of the hall. Gerald was still standing at her bedroom door, looking after her with what Elizabeth could only call a stupefied expression. With a laugh she could not contain, she called to the lad and waited for him to reach her side.

“Accompany me to the hall, Gerald. Your lord awaits your service.”

Gerald nodded and clutched at Elizabeth’s arm, awkwardly leading her down the steps. I only hope that my husband is as affected, as surprised and pleased, she thought, as the knight holding her arm with trembling fingers.

She was not disappointed. When she reached the entrance to the hall, she stood with her hands at her sides and waited for her husband’s attention. The talk and the laughter receded as each of the men spotted her, and by the time Geoffrey glanced up from his position at the table, silence filled the hall.

Still she did not move. She merely stared at him with a becoming smile on her face and waited for him to come to her.

Geoffrey saw his wife and was stunned speechless, like the rest of his men. His breath got caught some-where in his throat and his legs tried to trip him as he stood and slowly made his way to her.

The crest was visible from across the room, and Geoffrey’s chest swelled with pride that she wore it, proclaiming to all the world just who she belonged to.

He stopped when he stood directly in front of her.

“You grow more beautiful with each passing second,” he said in a whisper.

“Thank you, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth answered. She placed her hand on his arm and walked with him to the table.

The talk between the soldiers gradually resumed, but Elizabeth continued to feel their stares and smiled with pleasure.

Her grandfather sat down across from Elizabeth and Geoffrey. “You look lovely, granddaughter,” he said. “Don’t you think so, Geoffrey?” he asked, turning his gaze to his grandson-in-law.

“I had not thought on it,” Geoffrey replied in a mild tone, and then grinned when his wife nudged him with the tip of her shoe. “But now that you mention it, I think you might be right. She is not too displeasing.”

Elslow laughed as hard as Geoffrey and Elizabeth looked toward the heavens with exasperation. When she had first met her husband, she had despaired at his lack of humor, and now found she had created a tease that surely rivaled her grandfather.

A fine red wine appeared and Elizabeth toasted her husband and her grandfather. She found herself giggling over the most absurd statements all through the meal and realized that she was drunk with anticipation of the time she would share alone with her husband. She kicked one shoe off and began to rub her toes against her husband’s muscular legs and delighted in seeing his reaction, which he tried to mask as he talked with her grandfather. He would have me believe that he is unaffected, she thought with another chuckle.

“Stop that,” Geoffrey whispered when she slid her bare toes higher, “else you will be made to pay the price.”

“I will get the coin,” Elizabeth replied in a saucy whisper, “you have only to name the amount.”

“And who will give you the coin?” Geoffrey asked in a growl against her ear that sent shivers of warm need down her legs.

She pulled away and favored him with a long, sultry look and then answered, “My husband. There is much I could barter in exchange.”

She gave him a slow, calculated wink then and puckered her lips.

Geoffrey laughed, causing everyone to look their way, and then leaned down toward her again. “I think you try to seduce me, wife,” he told her.

“Nay,” Elizabeth answered him with a hopefully innocent gaze. She casually slipped her hand to rest in his lap and added, “I do not think it, Geoffrey. I know it.”

Geoffrey could not remember the rest of the meal. He knew that he ate his fill in record time and that he had removed his wife’s hand from his lap countless times, only to find it nestled there again and again. Before Elizabeth could take more than two bites of her food, he had hauled her to her feet and into his arms. To the cheers of his men and a roar of approval from Elslow, he carried her out of the room. One bare foot peeked out from beneath her gown and Geoffrey smiled as he ignored her protests and strode out of the hall.

What a confusion this wife of his was, Geoffrey thought as he carried her to their bedroom. She defies me in the morning, ignores me the rest of the day, and now plays the enchantress. There had to be a reason for this change in her behavior, Geoffrey realized, but he would be most content to wait until later to find out what it was. Now he wanted only the satisfaction she could give him.

When the bedroom door was closed, Geoffrey leaned against it, still holding her in his arms. Elizabeth turned his head toward her with the tip of her finger and smiled at him. It was a smile full of tenderness and love. She slowly wet her lips with her tongue and then did the same to his, knowing from the look in his eyes that he was pleased with her aggression. She kissed him then, opening her mouth as he opened his, welcoming his tongue inside as he explored the moist sweetness she offered. Only when the kiss threatened to overpower her did she draw back. She gave him another smile and began to unfasten the lacings at his neck, pausing often to kiss and stroke him while she worked.

Geoffrey did not say a word. He let her slide to the floor and stood as still as a statue while his wife undressed him. Her fingers were like the wings of a dove as she removed his garments. This game, this twist where she was the seducer, excited him. He would see how far she would go before bowing to his expertise, already noticing the blush covering her cheeks when he stood nude before her.

She stood back when the task was finished and carefully removed the sash she wore. She felt some embarrassment now, knowing that her husband watched her every motion, and she did not hesitate until the tunic had been removed and it was time to pull the gown from her body. She looked up at Geoffrey for a long moment, nervous now that she wore nothing beneath the gown, and hoped that he would not think her shameful. Ever so slowly she edged the gown up, over her hips, her breasts, and finally her head, before dropping it to the floor.

Geoffrey was so startled by her nudity that he could only stare at her. She was like the goddess he had imagined her to be when he first saw her in the forest, Geoffrey thought, proud and magnificent, and golden.

He reached out for her but stopped when she shook her head. She was not smiling now, even when she glanced down and saw she still wore one shoe. She flipped it off and then looked back at her husband. He could see the passion ignited in her eyes, her expression, and knew that it matched his own in intensity.

“You blush, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey said in a voice that sounded hoarse to his ears, “yet I have touched and kissed you everywhere. Do you think you will soon overcome this shyness?”

“I will try, my lord,” Elizabeth promised. She walked over to the bed and pulled the covers back. “Come, Geoffrey. It is my turn to learn your secrets as you have learned mine. It is my turn to kiss you everywhere and see if you will blush with the memory tomorrow.”

Her absurd remark that he was capable of blushing made him grin. Her words excited and intrigued him, for he had taught her all that she knew about the art of loving. His eyes hooded, he walked over to her and lifted her chin. He kissed her softly on her lips and then stretched out on the bed, pulling her down on top of him. He would let her continue the game a while longer, he decided, until he felt his control slip or until she could go no further due to her inbred inhibitions, and then he would take over, pleasure her as she had yet to be pleasured. It was his last coherent thought.

Elizabeth began her gentle assault at his neck, using her mouth and her tongue to taste and explore, moving ever so slowly downward in her quest to touch every inch of her husband. She would worship him this night as he had worshiped her in their nights before. She would give him such excitement and satisfaction that he would forgive her for what she must do in the morning. Tonight, she promised as she moved her hips against his legs, tonight you will love me, Geoffrey, and that will balance your anger with my disobedience when you learn of it.

She felt his intake of breath when she reached his hips and smiled with the knowledge that she held him captive. This role of aggressor was to her liking, she decided, for she was the one in full control now, not her husband.

Twice Geoffrey tried to pull her back to his chest, to kiss her until she was as affected as he, but both times Elizabeth resisted. Her hand found and closed over him and he groaned with reaction. And then he felt the touch of her tongue against his pulsating heat and her mouth take him inside and his mind left his body. He growled his pleasure and his hands found her legs. With a forceful jerk, he turned her and began to pleasure her as she pleasured him. Elizabeth moaned and began to move against him with both her mouth and her hips, and Geoffrey knew he could not hold back much longer. He stopped her with his hands and moved her on top of him, her knees braced on either side of his hips. And then he thrust inside her, with such force that Elizabeth cried out. He hesitated, concerned that he had hurt her, but her hips urged him on. “Do not stop,” she moaned, “do not. . . “

Her words drove him wild with need. He pushed into her again and again, mindless of the world. Only he and Elizabeth existed now, riding toward the crest of fulfillment. And when Elizabeth arched above him and cried out his name, Geoffrey allowed himself release, holding her tightly against him as the explosion overtook them both.

“I love you, Geoffrey, more than my life, I love you.” Elizabeth collapsed on top of her husband and snuggled against his chest but not before he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. The silent crying did not last long, and though she tried, Elizabeth was unable to keep the sobs inside.

Geoffrey held her, whispering gentle words meant to soothe her, but she could not hear them over the echo of her own hiccups. “You tell me that you love me and then you cry?” he asked when she had calmed a bit.

“You are unhappy over our lovemaking? You were not—”

“Nay,” Elizabeth interrupted. “It was wonderful, you were wonderful, and gentle and . . . “ Renewed sobs stopped her litany of his qualities and Geoffrey found himself shaking his head.

“Then why do you cry?” he persisted.

“I cry because I am happy,” Elizabeth insisted between sniffles.

Geoffrey rolled over, taking Elizabeth with him, and pinned her to the bed. Holding her face in the cup of his huge hands, he looked into her eyes and said in a gentle voice, “You are a contradiction and I vow it will take me years to understand you fully, but I think there will be sweet joy in the confusion of it all. What think you on this?” He leaned down and kissed her on her lips and then pulled back to await her answer.

“I think I will have been suffocated long before then, husband, unless you release me and let me breathe,” she replied, a hesitant smile curving her mouth.

Geoffrey immediately lifted his weight with his elbows but kept her firmly in place beneath him. His feet locked hers into submission when she tried to squirm away, and his expression remained serious. “I would know why you cry when we finish loving each other.”

“I am confused,” Elizabeth admitted.

“About loving me?” Geoffrey asked. The thought made him uneasy and his brow wrinkled with irritation.

“No, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth answered. “I will not take back the words, for I meant them . . . for now and always.”

“That is good,” Geoffrey replied, grinning. He rolled to his back and let Elizabeth get settled against his side.

“Geoffrey?” Elizabeth asked, her tone hesitant.

“Yes?” Geoffrey answered as he reached out with his hand and squelched the light from the single candle on the table next to the bed. The room was thrown into darkness. “You wish to maul me again?”

Though she could not see his face, Elizabeth could hear the laughter in his voice. He had certainly taken to teasing, she thought, just as a duck takes to water, and she might have challenged him for more loving had she not been preoccupied with her other thoughts.

“If a vassal came to you and asked your help, or if you promised one vassal that you would give him something, and then another vassal came along and wanted your promise for the same, what would you do?” She had phrased her question badly and the confusion of it all registered in her mind. How could he help her know what to do if she couldn’t even explain?

“You cannot give to the second what has been promised to the first,” Geoffrey answered very matter-of-factly. “That is the law.”

“Always the law,” Elizabeth snapped.

“We would be animals without it,” Geoffrey argued with a yawn. “Why do you concern yourself with the problems of vassals?” he asked.

“It is all so confusing, these promises and vows,” she admitted in a whisper.

“That is because you are a woman,” Geoffrey returned, trying to keep his voice neutral so that she would not know he baited her.

“And women are not capable of understanding?” Elizabeth asked. Her body tensed beside him as she waited for his reply.

“That is true,” Geoffrey said, waiting for her fury. When she remained in her stiff position beside him, he grinned into the darkness and added, “Now a horse . . . ”

She realized then that he was teasing and relaxed against him. “Always you bait me, husband,” she sighed.

Geoffrey dislodged her with his hefty laugh. “I bait you? It is the opposite, and well you know it!” He snorted again and then hauled her back against him. “Enough talk, wife. I’m tired. Close your eyes and sleep.”

“So a man tires easily after making love? He is so weak that he must immediately sleep for hours upon hours? Now a woman . . . ”

Geoffrey stopped her words and her thoughts with a determined kiss and then rested his head next to hers.

“Pleasant dreams,” she whispered as she closed her eyes.

“I have just finished my dreams,” Geoffrey whispered against the top of her head. And it was most pleasant indeed, he thought, smiling as he fell asleep.

Geoffrey rode out with the first light of day, careful not to disturb his sleeping wife. He kissed her on the forehead and had to be content with only that, as he did not want to chance waking her and having to deal with her questions as to his destination.

Roger and fifty of the soldiers were saddled and waiting. Geoffrey took a few minutes to go over his plans once again with Elslow and then led the procession through the gates. His expression turned grim; it was the face now of the warrior about to do battle.

Elizabeth watched her husband leave from her view at their bedroom window. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned and began to dress. Hammond and another, a strong peasant called Tobias, waited with the horses, already outside the walls, and Elizabeth knew that she would have to hurry to meet them, before the entire house was roused for the new day. She dressed in a dark blue gown and tied her hair in a knot at the base of her neck. Then she covered herself in her long cape, though the weather was warm enough to go without, and pulled the hood over her hair to hide its bright color. The dagger and the bow and arrows were her arsenal in case of danger along the way.

She took the same direction as the day of the massacre, down the hidden stairway and out the side door, and then across the vacant courtyard and through the stable, to another door that faced the wall. A ladder was braced against it, put there by Hammond the night before, and Elizabeth was up and over the top with little effort. Hammond stood at the bottom on the other side, bracing the second ladder to keep it steady as his mistress climbed down.

Together they walked to where the horses were hidden among the trees, and without a word, they mounted and rode into the forest.

Elizabeth led the way, concentrating on the cutoff path she would follow, all the while trying to block her feelings. But her subconscious would not let her rest, and by the end of the long day’s ride, without stopping for food or water, Elizabeth was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

They made camp a good two hours before nightfall, in a thick, wooded area about an hour’s ride from her brother-in-law’s land, and while Tobias saw to the horses, Hammond opened his burlap sack and divided the food he had brought along.

Elizabeth ate little of the fare, save for a small chunk of hardened bread, and spoke not at all. They dared not risk a fire, and the chill sweeping in before the night forced her to huddle under her cloak while she rested against the bark of a tree. “My lady,” Hammond said, “we are so close to our destination. Perhaps after you have rested, we could continue on and reach your brother-in-law’s home before night is upon us.”

Elizabeth did not answer her servant but shook her head. She let Hammond assume she was too tired to continue on. He did not question her again but announced that he would take the first watch. Elizabeth nodded that she had heard, and closed her eyes. She was in agony, mental torment, and she was losing the battle inside her soul and brain, for no matter how hard she tried, she could not blank her mind to the guilt and accusations camping there.

She tried to convince herself that what she was doing was not wrong. But it was, she finally admitted. Very wrong! Oh, she thought with acute despair, I have fooled myself long enough. Last night I knew, in my heart . . . that is why I was so forceful in seducing my husband, in pleasing him. I knew I would betray his faith in me soon. But I cannot do it! I cannot. Forgive me, Father, but you must wait as I must wait, for I cannot go against my husband. I have placed my faith in him and he will avenge your soul. I will have to be content that he will keep his promise, rather it take twenty years or not.

“Hammond!” Her whisper startled him and he hurried over to kneel at her side, a worried look on his face.

“You have heard something?” he asked in a nervous whisper. He glanced back over his shoulder, looking toward the thickness beyond, his sword at the ready. “I fear my hearing is not what it used to be,” he admitted after a moment. “I am a sorry one to protect you, my lady.”

“No, Hammond, rest your fears. I have heard nothing,” Elizabeth replied, patting him on his shoulder. Hammond turned back to stare at her, a puzzled look covering his frown. Elizabeth smiled at him, her measure to try to reassure him. “Think we could make an hour’s time back the way we have come before this bleak night descends on us?”

Hammond leaned back on his haunches, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “I do not understand,” he finally confessed. “You wish to return to Mont-wright?” There was a spark of hope in his voice, which made Elizabeth bow her head with renewed shame. She had placed both Hammond and Tobias in a less than tenacious position with their new master, Lord Geoffrey. She had not considered their possible fate as a result of their disobedience, thinking only of herself and her foolish need for vengeance.

“Hammond, what I was about to do, to go to Rupert, it is wrong and I have only just realized it. I would be disloyal to my husband by taking my concerns to my brother-in-law. I am sorry that I have placed both you and Tobias in such jeopardy with my foolishness and pray you will forgive me.”

Before Hammond could reply, Elizabeth flung the cloak aside and stood up. “Come, now, and we will try to make distance while the light guides us.”

Hammond closed his eyes with relief. His mistress had finally come to her senses. He was sure his prayers to the Almighty had helped her along, and he crossed himself in thanksgiving. And then he was in motion, saddling first Elizabeth’s horse and then his own.

The threesome rode hard through the forest until the last fingers of light began to recede from the sky. They had pushed caution aside, in favor of haste, and stayed on the road. Elizabeth was the first to spot the lake in the distance. She slowed her pace and called to Hammond, “Think we should stop here for the night?”

Hammond was about to tell her yes, that there were several good hiding places that would serve their needs, but the thunder coming down the road toward them stopped his thoughts.

Elizabeth too heard the horses. Her face drained of color and she tensed, confusing her mare by nudging her with her knees while her hands held him back by the reins. The horse began to prance about in agitation and confusion, and Elizabeth took precious minutes trying to regain control.

“Go to the lake,” she yelled to Hammond and Tobias. “I will follow.” Tobias needed no further urging and took out in full gallop, but Hammond shook his head. He drew his sword and waited while Elizabeth struggled with her horse. It was too late now, and Hammond was convinced that he was about to die with his mistress.

And then the thunder was upon them, and the leader almost collided with Elizabeth. Her mare reared in reaction to the army that had just rounded the curve in the road, and the hood Elizabeth wore fell to her shoulders. She fought with her horse and glanced at the men blocking her path. Geoffrey! Saints be praised, it was her husband. Elizabeth almost fell off her mare when she saw who it was, and found herself smiling with relief.

Geoffrey could not believe what he was seeing. Blinking did not remove the sight either, he found. His wife! Here, in the middle of the forest, with but one old man to offer her protection. Had he gone crazy? “Elizabeth?” he heard himself ask, and hardly recognized his own voice.

“Good eve, my lord,” Elizabeth replied in a soft whisper.

“Elizabeth!” This time her name was fairly bellowed, and the roar caused her animal to become upset all over again. Roger came to her rescue and she was most appreciative, as her husband seemed unable to move a muscle, save for the one pulsating in his cheek.

Elizabeth was thankful that they were not alone. The look in his eyes was beyond frightening, and she found she was extremely nervous. She turned her gaze to his companion and tried to pretend that all was right with the world. “Good evening, Roger. It has been a fine day, has it not?”

Roger seemed dumbfounded by her question. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t think what it was. And then he found himself grinning, but God’s truth, he could not help it.

Elizabeth widened her smile and brushed her hair out of her face. She was careful to keep her gaze away from her husband and continued to smile—much like a simpleton, she thought—to his men lined up on the road behind him. “I apologize for interrupting your ride, husband,” she said in his general direction, “and we will be on our way now. God speed you on your journey,” she added.

She knew it wouldn’t work, but then, there wasn’t really any other plan, she thought. She grabbed the reins and spurred her horse, hoping only to get him away from his men so that he could kill her without an audience.

She did not get a single gallop in. Geoffrey held the reins to her horse before she had half-skirted him, and pulled her in just like a fish on a short string. And now he will kill me, Elizabeth thought a little hysterically. And all for nothing!

The shrill cry of her hawk high above the group forced Elizabeth to automatically glance up. “Roger,” she heard her husband say, “I think you best protect her from the hawk.”

Elizabeth looked back at Geoffrey and frowned. “My hawk would not harm me,” she said before looking back to the sky. She frowned again as she watched her pet’s frantic circles.

“He is very close to beating you,” Geoffrey stated. He kept his voice soft, but the anger was most obvious.

Realization dawned. Elizabeth looked back at her husband, her eyes wide with fright. He was referring to himself, by the name his men had given him.

“Geoffrey, I would explain,” Elizabeth stammered.

“Aye, you will,” Geoffrey snapped, trying not to grab her by her neck and wring some sense into her. He dared not touch her at all until his temper cooled and he was in control.

Another screech from the sky drew her attention again. She watched her hawk circle again and again and said, almost to herself, “Geoffrey, something is wrong, else he would land.”

“Ride!” Geoffrey’s command broke the quiet. Like a flash of lightning, he pulled Elizabeth into his saddle and threw the reins of her mare to Roger. He goaded his stallion into motion and Elizabeth held on for dear life as they flew into the forest. She closed her eyes and buried her face against Geoffrey’s chest so that the branches could not scrape her, though there was no need, for her husband guarded her well, using his shield to guard her against injury.

When they neared the edge of the lake, Geoffrey called a halt. “James, take two others and ride back toward the road. Keep well hidden and report who passes.”

Geoffrey watched three of the soldiers disappear, swallowed by the trees and the dense foliage, and then turned his attention to his wife. She still clung to him and Geoffrey reached into her hair and gave a hard tug, pulling her head back and her face up, just inches from his own. He knew he caused her discomfort from the way she held her lower lip between her teeth, and could well feel her tremble in his arms, yet it was nothing compared to the agony she had just put him through. “When I get you to my home, I will lock you in my room and throw away the key,” he vowed in a low voice, and from the look on his face, Elizabeth had no doubt that he would do just that.

“I will not complain,” Elizabeth whispered in reply.

“Whatever you decide to do to me I will deserve and not make complaint, though I wish you would let me explain,” she ended.

Geoffrey was totally unimpressed with her humble acceptance of his threat. He was still too angry. “Why in God’s name are you here?” he asked.

“I was on my way to see Rupert,” Elizabeth admitted. Her reward for complete honesty was another hard tug on her hair and she almost cried out with the pain.

“It is fortunate for you that I was able to stop you, then,” Geoffrey said in a harsh voice. He eased up on his hold when he saw the tears in her eyes but his fury knew no limits.

“But I was on my way home,” Elizabeth said.

“You saw Rupert?” His voice sounded incredulous and he found himself pulling on her hair again.

“Nay,” Elizabeth replied. “Geoffrey, you hurt me! Loose me and I will explain,” she pleaded.

Geoffrey obeyed her request but promptly captured her shoulders in a tight grip. “I am waiting,” he said. His face was a mask, but Elizabeth could still feel the anger in him.

“It is true, I was on my way to see Rupert, but I could not do it. I could not go to him. It would have been disloyal to you. And so I turned around and was headed home when you chanced upon me.”

“Disobedient,” Geoffrey corrected, “not disloyal.” He let go of her shoulders and realized his hands were shaking. She would have ridden into hell had she ventured into Rupert’s web, Geoffrey knew. And he would thank God each and every day for the rest of his life that she had not.

“No, Geoffrey, I was disloyal as well.” Elizabeth’s confession sounded like a tortured whisper.

“God give me patience with you,” Geoffrey muttered. “Always you contradict me.” He shook his head and waited for her response.

“I was not going to Rupert just to offer comfort in his time of need. No, my motives were selfish and sinful, Geoffrey. I grew impatient waiting for you to do something and decided that Rupert would champion my cause. I thought to tell him about Belwain, and in his grief he would not be so concerned about the law . . . and he would go to Belwain and make him confess.”

Tears began to stream down her face and Elizabeth wiped them away with an impatient hand. She could tell from the look on her husband’s face that he was furious with her confession. He acted like he had just received a blow to his midsection, and Elizabeth cried all the more, for she was the cause of his anger, his pain. “I am guilty of disobedience and disloyalty and lack of patience. I admit to each sin, and will cut my hair and wear a peasant’s garb for a year if that be my penance. But, Geoffrey, last evening I knew I could not go through with my plan. I had given you my trust. By going to Rupert I would have been telling you that I had no faith in you. Geoffrey, I was so confused. I had made the vow to avenge my family’s deaths . . . and then I made the vows to you . . . and I did not know which came first. Oh, Geoffrey, I cannot be vengeful any longer. Belwain’s death will not bring my papa back to me. This constant thought of revenge truly goes against my nature.” She wiped her cheeks with the edge of her cloak and wished her husband would say something. Oh, how she longed to hear him yell at her. Anything, to show her she had not destroyed any affection he might have felt for her. “If you decide never to look for proof of my uncle’s treachery, then so be it.”

It took Geoffrey a long while to calm down. He almost shuddered when he realized how close he had come to losing her. The danger! And she had no idea, none at all. That was probably his fault, he admitted. Aye, he too was to blame. If he had not been so stubborn, so bent on teaching her her place, none of this would have come to pass. Yet she had just admitted that she was on her way to another to champion her cause. How dare she? his mind demanded, when she had given her trust into his care. Aye, it was disloyalty, in thought and in action. He would have to address this problem, but not until he had time to think. It was unwise to make snap judgments and decisions, for they could well prove unchangeable. He needed time . . . time and distance away from his wife, to sort this confusion out.

“Elizabeth, it was Rupert behind the whole of it.”

She did not understand what he was saying. Not at first. She shook her head, trying to deny what she just heard. No, he was Margaret’s husband! He would not, could not. . .

“He hides until the wound from the knife heals,” Geoffrey said, watching the play of emotions crossing his wife’s face.

Elizabeth was too stunned to say anything. The enormity of the situation was too much to consider.

Geoffrey dismounted and lifted her to the ground. “It is true. You would have ridden into hell and not known it until it was too late.”

“How did you find out?” Elizabeth finally managed to ask.

“From the moment you told me the story, I was suspicious of Rupert. The fact that he suddenly became too ill to accompany his wife to Montwright, that planted the seed of doubt in my mind. Then, when Elslow arrived, he told me that Rupert was one of the leaders of the rebels against William, though Rupert does not know that Elslow could name him traitor. The final proof came from the messenger, the first messenger. One of Rupert’s ill-treated servants let slip the news that Rupert’s injury was slow to heal. That bit of information, added to the fact that Rupert refused to answer my call. . . Aye, Elizabeth, he is the one behind the whole of it. I would stake my life on it.”

“Dear God, he killed Margaret,” she whispered.

“And you were on your way to confront him, weren’t you? You sought to put an end to this nightmare and end my torment. Geoffrey, I—”

“I was on my way to challenge him, yes,” Geoffrey said, his voice hard again. “But not to put an end to your torment, wife. You place too much worth on yourself if you think you are my main concern. Rupert attacked what belonged to me, and your father was my loyal vassal. Montwright is but one of my holdings but I protect all I own. And I am loyal to all who place their trust in my hands. Your nightmare is your own, Elizabeth, your torment yours to keep. You are narrow of purpose, thinking only of yourself. Aye, you are selfish and foolish, and that is a most dangerous combination.”

Geoffrey knew that he hurt her with his harsh words but he was too angry to take them back. She had just admitted that she had been disloyal. Added to that fact was her foolishness in placing herself in such jeopardy . . . and all to go to a madman who would have taken great pleasure in killing her. He let his anger run free, knowing full well that his wife was the only available vessel for his wrath, his hurt.

“What is my worth, Geoffrey?” Elizabeth’s softly spoken question took him by surprise. He had thought that his words would have angered her and she would have responded in kind. He found he was disappointed and admitted that he wanted a good fight. He studied her for a long moment, noting that she held her head up and her shoulders straight. There was pride in her stance, but no arrogance or anger in her gaze. Geoffrey looked into her eyes and could only read defeat there . . . defeat and sorrow.

“Do not ask me that question now,” Geoffrey snapped, “else I will say something I may regret. You have the ability to make me lose my temper like no other.” Geoffrey clasped his hands behind his back, calming somewhat by her docile attitude, and said, “You do not fight with me and I cannot help but wonder at your motives. Perhaps you have realized that you have gone too far this time?”

Elizabeth refused the bait. She could not handle any more harsh words. “Why Rupert?” she asked, changing the subject. “Did he also want Montwright?”

“I think not,” Geoffrey said. “No, it was havoc he was after,” he concluded.

“Margaret was so gentle, so loving,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head, “and he killed her.”

Roger interrupted with a shout. “The men return, Hawk.”

Geoffrey and Elizabeth both turned.

The soldier called James dismounted and hurried over to his lord. “They come this way and outnumber us three to one. They ride from the east.”

“Rupert?” Elizabeth asked her husband. She started to tremble and could not seem to stop.

Geoffrey did not answer her. He lifted Elizabeth into his arms and carried her to her horse. Placing her in the saddle, he called to Roger. “See to her protection.” Pulling his sword from its sheath, he turned from her and began ordering his men into position.

The sun was slowly slipping from the sky, casting a soft orange glow to the lake. Another half hour, and the woods would be in total darkness. Roger led Elizabeth’s mare away from the water and between two tall trees. He motioned to James again and two others and Elizabeth was surrounded by men on horseback. “Do not leave her side,” Roger ordered, and the men immediately nodded. “I know you would not,” Roger corrected when he realized he had insulted them with his order. They would die before letting harm come to their lady, just as he would.

“God protect you,” Elizabeth whispered to Roger. He nodded and started toward her husband. And you protect my husband, she added to herself.

The rebels could be heard in the distance, riding hard and fast through the denseness. They aimed for the water, to refill their pouches, Elizabeth thought. But she was wrong. One minute the only sound was that of hard-ridden mounts, and the next, the bedlam of battle. The enemy had ridden into the clearing with their weapons drawn; aye, they were ready for battle. Geoffrey and his men did not have the element of surprise on their side and they were outnumbered, as James had stated.

As soon as the war cry sounded, the shields were up, blocking Elizabeth’s view. She listened to the screams and the clashes of iron against iron. She pictured Geoffrey injured or dead, and covered her ears with her hands. And then she could stand it no longer. She prodded the soldier blocking her view and demanded that he lower his shield so that she could see that her husband was safe. The trees and the receding light hid them well, and the soldier agreed.

“They need your help,” she said when she saw the numbers. “Go and lend your skill,” she demanded of James. “I will be safe here with just one of you to protect me.”

James needed no further urging. He was eager to do his part and agreed that the men could use his aid. He motioned to the others and all but one followed him, each giving the cry for battle as they rode down the slope with their weapons drawn.

Elizabeth watched her husband as he battled with another. She held her breath when a blow just missed his stomach by inches, and then released it when he felled his opponent.

Two others approached her husband, one with a lance and the other with a battle ax. Geoffrey made short work of killing them.

Her attention turned to Roger, fighting against two men at the water’s edge. As she watched, another joined the twosome, and she saw that Roger was losing, and had no place to move. He was silhouetted against the setting sun, an easy target for the enemy, with the lake just inches behind him. Elizabeth frantically looked about to see if anyone was coming to Roger’s aid and then remembered the bow and arrows she carried. “Move aside,” she called to her one protector. She placed the arrow against the string and took aim, hesitating for the barest of seconds while she prayed that the rebel would stand still and that God would forgive her for taking a life, and then let go. The arrow whistled through the air and found its target, lodging in the back of the rebel’s head. Another prayer for forgiveness and thanksgiving for her accuracy and the rebel’s foolishness in not wearing a helmet, and she was ready to shoot another arrow. This time the weapon lodged in the back of the second rebel’s neck, and he fell to his knees, screaming in agony. Elizabeth told herself she was not sorry for it, as he would have killed Roger if she had not interfered. Yet her stomach made a lie of her thoughts, twisting and churning at her deed.

Roger looked down at the rebel kneeling before him and saw the arrow protruding from his neck when he fell forward on his face. His curiosity almost caused his death. The third rebel took advantage of Roger’s inattention and rushed forward.

Roger did not have time to do more than block the blow from the spear, sending it flying into the air. He was not injured, but lost his footing and fell backward into the lake. The rebel promptly turned and ran to fight another.

“He will drown,” the soldier protecting Elizabeth yelled. “His armor will hold him under.”

“He will not!” Elizabeth shouted the denial. Her gaze flew to Geoffrey. He would know what to do. But he can do nothing, Elizabeth realized as she watched him fight the rebels trying to surround him.

“Do you have rope?” Elizabeth shouted. The soldier nodded and she said, “Jump into the water and tie it around Roger’s waist. Between the two of us, we will be able to pull him out.”

“I too wear armor,” the soldier told her. “It would do no good.”

“Then I will do it,” Elizabeth decided. “Hurry! Ride to the water’s edge with me and hold one end of the rope. When you feel a pull on it, drag Roger to the surface. Do not argue,” she screamed when she saw he was about to protest. “My husband would wish this.”

She did not give the soldier time to consider what he should do, but urged her mount into action and raced to the water’s edge. She slipped off her mare and grabbed the rope. “Hold tightly,” she said, and then took a deep breath and made a clean dive into the water. The distance to the bottom was greater than she had anticipated, but she found Roger almost immediately. She pushed at his shoulder but he did not respond. Praying that she was not too late and that he still had air inside of him, she hurried to make a slip knot around his waist with the rope. It was difficult work as the mud was thick and resistant to her struggle to get the rope around the knight. Her lungs ached from the strain but she did not give up her task. As soon as she had the knot secured below the heavy chest mail, she tugged the rope and pulled on Roger’s shoulders. When she could not stand the pressure a second longer, she kicked away from the knight and headed for the surface.

As soon as the soldier felt the pull on the rope, he began to back his steed, and within seconds the limp body of Geoffrey’s faithful vassal was pulled from the water.

Roger was doubled over and the tightness of the rope acted as a squeezing vessel below his ribs. It forced great gushes of water from his lungs, and by the time he was dragged clear, he was coughing and sputtering.

Elizabeth did not hear him. She tried to climb out of the water but was crying so hard that she couldn’t seem to keep a hold. She was too late! And now Roger was dead.

Geoffrey had gained victory over his opponents and was on his way to fight another when he glimpsed Elizabeth just seconds before she dived into the water. He reacted with almost superhuman power then, screaming like a wild animal as he raced to get to her. His men saw to his back, saving his life countless times as he passed the rebels without a glance. And then the fight was over, the remaining rebels running to safety.

Geoffrey was tearing at his armor, intent on diving into the water to find Elizabeth, when she surfaced just a few feet in front of him. Relief such as he had never known washed over him, and he found that his legs would no longer support him. He knelt down and bowed his head and gave thanks.

Her soft sobs renewed his strength, and his rage. He thanked God that she was alive so that he could kill her, and shot up to his feet with a bellow of fury. “I thought you drowned,” he screamed as he hauled her out of the water. “I thought you drowned,” he repeated. He was shaking her as he screamed, and then suddenly stopped and pulled her against his chest.

Elizabeth heard the agony in his voice and cried all the more. “Nay, Geoffrey. It is worse,” she said, sobbing. “It is Roger. He is the one drowned.”

Her husband did not seem to understand. He began to shake her again, yelling at the top of his lungs. He confused her with his tirade. And then Roger’s coughs reached her and she began to cry louder. “He is not dead, Geoffrey. He is not! Do not be angry any longer.”

“You are a stupid woman,” Geoffrey ranted. He pulled her against his chest and said something she could not hear, and then jerked her back and was shaking her all over again. It was as if he could not make up his mind. She started to cry again, uncaring that an audience had formed as a half-circle behind her husband, and tried without success to get the mass of wet hair out of her face. “I would explain,” she sobbed, wishing she could just find a place to sit and calm herself.

“You will not,” Geoffrey bellowed, grabbing for her shoulders again. He pulled her to his chest once again and said in a softer voice, “Quit your weeping, Elizabeth. It is over.”

He felt Elizabeth nod against him and found himself taking deep breaths to stop his tremors. Lord, he was acting more like a woman each day he spent with Elizabeth, he thought, and a smile of disbelief crossed his face. He spotted Roger, drenched but very much alive, and motioned him to his side. “It was this stupid, disobedient wife of mine that saved your life, Roger. What think you of that?” he asked.

“I am most grateful,” Roger answered. “Though I would disagree that she is stupid, my lord.”

Geoffrey almost laughed.

Roger pointed to the men on the ground behind him and said, “Recognize the arrows, my lord?”

“They are mine,” Elizabeth acknowledged, pulling free of her husband’s hold. “And don’t you dare yell at me again, Geoffrey! My ears are ringing from your shouts. You were outnumbered and I did what was needed.”

“It was my duty to protect you, wife, not the other way around,” Geoffrey replied, clearly exasperated. “You risked your life.”

“It is my life to risk,” Elizabeth argued. She placed her hands on her hips, flung her hair out of her face with a jerk of her head, and gifted him with a long, scorching look. “Think you own it?” she challenged. Her arrogant tone was lessened somewhat by the hefty sneeze she couldn’t contain.

“I do,” Geoffrey bellowed. His hands were now on his hips, his stance threatening. The muscles of his bronzed thighs and legs, braced apart for battle, intimidated her just as much as the frigid look in his eyes.

Elizabeth’s stomach twisted; she suddenly felt very vulnerable arguing with her husband in front of his men, for though they appeared busy burying the dead and seeing to one another’s injuries, it was obvious that they could well hear the shouts from their leader and his mistress. Why, Elizabeth realized, her mother would never have raised her voice to her father in such a fashion. It was unseemly, undignified. Of course, her mother would never have gotten herself into a situation such as this in the first place!

Elizabeth’s hands dropped to her sides in confusion and defeat. “You are most unreasonable,” she said. Turning away from his glare, she started to walk back toward the trees. “I’ve no doubt you would like to put me in chains and drag me behind you,” she muttered over her shoulder.

She was jerked around and pulled back into her husband’s arms before she could gather another breath. “Do not dare to walk away from me when I am speaking to you,” Geoffrey stated in a harsh whisper.

When he saw that her eyes were once again filling with tears, he shook her and then eased up on his fierce hold. “Your idea of chains has merit,” he said, dragging her toward the privacy of the woods, “perhaps then you would stay where I put you.”

Elizabeth was wise enough to know that silence would have been the best course of action at the moment, but could not help defending herself once again. “Geoffrey, if I had stayed an observer, your loyal vassal and my good friend, Roger, would be dead. Can you find no merit in my action?” she asked, ringing her hands in frustration and wishing she could ring his neck as well. “I am sorry if it was unseemly for me to kill those men with my arrows. I have never killed anyone before and I know I will burn in purgatory for at least a hundred years, but like it or not, I would do the same again.” She started to cry again and hated herself for her weakness. It was just that he made her so mad! And she was so very tired. Dark was full upon them among the trees, and Elizabeth, in her haste to turn from his angry stare, stumbled over a stone. Geoffrey caught her and lifted her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and tried to quit crying.

“What am I to do with you?” Geoffrey addressed the question to the top of her head. “Look at me,” he commanded. When she complied, he continued, “In the space of one meager day, you have disobeyed me God knows how many times and openly admitted your disloyalty.” He placed her on the ground, facing him, and then added, “I have killed men who have ventured less.”

“I am not a man, I am your wife,” Elizabeth replied, shrugging his hands off her shoulders.

“It is you who forgets that fact more often than I,” Geoffrey retaliated. He turned from her and called to his squire, “We camp here for the night. See to my tent.” Turning back to Elizabeth, he noticed that she trembled, and assumed it was due to the chill of the night. “You look like a drowned pup and your gown clings to you in an inappropriate manner. Find your cloak and cover yourself.” His voice was as cold as her clothes, and Elizabeth found she no longer felt like crying. God’s truth, she wanted to scream again!

She watched her husband walk away from her, barking orders as he moved toward his men, and shook her head. And I thought I understood him, she thought with despair. “Ha,” she muttered aloud before sneezing once more. “I swear he is the most unreasonable, hardheaded, stubborn mule of a man that ever walked this earth,” she ranted while she paced between the trees. “And to think I thought he would find merit in my deed! No, he finds no merit, for he has no mercy, no understanding, no love in his heart.” The squeak of her waterlogged shoes seemed to underline each negative remark she made.

“Mistress?” Roger’s voice intruded on her rantings and she was glad for it. She turned and saw that he held her cloak in his hands. “I imagine after your swim you have need for this,” he said, his voice gentle.

She accepted the garment and wrapped it around her shoulders, grateful for its warmth. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Roger. And are you feeling well after your swim?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. No need for the vassal to know how miserable she was feeling, she decided.

“I am,” Roger replied. “Come now. Gerald has the Hawk’s tent set up. I will find you some food and see you settled. I would think you quite exhausted after the day’s events.”

“I do find I am rather tired,” Elizabeth admitted in a soft voice. She walked beside the knight toward the camp. Roger seemed agitated as they neared the group of soldiers, stopping several times to turn to her before resuming his silent walk again. Elizabeth knew the cause for his anxiety and finally placed her hand on his arm to gain his full attention. “Roger, you are glad that I helped to pull you from the water?” she began in a hesitant voice. She did not wait for him to answer before continuing on, “But at the same time you wish I had not contradicted my husband’s orders. Is that not the way of your thinking? The reason for your frowns?”

Roger nodded and then spoke. “I am thankful to be alive and it was you who saved me. I owe you my life,” he added in a fervent voice.

Elizabeth didn’t quite know how to respond to his statement. If she agreed that she had indeed saved his life and he should be thankful, then she did not practice the virtue of humility, she considered. On the other hand, if she denied her deed, she wasn’t being honest with him . . . or herself. Worse still, if she belittled the act and acted quite blase about the happening, then wouldn’t she be telling the vassal that she placed little significance on his life? Humility be damned, she decided. “I would do it again, regardless of my husband’s wrath. Please understand, Roger, your lord is not angry that you were saved; he is only displeased with my unseemly behavior. You must consider that he is unfamiliar with having a wife . . . and he is—”

“Do not trouble yourself explaining your husband to me,” Roger replied, smiling. “He has already discussed the matter with me and he is most thankful that you were able to save me.”

“He told you that?” The amazement was obvious in her voice. Then why has he carried on so? Elizabeth asked herself, though she dared not question the knight. It was not his place or his duty to instruct her in the ways and thoughts of her husband.

Roger took hold of Elizabeth’s elbow and bent his head toward hers. “They light the fires now. Come and stand close to one and warm yourself. You tremble with the cold.”

“They risk a fire?” she asked as she followed the vassal through a group of soldiers. “Won’t Rupert’s meet—”

“Do not concern yourself,” Roger admonished in a quiet voice. “Your husband knows what he is about. You have only to trust him.”

“Aye,” Elizabeth immediately responded, embarrassed that she had asked the question of the knight.

There were perhaps ten or twelve soldiers circled around the fire as she and Roger edged up to the center, and Elizabeth noticed that each time she made eye contact with any of the men, they smiled and then lowered their gazes, as if in deference . . . or embarrassment. Elizabeth wasn’t sure and found herself feeling very awkward and somewhat hurt by their attitude. It was another puzzle after a long day of puzzles and confusions. “My presence seems to intimi-date the men,” she whispered to Roger with an embarrassed little sigh.

“They are in awe,” Roger whispered back, giving her elbow a little squeeze.

“Awe?”

“Your courage has shaken them,” he said, smiling at the surprise in her eyes. “They have never known one such as you, for you are not like other women.”

“And that is praise?” Elizabeth asked, smiling in return.

“Aye, it is,” Roger explained. “You are a fitting bride for their leader,” he proclaimed.

Their leader does not agree with you, Elizabeth thought. She glanced around, looking for her husband, but Roger’s gentle tug on her elbow turned her thoughts back to him. From the look in his eyes, it appeared that he was not quite finished with his gratitude. “I am sorry that you placed yourself in such danger for my benefit, yet now that it is over and done with, I am glad. I will thank God each and every morning that you had the courage to do what you did.” He chuckled when he saw the flush on her cheeks his praise caused, and added as a jest, “Why, I will even pray to the souls of your parents for having the foresight to see that you learned how to swim, since I was the one who benefited from their schooling.” He was grinning with his last remark, and Elizabeth smiled again.

Geoffrey had walked up behind Elizabeth, as quietly as a panther stalking in the night, and found himself losing some of his anger with Roger’s remarks. He was about to pull his wife into his arms and lead her to his tent when her words stopped his actions.

“I am afraid your prayers to my parents would only confuse them, Roger, for God’s truth, I do not know how to swim yet. Though I tell you it does not appear to be overly difficult if you remember to hold your breath and—”

Geoffrey’s bellow of rage jarred Elizabeth a good foot off the ground. She clutched at her heart and whirled around only to bump into her husband.

“Geoffrey! What is the matter?” Elizabeth could barely get the question out, so shaken was she by his scream.

“Do not say another word,” Geoffrey rasped, “do not. . . “His anger was fresh as a new flower just bursting into bloom, and he felt he was close to being totally out of control, and if he could just get her into his tent, away from his men, perhaps then he could calm himself enough to merely throttle her.

Elizabeth was half-dragged, half-pulled into the small tent and then dropped like a sack of barley onto a blanket.

“Now what have I done?” Elizabeth asked, rubbing her arms where her husband had clenched her. “I will be black and blue and it will be from your hands, not the enemy, Geoffrey. You do not know your own strength, I think,” she ended.

Geoffrey did not immediately respond. He took his time lighting two candles and sat down crossed-legged in front of her. When Elizabeth got a glimpse of his face, she wished she had the nerve to blow the candles out. Oh, but he was furious, the tendon pulsating in his neck was testimony to that fact, and Elizabeth was good and sick of it. She backed up a space, until her shoulders were touching the side of the tent, and readied herself for his yells.

“You will answer my questions with a simple yes or no, Elizabeth,” her husband began. She was surprised by his soft, almost gentle tone of voice, though she detected a small tremor in it and looked up at him. Now, what is his game? she asked herself; he was clearly near the brink of exploding, as far as she could discern.

“Geoffrey, I would—”

“A simple yes or no,” Geoffrey insisted, snapping each word out.

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and waited. She watched her husband take several long shuddering breaths and then rest the palms of his huge hands on his knees. She thought she saw his hands tremble before he braced them against himself, but discounted that notion and forced her gaze back to his face.

“I could not help but overhear your conversation with Roger,” Geoffrey began, his tone deceptively mild, “but I may be mistaken. And I am always a reasonable man. Yet I could have sworn on William’s sword that I heard you tell Roger that you did not know how to swim.” His voice had risen in intensity, and when Elizabeth, trying to ward off another screaming match, opened her mouth to answer, Geoffrey reached out and clamped one hand over it. “Now you will answer me. Do you know how to swim?”

Since he continued to hold his hand over her mouth, Elizabeth could only shake her head, and that small gesture of denial upset her husband yet again.

“You jumped into the water knowing you did not know how to swim?” he asked, his voice incredulous now.

“I held the rope and I—”

“A simple yes or no.” Geoffrey roared the order in a voice that shook the tent.

There is nothing simple about my actions, Elizabeth longed to say. But there was no reasoning with him, she decided. Since he does not wish to hear the whole truth, then let him be upset. “Yes,” she said as she folded her hands in her lap.

A loud cough from outside the tent turned Geoffrey’s attention from Elizabeth. “Enter,” he yelled, louder than he had intended.

Roger lifted the flap of the tent with one hand while he balanced a wooden tray with the other. Without a word, he placed the tray on the floor between Geoffrey and Elizabeth and withdrew to the outside.

Slices of freshly cooked meat, hard crusts of bread, and orange berries filled the tray to overflowing, but neither husband nor wife made a move to touch the fare. Roger reappeared with a single cup and a leather pouch filled with water or wine, Elizabeth surmised. She looked up at the vassal and smiled but Roger did not glance her way and did not see it.

“Thank you, Roger,” Elizabeth said when he turned to leave the tent. Though he did not respond with an answer, Elizabeth saw the slight nod.

“You do not thank a vassal for doing his duty,” Geoffrey muttered. He took a large chunk of bread, tore it in half, and handed a portion to Elizabeth.

“Why is that?” Elizabeth asked as she accepted his offering. “He has done a kindness. It is only proper to thank him.”

“It is not. He does his duty, wife. All of us have duties, obligations . . . it is the way of things,” he stated emphatically. “By thanking him, you imply that perhaps there are times when he does not do his duty to your satisfaction. To counter that, you would have to say thank you each and every time an act is performed in your behalf.”

“That is why I have never heard you say thank you or give any praise to your men . . . or to me!” Elizabeth frowned and could not resist adding, “You boast that you are a reasonable man and yet what you have just said makes no sense to me. To be grateful and to tell of your gratitude is not a weakness, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth pointed out in a soft voice. “And the weak shall inherit the earth,” she quoted from memory, giving support from the Church for her argument.

“Meek!” Geoffrey bellowed. “It is the meek who shall inherit the earth, woman. I am neither weak nor meek and I do not have any desire to inherit the earth.”

“I did not mean to imply that you were,” Elizabeth protested. “I merely stated that—”

“Enough! Do not lecture me on what you know nothing about. God’s truth, I have run out of patience with you. You have run me in circles since the day I met you and I will not have it. My life is ruled by discipline. Discipline! I know that word is foreign to your nature but I vow it will not be for long. Erratic actions, unplanned responses . . . these things can be deadly. Had I not happened on you this day, you would most probably be in Rupert’s hands now. Have you considered that?” he asked. Yet before Elizabeth could consider her answer, Geoffrey asked another question of her. “Where would you be now if the soldier holding the other end of your rope had been slain?”

“You wish me to tell you that I have acted most foolish?” Elizabeth asked, her voice low.

“I do not need to hear you voice what I already know,” Geoffrey corrected. “I’ll tell you this, wife. Your action with Roger . . . it was an act of courage on your part. Yet the other, your decision to be disloyal to me . . . ” Geoffrey shook his head and then added, “It is unforgivable.”

His voice was flat, and Elizabeth felt as if a sentence had just been pronounced on her future. Confusion clouded her thoughts. If her action was unforgivable, then what future did she have with Geoffrey?

“I have admitted to you that I was going to Rupert but that I changed my mind because it would have been disloyal to you,” Elizabeth responded. “And you find that action unforgivable?”

“I do,” Geoffrey argued. “You became disloyal the moment you left Montwright.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Elizabeth answered. “Though I would not admit it to myself until after the deed was done. Then I turned around and was headed home when you chanced upon me.”

“It makes little difference to me when you acknowledged your disloyalty,” Geoffrey answered, his voice harsh.

“And you cannot find forgiveness in your heart?” Elizabeth asked. She felt shame that she had hurt him, knew that she had, though he would never admit it, and at the same time, nurtured a deep anger that he was so unbending in his reasoning.

“I do not know,” Geoffrey admitted. “This has never happened before. Few have been disloyal to me and those that have I have killed. I have never allowed a soldier to be in my surroundings after such a foul deed.”

“Then how shall we go on?” she asked, trying to keep her voice as devoid of emotion as her husband.

“The past cannot be changed,” Geoffrey said. “You will learn your duties as my wife but will not have my council,” he decided. “Your first duty . . . aye, your only duty will be to give me sons.”

“Has it not occurred to you that I could have lied to you about my reasons for going to Rupert?” Elizabeth challenged. “I could have told you that I was going to visit him and offer my comfort.”

“I would have seen through your lies,” Geoffrey answered, frowning.

“By being completely honest with you, I have doomed this marriage,” Elizabeth replied. “Is that the way of it?”

“I do not know. I must think on this. I do not act in a rash manner like you.”

“While you are thinking, consider this,” Elizabeth said, letting the anger spill out in her voice. “You have said you cannot forgive me. Now I tell you that I cannot forgive you. I gave you all my love, knowing full well you did not return the affection. I gave you my understanding, when you have exhibited none. I have admitted that my vow of trust to you wavered, but only because of another vow—foolish and vengeful though it was—made before. I gave you my body and my future, my honesty and my heart, and you talk of duty and discipline. You reject all I have to offer and demand what I most lack. Well, from this moment on, you shall have your discipline and your duty. I shall keep my love in my heart and not share the joy of it with you. I do not know if I can keep from loving you, but God’s truth, I will try. You are a most unlovable man, Geoffrey, and I will remind myself of that fact in my daily litany, If you decide to forgive me,” Elizabeth said in a derisive voice, “then perhaps I will decide to forgive you for belittling all I have given to you.”

“So be it,” Geoffrey answered, as angry now as she. “Give me only what I ask, and we will do well with each other. Save the love and affection for our children. I do not need it.”

The saints were in sympathy, Elizabeth decided, for they nudged Geoffrey from the tent before she began to cry. She did not want him to see how hurt she was, how broken in spirit and motive. Her tears would just show him another weakness, another lack in her character. Until she had met Geoffrey, she had had no idea how many flaws permeated her being. Always she had been taught to look for the good in people, accept the flaws. Geoffrey had obviously been taught just the reverse. Find the flaw and attack . . . was that his way of thinking? she asked herself. She was too tired to consider her position now, too drained physically and emotionally. She pulled the wet garments from her body and draped them over the rope across the top of the tent while she tried to clear her mind of her torment. Wrapping herself in her cape, she huddled against the pallet and cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Eleven

ALL WAS IN READINESS. THE ATTACK ON RUPERT’S HOLDING would take place with the first light of dawn. Elizabeth would be well protected, with twenty men to see to her safety. There wasn’t time to take her back to Montwright before confronting her brother-in-law.

Somehow the rebel had heard of Geoffrey’s intent, the attack by the edge of the lake proved that theory to Geoffrey, and time was now critical. Rupert was no one’s fool. Given enough time, he would muster a sizable army of discontented men to meet the challenge.

By the light of the moon Geoffrey walked around the lake, his hands clasped behind his back, while he thought out his plan of attack. The thought that perhaps Rupert’s overlord, Geoffrey’s equal in both strength and holdings, warned his vassal of the impending danger briefly entered the warrior’s thoughts. Geoffrey considered the idea and then shook his head, denying that possibility. He knew Owen of Davies, admittedly not well, but enough to know that he would not betray Geoffrey’s intent. Aye, Geoffrey had sent a messenger to him, explaining not only his intent in the matter, but more important, his reasons for his actions. Owen had responded immediately, stating by way of his messenger that he would not support his rebel vassal and offered to send men to lend Geoffrey a hand. No, Geoffrey thought again, Owen would go himself to confront Rupert had Geoffrey not decided to deal with the issue. Loyalty was as important to him as it was to Geoffrey.

Once Geoffrey had reviewed his plans for tomorrow’s battle, his mind turned to his wife. He scowled into the darkness as he reflected on the harsh words he had exchanged with her. He knew he hurt her with his insults and accusations. The pain was there for him to see in her gaze. He had no wish to hurt her, he declared that much to himself, but thought that it was the only way to deal with her. Lord, she had taken chance upon chance without one pure thought to her safety. I would explain, she demanded impatiently. Ha! Geoffrey muttered, explain indeed! She jumped into the water with no inkling of how she would get out, placing all her faith in a single soldier holding the other end of the rope, never once considering that he might have been killed and unable to perform his duty to her, but had a quick speech all prepared if only he would listen. And explain too, she promised with her beguiling wide-eyed innocent gaze, just how she came to be in the middle of nowhere without benefit of his protection! Aye, Geoffrey concluded as he quickened his pace, that was the heart of the matter, the reason anger continued to grip him: she had ignored him, his position, his power, to go off on her own. She wasn’t impressed with his might, his strength, his capabilities, so sure was she of her own ability to see her plans through. By all that was holy, Geoffrey suddenly realized as he came to a stumbling halt, she didn’t think she needed him.

The appalling realization gave his ego a stunning blow. Of course she needed him, he muttered to himself, she was puny in strength, innocent in deceit and treachery, and could not last a day by her own skills—except for the time she lived quite on her own, he reminded himself, before he had come to her aid. By God, she needed him now, he growled, she just hadn’t realized that fact . . . yet. Oh, but her schooling was lacking! Would she never learn the way of things?

The frustrations of the day and the clutter filling his mind exhausted him. He resumed his journey around the lake while he tried to make reason out of his wife’s attitude. Did she have no vision of her jeopardy? Did she not realize the hell she had put him through with her ill-thought-out actions? Did she not consider her importance to him? Geoffrey paused as the truth hit him. No, Elizabeth could have no idea of her worth to him. He had carefully, yes, foolishly kept that knowledge well hidden, even from himself. Damn! He loved her, with his whole heart, his soul. He did not think he was capable of such an emotion, and now found it filled his purpose. He was not immediately pleased with his new insight, considering first the ramifications of this turn of events. And then he grinned.

Geoffrey remembered that he had called his wife foolish and admitted now that he was the foolish one, not Elizabeth. He had accused her of embracing her vengeance, ignored her when she vowed she was done with it, and told her that she was narrow of intent, obsessed with her single vow to find justice for her family. Yet now he admitted that the very fault he found in his wife’s nature lurked beneath his skin as well. Aye, he was forcing his flaws upon her. Hadn’t William pointed out during Geoffrey’s training period that the flaw one finds in the opponent is usually that which hides within oneself? He had ignored that lesson, for he did not think it applied off the battlefield, and now realized the error of his thinking. He was the one with the single purpose: to keep Elizabeth at arm’s length, to shield his heart from caring. And he had called her a fool?

How had she done it? he asked himself. How had she captured him so completely? Was it her beauty? Yes, she was beautiful, grew more so with each passing day, but there were others he had known in the past more appealing to the eye. No, his love was not so shallow. It was her mind, her courage, her spirit and loyalty that had conquered his heart. She met him measure for measure in all things.

Geoffrey picked up a stone and threw it into the lake, watched as ripple upon ripple widened the smooth surface, and considered that Elizabeth was much like the pebble. Her actions affected a great many lives, just as the pebble affected the calmness of the water. She was the center of his life now, and to ignore that fact was foolish indeed.

The pain and desolation he had seen in Elizabeth’s eyes haunted him as he made his way back to the campsite. The hurt stemmed from her admission that she had been disloyal. Hardened to her pleas to explain her behavior, he had readily concurred that she had been disloyal. Anger had ruled him in that moment. Aye, he admitted, he had agreed to her guilt and refused to give her forgiveness or understanding. Now he faced the truth. He had not dealt honestly with her, for, in reality, she had not been disloyal to him at all. Knowing however, the great significance she placed on that attribute called loyalty, he had decided to let her feel shame. His hope was that she would reflect on her behavior and become the docile wife he expected her to be. Docile and submissive. Geoffrey chuckled again, knowing in his heart that Elizabeth could grow ugly and hunchbacked before she could become either docile or submissive. And in his heart, he was glad for it!

There would undoubtedly be a lifetime of arguments between the two over the issue of submission, and Geoffrey found himself looking forward to the gentle squabbles. He laughed aloud, a great echoing sound that reached across the water, and admitted that Elizabeth had taught him that: how to laugh. Now she would teach me how to jump through a flaming hoop, just like the trained bear he had seen at a village fair, if only he would allow it. She tries to improve upon my nature just as I try to improve upon hers, he thought. And I try to swallow her up in my strength just as she tries to lock me in her gentleness, and we are both the winners for it, for there is strength and gentleness in loving. Aye, Geoffrey thought with a sigh, we have each other.

He again clasped his hands behind his back and with a purposeful stride hurried toward his wife.

And how would he proceed now? he found himself wondering. He would tell her of his love soon. When they were settled in his home, when she was safe within his walls, then he would undo the damage he had inflicted on her this eve. He would tell her then. For now he would continue with the mask of indifference, hopefully teaching her a well-deserved lesson. Perhaps his displeasure with her actions would make her more concerned in the future. A nagging doubt that this might not be the best course of action plagued him, but he could not think of another plan. Odd, but he had always thought that love was like a shackle, weakening the victim locked within its hold. Now he knew better. He felt a new strength and freedom with his admission. In such a short time, Elizabeth had replaced his shield and his sword. She had become his strength. God’s truth, he felt invincible.

Geoffrey reached his tent and found Elizabeth fast asleep. He stared at her a long minute, appreciating the curve of her thigh and leg, and then quickly stripped out of his clothes. An occasional hiccup told him that she had cried after he left. Dealing with tears was difficult for him, and feeling guilty or not, he was thankful he was spared the ordeal. The fact that he was the cause of her distress held no import. He would end her torment soon, he vowed as he stretched out beside her.

No sooner had his head touched the pallet than his wife, sensing in her sleep that Geoffrey was near, rolled over into his ready embrace. She was tangled in her cape and Geoffrey pulled the garment clear, using his body as her blanket and warmth. He heard her sigh as she snuggled into his chest and smiled into the darkness. “In sleep you need me, wife,” he whispered. And then he sighed, with contentment.

The battle was quickly done. Rupert was slain, by Roger’s hand. Geoffrey was sorry for it, wishing it had been his blade that ended the traitor’s life instead of his vassal’s. He ordered the body stripped and saw the half-healed injury on Rupert’s shoulder.

Elizabeth had slept through the commotion of the men leaving the camp. By the time she had awakened and dressed, Geoffrey and his men were already returning.

It was Roger who gave her the news of her brotherin-law’s death. Elizabeth accepted the information without expression. She only nodded that she had heard and then prepared herself for her journey home. Never once did she glance about for her husband, though she knew that he was safe, listening to his booming voice, which was as huge as his body this morning as he ordered his men into haste.

Elizabeth continued to ignore him while she waited for her mare to be saddled. When Gerald had finished with the task, he helped her into the saddle and she told him thank you, the first words she had spoken all morning. No sooner had she reached for the reins than Geoffrey rode up beside her. He plucked her from her mount as effortlessly as he would a berry from a tree, and settled her in front of him on his stallion. “You ride with me,” he stated in his arrogant tone. Then the shield was up, protecting her from the branches, and they were galloping through the woods.

Elizabeth tried to hold herself rigid so that she could touch him as little as possible, but after ten minutes her back protested. She gave up her discomfort and leaned back against her husband, ignoring the soft chuckle she heard. Not another word was spoken on the long ride back to Montwright. It was just as well, Elizabeth decided, as she used the time to sort her feelings out. There were decisions to be made, but as she went over and over the discussion of the previous evening, she found herself growing more and more confused.

She certainly had made a mess of things, she admitted, but her heart had been in the right place, hadn’t it? Her motives, once she gave up her need for revenge, were innocent in gain.

You are a stubborn and unbending man, Elizabeth thought. Well, I will give you what you wish, she decided. I will become the kind of wife you seem to want.

It would take discipline on her part, but she was up to the challenge. No longer would she try to imitate her dear departed mother, no longer would she try to share a marriage such as her parents had. She would learn to be docile and unargumentative, for those two qualities seemed to be high on her husband’s list of duties. God help her, she would even learn how to sew, though she had no patience for the task. She would give him all he asked, but not an ounce more. He does not need love or joy to make his life complete, so I will benefit him with neither. Elizabeth felt good and spiteful for a time and then realized how foolish she was behaving. How could she ever make her husband realize the happiness he was missing? By denying him what he has come to accept and enjoy, she countered. Do not show him the affection and joy of the past. He will soon miss the laughter shared, wouldn’t he? Elizabeth frowned as she considered all the possibilities. What did she have to lose in her new quest? she asked herself. She never had his love to begin with, did she?

Discipline and duty! His favorite lecture, she thought with a grimace. He would have me as obedient as a lap dog, eagerly awaiting a word of kindness or approval when his mood deigned it, just like a bone thrown to an anxious and hungry dog. Well, you shall have both discipline and duty, husband, and rue the day you made those demands. I can be as unbending as you are. It is time you learned a lesson, I think. Time indeed!

Elizabeth felt better with her new resolutions. She refused to address the issue of her disloyalty, knowing in her heart that she would start to cry again if she did. What she treasured most in others she now found tarnished within herself. And if she cried, Geoffrey would start to yell again, she admitted, and she frankly was not up to the ordeal this day.

She was not foolish enough to think that Geoffrey would quickly forgive her, but in time perhaps he would soften in his attitude. Until then she would try to give him what he most wished, and pray each and every day that he would see the errors of his ways. Perhaps she could help him with his realizations. Too much discipline and too much concern for duty . . . surely he would tire of it.

Why do I bother? she asked herself. He is a most stubborn man. The answer was quick and honest. Whether she called him stubborn or unlovable, her heart belonged to him. Until death do us part, she thought, repeating the vow she had made to her husband. The question was, who would kill whom first?

Her thoughts returned to the present when the gates of Montwright opened wide for the troops. Elizabeth spotted Elslow standing with his hands on his hips, Thomas at his side. The look on her grandfather’s face showed relief and expected anger. She should have left word for him, some sign of her intent, she thought, so that he would not have worried so. Of course, she argued with herself, had she left word, Elslow would have followed her.

Geoffrey slid off the stallion and lifted Elizabeth to the ground. “You have caused your grandfather needless concern. Go and make your apology,” he said in a controlled voice.

Elizabeth nodded and turned to walk toward her grandfather. When she was a scant foot from him, she lifted her head and said, “I apologize for the worry I have caused you, Grandfather, and beg your forgiveness.” She lowered her gaze then and waited for his response.

Elslow was so relieved when he sighted his granddaughter safe and sound in her husband’s arms. But like a parent who has lost his child at the village fair and then found him again, the urge to both hug and smack tugged at him. “You have taken to bathing in the mud?” he asked instead, gaining time to calm his emotions.

Elizabeth quickly brushed the dirt from her bliaut before returning her gaze to her grandfather. Elslow was quick to see the sadness there, and he suddenly realized she hadn’t returned safe after all. There was injury there, hidden inside, where it could do the most damage. And he would soon know who was the cause of such pain.

“Come and give this old man your embrace,” Elslow requested in a soft, coaching voice. “There is time for explanations later.” He decided against questioning her at the present.

Elizabeth lifted her skirt and ran into his arms. “Can you forgive me, Grandfather?” she asked, squeezing him to her.

“Of course I forgive you,” Elslow replied, patting the top of her head. “Go inside now and find clean clothing. Then you must see to your stubborn dogs.

They have not touched food or water since you disappeared. Did I not know better, I would guess they were as worried about you as I was.”

Elizabeth sighed and started toward the castle. Thomas grabbed hold of her hand and Elizabeth stopped to smile down at her little brother. It was all the encouragement he needed and he immediately launched into a gleeful interpretation of his grandfather’s reaction to her disappearance. Elizabeth ignored him until he asked her if Geoffrey had beaten her. “He did not! Why would you think such a thing?” she asked, pulling him along with her.

“Grandfather said he should,” the boy explained, clearly disappointed.

Elslow folded his arms across his chest and watched his granddaughter disappear behind the doors. He turned his anger loose and confronted Geoffrey, who had come up to stand beside him.

“What have you done to her?”

“I? What have I done to her?” Geoffrey’s astonishment over Elslow’s question undermined Elslow’s thought that Geoffrey had been the one to cause Elizabeth such pain. “You should ask instead, what has she done to me! I tell you this, Elslow, at the rate she is going, I will be dead and buried before our first child is birthed.”

“Tell me what has happened,” Elslow demanded. “There is defeat in my granddaughter’s eyes. I saw it and am concerned. Elizabeth is not one to give up easily. What has caused her this pain?”

“She causes her own pain,” Geoffrey snapped, irritated by the interrogation. “She rushes off to see Rupert, having no idea of the danger—”

“She did not! Why, she would have—” Elslow interrupted.

Geoffrey began to walk toward the castle. “I know. I know. She had no idea he was behind the murders, and then she jumped into a lake to save my vassal and had the gall to admit after the deed that she cannot swim. Now tell me, Elslow, would you fault me for beating her?”

Elslow, pacing himself beside the warrior, answered with a swift denial. “I would not. Why, I think I would even help you.”

Both men exchanged a look that admitted the truth, and they began to laugh. “Neither of us could lift a hand to harm her,” Elslow said.

“You must know this also,” Geoffrey said, growing serious. “I was most difficult with her, even accused her of disloyalty, and I plan to keep after her with my harsh manner until she learns a little restraint. Restraint and discipline. It is the only way I can think of to keep her alive, Elslow. I have no wish to train another wife,” he ended.

“And did she do it?” Elslow suddenly asked.

“Do what?”

“Save the vassal.”

“Aye, she did it.”

“I did not doubt it for a second,” Elslow said with a gleam in his eyes.

“You have missed the point, old man,” Geoffrey snapped with irritation.

“Without restraint and discipline?”

“What say you?” Geoffrey asked suspiciously.

“She saved the vassal without restraint or discipline?”

“Elslow, do not bait me! I am thinking of your granddaughter’s safety. She must learn caution.”

“You must do what you think best,” Elslow stated.

“Aye. Though I promise to use a gentle hand in guiding her,” Geoffrey stated very matter-of factly. “It is not so easy to break a habit of long standing without running the risk of breaking the spirit as well. She has been given free rein and allowed to run wild. All that must change.”

“Are we discussing my granddaughter or one of your horses?” Elslow inquired with an ironic tone.

“I will do as I think best,” Geoffrey stated, ignoring his barb. “I do not wish to lose her.”

It was as much as he would admit. Elslow was astute enough to realize that. He nodded and swiftly changed the subject, asking for the details concerning the battle with Rupert.

Geoffrey was much more responsive to that subject and told in great detail the strategy and the outcome.

“Now that Rupert is dead, how will you prove Belwain’s involvement?” Elslow asked.

“I have not considered all the possibilities. Do not concern yourself on that topic. I will find a way to deal with him. My first priority is to get Elizabeth settled in her new home.”

“When do you leave?” Elslow inquired.

“I had thought tomorrow, but have decided that Elizabeth will need to rest first. And I must go to Owen and give him an accounting. It would not be right to send a messenger. Ten, maybe twelve days hence and we will leave.”

“You still wish to leave me in charge?” Elslow asked.

“I do. The boy would do better with you for his council. We will send for him soon enough. Now come and share a drink with me. We will toast to victory.”

“I will join you and propose my own toast, Geoffrey. To your future. May it be all you wish.”

Chapter Twelve

GEOFFREY WASTED LITTLE TIME BEFORE HE WAS ON HIS way to give Owen a personal accounting. It was an accounting to an equal and Geoffrey treated others of his worth as he would have them treat him. Sending a messenger with the news of the outcome of the battle with Rupert would not have been fitting, and Geoffrey would always do his duty.

There was very little conversation or interaction with Elizabeth in the two days he took to prepare for his leave. He rode from Montwright knowing that his wife thought he was still furious with her, and while it pained him to witness her distress and quiet disposition, he reminded himself that it was all for her own good. If this lesson could teach her caution, then the pain would have been well worth the agony. Yet, even though he cloaked his true feelings from her, he could not resist hauling her to him and giving her a sound, aye, passionate kiss before he left.

Elslow watched the farewell between husband and wife with quiet amusement. He had always considered Elizabeth to be most intelligent and found himself amazed that she could not see through her husband’s facade. Could she not see the love radiating in her husband’s eyes? Why, it was very obvious to anyone with an ounce of thinking ability that the man was clearly besotted with his wife!

In the past, Elizabeth had always mirrored his traits, his personality, but of late, she acted more like the whipped animal than the independent wildcat he had seen raised.

He had already decided to interfere, knowing it was not his place, and not caring in the least. He would see his daughter’s child content, so that he too could find contentment. Aye, he decided, his motives were selfish in one sense.

Elslow let Elizabeth keep her own council for the long day and waited until they were seated in the silent hall for dinner. Geoffrey had taken half the contingent of men with him, including Elslow’s new friend, Roger, and the quiet, after so much chaos with Geoffrey’s presence, was unsettling.

“I challenge you to a game of chess, Elizabeth,” Elslow stated when the meal was finished.

“I fear my heart will not be on the game,” Elizabeth replied with a tired sigh. She was giving in to her melancholy, now that Geoffrey was not there to witness it, and was quite enjoying her despondency, Elslow decided.

“I do not want your heart in it,” Elslow said as he set the pieces of the wooden chest on the table, “I wish you to use your head. In all things you should use your head, Granddaughter.”

“You sound like my husband,” Elizabeth replied. “What is your aim?” she asked with a suspicious look at her grandfather. She moved a pawn to start the game and tried to concentrate.

“You let your heart rule your actions, that is all,” Elslow stated with a smug voice. He meant to rile her, and from the look on Elizabeth’s face, he knew he had accomplished his deed.

“I do not!”

Elslow moved his pawn into position with a chuckle, ignoring her protest. “Elizabeth, do not try to fool this old man. You have gone into mourning since the moment your husband left you. It is most difficult to talk to you, for your head is hidden in your chest as you walk around in circles. Love need not be so pitiful.”

“Pitiful! I am pitiful?”

“Do not parrot me, child. Truly, you act like your dogs on occasion,” he said, grinning at the irate look on his granddaughter’s face. He could understand how Geoffrey had enjoyed fencing with his wife, for Elizabeth was easy to bait.

“What is it you wish to say to me?” Elizabeth demanded. She made a rash move with one of her knights, drumming her fingertips on the table when Elslow quickly took possession of the piece. He would win this game in short order if she did not give her attention to his moves. “Tell me and be done with it, so that I may give attention to this game. I have beaten you in the past, Grandfather,” she reminded him, “and I shall beat you tonight.”

“Ha!” her grandfather snorted. “I fear you will not, lass. Your heart is not on the game.”

“My heart has nothing to do with it,” Elizabeth snapped as she watched Elslow take another of her pawns.

“Have you told your husband that you love him?” Elslow suddenly asked, barking his question out with the speed of a hawk attacking his innocent prey.

“I have no wish to discuss my husband,” Elizabeth replied with anger, staring at the board in an effort to dismiss the subject.

Elslow would have none of it. His fist landed on the tabletop, jarring both Elizabeth and the pieces of the chess set. “I would have your attention when I speak to you,” he demanded. “I am your elder and you would do well to remember that. I have a wish to discuss the matter and you will comply,” he added in a booming voice.

“Very well,” Elizabeth replied, stung by his anger. “I do not know how you have come to the conclusion that I love my husband, but,” she added when she saw her grandfather was about to interrupt, “it is true. I do love him.”

“And did you share this information with your husband?”

“Aye, I told him that I love him.” Elizabeth moved the pieces back into position on the board and said, “It is your move, Grandfather.”

“When I am ready,” Elslow replied. His voice was calmer now, and Elizabeth looked up to read his motive. “Was Geoffrey pleased to hear your declaration?”

The question opened the cap on Elizabeth’s hurt and anger. “He was not!” She rushed out the denial, keeping nothing from him with her pained expression. “He cares nothing for love or affection. Those were his very words,” she stated when Elslow showed his disbelief. “I am to save my love and affection for our children. Love weakens the spirit and the cause,” she explained. “I tell you this, Grandfather, my husband is most unfeeling.” As an afterthought, she muttered, “Except when he is angry.”

“Ha!” Elslow fairly bellowed with glee. “There, methinks, is the key.”

“I do not understand,” Elizabeth answered, frowning. “You laugh at my misery and speak in riddles.

Geoffrey is always angry, and I am good and sick of it. He is unbending, unreasonable, and uncaring. I will tell you what I am thinking to do, Grandfather. I will try to abandon my love for him. Yes! I will, I tell you. It is a futile endeavor. I am like a knight, surrounded by an enemy army, and I know when I am defeated.”

“Nonsense, child. Put your misery aside. I am about to share a secret with you. Your husband loves you.” Elslow laughed at his granddaughter’s reaction to his statement. Disbelief was there, and anger too. “Before this game is ended, I will prove my point to you,” he promised. “But I must have your full cooperation in the matter.” He waited for Elizabeth to nod, and when she finally did, he continued, his tone most factual. “Now, tell me what happened when you saved the vassal from drowning. I would hear all of it, so leave nothing out.”

Elizabeth knew when her grandfather was in one of his stubborn moods. It was the set of his jaw and his tone of voice that now told her she had best do as he requested, else she would sit at the table long into the night. As quickly as possible she recited the happening, including the information about killing the enemy with her arrows—a fact that drew a wide smile from her grandfather, she noticed—and ending the tale with her husband’s most unsatisfactory reaction to her deed. “I thought he would be pleased with my help, but he was not.”

“Tell me what he did,” Elslow persisted. Now he was the one drumming his fingers on the tabletop, his impatience with his granddaughter obvious.

“I do not know what you seek,” Elizabeth protested. “He was angry and yelled, of course—he always yells at me—and he would not let me explain my motives.”

“You miss my question, child,” Elslow stated, his tone gentle. He could see that the conversation upset her, but he felt he must continue. Picking his words carefully, he said, “Did he pull you from the water by your hair? Did he throw you to the ground and kick you?”

Elizabeth gasped at his outrageous questions. “He would never hurt me. You know that, Grandfather, you know he is honorable and—”

Elslow’s slow smile stopped her tirade. “Paint what happened in your mind again and tell me each detail, from the time you were in the water.”

“You insist?” Elizabeth asked, not wishing to comply.

“I do!”

“Very well. He pulled me from the water, but not by my hair,” she said, shaking her head, “at least I think he pulled me from the water, and then, in front of his men, he began to shake me, so hard I thought my teeth would come loose. It was so embarrassing in front of his men, the way he shook me,” she said with renewed irritation.

“Continue,” Elslow encouraged.

“And then he . . . ” Elizabeth’s eyes widened with astonishment as memory took over. Ever so slowly the frown left her face, and a sparkle of hope entered her gaze.

Elslow witnessed it and sighed. His granddaughter was coming to her senses. “He what?” Elslow asked, trying hard not to laugh.

“Why, he pulled me to him and embraced me. It is true. I was crying so that I could not hear what he was saying.” Elizabeth grabbed Elslow’s hand and began to smile. “God’s truth, he treated me like a rag doll, Grandfather. First he would shake me, and then he would hug me, and then he would repeat the ordeal again and again. It was as if he could not make up his mind over the matter.”

“Aye, that is how Roger recounted it,” Elslow confirmed, grinning. “Now,” he added, his voice firm, “I just heard you call him unbending, unreasonable, and uncaring.”

“I have,” Elizabeth admitted. “I would be honest,” she explained.

“With everyone but yourself,” Elslow amended. “I will not question you further, Elizabeth. You will begin to use your head now and find your own solutions.”

“Tell me your thoughts,” Elizabeth begged.

“My thoughts are insignificant,” Elslow hedged. The look of disappointment softened his resolve. “Very well. To me, it is all quite simple. The man loves you, whether he wishes to or not.”

“If what you say is true,” Elizabeth answered, “then there is still one problem.”

“Aye?”

“He does not know it . . . yet.”

“Then it will be your duty to instruct him,” Elslow stated with a sparkle in his eyes.

The game of chess continued, but Elizabeth could not concentrate on what she was doing. Her mind was busy trying to think of a plan of action in dealing with her husband, and it took her full effort.

“Grandfather?” she interrupted at one point. “Geoffrey thinks I have been disloyal to him, and I do not know how to change his way of thinking,” she admitted.

“In time his attitude will soften. Your motives were pure, child, and he will surely realize that soon enough,” her grandfather answered as he studied the board.

Elizabeth considered her grandfather’s words and then interrupted his concentration again. “You have always taught me to form a plan before making a change. I have considered that I could—”

“Do not tell me your intentions,” Elslow stated. “I would remain innocent of your deceptions.”

“Deceptions! You shame me, Grandfather. I will deal with my husband with honor. Always,” she stated with emphasis. “If Geoffrey truly loves me, then what I plan will be most honorable.”

“Checkmate!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The game, Elizabeth. I have won.”

“Nay, Grandfather,” Elizabeth denied with a smile. “It is I who has won.”

“What say you? I have your queen, and your king cannot move. The game is mine.”

“Aye, that is true,” Elizabeth conceded with a nod. “The game is yours . . . but the knight is mine.”

While Geoffrey was gone from Montwright, Elizabeth prepared her belongings for transfer to her husband’s home. It was a most difficult task. Each morning, upon awakening, Elizabeth would fight waves of nausea. Bile would push for release, and more often than not, her contrary stomach would have its way. Elizabeth found herself eating less and less, thinking to purge the poison that had mysteriously found its way into her stomach, and rested several times during the day in an effort to gain new strength.

She dared not wear the ring of garlic around her neck as a safeguard, for she wanted to hide her sickness from her grandfather. She had no wish to cause him worry, but she could not help becoming concerned. The sickness was strange indeed, for after each morning’s battle with her stomach, she would suddenly find herself feeling quite normal. Until nighttime, when the battle would be resumed.

She blamed her upset on the fact that Geoffrey was gone. Love was playing havoc with her body as well as her mind, she concluded. Yet, when Geoffrey returned to Montwright some seven days later, Elizabeth’s condition did not improve. Her husband was too busy with his preparations for departure to give Elizabeth much notice. Elizabeth found herself both pleased and disgruntled by her husband’s lack of attention. It was soon obvious that he was avoiding her, obvious even to the most dim-witted. He would come to bed long after Elizabeth had fallen asleep, and be gone before Elizabeth opened her eyes in the morning.

Elizabeth maintained an outward calm while her stomach continued its war, gaining new strength each time her grandfather would gift her with a wink or a smile. Each nod, each smile was a reminder of their conversation . . . an acknowledgment that her husband did love her.

Lord but he was stubborn! Why, he was still so angry with her that he barely glanced her way whenever they were in the same room. And he did not touch her, not since his return. Her heart pained her as much as her stomach when she realized how much she longed for his kiss, his embrace, his love.

Elizabeth found herself struggling for control on the morning she and Geoffrey were to leave for his home. It was unusually hot for early summer and Elizabeth was feeling quite melancholy as she made her good-byes. She knew her husband would not be pleased if she became overly emotional, and she kept reminding herself of that fact as she tickled and hugged her little brother and then turned to her grandfather. “I will miss you,” she told him in a whisper.

“Did you remember to pack your banner?” her grandfather asked. “A small remembrance of your past will help you deal with the uncertainty of the future.”

“I did remember,” Elizabeth replied. “I love you, Grandfather. God protect you and Thomas.”

Her grandfather embraced her in a powerful hug and then lifted her onto her mare. “You have been through much in these past months, child,” Elslow stated in a soft voice. He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “But you are made of strong stuff. It is God’s will that you follow your destiny and your husband. The two are entwined, just like the vines that cling to the castle walls. Be not afraid, Elizabeth. And remember, trust your heart but use your head.”

Elizabeth smiled at her grandfather’s confusing order and replied, “I will do my best.”

Geoffrey observed the farewell between grandfather and granddaughter from the steps of Montwright. He was proud of his wife, knowing how she held her emotions in check. She looked so dignified and serene; yes, he thought, she is as regal as a queen, yet he knew how difficult this parting was for her. She was leaving all that was familiar to her to follow her husband, a man she thought incapable of feeling any emotion other than anger.

Geoffrey admitted that he liked the tender show of affection between Elslow and Elizabeth and found himself irritated that he was the observer and not the participant. Yet he did not know how to enter into the farewell, and so continued to stand and watch, a brooding expression on his face.

Thomas demanded the warrior’s attention. The child launched into Geoffrey’s leg, barely nudging the lord with his puny strength. Geoffrey effortlessly lifted the child high into the air and then slowly lowered him until the two were eye to eye. “You will behave and listen to your grandfather!” His voice sounded harsh to his ears, but the child seemed unafraid. He grinned and nodded his answer.

Geoffrey pretended to drop Thomas, and the boy let out a squeal of delight. The lord placed the child on the ground and seemed undisturbed when the little one wrapped himself around Geoffrey’s leg. Indeed, he was pleased that the boy was so open and honest with his affection, and patted him on his head as he watched Elslow stride over to him.

“I will watch Thomas well,” Elslow said.

“And I will watch your Elizabeth,” Geoffrey promised in a solemn voice.

“And we will both be led a merry chase,” Elslow said with a chuckle.

Geoffrey found himself smiling, and then turned to glance at Elizabeth. He saw the distress she tried to hide. “I must hurry, before my wife changes her mind and refuses to leave,” he told Elslow. He started to walk toward his mount and then stopped and turned back to Elslow. “There is still danger as long as Belwain has his freedom. Walk with caution,” he said. It was the closest Geoffrey could come to admitting his concern and affection.

Elslow, however, harbored no such inhibitions. He whacked Geoffrey on his back and threw his arm around his shoulder. “Son, you’ll miss this old man,” he advised the serious-faced knight.

Geoffrey chuckled and replied, shaking his head, “Never have I been surrounded by so many who are so unafraid. It is a mystery,” he admitted.

“That is because we are family,” Elslow stated.

“Aye,” Geoffrey said, mounting his steed, “family.” He gave Elizabeth a long look and then turned toward the gates. Roger was saddled beside Geoffrey, and the two, flanked by Elizabeth’s wolfhounds, led the troops surrounding Elizabeth out of Montwright.

Geoffrey had left half his contingent of men with Elslow and felt no unease. He looked forward, eager for the ride.

Elizabeth preferred to look back, straining to memorize the walls of her home. The future frightened her, and she felt a devastating loneliness that tore at her heart.

Her physical discomfort soon took her mind off her loneliness. It seemed that every hour or so, both her bladder and her stomach demanded release. It was both awkward and embarrassing to have to stop so often. She should have found a female servant to bring along, she decided. Another woman would have eased her embarrassment, and perhaps share her worry.

By the time the sun had reached its zenith, Elizabeth was hot, miserable, and exhausted. She closed her eyes for a moment’s rest and almost fell out of her saddle, but Geoffrey was suddenly there, beside her, and caught her just in time. He lifted her and settled her against him without breaking his stallion’s stride. Elizabeth sighed her acceptance and quickly went to sleep, her head nestled against her husband’s chest and her arms wrapped around his waist.

With one arm, Geoffrey held his wife close to him, savoring the feel of her softness against him. She smelled of wildflowers, Geoffrey thought, rubbing his chin against the top of her head as he inhaled her sweet scent, and apples too, from the meager lunch they had shared. He heard his wife sigh in her sleep, and silently echoed the sound.

Elizabeth slept the afternoon away. Geoffrey finally called a halt to the fast pace an hour before sundown. Elizabeth’s legs would not support her when she finally touched the ground, and she found she had to hold on to Geoffrey’s arm until the shaking subsided.

“You are ill?” Geoffrey made the question sound like an accusation, and Elizabeth straightened up at once.

“I am not!” she contradicted. “Just a little indisposed. It will pass.”

She tried to look away, but Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him. It was the first show of affection in such a long time that Elizabeth felt herself becoming shy.

“It is your time of the month?” he asked in a gentle whisper.

Shyness evaporated with his intimate question. Elizabeth gasped and shook her head furiously. “We must not discuss such things,” she said, blushing. “It is unseemly.”

She tried to pull away but Geoffrey would not let go. “And if husband and wife do not discuss this . . . thing, then when am I to know when I cannot touch you?” he asked in a logical voice.

“Oh! I do not know,” Elizabeth whispered her answer, looking down at the ground. A sudden thought turned her gaze back to her husband. “That is why you have not, that is the reason we have not. . .” she stammered, unable to put her thoughts into words. She waited with the hope that Geoffrey would finish her sentence but he remained silent and watchful. “That is the reason you have not touched me?” she finally asked.

Her voice was like the whisper of the wind, but Geoffrey heard. “Nay,” he replied. His voice was gentle and most confusing to Elizabeth.

“Then you are still angry with me?” Elizabeth asked. “That is the reason.” In her heart she prayed she was right, that it was Geoffrey’s anger over her conduct that kept him from her bed. She didn’t know how she would deal with any other reason. If he no longer found her desirable . . .

Geoffrey watched the play of emotions that swept across his wife’s face, and longed to take her fully into his arms and kiss away all her doubts, her worries. He could barely conceal his hunger for her. His promise to wait until Elizabeth was settled into his home before telling her of his love, before showing her his love, now seemed highly unreasonable. And, Geoffrey reminded himself with a grin, he was always most reasonable, wasn’t he?

Elizabeth witnessed the grin and became more confused. What was he thinking to bring such a smile? she wondered. Would she ever understand how Geoffrey’s mind worked?

“Come, Elizabeth. We have camped near a clear stream. Refresh yourself while I see to my duties.”

“I may have a bath?” Elizabeth asked, her voice eager. Her clothes felt hot and she knew she was covered with a layer of dust. She lifted the heavy hair from the back of her neck, letting the soft breeze cool her neck.

“After you have eaten,” Geoffrey stated. “Then I will find a secluded place for you to bathe.” The way his wife stood, holding her hair atop her head, caused her breasts to strain against the fabric of her gown, and Geoffrey found himself hard-pressed not to grab her.

“I will look forward to it,” Elizabeth answered. She turned and walked toward the stream so that she would be out of the way of her husband’s duties.

I also look forward to it, Geoffrey thought with growing anticipation. Tonight, my love, I will share my heart with you, tonight and forever.

“My lord?” Gerald’s voice intruded on Geoffrey’s thoughts and he turned with a grunt of displeasure to give his squire attention. “You wish your tent placed in the middle of the camp?” he inquired of the knight.

“Not tonight,” Geoffrey answered. He glanced about and then motioned to an area among the trees. “With the trees to my back, away from the men,” he decided. “And hurry with your task, Gerald. I would have dinner over and my bed made ready as soon as possible.”

Gerald nodded his answer with his hand over his heart and quickly turned to see to his duty.

It seemed an eternity to Geoffrey before the dried meat, bread, and fruit were spread before him. He guided Elizabeth to the tent and saw her settled beside him and then all but force-fed her.

“You seem in such a hurry, my lord,” Elizabeth stated. “Do you seek rest early this eve? I could have my bath another time if it is not convenient.”

“No!” Geoffrey answered, his voice gruff. “Finish now and gather your cape and whatever else you will need. We must be done before the sun disappears.”

Elizabeth hurried to find her soap and cape and then followed Geoffrey. He seemed irritated and impatient with her, but Elizabeth searched her mind and could find no cause for his behavior. She raced to keep up with Geoffrey but refused to question him on his hurry. If he wished her to know his thinking, then he would tell her. She had learned that much in their short marriage, she admitted. Her husband kept his own council and she would have to be patient until he was ready to tell her his thoughts.

Elizabeth and Geoffrey followed the bank of the stream a small distance, until it curved and deepened. The spot Geoffrey chose required ducking under several thick branches to reach the area, but the discomfort of the prickly thorns against Elizabeth’s arms was forgotten when she straightened up and saw the beauty surrounding her. Giant trees, posted like sentries, circled the enclosure. Branches reached out, acting as a canopy that allowed only narrow streamers of sunlight to filter through. The red and gold tones of the fading sun cast an eerie, almost mystical spell upon the leaves and grass. “Geoffrey, it is beautiful here! It is magical,” she whispered.

“Not magical, only private,” Geoffrey corrected, smiling. “I followed the stream earlier, before dinner, with your dogs, and found this place.”

Elizabeth nodded and sat down on the bank to take her shoes off. She finished the task and glanced up at Geoffrey. She stilled her action when she saw that he too was removing his boots. As she watched, Geoffrey continued to remove all of his garments.

She knew she blushed, and felt foolish for it. Yet she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off her husband, mesmerized by the power and muscle he so casually displayed.

“The sun paints you as a god,” she whispered. His skin was golden in the light, his raw beauty magnificent.

Geoffrey shook his head and his thick black hair fell against his forehead. “Your foolish talk will land you in purgatory,” Geoffrey admonished.

“I did not mean it as blasphemy,” Elizabeth stated.

Geoffrey smiled at Elizabeth. “Need I be your maid to see to your undress?” he questioned in a soft, husky voice. His words were meant to tease, but his look, so full of passion and hunger, erased the jest.

Elizabeth felt his warmth invade her. She could not return his smile but only stare at Geoffrey. Slowly she raised her hand, and Geoffrey took hold and pulled her to her feet. Without a word, he began to remove her clothes. First he released the leather belt surrounding her hips, and then lifted the bliaut over her head. Next he pulled the chainse from her and finally, the ivory-colored chemise. His hands were careful not to touch her breasts, though his fingers brushed the sides more than once.

Geoffrey and Elizabeth stood facing each other for a long, silent moment, letting desire flow between them like a rising wind. When Elizabeth could not stand the distance any longer, she took a tentative step toward her husband. “Geoffrey?” His name was a plea, and Geoffrey knew for what she asked.

“In time, Elizabeth,” he whispered. He turned and walked into the water and did not stop until the clear liquid covered his chest.

Elizabeth took her soap in her hand and quickly followed Geoffrey. She let out a gasp when the water touched her. “It is too cold,” she called to Geoffrey, retreating a step. The water covered her hips and Elizabeth gingerly cupped some of the water and slowly wet her arms. Trembling, she lathered the soap and hurried to get her bath done. She turned her back on Geoffrey out of shyness as she scrubbed the dust from her body.

“Come to your husband, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth turned, saw the distance, and frowned. “I am cold, Geoffrey,” she repeated. She held her lower lip between her teeth and waited, hoping Geoffrey would come to her.

“I am waiting, wife.” There was laughter in Geoffrey’s voice and Elizabeth found herself smiling. “It is your duty to come to me,” he advised with mock gruffness.

“I would always do my duty,” Elizabeth called out.

She took a deep breath and began to walk toward Geoffrey, letting the water cover her breasts and shoulders. And then she stopped, bracing her legs against the current. “Now you must come to me, Geoffrey,” she said. They were just a few feet away, the frigid water lapping against both of them. She was about to tell him that she would be completely under water if she ventured any farther, and to remind him also that she could not swim, lest he had forgotten that fact.

Geoffrey’s gaze stopped her from forming the words, from thinking coherently. She could say nothing, only meet his stare as the smile left her face. She was becoming bewitched by his gaze, so hot and demanding. He was calling to her without speaking a word. She heard the command with all of her senses and did not hesitate to answer.

They both took a step toward each other at the same instant. And then Geoffrey’s arms were around Elizabeth’s waist. He pulled her toward him, locking her legs between his, letting her feel his desire.

“I had thought to bathe you with your soap, to savor each touch against your skin, and then to bathe you with the love words all gentle women yearn to hear.” His voice was gruff and halting as he continued, “I have never wanted anyone as I want you, Elizabeth. My aim was to woo you this night, to play the tender pursuer.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened with her husband’s declarations.

“Now that the time has come, wife, I find I do not know the words of wooing, and admit that I am lacking in the discipline and patience for the task. Had I taken your soap and tried to bathe you, the bath would have been forgotten and I would have taken you then and there.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth. “You call wooing a task, my lord?” she asked in a soft voice.

Geoffrey looked so serious and purposeful, and Elizabeth was both amused and disgruntled by his words. “Geoffrey, I do not have much patience for wooing either. I would hear your feelings without the flowery words, and be most content.”

Geoffrey looked surprised and then frowned. “What know you of wooing?” he demanded.

“Very little,” Elizabeth admitted as she rubbed her fingers across his rib cage. “It just seems to me that saying words of love to each other should not be considered a task.” She pulled at one of the soft hairs on his chest to underline her words.

Geoffrey stilled her hands by placing her arms around his waist and then began to stroke the length of her back. “It is much like learning to yield the blade,” Geoffrey commented.

“I do not understand,” Elizabeth replied, tilting her head back to see if he was jesting.

“This wooing. It requires practice,” Geoffrey explained.

Elizabeth laughed, ignoring her husband’s frown. “There is no need, my lord. Courting is for those who have not declared their love for each other. I have already told you what is in my heart.”

“But I have not explained my feelings for you, Elizabeth.” Geoffrey sounded exasperated. “I know what you wish to hear and I would get on with it,” he muttered.

“You have my full attention,” Elizabeth replied in a soft voice. Inside she was fairly screaming with joy. She felt like laughing and weeping at the same time. Geoffrey loved her, just as Elslow had predicted.

“You will be serious,” Geoffrey demanded, pinching the curve of her bottom.

Elizabeth nodded, rubbing her face against his chest.

“I had considered that when I was older and had given up many of my duties, then I would find time to tell you that I cared for you,” he began. He was distracted from his speech when Elizabeth began to place soft kisses on his chest.

Elizabeth used her tongue to circle and stroke Geoffrey’s sensitive nipples and heard his sharp intake of breath.

“Elizabeth!”

“I love you, Geoffrey.” A bare whisper, inhaled like an aphrodisiac, arousing Geoffrey’s senses, releasing his heart.

“And I love you.” So quietly spoken, so joyfully received.

Geoffrey chained his hands in her hair and tilted her head back. Slowly he lowered his head, intent on sealing his vow with a kiss. Elizabeth parted her lips and waited. Tears of love and pleasure filled her eyes. Geoffrey’s lips touched hers, the tip of his tongue stopping to stroke the soft outline of her mouth. Elizabeth made a sound that sounded like a contented kitten’s purr. Geoffrey took control of her mouth fully then, thrusting his tongue inside to caress and stroke the sweet warmth inside. His hands left her silken hair and slid sensuously down her back to knead and fondle the soft flesh of her bottom.

The kiss devoured and replenished, and neither was the victor or the conquered. Geoffrey finally tore his mouth away. Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, and Geoffrey immediately silenced her with another kiss, letting her tongue invade his mouth, wanting her to know and feel the darkness and mystery also.

“So beautiful,” he whispered when his mouth moved down to her neck. He lifted her up so that he could worship her breasts, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist.

When his mouth covered one breast, Elizabeth clung to his shoulders with trembling hands and groaned her pleasure. The roughness of his cheek against her tender skin was an erotic stimulus. Geoffrey continued to suck the hard nipple until Elizabeth began to pull on his hair. “Do not make me wait,” she pleaded in a half-whisper. “It has been so long, Geoffrey. Please.”

Geoffrey lifted his head and looked at Elizabeth with eyes darkened by passion. Her breath left her with a low moan. The love and hunger radiating in Geoffrey’s hot gaze burned and melted, caressed and scorched. He was the flame, she the fire.

“You are exquisite torture,” Geoffrey groaned, burying his head in her silken hair.

Elizabeth’s answer was to hug him as tightly as possible. Geoffrey held her hips with his hands and slowly walked toward the bank.

When he had reached his destination, he let Elizabeth slide down his length and held her against him. Then he gently pulled her arms away from him and turned to spread her cape upon the grass. He turned again, to beckon Elizabeth, but his wife was already there, throwing herself into his arms. He felt her shiver and immediately lowered her to the ground, intent on covering her with his body. “You are cold,” he whispered against her ear, “but I will warm you.”

“I am not cold,” Elizabeth whispered. She nibbled on the soft lobe of his ear and then touched the inside with the tip of her tongue.

Geoffrey responded by rubbing his hardness against her in a slow, sensuous motion and then moved down-ward. His mouth circled her navel while his hand stroked the moist golden triangle guarding Elizabeth’s heat. His fingers sought and found her, again and again, becoming more demanding with each touch, each change in pressure. Elizabeth began to move her hips against him, her eyes closed in splendor. She felt like she was about to shatter into a thousand pieces and moaned her need.

“I will taste your sweetness, drink your nectar,” Geoffrey said huskily against her. His mouth and tongue replaced his hand and Elizabeth turned to liquid fire. Her hands dug into the grass and she could concentrate on nothing but the wild flame stroking her so intimately. And then the fire consumed her, released her. She trembled, almost violently. “Geoffrey!” His name was a cry of pleasure and fear.

Geoffrey heard the confusion, recognized the fright, and hushed Elizabeth with soothing words. He moved up to cup the sides of her face, willing her to look at him. Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s face and he gently wiped them away before placing a tender kiss on each eyelid. “Do not be afraid of what happens to you when you are with me.”

“I lose all control when you touch me,” Elizabeth whispered. She saw the look of male satisfaction in Geoffrey’s eyes and knew her words pleased him. “In that brief time, my body is no longer mine, and it is so easily done and so forceful that it frightens me.” Her fingers traced the outline of her husband’s mouth as she spoke, her honesty and vulnerability there in her eyes, unguarded.

“It is the same with me,” Geoffrey told her. He moved restlessly against her, letting her feel his need. “Your softness beckons me. I will lose myself in your warmth but will not give up my strength. You have become my fountain of power, Elizabeth. Your love replenishes. When we are together, like this, I feel invincible. Let me come to you now, love. Give me your fire.” His mouth covered hers, his tongue plunging inside in a tender invasion that excited her. His hands spoke of male hunger as they stroked and caressed. Embers ignited, and when he at last entered her fully, thrusting to the core of her soul, the fire of desire and love raged unchecked between them. They gave to each other the fire purified and renewed, and each felt the victory of release at the same instant. Elizabeth opened her eyes and saw the transformation overtake Geoffrey. There was profound joy between the two, shared and coveted. There was love.

Geoffrey buried his head in Elizabeth’s shoulder and sighed with contentment. She echoed the sound, holding him close to her, embracing his weight.

Geoffrey shifted his weight, holding her in his arms. He kissed her cheeks, nuzzled against her ear, and whispered outrageous compliments and promises that brought a blush to his wife’s face.

“When did you realize that you loved me?” Elizabeth asked, stroking the line of his jaw with one fingertip. “Was it when you thought me drowned?”

Geoffrey chuckled and shook his head. “I was too angry to think of love then,” he admitted. He rolled onto his back, letting Elizabeth prop her head with elbows braced against his massive chest, and then continued, “Warriors do not record such facts in their heads. When I decided I loved you is not significant,” he teased.

Elizabeth smiled. The golden chips in his dark gaze fascinated her. How had she ever thought him cold and unbending? she found herself asking.

“When did you realize that you loved me?” he countered. His hands began to gently knead the curves of her bottom as he waited for her answer.

“I do not remember,” Elizabeth said. The sparkle was back in her eyes, and Geoffrey found himself grinning, knowing that she was about to tease him yet again. “Wives of warriors do not record such facts in their heads,” she giggled. “Besides, when is not significant.”

Geoffrey gave her a playful squeeze. “Ever you would tease, wife. I will put up with your silliness for the rest of our days together, for I love you with my heart.”

“I thought I would never hear you say the words,” Elizabeth whispered. The smile left her and she leaned down and kissed him.

“I had some foolish ideas of love,” Geoffrey replied when the kiss ended. “I thought it would weaken me and now know how wrong I was. You give me new strength of purpose, Elizabeth. A part of me longs to lock you away in our bedroom and share you with no one else.”

“I will always belong to you, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth answered.

“I know that is true,” Geoffrey said. “And I will have faith and confidence in your loyalty to me. Would you believe that I find it difficult to share you even with your grandfather and your brother? I used to scoff at men who let jealousy take control of their lives, and now find that if I am not careful, I too will be ruled by it.”

Elizabeth’s eyes showed her surprise and Geoffrey grinned again. “I have not had the closeness of family like you have,” he explained, “and I would know that I come before all others.”

“There are all kinds of love,” Elizabeth answered, her voice soft. Her husband was letting her see his vulnerability, and she knew in her heart that she would cherish this moment for the rest of her life. “What I feel for my grandfather and for little Thomas is a different sort of love than what I feel for you. In time I think you will love them as much as I do, and in just the same way. What I feel for them does not take away what I feel for you.”

Geoffrey pulled her down and kissed her for a long, breathless moment. Elizabeth clung to him, matching his passion and hunger.

With regret, Geoffrey finally pulled away. “It grows dark,” he said. “Hurry and dress so that I can take you back to our tent and undress you once again.” He gave her a sound slap on her backside and chuckled at her pretended outrage.

Neither spoke a word until they were headed back toward the camp. And then Elizabeth spoke, her voice as soft as the rustle of the leaves underfoot. “You are truly jealous of my family?” she asked.

“I will get over it,” Geoffrey answered, squeezing her hand. “ A knight is loyal and vows fealty to only one overlord, as I have, with William, my king,” he began. “You have committed yourself to me,” he continued, “and I do not expect you to stop loving your family because you love me. Yet I would know that I am first in your heart and that you would choose me above all others, as I would choose you.”

Elizabeth covered her smile. She understood that falling in love was new to her husband and that he was trying to deal with it as he would everything else in his life. He was trying to give it order and a proper place. His mistake was in using logic as his tool to deal with his emotions.

“There would never be a time that I would have to choose between you or my. . . “ Elizabeth was going to say family, but quickly substituted the word relatives. “You are my family now, Geoffrey, just as I am your family. And Elslow and Thomas . . . they are our relatives. We all belong to each other, but not as vassals and lords.”

“You are right, Elizabeth. You will never have to make a choice,” Geoffrey said. “I would not allow it. Nor would I ever demand such a test of your loyalty, for I begin to understand your reasoning. I love you, and that is all that matters.”

“Were you still so unsure of my loyalty to you that you left Elslow with Thomas at Montwright?”

“I wanted to have you all to myself for a time,” Geoffrey admitted.

Elizabeth leaned against her husband’s side and thought about his words. He had shared his inner feelings with her this evening, and there was joy and love in her heart. He had come a long way, learning to show affection and voicing his thoughts to her, and Elizabeth was content. There was still a small distance to go, she realized, for Geoffrey remained unsure and (though she would never say the word) insecure. Soon this too would change, and talk of tests and making choices would cease. No one would ever ask such a terrible thing. No one.

Elizabeth dreamed that night, and it began in a most pleasant way. She was dressed all in white, in a gown that seemed to float around her ankles. She was walking through the bailey of a great palace and a fine mist covered the ground. She was smiling as she opened the doors and walked into a great hall. And then the dream changed to a nightmare. Someone was calling her, but she did not know who. Her pulse quickened with the horrible sound of agony and despair in the voice calling to her. She hurried, searching for the voice, pushing through a crowd of laughing men who seemed not to know that she was even there. When she reached the very center of the room, she stopped. A scream filled her lungs. Standing before her was her husband, his hands and feet chained with heavy steel links. He did not see her and was looking toward the other side of the room. Elizabeth turned and saw her grandfather, also chained.

The voice began again, but the sound had turned from agony to triumph. It was Belwain. The mist at her feet turned red, and in the nightmare Elizabeth knew it was a symbol of the blood that would soon be shed.

Belwain lifted his hand and pointed at her. “You will choose and one will die. And if you will not choose, then both will be killed.” He laughed then, an evil devil’s laughter that clawed at Elizabeth’s soul.

She shook her head, denying what was asked, and Belwain pulled Geoffrey’s sword and lifted it high into the air.

Her screams woke Geoffrey. He reached for his sword and then realized that Elizabeth was right beside him. His hands shook as he pulled his wife into his arms and gently rocked her against him. “Open your eyes, Elizabeth. It is only a nightmare,” he whispered, again and again. “I am here.”

Elizabeth awoke with a start. She clutched at Geoffrey’s shoulders and took great gulps of air, trying to calm her heart. “It was terrible,” she whispered.

“Do not speak of it,” Geoffrey soothed. He tenderly brushed the hair from her forehead and kissed her. “You have been dreaming, that is all. The pace was too fast for you today and you are overly tired. Rest your head against me and close your eyes. All is well.”

“I am afraid,” she told him. “If I sleep, I will have the nightmare again.”

“No, you will not,” Geoffrey whispered. He shifted positions, until Elizabeth was beneath him. His arms bore his weight, anchored on either side of his wife. “You will dream only of making love to me,” he vowed. With those words spoken, Geoffrey leaned down and kissed Elizabeth.

He murmured words of love with a velvet voice and soothing hands that turned Elizabeth’s thoughts only to him and what he was doing to her. The nightmare was forgotten.

Chapter Thirteen

ELIZABETH ADJUSTED TO HER NEW HOME WITH VERY little difficulty. When she first sighted Geoffrey’s do-main, she was overwhelmed by the massive structures and the giant wall surrounding them. The stone fortress was so large that it made Montwright seem puny in comparison.

Yet once inside the walls, a cold starkness prevailed and Elizabeth found it most unsettling. She quickly set about making her mark on both the inside of the castle and the inner bailey. Geoffrey let her have her way, though he did a fair amount of balking when he found her on her knees, transplanting wildflowers the colors of the rainbow, along the castle walls. Elizabeth ignored his mock anger with teasing replies that totally undermined her husband’s thoughts.

The servants, at first suspicious and frigid toward their new mistress, soon melted under her gentle smiles and softly spoken requests. They soon became her champions and eagerly awaited her next order of change. Fresh flowers adorned the tables, and bright colorful banners, carried from Montwright, graced the newly washed stone walls of the castle. Peace and contentment replaced the bleak starkness. The inhabitants of Berkley Castle were in awe. Their fortress had become a home.

By the end of July, Elizabeth was certain that she carried Geoffrey’s child. She cherished the news and took several days rehearsing and planning in her mind just how she would tell Geoffrey. He would be pleased and probably act most arrogant, Elizabeth decided, and that would please her.

Elizabeth sat at the dinner table, awaiting Geoffrey. She had decided that she would share her news with him this evening, when they were alone in their bedroom. She could barely contain her excitement and found herself laughing out loud. The servants tending to the table gave her puzzled looks, and Elizabeth knew she was acting quite strange. Tomorrow, after Geoffrey had received the news, she would explain her odd behavior, and they would understand.

The soldiers began to file into the hall, and Elizabeth straightened her position, eagerly looking for Geoffrey. The squire Gerald drew her attention. He raced around two burly men and hurried over to his mistress. “Messengers have arrived from William,” he all but shouted. “They would speak with my lord as soon as possible.”

Elizabeth frowned over this information and then said, “Show them into the hall, Gerald. I will tell Roger and he will find Geoffrey.”

Roger was already walking toward Elizabeth and she gave him a greeting before telling him about the messengers. “Why are they here?” she asked, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

“It is not unusual,” Roger answered. “Ah, here is your husband. He will tell you the reasons.”

“You have no greeting for me?” Geoffrey said when he reached Elizabeth’s side.

Elizabeth immediately smiled and reached up to place a chaste kiss on her husband’s cheek. “I seem to remember a time when showing affection was not allowed,” she said in a whisper.

Geoffrey laughed and pulled his wife into his arms.

“That was before I realized how important it was for you to touch me,” he teased.

“I am most undisciplined,” Elizabeth responded with a grin.

“Geoffrey,” Roger interrupted, “there are messengers from William. They await you in the corridor.”

Geoffrey nodded, seemingly undisturbed by this information. “I thought that our king was still in Rouen,” he replied.

“He must have only just returned,” Roger commented.

Geoffrey turned back to his wife and said, “Begin the meal without me so that my men can eat. Roger and I will see what news the king sends us.”

Elizabeth wished to listen to the messengers too, but realized that it was not her place to ask. She would have to wait and hear the news from her husband. Geoffrey had begun to confide in Elizabeth more and more, and she had no doubt that he would tell her what their king requested.

Father Hargrave, a visiting priest from nearby North-castle, entered the room. He offered Elizabeth his arm just as Geoffrey was leaving. She assumed her role as hostess and gave the elderly priest her full attention.

Elizabeth sat beside him at the table and bowed her head while he gave the blessing, trying to concentrate on his prayer. Her mind kept returning to the messengers, speculating on various reasons why the king would send word to them, and finding none acceptable. Geoffrey had already given his required number of days’ duty to his lord. William held court only three times during the year, and Geoffrey had attended those sessions also.

Perhaps it was the Domesday Book, she considered, referring to William’s accounting of the number of subjects under his jurisdiction. Because the record included each person’s worth, from the number of animals to the amount of coin each held, his loyal subjects grumbled among themselves and called the record the Domesday Book. Their logic was simple and, in Elizabeth’s estimation, probably quite accurate. Once the king had a true accounting of each person’s worth, the taxes would be raised. It was an age-old problem, this raising of taxes, Elizabeth knew, for she had heard her father balk about the unfairness of the system more than once.

Geoffrey and Roger returned to the hall just as the meal was served. From the looks on their faces, Elizabeth knew that they were not pleased with the news. “It is the Domesday Book?” she whispered to Geoffrey when he was seated at the head of the table.

Geoffrey took hold of Elizabeth’s hand but did not answer her. She looked across the table and smiled at Roger. Elizabeth always sat on her husband’s right and Roger always sat on Geoffrey’s left.

One of Geoffrey’s squires began to serve the meat and Geoffrey spoke a few words to the young boy. Elizabeth took advantage of his inattention and leaned toward Roger. “It is the Domesday Book?” she asked, hoping Roger would give her a quick reply.

Geoffrey gave Elizabeth’s hand a quick squeeze. Roger looked like he was about to answer Elizabeth, but Geoffrey’s small shake of his head stopped his action. Elizabeth saw Geoffrey’s motion out of the corner of her eye.

She sighed with frustration. “I do not think the king would take kindly to hearing his accounting called Domesday,” Geoffrey said.

The priest cleared his voice and began to repeat a favorite story they had all heard at least five times since his arrival, but out of courtesy, Geoffrey and Roger and Elizabeth gave him their attention. They laughed when the humorous story was ended, and the priest was pleased. So pleased, in fact, that he launched into yet another and another tale.

As soon as the meal was over, Geoffrey said to Roger, “Go and see to the preparations for tomorrow.” He then turned to Elizabeth and suggested that they retire for the evening.

Elizabeth quickly agreed. “There is something I must speak to you about,” she told Geoffrey with a soft smile.

“And I must also talk to you,” Geoffrey replied. His voice held no emotion and Elizabeth frowned with concern. When her husband tried to mask his feelings, as he was now doing, there was usually grave cause. She held his hand and followed him without a word.

When the bedroom door was shut against the world and they were alone, she still did not speak. She was learning her husband well and knew that he was considering his words with caution before he spoke. His frown told her that much.

Each undressed the other in silence. It had become a ritual for Elizabeth to take Geoffrey’s sword and place it near the head of the bed, on her husband’s side. This completed, she slipped between the covers and waited.

Geoffrey did not blow out the candles this night but came to Elizabeth with the lights glowing around them. He took her into his arms and kissed her gently.

“I would tell you my news first?” Elizabeth asked.

“I would rather have mine over and done with,” Geoffrey replied. There was an almost savage tone to his voice and Elizabeth immediately felt a knot of worry form in her stomach. Geoffrey anchored Elizabeth’s legs with one of his and held her against his chest. He could not see her eyes, her face, and admitted that he did not want to. His words would cause her pain, and her pain would become his. “There is no easy way to tell you, Elizabeth,” Geoffrey began as he stroked her hair.

Elizabeth pulled back, forcing Geoffrey to look at her. “Then tell me with speed,” she suggested, becoming more frightened by the minute.

“The summons from William concerns Montwright,” he stated. He watched Elizabeth as he spoke, saw her confusion, and hurried to conclude. “Your grandfather has been charged with treason.”

“No!” Her denial sounded like the cry of a wounded animal.

“There is more,” Geoffrey said. His voice was quiet and firm and Elizabeth forced herself to stay calm and listen. “Belwain has petitioned William for guardianship over Thomas. They are all in London by now and I have been called there. I leave tomorrow.”

“I must go with you,” Elizabeth stated. “We both must go. Please,” she begged. “I would not be left behind, Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey could not turn away from the agony in his wife’s expression. “Yes, you will go with me. It is your family and it is only right,” he concluded.

Elizabeth began to cry. “Our family,” she corrected her husband. “What will happen?” she asked Geoffrey. “What will the king do?”

Geoffrey felt her trembling and held her tightly. “He will listen to all sides and then decide. Do not worry, Elizabeth. William is a fair king. Have faith in him.”

“I cannot!” She buried her head in Geoffrey’s shoulder and continued to weep.

Geoffrey held her until she was finished with her tears, soothing her with gentle words. “Do you have faith in me?” he asked when the weeping had subsided.

“You know that I do,” Elizabeth answered.

“Then when I tell you all will be well, you believe me,” Geoffrey argued.

“If you say it, then I will believe it,” Elizabeth promised.

“I give you my word. I will not let your family be harmed.”

“But what about you?” Elizabeth asked. “Can you promise me that you will not be harmed?”

Geoffrey was surprised by her question, for he was not in jeopardy. “I promise,” he told her. “Now try to sleep. We ride hard tomorrow and again for two more days.”

Elizabeth did not forget the news she wished to share with her husband. Her hand rested on her abdomen, in a protective gesture. She would not tell Geoffrey yet, she decided. He would not let her accompany him to face William if he knew she carried his child. And so she would wait until the problem with Belwain was solved. Then she would share her joy with Geoffrey. For now she would protect their babe, just as Geoffrey would protect her.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She would need her rest to meet the challenge ahead.

During the dark hours, she had the nightmare again. Geoffrey soothed her when she called out, telling her that she was distraught and overly tired and that was the reason for her terror. He asked her to share the dream with him, but Elizabeth could not. She clung to Geoffrey and prayed. Prayed that the nightmare was not an omen.

The trip to London took three long days. Elizabeth was exhausted and barely looked around when they entered William’s domain. She wanted only to see Elslow and little Thomas, but Geoffrey would not allow it.

“You will have a bath and then rest. In the morning you will see them,” he stated. “And meet your king.”

She did not want to meet the king, and admitted only to herself that she was terrified of him. Although in her mind she knew that many of the stories about William were probably exaggerated, in her heart she believed them all.

They were given a spacious room overlooking the courtyard. The bed was twice the size of their bed at Berkley, and once Elizabeth was bathed and changed, she curled up in the middle of it, trying to keep her eyes open while she waited for Geoffrey’s return. He had gone to give his greeting to William, and to find out what he could about Elslow and the charges.

She did not wake up until the following morning, vaguely remembering Geoffrey undressing her and warming her during the night. Her husband was again absent. A tray of food rested on the table near the bed but Elizabeth did not touch it. Her stomach was too upset to handle food. She dressed with care, knowing there was no way out of meeting William. She would look her best to make Geoffrey proud that she was his wife.

When she was done, she stood at the window and observed the people in the courtyard. She grew more tense with each passing second, praying that Geoffrey would hurry with his duties and come for her.

Roger came in Geoffrey’s stead. “Where is Geoffrey?” she demanded with a tremor in her voice.

The loyal vassal took hold of Elizabeth’s arm and guided her out the door. Elizabeth saw that two of Geoffrey’s men guarded the door and was mildly surprised.

“Your husband is with the king,” Roger answered. “And so is your grandfather.” He glanced at his mistress and saw her distress, yet there was nothing he could offer as comfort. He was as concerned as Elizabeth , though far better schooled in hiding his emotions. Geoffrey had not had time to confide in Roger, and so the vassal had no idea of the plan of action his lord would take.

“Your attendance has been requested,” Roger stated. “By the king himself.”

They had begun walking, but with Roger’s words Elizabeth stopped suddenly. “He is the voice,” she whispered. “I cannot go, Roger! It is the dream. I cannot go!”

Roger had no idea what Elizabeth was talking about, and wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Your husband wishes you by his side,” he said finally, knowing instinctively that Elizabeth would never deny Geoffrey.

His reasoning worked. Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and forced the terror from her eyes. “Then I must go,” she responded.

She walked at Roger’s side, through a maze of damp, ill-lighted corridors. They entered a large room, filled to capacity with people. All were dressed in splendid cloth, proclaiming their worth, and Elizabeth assumed that they were all titled subjects, waiting their turn for an audience with their king.

A path was cleared for Roger and Elizabeth. She could see the huge double doors at the far end of the room. They were doors similar to the ones in her dream, and Elizabeth knew a terror unlike anything she had ever witnessed or felt in the past.

She kept her gaze directed on the doors, ignoring the whispered comments and appraising looks of the crowd as she continued forward.

A trio of soldiers guarded the door. One of the men acknowledged Roger with a curt nod and beckoned them forward. The doors opened with a squeak of protest and Roger motioned Elizabeth to enter. “You will stay behind me?” she asked in a soft voice.

Roger was surprised by her question. To the casual observer, Elizabeth looked the picture of serenity and sureness. He was sure he was the only one who could read the nervousness in her eyes, the only one who could hear the fear in her voice. “I would have you near,” she explained, “should my husband require your assistance.”

Roger could not help smiling. “I will stand right inside the door,” he replied. He did not add that he would protect her back just as he would his lord’s. It was his duty to see to their safety and need not be spoken.

Elizabeth turned and walked into the room. And the nightmare became reality. Straight ahead, seated on a gilded throne three steps above the floor, was King William. At the bottom of the steps, on the left, stood Geoffrey. Facing him, though several feet apart, stood Elslow. They were not in chains.

There were several other people in the room, but Elizabeth did not take the time to see if she recognized any of them. She smiled at Geoffrey and then at Elslow as she continued toward the king. When she reached the first step, she knelt down and bowed her head.

“My lord, I would present my wife, Elizabeth.” Geoffrey’s voice was clear and firm and Elizabeth could hear a faint tinge of pride in his voice.

“Stand and let me look at you,” William barked. His voice was as huge as his body, and Elizabeth hurried to do his bidding. She finally looked at his face and was most surprised to find him smiling at her.

He was a giant of a man, though his middle was as large as his height, and his eyes were cunning as he looked at Elizabeth. She did not flinch from his appraisal and met his stare without undue effort.

“It appears you have done well, son.” William addressed his compliment to Geoffrey, though he continued to study Elizabeth.

“I am content, my lord,” Geoffrey replied.

“And now to the matter at hand,” William stated. “Send the accuser in,” he demanded in a loud voice. He looked from Geoffrey to Elslow and then to Elizabeth again. “Child, stand with your family while I attend to this matter.”

Elizabeth nodded, quickly genuflected, glanced over at her grandfather and smiled, and then walked to Geoffrey’s side. She stood as close to him as she could, letting her arm touch his, and looked back at the king.

For some untold reason, the king laughed, nodding his pleasure several times.

“You have secured her loyalty, Geoffrey,” the king praised.

“Always,” Geoffrey responded. He looked down at Elizabeth and smiled, letting her know his pleasure. Elizabeth felt like she had missed some vital part of the dialogue but dared not question Geoffrey now. Later he would explain why the king seemed so pleased. He certainly seemed to understand what William was thinking.

The squeak of the door caught Elizabeth’s attention and she turned and watched Belwain enter the room. The expression on his face was smug and victorious, and Elizabeth found herself clutching Geoffrey’s arm while she held her breath. She realized what she was doing and immediately let go of him.

Geoffrey felt her distress. He casually placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her against him, willing her to accept some of his strength and courage.

Belwain awkwardly knelt before the king but did not bow his head. William grunted his displeasure and then said, “Your case against this Elslow is serious. You accuse him of treason but offer no proof of his guilt. I would know your reasons now.”

Belwain stood and pointed his finger at Elslow. “He is Saxon, and all Saxons are traitors. He has always wanted to regain Montwright, and has tricked your vassal, Geoffrey, into believing he is loyal to you. His motives are false. I know that he has joined the group of rebels against you.”

“You have proof of this accusation?” William demanded, leaning forward.

“I cannot give you proof, for the one who could validate my charge has been killed.”

“Who is this man you speak of?” William asked.

“His name was Rupert, and he was brother-in-law to Geoffrey’s wife, Elizabeth. He was Norman.”

“Ah! “ William looked at Geoffrey and nodded. “I have heard the tale of Rupert. Norman or not, he was disloyal to me. You, Belwain, are a fool to use him as your proof.” The king turned to Elslow and said, “Do you belong to this rebel group?” he demanded.

Elslow shook his head and replied in a clear voice, “I do not, my lord.”

William grunted again and turned to Geoffrey. “You believe him?” he asked, his voice softer.

Geoffrey nodded. “I do.”

“Since there is no proof, I will be content with my vassal’s judgment. The case of treason is dismissed. I will not allow a fight to determine the truth but will listen to my loyal knight.”

“But what of Montwright?” Belwain whined. “It belongs to me. It is my right to have guardianship over the boy until he is of age. Yet he”—Belwain jerked his head toward Geoffrey—“has placed a Saxon in my position. The law is on my side.”

William leaned back in his chair, a frown on his face. Silence reigned as the king considered the problem. Elizabeth directed her gaze toward her grandfather. His anger and disgust over Belwain was apparent, and Elizabeth could tell that he longed to reach out and grab him. His stance was rigid and his hands were held in tight fists. She realized then that she imitated her grandfather, and forced herself to relax.

“It is a difficult decision,” William finally said.

“Geoffrey, you have told me that you do not trust Belwain and have decided to keep the boy with you until he is of age. That is your right,” he added with a nod. “Yet the question of a Saxon as master of Montwright remains a problem. I am a fair man, and have given a few estates to Saxons, as you well know. Yet now I am having difficulty deciding,” he admitted. “I do not know this Saxon. You could argue for your side of this question, Geoffrey, but you are like my son and would argue with a Norman heart. And you,” he said, turning to Elslow, “could argue as the boy’s grandfather, but you would speak with a Saxon heart. Pity there is not one who is neither Norman nor Saxon to council me.”

“There is one.” Elizabeth’s voice was clear and forceful. She stepped away from her husband and faced the king. William looked at Elizabeth and nodded for her to continue. “I am neither Saxon nor Norman,” she said. “I am both. My father was Norman, full-blooded, and my mother was Saxon. And so I am half of each.” Elizabeth smiled then and added, “Though my father would often call me Saxon when I disobeyed him, and my mother vowed I was full Norman when I displeased her.”

The puzzled look left the king’s face and he smiled.

“Then you will state each side of this case for me and I will decide,” he said. “First tell me of the Saxon.”

“I will tell you what my mother told me,” Elizabeth replied. She folded her hands together and began, “By your order, and my father’s request, my mother was married to my father and Montwright given over to him. My grandfather left Montwright and moved to London. Shortly after my parents married, my mother ran away. She ran to my grandfather for protection. My grandfather listened to her tales of misery and then promptly took her back to my father. He told my mother that she belonged to my father now and that she was to be loyal to him. A truce was formed between my grandfather and my father, and friendship blossomed. The Saxon branch of my family places great store on loyalty, King William. Elslow knelt before you the day of your coronation and pledged you loyalty, and I know that he would die before he broke that pledge.”

“And now state the case for the Normans,” William suggested. He seemed amused by Elizabeth’s storytelling and gifted her with a smile of encouragement.

“My father was loyal to his lord, Geoffrey, and when he was killed, Geoffrey took control. He married me and righted the damage done. My brother-in-law was behind the deed, and Geoffrey killed him. My husband is most methodical in his thinking, much like my father, and he made sure that he knew the guilty one before acting. I have inherited my impatient nature from my Saxon mother,” Elizabeth admitted, “but my husband convinced me to be patient. In the end, he promised that justice would be done, and he was right. If you ask me who I am loyal to,” Elizabeth continued, “I would tell you that I am loyal to my husband and to you, my king.”

“And if I asked you to decide between the Saxon and the Norman?” the king asked.

Elizabeth did not hear the teasing lilt in his voice and frowned. “I would choose my husband above all others,” she replied immediately. “Knowing in my heart that my husband would protect Elslow as he protects me. My grandfather, my brother, and I all belong to Geoffrey now, just as we all belong to you. My husband would not harm his family.”

William nodded. “I think that if all my subjects were as loyal as you, I would have an easy time of it,” he complimented. He looked at Belwain then and said, “I do not go against my vassal’s wishes, Belwain. Your claim is denied.”

Belwain could not contain the gasp of outrage. His face turned a blotchy red and he stared at Elizabeth with eyes full of hatred.

The king ignored Belwain’s reaction. His attention turned to Elslow. “I do not recall your pledge of loyalty but the day of my coronation was full of disorder.”

Elslow grinned. “I was there and saw the riot,” he admitted.

“Kneel before me now, Saxon, and give me your pledge anew.”

Elslow did as he was requested, placing his hand over his heart. He repeated his vow of loyalty with Geoffrey and Elizabeth as witnesses.

The king seemed content. “Leave me now,” he commanded. “Geoffrey, I will speak with you at the dinner hour,” he commanded. “I would have you at my side.”

“As you wish,” Geoffrey replied. He bowed before his lord and took hold of Elizabeth’s arm.

Husband and wife did not exchange a word until they were almost back to their room. Elslow and Roger had left them, in search of a cool drink and a game of chess.

“Have you a single doubt of my pride in you?” Geoffrey asked when they reached their room. “You showed great courage, Elizabeth.”

“I have learned it from you,” Elizabeth replied. She entered the room and turned to face her husband. The realization that the torment was over and done with made the room begin to spin.

“See how fair and kind our king is?” Geoffrey remarked. “There was never anything to fear, was there?”

“Fear? I was never afraid!”

Geoffrey laughed at Elizabeth’s obvious lie and reached for her. He wasn’t a second too soon and caught her just in time. His strong and courageous wife fainted in his arms.

“You are sure?”

“I am most sure.”

Elizabeth was snuggled against Geoffrey late that night. They had just made love, and Geoffrey was about to fall asleep when Elizabeth decided to tell him about the baby. “You are pleased?”

“I am,” Geoffrey stated. He placed his hand on Elizabeth’s stomach and kissed her again. “I am the luckiest man in the world,” he said. “Soon I will have a warrior to train. He will be healthy and strong and the image of his father.”

“You are most humble,” Elizabeth teased, smiling.

“We will take our time going home,” Geoffrey remarked. “You must take every care, wife. Do not concern yourself with Belwain,” he added.

“I will not,” Elizabeth agreed. “I know that you will deal with him when the time is right. He already suffers, losing what he most wanted,” she said. “Mont-wright and Thomas are both safe from him.”

“I will worry while you carry this child. If anything should happen to you . . . ”

“Do not concern yourself,” Elizabeth soothed. “All will be well. When the time comes, I will be just like you, Geoffrey. I will be strong and courageous and will do my duty. I will give birth with honor and will not make a sound of protest.”

She screamed like a banshee. Geoffrey held her hand during the long hours of labor, echoing her distress with greater shouts of his own, until he was forced from their bedroom by a disgusted midwife.

Elslow observed it all and remarked to Roger that it was without a doubt the loudest birth ever recorded in history.

Elizabeth finally produced the child and gave Geoffrey his warrior. Geoffrey was overwhelmed with pleasure and gratitude.

The warrior was perfect. They named her Mary, in memory of Elizabeth’s mother.

Photo : Mork Braswell

JULIE GARWOOD’S New York Times

bestselling novels include, Mercy, Heartbreaker,

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The Bride. There are more than thirty million

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A ruthless killer. A relentless FBI man.

Both after the same thing…

One irresistible woman.

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HEARTBREAKER

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Praise for Julie Garwood’s splendid

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RANSOM

“AN ENTHRALLING TALE…. In this powerful story, passion, loyalty, friendship, and mystery superbly blend with realistic, three-dimensional characters.”

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“A KEEPER…. Anyone who has had the pleasure of reading Julie Garwood’s classic tale The Secret will remember the two lovable rogues Brodick Buchanan and Ramsey Sinclair. Now they star in their own story…. The plot is crisp, entertaining, and makes Medieval England seem real.”

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Currently available in paperback from Pocket Books

BOOKS BY JULIE GARWOOD

Gentle Warrior

Rebellious Desire

Honor’s Splendour

The Lion’s Lady

The Bride

Guardian Angel

The Gift

The Prize

The Secret

Castles

Saving Grace

Prince Charming

For the Roses

The Wedding

Come the Spring

Ransom

Heartbreaker

Mercy

The Clayborne Brides

One Pink Rose

One White Rose

One Red Rose

PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS

This book is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to nonhistorical figures are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such incidents, places, or figures to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Copyright © 1987 by Julie Garwood

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN-13: 978-0-671-73782-5

ISBN-10:         0-671-73782-1

ISBN: 978-1-4516-8188-8 (eBook)

First Pocket Books paperback printing December 1987

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Cover art by Lisa Litwack

Cover photo © John Beatty/Tony Stone Images

HONOR’S SPLENDOUR

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mercy Teaser

About the Author

Chapter One

“Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, Whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure; if there be any virtue … think on these things.”

NEW TESTAMENT, PHILIPPIANS, 4:8

England, 1099

They meant to kill him.

The warrior stood in the center of the desolate courtyard, his hands roped together and tied to a post behind his back. His expression was devoid of emotion as he stared straight ahead, outwardly ignoring his enemy.

The captive hadn’t offered any resistance, allowing himself to be stripped to his waist without so much as a fist drawn or a word of protest spoken. His rich, fur-lined winter cloak, heavy hauberk, cotton shirt, stockings, and leather boots had all been removed and placed on the frozen ground in front of him. The enemy’s intent was clear. The warrior would die, but without a new mark added to his battle-scarred body. While his eager audience watched, the captive could look at his garments while he slowly froze to death.

Twelve men surrounded him. Knives drawn to give them courage, they circled and jeered, yelling insults and obscenities as they stomped their boot-clad feet in an effort to ward off the frigid temperature. Yet one and all kept a safe distance lest their docile captive change his inclination and decide to break loose and attack. They had little doubt he’d be capable of the feat, for they’d all heard the tales of his Herculean strength. Some had even witnessed his superior prowess in battle a time or two. And if he tore through the ropes, the men would be forced to use their knives on him, but not before he sent three, possibly even four of them to their own deaths.

The leader of the twelve couldn’t believe his good fortune. They had captured the Wolf and would soon witness his death.

What a reckless mistake their captive had made. Aye, Duncan, the powerful Baron of Wexton holdings had actually ridden into his enemy’s fortress completely alone, and without a single weapon for defense. He had unwisely believed that Louddon, a baron of equal land title, would honor their temporary truce.

He must believe his own reputation, the leader thought. He must truly think himself to be as invincible as the great battle stories exaggerated. Surely that was the reason he seemed so unconcerned over his dire circumstances now.

A feeling of unease settled in the leader’s mind as he continued to watch his captive. They had stripped the man of his value, shredded his blue and white crest proclaiming title and worth, making certain that no remnants of the civilized nobleman remained. Baron Louddon wanted his captive to die without dignity or honor. Yet the near-naked warrior standing so proudly before them wasn’t complying with Louddon’s wishes at all. He wasn’t acting like a man about to die. Nay, the captive wasn’t pleading for his life or whimpering for a quick end. He didn’t look like a dying man either. His skin wasn’t pale or covered with goose bumps, but sun-bronzed and weather-toughened. Damn, he wasn’t even shivering. Aye, they had stripped the nobleman, yet under all the layers of refinement stood the proud warlord, looking as primitive and as fearless as the whispered tales boasted. Before their eyes, the Wolf had been revealed.

The jeering had ceased. Only the sound of the wind howling through the courtyard could be heard now. The leader turned his attention to his men, huddled together a short distance away. Every one of them was staring at the ground. He knew they avoided looking at their captive. He couldn’t fault them for this show of cowardice as he, too, found it a difficult task to look directly into the warrior’s eyes.

Baron Duncan of Wexton land was at least a head taller than the largest of the soldiers guarding him. He was just as massive in proportions, with thick, muscular shoulders and thighs, and with his long, powerful legs braced apart, his stance suggested he was capable of killing them all … if he became so inclined.

Darkness was descending, and with it came a curtain of light snow. The soldiers began to complain about the weather in earnest then. “Ain’t no need for us to freeze to death right along with him,” one muttered.

“He won’t die for hours yet,” another complained. “Baron Louddon’s gone over an hour now. He’ll not know if we stayed outside or not.”

The agreement by the others with vigorous nods and grunts swayed their leader. The cold was beginning to irritate him too. His unease had grown as well, for he’d been convinced that Baron Wexton wasn’t any different from other men. He was sure he would have broken down and screamed in torment by now. The arrogance of the man infuriated him. By God, he looked bored with them all. The leader was forced to admit that he’d underestimated his opponent. It wasn’t an easy admission and one that sent him into a rage. His own feet, protected from the harsh weather by his thick boots, were nevertheless stinging in agony now, yet Baron Duncan stood barefoot and hadn’t moved or shifted balance once since being restrained. Perhaps there was truth in the tales after all.

The leader cursed his superstitious nature and gave the order to retreat inside. When the last of his men had departed, Louddon’s vassal checked that the rope was secure and then came to stand directly in front of his captive. “They say you’re as cunning as a wolf, but you’re just a man, and you’ll soon die like one. Louddon don’t want fresh knife cuts in you. Come morning, we’ll drag your body miles away from here. No one will be able to prove that Louddon was behind the deed.” The leader sneered the words, furious that his captive wouldn’t even look down at him, and then added, “If I had my way, I’d cut out your heart and be done with it.” He gathered spittle in his mouth to hurl into the warrior’s face, hoping this new insult would gain a reaction.

And then the captive slowly lowered his gaze. His eyes met those of his enemy. What the leader saw there caused him to swallow loudly. He turned away in fright. He made the sign of the cross, a puny effort to ward off the dark promise he’d read in the warrior’s gray eyes, muttering to himself that he was only doing the bidding of his overlord. And then he ran toward the safety of the castle.

From the shadows against the wall, Madelyne watched. She waited several more minutes to be certain that none of her brother’s soldiers were going to return, using the time well to pray for courage to see her plan carried through.

She risked everything. In her heart she knew there was no other choice. She was the only one who could save him now. Madelyne accepted the responsibilities and the consequences, knowing full well that if her deed was discovered, it would surely mean her own death.

Her hands trembled but her steps were quick. The sooner the deed was done, the better for her peace of mind. There’d be plenty of time to worry over her actions once the foolish captive had been released.

A long black cape covered her from head to foot, and the baron didn’t notice her until she was standing directly before him. A fierce gust of wind pulled the hood from her head, and a mane of auburn hair fell well past shoulders of a slender frame. She brushed a strand away from her face and looked up at the captive.

For a moment he thought his mind played tricks on him. Duncan actually shook his head in denial. And then her voice reached him and he knew what he was seeing wasn’t a figment of his imagination. “I’ll have you undone in just a moment or two. Pray don’t make a sound until we’re away from here.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His savior’s voice sounded as clear as the truest of harps and as beckoning as one of summer’s warm days. Duncan closed his eyes, resisting the urge to shout with laughter over this strange twist in events, considered giving the cry for battle now and be done with the deception, and then immediately decided against that idea. His curiosity was too strong. He determined to wait awhile longer, until his savior revealed her true intentions.

His expression remained inscrutable. He kept silent as he watched her remove a small dagger from beneath her cape. She stood close enough for him to capture with his unbound legs, and if her words proved false or her dagger moved toward his heart, he’d be forced to crush her.

Lady Madelyne had no idea of the danger. Intent only on setting him free, she moved closer to his side and began the task of cutting through the thick rope. Duncan noticed that her hands were shaking. He couldn’t decide if it was because of the harsh weather or fear.

The scent of roses reached him. When he inhaled the light fragrance, he decided the freezing temperature had certainly muddled his mind. A rose in the middle of winter, an angel inside this fortress of purgatory … neither made sense to him, yet she smelled of the flowers of spring and looked like a vision from above.

He shook his head again. The logical part of his mind knew exactly who she was. The description given to him was accurate in every detail, but misleading too. He’d been told that Louddon’s sister was of medium height and had brown hair and blue eyes. And pleasing to look upon, he remembered being informed. Ah, there was the falsehood, he decided. The devil’s sister was neither pleasing nor pretty. She was magnificent.

The rope finally gave way, and his hands were freed. He stood where he was, his expression well hidden. The girl came to stand in front of him again and gifted him with a small smile before she turned and knelt to gather his possessions.

Fear made the simple task awkward. She stumbled when she stood up again, straightened herself, and then turned back to him. “Please follow me,” she instructed him.

He didn’t move, but continued to stand where he was, watching and waiting.

Madelyne frowned over his hesitation, thinking to herself that the cold had surely frozen his ability to think. She clutched his garments to her chest with one hand, letting the heavy boots dangle from her fingertips, and then put her other arm around his waist. “Lean on me,” she whispered. “I’ll help you, I promise. But please, we must hurry.” Her gaze was directed toward the castle doors and the fear sounded in her voice.

He responded to her desperation. He wanted to tell her that they needn’t hide, for even now his men were scaling the walls, but he changed his mind. The less she knew, the better his advantage when the time came.

She barely reached his shoulder, yet she valiantly tried to accept some of his weight by taking his arm and draping it around her shoulders. “We go to the visiting priest’s quarters behind the chapel,” she told him in a soft whisper. “’Tis the one place they’ll never think to look.”

The warrior paid scant attention to what she was telling him. His gaze was directed to the top of the north wall. The half moon gave the light snow an eerie glow and outlined his soldiers climbing over the top. Not a sound could be heard as his men grew in numbers along the wooden walkway that circled the top of the wall.

The warrior nodded with satisfaction. Louddon’s soldiers were as foolish as their lord. The harshness of the weather had sent the gatekeepers inside, leaving the wall unprotected and vulnerable. The enemy had proven their weakness. And they would all die because of it.

He gave the woman more of his weight to slow her progress while he flexed his hands, again and again, trying to force the numbness from his fingers. There was little feeling in his feet, a bad sign, he knew even as he accepted that nothing could be done about it now.

He heard a faint whistle and quickly raised his hand high into the air, giving the signal to wait. He glanced down at the woman to see if she had caught his action, his other hand ready to clamp over her mouth if she gave the least indication that she knew what was happening. But the woman was busy struggling with his weight and seemed oblivious to the fact that her home was being penetrated.

They reached a narrow doorway and Madelyne, believing the captive to be in a dangerously weakened condition, tried to prop him up against the stone wall with one hand while she worked to get the door unlatched.

The baron, understanding her intent, willingly leaned against the wall and watched her juggle his garments and fight the icy chain.

Once she had the door opened, she took hold of his hand and led him through the darkness. A rush of frigid air swirled around them as they made their way to a second door at the end of a long, damp corridor. Madelyne quickly opened it and beckoned him inside.

The room they entered was windowless, but several candles had been lit, casting a warm glow to the intersanctuary. The air was stale. Dust covered the wooden floor and fat cobwebs dangled and swayed from the low-beamed ceiling. Several colorful robes used by visiting priests hung on hooks, and a straw pallet had been placed in the center of the small area with two thick blankets next to it.

Madelyne latched the door and sighed with relief. For the moment they were safe. She motioned for him to sit down on the pallet. “When I saw what they were doing to you, I prepared this room,” she explained as she handed him his clothing. “My name is Madelyne and I’m …” She started to explain her relationship to her brother, Louddon, and then thought better of it. “I’ll stay with you until first light and then show you the way out through a hidden passage. Not even Louddon knows it exists.”

The baron sat down and folded his legs in front of him. He pulled on his shirt while he listened to her. He considered that her act of courage certainly complicated his life, found himself wondering how she would react when she realized his true plan, and then decided that his course of action couldn’t be altered.

As soon as his hauberk was once again covering his massive chest, Madelyne draped one of the blankets around his shoulders and then knelt down, facing him. She leaned back on the heels of her shoes, motioning for him to stretch out his legs. When he had complied with her wishes, she studied his feet, frowning with concern. He reached for his boots, but Madelyne stayed his hands. “We must warm your feet first,” she explained.

She took a deep breath while she considered the quickest way to give life back to the starving limbs. Her head was bent, shielding her face from the watchful gaze of the warrior.

She picked up the second blanket, started to wrap it around his feet, and then shook her head, changing her mind. Without offering a word of explanation, she threw the blanket over his legs, removed her cloak, and then slowly inched the cream-colored chainse up over her knees. The braided leather rope she used as a decorative belt and a sheath for her dagger got caught up in the dark green bliaut that covered her chainse, and she took the time to remove it, discarding it next to the warrior’s side.

He was curious about her strange behavior and waited for her to explain her actions. But Madelyne didn’t say a word. She took another deep breath, grabbed hold of his feet, and quickly, before she could think better of it, slipped them under her clothing, flattening them against the warmth of her stomach.

She let out a loud gasp when his icy skin touched her own warm flesh, and then adjusted her gown and wrapped her arms around the outside, hugging him to her. Her shoulders began to tremble and the warrior felt it was as if she were drawing all the cold from his body and taking it into her own.

It was the most unselfish act he had ever witnessed.

Feeling was quick to return to his feet. He felt as if a thousand daggers were being thrust into the soles of his feet, burning with an intensity he found difficult to ignore. He tried to shift his position, but she wouldn’t allow it, increasing her hold with surprising strength.

“If there is pain, ’tis a good sign,” she told him, her voice no more than a husky whisper. “It will go away soon. Besides, you’re most fortunate to be feeling anything,” she added.

The censure in her tone surprised Duncan, and he raised an eyebrow in reaction. Madelyne glanced up just then and caught his expression. She hurried to explain. “You’d not be in this position if you hadn’t acted so carelessly. I only hope you’ve learned your lesson well this day. I’ll not be able to save you a second time.”

Madelyne softened her tone. She even tried to smile at him, but it was a puny effort at best. “I know you believed Louddon would act with honor. But that was your mistake. Louddon doesn’t know what honor is. Remember that in future and you might live to see another year.”

She lowered her gaze and thought about the dear price she’d pay for setting her brother’s enemy free. It wouldn’t take Louddon long to realize she’d been behind the escape. Madelyne said a prayer of thanksgiving that Louddon had left the fortress, for his departure gave her added time to carry out her own plan of escape.

First, the baron must be taken care of. Once he was safely on his way, she could worry about the repercussions of her bold act. She was determined not to think about it now. “What’s done is done,” she whispered, letting all the agony and despair echo in her voice.

The baron didn’t respond to her remarks, and she didn’t offer additional explanation. Silence stretched between them like a growing abyss. Madelyne wished he’d say something to her, anything, to ease her discomfort. She was embarrassed by having his feet nestled against her so intimately and realized that if he moved his toes at all, he’d be touching the undersides of her breasts. That thought made her blush. She dared another quick glance up to see how he was reacting to her strange method of treatment.

He was waiting for her to look at him and quickly, effortlessly, captured her gaze. He thought that her eyes were as blue as the sky above on the clearest of days, and considered, too, that she looked nothing like her brother. He cautioned himself that appearances meant nothing, even as he felt himself becoming mesmerized by her bewitchingly innocent gaze. He reminded himself that she was the sister of his enemy, nothing more, nothing less. Beautiful or not, she was his pawn, his snare to trap the demon.

Madelyne stared into his eyes and thought that they were as gray and as cold as one of her daggers. His face seemed cut from stone, for there was no emotion to be seen there, no feeling at all.

His hair was a dark brown, overly long and slightly curly, but that didn’t soften his features. His mouth looked hard, his chin was too firm, and she noticed that there weren’t any lines at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t look like the kind of man who laughed or smiled. No, she acknowledged with a shiver of apprehension. He looked as hard and as cold as his position demanded. He was a warrior first and a baron second, and she guessed that there wasn’t any place in his life for laughter.

She suddenly realized that she didn’t have the least idea of what was going on inside his mind. That worried her, not knowing what he was thinking. She coughed to cover her embarrassment, and thought to start the conversation again. Perhaps, if he spoke to her, he would seem less intimidating.

“Did you think to face Louddon alone?” she asked. She waited a long time for his reply, and at his continued silence she sighed with frustration. The warrior was proving to be as obstinate as he was foolish, she told herself. She had just saved his life and he hadn’t spoken one word of gratitude. His manner was proving to be as harsh as his appearance and reputation.

He frightened her. Once she admitted that fact to herself, she became irritated. She chastised herself over her reaction to him, thinking that she was now behaving as foolishly as he. The man hadn’t said a word, yet she trembled like a child.

It was his size, she decided. Aye, she thought with a nod. In the confines of the small room, he seemed to overpower her.

“Don’t think to return for Louddon again. It would be another mistake. And he will surely kill you next time.”

The warrior didn’t answer. He moved then, slowly sliding his feet from the warmth she provided. He took his time, edging down the sensitive skin on the tops of her thighs with deliberate provocation.

Madelyne continued to kneel in front of him, her gaze downcast as he put on his stockings and his boots.

When he was finished with his task, he slowly lifted the braided belt she had discarded and held it up in front of her.

Madelyne instinctively reached out with both hands to accept her belt. She smiled, thinking his action was a peace offering of sorts, and waited for him to finally speak his gratitude.

The warrior worked with lightning speed. He grabbed her left hand and tied the rope around it. Before she could even think to pull away, he looped the belt around her other wrist and bound her hands together.

Madelyne stared in astonishment at her hands and then looked up at him, her confusion obvious.

The expression on his face sent a chill of dread down her spine. She shook her head, denying what was happening.

And then the warrior spoke. “I didn’t come for Louddon, Madelyne. I came for you.”

Chapter Two

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay …”

NEW TESTAMENT, ROMANS, 12:19

“Have you gone daft?” Madelyne whispered. Her voice sounded with astonishment.

The baron didn’t answer her, but his scowl suggested he had little liking for her question. He pulled Madelyne to her feet and then grabbed hold of her shoulders to steady her. She would have fallen back to her knees without his aid. Odd, but his touch was gentle for a man of his size, Madelyne thought, and that bit of knowledge confused her all the more.

His trickery was beyond her comprehension. He was the captive and she his savior, and certainly he realized that fact, didn’t he? Why, she’d risked everything for him. Dear God, she’d touched his feet, warmed them; aye, she’d given him all she dared.

He towered over her, this nobleman turned barbarian, and wore a savage expression that more than matched his gigantic proportions. She felt the power radiating from him, as forceful and stinging as the touch of a hot poker, and though she tried desperately not to flinch from the chilling look in his icy gray eyes, she knew she was trembling enough for him to notice.

He misunderstood her reaction and reached down for her cloak. When he placed the garment around her shoulders, his hand brushed against the swell of her breasts. She thought the touch was unintentional, yet she instinctively took a step back, clasping the cloak in front of her. The baron’s scowl deepened. He took hold of her hands, turned, and led the way down the dark corridor, dragging her behind him.

She had to run to keep up with him, else he’d be dragging her. “Why do you want to confront Louddon’s men when it isn’t necessary?”

There was no response from the baron but Madelyne wasn’t deterred. The warrior was walking toward his own death. She felt compelled to stop him. “Please, Baron, don’t do this. Listen to me. The cold has brittled your mind. They’ll kill you.”

Madelyne pulled against his hold then, hard, using all her strength, but he didn’t even slow his pace.

How in God’s name was she going to save him?

They reached the heavy door that led to the courtyard. The baron pushed it open so forcefully the hinges unbuckled. The door shredded into planks against the stone wall. Madelyne was pulled through the opening, into an icy wind that slapped her face and made a mockery of her fervent belief that the man she had untied less than an hour past was daft. No, he wasn’t daft at all.

The proof surrounded her. Over a hundred soldiers lined the inner courtyard, with more climbing over the top of the stone wall, all as quick as the rising wind and as silent as thieves, and every one of them wearing Baron Wexton’s blue and white colors.

Madelyne was so overwhelmed by the sight, she didn’t even notice her captor had stopped to look at his men as they gathered in numbers before him. She bumped into his back, instinctively reached out to grab hold of his hauberk to balance herself, and only then realized he’d let go of her hands.

He didn’t give the least indication she was there, hovering behind his back, clutching his garment as if it had suddenly become her lifeline. Madelyne realized she might appear to be hiding, or worse, cowering, and she immediately braved a step to his side so that one and all could see her. The top of her head reached the baron’s shoulders. She stood with her shoulders straight, trying to match the baron’s defiant stance, praying all the while her terror wasn’t discernible.

Lord, but she was scared. In truth, she wasn’t overly afraid of death; it was the dying that came before that terrified her. Aye, it was the thought of her own behavior before the foul deed was completed that made her feel so sick inside. Would it be quick or slowly drawn out? Would she lose her carefully nurtured control at the last minute and act the coward? That thought so upset her, she almost blurted out then and there that she wanted to be the first to feel the blade of death. But pleading for a quick end would also make her a coward, wouldn’t it? And then her brother’s prediction would be fulfilled.

Baron Wexton had no idea of the thoughts racing through his captive’s mind. He glanced down to look at her, took in her tranquil expression, and was mildly surprised by it. She looked very calm, almost serene, yet he knew her manner would soon change. Madelyne was about to witness his revenge, beginning with the total destruction of her home. No doubt she’d be weeping and begging for mercy before the deed was done.

One of the soldiers hurried over to stand directly before the baron. It was obvious to Madelyne that he was related to her captor, as he had the identical color of blackish-brown hair and the same muscular bearing, though he wasn’t nearly as tall. The soldier ignored Madelyne, addressing his leader. “Duncan? Do you give the call or do we stand here all night?”

His name was Duncan. Odd, but hearing his family name did help lessen Madelyne’s fear. Duncan … aye, the name seemed to make him a little more human in her mind.

“Well, brother?” the soldier demanded then, giving Madelyne their relationship and the reason the baron allowed such an insolent attitude from his vassal.

The soldier, surely a younger brother from his youthful appearance and lack of battle scars, then turned to look at Madelyne. His brown eyes mirrored his contempt for her. He looked as though he might hit her. Why, the angry soldier even took a step back, as if he wished to put more distance between himself and the leper she had suddenly become.

“Louddon isn’t here, Gilard,” Duncan told his brother.

The baron’s comment was given so mildly, Madelyne was immediately filled with new hope. “Then you will go home, milord?” she asked, turning to look up at him.

Duncan didn’t answer her. She would have repeated her question if the vassal hadn’t interrupted her by yelling a litany of crude remarks. His gaze was fixed on Madelyne as he spewed forth his frustration. Though Madelyne didn’t understand most of the foul comments, she could tell they were sinful just by the frightening look in Gilard’s eyes.

Duncan was about to command his brother to cease his childish tirade, when he felt Madelyne take hold of his hand. He was so astonished by her touch, he didn’t know how to react.

Madelyne clung to him and he could feel her trembling, yet when he turned to look down at her, she looked composed. She stared at Gilard. Duncan shook his head. He knew his brother hadn’t any idea how terrifying he was to Madelyne. In truth, Duncan doubted Gilard would care if he did know.

Gilard’s anger suddenly irritated Duncan. Madelyne was his captive, not his opponent, and the sooner Gilard understood how she was to be treated, the better. “Enough!” he demanded. “Louddon’s gone. Your curses won’t bring him back.”

Duncan suddenly jerked his hand away from Madelyne’s. He threw his arm around her shoulders, nearly knocking her over in his haste, and then pulled her up against his side. Gilard was so astonished by the obvious show of protection, he could only stare open-mouthed at his brother.

“Louddon must have taken the south road, Gilard, else you would have spotted him,” Duncan said.

Madelyne couldn’t stop herself from interfering. “And now you’ll go home?” she asked, trying not to sound overly eager. “You can challenge Louddon another time,” she suggested, hoping to take the sting out of their disappointment.

Both brothers turned to look at her. Neither answered her, but the look on their faces implied they thought she had a broken mind.

Madelyne’s fear began to intensify again. The chilling look in the baron’s eyes nearly made her knees snap. She quickly lowered her own gaze until she was staring at his chest, shamed to the core of her soul that she was proving to be so weak in character. “I’m not the crazed one,” she muttered. “You could still get away from here without being caught.”

Duncan ignored her comment. He grabbed hold of her bound hands and dragged her over to the very post she’d released him from. Madelyne tripped twice, her legs weak with fear. When Duncan finally released her, Madelyne leaned back against the splintered wood, waiting to see what he would do next.

The baron gave Madelyne a long glare. It was an unspoken command to stay there, Madelyne decided. Then he turned until his shoulders blocked her view of his soldiers. His muscular thighs were braced apart and his big hands were fisted on the tilt of his hips. It was a battle stance that clearly challenged his audience. “No one touches her. She is mine.” Duncan’s powerful voice rang out, washing over his men with as much force as the icy pellets hurling down from above.

Madelyne turned to look at the door to Louddon’s castle. Surely Duncan’s voice had reached inside, alerting the sleeping soldiers. Yet, when Louddon’s men didn’t immediately pour into the courtyard, Madelyne decided that the fierce wind must have swept away the baron’s voice.

Duncan started to walk away from Madelyne. She reached out and grabbed hold of the back of his hauberk. The circular steel links cut into her fingers. She grimaced in pain, yet wasn’t certain if her reaction was caused by the abrasive links or the infuriated look on the baron’s face when he turned back to her. He stood so close, his chest was actually touching hers. Madelyne was forced to tilt her head back in order to see his face.

“You don’t understand, Baron,” Madelyne blurted out. “If you’d only listen to reason, you’d see how foolish this plan of yours is.”

“How foolish my plan is?” Duncan repeated, astonished into bellowing by her brash statement. He didn’t understand why he wanted to know what she was talking about, but he did. Hell, she’d just insulted him. He would have killed a man for less. Yet the innocent look on her face, and the sincerity in her voice, indicated she wasn’t even aware of her transgression.

Madelyne thought Duncan looked as if he wanted to strangle her. She fought the urge to close her eyes against his intimidating stare. “If you came for me, then you’ve wasted your time.”

“You believe your value isn’t worthy enough for my attention?” Duncan asked.

“Of course. In my brother’s eyes, I have no value. ’Tis a fact I’m well aware of,” she added so matter-of-factly, Duncan knew she believed what she said. “And you are certain to die tonight. Aye, you’re outnumbered, by at least four to one by my count. There’s a second soldier’s keep in the bailey below us, with over a hundred soldiers sleeping there. They will hear the fight. What think you of that?” she asked, aware she was now wringing her hands but unable to stop herself.

Duncan stood there, staring at her with a puzzled expression on his face. Madelyne prayed the news she’d just shared with him about the second soldier’s keep would force him to see the folly of his plan.

Her prayers were in vain. When the baron finally reacted, it wasn’t at all what Madelyne expected. He merely shrugged.

The gesture infuriated her. The foolish warrior was clearly bent on dying.

“It was a false prayer to think you’d walk away from this, no matter what the odds, wasn’t it?” Madelyne asked.

“It was,” Duncan answered. A warm glint entered his eyes, surprising Madelyne. It was gone before she could even react. Was the baron laughing at her?

She didn’t have the courage to ask him. Duncan continued to stare at her another long moment. Then he shook his head, turned, and started to walk toward Louddon’s home. He’d obviously decided he’d wasted enough time on her.

There wasn’t the least hint of his intent now. Why, he could have been paying a social call if one judged by the mild look on his face and the slow, unhurried pace.

Madelyne knew better. She was suddenly so filled with dread, she thought she was going to be sick. She could feel the bile rising, burning a path all the way up to her throat. Madelyne took deep, gulping breaths while she frantically worked to undo the knots binding her hands. Panic made the task impossible, for Madelyne had just realized there were servants sleeping inside. She doubted Duncan’s soldiers would concern themselves with killing only those armed against them. Louddon certainly wouldn’t have made that distinction.

She knew she was going to die soon. That fact couldn’t be undone; she was Louddon’s sister. But if she could save innocent lives before her own death, wouldn’t that act of kindness give her existence some purpose? Dear God, wouldn’t saving one person make her life matter… to someone?

Madelyne continued to struggle with the rope while she watched the baron. When he reached the steps and turned back to face his men, his true purpose was obvious. Aye, his expression showed his fury.

Duncan slowly raised his sword into the air. And then his voice rang out with such force as to surely penetrate the stone walls surrounding them. His words of purpose were unmistakable.

“No mercy!”

The screams of battle tortured Madelyne. Her mind pictured what she couldn’t see, trapping her within a purgatory of obscene thoughts. She had never actually witnessed a battle before, only heard exaggerated tales of cunning and prowess from boasting victorious soldiers. But none of those stories included the descriptions of the killings, and when the fighting soldiers spilled out into the courtyard, Madelyne’s mental purgatory turned into a living hell, with the blood of the victims transformed into her captor’s fire of revenge.

Although the numbers heavily favored Louddon’s men, Madelyne soon realized they were ill prepared to fight Duncan’s well-trained soldiers. She watched as one of her brother’s soldiers raised his sword against the baron and lost his life because of it, witnessed another eager soldier thrust his lance forward and then stare in stupefaction when both lance and arm were severed from his body. An ear-piercing scream of agony followed the assault as the soldier pitched forward to the ground now soaked with his own blood.

Madelyne’s stomach lurched over the atrocities; she closed her eyes to block out the horror, but the images continued to haunt her.

A boy Madelyne thought might have been Duncan’s squire ran over to stand next to Madelyne. He had bright yellow hair and was of medium height, and so thick with muscles as to appear fat. He pulled a dagger and held it in front of him.

He paid her little heed, keeping his gaze directed on Duncan, but Madelyne thought he positioned himself to protect her. She had seen Duncan motion to the boy a short time before.

Madelyne desperately tried to focus on the squire’s face. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. She wasn’t certain if the action was caused by fear or excitement. And then he suddenly bolted, leaving her unattended again.

She turned to look at Duncan, noticed that he’d dropped his shield, and then watched the squire race over to retrieve it for his lord. In his haste the squire dropped his own dagger.

Madelyne ran over, took hold of the dagger, and then hurried back to the post in case Duncan came for her. She knelt on the ground, her cloak hiding her action, and began to cut the rope binding her hands together. The acrid smell of smoke reached her. She looked up just in time to see a belch of fire explode through the open doorway of the castle. Servants now mingled with fighting men, trying to gain their freedom as they darted toward the gates. The fire chased after them, scorching the air.

Simon, first son of the Saxon reeve and an old man now, made his way over to Madelyne. Tears streamed down his leathered face, his thick shoulders stooped forward with despair. “I thought they’d done you in, milady,” he whispered as he helped her to her feet.

The servant took the dagger from her and quickly cut through the rope. Once she was freed, she cupped the sides of his shoulders. “Save yourself, Simon. This battle isn’t yours. Hurry now, away from here. Your family needs you.”

“But you …”

“Go, before it’s too late,” Madelyne implored him.

Her voice was harsh with fear. Simon was a good godfearing man who had showed her kindness in the past. He was trapped, as were the other servants, by position and heritage, tied by law to Louddon’s land, and that was sentence enough for any man to bear. God couldn’t be so cruel as to demand his life as well.

“Come with me, Lady Madelyne,” Simon begged. “I will hide you.”

Madelyne shook her head, denying him. “You have a better chance without me, Simon. The baron would come after me. Please, don’t argue,” she hurried to add when she saw he was about to protest again. “Go.” She screamed the order and gave it additional emphasis when she pushed against Simon’s shoulders.

“The Lord protect you,” Simon whispered. He handed her the dagger and turned to make his way to the gates. The old man had gotten only a few feet away from his mistress when he was knocked down to the ground by Duncan’s brother. Gilard, in his haste to attack another of Louddon’s soldiers, accidentally bumped into the servant. Simon made it back to his knees, when Gilard suddenly turned, as if he’d just realized there was another enemy closer at hand.

Gilard’s intent was obvious to Madelyne. She screamed a warning and ran over to stand in front of Simon, using her body to shield the servant from Gilard’s blade.

“Stand aside,” Gilard yelled, his sword raised.

“Nay,” Madelyne shouted back. “You’ll have to kill me to get to him.”

Gilard immediately raised his sword higher, suggesting he’d do just that. His face was mottled with fury. She thought Gilard was more than capable of killing her without suffering a moment’s remorse.

Duncan saw what was taking place. He immediately started running toward Madelyne. Gilard’s temper was known to be fierce, yet Duncan didn’t worry that his brother would harm Madelyne. Gilard would die before breaking a command. Brother or not, Duncan was Baron of Wexton holdings and Gilard his vassal. Gilard would honor that bond. And Duncan had been most specific. Madelyne belonged to him. No one was to touch her. No one.

The other servants, nearly thirty in all, also witnessed what was happening. Those not close enough to freedom hastened over to stand as a group behind Simon for protection.

Madelyne met Gilard’s furious stare with a composed expression, a tranquility that belied the destruction going on inside her.

Duncan reached his brother’s side just in time to observe Madelyne’s bizarre action. His captive slowly lifted her hand to her hair and then pushed the thick mass of curls away from the side of her neck. In a voice that sounded quite calm, she suggested that Gilard thrust his blade there, and if he pleased, to be quick about it.

Gilard looked stunned over Madelyne’s reaction to his bluff. He slowly lowered his sword until its bloodied point was facing the ground.

Madelyne’s expression didn’t change. She turned her attention to Duncan.

“Does your hatred for Louddon extend to his servants? Do you kill innocent men and women because they’re bound by law to serve my brother?”

Before Duncan could form an answer, Madelyne turned her back on him. She took hold of Simon’s hand and helped him to his feet. “I’ve heard that Baron Wexton is an honorable man, Simon. Stand beside me. We’ll face him together, dear friend.”

Turning back to Duncan, she added, “And we shall see if this lord is honorable or if he be no different from Louddon.”

Madelyne suddenly realized she held the dagger in her other hand. She hid the evidence behind her back until she felt a tear in the lining of her cloak, and then slipped the knife inside, praying the hem was strong enough to hold it. To cover her action, she shouted, “Every one of these good people has tried to protect me from my brother, and I’ll die before I see you touch them. ’Tis your choice.”

Duncan’s voice was filled with contempt when he answered her challenge. “Unlike your brother, I don’t prey on the weak. Go, old man, leave this place. You may take the others with you.”

The servants were quick to comply. Madelyne watched them run to the gates. His show of compassion surprised her. “And now, Baron, I’ve one more request. Please kill me now. I know I am a coward for asking, but the wait is becoming unbearable. Do what you must.”

She believed he meant to kill her. Duncan found himself astonished by her comments once again. He decided that Lady Madelyne was the most puzzling woman he’d ever come across. “I’m not going to kill you, Madelyne,” he announced before turning away from her.

A wave of relief washed over Madelyne. She believed Duncan had given her the truth. He’d looked so surprised when she’d asked him to get the foul deed over with … aye, he was giving her the truth now.

Madelyne felt victorious for the first time in her life. She’d saved Duncan’s life and would live to tell about it.

The battle was finished. The horses had been released from the stables, and chased after the servants through the opened gates seconds before new flames of destruction devoured the brittle wood.

Madelyne couldn’t summon up an ounce of outrage over the destruction of her brother’s home. It had never belonged to her. There were no happy memories here.

No, there was no feeling outrage. Duncan’s revenge was fitting retribution for her brother’s sins. Justice was being served this dark night by a barbarian dressed in knight’s clothing, a radical to Madelyne’s way of thinking, who dared to ignore Louddon’s powerful friendship with the King of England.

What had Louddon done to Baron Wexton to warrant such a retaliation? And what price would Duncan have to pay for his rash action? Would William II, upon hearing of this attack, demand Duncan’s life? The king was apt to please Louddon if he commanded that action. Louddon’s hold on the king was said to be unusual; Madelyne had heard it said that they were special friends. And only last week had she learned what the whispered obscenities really meant. Marta, the stablemaster’s outspoken wife, had taken great delight in revealing the vileness of their relationship late one evening, after she’d swallowed too many swigs of ale.

Madelyne hadn’t believed her. She’d blushed and denied it all, telling Marta that Louddon had remained unmarried because the lady he’d given his heart to had died. Marta had scoffed at Madelyne’s innocence. She eventually forced her mistress to admit to the possibility.

Until that evening, Madelyne hadn’t realized that some men could act intimately with other men, and the realization that one was her brother and the other reported to be the King of England made it all the more repulsive. Her disgust had turned physical; Madelyne remembered she’d thrown up her dinner, giving Marta quite a laugh.

“Burn the chapel.” Duncan’s order carried throughout the courtyard, pulling Madelyne’s thoughts back to the present. She immediately picked up her skirts and ran toward the church, hoping she’d have time to gather her meager possessions before the command was carried out. No one seemed to be paying her any attention.

Duncan intercepted her just when she reached the side entrance. He slammed his hands up against the wall, blocking her on both sides. Madelyne let out a startled gasp and twisted around to look up at him.

“There isn’t any place you can hide from me, Madelyne.”

His voice was soft. Lord, he sounded almost bored. “I hide from no one,” Madelyne answered, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

“Then you wish to burn with your chapel?” Duncan asked. “Or perhaps you think to use the secret passage you told me about.”

“Neither,” Madelyne answered. “All of my possessions are inside the church. I was on my way to fetch them. You said you weren’t going to kill me and I thought to take my things on my own journey.”

When Duncan didn’t respond to her explanation, Madelyne tried again. It was difficult to form a coherent thought, however, with Duncan staring at her so intently. “I’ll not ask you for a mount, only my clothing from behind the altar.”

“You’ll not ask?” He whispered the question. Madelyne didn’t know how to react to it, or the smile he now gave her. “You truly expect me to believe you’ve been living in the church?”

Madelyne wished she had enough courage to tell him she didn’t care what he believed. Lord, she was a coward. Yet years of painful lessons in controlling her real feelings served her well now. She gave him a tranquil expression, forcing her anger aside. Why, she even managed to shrug.

Duncan saw the spark of anger ignite in her blue eyes. Such a mockery it was to the serene expression on her face, and so quickly gone, he was convinced he wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been watching her so intently. She controlled herself with amazing skill for a mere woman.

“Answer me, Madelyne. Do you wish me to believe you’ve been living in this church?”

“I haven’t been living there,” Madelyne answered when she couldn’t stand his intense stare a second longer. “I only hid my things so that I could make my escape in the morning.”

Duncan frowned over her statement. Did she think him daft to believe such a fool’s story? No woman would leave the comfort of her home to journey during these harsh months. And where would she have him believe she was going?

He made the swift decision to prove her story false, just to see her reaction when her lie was discovered. “You may get your things.”

Madelyne wasn’t about to argue over her good fortune. She believed that by giving his approval, Duncan was also agreeing to her own plan to leave the fortress. “Then I may leave this fortress?” She blurted out the assumption before she could stop herself. And Lord, how her voice shook.

“Aye, Madelyne, you will leave this fortress,” Duncan agreed.

He actually smiled at her. Madelyne worried about the change in his disposition. She stared up at him, trying to read his mind. A futile undertaking, she quickly realized. Duncan masked his feelings very well, too well for her to decide if he was telling the truth or not.

Madelyne ducked under his arm and ran down the corridor into the back of the church. Duncan was right behind her.

The burlap satchel was just where she’d hidden it the day before. Madelyne lifted the bundle into her arms and then turned to look at Duncan. She was about to offer her gratitude, yet hesitated when she saw the look of surprise on his face again.

“You didn’t believe me?” Madelyne asked. Her voice sounded as incredulous as he looked.

Duncan answered her with a scowl. He turned and walked out of the church. Madelyne followed him. Her hands were shaking now, almost violently. Madelyne decided that the horror of the battle she’d witnessed was just settling in. She’d seen so much blood, so many dead. Her stomach and her mind rebelled, and she could only pray she’d be able to maintain her composure until Duncan and his soldiers left.

The moment she cleared the structure, fiery torches were hurled inside. The flames were like hungry bears, devouring the building with savage intensity.

Madelyne watched the fire a good while, until she realized she was clinging to Duncan’s hand. She immediately pulled away from him.

She turned and saw that the soldiers’ horses had been led inside the inner bailey. Most of Duncan’s men were already mounted and waiting for his order. In the center of the courtyard stood the most magnificent of beasts, a huge white stallion, nearly two hands taller than any of the other horses. The blond-haired squire stood directly in front of the animal, trying without much success to keep the reins in his hands. The fiesty animal no doubt belonged to Duncan, a fitting beast for the baron’s stature and rank.

Duncan motioned her toward the stallion. Madelyne frowned over his order, yet instinctively started walking toward the big horse. The closer she got, the more frightened she became. In the corner of her confused mind a black thought crystallized.

Dear God, she wasn’t going to be left behind.

Madelyne took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She told herself she was just too distraught to think clearly. Of course the baron wasn’t going to take her with him. Why, she wasn’t significant enough to bother about.

She decided she still needed to hear his denial. “You don’t think to take me with you, do you?” she blurted out. Her voice sounded strained; she knew she hadn’t been able to keep the fear out of her voice.

Duncan walked over to Madelyne. He took hold of her satchel and threw it to his squire. She had her answer then. Madelyne stared up at Duncan, watched him swiftly mount, and then extend his hand down to her.

Madelyne began to back away. God help her, she was going to defy him. She knew if she tried to climb the distance to the top of his demon horse, she’d disgrace herself by fainting, or worse, screaming. In truth, she believed she preferred death to humiliation.

She was more frightened of the stallion than she was of the baron. Madelyne was sadly lacking in her education, and possessed none of the most basic riding skills. Memories of very young days, when Louddon had used those few riding lessons as a tool to inflict submission, still visited her on occasion. As a fully grown woman, she realized her fears were unreasonable, yet the fretful child inside her still rebelled with stubborn, illogical fright.

She took another step back. Then she slowly shook her head, denying Duncan’s assistance. Her decision was made; she’d force him to kill her if that was his inclination, but she wasn’t going to get on the stallion.

Without a thought as to where she was going, Madelyne turned and walked away. She was trembling so much, she stumbled several times. Panic was building inside until she was almost blinded by it, yet she kept her gaze directed on the ground and continued on, one determined step at a time.

She stopped when she came to the mutilated body of one of Louddon’s soldiers. The man’s face was horribly disfigured. The sight proved to be Madelyne’s breaking point. She stood there, in the center of the carnage, staring at the dead soldier, until she heard a tortured scream echo in the distance. The sound was soul-wrenching. Madelyne put her hands over her ears to try to block out the noise but the action didn’t help. The horrible sound went on and on.

Duncan spurred his horse forward the moment Madelyne started screaming. He reached her side, leaned down, and effortlessly lifted her up into his arms.

She stopped screaming when he touched her. Duncan adjusted his heavy cloak until his captive was completely covered. Her face rested against the steel links of his hauberk, yet he took time and attention to pull some of her own cloak forward so that the side of her cheek was cushioned against the soft sheepskin lining.

He didn’t question his desire to be gentle with her. The picture flashed before him of Madelyne kneeling in front of him, taking his near-frozen feet under her own gown to give them warmth. It had been an act of kindness, that. He could do no less for her now. After all, he was the one solely responsible for causing Madelyne such pain in the first place.

Duncan let out a long sigh. It couldn’t be undone. Hell, it had started out as such an easy plan too. Leave it to a woman to confuse it.

There was much to reevaluate now. Though he knew Madelyne wasn’t aware of it, she had certainly complicated the issues. He’d have to sort it all out, he told himself. The plan was changed now, whether he liked it or not, for he knew with a certainty that both amazed and infuriated him, that he’d never let Madelyne go.

Duncan tightened his hold on his captive and finally gave the signal to ride. He remained behind to form the end of the long procession. When the last of his soldiers had cleared the area, and only Gilard and the young squire flanked his side, Duncan took precious minutes to stare at the destruction.

Madelyne tilted her head back so that she could see Duncan’s face clearly. He must have felt her looking up at him, for he slowly lowered his gaze until he was staring directly into her eyes.

“An eye for an eye, Madelyne.”

She waited for him to tell her more, to explain what her brother had done to cause such a retaliation, but Duncan just continued to stare at her, as if willing her to comprehend. He wasn’t going to make any excuses for his ruthless-ness. Madelyne understood that now. The victorious didn’t need to justify.

Madelyne turned to look at the ruins. She remembered one of the stories told to her by her uncle, Father Berton, about the Punic Wars of ancient times. There were many tales handed down, most of them frowned upon by the holy church, but Father Berton had repeated them to Madelyne all the same, educating her in the most unacceptable fashion, punishable in fact by severe discipline if the church leaders had any inkling as to what the priest was doing.

The carnage she’d witnessed now reminded her of the story of Carthage. During the third and final war between two mighty powers, the victorious had thoroughly destroyed the city once Carthage had fallen. What had not burned to ashes had been buried beneath the fertile ground. Not a stone was allowed to top another. As a final measure, the fields were covered with salt so that nothing would grow there in the future.

History was being repeated this night; Louddon and all that belonged to him was now being desecrated.

“Delenda est Carthago,” Madelyne whispered to herself, repeating the vow made so long ago by Cato, an elder of ancient times.

Duncan was surprised by Madelyne’s remark. He wondered how she’d ever come by such knowledge. “Aye, Madelyne. Like Carthage, your brother must be destroyed.”

“And do I belong to Loud … to Carthage as well?” Madelyne asked, refusing to speak her brother’s name.

“Nay, Madelyne, you don’t belong to Carthage.”

Madelyne nodded and then closed her eyes. She sagged against Duncan’s chest.

Duncan used his hand to push her chin up, forcing her to look at him again.

“You don’t belong to Louddon, Madelyne. From this moment on, you belong to me. Do you understand?”

Madelyne nodded her head.

Duncan released his hold on her when he saw how frightened he was making her. He watched her a moment longer and then slowly, aye, gently, pulled the cloak up over her face.

From her warm hiding place against him, Madelyne whispered, “I think I would rather belong to no man.”

Duncan heard her. A slow smile crossed his face. What Lady Madelyne wanted wasn’t the least significant to him. Aye, she belonged to him now, whether she wished it or not.

Lady Madelyne had sealed her own fate.

She’d warmed his feet.

Chapter Three

“To do injustice is more disgraceful than to suffer it.”

PLATO, GORGIAS

They journeyed into the north, riding hard and fast through the remainder of the night and most of the next day, pausing only twice to give their horses respite from the furious pace the baron set. Madelyne was allowed a few moments privacy, but her legs could barely hold her weight, making the task of seeing to her personal needs an excruciating ordeal, and before she had a chance to stretch her protesting muscles, she was lifted onto Duncan’s steed again.

Because there was safety in their large number, Duncan decided to follow the main road. It was a sorry broken path at best, with overgrown thicket and naked branches making the way a continual challenge to the most fit of knights. The men’s shields were up most of the time. Madelyne, however, was well protected, safely embraced beneath Duncan’s cloak and armor.

The soldiers were well served by their heavy equipment, save for those who wore the open-faced conicals and rode with bare hands, and the wilderness had little effect on them other than to slow down their progress somewhat.

The torturous ride didn’t let up for almost two days. By the time Duncan announced that they would spend the night in a secluded glen he had spotted, Madelyne was firmly convinced he wasn’t human. She had heard the men refer to their leader as a wolf and understood the odious parallel well enough; Duncan wore the outline of that terrible beast of prey in his blue and white crest. She fantasized now that her captor’s mother must have been a demon from hell and his father a great, ugly wolf, and that was the only reason he could keep up such a grueling, inhuman pace.

By the time they stopped for the night, Madelyne was sick with hunger. She sat on a boulder and watched the soldiers care for their horses. A noble’s first concern, Madelyne decided, knowing that without his steed, the knight would be completely ineffective. Aye, the horses came first.

Small fires were started next, with eight to ten men surrounding each, and when all the fires had been ignited, there were at least thirty separate flames, all outlining the weary shoulders of men ready for rest. Last came the food, a meager offering consisting of crusty bread and yellowed cheese. Horns filled with salty-tasting ale were also passed around. Madelyne noticed the soldiers only drank a sparse portion, though. She thought caution might have overridden their desire to indulge, for they would surely need their wits about them this night, camped as they were in a vulnerable position.

There was the ever-present danger of roving bands of men, displaced misfits who had turned into vultures waiting to pounce on anyone weaker than they, and there were wild animals roaming the wilderness, too, with much the same intent.

Duncan’s squire was ordered to see to Madelyne’s needs. His name was Ansel, and Madelyne could tell from the frown on his face that he had little liking for his assignment.

Madelyne consoled herself with the knowledge that each mile north was a mile closer to her own secret destination. Before Baron Wexton interfered with her plans, Madelyne had been planning for her own escape. She was going to journey into Scotland to her cousin Edwythe’s home. She realized she’d been naive to think she was capable of such an undertaking. Aye, she realized her folly now, even admitted that she wouldn’t have lasted more than a day or so on her own, riding the only mare in Louddon’s stable that wouldn’t unseat her. The mare, swaybacked and quite old, wouldn’t have had the stamina for such a journey. Without a strong horse and suitable clothing, the escape would have been a form of suicide. And the hastily drawn map from Simon’s faulty memory would have led her in circles.

Though she admitted it was a fool’s dream, she decided she’d have to hold on to it. Madelyne grasped at the glimmer of hope simply because it was all she had. Duncan surely lived within shouting distance of Scotland’s border. How much farther could it be to her cousin’s new home? Perhaps she could even walk there.

The obstacles would overwhelm her if she allowed them leverage. Madelyne pushed reason aside and concentrated instead on the list of what she’d need. A capable horse came first, provisions second, and God’s blessing last. Madelyne decided she had the order of importance twisted, put God first and horse last, when she caught sight of Duncan moving to the center of the camp. Lord, wasn’t he the biggest obstacle of all? Aye, Duncan, part man, part wolf, would be the most difficult obstacle to get around.

Duncan hadn’t said one word to her since they’d left Louddon’s fortress. Madelyne had worried herself sick over his fiercely made statement that she now belonged to him. And just what was that supposed to mean? She wished she had the courage to demand an explanation. Yet the baron was so cold, so remote now, and much too frightening for her to approach.

Lord, she was exhausted. She couldn’t worry about him now. When she was rested, she’d find a way to escape. It was the duty of a captive, wasn’t it?

She knew she was unskilled in such matters. What good was it that she could read and write? No one would ever know of her unusual ability, as it was highly unacceptable for a woman to have such schooling. Why, the majority of noblemen could not write their own names. They relied on the holy men to do such meaningless tasks for them.

Madelyne certainly didn’t blame her uncle for her lack of training. The dear priest had taken great pleasure in teaching her all the ancient stories. Her favorite was the tale about Odysseus. The mythological warrior had become Madelyne’s companion when she was a young girl and terribly frightened all the time. She’d pretend Odysseus was sitting beside her during the long, dark nights. He helped her ease her fear that Louddon would come and take her back home.

Louddon! Even his black name made her stomach tighten up. Aye, he was the true reason Madelyne lacked all the skills necessary for survival. She couldn’t even ride a horse, for God’s sake. He was to blame too. Her brother had taken her riding a few times, when she was six years old, and Madelyne still remembered the outings as clearly as if they’d taken place the day before. Why, she’d made such a fool of herself, or so Louddon screamed, bouncing around the saddle like a clump of hay barely tied in place.

And when he realized how frightened she was, he’d tied her to the saddle and slapped the horse into racing through the countryside.

Her terror had excited her brother. It wasn’t until Madelyne finally learned to mask her fear that Louddon stopped this sadistic game.

For as long as she could remember, Madelyne knew her father and her brother disliked her, and she tried every way she knew how to make them love her just a little. When she turned eight years old, she was sent to Father Berton, her mother’s younger brother, for a short visitation that turned into long, peaceful years. Father Berton was the only living relative on her mother’s side of the family. The priest did his best to raise her, and he constantly told her, until she almost believed him, that it was her father and her brother who were lacking, not her.

Oh, her uncle was a good, loving man, whose gentle ways spilled over into Madelyne’s character. He taught her many things, none of them tangible, and he did love her, as much as any real father could love his daughter. He explained to her that Louddon despised all women, but in her heart Madelyne didn’t believe him. Her brother cared about his older sisters. Both Clarissa and Sara had been sent to fine manors to gain their proper education, and each had an impressive dowry to take to their marriages, although only Clarissa had married.

Father Berton also told Madelyne that her father wanted nothing to do with her because she looked so much like her mother, a gentle woman he’d married and then turned against almost as soon as the vows had been exchanged. Uncle didn’t know the reason for her father’s change in attitude, but placed the blame on his soul all the same.

Madelyne barely remembered the early years, though a warm feeling filled her when she thought about her mother. Louddon hadn’t been there very often to taunt her, and she’d been well protected by her mother’s love.

Only Louddon held the answers to her questions. Perhaps he’d explain it all to her one day and then she’d understand. And with understanding would come the healing, wouldn’t it?

Lord, I must put these dour thoughts aside, Madelyne decided. She scooted off the boulder and then walked around the campsite, keeping well away from the men.

When she turned and went off into the dense forest, no one followed, and she was able to take care of her body’s demands. Madelyne was on her way back when she spotted a small stream. The top was crusted over but Madelyne used a stick to break through the ice. Kneeling down, she washed her hands and her face. The water was frigid enough to make her fingertips wrinkle, but the clear liquid tasted wonderful.

Madelyne felt someone standing behind her. She turned, so quickly she almost lost her balance. It was Duncan towering over her. “Come, Madelyne. ’Tis time to rest.”

He didn’t give her time to answer his command but reached down and pulled her to her feet. His big, callused hand enveloped both of hers. His hold was firm, yet his touch gentle, and he didn’t let go of her until they’d reached the opening of his tent, a strange-looking affair consisting of wild animal skins braced into an arch by thick, unyielding branches. The skins would block the rising wind. Another gray fur had been placed on the ground inside the tent, obviously meant to be used as a pallet. The glow from the nearest fire cast dancing shadows on top of the skins, making the tent look warm and inviting.

Duncan motioned for Madelyne to get inside. She quickly complied. She couldn’t seem to get settled though. The animal skins had absorbed much of the ground’s dampness and Madelyne felt as if she were draped upon a block of ice.

Duncan stood there, his arms folded against his massive chest, watching her try to get comfortable. Madelyne kept her expression contained. She vowed she’d die before offering him one word of complaint.

All of a sudden Duncan pulled her to her feet again, very nearly upsetting the tent in his haste. He took her cloak from her shoulders, knelt down on one knee, and spread the garment on top of the animal skins.

Madelyne didn’t understand his intent. She had thought the tent was for her, but Duncan settled himself inside, stretching out to his full length, taking up most of the space. Madelyne started to turn away, infuriated over the way he’d claimed her cloak for his own comfort. Why hadn’t he just left her back at Louddon’s fortress if he meant to freeze her to death, instead of dragging her halfway across the world?

She didn’t even have time to gasp. Duncan snared her with lightning speed. Madelyne fell on top of him and let out a groan of protest. She’d barely gotten fresh air and new outrage back into her chest before Duncan rolled to his side, taking her with him. He threw his cape over the two of them, trapping her inside his embrace. Her face was up against the base of his neck, the top of her head caught just under his chin.

Madelyne immediately tried to get away, horrified by such an intimate position. She used every ounce of energy she possessed, but Duncan’s hold was too strong to be broken.

“I cannot breathe,” she muttered against his neck.

“Yes you can,” Duncan answered.

She thought she heard amusement in his voice. That infuriated her almost as much as his overbearing attitude. How dare he decide if she could breathe or not?

Madelyne was too upset to be frightened. She suddenly realized her hands were still free of restraint. Madelyne slapped his shoulders until her palms were stinging. Duncan had removed his hauberk before entering the tent. Only a cotton shirt covered his massive chest now. The thin material was stretched snugly over his wide shoulders, outlining his thick muscles. Madelyne could feel the strength radiating through the soft fabric. Lord, there wasn’t an ounce of fat to grab hold of and pinch. His skin was as inflexible as his stubborn nature.

There was one distinct difference, however. Duncan’s chest felt warm against her cheek, almost hot, and terribly inviting to snuggle up against. He smelled good, too, like leather and male, and Madelyne couldn’t help but react. She was exhausted. Aye, that was the reason his closeness was having such an unsettling effect on her. Why, her heart was racing.

His breath heated the side of her neck, comforting her. How could that be? She was so confused; nothing was making sense to her anymore. Madelyne shook her head, determined to shake the sleepy feeling invading her good intentions, and then grabbed hold of his shirt and began to pull on it.

Duncan must have become bored with her struggles. She heard him sigh just seconds before he trapped her hands and slid them under his shirt, flattening her palms against his chest. The thick mat of hair covering his warm skin made her fingertips tingle.

How could she feel so warm when it was so cold outside? His nearness was an erotic, sensual pull to her senses, flooding her with feelings she hadn’t known she possessed. Aye, it was erotic, which certainly made it sinful, obscene, too, because his pelvis was smashed up against the junction of her legs. She could feel his hardness there, nestled so intimately against her. Her gown proved inadequate protection against his manhood, and her inexperience gave her no protection at all against the strange, bewildering feelings he provoked. Why didn’t she feel sickened by his touch? In truth, Madelyne didn’t feel sick at all, only breathless.

A horrid thought entered her mind and she gasped out loud. Wasn’t this the hold a man used when he coupled with a woman? Madelyne fretted over that thought a long moment and then discarded the fear. She remembered the woman had to be flat on her back, and though she wasn’t certain of the exact way of it, she didn’t believe she was in real danger. She’d overheard Marta visiting with the other servants and remembered that the coarse woman had always begun every lusty adventure with the remark that she had been flat on her back. Aye, Madelyne recalled with acute relief, Marta had been most specific. “Flat on me back I was,” she always began. Madelyne regretted now that she hadn’t stayed to hear the rest of the woman’s bold tales.

Lord, she was lacking in that area of her education too. She got angry then, for a decent lady shouldn’t have had such a worry anyway.

It was all Duncan’s fault, of course. Did he hold her so intimately just to mock her? Madelyne was close enough to feel the strength in his powerful thighs trying to flatten her own. He could crush her if he had a mind for it. Madelyne shivered over that picture and immediately quit her struggles. She didn’t want to provoke the barbarian. At least her hands protected her breasts. She was thankful for that much. Her gratitude was short-lived, however, for as soon as she thought to be appreciative, Duncan shifted his weight, and then her breasts were plastered up against him as well. Her nipples hardened, shaming her all the more.

Duncan suddenly moved again. “What the devil …” He roared the unfinished question against Madelyne’s ear. She didn’t know what caused his outburst, only that she was going to be deaf for the rest of her life.

When Duncan jumped, muttering an expletive she couldn’t help but catch, Madelyne moved away. She watched Duncan out of the corner of her eye. Her captor had lifted himself up on one elbow and was searching for something underneath him.

Madelyne remembered the squire’s dagger she’d hidden in the lining of her cloak just as Duncan lifted the weapon.

She couldn’t help but frown.

Duncan couldn’t help but grin.

Madelyne was so surprised by his spontaneous smile, she almost smiled back. Then she happened to notice his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She decided she’d best not smile after all.

“For a timid creature, you’re proving to be resourceful, Madelyne.”

His voice was so mild. Had he just given her praise or was he mocking her? Madelyne couldn’t make up her mind. She decided not to tell him she’d forgotten about the weapon. He’d certainly think her foolish if she admitted that truth.

“You’re the one who captured me,” she reminded him. “If I’ve proven to be resourceful, it is only because I am honor bound to escape. ’Tis the duty of a captive.”

Duncan frowned.

“Does my honesty offend you, milord?” Madelyne asked. “Then perhaps it would be best if I didn’t speak to you at all. I would like to go to sleep now,” she added. “And I’m going to try to forget you’re even here.”

To prove she meant what she said, Madelyne closed her eyes.

“Come here, Madelyne.”

The softly issued command sent a tremor of dread down her spine, and a knot settled in the pit of her stomach. He was doing it again, she decided, scaring the breath right out of her. And she was getting sick of it. Madelyne didn’t believe there was much fear left inside her. She opened her eyes to look at him, and when she saw the dagger was now pointed in her direction, she realized she still had quite a store of fear left after all.

What a coward I am, Madelyne thought as she slowly moved closer to Duncan. She rested on her side, facing him, just a few inches away.

“There, does that please you?” she said.

She guessed it hadn’t pleased him much at all, when she suddenly found herself flat on her back, with Duncan looming over her. Why, he was so close, she could actually see the silver flecks in his gray eyes.

Eyes were supposed to echo the thoughts of the mind, Madelyne had heard, yet she couldn’t tell what Duncan was thinking. That worried her.

Duncan watched Madelyne. He was both amused and irritated by the confusion of emotions she unwillingly showed him. He knew she was afraid of him. Yet she didn’t weep or plead with him. And Lord, she was beautiful. There was a sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Duncan thought the flaw most appealing. Her mouth was appealing too. He wondered how she’d taste to him and could feel himself becoming aroused just by the thought.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” Madelyne asked.

“Perhaps I will,” Duncan answered. “If I wish to,” he added, smiling at the way she tried not to frown at him.

“Then I’ll have to look at you all night,” Madelyne answered.

“And why is that, Madelyne?” His voice was soft and husky.

“If you think to take advantage of me while I sleep, you’re mistaken, Baron.”

She looked so indignant. “And how will I take advantage of you, Madelyne?”

He was smiling at her now, a true grin it was, reflected in the depths of his eyes.

Madelyne wished she’d kept silent. Lord, she was putting obscene ideas into his head.

“I’d rather not discuss this issue,” she stammered out. “Aye, forget I said anything, if you please.”

“But I don’t please,” Duncan answered. “Do you think I’ll satisfy my lust this night and take you while you rest?”

Duncan lowered his head until he was just a scant breath away from Madelyne’s face. He was pleased to see her blush, even grunted his approval.

Madelyne was as still as a doe, trapped by her own worries.

“You wouldn’t touch me,” she suddenly blurted out. “Surely you’re too tired to think of such … and we are camped out in the open … nay, you wouldn’t touch me,” she ended.

“Perhaps.”

And just what did that mean? She saw the mysterious gleam in his eye. Was he gaining true pleasure over her obvious distress.

She decided she wasn’t going to be taken advantage of without giving him a good fight. With that thought in mind, she struck him, aiming her fist just below his right eye. Her mark was true, but she thought she received more pain than he did. She was the one who cried out in pain. Duncan didn’t even flinch. Lord, she’d probably broken her hand and all for nothing.

“You are made of stone,” Madelyne muttered.

“Why did you do that?” Duncan asked, his tone curious.

“To let you know I’ll fight you to the death if you try to have your way with me,” Madelyne stammered. She thought it was a brave speech, but the force of it was ruined by her shaky voice. She sighed, discouraged.

Duncan smiled again. “To the death, Madelyne?”

From the horrible look on his face, Madelyne decided he found the idea pleasing.

“You jump to conclusions,” Duncan commented. “’Tis a flaw, that.”

“You threatened,” Madelyne countered. “’Tis a bigger flaw, that.”

“Nay,” he argued. “You suggested.”

“I’m sister of your enemy,” Madelyne reminded him, pleased by the frown her reminder provoked. “You can’t change that fact,” she added for good measure.

The tension went right out of her shoulders. She should have thought of that argument sooner.

“But with my eyes closed, I’ll not know if you’re Louddon’s sister or not,” Duncan said. “It’s rumored that you lived with a defrocked priest and that you played the whore for him. Yet in the dark, that wouldn’t bother me. All women are the same when it comes to bedding.”

She wished she could hit him again. Madelyne was so outraged over such evil gossip, her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that Father Berton was in good standing with his God and his church, and that he happened to be her uncle as well. The priest was the only one who cared about her. The only one who loved her. How dare Duncan stain her uncle’s reputation?

“Who told you these stories?” Madelyne asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Duncan could see how his words wounded her. He knew then that all the stories were just as he suspected. False. Madelyne couldn’t hide her pain from him. Besides, he’d already recognized her innocence.

Madelyne was shattered by his malicious words. “Do you think I’m going to try to convince you that the gossip you’ve heard about me isn’t true?” she asked. “Well, think again, Baron. Believe what you will. If you think I’m a whore, then whore I am.”

Her outburst was vehement, the first real display of anger Duncan had witnessed since taking her captive. He found himself mesmerized by those incredible blue eyes, flashing with such indignation. Aye, she was innocent all right.

He decided to end their conversation so that Madelyne would be saved further distress. “Go to sleep,” he commanded her.

“How can I sleep with the fear you’ll take advantage of me during the night?” she asked.

“Do you actually think you’d be able to sleep through it?” Duncan asked. His voice sounded incredulous. Lord, she’d insulted him, yet he realized she was too naive to know it. Duncan shook his head. “If I decide to take advantage of you, as you describe it, I promise to wake you first. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”

He pulled Madelyne into his arms, forcing her back up against his chest. His arm circled her in an intimate way, resting against the swell of her breasts. And then he threw the cloak over both of them, determined to dismiss her from his mind.

It was easier said than done. The scent of roses clung to Madelyne, and she felt so soft against him. Her nearness all but intoxicated him. Duncan knew it would be a long while before sleep claimed him.

“What would you call it?” Madelyne’s question came to him from beneath the cover. Her voice was muffled but he caught every word. Duncan had to recount their conversation before he thought he understood what she was asking him.

“Taking advantage?” he asked, clarifying her question.

He felt her nod. “Rape.” Duncan muttered the foul word against the top of her head.

Madelyne jerked upward, hitting his chin in her haste. Duncan’s patience was wearing thin. He decided he never should have spoken to her. “I have never forced myself on any woman, Madelyne. Your virtue is safe enough. Now, go to sleep.”

“Never?” Madelyne whispered her question.

“Never!” Duncan shouted his answer.

Madelyne believed him. Odd, but she felt safe now and knew he wouldn’t harm her while she slept. His nearness was starting to comfort her again.

She was soon drugged sleepy by his warmth. She snuggled closer to Duncan, heard him groan when she wiggled her backside against him to get more comfortable, and wondered what was bothering him now. When he grabbed hold of her hips and held them still, she assumed her movement was keeping him awake.

Her shoes had fallen off and she slowly slipped her feet between Duncan’s calves to gain more of his heat. She was careful not to wiggle too much for fear she’d irritate him again.

His warm breath heated the side of her neck. Madelyne closed her eyes and sighed. She knew she should resist the temptation, but his warmth pulled at her, lulled her. She remembered one of her favorite stories about Odysseus and his adventures with the Sirens. Aye, Duncan’s warmth wooed her just like the song those mythological nymphs sang to lure Odysseus and his soldiers to certain destruction. Odysseus had outwitted the Sirens by stuffing wax into the men’s ears to block out the irresistible sound.

Madelyne wished she were as clever and resourceful as the epic warrior.

The wind whistled and moaned a forlorn tune around her, but Madelyne was well protected, held tightly in the arms of her captor. She closed her eyes and accepted the truth then. The Siren’s song had captured her.

She awakened only once during the night. The back of her was warm enough, but her chest and arms were freezing. Ever so slowly, so as not to disturb Duncan, Madelyne turned in his arms. She cushioned the side of her cheek on his shoulder and slipped her hands beneath his shirt.

She wasn’t completely awake, and when Duncan began to rub his chin against her forehead, Madelyne sighed with contentment and snuggled closer. His whiskers tickled her nose. Madelyne tilted her head back and slowly opened her eyes.

Duncan was watching her. His expression was unguarded, so warm and tender. His mouth looked hard though; she wondered what it would feel like if he kissed her.

Neither said a word, but when Madelyne moved toward Duncan, he met her halfway.

Madelyne tasted as good as he knew she would. God, she was soft, inviting. She wasn’t completely awake and therefore didn’t resist him, though her mouth wasn’t opened enough for him to penetrate. Duncan solved that problem quickly by forcing her chin down with his thumb, and then thrust his tongue inside before Madelyne could guess his intent.

He caught her gasp and gave her his groan.

When Madelyne timidly used her own tongue to stroke his, Duncan rolled her to her back, settling himself between her legs. His hands cupped the sides of her face, holding her still for his tender assault.

Madelyne’s hands were trapped under Duncan’s shirt. Her fingers began to caress his chest, teasing his skin into a fever.

Duncan wanted to learn all her secrets, to satisfy himself, then and there, and all because Madelyne was so wonderfully responsive.

The kiss turned so hot, so consuming, Duncan knew he was in danger of losing control. His mouth slanted over Madelyne’s again and again, his tongue penetrating, stroking, taking. God, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

It was the most incredible kiss he’d ever experienced, and he wouldn’t have stopped if she hadn’t started trembling. A soft whimper came from deep in her throat. The sensual sound nearly pushed reason aside.

Madelyne was too stunned to react when Duncan abruptly pulled away from her. He rested on his back, with his eyes closed, and the only indication he gave of their kiss was his harsh, uneven breathing.

Madelyne didn’t know what to do. Lord, she was so ashamed of herself. Whatever had come over her? She’d acted so wanton, so … common. And she could tell from the frown on Duncan’s face that she hadn’t pleased him.

Madelyne felt like weeping.

“Duncan?” She thought her voice sounded as if she were already crying.

He didn’t answer, but his sigh told her he’d heard her call his name.

“I’m sorry.”

He was so surprised by her apology, he turned back to his side to look at her. The ache in his loins was painful and he couldn’t keep the scowl from his face.

“Sorry for what?” he demanded, irritated that his voice sounded so harsh.

He knew he’d frightened her again, because Madelyne immediately turned her back to him. She was shaking enough for Duncan to notice too. He was about to reach out and pull her back into his arms, when she finally answered him.

“For taking advantage of you.”

He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. It was the most ridiculous apology he’d ever been given.

A slow smile overcame Duncan’s scowl. Lord, he felt like laughing now, would have given in to the urge, too, if Madelyne hadn’t sounded so damn sincere. His desire to guard her feelings kept his laughter contained, however. Duncan didn’t understand his reason for wanting to protect her feelings, but it was there, nagging at him.

He let out a long-drawn-out groan. Madelyne heard him and immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was thoroughly disgusted with her. “I promise you, Duncan, it won’t happen again.”

Duncan put his arm around Madelyne’s waist and pulled her up against him. “And I promise you that it will, Madelyne.”

She thought it sounded like a vow.

Chapter Four

Evil is the man who has known honor and discarded it.

Baron Louddon was only a half day’s hard ride from where Duncan and his soldiers were camped. Luck was on Louddon’s side, for he was able to ride during the night hours by the light of a full, bright moon. His soldiers equaled Duncan’s men in loyalty and numbers, and not one complained over this sudden turnabout in plans.

A half-mad servant had chased them down to give them the news of Duncan’s foul deed. They had all returned to Louddon’s fortress then. All had witnessed the message left by Baron Wexton. Aye, all had seen the mutilated bodies of those soldiers left behind to guard Louddon’s domain. The men joined together in outrage and vengeance, and every one of them vowed to be the one to kill Duncan.

The fact that they had all joined with Louddon and acted with treachery toward Baron Wexton was ignored now; they concentrated, instead, on avenging their leader.

Louddon had been quick to decide to go after Duncan. His reason was twofold. Foremost was the realization that his own plan to destroy Baron Wexton by dishonorable means would be unveiled, making him a coward to be ridiculed in court. Duncan would alert William II, and the king, though he favored Louddon, would nevertheless be forced to issue a battle to the death between the adversaries in order to end what he’d probably deem a petty difference of opinion. The king, called Rufus, the Red, because of his fiery face and disposition, would certainly be irritated over the squabble. Louddon knew, too, that if he had to face Duncan alone on a field of battle, he’d come out the loser. Baron Wexton was an invincible warrior who had shown his ability countless times. Aye, Duncan would kill him if given the chance.

Louddon was a well-skilled man, yet it was in areas that would give him little aid against the likes of Duncan. Louddon was a power to be reckoned with in court. He acted the role of secretary of sorts, though he couldn’t read or write and left those mundane matters to the two priests in residence. When the king was holding court, Louddon’s primary duty was to sort out those who had true business with the king, and those who didn’t. It was a powerful position. Louddon was a master manipulator. He instilled fear into those lesser-titled men who willingly paid for the opportunity to speak to their king. He paved the way for these eager men, lining his pockets with their gold.

Now, if his attempt to kill Duncan became known, he could lose everything.

Madelyne’s brother was considered to be a handsome man. Blond hair with nary a crinkle of curl to mar the shine, hazel eyes with chips of gold, tall as well, though reed-thin, with perfectly sculptured lips. And when he smiled, the ladies at court all but swooned. Louddon’s sisters, Clarissa and Sara, shared the same color of wheat-white hair and hazel eyes. They were almost as pretty as Louddon was, and just as sought after.

Louddon was known as a most available bachelor and could have his pick of any woman in England. He didn’t want just any woman though. He wanted Madelyne. His stepsister was the second reason Louddon chased after Duncan. Madelyne had returned home to him only two months past, and after having forgotten her for most of her growing years, he’d been given a shock when he saw the remarkable changes in her appearance. She’d been such an ugly child. Large blue eyes had swallowed up most of her face. Her lower lip had been too full, her expression set to pouting most of the time, and she’d been so skinny as to look sickly. Aye, Madelyne had been such an awkward child, with long, bony legs that caused her to stumble whenever she tried to curtsy.

Louddon had certainly misjudged her potential. In childhood there had been no sign in her appearance suggesting she might one day look so much like her mother. Madelyne had turned from embarrassment to beauty, so lovely, in fact, as to outshine her stepsisters.

Who would have thought such a miracle could happen? The timid caterpillar had changed into a lovely butterfly. Louddon’s friends also had been quite speechless when they’d first seen her. Morcar, Louddon’s closest confidant, had even begged him for Madelyne’s hand in marriage, putting pounds of gold in front of his petition.

Louddon didn’t know if he could let Madelyne go to another man. She was so like her mother. When he first saw her, he’d reacted physically. It was the first such stirring for a woman in so many years, Louddon was all but undone by it. Only Madelyne’s mother had been able to affect him in such a way. Ah, Rachael, the love of his heart. She had ruined him for other women. He couldn’t have Rachael now; his temper had stolen her from him. Louddon had believed his obsession would end with her death. A foolish hope, he now admitted. No, the obsession lived on. Madelyne. His stepsister could well be his second chance at proving himself a man.

Louddon was a man tormented. He couldn’t decide between his greed and his lust. He wanted Madelyne for his own use, but wanted the gold she’d bring too. Perhaps, he thought, if he was shrewd enough, he could have both.

Madelyne awakened in the most awkward position. She was on top of Duncan. The side of her face rested on his hard, flat stomach, her legs were entwined with his, and her hands were wedged between his thighs.

Because of her sleepy state of mind, Madelyne didn’t immediately realize exactly where her hands were resting. Duncan felt so warm, though … so hard. Oh, Lord, her hands were snuggled against the most private part of him.

Madelyne’s eyes flew open. She tensed against her captor, not daring to even breathe. Let him be sleeping, she prayed frantically as she slowly edged her hands away from his heat.

“So you’re finally awake.”

Duncan knew he’d given her a fright when she jerked against him. Her hands slammed into the junction of his legs. Duncan groaned in reaction. Hell, she’d make him a eunuch if he gave her half the chance.

Madelyne rolled to her side, daring a quick look up at Duncan. She thought she probably should apologize for accidentally bumping him there, but then he’d know she was quite aware of just where her hands had been, wouldn’t he?

Oh, heavens, she could feel herself blushing. And Duncan was frowning again this morning. He didn’t look disposed to listening to any apology she made anyway, so she put the worry aside.

He looked ferocious. Aye, the new growth of dark brown beard actually made him look more like a wolf than a man, and he was watching her with a curiosity she found unnerving. His hands continued to span her back. She remembered then how he’d warmed her throughout the night. He could have just as easily harmed her. Madelyne realized she was trying to encourage her fear of him, yet was honest enough to admit that the truth was really quite the opposite. Oh, Duncan did frighten her, but not in the same way Louddon did.

Today was the first time in weeks, since she’d returned to her brother’s home in fact, that she hadn’t awakened with a sick knot of fear lodged in her stomach. She knew the reason too; it was because Louddon wasn’t there.

Duncan wasn’t like Louddon at all. Nay, a man who wished to inflict cruelty certainly wouldn’t have shared his warmth while they slept. And he’d kept his word too. He hadn’t taken advantage … dear God, she’d kissed him. She suddenly remembered every bit of it with a clarity that sent her pulse racing.

Thank the Lord she’d learned to hide her feelings. Madelyne was certain her expression wasn’t giving her horrible thoughts away. That was a bit of grace, wasn’t it? Aye, she thought with a little sigh. Duncan couldn’t possibly know what she was thinking.

Duncan watched Madelyne, secretly amused by the way she showed him one emotion after another. Her eyes gave her away; in the past few minutes he’d seen fear, embarrassment, and, he thought, relief as well.

He was a man conditioned to finding the flaws in others. As a warrior, knowing what was in his opponent’s mind quickened his own reactions. He had also learned to find out what his enemy most valued. And then he would take it away. It was the way of fighting men, yet those lessons had spilled over into his personal relationships as well. It wasn’t possible to separate the two. And though Madelyne was unaware of it, she’d already given him important hints about her character. She was a woman who valued control. Keeping her emotions hidden seemed an important quest. Madelyne had already shown him that not all women were ruled by their emotions. Only once during the destruction of her home did she show any outward reaction. She’d screamed in anguish when she saw the mutilated body of Louddon’s vassal. Yet Duncan doubted Madelyne even knew she’d lost control.

Aye, Duncan was learning all of Madelyne’s secrets, and what he’d learned thus far perplexed him. God’s truth, she pleased him too.

Duncan moved away from Madelyne, else the urge to take her back into his arms and kiss her again would become too strong to ignore. He was suddenly very eager to get home. He wouldn’t feel at ease until he had Madelyne safely protected behind the walls of his fortress.

Duncan stood, stretched his muscles awake, and then walked away from Madelyne, all but dismissing her from his mind. The sun was climbing into the milky clouds above, clouds that would surely block any heat to melt the night’s frost covering the ground. There was much to do before the light was sufficient for their journey. Though the new day was already bitter with chill, the wind was mild enough to please Duncan.

Madelyne knew they’d ride soon. She put on her shoes, brushed the dirt from her gown, and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. She knew she looked a sight and decided she’d have to do something about it.

Madelyne went in search of Ansel. The squire was readying Duncan’s stallion. Madelyne asked him where her satchel was, though she stood a safe distance from the great beast and had to yell her question, and then thanked the boy profusely when he threw the bag over to her.

She was only going to wash the sleep from her eyes, but the clear water was too tempting. Madelyne used the scented soap she’d packed in her satchel to give herself a quick bath and then changed her gown.

Lord, it was cold. Madelyne was shivering by the time she finished dressing. She wore a pale yellow ankle-length chainse with a rich gold-colored knee-length bliaut over it. A band of royal blue needlework circled the long sleeves of the tunic.

Madelyne repacked her satchel and then knelt down by the stream and began to brush the tangles from her hair. Now that she was rested, and her mind wasn’t consumed with fear, she had plenty of time to think about her situation. The uppermost question was to find out why Duncan had taken her with him. He had told her she belonged to him. Madelyne didn’t understand what he had meant by that remark, yet was too timid to ask him to explain.

Gilard came to fetch Madelyne. She heard his approach and turned in time to watch his approach.

“It’s time to ride,” Gilard bellowed. The force of his voice nearly pushed her into the water. Gilard hastily reached out and yanked her to her feet, inadvertently saving her from disgrace.

“I’ve still to plait my hair, Gilard. Then I’ll be ready. And you really needn’t shout at me,” she added, deliberately keeping her voice soft. “My hearing is actually quite good.”

“Your hair? You’ve still to …” Gilard was too stunned to continue. He gave Madelyne a look that suggested she’d lost her mind. “You’re our captive, for God’s sake,” he finally managed to stammer out.

“I had surmised as much,” Madelyne answered. She sounded as serene as the morning breeze. “But does that mean I may or may not finish arranging my hair before we ride?”

“Are you trying to goad me?” Gilard shouted. “Lady Madelyne, you’re in a tenuous position at best. Are you too simpleminded to realize it?”

Madelyne shook her head. “Why are you so angry with me? You shout every word. Is it your usual custom, or is it because I’m Louddon’s sister?”

Gilard didn’t immediately answer. His face turned a blotchy red though. Madelyne knew she was infuriating him. She was sorry for it, yet decided to continue to bait him all the same. Gilard obviously lacked control over his temper, and if she could nudge him enough, perhaps he’d tell her what was going to happen to her. Gilard was much easier to understand than his brother. And so much easier to manipulate, if she was clever enough.

“Why was I taken captive?” she blurted out. The blunt-ness of her question made her wince. She hadn’t been very clever after all, and was therefore quite surprised when Gilard actually answered her.

“Your brother set the terms of this war, Madelyne. You know that well enough.”

“I don’t know anything well enough,” Madelyne protested. “Explain it to me, if you please. I would like to understand.”

“Why do you play the innocent with me?” Gilard demanded. “Everyone in England knows what has taken place over the past year.”

“Not everyone, Gilard,” Madelyne returned. “I only just returned to my brother’s home two months ago. And I lived in a most isolated area for many years.”

“Aye, that is right,” Gilard sneered. “Lived with your defrocked priest, I understand.”

Madelyne could feel her composure slipping. She wanted to scream at the arrogant vassal now. Did everyone in England believe that horrible rumor?

“Very well,” Gilard announced. He seemed ignorant of Madelyne’s fury now. “I will tell you all the truths, and then you’ll not be able to pretend any longer. Louddon’s soldiers attacked two holdings belonging to Duncan’s loyal vassals. In each attack there was needless slaughter of women and children. The vassals weren’t given any warning either; your brother pretended friendship until his men were inside the fortresses.”

“Why? Why would Louddon do such a thing? What could he hope to gain?”

She tried not to show how appalled she was by Gilard’s words. Madelyne knew her brother was capable of such treachery, yet couldn’t understand his motive. “Surely Louddon knew that Duncan, as overlord, would retaliate.”

“Aye, that was his hope, Madelyne. He’s been trying to kill Duncan,” he added with an obscene laugh. “Your brother is greedy for power. He has only to fear one other man in England. Duncan. They are equal in power. Louddon is known to have the king’s ear, true, but Duncan’s soldiers are the fittest warriors in all the world. The king values my brother’s loyalty as much as he values Louddon’s friendship.”

“The king allowed this treachery?” Madelyne asked.

“William refuses to act without proof,” Gilard answered. His voice sounded his disgust. “He defends neither Louddon nor Duncan. I can promise you this, Lady Madelyne. When our king returns from Normandy, he’ll not be able to evade the problem any longer.”

“Then Duncan hasn’t been able to act on his vassals’ behalf?” Madelyne asked. “That is the reason my brother’s home was destroyed instead?”

“You’re naive if you believe Duncan didn’t retaliate. He ousted the bastards from his vassals’ holdings immediately.”

“In kind, Gilard?” Madelyne whispered her question. “Did Duncan also kill the innocent as well as the guilty?”

“Nay,” Gilard answered. “The women and children were left alone. We Wextons aren’t butchers, Madelyne, regardless of what your brother has told you. And our men don’t hide behind false colors when they attack either.”

“Louddon has told me nothing,” Madelyne protested again. “You forget that I am only a sister. I’m not worthy enough to be privy to his thoughts.” Her shoulders sagged. Lord, there was so much to think over, so much to reason out. “What will happen if the king takes Louddon’s side? What will happen to your brother?”

Gilard heard the fear in her voice. Why, she was acting as though she cared about Duncan. That made little sense, considering her position as captive. Lady Madelyne would confuse him if he allowed it. “Duncan is a man of little patience, and when your brother dared to touch a Wexton, he sealed his fate. My brother won’t wait for the king to return to England so that he can command a battle to the death with your bastard brother. Nay, Duncan is going to kill Louddon, with or without the king’s blessing.”

“What do you mean when you say Louddon touched a Wexton?” Madelyne asked. “There was another Wexton brother and Louddon killed him?” she surmised.

“Ah, so you pretend you know nothing about Adela either, is that the way of this game?” Gilard demanded.

A knot of dread settled in Madelyne’s stomach, for she’d caught the frightening look in Gilard’s eyes. “Please,” she whispered, her head bowed against his hatred, “I must know all of this. Who is Adela?”

“Our sister.”

Madelyne’s head jerked up. “You would war because of a sister?” she asked.

She looked quite astonished. Gilard didn’t know what to make of such a reaction. “Our sister went to court, and while she was there, Louddon caught her alone. He raped her, Madelyne, and beat her so brutally it is a miracle she survived. Her body has healed, but her mind is broken.”

Madelyne’s composure snapped. She turned her back on Gilard so he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Gilard,” she whispered.

“And you believe what I’ve just told you?” Gilard demanded, his voice harsh. He wanted to make certain Lady Madelyne wouldn’t be able to deny the truth any longer.

“A part of this story, aye,” Madelyne answered. “Louddon is capable of beating a woman to death. I do not know if he could rape a woman, though, but if you say it is the truth, I will believe you. My brother is an evil man. I’ll not give him my defense.”

“Then what is it you don’t believe?” Gilard asked, back to shouting again.

“You make me think you value your sister,” Madelyne confessed. “That is the confusion.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“Do you rage against me because Louddon dishonored the Wexton name or because you actually love your sister?”

Gilard was enraged by such an obscene question. He grabbed hold of Madelyne and jerked her around to face him. His hands painfully gripped her shoulders. “Of course I love my sister,” he shouted. “An eye for an eye, Madelyne. We have taken away from your brother that which he most values. You! He’ll come after you, and when he does, he’ll die.”

“So I am responsible for my brother’s sins?”

“You are a pawn to draw the demon out,” Gilard answered.

“There is a flaw in this plan,” Madelyne whispered. Her voice sounded with shame. “Louddon won’t come after me. I’m not significant enough to him.”

“Louddon isn’t a fool,” Gilard said, infuriated because he suddenly realized Madelyne meant what she said.

Neither Madelyne nor Gilard heard Duncan approach. “Take your hands off her, Gilard. Now!”

Gilard was quick to comply, even took a step back, putting distance between himself and their captive.

Duncan started toward his brother, intending to find out why Madelyne was weeping. He let Gilard see how furious he was.

Madelyne placed herself between the two brothers. She faced Duncan. “He didn’t harm me,” she said. “Your brother was only explaining how I am to be used. That is all.”

Duncan could see the pain in Madelyne’s eyes, yet before he could question her, she turned, picked up her satchel, and then added, “’Tis time to ride.”

She tried to walk through Gilard to get back to their camp. Duncan watched his brother hurry to get out of Madelyne’s way.

The younger brother was looking worried. “She wants me to believe she’s not guilty,” he muttered.

“Did Madelyne tell you that?” Duncan asked.

“Nay, she didn’t,” Gilard admitted with a shrug. “She didn’t defend herself at all, Duncan, but she acted so damn innocent. Hell, I don’t understand. She seemed surprised that we would care about our sister. I think it was a true reaction too. Why, she actually asked me if we valued Adela.”

“And when you answered her?” Duncan asked.

“She seemed all the more perplexed. I don’t understand her,” Gilard muttered. “The sooner this plan is seen through, the better. Lady Madelyne isn’t at all what I expected her to be.”

“She is a contradiction,” Duncan acknowledged. “God’s truth, she doesn’t understand her own value.” He sighed over his observations and then said, “Come, the hour grows old. We’ll be home by nightfall if we make haste.”

Gilard answered the command with a nod and fell into step beside his brother.

On her way back to camp, Madelyne decided she wasn’t going anywhere. She stood in the center of the clearing, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Ansel had taken her satchel and she hadn’t argued with the squire. She didn’t care if her baggage went with Duncan. God’s truth, she didn’t think she cared about anything anymore. She just wanted to be left alone.

Duncan started toward the squire, wanting to finish his battle dress. He motioned for Madelyne to get on his stallion, then continued on. He suddenly stopped and slowly turned back to look at Madelyne, however, disbelieving what he thought he’d seen.

She told him no again. Duncan was so amazed by her show of defiance, he didn’t immediately react. Madelyne shook her head a third time and then abruptly turned and started to walk back into the forest.

“Madelyne!”

Duncan’s roar stopped her. She instinctively turned to look at him, praying inside for the courage to defy him again.

“Get on my horse. Now.”

They stared at each other a long, silent moment. Madelyne then realized everyone else had paused in his duties and was watching. Duncan wouldn’t back down in front of his men. The way he was staring at her told her that much.

Madelyne picked up her skirts and hurried over to stand directly in front of Duncan. The men might be watching, but if she kept her voice soft, they wouldn’t be able to hear what she said to their leader.

“I’m not going with you, Duncan. And if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d realize Louddon won’t come after me. You’re wasting your time. Leave me here.”

“To survive in the wilderness?” Duncan asked, his voice just as whisper-soft as hers had been. “You wouldn’t last an hour.”

“I’ve survived worse situations, milord,” Madelyne answered, straightening her shoulders. “My decision’s made, Baron. I’m not going with you.”

“Madelyne, if a man were to deny my order the way you just have, he wouldn’t live long enough to boast of it. And when I give a command, I expect it to be carried out. Don’t dare shake your head at me again, else I’ll backhand you to the ground in retaliation.”

It was a distasteful bluff on Duncan’s part, and he regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He was gripping her arm, knew that he was inadvertently hurting her when she grimaced in pain. He let go immediately, fully expecting her to run as fast as she could to do his bidding.

Madelyne didn’t move. She stared up at him, that grand composure back on her face, and calmly said, “I’m used to being knocked to the ground, so do your worst. And when I regain my feet, you may strike me down again if that is your wish.”

Her words disturbed him. He knew she was telling the truth. He frowned, infuriated that someone had dared to mistreat her and knew, in his heart, that Louddon was the one who’d meted out the punishment. “Why would your brother—”

“’Tis not important,” Madelyne interrupted before Duncan could finish his question. She was sorry now she’d said anything. Madelyne didn’t want sympathy or pity. All she wanted was to be left alone.

Duncan sighed. “Get on my horse, Madelyne.”

Her temporary bluster of courage deserted her when she saw the muscle in the side of Duncan’s cheek flex. The movement accentuated his clenched jaw.

Duncan made a low, growling sound deep in his throat venting his frustration. He turned her until she was facing the area where his stallion was tethered and gave her a gentle push. “You’ve given me yet another reason to kill Louddon,” he whispered.

Madelyne started to turn around to ask Duncan to explain his remark, but the look in his eyes suggested his patience had worn thin. She accepted the fact that she’d loss this argument. Duncan was determined to take her with him, no matter what she said or did.

She let out a long, sorry sigh and then started to walk toward Duncan’s horse. Most of the soldiers still hadn’t resumed their tasks. They all watched Madelyne. She tried to appear serene. Inside, her heart was beating fast enough to burst. Though the fear of Duncan’s temper weighed heavily upon her peace of mind, there was a greater immediate concern that pricked her now. Duncan’s beast. It was one thing to be grabbed and thrown on top of the huge ugly monster, and quite another to mount without aid.

“What a coward I am,” Madelyne muttered to herself. She copied Father Berton now, for he often spoke to himself, remembered, too, that he once told her no one was more interested in what he had to say than himself. Madelyne actually smiled over that fond remembrance.

“Oh, Father, if you could see me now, how ashamed you’d be. I’ve a demon horse to mount and will surely disgrace myself.”

The irony of her worry finally penetrated her fear. “Why am I worried about disgracing myself, when Duncan’s horse is going to trample me to death? What will I care if they think I’m a coward? I’ll already be dead.”

Her argument helped lessen her fear. Madelyne was beginning to calm down a little, until she noticed the stallion appeared to be watching her. The animal didn’t like what he saw, either, Madelyne concluded, when he began to stomp the ground with his front paws. He even snorted at her. The stupid horse had taken on all the odious characteristics of his master, Madelyne decided.

She gathered her courage and walked over to the stallion’s side. He didn’t like that much and actually tried to nudge her away with his hind flank. Madelyne reached up to grab hold of the saddle, but the horse let out such a whinny, she jumped back.

Madelyne put her hands on her hips in exasperation. “You’re bigger than I am, but certainly not as intelligent.” She was pleased to see the horse actually glanced at her. She knew he couldn’t possibly understand what she was saying, but it made her feel better all the same just to have his attention.

She smiled at the beast while she timidly edged her way to the front.

Once she faced the animal, she pulled on the reins, forcing his head down. And then she began to whisper to him, her voice low, soothing, as she carefully explained her fears. “I’ve never learned the way of riding and that is why I’m so afraid of you. You’re so strong, you could trample me. I’ve not heard your master call you by name, but if you belonged to me, I’d call you Silenus. ’Tis the name of one of my favorite gods from the old stories. Silenus was one of the mighty spirits of nature, wild and untamed, very like yourself. Aye, Silenus is a fitting name for you.”

When she’d finished her one-sided conversation, Madelyne let go of the reins. “I’ve been ordered by your master to climb upon your back, Silenus. Please stand still, for I’m still very afraid of you.”

Duncan had finished his dress. He stood across the clearing now, watching with growing astonishment as Madelyne talked to his horse. He couldn’t hear what she was saying. Lord, she was trying to gain the saddle from the wrong side. He started to shout a warning, certain his horse would bolt, but the words wedged in his throat when he saw Madelyne seat herself on the top of the huge animal. It was all incorrect and certainly strange. He had to sigh over it. Now he understood why Madelyne clung to him when they rode together. She was frightened of his horse. He wondered if her ridiculous fear was confined to his stallion or to all horses.

The skittish stallion hadn’t moved a muscle to disrupt Madelyne’s awkward climb into the saddle. And damn if she didn’t lean down and say something else to the animal once she was settled.

“Did you see what I just saw?” Gilard asked the question from behind Duncan’s back.

Duncan nodded but didn’t turn around. He continued to stare at Madelyne, a smile catching the corners of his mouth.

“Who do you suppose taught her how to ride?” Gilard asked, shaking his head in amusement. “She doesn’t seem to possess the least amount of skill.”

“No one taught her,” Duncan commented. “That much is obvious, Gilard. Odd, but my horse doesn’t seem out of sorts over Madelyne’s lack of education.” He shook his head then and began to walk toward the lady under discussion.

The young squire, Ansel, approached Madelyne from the opposite direction. He had a snicker on his freckled face and began to lecture Madelyne on her inferior abilities. “You’re to mount on the left,” he said with great authority. He took hold of Madelyne’s hand, as if he would pull her to the ground so that she could remount correctly. The stallion began to prance just as Duncan appeared. Ansel’s hand went flying, as did the rest of his body.

“Don’t ever touch her again.” Duncan’s roar followed Ansel to the ground. The squire quickly regained his feet, apparently unscratched from the fall, and nodded his compliance.

The poor lad looked so horrified over displeasing his lord that Madelyne intervened on his behalf. “Your squire was thoughtful enough to instruct me,” she stated. “He wanted to help me back to the ground, for I foolishly forgot in my haste to mount from the proper side.”

Ansel gave Madelyne a grateful look before turning back to bow to his lord. Duncan nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation.

When Madelyne realized Duncan was about to mount Silenus, she squeezed her eyes shut, certain she was about to be hurled to the ground.

Duncan saw Madelyne close her eyes before she turned her face away from him. He shook his head, wondering what in God’s name was the matter with her now, and then gained the saddle and lifted Madelyne into his lap in one swift action.

Madelyne was wrapped in his thick cloak and settled against his chest before she could worry over the deed.

“You’re no better than Louddon,” Madelyne muttered to herself. “Think I didn’t notice that you didn’t even take the time to bury your dead before you left my brother’s fortress? Aye, I noticed all right. You’re just as ruthless. You kill without showing any sign of remorse.”

It took all of Duncan’s self-discipline not to grab hold of his captive and shake some sense into her. “Madelyne, we did not bury our dead, because none of my men died.”

Madelyne was so surprised by his answer, she dared a look up at him. The top of her head bumped his but she didn’t pause to apologize. “There were bodies all over the ground, Duncan.”

“Louddon’s soldiers, Madelyne, not mine,” Duncan answered.

“Do you expect me to believe that your soldiers are so superior that they—”

“I expect you to quit goading my temper, Madelyne,” Duncan answered.

She knew he meant what he said when he slapped the cloak back over her head.

He was a horrible man, Madelyne decided. And he obviously didn’t have a heart. Aye, he wouldn’t be able to kill so effortlessly if he were gifted with human emotions.

In truth, Madelyne couldn’t imagine taking another person’s life. Having led such a sheltered existence with only Father Berton and his two companions left her ill prepared for the likes of Louddon or Duncan.

Madelyne had learned that humility was a treasured goal. She forced meekness in front of her brother. Inside, she raged. She prayed she didn’t have a dark soul like Louddon. They did share the same father. Madelyne wanted to believe she was given only the goodness from her mother’s side of the family and none of the vile traits from her father. Did she fool herself over such a hope?

She was soon too exhausted to worry. This day’s journey was proving to be the most difficult to bear. Her nerves were strained to the breaking point. She heard one of the soldiers remark that they were almost home, and perhaps because she believed the end was in sight, each hour seemed much longer.

Rough, hilly terrain slowed their progress. Duncan wasn’t able to keep up his usual neckbreaking pace. Several times Madelyne was certain the big stallion was going to stumble, and she spent most of the long, torturous day with her eyes closed and Duncan’s arms around her. Aye, she worried herself into exhaustion, convinced that they were about to be thrown into one of the deep, jagged crevices Silenus seemed so fond of getting as close to as possible.

One of the soldiers shouted the news when they finally reached Wexton land. A resounding cheer echoed throughout the hills. Madelyne sighed with relief. She sagged against Duncan’s chest and felt the tension ease out of her shoulders. She was too tired to worry over what would happen to her when she entered Duncan’s home. Just getting off Silenus was blessing enough for now.

It had turned bitterly cold during the day. Madelyne was growing more and more impatient as the minutes since gaining Wexton land turned into long hours and still not a single glimpse of Duncan’s fortress.

Daylight was fading when Duncan called a respite. It was Gilard who nagged him into stopping. Madelyne could tell from the harsh exchange of words that the stop wasn’t to Duncan’s liking. She noticed, too, that Gilard didn’t seem the least offended by his brother’s harsh remarks.

“Are you weaker than our captive?” Duncan asked Gilard when he had insisted on taking a few minutes to rest.

“My legs have lost all feeling,” Gilard returned with a shrug.

“Lady Madelyne hasn’t complained,” Duncan commented after raising his hand to signal his men.

“Your captive is too frightened to say anything,” Gilard scoffed. “She hides beneath your cloak and weeps against your chest.”

“I think not,” Duncan answered. He jerked the cloak away so that Gilard could see Madelyne’s face. “See you any tears, Gilard?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

Gilard shook his head. Duncan was trying to make him feel inferior to the beautiful woman he held in his arms. He wasn’t the least upset by the ploy and actually chuckled. The desire to stretch his legs and taste a bit of ale were his only concerns now. Those, and the fact that his bladder was near to bursting.

“Your captive might be too simpleminded to know fear,” Gilard remarked with a grin.

Duncan wasn’t amused by the remark. He dismissed Gilard with a frown fierce enough to send his brother running, and then slowly dismounted.

Duncan watched Gilard until he disappeared into the forest, and then turned back to Madelyne. She reached out to him for assistance, placing her hands on the curve of his broad shoulders. She even tried to smile.

Duncan didn’t smile back. He took an infinitely long time getting her to the ground, however. His hands spanned her waist when he pulled her toward him, but as soon as they were eye level with each other, and just a scant space apart, he stopped.

Madelyne straightened her legs with a groan of pain she couldn’t quite contain. Every muscle in her backside screamed in agony.

He had the audacity to smile over her distress.

Madelyne decided then and there that Duncan brought out the worst in her. How else could she explain this sudden, overwhelming urge to scream at him. Aye, he nudged the dark side of her character to the front. Why, she never, ever screamed at anyone. She was a gentle woman, gifted with a sweet, even-tempered disposition. Father Berton had told her that often enough.

Now this warrior tried to mock the gentleness right out of her.

Well, she wasn’t going to let that happen. Duncan wasn’t going to make her lose her temper now, no matter how much he grinned over her aches and pains.

She stared into his eyes, determined not to flinch this time. He was looking at her intently, as if he thought he might find an answer to some unsolved puzzle that was bothering him.

His gaze slowly lowered, until he was staring at her mouth, and she wondered over that until she realized she was staring at his.

She blushed, yet didn’t know why. “Gilard is wrong. I’m not simpleminded.”

His grin, damn his black soul, widened.

“You may let go of me now.” She gave him what she hoped was a haughty look.

“You’ll fall on your face if I do,” Duncan announced.

“And would that give you pleasure?” she asked, trying her best to keep her voice as whisper-soft as his had been when he made the disgraceful comment.

Duncan shrugged and suddenly let go.

Oh, he was a horrible man all right. He knew exactly what was going to happen. Madelyne would have fallen on her backside if she hadn’t grabbed hold of his arm. Her legs could not seem to remember what their duty was. “I’m not accustomed to riding for such long hours.”

He didn’t think she was accustomed to riding at all. Lord, she confused him. Without a doubt Lady Madelyne was the most perplexing woman he’d ever encountered. She was graceful when she walked, but could be incredibly clumsy too. She’d bumped her head against his chin so many times, he thought the top of her head must surely be bruised.

Madelyne didn’t have any idea what he was thinking. But he was smiling at her and that was a worry. She was finally able to let go of him. She turned her back on him then and slowly made her way into the forest to find privacy. She knew she was moving like an old woman and prayed Duncan wasn’t watching.

When she returned from the dense, wooded area, she circled the men, determined to work the aches and cramps out of her legs before she was forced back on Silenus again. She stopped when she reached the far corner of the triangular area, and stared down at the valley they’d just climbed.

Duncan didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to set out again. That didn’t make sense to Madelyne, for she remembered how irritated he’d been when Gilard demanded they stop. Now he acted as though they had all the time in the world. Madelyne shook her head. Duncan of Wexton was the most confusing man she’d ever met.

She decided to be thankful for this respite. She needed a few more minutes alone to clear her mind of her worries; a few precious minutes of peaceful solitude to get her emotions under control.

The day was nearly gone, for the sun was setting now. Glorious streaks of bright orange and faded red lined the sky, arching downward, giving her the impression that they touched the ground in some distant spot. There was such beauty in the starkness of coming winter; each season held its own special treasures. Madelyne tried to ignore the noise behind her and concentrate on the beauty below, when her attention was caught by a spark of light that suddenly appeared through the trees.

The blink of light disappeared a second later. Curious, she moved to the right, until she captured the light again. Odd, but the spark seemed to come from another direction farther down the valley now.

The lights suddenly multiplied, until it appeared as if a hundred candles had all been lit at the same instant. They flickered and blinked.

The distance was great but the sun acted like a mirror, bringing the sparks closer and closer. Like fire, she thought … or metal.

She understood then. Only men wearing armor could account for such reflections.

And there were hundreds of them.

Chapter Five

“The wicked flee when no man pursueth; but the righteous are as bold as a lion.”

OLD TESTAMENT, PROVERBS, 28:1

Dear God, they were going to be attacked. Madelyne was too stunned to move. She started to tremble with fear. That infuriated her, losing her control so quickly. Madelyne threw back her shoulders, determined to think logically. She took a deep, calming breath. There, she told herself, now I can decide what to do.

Oh, how she wished she had courage. Her hands had begun to cramp and she realized she was gripping the folds of her cloak with such force, her fingers ached from the pressure.

Madelyne shook her head, praying for divine help in making up her mind.

It certainly wasn’t her duty as a captive to alert Duncan to the approaching threat. She could keep silent, and as soon as the battle began, make her own escape.

That possibility was soon discarded when she realized there’d be more killing. If she told Duncan, perhaps they could hurry to leave this place. Aye, they could gain distance if they left immediately, and the battle would be denied. Wasn’t saving lives more important than her own escape plans?

Madelyne made up her mind to intercede. She picked up the hem of her gown and ran in search of her captor. She thought it was ironic that she would be the one to give the warning of the coming attack.

Duncan was standing in a circle of soldiers, Gilard right beside him. Madelyne edged around the men and stopped when she was behind Duncan’s back. “Baron, I would have a word with you,” Madelyne interrupted. Her voice cracked with tension and held little volume. Surely that was the reason he ignored her petition. He just hadn’t heard her.

“I must speak to you.” Madelyne repeated her request in a much louder voice. She then dared to nudge his shoulder once.

Duncan continued to ignore her.

Madelyne nudged him again, harder.

Duncan increased his voice as he continued to speak to his men on some subject Madelyne knew had to be paltry in comparison to what she was trying to tell him.

Lord, he was stubborn. Madelyne wrung her hands together, growing more alarmed by the second, sick with worry that the soldiers climbing the hills would be upon them any moment now.

The frustration of waiting for him to acknowledge her suddenly became too much to bear. Anger took control. Utilizing every ounce of strength she possessed, she kicked him quite thoroughly. Her aim was the back of his right knee, her mark most accurate.

Madelyne realized the foolishness of her rash action when excruciating pain shot up her leg. Her toes were surely broken from the impact, and the only consolation for her self-inflicted pain was the fact that she did get his attention. Rather swiftly too. Duncan turned to her with the speed of a wolf ready to pounce.

He looked more astonished than furious. His hands were on his hips, fisted, she couldn’t help but notice. Madelyne, grimacing from the pain in her toes, now found it just as painful to look directly up at his face. She turned to stare at Gilard instead, and that did ease her discomfort, for the younger brother had the most ridiculous expression on his face.

“I would like a word with you in private,” Madelyne stated when she was finally able to look at Duncan again.

Duncan was curious over the worry he’d heard in her voice. He nodded, took hold of her arm, and dragged her over to the other side of the camp.

Madelyne tripped twice.

He sighed once, long and drawn out it was, and she knew it was all for her benefit.

Madelyne didn’t care if he tried to make her feel as unimportant as a splinter under his skin. He certainly wouldn’t think her interruption was a nuisance when she explained. Why, he might even be appreciative, though in her heart she doubted he was capable of that reaction.

More important, killing would be averted. That thought gave her courage to look him right in the eye. “There are men coming from the valley,” she said.

She expected an immediate reaction to her statement. Yet Duncan just stared at her. He didn’t show her any reaction at all.

She was forced to repeat her words. “Soldiers are coming up the hills. I could see the sun reflected from their shields. Think you should do something about it?”

Was it going to be an eternity before action was taken? Madelyne considered that possibility while she waited for Duncan to say something.

He was staring at her in the most disturbing way, his hard, angular face clearly showing his puzzlement. She thought she saw cynicism there as well, in those chilling gray eyes. Madelyne decided then that he was trying to decide if she was telling him the truth.

“I have never spoken a falsehood in my life, Baron. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you that I speak the truth.”

Duncan watched the lovely woman standing so proudly before him. Wide blue eyes looked up at him with such trust. Tendrils of auburn-colored hair floated across her cheeks. There was a smudge of dirt on the side of her nose, drawing his attention.

“Why do you give me this warning?” Duncan asked.

“Why? So that we could get away from here,” Madelyne answered. She frowned over his bizarre question. “I don’t want any more killings.”

Duncan nodded, content with her answer. He motioned to Gilard. His younger brother had been standing off to the side, trying to hear what was being said.

“Lady Madelyne has only just realized we’re being followed,” Duncan remarked.

Gilard showed his surprise. He hadn’t realized they were being followed. He turned to look at Madelyne. “We’re being followed? How long have you known, Duncan?”

“Since midday,” Duncan answered with a shrug.

“They be outcasts?” Gilard inquired. His voice was mild now in an attempt to imitate his brother’s nonchalant attitude. Inside, Gilard was irritated over Duncan’s silence throughout the afternoon. Yet he was puzzled, too, wondering why Madelyne had given them warning.

“They aren’t outcasts, Gilard.”

A long, silent moment stretched between the two brothers before a look of comprehension came over Gilard’s face. “Does the rat chase after the wolf?” he asked.

“God willing, he’ll be leading his men this time,” Duncan answered.

Gilard smiled. Duncan nodded. “I’d thought to meet them nearer to home, at Creek Crossing, but the hills below us give much the same advantage. Tell the men to prepare.”

Gilard turned and hurried across the clearing, shouting the order to mount.

Madelyne was too appalled to speak. Her plan to give warning so that a battle could be averted evaporated when Gilard’s laughter reached her. She hadn’t understood what the brothers’ exchanges meant though. They spoke in riddles, talking about rats and wolves, making no sense at all.

“Then I was correct,” Madelyne blurted out. “You’re really no different than Louddon, are you?”

Duncan ignored her angry outburst. “Mount my horse, Madelyne. We’ll meet your brother together.”

Madelyne was too infuriated to argue. She told herself she should have realized Duncan wouldn’t turn his back on a fight. Hadn’t she learned that lesson when she’d tried to persuade him into leaving Louddon’s land?

Before she realized what she’d done, she found herself settled on Silenus’s back. Her anger had made her forget all about her fear. She couldn’t even remember from which side she’d mounted the horse.

Duncan walked over, grabbed hold of the reins, and began to lead the animal across the clearing.

Madelyne held on to the saddle for dear life, her shoulders bent to the task. The stirrups were too long for her feet to catch, and her backside was being slapped with each step the animal took. She knew she looked pitifully untrained and was thankful Duncan wasn’t watching her. “By what name do you call this horse?” Madelyne asked.

“Horse,” Duncan called over his shoulder. “The animal is a horse and that is what I call him.”

“Just as I suspected. You’re so cold and heartless, you couldn’t even take the time to name your loyal steed. I have given him a name. Silenus. What think you of that?” she asked.

Duncan refused to answer. He should have been irritated that Madelyne had the gall to name his stallion, but his thoughts had already turned to the battle ahead of them. He wouldn’t allow himself to be bothered by such insignificant talk.

Madelyne smiled to herself, feeling pleased with the way she’d just goaded him. Then Ansel appeared at her side with another horse, a flecked gray mount that looked much more docile than Silenus. Duncan turned, threw the reins to Madelyne, and mounted the back of the gray.

The smile froze on Madelyne’s face. She caught the reins, overwhelmed when it dawned on her that he expected her to direct the animal. The stallion must have caught her worry, for he immediately began to dance to the side. His heavy hooves stomped the ground with enough force to unseat Madelyne. She was sorry now she had done such a good job of pretending to be skilled.

Gilard appeared on Madelyne’s other side, riding a brown steed. He forced his mount close to the stallion effectively blocking the animal’s skittish sidestep.

“They still be some distance away,” Gilard remarked to his brother over the top of Madelyne’s head. “Do we wait for them, brother?”

“No,” Duncan answered. “We’ll meet them halfway.”

The soldiers were lining up behind the threesome, making a terrible commotion. Madelyne thought Duncan waited until the sound diminished before giving the signal.

“I’ll stay here until you return,” Madelyne told Duncan. Her voice sounded desperate. Duncan glanced over at her, shook his head, and then turned back to look down into the valley.

“I’m going to stay here,” Madelyne announced.

“You are not.” He didn’t even bother to look at her when he made the harsh denial.

“You could tie me to a tree,” Madelyne suggested.

“Ah, Lady Madelyne, you wouldn’t want to deny Louddon the sight of your lovely face, now, would you?” Gilard asked the question with a smile on his face. “I promise it will be the last he sees before he dies,” the brother added.

“You’ll both enjoy this battle, won’t you?” Madelyne asked. She was so appalled, her voice shook.

“’Tis a fact I will enjoy it,” Gilard answered with a shrug.

“I think you are as crazed as your brother, Gilard.”

“You know we’ve good reason to want your brother dead,” Gilard announced. The smile slowly left his face. “Just as you must surely want us dead.” He mocked her with his statement, a deliberate sneer in his voice.

Madelyne turned to Duncan to see how he was reacting to his brother’s remark, but the baron didn’t seem to be paying any attention to their conversation. She turned back to Gilard then. “I understand why you want to kill Louddon. I don’t want you or your brother to die in this confrontation, Gilard,” she added. “Why would you think that I would?”

Gilard frowned in confusion. “What kind of fool do you take me for, Lady Madelyne? Do you try to tell me you won’t take Louddon’s side. Louddon is your brother.”

“I will not take sides,” Madelyne argued. “I don’t want anyone to die.”

“Oh, I see your plan now,” Gilard returned. He was almost shouting at her. “You’ll wait to see who is the winner and then make your choice. ’Tis very cunning of you.”

“Believe what you will,” Madelyne answered. “You’re very like your brother,” she added, shaking her head.

When Gilard grinned at her, she realized he was pleased by her comment.

“’Tis not praise I give you, Gilard. Just the opposite. You’re proving to be as stubborn and ruthless as your Duncan. I think you enjoy killing as much as he does,” she ended.

Madelyne was horrified inside over the way she tried to goad Gilard into losing control, but God help her, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t hate me?” Gilard asked. He was so angry, the vein stood out on the side of his neck. Madelyne thought he wanted to strike her.

“I do not hate you,” Madelyne said. “I would like to, I’ll admit that to you, but I don’t, Gilard.”

“And why not?” Gilard asked.

“Because you love your sister.”

Gilard was about to tell Madelyne he thought she was the most simpleminded woman he’d ever come across, when Duncan caught his attention. The younger brother immediately dismissed Madelyne and turned to reach for his sword.

Duncan finally gave the signal. Madelyne was suddenly so terrified, she couldn’t even remember any of her prayers.

Was it going to be a fight to the death? Madelyne knew enough about Duncan’s stubborn character to know he didn’t care about the odds.

She tried, but couldn’t count the number of soldiers coming up the hills. They covered the ground like locusts.

Were Duncan’s men outnumbered again?

It would be a massacre, she thought, and all because Duncan would challenge with honor and Louddon would not. Such a simple realization, but one that was lost on the likes of the baron. He’d obviously forgotten Louddon had tricked him into believing he’d honor their temporary truce. That was how he’d captured Duncan, by simple trickery.

Madelyne knew Louddon better than Duncan did. Her brother would fight like an animal if he smelled the scent of victory on his side.

Madelyne told herself she didn’t care who claimed victory. If they all killed each other, so be it. Their wills would prevail, not hers.

“I will not care,” she whispered over and over until it became a desperate chant.

Yet no matter how many times she said the words, she couldn’t make them true.

Chapter Six

“The wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.”

NEW TESTAMENT, I CORINTHIANS, 3:19

Baron Wexton obviously didn’t care to have the element of surprise on his side. His battle cry echoed throughout the countryside, all but rocking the withered leaves from their branches. A trumpet sounded, giving additional message to the soldiers advancing from below, and if those were not enough, the thunder from the horses racing down the slopes surely alerted Louddon and his men to the approaching threat.

Madelyne was caught between Duncan and his brother as they made their descent. Soldiers surrounded them as well, their shields raised. Although Madelyne held no such protection, both Duncan and Gilard blocked the branches that would have plucked her from her seat, using their kite-shaped shields as barriers against the gnarled branches barring their path.

When the soldiers reached a small ridge high above the site Duncan had chosen for the confrontation, Duncan jerked on the stallion’s reins and shouted a command to the animal. The stallion immediately stopped. Duncan used his free hand to grab hold of Madelyne’s jaw. He applied pressure as he forced her to look up at him.

Gray eyes challenged blue. “Do not dare move from this spot.”

He started to let go of her, but Madelyne stayed his hand. “If you die, I’ll not weep for you,” she whispered.

He actually smiled at her. “Yes, you would,” he answered, his voice both arrogant and gentle.

Madelyne didn’t have time to answer him. Duncan spurred his steed into motion and raced toward the battle already unfolding below. Madelyne was suddenly alone atop the stark ridge as the last of Duncan’s soldiers moved past her at a furious speed.

The noise was shattering. Metal clashed with metal, ringing with ear-piercing intensity. Screams of torment mingled with shouts of victory. Madelyne wasn’t close enough to see individual faces, but she kept her attention on Duncan’s back. The gray he rode was easily visible. She watched him wield his sword with accuracy, thought him surely blessed by the gods when the enemy all but surrounded him and he unseated each with deadly slaps from his blade.

Madelyne closed her eyes for just a moment. When she looked to the scene again, the gray had disappeared. She frantically scanned the area, looking for Duncan, and Gilard as well, but she couldn’t find either brother. The battle edged toward her.

She never looked for her brother, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be in the thick of battle. Louddon, unlike Duncan, would be the last one to raise his sword. There was too much risk involved. No, he placed too much value on his life, whereas Duncan didn’t seem to value his own at all. Louddon left the fighting to the men who pledged him fealty. And if the battle turned against him, he’d be the first to run away.

“This is not my fight,” Madelyne screamed at the top of her lungs. She pulled on the reins, determined to leave with as much speed as possible. She wouldn’t watch another minute. Aye, she would leave them all.

“Come, Silenus, we go now,” she said, nudging the animal as she had seen Duncan do. The stallion didn’t move. She jerked on the reins, hard, determined to get the animal to do her bidding. The soldiers were fast climbing the crest and haste was suddenly becoming imperative.

Duncan was infuriated. He had searched but couldn’t find a trace of Louddon. The victory over his enemy would be hollow indeed if their leader escaped again. He glanced a quick look up toward Madelyne and was shocked to see that the battle was circling her. Duncan realized then that he had been so consumed with finding Louddon, he hadn’t given sufficient thought to Madelyne’s safety. He admitted the mistake, damning himself for not having the foresight to leave men to guard her.

Duncan threw his shield to the ground and gave a shrill whistle he prayed would reach his stallion. His heart lodged in his throat as he ran toward the crest. It was a logical reaction, he told himself, this fierce need to protect Madelyne, for she was his captive, and he had the responsibility to keep her safe. Aye, that was the reason he ran to her now, roaring his outrage with as much force as any battle cry.

The stallion responded to the whistled signal, charging forward. The animal would have allowed Madelyne control now, but she lost the reins when he bolted.

Silenus jumped over two soldiers just climbing the top of the ridge, clipping both their heads with his hind legs. The soldiers’ screams carried them back down the hill.

Madelyne was soon in the thick of battle, with men on horseback and more crowding the ground around her, all fighting for their lives. Duncan’s stallion was blocked by the soldiers. Madelyne clung to the animal’s neck and prayed for a quick end.

She suddenly spotted Gilard making his way toward her. He was on foot, holding a bloody sword in one hand and a scarred shield in the other, fending off attack from the left while he thrust his blade forward with the right.

One of Louddon’s soldiers lunged at Madelyne, his sword raised against her. There was a crazed look glazing his eyes, as if he had passed the point of knowing what he was doing.

He meant to kill her, Madelyne realized. She screamed Duncan’s name, yet knew her safety depended upon her own wits. There wasn’t any escape other than the hard ground, and Madelyne quickly threw herself over the side of the horse. She wasn’t quick enough. The blade found its target, slashing a deep path down the length of Madelyne’s left thigh. She screamed in agony, but the sound died in her throat when she hit the ground. The air was knocked out of her.

Her cloak followed her to the ground, landing in a heap on top of her shoulders. Stunned, and in a state of near shock, Madelyne’s concentration suddenly focused on pulling the garment around herself, a slow, arduous process she became obsessed with completing. The pain in her thigh was so consuming at first that she thought she would die from it. And then a blessed numbness settled in her thigh and in her mind, giving Madelyne new strength. She stood, feeling dazed and confused, clutching her cloak to her breasts as she watched the fighting men around her.

Duncan’s stallion nudged Madelyne between her shoulder blades, nearly knocking her back down to the ground. She regained her balance and leaned against the animal’s side, finding comfort in the fact that the horse hadn’t bolted away when she had fallen. The animal acted as a barrier as well, protecting her back from assault.

Tears streamed down her face, an involuntary reaction to the scent of death that permeated the air. Gilard yelled something to her but Madelyne couldn’t understand what he was shouting. She could only watch as he continued to make his way toward her. He yelled again, his voice more forceful, but the order mingled with the clash of metal scraping metal and became too garbled to comprehend.

Her mind rebelled over the carnage. She began to walk toward Gilard, believing that was what he wished her to do. She stumbled twice over the legs and arms of slain warriors spewed like discarded garbage upon the ground, her thoughts only of getting to Gilard, the one man she recognized in this forest of destruction. In the back of her mind lived the hope that he would take her to Duncan. And then she would be safe.

Madelyne was only a few feet away when Gilard was challenged from behind. He turned to meet the new opponent, his back unprotected. Madelyne saw another of Louddon’s men grasp the opportunity, raising his blackened sword into the air as he rushed toward the vulnerable target.

She tried to scream a warning but her voice failed her and only a whimper escaped.

Dear God, she was the only one who was close enough to aid him, the only one who could make a difference. Madelyne didn’t hesitate. She grabbed one of the discarded weapons from the stiff fingers of a faceless corpse. It was a heavy, cumbersome mace thick with spikes and dried blood.

Madelyne held the weapon in both her hands, struggling over its weight. Clutching the blunt end, she half dragged, half carried the weapon as she hurried to position herself behind Gilard, her back nearly touching his. And then she waited for the enemy to make his attack.

The soldier wasn’t daunted, as Madelyne presented a weak defense against his armor and strength. A glimmer of a smile soured his face. Yelling a defiant shout, he rushed forward, his long, curved weapon slicing the air with deadly intent.

Madelyne waited until the last possible second and then swung the mace off the ground in a wide arc. Terror lent her strength. She meant only to deter his attack, but the spikes protruding from the circular bulb of the weapon severed the chain links of the soldier’s coat of mail and entered tender flesh concealed beneath.

Gilard finished his fight against the frontal attack, turned swiftly in his bid to get to Madelyne, and very nearly knocked her down. He was just in time to see the killing, watched, as Madelyne did, the enemy soldier drop to the ground with a scream trapped in his throat and spikes of the club embedded in his middle. Gilard was so astonished over what he had just witnessed, he was momentarily speechless.

Madelyne let out a low moan of anguish. She folded her arms in front of her waist and doubled over. Gilard thought she acted as though she had been the one to receive the injury. He sought to help her, reached out to gently touch her shoulder.

Madelyne was so consumed with horror over what she had just done, she wasn’t even aware of Gilard any longer. The battle had ceased to exist for her.

Duncan had also witnessed the killing. In one swift action he mounted his stallion and goaded the animal toward Gilard. The brother jumped out of the way just as Duncan reached down and grabbed hold of Madelyne. He lifted her up with one powerful arm and all but slammed her into the saddle in front of him. God proved merciful, for her right side took the force of the impact and her injured thigh was barely jarred.

The battle was almost over. Duncan’s soldiers were chasing Louddon’s retreating forces down the valley.

“Finish it,” Duncan yelled to Gilard. He jerked on the reins, directing his mount up the hills again. The animal raced away from the battlefield, his breeding and strength obvious now as he galloped with amazing speed up the treacherous terrain.

Duncan had discarded his cloak and his shield during the fight. He used his hands now to protect Madelyne’s face from the branches swaying into their path.

She wanted none of his thoughtfulness. Madelyne shoved against him, trying to make him let go of her, preferring the hard ground to his loathsome touch.

Because of him she’d killed a man.

Duncan didn’t try to quiet her. Safety was his primary concern now. He didn’t let up his pace until they were well away from the threat. He finally reined his stallion to a halt when they entered a cluster of trees. It was quiet there, and protected as well.

He was furious with himself for placing Madelyne in such danger. Duncan turned his attention to her now. When he saw the tears streaming down her face, he let out a frustrated groan.

And then he sought to soothe her. “You can quit crying, Madelyne. Your brother wasn’t among the dead. Save your tears.”

She hadn’t even been aware she was crying. When his words registered, Madelyne became so enraged over his misinterpretation of her distress, she could barely form an answer. The man was despicable.

Madelyne wiped the tears away from her cheeks, took a deep breath, gathering fresh air and new fury. “I didn’t know what true hate was until today, Baron. But you’ve given the vile word new meaning. As God is my witness, I’ll hate you until the day I die. I might as well,” she continued, “I’m damned to hell anyway and all because of you.” Her voice was so low that Duncan was forced to lean forward until his forehead was touching Madelyne’s just to hear her words.

She wasn’t making any sense at all.

“Aren’t you listening to me?” he demanded, though he kept his voice as soft as hers had been. He felt the tension in her shoulders, knew she was close to losing control, and sought to calm her again. He wanted to be gentle with her, an unusual reaction to his way of thinking, but he excused his conduct by telling himself that it was only because he felt responsible for her. “I’ve just explained that your brother is safe, Madelyne. For the moment,” he added, deciding to give her honesty as well as comfort.

“You’re the one who isn’t listening to me,” Madelyne returned. Tears began to fall again, interrupting her speech. She stopped to brush them aside. “Because of you I’ve taken a man’s life. It was a grave sin and you’re just as much to blame as I am. If you hadn’t dragged me along with you, I wouldn’t have been able to kill anyone.”

“You’re upset because you killed?” Duncan asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. Duncan had to remind himself that Madelyne was only a woman, and the strangest things did seem to upset the weaker sex. He also weighed all that he’d put Madelyne through in the past two days. “I’ve killed many more,” he said, thinking to ease her conscience.

His plan failed. “I don’t care if you’ve killed legions of soldiers,” Madelyne announced. “You don’t have a soul, so it doesn’t matter how many lives you take.”

Duncan didn’t have a ready answer to that statement. He realized that it was pointless to argue with her. Madelyne was too distraught to think logically, and surely just as exhausted. Why, she was so upset, she couldn’t even raise her voice to him.

Duncan cradled her in his arms, tightening his grip until she stopped struggling. With a weary sigh he muttered, more to himself than to her, “What am I to do with you?”

Madelyne heard him, and her answer was swift. “I don’t care what you do with me.” She jerked her head back and looked up at him. Madelyne noticed the jagged cut just below Duncan’s right eye then. She used the cuff of her gown to mop the stream of blood away, but she contradicted her gentle action with angry words. “You can leave me here, or you can kill me,” she informed him as she dabbed at the edges of his cut. “Nothing you do makes any difference to me. You shouldn’t have taken me with you, Duncan.”

“Your brother came after you,” Duncan pointed out.

“He did not,” Madelyne contradicted him. “He came after you because you destroyed his home. He doesn’t care about me. If you’d only open your mind, I know I could convince you of the truth. But you are too stubborn to listen to anyone. I find it pointless to speak to you. Aye, pointless! I vow I’ll never speak to you again.”

Her tirade took the last of her strength. Madelyne finished cleaning his abrasion as best she could and then sagged against his chest, dismissing him.

Lady Madelyne was a paradox. Duncan was nearly undone by the tender way she touched his face when she tried to repair his injury. Duncan didn’t think she had even been aware of what she was doing. He suddenly remembered how Madelyne had faced Gilard when they were back in Louddon’s fortress. Aye, she’d been a contradiction then too. Madelyne had given Gilard a serene look while he shouted his frustration, yet all the while she’d clung to Duncan’s hand.

Now she raged at him while she ministered to him. Duncan sighed again. He rested his chin against the top of Madelyne’s head and wondered how in God’s name such a gentle woman could be related to the devil.

The numbness was wearing thin. Now that the surge of anger had abandoned her, Madelyne’s thigh began to throb painfully. Her cloak hid the damage from Duncan. She believed he was unaware of her injury and found perverse satisfaction over that fact. It was an illogical reaction but Madelyne couldn’t seem to think with much reason. She was suddenly so tired, so hungry, and in such pain, she couldn’t think at all.

The soldiers joined their leader and within minutes they were headed for the Wexton fortress. An hour later it became gritty determination that kept Madelyne from voicing complaint.

Duncan’s hand accidentally brushed against her injured thigh. Her cloak and gown offered little cushion against the burning agony. Madelyne held her scream. She slapped his hand away, but the fire from his touch lingered, inflaming the injury to an excruciating level.

Madelyne knew she was going to be sick. “We must stop for a moment,” she told Duncan. She wanted to scream at him, to weep, too, but she had vowed he wouldn’t destroy what was left of her gentle disposition.

Madelyne knew he’d heard her. His nod acknowledged that he had, yet they continued to ride, and after a few more minutes she came to the conclusion he had decided to ignore her request.

What an inhuman beast he was! Though it offered her little comfort, she mentally listed all the vile names she wished to yell at him. She summoned up every foul word she could remember, though her vocabulary of crude words was limited. It satisfied her, until she realized she was probably sinking to Duncan’s level. Damn, she was a gentle woman.

Her stomach wouldn’t settle. Madelyne remembered her vow never to speak to him again, but she was forced, by circumstances, to repeat her request. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to be sick all over you.”

Her threat got an immediate reaction. Duncan raised his hand, giving the order to halt. He was off his horse and lifting Madelyne to the ground before she could brace herself in preparation.

“Why are we stopping?” The question came from Gilard, who had also dismounted and was hurrying over to his brother. “We’re almost home.”

“Lady Madelyne,” Duncan answered, giving Gilard no further information.

Madelyne had already begun the torturous walk toward the privacy the trees offered, but she paused when she heard Gilard’s question. “You can just stand there and wait for me, Gilard.”

It sounded like an order. Gilard raised an eyebrow in surprise, turning to his brother. Duncan was frowning as he watched Madelyne, and Gilard concluded his brother was irritated by the way Madelyne had just spoken to him. “She has been through an ordeal,” Gilard rushed out in excuse, lest Duncan decide to retaliate.

Duncan shook his head. He continued to watch Madelyne until she had disappeared into the forest. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered, frowning as he tried to figure out what was bothering him.

Gilard sighed. “She is ill perhaps?”

“And, and she threatened to …” Duncan didn’t finish his comment, but started out after Madelyne.

Gilard tried to stay him with his hand. “Give her some privacy, Duncan. She’ll return to us,” he said. “There isn’t anyplace she can hide,” he reasoned.

Duncan shook his brother’s hand away. He’d seen the look of pain in Madelyne’s eyes, noticed, too, the extreme stiffness in her gait. Duncan instinctively knew an unsettled stomach wasn’t the cause. She wouldn’t have favored her right side if that was the case. And if she was about to throw up, she would have run, not walked away from the soldiers. Nay, something was wrong and Duncan meant to find out what it was.

He found her leaning against the side of a gnarled oak tree, her head bent. Duncan stopped, not wishing to invade upon her privacy. Madelyne was weeping. He watched as she slowly lifted the cloak away and let it drop to the ground. And then he understood the true reason for her distress. The left side of her gown was shredded to the hem, and soaked with blood.

Duncan didn’t realize he’d shouted until Madelyne let out a frightened whimper. She didn’t have the strength to back away from him, nor did she fight him when he forced her hands away from her thigh and knelt down at her side.

When Duncan viewed the damage, he was filled with such rage, his hands shook as he pried the garment away. Dried blood made it a slow task. Duncan’s hands were big and awkward and he was trying to be as gentle as possible.

The injury was deep, nearly as long as his forearm, and embedded with dirt. It would need to be cleaned and sewn together.

“Ah, Madelyne,” Duncan whispered, his voice gruff. “Who did this to you?”

His voice sounded like a warm caress, his sympathy obvious. Madelyne knew she’d start crying again if he showed her any more kindness. Aye, her control would break then, just like one of the brittle branches she was clinging to now.

Madelyne wouldn’t allow it. “I don’t want your sympathy, Duncan.” She straightened her shoulders and tried to give him a look of dismissal. “Take your hands off my leg. It isn’t decent.”

Duncan was so surprised by the show of authority, he almost smiled. He glanced up, saw the fire in her eyes. Duncan knew then what she was trying to do. Pride had become her defense. He’d already noticed how Madelyne valued control.

Looking back at her injury, he realized there was little to be done about it now. He decided then to let Madelyne have her way.

Duncan forced a gruff voice when he stood up and answered her. “You’ll get no sympathy from me, Madelyne. I’m like a wolf. I don’t suffer human emotions.”

Madelyne didn’t answer him, but her eyes widened over his comment. Duncan smiled and knelt down again.

“Leave me alone.”

“Nay,” Duncan replied, his voice mild. He pulled his dagger free and began to cut a long strip of her gown.

“You are ruining my gown,” Madelyne muttered.

“For God’s sake, Madelyne, your gown is already ruined,” Duncan answered.

With as much tenderness as possible he wrapped the strip of material around her thigh. He was tying a knot, when she shoved against his shoulder.

“You’re hurting me.” She hated herself for admitting it. Damn, she was going to cry.

“I am not.”

Madelyne gasped, forgetting all about weeping. She was infuriated over his comment. How dare he contradict her! She was the one suffering.

“Your flesh will need needle and thread,” Duncan remarked.

Madelyne slapped his shoulder when he dared shrug over his announcement.

“No one is putting a needle to me.”

“You’re a contrary woman, Madelyne.” Duncan said as he bent to pick up her cloak. He draped it around her shoulders and then lifted her into his arms, careful to shield her injury.

Madelyne instinctively put her arms around his neck. She considered scratching his eyes out because of the terrible way he was treating her. “You’re the contrary one, Duncan. I’m a sweet-tempered maiden you would try to destroy if I gave you the chance. And I swear to God, this is the last time I’ll speak to you.”

“Ah, and you’re so honorable you’d never break your word. Isn’t that true, Lady Madelyne?” he asked as he carried her back to the waiting men.

“That is correct,” Madelyne immediately answered. She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest. “You have the brains of a wolf, do you know that? And wolves have very small brains.”

Madelyne was too tired to look up to see how he was reacting to her insults. She bristled inside over the way he was treating her, and then realized she should be thankful for his cold attitude. Why, he had made her angry enough to forget her pain. Just as important, his lack of compassion had helped her overcome the urge to break down and weep in front of him. That would have been undignified, crying like an infant, and both her dignity and her pride were cherished cloaks she always wore. It would have been humiliating to lose either. Madelyne allowed herself a little smile, certain Duncan couldn’t see it. He was a foolish man, for he had just saved her pride and didn’t even know it.

Duncan sighed. Madelyne had just broken her promise when she spoke to him. He didn’t feel the urge to point that fact out to her, but it made him feel like grinning all the same.

He wanted the details from Madelyne, to learn how she’d been injured and by whose hand. In his heart he couldn’t believe one of his own had harmed her; yet Louddon’s men would also try to protect her, wouldn’t they?

Duncan decided to wait for his answers. He needed to get his anger under control first. And Madelyne needed care and rest now.

It had been difficult to banter with her. Duncan wasn’t a man used to masking his anger. When he was wronged, he attacked. Yet he had understood how close Madelyne was to breaking down. The retelling would upset her now.

When they were once again on their way, Madelyne found escape from her pain, snuggled against Duncan’s chest. Her face rested under his chin.

Madelyne was feeling safe again. Her reaction to Duncan confused her. In her heart she admitted that he wasn’t anything like Louddon, though she’d take to her deathbed before she told him that. She was still his captive, after all, his pawn to use against her brother. Yet she really didn’t hate him. Duncan was merely retaliating against Louddon, and she was caught in the middle.

“I’ll escape, you know.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the thought aloud until Duncan answered her. “You will not.”

“We are home at last,” Gilard shouted. His gaze was directed on Madelyne. Most of her face was hidden from view, but what he could see showed a very tranquil expression. He thought she might be sleeping and was thankful. In truth, Gilard didn’t know how to proceed with Lady Madelyne now. He was in a damn awkward position. He’d treated her with contempt. And how had she repaid him? Why, she’d actually saved his life. He couldn’t understand why she’d come to his assistance and longed to ask. He didn’t though, because he had a feeling he wouldn’t like her answer.

When Gilard saw the walls looming into the sky ahead of them, he nudged his mount ahead of Duncan’s so that he could be the first to enter the lower bailey. By rite and tradition, Duncan chose to be the last of his men to enter the safety provided by the thick stone walls. The soldiers liked this ritual, for it reminded each of them that their overlord placed their lives above his own. Though each man had pledged fealty to Baron Wexton, and each willingly met the call to join him in battle, every one also knew he could depend upon his lord for protection as well.

It was an easy alliance. Pride was the root. Aye, each man could also boast of being one of Duncan’s elite soldiers.

Duncan’s men were the best-trained soldiers in England. Duncan measured success by inflicting trials ordinary men would have found impossible to meet. His men were considered to be the chosen few, though they numbered near to six hundred in all when an accurate count was taken and all were called to fulfill their forty-day requirement. Their might was revered, whispered about by lesser men, and their feats of remarkable strength recounted without need of exaggeration to liven the telling. The truth was interesting enough.

The soldiers reflected the values of their leader, a lord who wielded his sword with far greater accuracy than all challengers. Duncan of Wexton was a man to be frightened of. His enemies had given up trying to discover his weakness. The warrior showed no vulnerability. He didn’t appear to be interested in worldly offerings. No, Duncan had never taken gold as his second mistress as others of his rank had so done. The baron presented no Achilles heel to the outside world. He was a man of steel, or so it was sadly believed by those who wished him harm. He was a man without conscience, a warrior without a heart.

Madelyne had little knowledge of Duncan’s reputation. She felt protected in his arms and watched the soldiers file past. She was curious over the way Duncan waited.

She turned her attention to the fortress in front of her. The massive structure sat atop a stark hill, without benefit of a single tree to give relief from the severity. A gray stone wall circled the fortress and must have been at least seven hundred feet in width. Madelyne had never seen anything so monstrous. The wall was tall enough to touch the bright moon, or so it seemed to Madelyne. She could see a portion of a circular tower protruding from inside, so tall that the top was hidden from view by heavy clouds.

The road to the drawbridge curved like a serpent’s belly up the rocky climb. Duncan nudged his mount forward when the last of his men had cleared the wooden planks spanning the moat. The stallion was eager to get to his destination, prancing a nervous sidestep that jarred Madelyne’s thigh into aching again. She grimaced against the sting, unaware she was squeezing Duncan’s arm.

He knew she was in pain. Duncan looked down at Madelyne, took in her exhausted expression, and scowled.

“You’ll be able to rest soon, Madelyne. Hold on just a little longer,” Duncan whispered, his voice ragged with concern.

Madelyne nodded and closed her eyes.

When they reached the courtyard, Duncan quickly dismounted and then lifted Madelyne into his arms. He held her firmly against his chest, and then turned and started walking toward his home.

Soldiers lined the way. Gilard was standing with two men in front of the castle doors. Madelyne opened her eyes and looked at Gilard. She thought he looked perplexed but couldn’t reason why.

It wasn’t until they’d gotten closer that Madelyne realized Gilard wasn’t looking at her. Why, his attention was drawn to her legs. Madelyne glanced down, saw then that her cloak wasn’t hiding her injury any longer. The tattered gown trailed behind her like a shredded banner. Only blood covered her, flowing a stream down the length of her leg.

Gilard hurried to open the doors, a double entry that dwarfed the men. A rush of warm air greeted Madelyne when they reached the center of a small hallway.

The area around her was obviously the soldiers’ keep. The entryway was narrow, the floor wooden, and the men’s quarters located on the right. A circular stairway took up all of the left wall, curving wide steps that led to the housing above. There was something oddly disturbing about the structure, but Madelyne couldn’t figure out what bothered her until Duncan had carried her halfway up the steps.

“The stairs are on the wrong side,” Madelyne suddenly said.

“Nay, Madelyne. They are on the correct side,” Duncan answered.

She thought he sounded amused. “’Tis not on the correct side,” she contradicted him. “The stairway is always built on the right side of the wall. Anyone knows that well enough,” she added with great authority.

For some reason, Madelyne was infuriated that Duncan wouldn’t admit the obvious flaw in his home.

“It’s built on the right unless it is deliberately ordered built on the left,” Duncan answered. Each word was carefully enunciated. Why, he acted as though he was instructing a dimwitted child.

Why Madelyne found this discussion so important was beyond her. She did though, and vowed to have the last word on the subject. “It’s an ignorant deliberation then,” she told him. Madelyne glared up at him and was sorry he wasn’t looking down at her to see it.

“You’re a stubborn man.”

“You’re a stubborn woman,” Duncan countered. He smiled, pleased with his observation.

Gilard trailed behind his brother. He thought their conversation ridiculous. Yet he was too worried to smile over their foolish banter.

Gilard knew Edmond would be waiting for them. Aye, the middle brother would certainly be inside the hall. Adela might be there as well. Gilard realized he was concerned for Madelyne now. He didn’t want her to have any unpleasant confrontations. And he hoped there’d be time to explain Madelyne’s gentle nature to his brother Edmond.

Gilard’s worry was temporarily put aside when Duncan reached the second level and didn’t turn to enter the great hall. He took the opposite direction, climbed another stairway, and then entered the mouth of the tower. The steps were narrower and the procession slowed somewhat by the sharp curves.

The room at the top of the tower was freezing. There was a hearth built into the center of the circular wall. A large window had also been added, right next to the fireplace. The window was wide open, the wooden shutters flapping loudly against the stone walls.

There was a bed against the inside wall. Duncan tried to be gentle when he placed Madelyne on the covers. Gilard followed behind them and Duncan issued his orders to his brother as he bent to pile chunks of wood into the fireplace. “Send Gerty with a trencher of food for Madelyne, and tell Edmond to bring his medicines. He’ll have to use his needle on her.”

“He’ll argue over it,” Gilard commented.

“He’ll do it all the same.”

“Who is Edmond?”

The softly spoken question came from Madelyne. Both Duncan and Gilard turned to look at her. She was struggling to sit up, and frowning over the impossibility of the task. Her teeth started chattering from the cold and the strain, and she finally collapsed against the bed again.

“Edmond is middle brother to Duncan and me,” Gilard explained.

“How many Wextons are there?” Madelyne asked, frowning.

“Five in all,” Gilard answered. “Catherine is oldest sister, then Duncan, then Edmond, then Adela, and lastly me,” he added with a smile. “Edmond will care for your injury, Madelyne. He knows the ways of healing, and before you know it, you’ll be as fit as ever.”

“Why?”

Gilard frowned. “Why what?”

“Why would you want me fit as ever?” Madelyne asked, clearly puzzled.

Gilard didn’t know how to answer her. He turned back to look at Duncan, hoping he’d give Madelyne answer. Duncan had started the fire and was now closing the shutters. Without turning around, he commanded, “Gilard, do as I’ve instructed.”

His voice didn’t suggest argument. Gilard was wise enough to obey. He made it to the door before Madelyne’s voice caught up with him. “Don’t bring your brother. I can take care of my injury without his aid.”

“Now, Gilard.”

The door slammed.

Duncan turned to Madelyne then. “For as long as you are here, you’ll not contradict any of my orders. Is that understood?”

He was advancing upon the bed with a slow, measured stride.

“How can I understand anything, milord?” Madelyne whispered. “I am but a pawn, isn’t that the way of it?”

Before he could frighten her, Madelyne closed her eyes. She folded her arms across her chest, an action meant to ward off the chill in the room.

“Let me die in peace,” she whispered quite dramatically. Lord, how she wished she had the strength and the courage to yell at him. She was so miserable now. There’d be more pain coming if Duncan’s brother touched her too. “I do not have the stamina for your brother’s ministrations.”

“Yes, you do, Madelyne.”

His voice had sounded gentle, but Madelyne was too angry to care. “Why must you contradict everything I say to you? ’Tis a terrible flaw, that,” Madelyne muttered.

A knock sounded at the door. Duncan yelled out as he walked back across the room. He leaned one shoulder against the mantel above the hearth, his gaze directed on Madelyne.

Madelyne was too curious to keep her eyes closed. The door protested with a squeak as it was opened and an elderly woman appeared. She carried a trencher in one hand and a jug in the other. There were two animal skins tucked under her arm. The servant was a plump woman with worried brown eyes. She darted a hasty look at Madelyne and then turned to curtsy awkwardly to her lord.

Madelyne decided the servant was afraid of Duncan. She watched the poor woman, feeling great compassion for her as she tried to balance the items in her hands and genuflect.

Duncan wasn’t making it any easier on the woman either. He gave her a curt nod and then motioned her to Madelyne’s side. Not a word of encouragement or kindness did he utter.

The servant proved to be quick on her feet, because as soon as Duncan commanded the task, she all but ran to the bed, stumbling twice before she was there.

She placed the trencher of food next to Madelyne and offered her the jug. “By what name are you called?” Madelyne asked the woman. She kept her voice low so Duncan wouldn’t overhear.

“Gerty,” the woman answered.

The woman remembered the covers she held under her arm then and quickly moved the trencher to the wooden chest next to the bed. She covered Madelyne with the blanket.

Madelyne smiled her appreciation and that encouraged Gerty to tuck the sides of the animal skins against Madelyne’s legs. “I can see you’re shivering to death,” she whispered.

Gerty had no knowledge of Madelyne’s injury. When she pushed the fur against her injured thigh, Madelyne squeezed her eyes shut against the excruciating insult and didn’t say a word.

Duncan saw what had happened, thought to yell a rebuke to the servant, but the deed was already done. Gerty was handing Madelyne her food now.

“Thank you for your kindness, Gerty.”

Madelyne’s approval amazed Duncan. He stared at his captive, took in her tranquil expression, and found himself shaking his head. Instead of lashing out at the servant, Lady Madelyne had given her praise.

The door suddenly flew open. Madelyne turned, her eyes wide with fright. The door bounced against the wall twice before settling. A giant of a man stood in the doorway, his hands resting on his hips and a fierce scowl drawn across his face. Madelyne concluded with a weary sigh that this, then, was Edmond.

Gerty scooted around the big man and hurried out the doorway just as Edmond advanced into the room. A trail of servants followed, carrying bowls of water and an assortment of trays with odd-shaped jars on them. The servants placed their trays on the floor next to the bed and then turned, bowed to Duncan, and left. They all acted like scared rabbits. And why wouldn’t they? Madelyne asked herself. After all, there were two wolves in the room with her and wasn’t that enough to scare anyone?

Edmond still hadn’t said a word to his brother. Duncan didn’t want a confrontation in front of Madelyne. He knew he’d become angry, and that would frighten Madelyne. Yet, he wasn’t about to back down either.

“Have you no greeting for your brother, Edmond?” Duncan asked.

The ploy worked. Edmond looked surprised by the question. His face lost some of its anger. “Why wasn’t I informed of your plan to bring Louddon’s sister back with you? I have only just learned that Gilard understood the way of it from the beginning.”

“I suppose he boasted of it too,” Duncan said, shaking his head.

“He did.”

“Gilard exaggerates, Edmond. He had no knowledge of my intentions.”

“And your reason for keeping this plan secret, Duncan?” Edmond asked.

“You would have argued over it,” Duncan remarked. He smiled over his own admission, as if he would have found pleasure in the fight.

Madelyne observed the change in Duncan’s manner. She was truly amazed. Why, he looked so ruggedly handsome when he smiled. Aye, she thought, he looked human. And that, she scolded herself, was all she would allow herself to think about his appearance.

“When have you ever turned your back on an argument?” Edmond shouted at his brother.

The walls surely rocked from the noise. Madelyne wondered if both Edmond and Gilard suffered from a hearing problem of some sort.

Edmond wasn’t as tall as Duncan, not when they stood so close together. He looked more like Duncan than Gilard did though. He was just as mean-looking when he scowled. The facial features were almost identical, down to their frowns. Edmond’s hair wasn’t black though; it was as brown as a newly plowed field and just as rich in thickness. And when he turned to look at her, Madelyne thought she saw a smile light those dark brown eyes before they turned as cold as stone.

“If you think to yell at me, Edmond, I must tell you I’m not up to listening,” Madelyne said.

Edmond didn’t reply. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her, long and hard, until Duncan told him to see to her injury.

When the middle brother walked over to the bed, Madelyne began to get frightened again. “I would prefer that you leave me alone,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“Your preferences do not concern me,” Edmond remarked. His voice was now as soft as hers had been.

She admitted defeat when Edmond motioned for her to show him which leg he was to tend. He was large enough to force her, and Madelyne needed to keep her strength for the ordeal ahead of her.

Edmond’s expression didn’t change when she lifted the covering. Madelyne was careful to shield the rest of her body from his view. She was a modest lady, after all, and it was best that Edmond understand that from the beginning.

Duncan walked over to the other side of the bed. He frowned when Edmond touched Madelyne’s leg, and she grimaced in pain.

“You’d best hold her down, Duncan,” Edmond remarked. His voice was mild now, his concentration obviously centered on the task ahead of him.

“Nay! Duncan?”

She couldn’t keep the frantic look from her eyes.

“There isn’t any need,” Duncan instructed his brother. He looked at Madelyne and added, “I’ll hold her down if it becomes necessary.”

Madelyne’s shoulders sagged against the bed again. She nodded and a look of calm settled on her face.

Duncan was certain he’d have to restrain her, else Edmond wouldn’t be able to complete the task of cleaning the wound and sewing her flesh back together. There’d be pain, intense but necessary, and it would be no disgrace for a woman to scream during the ordeal.

Edmond lined up his supplies and was finally ready to begin. He looked at his brother, received his nod, and turned to look at Madelyne. What he saw surprised him into stillness. There was trust in those magnificent blue eyes, and not a trace of fear in evidence. She was quite beautiful, Edmond admitted, just as Gilard had claimed.

“You may begin, Edmond,” Madelyne whispered then, interrupting Edmond’s thoughts.

Edmond watched Madelyne wave her hand in a regal gesture indicating she was waiting. He almost smiled over her show of authority. Her husky voice surprised him too. “Would it be easier if you just used a hot knife to seal the wound?”

Before Edmond could answer her, Madelyne hastened on. “I do not mean to tell you the way of it,” she said. “Please don’t take offense, but it does seem barbaric of you to use a needle and thread.”

“Barbaric?”

Edmond looked as if he were having trouble following the conversation.

Madelyne sighed. She decided she was too exhausted to try to make him understand. “You may begin, Edmond,” she repeated. “I’m ready.”

“I may?” Edmond asked, looking up at Duncan to catch his reaction.

Duncan was too worried to smile over Madelyne’s conversation. He looked grim.

“You’re a bossy bit of goods,” Edmond told Madelyne. The rebuke was softened by his smile.

“Get on with it,” Duncan muttered. “The waiting is worse than the deed.”

Edmond nodded. He closed his mind to everything but his duty. Bracing himself against the screams he knew would start as soon as he touched her, he then began the cleaning.

She never made a sound. Sometime during the ordeal, Duncan sat down on the bed. Madelyne immediately turned her face into his side. She acted as though she were trying to squeeze underneath him. Her fingernails dug into his thigh, but he didn’t think she was aware of what she was doing.

Madelyne didn’t think she’d be able to bear the pain much longer. She was thankful Duncan was there, though she couldn’t understand why she felt that way. She couldn’t seem to think much at all now, only accepted that Duncan had become her anchor to hold on to for dear life. Without him her control would collapse.

Just when she was certain she was going to start screaming, she felt the needle pierce her skin. Sweet oblivion claimed her, and she felt nothing more.

Duncan knew the second Madelyne fainted. He slowly pried her hand away from his thigh and gently turned her cheek until her entire face was visible to him. Tears wet her cheeks and he slowly wiped them away.

“I think I would have preferred her yelling,” Edmond muttered as he worked the ragged flesh together with his needle and thread.

“It wouldn’t have made it any easier for you,” Duncan answered. He stood when Edmond finished and watched his brother wrap a thick cotton strip around Madelyne’s thigh.

“Hell, Duncan, she’s probably going to get the fever and die anyway,” Edmond predicted with a scowl.

His comment infuriated Duncan. “Nay! I’ll not allow it, Edmond.”

Edmond was shocked by Duncan’s vehement statement. “You would care, brother?”

“I would care,” Duncan admitted.

Edmond didn’t know what to say. He stood with his mouth open and watched his brother walk out of the room.

With a weary sigh Edmond followed his brother.

Duncan had already left the castle and was making his way to the lake located behind the butcher’s hut. The bitterness of the weather was welcomed, for it took his mind off the questions nagging him.

The ritualistic nightly swim was yet another demand Duncan made on his mind and his body. Aye, it was a challenge meant to toughen him against discomfort. He neither looked forward to the swim nor avoided it. And he never wavered from this ritual either, be it summer or winter.

Duncan stripped off his garments and made a clean dive into the frigid water, hoping the cold would be enough to put Madelyne out of his thoughts for just a few minutes.

A short time later Duncan ate his supper. Edmond and Gilard kept him company, an unusual occurrence to be sure, as Duncan was in the habit of taking all his meals in solitude. The two younger brothers talked of many things, but neither dared question Duncan about Lady Madelyne. Duncan’s silence and perpetual scowl throughout the meal didn’t lend itself to discussion of any issue.

Duncan couldn’t remember what he’d eaten. He determined to get some rest, but when he finally took to his bed, the picture of Madelyne kept intruding. He told himself he’d become accustomed to having her near, and surely that was the only reason he couldn’t sleep. An hour passed and then another, and still Duncan continued to toss and turn.

By the middle of the night Duncan gave up the battle. He cursed himself all the way up to the tower room, telling himself he wanted only to look in on Madelyne, to make certain she hadn’t defied him by dying.

Duncan stood in the doorway a long while, until he heard Madelyne cry out in her sleep. The sound pulled him inside. He shut the door, added more logs to the fire, and then went to Madelyne.

She was sleeping on her good side with her gown bunched up around her thighs. Duncan tried, but couldn’t get her clothing adjusted to his satisfaction. Frustrated, he used his dagger to slit the material. He didn’t stop until he’d removed both her bliaut and chainse, telling himself she’d be far more comfortable without them.

She wore only her white chemise now. The scooped neck showed the swell of her breasts. There was a wide yoke of delicate embroidery around the neckline; threads of red and yellow and green had been meticulously worked into a border of springtime flowers. It was such a feminine accomplishment, and one that pleased Duncan, because he knew she’d spent long hours working on the task.

Madelyne was as exquisite and as feminine as the flowers on her chemise. What a gentle creature she was. Her skin was flawless, dappled now into a golden hue by the flickering light from the fire.

Lord, she was lovely. “Hell,” he muttered to himself. Madelyne was a sight better than lovely without her gown obstructing his view.

When she started to shiver, Duncan got into bed beside her. The tension slowly ebbed from his shoulders. Aye, he was used to having her next to him, and surely that was the reason he now felt such contentment.

Duncan pulled the cover up over the two of them. He was about to put his arm around her waist and move her closer to him, but Madelyne was quicker. She scooted up against him, until her backside was snuggled up most intimately against the junction of his thighs.

Duncan smiled. Lady Madelyne had obviously become accustomed to having him near, too, and his arrogant grin was all because he knew she wasn’t aware of it… yet.

Chapter Seven

“A soft answer turneth away wrath.”

OLD TESTAMENT, PROVERBS, 15:1

Madelyne slept almost twenty-four hours. When she finally opened her eyes, the room was cast in afternoon shadows with only a few streamers of sunlight filtering through the wooden shutters. Everything looked hazy to Madelyne, and she felt so disoriented that she couldn’t remember where she was.

She tried to sit up in bed, grimaced against the sting that movement caused her, and remembered every bit of it then.

Lord, she felt awful. Every muscle in her body ached. Madelyne thought someone might have taken a stick to her backside, or glued a hot iron rod against the side of her leg. Her stomach grumbled, but she didn’t want anything to eat. No, she was just terribly thirsty and blazing hot. All she wanted was to tear off her clothes and stand in front of an open window.

That idea seemed perfectly wonderful. She tried to get out of bed to open the shutters, yet was too weak even to kick the covers out of her way. She kept on trying until she realized she wasn’t wearing her own clothes. Someone had removed them, and while that fact did offend her sense of modesty, it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the realization that she had absolutely no memory of the deed.

Madelyne was now wearing a white cotton shirt of some kind, an indecent garment to be sure, for it barely covered her knees. The sleeves were too long though. When she tried to fold the fabric back to her wrists, she remembered where she’d seen such a garment before. Why, it was a man’s shirt, and from its gigantic proportions around the shoulders, obviously belonged to Duncan. It was the same all right; Duncan had been wearing an identical shirt when he had slept beside her in the tent the night before … or was it two nights past now? Madelyne was too sleepy to remember. She decided to close her eyes for another minute to think about it.

She had the most peaceful dream. Madelyne was eleven years old again and living with her dear uncle, Father Berton. Father Robert and Father Samuel had come to Grinsteade manor to visit her uncle and to pay their respects to old man Morton, lord of Grinsteade manor. Aside from the peasants who worked Baron Morton’s small land holding, Madelyne was the only young person in residence. She was surrounded by gentle, kind men, and all old enough to be her grandfather. Both Father Robert and Father Samuel had come from the overcrowded Claremont monastery. Lord Morton offered them permanent quarters. The old man had taken quite a liking to Father Berton’s friends. Both were excellent chess players, and both enjoyed listening to the baron recount his favorite stories of the past.

Madelyne was surrounded by doting old men who believed her to be a most gifted child. They took turns teaching her how to read and write, and Madelyne’s dream centered on one particularly peaceful evening. She sat at the table and read to her “uncles” from the writings she had transcribed. A fire blazed in the hearth and there was a warm, tranquil atmosphere in the room. Madelyne was retelling an unusual story, that of the adventures of her favorite hero, Odysseus. The mighty warrior kept her company during her dream, standing over her shoulder and smiling down at her as she recounted the wonderful events of his long journey.

The next time she awakened, and surely only a few minutes had passed since she had decided to rest for just a bit, Madelyne immediately realized that someone had actually tied her eyelids shut. “How dare I be treated this way?” She muttered the outrage aloud, to no one in particular.

The binding was wet too. Madelyne ripped the offending restraint off her with an expletive worthy of a bawdy peasant. Odd, but she thought she heard someone laugh then. She tried to concentrate on the sound, when her mind was turned again. Damn if another binding wasn’t slapped against her forehead. That didn’t make sense at all. Hadn’t she just removed it? She shook her head over the confusion of it all.

Someone spoke to her, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. If he would stop whispering and quit garbling every word, it would make it so much easier. She thought whoever was speaking to her was being terribly rude and yelled just that opinion.

Madelyne suddenly remembered how hot she was, when another cover was weighed down on her shoulders. She knew she had to get to the window and breathe some of the healing cold air. It was the only thing that would save her from this heat. Why, if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was in purgatory. But she was a good girl and that couldn’t be true. No, she was going to heaven, damn if she wasn’t.

Why couldn’t she open her eyes? She felt someone tug on her shoulders and then a drink of cool water touched her parched lips. Madelyne tried to take a long gulp, but the water suddenly vanished after she had tasted only a small, puny portion. Someone was out to play a cruel trick on her, she decided, frowning as ferociously as she could manage under the circumstances.

All of a sudden, everything became crystal-clear. Why, she was in Hades, not purgatory, and at the mercy of all the monsters and demons who tried to trick Odysseus. Now they tried to trick her. Well, she told herself, she was having none of it.

The idea of these demons didn’t upset Madelyne at all. Quite the contrary. She became absolutely infuriated. Her uncles had lied to her. The stories of Odysseus weren’t falsehoods or legends passed down from generation to generation. The monsters did exist. She could feel them surrounding her, just waiting for her to open her eyes.

And just where was Odysseus? she demanded to know. How dare he leave her alone to fight his demons? Didn’t he understand what he was supposed to do? Hadn’t anyone told him about his own triumphs?

Madelyne felt someone touch her thigh, interrupting her disgruntled thoughts. She knocked off the new binding scorching her eyes and turned her head just in time to see who was kneeling beside her bed. She screamed then, an instinctive reaction to the horrible one-eyed giant looking at her with such a smirk on his distorted face, and then she remembered she was angry, not frightened. It was one of the Cyclops all right, maybe even their leader, Polyphemus, the most despicable of them all, and out to get her if she’d allow it.

Madelyne made a fist and struck the giant a powerful blow. She aimed for his nose, missed it by an inch or two, but was just as satisfied. The action exhausted her and she fell back against the mattress, suddenly as weak as a kitten. There was a smug smile on her face, however, for she had heard Polyphemus let out a howl of distress.

Madelyne turned her head away from the Cyclops, determined to ignore the monster poking at her thigh. She looked over at the hearth. And then she saw him. Why, he was standing right in front of the fire, with light shining all around his magnificent body. He was much bigger than she had imagined him to be, and much more attractive. But then, he wasn’t mortal, she tried to remind herself. She guessed that fact accounted for his giant proportions and the mystical light glowing all around him. “And just where have you been?” she demanded with a yell meant to gain his attention.

Madelyne wasn’t sure if mythological warriors could converse with mere mortals, quickly surmised that this one didn’t, or wouldn’t, because he just continued to stand there and stare at her, and didn’t offer a single word in answer to her demand.

She thought to try again, though she found it a terribly exasperating task. There was a Cyclops right beside her, for God’s sake, and even if the warrior couldn’t speak to her, he could see that there was work to be done. “Get on with it, Odysseus,” Madelyne demanded, pointing her finger at the monster kneeling beside her.

Damn if he didn’t just stand there and look confused. For all his size and might, he didn’t appear to be overly intelligent. “Must I fight every battle on my own?” she demanded to know, raising her voice until the muscles in her neck began to ache from the strain. Tears of frustration clouded her vision, but she couldn’t help that. Odysseus was trying to vanish into the light How very rude of him, she thought.

She couldn’t allow him to disappear. Dimwitted or not, he was all she had. Madelyne tried to placate him. “I promise to forgive you for all the times you let Louddon hurt me, but I’ll not forgive you if you leave me alone now.”

Odysseus didn’t seem overly concerned with gaining her forgiveness. She could barely see him now, knew he’d soon be gone, and realized she’d have to increase her threats if she was going to get any help from him.

“If you leave me, Odysseus, I’ll send someone after you to teach you some manners. Aye,” she added, warming to her threat. “I’ll send the most fearsome of all warriors. Just you leave and see what happens! If you don’t get rid of him,” she declared, pausing in her threat to point dramatically at the Cyclops a long moment, “I’ll send Duncan after you.”

Madelyne was so satisfied with herself that she closed her eyes with a sigh. She had surely put the fear of Zeus into the most magnificent of creatures, the powerful Odysseus, by pretending to send Duncan after him. She let out a rather inelegant snort over her cleverness.

She peeked a quick look back out of one eye to see how her threat was being taken, and smiled with victory. Odysseus looked worried. And that, Madelyne suddenly decided, wasn’t good enough. If he was going to fight a Cyclops, he’d need to be good and angry. “Duncan is really a wolf, you understand, and he’ll tear you to shreds if I tell him to,” she boasted. “He’ll do anything I ask,” she added, “Just like that.” Madelyne tried to snap her fingers together but couldn’t quite manage the feat.

She closed her eyes again, feeling as though she’d just won an important battle. And all with gentle words, she reminded herself. She hadn’t used any force at all. “I am ever a gentle maiden,” she shouted. “Damn, if I’m not.”

For three long days and nights Madelyne fought the mythological monsters who appeared and try to snatch her away to Hades. Odysseus was always there, by her side, helping her ward off each attack when she demanded it.

At times the stubborn giant even conversed with her. He liked to question her about her past, and when she understood what he was asking, she’d immediately answer him. Odysseus seemed most interested in a specific time of her childhood. He wanted her to tell what it had been like after her mother had died and Louddon had taken over her guardianship.

She hated answering those questions. She wanted to talk only about her life with Father Berton. Yet she didn’t want Odysseus to become angry and leave her either. For that reason, she suffered through his gentle interrogation.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

Duncan was jarred awake by Madelyne’s vehement outburst. He didn’t know what she was ranting about now but quickly went to her bed. He sat down next to Madelyne and took her into his arms. “Hush now,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep, Madelyne.”

“When he made me come back from Father Berton’s home, he was so horrible. He’d sneak into my room every night. He’d just stand there, at the foot of the bed. I could feel him staring at me. I thought that if I opened my eyes … I was very afraid.”

“Don’t think about Louddon now,” Duncan said. He stretched out on the bed as soon as she began to cry and pulled her into his arms.

Though he was careful to hide his reaction, inside he was shaking with rage. He knew Madelyne didn’t understand what she was telling him, but he understood well enough.

Soothed by his touch, Madelyne fell asleep again. She didn’t rest long, however, and awakened to find Odysseus was still there, keeping vigil. She wasn’t afraid when he was by her side. Odysseus was the most wonderful warrior. He was strong, arrogant, though she didn’t fault him for that flaw, and filled with a good heart.

He was full of mischief too. His favorite game was to change his appearance. It would happen so quickly, Madelyne didn’t even have time to draw a breath of surprise. One minute he pretended to be Duncan and the next he was back to being Odysseus again. And once, during the dark hours of the night, when Madelyne was most afraid, he actually changed himself into Achilles, just to amuse her. He was sitting there, in a straight-back wooden chair that was entirely too little for his size and bulk, just looking at her in the most peculiar way.

Achilles wasn’t wearing his boots. That worried her and she immediately cautioned him to protect his heels from injury. Achilles looked confused by her suggestion, forcing Madelyne to remind him that his mama had dipped him headfirst in the magical waters of Styx, making all of him invincible, save for the tiny bit of flesh on the backs of his heels, where she’d held on to him so he wouldn’t be swept away by the swirling waters.

“The water didn’t touch your heels, and that is where you are most vulnerable,” she instructed him. “Do you understand my meaning?”

She decided he didn’t understand at all. His puzzled look told her as much. Perhaps his mama hadn’t taken the time to tell him the story. Madelyne sighed and gave him a sad, pitying look. She knew what was going to happen to Achilles, yet didn’t have the heart to tell him to beware of stray arrows. She guessed he’d find out soon enough.

Madelyne started to weep over Achilles’s future, when he suddenly stood up and walked over to her. But he wasn’t Achilles now. Nay, it was Duncan taking her into his arms and soothing her. Odd, but his touch felt just like Odysseus’s.

Madelyne nagged Duncan into getting into bed beside her, then immediately rolled on top of him. She propped her head on his chest so she could look into his eyes. “My hair is like a curtain,” she told him, “hiding your face from everyone but me. What think you of that, Duncan?”

“So I am Duncan once again, am I?” he answered. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Madelyne. You burn with fever. That is what I think,” he added.

“Are you going to call a priest?” Madelyne asked. Her question upset her and tears filled her eyes.

“Would you like that?” Duncan asked.

“Nay,” Madelyne bellowed right into his face. “If a priest be called, I’ll know I’m dying. I’m not ready to die yet, Duncan. There’s too much to do.”

“And what would you like to do?” Duncan asked, smiling over her ferocious expression.

Madelyne suddenly leaned down and rubbed her nose against Duncan’s chin. “I think I would like to kiss you, Duncan. Does that make you angry?”

“Madelyne, you must rest,” Duncan said. He tried to roll her to her side, but she proved to be as clinging as a vine. Duncan didn’t force her, concerned he might accidentally hurt her. In truth, he liked her just where she was.

“If you kiss me just once, then I’ll rest,” she promised. She didn’t give him time to respond but slapped her hands on both sides of his face and pressed her face against his.

Lord, did she kiss him then. Her mouth was hot, open, and thoroughly arousing. It was such a lustful, passionate kiss, Duncan couldn’t help but respond. His arms slowly slipped around her waist. When he felt warm skin, he realized her skirt had ridden up. His hands stroked her soft buttock and it wasn’t long before he was caught up in a fever of his own.

Madelyne was wild and thoroughly undisciplined when she kissed him. Her mouth slanted over his, her tongue penetrated and stroked until she was breathless.

“When I kiss you, I don’t want to stop. ’Tis sinful, isn’t it?” she asked Duncan.

He noticed she didn’t look particularly remorseful over her admission and assumed the fever had rid her of her inhibitions. “I have you flat on your back, Duncan. I could have my way with you if I wanted.”

Duncan sighed in exasperation. The sigh turned into a groan, however, when Madelyne snatched his hand and boldly placed it over one of her breasts.

“Nay, Madelyne,” Duncan muttered, though he didn’t take his hand away. God, she felt so warm. The nipple hardened when his thumb instinctively rubbed against it. He groaned again. “’Tis not the time for loving. You don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?” he asked then. Lord, his voice sounded as harsh as the howling wind outside.

Madelyne immediately started to cry. “Duncan? Tell me that I matter to you. Even if it’s a lie, tell me anyway.”

“Aye, Madelyne, you matter to me,” Duncan answered. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled her to his side. “’Tis the truth.”

He knew he had to put some distance between them, else lose this battle of sweet torture. Yet he couldn’t help but kiss her once again.

The action seemed to placate her. Before Duncan could draw another shaky breath, Madelyne had fallen asleep.

The fever ruled Madelyne’s mind and Duncan’s life. He dared not leave her alone with Gilard or Edmond. When her passionate nature asserted itself, he didn’t want either of his brothers to be the recipient of her kisses. No one was going to offer comfort to Madelyne in those uninhibited moments but him.

The demons finally left Madelyne during the third night. On the morning of the fourth day she awakened feeling as wrung out as one of the damp cloths littering the floor. Duncan was sitting in the chair beside the fireplace. He looked exhausted. Madelyne wondered if he’d taken ill. She was about to ask him that question, when he suddenly noticed she was staring at him. He bounded to his feet with the quickness of a wolf and came to stand beside the bed. Odd, but she thought he looked relieved.

“You’ve had the fever,” Duncan announced. His voice was gruff.

“So that is why my throat aches,” Madelyne said. Lord, she barely recognized her own voice. It sounded hoarse, felt raw.

Madelyne looked around the room, took in the clutter surrounding her. She shook her head in confusion. Had a battle taken place here while she slept?

When she turned back to ask Duncan about the chaos, she caught his amused expression.

“Your throat is paining you?” he asked.

“You find it amusing my throat hurts?” Madelyne asked, disgruntled over his unkind reaction.

Duncan shook his head, denying her accusation. Madelyne wasn’t at all convinced. He was still grinning.

Heavens, he did look fit this morning. Duncan was dressed in black, an austere color to be sure, yet when he smiled, those gray eyes didn’t look cold or intimidating. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t think who that would be. Madelyne was certain she’d remember meeting anyone who remotely resembled the Baron Wexton. Still, there was an elusive memory of someone else …

Duncan interrupted her concentration. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll send a servant to tend to you. You’re not going to leave this room until you’re healed, Madelyne.”

“Was I very ill?” Madelyne asked.

“Aye, you were very ill,” Duncan admitted. He turned and walked to the door.

Madelyne thought he was in quite a hurry to get away from her. She pushed a clump of hair out of her eyes and stared at Duncan’s back. “Lord, I must look as messy as a mop,” she muttered to herself.

“Aye, you do,” Duncan answered.

She could hear the smile in his voice. She frowned over his rudeness and then called out, “Duncan? How long did I have the fever?”

“Over three days, Madelyne.”

He turned back to catch her reaction. Madelyne looked astonished. “You don’t recall any of it, do you?” he asked.

Madelyne shook her head, totally bewildered now, because Duncan was smiling again. He was such a strange man, finding humor in the oddest things.

“Duncan?”

“Aye?”

She caught the exasperation in his voice and bristled over it. “Were you here all three days? In this room with me?”

He began to pull the door closed behind him. Madelyne didn’t think he was going to answer her question until his voice rang out, firm and insistent.

“I was not.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Madelyne didn’t think he was telling the truth. She couldn’t remember what had happened, yet instinctively knew Duncan hadn’t left her side.

Why had he denied it? “What a contrary man you are,” Madelyne whispered.

There was a smile in her voice.

Chapter Eight

“Prove all things, hold fast that which is good.”

NEW TESTAMENT, I THESSALONIANS, 5:21

Madelyne sat on the side of her bed, willing strength back into her legs. A timid knock sounded at the door just a few minutes after Duncan had left. Madelyne called out and a servant entered the room. The woman was parchment-thin and haggard-looking, with stooped shoulders and lines of worry creasing her wide forehead. As the servant approached the bed, her steps became labored.

The servant looked ready to bolt, and it suddenly dawned on Madelyne that she might be afraid. The woman kept giving longing glances toward the door.

Madelyne smiled, trying to ease the servant’s discomfort, though she was puzzled over her timid behavior.

The woman held something behind her back. She slowly made the satchel visible and then blurted out, “I’ve brung your baggage, milady.”

“’Tis most kind of you,” Madelyne answered.

She could tell her compliment pleased the woman. She didn’t look as worried now, only a bit confused.

“I don’t know why you are so afraid of me,” Madelyne said, deciding to face the problem head on. “I’ll not harm you, I can promise you that. What have the Wexton brothers told you to make you so frightened?”

Madelyne’s bluntness eased the tension in the woman’s posture. “They didn’t tell me nothing, milady, but I ain’t deaf. I could hear the yelling going on up here all the way down to the buttery, and you was doing the most of it.”

“I was yelling?” Madelyne was horrified over such a suggestion. Surely the woman was mistaken.

“You was,” the servant answered, nodding her head vigorously. “I knew you had the fever and couldn’t help what you was doing. Gerty’s bringing you food in a minute. I’m to help you change your clothes, if that be your want.”

“I am hungry,” Madelyne remarked. She flexed her legs, testing their strength. “I’m also as weak as an infant. By what name are you called?”

“Me name’s Maude, after the queen,” she announced. “The dead one, of course, since our King William ain’t taken a wife yet.”

Madelyne smiled. “Maude, do you think I might manage a bath? I feel so sticky.”

“A bath, milady?” Maude looked horrified by the idea. “In the dead of winter?”

“I’m accustomed to taking a bath every day, Maude, and it does seem an eternity since I last—”

“A bath a day? Whatever for?”

“I just like to feel clean,” Madelyne answered. She took a good long look at the servant and decided the kind woman would benefit from a bath of her own, though she didn’t offer her comment lest she offend the kind woman. “Do you think your lord would permit me this vanity?”

Maude shrugged. “You’re to have anything you want, so long as you stay in this room. The baron doesn’t want you getting sick trying to overdo. I guess I could find a tub around here and have my man haul it up the steps.”

“You have a family, Maude?”

“Aye, a good man and a lad nearly five summers now. The boy’s a wild one.”

Maude helped Madelyne stand up and walked with her over to the chair by the hearth. “My boy’s named William,” she went on. “Named him after our dead king though, and not the one who’s running things now.”

The door opened during Maude’s recitation. Another servant hurried inside, carrying a trencher of food. Maude called out, “Gerty, ain’t no need to be nervous. She ain’t daft like we supposed.”

Gerty smiled. She was a bulky woman with a pure complexion and brown eyes. “I’m cook here,” she informed Madelyne. “Heard you was pretty. Skinny though, much too skinny. Eat every bit of this food, else you’ll blow away with the first good wind.”

“She’s wanting a bath, Gerty,” Maude announced.

Gerty raised an eyebrow. “Guess she can have it then. Can’t be blaming us if she gets chilled.”

The two women continued to visit with each other as they cleaned Madelyne’s room. They were obviously fast friends and Madelyne thoroughly enjoyed listening to their gossip.

They helped her with her bath too. By the time the tub was removed, Madelyne was exhausted. She’d washed her hair, but it was taking an eternity to dry. Madelyne sat on a soft animal skin in front of the hearth. She lifted strands of her long hair close to the heat so that it would dry faster, until her arms began to ache. With a loud, unladylike yawn, Madelyne stretched out on the furry skin, thinking she’d rest for just a minute or two. She wore only her chemise, yet didn’t want to dress until her hair was dried and plaited.

Duncan found Madelyne sound asleep. She made an enticing picture, sleeping on her side in front of the fire. Her golden legs were drawn up against her chest, and her glorious hair covered most of her face.

He couldn’t help but smile. Lord, she reminded him of a kitten, curled up so snugly. Aye, she was enticing all right, and she was probably going to freeze to death if he didn’t do something.

Madelyne didn’t even open her eyes when Duncan picked her up and carried her over to the bed. He smiled over the way she instinctively cuddled up against his chest. She sighed, too, as if she were most content, and damn, she was smelling like roses again.

Duncan placed her on the bed and covered her. He tried to keep his manner distant, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from brushing his hand against the smoothness of her cheek.

Madelyne looked so vulnerable when she was sleeping. Surely that was the reason he didn’t want to leave. The urge to protect her was overwhelming. She was so innocent and so trusting. In his heart he knew he’d never let her go back to her brother. She was an angel and he’d not allow her near the demon Louddon, ever again.

The rules had turned upside down on Duncan. With a frustrated groan he walked over to the door. Hell, he thought, he didn’t know his own mind anymore.

It was Madelyne’s doing, though she certainly couldn’t be aware of that fact. She drove him to distraction, and when he was near her, he couldn’t think much at all.

Duncan decided he’d have to put distance between himself and Madelyne until he settled the issues bothering him. Yet, as soon as he made up his mind to avoid Madelyne, his mood blackened. Duncan muttered an expletive, turned, and slowly closed the door behind him.

Madelyne was still weak enough that the enforced isolation didn’t bother her. Yet after two more days, with only Gerty and Maude making an occasional visit, she was feeling the effects of her prison. She paced the room until she knew every inch of it by heart, and then began to drive the servants to distraction when she insisted on doing what they deemed was common work. Madelyne scrubbed the floor and the walls. The physical exercise didn’t help much. She felt as caged as an animal. And she waited, hour upon hour, for Duncan to come to her.

Madelyne kept telling herself that she should be thankful Duncan had all but forgotten her. Lord, wasn’t she used to being forgotten?

When another two days had passed, Madelyne was close to throwing herself out the window just to diversify her routine. She was bored enough to scream.

She stood by the window and stared out into the fading sunset, thinking about Duncan.

Madelyne thought she might have conjured him up in her mind, for even as she thought about how much she wanted to see him, he suddenly appeared. The door opened, bouncing against the stone wall announcing his arrival, and there he stood, looking fierce and powerful, and altogether too handsome for her peace of mind. God’s truth, she could have stared at him for the rest of the evening.

“Edmond is going to remove the threads now,” Duncan told her.

Duncan walked into the room and over to stand in front of the hearth. He folded his arms across his chest, giving Madelyne the idea that he was bored with this mission.

She was hurt by his cold manner, yet determined he’d never know it. She gave him what she hoped was a most tranquil expression.

Lord, she was a sight to behold. Madelyne was dressed in a cream-colored gown and a blue overtunic. A braided rope was wrapped around her slender waist, accentuating her feminine curves.

Her hair wasn’t pulled away from her face but rested against the swell of her breasts. Such a thick, curly mass of hair it was, worthy of any queen, the color of sable, Duncan thought, though intertwined with threads of red as well. He remembered the feel of it, so soft and silky.

He scowled, irritated over the way she continued to disturb him. He couldn’t quit staring at Madelyne either, admitting that he’d missed having her by his side. A foolish thought, and one he’d never openly acknowledge, but there all the same, prickling him into a new awareness.

It suddenly dawned on him that Madelyne was wearing his colors, and he grinned. He doubted she was aware of that fact, and had she not looked so damn kissable, he might have mentioned it just to see her reaction.

Madelyne couldn’t look at Duncan long. She was afraid he’d see how much she’d missed him. And then he’d have a good gloat, she thought to herself.

“I would like to know what you are going to do with me, Duncan,” she said. She turned her gaze to the floor, not daring to look up to see how he was taking her question, else completely lose her train of thought.

Aye, her ability to concentrate was always in jeopardy whenever she was around Duncan. She didn’t understand her reaction to him, but accepted it all the same. The baron was able to worry her without speaking a word. He disturbed her peace of mind, confused her too. When he was close to her, she wanted him to leave. Yet when he was away from her, she missed him.

Madelyne turned her back on Duncan and looked out the window again. “Do you think to keep me locked in this room for the rest of my life?”

Duncan smiled over the worry he’d heard in her voice. “Madelyne, the door wasn’t barred,” he said.

“Are you jesting?” Madelyne asked. She turned around and gave him the most incredulous look. “Do you mean to tell me I haven’t been locked in this tower all week?” Lord, she felt like yelling. “I could have escaped?”

“Nay, you couldn’t have escaped, but you could have left the room,” Duncan answered.

“I don’t believe you,” Madelyne announced. She folded her arms in front of her, mocking his stance. “You would lie just to make me feel foolish. You have an unfair advantage, Duncan, for I never, ever lie. Therefore,” she concluded, “it is an uneven match.”

Edmond appeared in the open doorway. The middle brother was wearing his usual frown. Yet he looked wary, too, and stared at Madelyne a good while before he walked inside.

“You’ll hold her down this time,” he told Duncan.

Madelyne gave Duncan a worried glance and saw him smile. “Madelyne doesn’t have a fever now, Edmond, and is as docile as a kitten,” he remarked. He turned to Madelyne then and instructed her to go to the bed so that Edmond could remove the bandage.

Madelyne nodded. She knew what needed to be done, but shyness overcame common sense. “If you would both leave, I would have a moment’s privacy to prepare.”

“Prepare what?” Duncan asked.

“I am a gentle lady,” Madelyne stammered. “I’ll not let either of you see anything but my injury. That is what I would prepare.”

She was blushing enough to make Duncan realize she’d meant every word. Edmond started to cough but Duncan’s sigh was louder. “’Tis not the time for modesty, Madelyne. Besides, I’ve seen … your legs already.”

Madelyne straightened her shoulders, gave him a good glare, and then hurried over to the bed. She grabbed one of the animal skins that had fallen to the floor, and when she was situated on top of the bed, she draped the skin over her and then wiggled her garments up to the top of her thighs.

Edging the exposed bandage to the side, she began the slow task of unwinding the material.

Edmond knelt down beside her when the bandage was removed. Madelyne noticed a dark shadow beneath his left eye then. She wondered how he’d come by the bruise, and then jumped to the conclusion that one of his brothers was probably responsible. What hateful people, she told herself, even when she noticed Edmond was being very gentle as he removed the sticky threads from her skin.

“Why, it doesn’t feel any worse than a pinch, Edmond,” Madelyne said with relief.

Duncan had walked over to stand next to the bed. He looked ready to pounce if she moved.

And it was awkward, having both men staring at her thigh. She soon became embarrassed again. Thinking to turn Duncan’s attention, she said the first thing that came into her mind. “Why are there locks on each side of the door?”

“What?” He did look perplexed.

“The slat of wood that slides into the loops to lock the door,” Madelyne rushed on. “You’ve built loops on both sides. Why is that, do you suppose?” she asked, feigning great interest in such a ridiculous topic.

Her strategy worked, however. Duncan turned, stared at the door, and then looked back at her. He was staring at her face now, ignoring, for the moment, her exposed thigh.

“Well?” she challenged. “Were you so confused when you built the door you couldn’t decide on which side to put the bars?”

“Madelyne, ’tis the same reason the staircase is built on the left,” Duncan bantered. There was a definite sparkle in his eye. Madelyne was pleased by the change it made in his appearance. He wasn’t nearly as worrisome when he smiled.

“And what is that reason?” Madelyne asked, smiling in spite of herself.

“Because I prefer it.”

“A paltry reason, that,” Madelyne announced.

She kept smiling until she realized she had hold of his hand. Madelyne quickly pulled free and turned to stare at Edmond.

The middle brother was looking at Duncan. He stood up then and said, “It has healed.”

Madelyne looked down at the ugly jagged line that marked her thigh. She grimaced over the horrible scar. Yet she quickly gained control, ashamed by her shallow reaction. Why, she wasn’t a vain woman. “Thank you, Edmond,” she said as she pulled the cover over her leg.

Duncan hadn’t seen the results of Edmond’s work. He leaned forward to pull the animal skin away. Madelyne pushed his hand away and then pressed the edge of the cover against the bed. “He said it has healed, Duncan.”

He obviously wanted to see for himself. Madelyne let out a startled yelp when Duncan ripped the cover away. She tried to push her gown down, but Duncan grabbed hold of her hands and slowly, deliberately, pushed the chainse up until all of her thigh was exposed.

“There isn’t any infection,” Edmond remarked to Duncan, watching the scene from the other side of the bed.

“Aye, it has healed,” Duncan announced with a nod.

When he let go of Madelyne’s hands, she smoothed her gown and asked, “You didn’t believe your own brother?” She sounded appalled.

Duncan and Edmond exchanged a look Madelyne couldn’t interpret. “Of course you don’t,” she muttered. “Probably gave him the black eye as well,” she added, letting her disgust show. “’Tis what I would expect from the Wexton brothers.”

Duncan showed his exasperation by turning and walking toward the door. His loud sigh followed him. Edmond stood there, frowning at Madelyne for another minute or so, and then followed his brother.

Madelyne repeated her gratitude. “I know you were ordered to care for my injury, Edmond, but I thank you all the same.”

Madelyne was certain the sour man would abuse her compliment, and readied herself for his insults. No matter what vile thing he said to her, she’d humbly turn the other cheek.

Edmond didn’t bother to say anything. Madelyne was disappointed. How could she show the Wextons that she was a gentle maiden if they didn’t give her the chance?

“Dinner will be in one hour’s time, Madelyne. You may join us in the hall when Gilard comes for you.”

Duncan walked out the doorway after making his announcement. Edmond, however, paused and then slowly turned around to look at Madelyne again. He seemed to be pondering some decision.

“Who is Polyphemus?”

Madelyne’s eyes widened. What a strange question. “Why, he was a giant, the leader of the Cyclops in Homer’s ancient tale,” she answered. “Polyphemus was a horribly deformed giant with one huge eye right in the center of his forehead. He ate Odysseus’s soldiers for his supper,” she added with a dainty shrug of her shoulders.

Edmond didn’t like her answer. “For God’s sake,” he muttered.

“You shouldn’t be taking God’s name in vain,” Madelyne called out. “And why would you be asking me who Polyphemus was?”

Madelyne surmised, by the sound of fading footsteps, that Edmond wasn’t going to answer her.

Yet even the rudeness of the middle brother didn’t diminish Madelyne’s pleasure. She bounded off the bed and let out a laugh. Lord, she was finally going to get out of this room. She did not believe for one second that the door had been unlocked all week. Duncan had told her that only to get her upset. Yes, he’d have me believe I’m dimwitted if I allowed it.

Madelyne dug through her satchel. She wished she had a pretty gown to wear and then realized the foolishness of the wish. She was their captive, for heaven’s sake, not their invited guest.

It took her all of five minutes to prepare. She paced the room a long while and then walked over to the door to see how securely it was barred. With the first pull, the door opened wide, nearly knocking Madelyne down.

Duncan had obviously left the door open just to trick her. She wanted to believe that story—until she remembered that he’d left before Edmond.

Sounds floated up through the open stairway, drawing Madelyne to the landing. She leaned over the railing, strained to hear the conversation, but the distance proved too great to catch a clear word. Madelyne finally gave up and turned back to go into her room. She spotted the long wooden slat propped against the stone wall and on impulse took hold of it and dragged it inside her bedroom. She hid the slat beneath her bed, smiling to herself over her bold action. “I just might be inclined to lock you out, Duncan, instead of letting you lock me in.”

As if she could allow much of anything, she thought. Lord, she’d been confined in this room for too long a period and surely that was the pitiful reason she found such amusement in her thoughts.

Gilard did take forever to come for her. Madelyne had already jumped to the conclusion that Duncan had lied to her. He was just being cruel.

When Madelyne heard the sound of footsteps, she smiled with relief and ran over to stand next to the window. Smoothing her gown and her hair into place, she forced a tranquil expression.

Gilard wasn’t frowning. That was a surprise. He looked fit this evening, attired in the color of the forest in spring. The warm green made him look handsome.

There was tenderness in his voice when he spoke. “Lady Madelyne, I would have a word with you before we go downstairs,” he announced in lieu of a greeting.

Gilard gave her a worried glance, clasped his hands behind his back, and proceeded to pace a path directly in front of her.

“Adela will probably join the family. She knows you’re here and she—”

“Is unhappy?”

“Aye, though more than just unhappy. She hasn’t said anything, but the look in her eyes makes me uneasy.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Madelyne asked.

“Why, I tell you because I felt I owed you an explanation so that you could prepare yourself.”

“Why are you concerned? You’ve obviously done a turnaround in your opinion of me. Is it because I helped you during the battle against my brother?”

“Well, of course,” Gilard stammered.

“It’s a sorry reason,” Madelyne told him.

“You’re sorry you saved my life?” Gilard asked.

“You misunderstand, Gilard. I’m sorry I was forced to take another man’s life in order to aid you,” she explained. “I’m not sorry I was able to help you though.”

“Lady Madelyne, you contradict yourself,” Gilard told her. He was frowning and looking confused.

He couldn’t possibly understand. He was just too much like his brother. Aye, like Duncan, Gilard was used to killing, she supposed, and he’d never comprehend the shame she felt over her behavior. Lord, he probably viewed her aid as heroic. “I think I’d prefer you had found something good in me and that was the reason you’ve changed your opinion.”

“I don’t understand you,” Gilard remarked, shrugging his shoulders.

“I know.” The words were said so sadly Gilard felt like comforting her.

“You’re an unusual woman.”

“I try not to be. It is difficult, though, when you consider my past.”

“I give you a compliment when I tell you I think you’re unusual,” Gilard returned, smiling over the worry he’d caught in her voice. Did she think unusual meant a flaw of some sort, he wondered.

He shook his head and then turned and led the way down the stairs, explaining as he went that if she slipped, she was to grab hold of his shoulders for support. The steps were wet, slick in spots.

Gilard kept up a steady monologue, but Madelyne was too nervous to listen to him. She was a bundle of worry inside over the possibility of meeting Adela.

When they reached the entrance to the hall, Gilard moved to her side. He offered her his arm. Madelyne denied the gallant gesture, concerned that Gilard’s change of heart might not sit well with his brothers.

With a small shake of her head Madelyne folded her hands in front of her and turned her attention to the hall. Lord, it was gigantic in proportions, with a stone hearth taking up a fair portion of the wall facing her. To the right of the fireplace, yet some distance away, was a massive table long enough to sit at least twenty. The table squatted atop a wooden platform. Scarred stools lined the length on both sides, some upright, more overturned.

A rather peculiar odor reached Madelyne, and she wrinkled her nose in response. She took a good look around her then and immediately spotted the cause. The rushes littering the floor were mottled with age. Why, they were ripe with staleness. A fire blazed in the hearth, heating the stench, and if that wasn’t enough to turn a stomach, a dozen or so dogs added their own unwashed scent as they slept against each other in a contented pile in the center of the room.

Madelyne was appalled by the mess, but she was determined to keep her thoughts to herself. If the Wextons wished to live like animals, so be it. She certainly didn’t care.

When Gilard nudged her, Madelyne started to walk toward the platform. Edmond was already seated at the table, his back to the wall behind him. The middle brother was watching her. He looked as if he were brooding over something. He tried to look right through her, just as she pretended to act unconcerned.

Once she and Gilard had taken their places at the table, soldiers of diverse rank and size filed into the room. They took up the remaining stools, save for the one at the head of the table, adjacent to Madelyne. She assumed the empty chair belonged to Duncan, for he was head of the Wexton clan.

Madelyne was about to ask Gilard when Duncan was going to join them, when Edmond’s voice rang out. “Gerty!”

The bellow washed away Madelyne’s question. The shout was promptly answered by a loud response, coming from the buttery to the right. “We hear you.”

Gerty appeared then, juggling a stack of empty trenchers on one arm and a large platter of meat on the other. Two other serving girls followed in Gerty’s wake, carrying additional platters, all brimming with food. A third servant appeared, ending the procession, with crusty loaves of bread in her hands and tucked under her arms.

What happened next was so revolting, Madelyne was struck speechless. Gerty slammed the platters down in the middle of the table, and motioned to the other servants to do the same. Trenchers flew like discs propelled on a battlefield, landing and spinning all around her, followed by fat jugs of ale. The men, led by Edmond, immediately began to eat.

This was obviously some sort of signal to the sleeping dogs, for they bounded to their feet and raced over to take up positions along the length on both sides of the table. Madelyne didn’t understand the reason for this strange behavior until the first bone went flying over one of the soldiers’ shoulders. The discarded bone was immediately snatched up by one of the larger dogs, a Levrier nearly twice the size of the greyhounds on either sides of him. Fierce growling came next, until another bit of garbage was thrown over another shoulder, and then another and another, until all the dogs were in a frenzy of feeding, just like the men surrounding her.

Madelyne stared at the men. She couldn’t hide her repulsion and didn’t even try. She did, however, lose her appetite.

Not a decent word was exchanged throughout the meal; only obscene grunts from men thoroughly enjoying their food could be heard over the snapping of the dogs at her backside.

She thought, at first, that it was all some sort of trick to make her sick, but when it continued on and on, until all the men had filled their bellies and belched their satisfaction, she was forced to reevaluate her way of thinking.

“You’re not eating anything, Madelyne. Aren’t you hungry?” Gilard asked with a mouth full of food. He had finally noticed that Madelyne hadn’t touched any of the meat that had landed between them.

“I’ve lost my hunger,” Madelyne whispered.

Madelyne watched Gilard take a long swig of ale, then wipe his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic. She closed her eyes. “Tell me this, Gilard,” she finally managed, “why didn’t the men wait for Duncan. I would think he would demand it.”

“Oh, Duncan never eats with us,” Gilard answered. He ripped a piece of bread from a long loaf and offered Madelyne a share. She shook her head.

“Duncan never eats with you?”

“Not since our father died and Mary took ill,” Gilard qualified.

“Who is Mary?”

“Was,” Gilard corrected her. “She’s dead now.” He belched before continuing. “She was housekeep. It was years past her time to die,” he went on, rather callously in Madelyne’s opinion. “I thought she’d outlive all of us. Adela wouldn’t hear of replacing her, said it would hurt her feelings. Toward the end, Mary’s eyes went bad on her and she couldn’t find the table half the time.”

Gilard took another huge bite of meat and casually flipped the bone over his shoulder. Madelyne was forced to dodge the garbage. A fresh spurt of anger washed over her.

“Anyway,” Gilard continued, “Duncan is lord of this manor. He separates himself from the family as much as possible. I think he prefers to eat alone too.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Madelyne muttered.

To think she’d actually looked forward to getting out of her room. “Do Duncan’s men always eat with such enthusiasm?” she asked.

Gilard looked confused by her question. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “When they put in a full day, it would seem so.”

When Madelyne thought she couldn’t watch the men a moment longer, the ordeal abruptly came to an end. One by one the soldiers stood, belched, and took their leave. Had it not been so disgusting, she might have found the ritual humorous.

The dogs also retreated, lazily making their way back to form a new pyramid in front of the fireplace. Madelyne decided the animals were better disciplined than their masters. None of them belched their farewell.

“You didn’t eat anything,” Gilard said. “Didn’t you enjoy the meal?” he asked. His voice was low. Madelyne thought he kept it that way so Edmond wouldn’t hear.

“Was it a meal?” Madelyne asked, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

“What would you call it?” Edmond interjected with a scowl the size of the hall.

“I would call it a feeding.”

“I don’t understand your meaning,” Edmond said.

“Then I will be most happy to explain,” Madelyne answered. “I’ve seen animals act with better manners.” She nodded, emphasizing her comment. “Men of breeding eat their food, Edmond. What I have just witnessed wasn’t a meal. Nay, it was a feeding by a pack of animals dressed as men. Is that clear enough for you?”

Edmond’s face had turned flushed during her speech. He looked as if he wanted to leap across the table and throttle her. Madelyne was too angry to care. It had felt good to let go of some of her anger.

“I believe you’ve made your position quite clear. Wouldn’t you agree, Edmond?”

Oh, Lord, it was Duncan speaking, and his deep voice came from right behind her back. She didn’t dare turn around, else lose her newfound courage.

He felt terribly close. She leaned back just a little and felt his thighs touch her shoulder blades. Madelyne realized she shouldn’t have touched him, remembering all too well the power in those muscular thighs of his.

She decided to knock him off the platform. Madelyne stood up, turned at the same time, and found herself plastered up against Baron Wexton. He hadn’t given an inch, and it was Madelyne who was now forced to edge around him. She lifted her skirt and stepped off the platform, turned again, fully intending to tell Duncan just what she thought of his barbaric dinner. Then she made the mistake of looking up at him, stared into his gray eyes, and felt her courage run right out of her.

It was unfortunate, this mystical power he seemed to have over her mind. He was using it now, she told herself, robbing her of her thoughts. God help her, she couldn’t even remember what she wanted to say to him.

Without a word of farewell, Madelyne turned and slowly walked away. She considered that victory enough, because she really would have preferred running.

Madelyne made it halfway to the entrance of the hall before Duncan’s command stopped her. “Madelyne, I did not give you permission to leave.” Each word was slowly enunciated.

Her back stiffened. Madelyne turned, gave him an insincere smile, and returned her answer with the same exaggerated tone.

“I didn’t ask it.”

She saw his astonished expression before she turned her back on him again. Madelyne started walking, muttering to herself that she was nothing but a pawn, after all, and pawns certainly didn’t have to do the bidding of their captors. Aye, the injustices dealt out to her were so unfair. She was a good, gentle lady.

Because she was busy muttering to herself, she never heard Duncan move. He acted just like a wolf, she thought a little frantically when she felt his big hands settle on her shoulders.

Duncan applied subtle pressure to stop her, but it really hadn’t been necessary. As soon as he touched her, he felt the stiffness leave her shoulders.

Madelyne sagged against him. Duncan felt her tremble. He realized then that she wasn’t paying him the least attention. Nay, Madelyne was staring at the entrance of the hall. She was staring at Adela.

Chapter Nine

“Abhor that which is evil;

Cleave to that which is good.”

NEW TESTAMENT, ROMANS, 12:9

Madelyne was horrified by the sight standing before her. She recognized Adela immediately, for the woman looked remarkably like her brother, Gilard. She had his brown-colored hair, brown eyes too. But she wasn’t nearly as tall as Gilard, and she was much too thin, with a sallowness to her complexion that indicated to Madelyne she hadn’t been well.

Adela was dressed in a gown that might have been a pale color at one time. It was so covered with dirt and filth now, the true color wasn’t recognizable. Her hair, long and stringy, appeared to be just as filthy as her gown. Madelyne thought there might be more than dirt living in the sticky-looking mess.

Madelyne wasn’t repelled by Adela’s appearance once her initial shock had eased. She could see the haunted look in the poor girl’s eyes. There was pain there, and such despair. Madelyne felt like weeping. Dear God, her brother had caused this. Madelyne knew then that Louddon would spend eternity in hell.

Duncan wrapped his arm around Madelyne’s shoulders and pulled her roughly up against his side. She didn’t understand his motive, yet quit trembling in his embrace.

“I’ll kill her, Duncan.” Adela shouted the threat.

Edmond suddenly came into view. Madelyne watched him hurry over to his sister and take hold of her arm.

Adela slowly followed her brother to the table. Edmond was speaking to her but his voice was too low for Madelyne to hear what he was saying. He did seem to soothe his sister though. Her gait lost its stiffness and she nodded several times in response to her brother’s words.

When Adela was seated next to Edmond, she suddenly screamed her threat again. “It is my right to kill her, Duncan.”

There was such hatred in those eyes. Madelyne would have taken a step back had Duncan not held her so firmly.

She didn’t know how to respond to the threat. Madelyne finally nodded, indicating to Adela that she understood what she promised, and then considered it might look as though she were in agreement. “You may try, Adela,” she answered.

Her answer seemed to push Adela into a full rage. Duncan’s sister stood up, so quickly the stool toppled off the platform and crashed to the stone floor.

“When you turn your back, I’ll—”

“Enough.” Duncan’s voice echoed off the walls. The command got an immediate reaction from Adela. She seemed to wilt right before Madelyne’s eyes.

Edmond obviously didn’t like the way Duncan had shouted at their sister. He gave his brother a scowl before regaining Adela’s chair and helping her sit down.

Duncan muttered an expletive. He let go of Madelyne’s shoulders but kept her prisoner by taking hold of her hand. And then he walked out of the hall, pulling her behind him. Madelyne had to run to keep up.

Duncan didn’t let up his pace or his grip until they had reached the narrow landing outside her tower bedroom.

“How could you let her get that way?” Madelyne demanded.

“Your brother is responsible,” Duncan answered.

She knew she was going to start to cry. Madelyne straightened her shoulders. “I am very tired, Duncan. I would like to go to bed now.”

She slowly walked into the room, praying he wouldn’t follow. When she heard the clip of his boots against the steps, she knew he’d left.

Madelyne turned and closed the door, and almost made it to the bed before she started to weep.

Duncan immediately went back to the hall. He intended to command cooperation from his brothers on his plan for Madelyne.

Edmond and Gilard were still sitting at the table, sharing a jug of ale between them. Adela had, thankfully, already left the hall.

When Duncan sat down, Gilard passed the jug to Duncan just as Edmond challenged him. “Are we Wextons now going to have to protect Louddon’s sister from one of our own?”

“Madelyne hasn’t done anything to Adela,” Gilard defended. “She’s nothing like her brother and you damn well know it, Edmond. We’ve treated her shamefully, yet she hasn’t spoken a single word of protest.”

“Don’t play Madelyne’s champion to me,” Edmond returned. “She is courageous,” he admitted with a shrug. “You’ve already recounted the story of how she saved your backside during the battle, Gilard. God, you’ve retold it so many times, I know it by heart,” he added, looking at Duncan now. “The issue isn’t Madelyne’s character, however. Her presence upsets Adela.”

“Aye,” Duncan interjected. “And that pleases me.”

“What say you?” Edmond demanded.

“Edmond, before you lose your temper, answer me this. When did Adela last speak to you?”

“In London, right after we found her,” Edmond answered. His voice sounded with irritation, but Duncan wasn’t offended by it.

“Gilard? When did your sister last speak to you?”

“’Tis the same as Edmond,” Gilard answered, frowning. “She told me what happened and that was all. You know she hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since that night.”

“Until this evening,” Duncan reminded them. “Adela spoke to Madelyne.”

“And you view this as a good sign?” Edmond asked, his voice incredulous. “Adela finally speaks, aye, but only of murder, brother. Good God, our sweet sister vows to kill Madelyne. I don’t see this as recovery.”

“Adela is coming back to us,” Duncan explained. “There’s anger now, so fierce it all but consumes her mind, but I think, with Madelyne’s help, Adela will begin to heal.”

Edmond shook his head. “When our sister Catherine came to visit, Adela wouldn’t even look at her. Why do you think Madelyne can help when Adela’s own sister couldn’t?”

Duncan was hard pressed to put his feelings into explanation. He wasn’t at all accustomed to discussing anything of significance with his two younger brothers. Nay, his usual custom was to issue commands, expecting each and every one to be carried out to his satisfaction. Duncan ruled his house just as he ruled his men, and in much the same manner as his father had ruled. The only exception to this sacred law was when he trained with his men. Then Duncan became an active participant as well as their instructor, demanding only from each soldier those feats he’d already accomplished himself.

Yet this was certainly not a usual circumstance. His brothers deserved to know what Duncan thought to do. Adela was also their sister. Aye, it was also their right to voice their opinions.

“I say we send for Catherine again,” Edmond interjected, a stubborn set to his jaw.

“It isn’t necessary,” Duncan stated. “Madelyne will help Adela. We’ve only to give her direction,” he added with a hint of a smile. “Madelyne is the only one who’ll understand what’s going on inside Adela’s mind. Eventually our sister will turn to her.”

“Aye, Duncan, Adela will turn to your Madelyne all right, but with a dagger in her hand and killing in her mind. We’ll have to take every precaution.”

“I don’t want Madelyne placed in jeopardy,” Gilard remarked. “I think we should have left her behind. Louddon would have found her soon enough. And she isn’t Duncan’s Madelyne, Edmond. We are all equally responsible for her.”

“Madelyne is mine, Gilard,” Duncan announced. His voice was soft but the challenge was there, in the set of his shoulders and the way he stared at his brother.

Gilard reluctantly nodded agreement. Edmond watched the exchange between his brothers. He wasn’t at all pleased by the possessive tone in Duncan’s voice.

Edmond was suddenly in complete agreement with Gilard, a rarity, for Gilard and Edmond usually took opposing viewpoints in nearly all matters of substance. “Perhaps Madelyne should have remained behind,” he said, thinking to next bring up the possibility of returning her as soon as possible.

Duncan’s fist hit the table with enough force to overturn the ale. The jug would have toppled off the table had Gilard not reacted so quickly.

“Madelyne isn’t going anywhere, Edmond. I’ll not ask again, brother. Do you back me in this decision?”

A long moment of silence stretched between the two brothers.

“So that’s the way of it,” Edmond finally said.

Duncan nodded. Gilard watched the exchange, perplexed. He’d obviously missed something but couldn’t understand what it was.

“Aye, that is the way of it,” Duncan acknowledged. “Do you think to challenge me on this?”

Edmond sighed. He shook his head. “I do not. I stand behind you, Duncan, though I would advise you of the problems this decision will bring.”

“It wouldn’t sway me, Edmond.”

Duncan didn’t look disposed to explaining the conversation. Gilard decided to wait until he had Edmond alone, and then find out what was going on. Besides, another comment had nagged him into a quick question. “Duncan? What did you mean when you said Madelyne only need be directed toward helping Adela?”

Duncan finally turned to look at Gilard. He was pleased by Edmond’s support, and his mood was therefore lightened. “Madelyne has had experiences that will help her with our sister. My suggestion is to place the two together as often as possible. Edmond, it will be your duty to escort your sister to dinner each night. Gilard, you’ll bring Madelyne. She isn’t as frightened of you.”

“She’s afraid of me?” Edmond sounded incredulous.

Duncan ignored the question, though he gave Edmond an irritated look to let him know he’d little liking for being interrupted. “It isn’t significant if either Adela or Madelyne wishes to decline. Drag them if you have to, but eat together they will.”

“Adela will destroy our gentle Madelyne,” Gilard rushed out. “Why, sweet Madelyne could never hold her own against—”

“Sweet Madelyne has a temper as fierce as a winter gale, Gilard.” Duncan’s voice sounded exasperated. “We have only to direct her to lose a bit of it.”

“What say you?” Gilard all but shouted, clearly astonished. “Madelyne is a gentle maiden. Why …”

Edmond’s usual scowl deserted him. He actually started to chuckle. “She’s got a sweet left hook as well, Gilard. And we know well enough what a gentle little maiden she is. She bellowed it loud enough for all of England to hear.”

“The fever ruled her mind then. I told you we should have cut her hair to let the demons out, Duncan. Madelyne wasn’t herself, I tell you. Why, she doesn’t even know she blackened Edmond’s eye.”

Duncan shook his head. “You needn’t defend Madelyne to me,” he said.

“Well, what are you going to do with Madelyne?” Gilard couldn’t keep the demand out of his voice.

“She will have a safe haven here, Gilard.” He stood then and was about to walk out of the room, when Edmond’s comment reached him. “It won’t be safe until Adela comes to her senses. Madelyne’s going to be put through an ordeal.”

“An ordeal for all of us,” Duncan called out. “God willing, it will all be over soon enough.”

Duncan dismissed his brothers. He made his way to the lake for his swim.

His thoughts kept turning to Madelyne. The truth was inescapable. By an ironic twist of fate, Madelyne had remained unblemished by Louddon’s black nature. She was a woman to be reckoned with. She hides her true character from herself, Duncan thought with a smile. Yet he’d been given treasured glimpses of the real Lady Madelyne. It had taken a raging fever to bring out her passionate spirit though. Aye, she was sensual, with a thirst for life that pleased him considerably.

Perhaps, Duncan thought, Adela will aid Madelyne as well. His sister might unknowingly help rid Madelyne of some of her cloaks.

The frigid water finally bothered Duncan enough to push all thoughts aside. He’d finish his swim and go to Madelyne. That singular motive aided him through the ritual in quickened time.

Madelyne had just opened the shutters to her window, when she caught sight of Duncan walking toward the lake. His back was to her and she watched him remove every bit of clothing and dive into the water.

She felt no shame in seeing him without his clothes on. Aye, his nudity didn’t embarrass her at all. She was too stunned by what the daft man was doing to blush over his nudity. Besides, his back was facing her, saving her true discomfort.

She wouldn’t believe he was actually going to dive into the water, but he did just that, and without a moment’s hesitation.

The full moon gave her sufficient light to follow him across the lake and back again. Madelyne never lost sight of him, but out of a sense of modesty she closed her eyes when he climbed out onto the bank. She waited for what she thought an adequate length of time, and then looked again.

Duncan stood by the edge of the water, the lower half of his body covered. He looked just like an avenging godchild of Zeus, for he was gifted with a most magnificent body.

He hadn’t bothered to put his tunic back on, but threw it carelessly over one shoulder instead. Didn’t he feel the cold? Madelyne was already shivering from the breeze that came through the window. Yet Duncan acted as if it were a warm spring day. Why, he was walking back toward his home with a lazy, unhurried stride.

Madelyne’s heart quickened as Duncan drew closer. He certainly was well proportioned. The man was long in flank, lean in waist, extremely broad in shoulders. The strength in his upper arms was clearly outlined by the light. Madelyne could see muscles all but rippling across his chest. Power radiated from him, even from such a distance, drawing her and worrying her at the same time.

Duncan suddenly stopped and looked up, catching Madelyne staring at him. She instinctively raised her hand in greeting, then faltered in the attempt. Madelyne couldn’t see the expression on his face, but she guessed he was scowling. Lord knew that was his usual expression.

Madelyne turned away and went back to her bed, forgetting in her haste to close the shutters.

She was still angry. Every time the picture of Adela came into her mind, she wanted to scream. She’d wept instead, for almost a good hour, until her cheeks were raw and her eyes swollen.

Adela was the initial reason for her fury. The poor girl had been through such an ordeal.

Madelyne understood what it felt like to be at the mercy of another. She knew the rage inside Adela and pitied the girl.

Yet she was also furious with the Wexton brothers. They had made the situation far worse by treating Adela so poorly.

Madelyne made the decision that she’d accept responsibility for Adela now. She didn’t think she wanted to help Duncan’s sister because Louddon had caused her pain. Even though Madelyne was Louddon’s sister, she wasn’t going to feel guilt because of relation. She would help Adela because the sister was so vulnerable and lost.

She would be gentle with the girl, kind, too, and surely in time Adela would accept her comfort.

God help her, Madelyne started to cry again. She felt so trapped. She was so close to the border and to her cousin Edwythe’s home, but now she’d have to wait to make her escape. Adela needed love and guidance, and her barbarian brothers didn’t know how to give either. Aye, she was needed here, Madelyne thought, until Duncan’s sister was given new strength.

The air in the room had turned freezing. Madelyne huddled under the covers, shivering, until she remembered the shutters were wide open. She got out of bed, wrapped an animal skin around her shoulders, and hurried over to the window.

It had started to rain, fitting weather for her mood, Madelyne decided. She looked down at the lake just to make certain Duncan wasn’t still there, and then glanced over to look at the crest on the lower hill visible over the top of the battlements.

Madelyne saw the animal then. She was so startled by the sight, she rose up on tiptoe and leaned out the window, afraid to take her gaze away for even a second, lest the huge beast up and vanish on her.

The animal seemed to be looking up at her. Madelyne knew then that her mind had broken, just like Adela’s. Good God, the beast looked just like a wolf. And Lord, he was magnificent!

Madelyne shook her head, yet continued to watch, mesmerized by the sight. When the wolf arched his neck back, she thought he might be howling. The sound never reached her though, probably snatched away by the wind and the rain pelting against the stones.

She didn’t know how long she stood by the window watching the animal. She did close her eyes, deliberately, but when she opened them again, the wolf was still there.

“’Tis only a dog,” she muttered to herself. Aye, a dog, not a wolf. “A very large dog,” she added.

If Madelyne had been given to a superstitious nature, she would have jumped to the conclusion that the wolf was an omen.

Madelyne closed the shutters and went back to her bed.

Her mind was filled with images of the wild beast, and it took a long time before sleep claimed her. Her last thought was a stubborn one. She hadn’t seen a wolf after all.

Sometime during the cold night Madelyne shivered enough to wake up. She felt Duncan put his arm around her and pull her toward his warmth.

She smiled over her fanciful dream and fell asleep again.

Chapter Ten

“There were giants in the earth in those days.”

OLD TESTAMENT, GENESIS, 6:4

If Madelyne lived to the ripe old age of thirty, she vowed she’d never forget the week that followed her decision to help Adela.

It was a week like none other, save the invasion by Duke William perhaps, but then, she hadn’t been born yet to witness that event, so she guessed it didn’t count. The week all but destroyed her gentle nature and her sanity. Madelyne wasn’t sure which she coveted more, however, and therefore determined to keep both.

Why, the strain was enough to set a saint’s teeth to gritting. The Wexton family was, of course, the sole reason.

Madelyne was given freedom to roam the castle grounds, with only one soldier trailing behind her like a loud shadow. She had even gained permission from Duncan to utilize the waste of foodstuff by feeding the animals. And since the soldier had also heard her request approved, he actually argued in her favor to the men in charge of the drawbridge. Madelyne walked all the way to the top of the hill outside the walls, her arms filled with a burlap bag containing meat, fowl, and grain. She didn’t know what her wild dog would eat and carried a selection sure to entice him.

Her shadow, a handsome soldier named Anthony, muttered over the distance. He had suggested they ride, but Madelyne was against the plan, forcing the soldier to walk beside her. She told him the walk would do them good, when in fact she hoped to hide her lack of riding skills.

When Madelyne returned from her chore, Duncan was waiting for her. He didn’t look too pleased. “You weren’t given permission to go outside the walls,” he stated quite emphatically.

Anthony came to her defense. “You did give her permission to feed the animals,” he reminded his lord.

“Aye, you did,” Madelyne agreed, and with such a sweet smile and soft voice, she was certain he thought her most composed.

Duncan nodded his head.

The look on his face was chilling. Madelyne thought he wished he was rid of her. Yet he didn’t even yell at her now. In truth, he rarely raised his voice. He didn’t have to. Duncan’s size gained immediate attention, and his expression, when he was as displeased as he was now, seemed just as effective as any bellow.

Madelyne wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Unfortunately, she had to remind herself of that fact several times a day. And she still didn’t have enough courage to ask him what he’d meant by telling her she now belonged to him. She kept putting that confrontation off, in truth fearing what his answer would be.

Besides, she told herself, there’d be time enough after Adela was feeling better to find out her own destiny. For the time being, she’d attack each battle as it presented itself.

“I only walked to the top of the hill,” Madelyne finally answered. “Are you worried that I’ll just keep on walking until I’ve reached London?”

“What is the point of this walk?” Duncan asked, ignoring her comment about escape. He thought it too ludicrous to respond to.

“To feed my wolf.”

His reaction was most satisfactory. For once he wasn’t able to keep his expression contained. He was looking at her in astonishment. Madelyne smiled.

“You may laugh if you’ve a mind to, but I saw either a very large dog or a wild wolf, and I did feel it was my duty to feed him, just until the weather improves and he can hunt again. Of course, it will mean an entire winter ahead to see to his food, but come next spring, with the first warm breeze, I’m certain my wolf will be able to fend for himself.”

Duncan turned his back on Madelyne and walked away.

Madelyne felt like laughing. He hadn’t denied her walks outside his fortress, and that was victory enough to gloat over.

In truth, Madelyne didn’t think the wild dog was in the area any longer. She looked out her window every night since first sighting the animal, but he was never there. The dog had left, and sometimes, late at night when she was huddled under the covers, she’d wonder if she’d really seen the animal or if he’d just been a figment of her overactive imagination.

Madelyne would never admit that to Duncan, however, and gained perverse pleasure each time she walked across the drawbridge. The food she had left the day before was always gone, indicating that there were animals feeding during the night. She was happy knowing the food wasn’t wasted. And she was even happier vexing Duncan.

Aye, she did it just to irritate him. And from the way Duncan avoided her, she thought she had succeeded.

The days would have been enjoyable if Madelyne hadn’t had to worry about the dinner hours. That did put a weight on her shoulders and a strain on her gentle nature.

She stayed outside as much as possible, ignoring the rain and the cold. Gerty had given her cast-off clothing that had belonged to Duncan’s older sister, Catherine. The garments were too large, but Madelyne put her needle and thread to them and the result was more than adequate for her needs. She didn’t care if she was fashionable. The clothes were faded but clean, and felt soft against her skin. Most important, they kept her warm.

Each afternoon Madelyne walked to the stables with a clump of sugar to give to Duncan’s stallion, the white beauty she’d named Silenus. She and the horse had formed a bond of sorts. The stallion would set up a terrible fuss, pretending to try to knock the wooden stall apart whenever he caught sight of Madelyne approaching. Yet as soon as she spoke to him, Silenus would settle down. Madelyne understood the animal’s need to show off for her, and she always praised his spirit after giving him his treat.

Silenus, for all his size, was becoming affectionate. He’d nudge her hand until she petted him, and when she’d stop and rest her hand on the railing, a trick to gain a reaction, Silenus would immediately nudge her hand back on his head.

The stablemaster didn’t like Madelyne visiting and stated his opinion loud enough for her to hear. He also thought she spoiled Duncan’s horse and even threatened to tell the lord what she was up to. He was all bluster though. Aye, the stablemaster was amazed by Madelyne’s gifted way with the horse. He was still a wee bit nervous whenever he saddled Duncan’s stallion, but this mite of a girl didn’t seem the least afraid.

On the third afternoon, the stablemaster spoke to Madelyne, and by week’s end, they were fast friends.

His name was James, Madelyne learned, and he was married to Maude. Their son, William, was still attached to his mama’s skirts, but James was patiently awaiting the time when the boy would be old enough to become apprentice under him. The child would follow tradition, James explained with an air of importance.

“Silenus would let you ride him bareback,” James announced after he’d given Madelyne a tour of his domain.

Madelyne smiled. James had accepted her name for Duncan’s mount. “I’ve never ridden bareback,” she said. “’Tis the truth, James, that I’ve not ridden much at all.”

“Perhaps,” James suggested with a kind smile, “when the rain eases a bit, you could learn the proper way.”

Madelyne nodded.

“Now, if you’ve never learned, how’d you get from one place to the next, I’m wondering,” James admitted.

“I walked,” Madelyne told him. She laughed over his look of surprise. “’Tis not a sin I’m confessing.”

“I’ve a gentle mare you could start your practicing with,” he suggested.

“Nay, I think not,” Madelyne answered. “Silenus wouldn’t like that much. I think his feelings might be injured, and we can’t allow that, now, can we?”

“We can’t?” James looked confused.

“I’ll do well enough with Silenus.”

“’Tis the lord’s stallion you’re wanting to ride, milady?” James stammered. He sounded as if he were strangling.

“I know whom he belongs to,” Madelyne returned. “Don’t concern yourself over the animal’s size,” she said, trying to ease the incredulous look off his face. “I’ve ridden Silenus before.”

“But do you have the lord’s permission?”

“I shall gain it, James.”

Madelyne smiled again, and all the logical arguments went right out of the stablemaster’s mind. Aye, he told himself, from the look in her pretty blue eyes and the way she smiled up at him so trustingly, James suddenly found himself in complete agreement.

When Madelyne left the stable, the guard walked beside her. He was a constant reminder to her and to everyone else that she was not an invited guest. Anthony’s attitude toward her had softened considerably though. He wasn’t nearly as irritated by his duty.

From the way Anthony was greeted by the other soldiers, Madelyne surmised he was well thought of. He had an attractive smile, a boyish grin it was, which was at great odds with his size and age. She couldn’t understand why he’d been ordered to watch her, thinking that someone of lesser stature, such as Ansel, the squire, would have been better suited for the placid duty.

Her curiosity increased, until she finally decided to question him. “Have you done something to displease your lord?”

Anthony didn’t seem to understand her question.

“When the soldiers return from their work, I can see the envious way you watch them, Anthony. You’d like to be training with them instead of walking with me in circles.”

“’Tis no trouble,” Anthony protested.

“Still, I don’t understand why you’ve been given this duty unless you’ve displeased Duncan some way.”

“I’ve an injury needing to heal a bit more,” Anthony explained. His voice was hesitant, and Madelyne noticed the blush that slowly crept up from his neck.

She thought it most odd that he would be embarrassed. Seeking only to put him at ease, she said, “I’ve also suffered an injury, and not too mild, I can tell you that.” It did sound like a boast, but her goal was to make Anthony realize he had nothing to be ashamed of. “Almost did me in, Anthony, but Edmond took care of me. I’ve a horrid scar now, down the length of my thigh.”

Anthony continued to look uncomfortable with their topic. “Don’t soldiers think it noble when they’re injured in battle?” Madelyne asked.

“They do,” Anthony answered. He clasped his hands behind his back and increased his pace.

It suddenly dawned on Madelyne that Anthony might be embarrassed about just where he’d sustained his wound. His arms and legs looked fit enough, and that left only his chest and his …

“We’ll not speak of this again,” Madelyne blurted out. She felt her face warm. When Anthony immediately slowed his pace, Madelyne knew she was right. The injury was in an inappropriate place.

Though she never questioned Anthony about it, Madelyne thought it curious that the soldiers trained such long hours every day. She supposed that defending their lord was difficult work, considering the fact that their leader had so many enemies. She didn’t think she was jumping to conclusions either. Duncan wasn’t an easy man to like; he certainly wasn’t given to being tactful or diplomatic. Why, he’d probably collected more enemies than friends in William II’s court.

She was, unfortunately, given plenty of time to think about Duncan. She wasn’t at all accustomed to having so much unstructured time on her hands. When she wasn’t outside walking with Anthony, she drove Gerty and Maude to distraction with suggestions for making Duncan’s home more pleasing.

Maude wasn’t as guarded as Gerty. She was always eager to set her chores aside and visit with Madelyne. Little Willie, Maude’s four-year-old son, proved to be as talkative as his mother once Madelyne was able to coach his thumb out of his mouth.

When the day’s sunlight began to fade, however, Madelyne’s stomach would tighten up and her head would start pounding. It was little wonder, she told herself, when one considered that the evenings spent with the Wexton family were trials of endurance Odysseus would have turned his back on.

Madelyne wasn’t allowed to turn her back though. She had all but gotten down on her knees and begged to take her meals in her room, too, but Duncan wouldn’t allow it. Nay, he demanded her attendance at the family meal and then had the gall to remove himself from the disgusting ordeal he forced on her. The baron always ate alone, and made a brief appearance only once the table had been cleared of the clutter the men hadn’t already thrown to the floor.

Adela provided the stimulating conversation. While the men hurled bones over their shoulders, Duncan’s sister hurled one obscenity after another at Madelyne.

Madelyne didn’t think she could stand the torment much longer. Her smile felt as brittle as dry parchment.

On the seventh evening Madelyne’s composure did crack, and with such violent force that those who witnessed it were too astonished to intervene.

Duncan had just given her permission to leave the hall. Madelyne stood up, excused herself, and began to walk toward the entrance.

Her head was pounding, and she thought only to give Adela a wide path. Madelyne wasn’t up to another round of screaming. Duncan’s little sister was walking toward her.

Madelyne warily glanced over at Adela and saw little Willie peeking out from the doorway to the kitchens. The little boy smiled at Madelyne and she immediately stopped to speak to him.

The child responded to Madelyne’s smile. He darted out in front of Adela just as the sister swept her hand out in one of the grand gestures she always made when she was about to start in abusing Madelyne again. The back of Adela’s hand struck Willie’s cheek. The little one toppled to the ground.

Willie started to wail, Gilard shouted, and Madelyne let out an ear-piercing scream. The sound of rage she made stunned everyone in the hall, even Adela, who actually backed up a step, the first real retreat she’d ever made from Madelyne.

Gilard started to stand. Duncan grabbed hold of his arm. The youngest brother was about to argue over the restraint, but the look in Duncan’s eyes stopped him.

Madelyne rushed over to the little boy, soothed him with a soft word and a tender kiss on the top of his head, and then bade him to go to his mother. Maude, upon hearing her son’s wails, had appeared in the doorway, with Gerty at her side.

Madelyne turned to confront Adela then. She might have been able to control her anger if Duncan’s sister had shown any sign of remorse. Adela, however, didn’t look the least bit sorry for her conduct. And when she muttered that the boy was a nuisance, Madelyne let go of her control.

Adela called Willie a brat a scant second before Madelyne lashed out and slapped her right where she thought Adela most deserved it, across her mouth. Adela was so stunned by the attack, she lost her balance and stumbled to her knees. Without realizing it, she gave Madelyne added advantage.

Before Adela could stand up, Madelyne grabbed hold of her hair and twisted the mass behind her head, making the sister vulnerable and unable to strike back. She forced Adela’s head back. “You’ve spoken your last word of filth, Adela. Do you understand me?”

Everyone stared at the two women. Edmond was the first to come out of his stupor. “Unhand her, Madelyne,” he shouted.

Without taking her attention away from Adela, Madelyne shouted back to Edmond. “Keep out of this, Edmond. You hold me responsible for what happened to your sister, and I’ve decided ’tis high time I took a hand to right this mess. Starting now.”

Duncan never said a word. “I do not hold you responsible,” Edmond yelled. “Let go of her. Her mind is—”

“Her mind needs but a good cleaning, Edmond.”

Madelyne saw that Maude and Gerty were both watching from the doorway. She kept a firm hold on Adela when she turned to speak to them. “I think we’ll have need for two tubs to rid the filth covering this pitiful creature. See to it, Gerty. Maude, find clean clothes for your mistress.”

“You’re going to have a bath now, milady?” Gerty asked.

“Adela is going to get a bath,” Madelyne announced. She turned back to glare at Adela and said, “And soap in your mouth every time you say an unladylike word to me.”

Madelyne let go of Adela’s hair then and helped her stand. Duncan’s sister tried to pull away, but Madelyne wouldn’t allow it. Her anger had given her the strength of Hercules. “You’re taller than I am, but I’m stronger, and meaner right this minute than you could ever imagine, Adela. If I have to kick you all the way up to the tower, I’m more than up to the task.” She pulled on Adela’s arm, dragging her toward the entrance, muttering loud enough for all three brothers to hear. “And I’m smiling over the thought of kicking you, that’s the truth of it.”

Adela burst into tears. Madelyne was heartless. The sister wasn’t going to get any more sympathy from her. Edmond and Gilard had given Adela too much of that already. Without realizing it, the brothers hurt their sister with their pity and their compassion. What was needed now was a firm hand. And Madelyne’s were firm enough. Odd, but her head was not aching anymore.

“Cry all you want, Adela. It won’t help your cause. You dared to call little Willie a brat, when the name belongs to you. Aye, you’re the brat. That’s all going to change now. I promise you that.”

Madelyne kept up a constant chatter all the way to her room. She didn’t have to kick Adela once.

By the time the wooden tubs were filled to spilling with steaming water, the fight had gone out of Adela. Gerty and Maude stayed to lend a hand getting Adela’s clothes off her. “Burn these,” Madelyne ordered after handing the offensive garments to Gerty.

When Adela was pushed into the first tub, Madelyne thought she tried to mimic Lot’s wife. Duncan’s sister sat like a sculptured piece of stone and stared off into the distance. The look in her eyes told another story, however. Aye, it was plain to see that Adela was seething with rage.

“Why was there need for two tubs?” Maude asked. She wrung her hands with worry. Adela had suddenly changed tactics and had just grabbed hold of Lady Madelyne’s hair. It looked as though she meant to rip Madelyne’s pretty locks right out of her scalp.

In retaliation, the lady who Maude had come to view as a sweet, gentle woman, shoved Adela’s face under the water. Did she think to drown the baron’s sister?

“I don’t think Lady Adela can breathe under there,” Maude said.

“Aye, and she can’t spit at me either,” Madelyne answered, snapping out each word.

“Well, I never…” Gerty gasped the protest before turning. Maude watched her friend run out the doorway.

Gerty was always one for telling the news before anyone else had a chance, Maude knew. Next Baron Wexton would probably be wanting to know what was going on.

Maude wished she could chase after Gerty. Lady Madelyne frightened her now; she’d never seen such a ferocious temper. Still, she’d stood up for little Willie, Maude admitted, and for that reason she’d stay and lend a hand as long as Lady Madelyne demanded it.

“We need two tubs because Adela is so filthy, she’ll need two baths.”

Maude had difficulty hearing what Lady Madelyne was telling her. Adela had started kicking and scratching. Lord, there was water everywhere, most especially on Lady Madelyne.

“Hand me the soap, if you please,” Madelyne ordered.

The next hour was an incredible ordeal worthy of retelling until next spring. Gerty kept poking her head in to check on the progress. She’d then hurry back downstairs to report to Edmond and Gilard.

When the commotion was over, Gerty was a bit disappointed. Lady Adela was sitting quietly in front of the fireplace while Lady Madelyne combed her hair. The fight had gone out of the baron’s sister, and the excitement was over.

Maude and Gerty left the tower after the tubs had been emptied and carried away.

Neither Adela nor Madelyne had spoken a civil word to each other. Maude suddenly appeared in the doorway again and rushed out. “I’ve still to tell you my gratitude for helping my boy.”

Madelyne was about to answer Maude, when the servant continued. “Mind you, I don’t hold it against Lady Adela. She can’t help the way she is. But you went out of your way to comfort Willie and I’m grateful to you.”

“I didn’t mean to hit him.”

The admission came from Adela. It was the first decent sentence she’d spoken. Maude and Madelyne shared a smile.

As soon as the door closed behind Maude, Madelyne pulled up a chair and sat down, facing Adela.

Adela refused to look at Madelyne. Her hands were folded together in her lap and she stared intently at them.

Madelyne was given plenty of time to study Duncan’s sister. Adela was actually very pretty. She had large brown eyes, golden brown hair, a surprise that, but once the dirt had been removed, the strands of blond were most noticeable.

She didn’t look much like Duncan, yet she certainly shared his stubborn streak. Madelyne forced herself to be patient.

At least an hour passed before Adela finally looked up at Madelyne. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me what happened to you.”

Adela’s face immediately turned red. “Do you want all the details, Madelyne? Will that give you pleasure?” Adela began to twist the cuff of the freshly laundered sleeping gown she wore.

“Nay, I won’t gain pleasure,” Madelyne answered. Her voice sounded sad. “But you’ve a need to tell it. There’s poison inside of you, Adela, and you need to get rid of it. You’ll feel better afterward, I promise you. And you won’t have to keep up your childish act in front of your brothers anymore.”

Adela’s eyes widened. “How did you …” She suddenly realized what she was giving away.

Madelyne smiled. “It’s obvious to the most simple-minded that you don’t hate me. We’ve crossed paths each day and you never screamed at me then. Nay, Adela, you’ve been too deliberate in your hatred.”

“I do hate you.”

“You do not,” Madelyne announced. “You’ve nothing to hate me for. I’ve done nothing to harm you. We are both innocent and both caught in this war between our brothers. Aye, we are both innocent.”

“I’m no longer innocent,” Adela answered. “And Duncan has gone to your bed every night, so I doubt that you’re innocent either.”

Madelyne was astonished by Adela’s words. Why did she think that Duncan had spent his nights with her? She was mistaken, of course, but Madelyne forced herself to concentrate on Adela’s problem now. She could protest her own innocence later.

“I would kill your brother if I had a chance,” Adela announced. “Why don’t you just leave me alone? I want to die in peace.”

“Don’t speak such sinful thoughts,” Madelyne returned. “Adela, how can I help you if you …”

“Why? Why would you want to help me? You’re Louddon’s sister.”

“I’ve no loyalty toward my brother. He destroyed that long ago. When did you meet Louddon?” she asked most casually then, as if it really held no importance.

“In London,” Adela answered. “And that is all I’m going to tell you.”

“We are going to speak of this, no matter how painful it is. We’ve only each other, Adela. I’ll keep your secrets safe.”

“Secrets? There are no secrets, Madelyne. Everyone knows what happened to me.”

“I will hear the truth from you,” Madelyne announced. “If we have to sit here and stare at each other all night, I’m more than willing.”

Adela looked at Madelyne a long while, obviously trying to make up her mind. She felt ready to burst into a thousand fragments. God, she was so tired of the deception, and so very lonely. “And will you tell Louddon every word when you return to him?” she asked, though her voice was a hoarse whisper now.

“I’m never going back to Louddon,” Madelyne said. Her voice sounded her anger. “I’ve a plan to go and live with my cousin. I don’t know the way of it yet, but I’ll get to Scotland even if I have to walk.”

“I believe you, you’ll not tell Louddon. But what about Duncan? Will you tell him?”

“I’ll tell no one unless you give me permission,” Madelyne answered.

“I met your brother when I was at court,” Adela whispered. “He is a handsome man,” she added. “He told me he loved me, pledged himself to me.”

Adela started to cry, and several minutes elapsed before she could regain control.

“I was already betrothed to Baron Gerald. The arrangement was made when I was ten years old. I was content until I met Louddon. I haven’t seen Gerald since I was a little girl. God’s truth, I’m not even sure I’d recognize him now. Duncan gave permission for me to go with Edmond and Gilard to court. Gerald was supposed to be there, and since the marriage vows were to be exchanged next summer, my brothers thought it a good idea for me to get to know my future husband. Duncan believed that Louddon was in Normandy with the king, you see. Else he’d never allow me near the court.”

Adela took a deep breath and then continued. “Gerald wasn’t there. He had reason enough,” she added, “one of his vassals’ homes had been attacked and he had to retaliate. Still, I was angry and disappointed.”

She shrugged then. Madelyne reached out and clasped her hands. “I would have been disappointed too,” she offered.

“Everything happened so quickly, Madelyne. We were in London only two weeks. I knew how much Duncan disliked Louddon, but I didn’t know why. We kept our meetings secret. He was always kind and considerate to me. I liked the attention. The meetings were easy to arrange, too, because Duncan wasn’t there.”

“Louddon would have found a way,” Madelyne said. “I think he used you to hurt your brother. You’re very pretty, but I don’t think Louddon loved you. He’s not capable of loving anyone but himself. I know that now.”

“Louddon didn’t touch me.”

The statement fell between them. Madelyne was stunned. She forced herself to keep her expression contained and then said, “Please go on.”

“We agreed to meet in a chamber Louddon had found vacant the day before. It was well away from the rest of the guests, quite isolated. I knew what I was doing, Madelyne. I agreed to this meeting. I thought I loved your brother. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help how I felt. Lord, he was so handsome. Dear God, Duncan would kill me if he knew the truth.”

“Don’t torment yourself, Adela. He won’t know anything unless you tell him.”

“Louddon came to meet me,” Adela said. “But he wasn’t alone. His friend was with him and he was the one who … violated me.”

All of Madelyne’s training in hiding her feelings saved her now. She showed no outward sign at Adela’s shocking admission.

Duncan’s sister watched Madelyne. She waited to see repulsion. “This doesn’t make you—”

“Finish it,” Madelyne whispered.

The full sordid story poured out, haltingly at first and then with increased speed, and when Adela was finished, Madelyne gave her a few minutes to calm herself.

“Who was this man with Louddon? Give me his name.”

“Morcar.”

“I know the bastard,” Madelyne answered, unable to keep the rage out of her voice. Adela looked frightened by the outburst. Madelyne tried to push her anger aside. “Why didn’t you tell Duncan all of this? Not the part about making the choice to meet Louddon, of course, but about Morcar’s involvement?”

“I couldn’t,” Adela answered. “I was so ashamed. And I was so badly beaten, I truly thought I was going to die. Louddon was as responsible as Morcar was … Oh, I don’t know, but once I’d said Louddon’s name to Gilard and Edmond, they didn’t want to hear any more.”

Adela started weeping, but Madelyne quickly stopped her. “All right then,” she said most matter-of-factly. “You’re to listen to me now. Your only sin was falling in love with the wrong man. I wish you could tell Duncan about Morcar, but that decision is yours to make, not mine. For as long as you bind me, I vow I’ll keep your secret.”

“I trust you,” Adela answered. “I’ve been watching you all week. You’re nothing like your brother. You don’t even look like him.”

“Thank God for that,” Madelyne muttered with such gusto in her voice, Adela smiled.

“One more question, Adela, if you please,” Madelyne said. “Why have you been acting so crazed? Was it all for your brothers’ benefit?”

Adela nodded. “Why?” Madelyne asked, confused.

“When I came home, I realized I wasn’t going to die. And then I began to worry that I might be carrying Morcar’s child. Duncan would force a marriage, and—”

“You can’t believe Duncan would bind you to Louddon?” Madelyne interrupted.

“No, no,” Adela said. “But he’d find someone. His only concern would be to help me.”

“And are you with child?” Madelyne asked. She felt her stomach lurch over the possibility.

“I don’t know. I’ve missed my monthly but I don’t feel any different and they’ve never been orderly fluxes.” Adela blushed after making her confession.

“Perhaps it is too soon to tell,” Madelyne advised. “But if you are, how did you think to keep it from Duncan? He may be stubborn, Adela, but he certainly isn’t blind.”

“I thought I’d keep to my room until it was too late, I guess. It sounds so foolish now. I haven’t been thinking too clearly. I just know I’ll kill myself before I am forced to marry anyone.”

“What about Baron Gerald?” Madelyne asked.

“The contract is broken now,” Adela said. “I’m no longer a virgin.”

Madelyne sighed. “Did the baron announce this?”

“Nay, but Duncan says he’ll not have to honor it now,” Adela said.

Madelyne nodded. “Is your main worry that Duncan will force a marriage?”

“It is.”

“Then let us face this worry first. We’ll form a plan to rid you of that concern.”

“We will?”

Madelyne heard the eagerness in Adela’s voice, saw the spark of hope in her eyes too. That made her all the more determined. Unable to sit still a moment longer, Madelyne bounded to her feet and began to pace a slow circle around the chairs. “I don’t believe for one minute that your brother would be so heartless as to demand that you marry anyone.” She raised her hand when Adela looked as if she were going to interrupt, and then continued. “However, what I believe isn’t important. What if I gained a promise from Duncan that you could live here for as long as you wanted to, no matter what the circumstances? Would that ease your fear, Adela?”

“Would you have to tell him I might be carrying a child?”

Madelyne didn’t answer immediately. She continued to pace her circle, wondering how in God’s name she’d ever get Duncan to promise her anything.

“Of course not,” Madelyne answered. She stopped when she was directly in front of Adela and smiled down at the girl. “I’d get his promise first. He’ll find out the rest soon enough, won’t he?”

Adela smiled. “You’ve a devious mind, Madelyne. I understand your plan now. Once Duncan agrees, he won’t go back on his word. But he’ll be furious with you for tricking him,” she added, her smile fading over that worry.

“He’s always furious with me,” Madelyne answered with a shrug. “I’m not afraid of your brother, Adela. He blusters like the wind, yet there’s a soft core underneath. I’m sure of it,” Madelyne said, praying to herself that she was correct. “Now then, promise me you’ll not worry about the possibility of carrying a child. You’ve had an ordeal, and that could well be the reason you’ve missed your monthly,” she advised. “I know all about this, you see, because Frieda, the woodcutter’s wife, suffered a terrible upset when her boy fell down the drinking well and couldn’t be gotten out for the longest time. The lad was unharmed, and thank God for that, but I heard Frieda tell another servant some two months later that she wasn’t having her monthly. The other servant did explain that it was a natural enough condition considering the fright she’d had. I don’t remember the wise woman’s name now, else I’d share it with you, but she turned out to be right on the subject. Aye, Frieda was back to her usual flux the following month.”

Adela nodded. “And if you do carry a babe,” Madelyne went on, “we’ll see it through, won’t we? You’ll not hate the child, will you, Adela?” Madelyne couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. “The baby would be as innocent as you are, Adela.”

“He’d have a black soul, like his father,” Adela said. “They would share the same blood.”

“Then if that is the way of it, I’m damned to hell just as Louddon is, aren’t I?”

“Nay, you’re not like your brother,” Adela protested.

“And your child won’t be like Morcar either. You’d see to it,” Madelyne said.

“How?”

“By loving the baby and helping him make the right choices when he’s old enough to understand.”

Madelyne sighed then and shook her head. “You may not be with child anyway, so let’s put the matter aside for now. I can see how tired you are. Since your room must still be cleaned before you can sleep there, you’re to have my bed this night. I’ll find another.”

Adela followed Madelyne over to the bed and watched as her new friend pulled the covers back. “When will you ask Duncan for his promise?”

Madelyne waited until Adela got into bed before answering. “I’ll speak to him tomorrow. “’Tis most important to you, I can see that. I won’t be forgetting.”

“I don’t ever want another man to touch me,” Adela said.

Her voice was so harsh, Madelyne began to worry she’d get herself upset again.

“Hush, now,” Madelyne soothed as she tucked the covers around Adela. “Rest now. Everything is going to be all right.”

Adela smiled over the way Madelyne was pampering her. “Madelyne? I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. If I thought it would help, I’d ask Edmond to speak to Duncan about taking you to Scotland.”

Madelyne noticed Adela thought to talk to Edmond and not go directly to Duncan. That comment reinforced her belief that Adela was afraid of her eldest brother.

Adela sighed and then said, “I really don’t want you to go anywhere just yet. I’ve been so lonely. Is that selfish of me to admit?”

“Only truthful,” Madelyne returned. “A trait I most admire,” she added. “Why, I’ve never told a lie in all my days,” she boasted.

“Not ever?”

Madelyne caught Adela’s giggle and smiled over it. “Not that I can recall,” she said. “And I promise to stay here just as long as you need me. I’ve no wish to travel in this harsh weather.”

“You’ve also been dishonored, Madelyne. Everyone will think …”

“’Tis nonsense you speak,” Madelyne said. “Neither one of us is responsible for what has happened. We are both honorable enough inside our hearts. That is all that matters to me.”

“You’ve the most unusual attitudes,” Adela said. “I would think you should hate all of us Wextons.”

“Well, it is a fact that your brothers aren’t easy men to like,” Madelyne admitted. “But I don’t hate them. Do you know I feel safe here? It’s remarkable, isn’t it? To be a captive and feel so safe at the same time. Now, that’s a truth to mull over.”

Madelyne frowned, her mind filled with her amazing admission. “Well now,” she said to herself. “I’m going to have to think about this a bit longer.”

She patted Adela on her arm and then turned to walk to the door.

“You won’t do anything foolish about Morcar, will you, Madelyne?”

“Now, why would you ask such a thing?” Madelyne asked.

“Because of the look that came over you when I told you his name,” Adela answered. “You won’t do anything, will you?”

Adela sounded scared again. “You’ve an overactive imagination,” Madelyne told her. “That gives us something else in common,” she added, neatly avoiding the issue of Morcar.

Her ploy worked, for Adela was smiling again. “I don’t think I’ll have nightmares tonight. I’m too tired. You better come to bed soon, Madelyne. You’ll need to be rested for your talk with Duncan.”

“Do you think he’ll drain the strength out of me?” Madelyne asked.

“Not you,” Adela answered. “You can get Duncan to promise you anything.”

Lord, the sister held such confidence. Madelyne felt her shoulders slump.

“I see the way Duncan watches you. And you did save Gilard’s life. I heard him tell Edmond the story. Remind Duncan of that and he wouldn’t be able to deny you anything.”

“Go to sleep, Adela.”

Madelyne was just about to pull the door closed, when Adela’s next words caught her. “Duncan never looks at Lady Eleanor the way he looks at you.”

Madelyne couldn’t resist. “Who is Lady Eleanor?” she asked, trying not to sound too interested. She turned and looked over at Adela, and from the way the sister was smiling at her, she thought she might not have fooled her.

“The woman Duncan is thinking to marry.”

Madelyne showed no visible reaction. She nodded, indicating she’d heard Adela.

“Then I’m good and sorry for her. She’ll have her hands full living with your brother. Do not take offense, Adela, but I believe your brother is too arrogant for his own good.”

“I said he was thinking about marrying her, Madelyne. But he won’t.”

Madelyne didn’t answer. She closed the door behind her and made it across the landing before she burst into tears.

Chapter Eleven

“He is best who is trained in the severest discipline.”

KING ARCHIDAMUS II OF SPARTA

Madelyne didn’t want anyone to catch her crying. When she left Adela, she really didn’t have any clear destination in mind. She only wanted to find a quiet place where she could sort out her emotions.

The hall was her first choice, but when she approached the entrance, she heard Gilard talking to someone. She continued on, down the next flight of stairs, collected her winter cloak from the peg adjacent to the soldiers’ keep, and then struggled to get the heavy doors opened just enough for her to squeeze through.

The air was cold enough to make a bear shiver. Madelyne pulled her cloak around her shoulders and hurried on. The moon gave sufficient light for her walk, and when she’d circled the butcher’s hut, she leaned against the stone fortress wall and began to weep like an infant. She was loud, undisciplined, unfortunate, too, because she didn’t feel the least bit better afterward. Her head hurt, her cheeks stung, and she was consumed with hiccuping.

The rage wouldn’t go away.

Once Adela had begun her story, she told every bit of it. Madelyne hadn’t shown any visible reaction to the horror, but her heart felt close to bursting with pain. Morcar! The bastard was just as guilty as Louddon was, yet no one would ever know of his involvement.

“What are you doing out here?”

Madelyne let out a gasp. Duncan had frightened the breath right out of her, appearing out of nowhere to stand next to her.

She tried to turn her back on him. Duncan wouldn’t let her. He took hold of her chin and forced her to look up at him.

He’d have to be blind not to notice she’d been crying. Madelyne thought to give him a curt excuse, but the moment he touched her, she started weeping again.

Duncan pulled her into his arms. He seemed content to hold her until she gained control of herself. He’d obviously just finished his swim, as he was dripping from head to waist. Madelyne wasn’t helping him dry either, she was crying and gasping and hiccuping all over the soft mat of hair covering his chest.

“You’re going to freeze to death walking around half naked,” she told him between sobs. “And I’ll not warm your feet this time.”

If Duncan answered her, she didn’t hear him. Her face was pressed against his shoulder. She was stroking his chest too. Duncan thought she didn’t even realize what she was doing, or understand the effect she was having on him.

Madelyne suddenly tried to push away from Duncan. She bumped his chin, muttered an apology, and then made the mistake of looking up at him. His mouth was entirely too close. She couldn’t quit staring at it, remembering all too clearly the way he’d felt when she’d blatantly kissed him that night in the tent.

She wanted to kiss him again.

Duncan must have read her intentions, for he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

He meant only to give her a gentle kiss. Aye, he meant to comfort her, but Madelyne’s arms went around his neck and her mouth immediately opened to him. His tongue took advantage, mating with hers.

God, she was good. She could make him so hot so quickly. She wouldn’t let him be gentle either. The sound she made, way in the back of her throat, pushed all thoughts of comfort aside.

He felt her shiver and only then remembered where they were. Reluctantly he pulled away from Madelyne, though he fully expected an argument from her. He’d have to kiss her again, he decided, and then went ahead and did just that before his soft, sensual woman even had the chance to ask.

Duncan was making her burn. She didn’t think she had the strength to stop, until his hand brushed the side of her breast. It felt wonderful, and when she realized how much more she wanted, she pulled away from him.

“You’d best get inside before you turn to a block of ice,” Madelyne said. Her voice sounded ragged.

Duncan sighed. Madelyne was at it again, trying to order him around. He picked her up into his arms, ignoring her protests, and started to walk toward the castle. “Did Adela speak to you about what happened to her?” Duncan asked when his mind could focus again.

“She did,” Madelyne answered. “But I’ll not retell a single word, no matter how insistent you become. You can torture me if you’ve a wish to, yet I’ll—”

“Madelyne.” His long-drawn-out sigh stopped her.

“I promised Adela I wouldn’t say anything to anyone, especially you. Your sister is afraid of you, Duncan. ’Tis a sorry state of affairs, that,” she added.

She thought her announcement would anger Duncan and was surprised when he nodded. “It’s the way it should be,” Duncan said, shrugging. “I’m lord as well as brother and the first must take preference over the second.”

“It isn’t the way it should be,” Madelyne argued. “A family should be close. They should eat all their meals together and never fight with each other. They should—”

“How the hell would you know what a family should or shouldn’t do? You’ve lived with your uncle,” Duncan said, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Well, I still know how families should act,” Madelyne argued.

“Madelyne, don’t question my methods,” Duncan said in a low growl. “Why were you weeping?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject.

“Because of what my brother did to Adela,” Madelyne whispered. She rested her face on Duncan’s shoulder. “My brother will burn in hell for eternity.”

“Aye,” Duncan answered.

“He’s a man in need of killing. I don’t condemn you for wanting to kill him, Duncan.”

Duncan shook his head. “Does it make you feel better not to condemn me?” he asked.

She thought she heard amusement in his voice. “I have changed my views on killing. I was weeping because of that loss,” she whispered. “And for what I must do.”

Duncan waited for Madelyne to explain. They reached the doors. Duncan pulled one open without unsettling her. The strength in him amazed her yet again. It had taken all her determination, both hands, too, to work one of those doors open enough to slip through without catching her backside, yet Duncan hadn’t shown the least bit of strain.

“What must you do?” Duncan asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“I must kill a man.”

The door slammed shut just as Madelyne whispered her confession. Duncan wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He decided he had enough patience to wait until they had reached his bedroom before questioning her further.

He carried Madelyne up the steps, ignoring her protests that she was able to walk, didn’t pause when they reached the hall level, but continued on, up to the next. Madelyne believed he was taking her back to the tower room. When they reached the mouth of the circular structure, Duncan turned in the opposite direction and continued on down a dark corridor. It was too dark to see where it led.

She was highly curious, for she hadn’t even noticed the narrow hallway. They reached the end of the corridor, and Duncan opened a door and carried Madelyne inside. It was obviously his sleeping quarters, Madelyne realized, even as she considered it most kind of him to give up his bedroom to her for this night.

It was warm and cozy inside the bedroom. A full fire blazed in the hearth, giving heat and a soft glow to the otherwise stark room. A single window was centered in the opposite wall, covered with an animal skin in lieu of shutters. A wide bed took up most of the stone wall adjacent to the hearth, with a chest beside it.

The bed and chest were the only pieces of furniture in the room. It was clean, though, almost spotless. That fact made Madelyne smile. She didn’t know why it pleased her but was glad that Duncan didn’t like clutter any more than she did.

Why then did he allow the main hall to be so ill attended? That didn’t make sense to her, now that she’d seen his own quarters. She decided to question him about it just as soon as she caught him in a good mood. Madelyne did smile then, for she realized she might very well be an old woman before Duncan achieved such a remarkable change in disposition.

Duncan didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to release her. He walked over to the hearth, leaned his shoulders against the edge of the thick mantel, and began to rub back and forth, obviously appeasing a sudden itch. Madelyne held on to him for dear life. Lord, she wished he were wearing a shirt. It wasn’t decent, she told herself, because she liked touching his skin too much. Duncan was like a bronze god. His skin felt warm, and with her palms resting on his shoulders, she could feel the rippled muscles play beneath her fingertips.

She wished she could understand her reaction to him. Why, her heart was pacing a wild beat again. Madelyne dared a quick look up and found Duncan was watching her intently. He looked so handsome. She wanted him to be ugly. “Are you going to hold me the rest of the night?” she asked, sounding ridiculously disgruntled.

Duncan shrugged, almost unsettling Madelyne. She grabbed hold of him again, and when he smiled at her, she realized he might have jarred her just to get her to cling to him.

“Answer my question first, then I’ll release you,” Duncan commanded.

“I’ll answer your question,” she told him.

“Did you tell me you thought to kill a man?”

“I did.” She stared at his chin when she answered him.

Madelyne waited a long minute for Duncan to comment on her admission. She thought he’d probably lecture her on her weakness for the task of killing anyone.

She was, however, totally unprepared for his laughter. It started as a low rumble in his chest, yet quickly gained in sound, until he was all but choking with true joy.

He’d heard her correctly after all. Madelyne did tell him she was going to kill. That statement was at first so astonishing, he believed she was jesting. Yet the serious look on her face indicated she really meant what she said.

His reaction didn’t please her much. God help him, he couldn’t quit laughing. He let Madelyne slip out of his grasp but kept his hands settled on her shoulders so she couldn’t bolt. “And who is the unfortunate man you plan to kill?” he finally managed to ask. “One of us Wextons perchance?”

Madelyne pulled away from him. “Of course it isn’t a Wexton, though to give you the full truth, if I had an evil soul, you’d be the first on my list of those I’d do in, milord.”

“Ah,” Duncan returned, smiling still. “If it isn’t one of us, my sweet, gentle lady, then who do you wish to ‘do in’?” he asked, using her ridiculous expression for killing.

“Aye, ’tis the truth, Duncan. I am a sweet, gentle maiden and it’s high time you understood that,” Madelyne answered. Her voice didn’t sound particularly sweet now.

Madelyne walked over to the bed and sat down on the side. She took a long time smoothing her skirt and then folded her hands in her lap. She was truly appalled that she could speak so easily of taking another’s life. But then, the man she had in mind was certainly in need of killing, wasn’t he?

“You’ll not get his name from me, Duncan. ’Tis my own affair, not yours.”

Duncan wasn’t in agreement but decided to wait before he forced the truth.

“And when you kill this man, Madelyne, will you lose your food from your stomach again?”

She didn’t answer him. Duncan thought she might be realizing just how foolish her plan was. “And will you cry as well?” he asked her, repeating her reaction after killing the soldier who attacked Gilard.

“I’ll remember not to eat anything before I kill him, Duncan, so that I won’t become ill, and if I cry after I’ve done it, then I’ll just find a private place so that no one will see me. Is that explanation enough for you?”

Madelyne took a deep breath, trying desperately to keep her expression contained. Lord, she already felt like a sinner. “Death is not to be taken lightly,” she said then. “But justice shouldn’t be cheated either.”

Duncan started laughing again. That infuriated her. “I’d like to sleep now, so please leave.”

“Do you think to tell me to leave my own quarters?” Duncan asked.

He wasn’t laughing now, and Madelyne didn’t have the nerve to look at him.

“I was,” she admitted. “If I’m being disrespectful, I’m sorry for it. But you know I don’t lie. It’s kind of you to give up your bed for this one night. I really do appreciate it. And I’ll return to the tower tomorrow, after Adela’s room has been scrubbed.”

She was out of breath after she finished her explanation.

“Your honesty is refreshing.”

“It gets me into mischief.” Madelyne sighed. She continued to look down at her hands, wishing Duncan would hurry up and leave. Then she heard a soft thud. That noise did draw her attention, and when she glanced up, she was just in time to watch Duncan remove his second boot and drop it to the floor.

“’Tis indecent to stand before me without your shirt on,” Madelyne stated. “And now you’re taking off the rest of your garments before you leave? Do you parade around Lady Eleanor like this?”

Madelyne could feel herself blushing. She was determined to ignore Duncan. If he wanted to strut around half naked, then she’d just close her eyes. And he’d get no parting words from her either.

She was a bit slow to catch on to Duncan’s intentions. Madelyne continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye. Duncan knelt down in front of the fire, added another fat log. She almost thanked him for that courtesy, until she remembered she was bent on ignoring him. Lord, he did make her lose her train of thought, didn’t he?

Duncan stood up and walked over to the door. Before Madelyne knew what he was about to do, he pushed the thick slat of wood through the metal loops.

Her eyes widened in astonishment. She was locked inside the bedroom, but the true problem, as she viewed it, was that Duncan was on the wrong side of the door. And not even a sweet, gentle lady of breeding could misinterpret the meaning of that action.

Madelyne let out a gasp of outrage, bounded off the bed, and ran over to the door. Her intention was single-minded. She was going to get out of this room and away from Duncan.

He watched her struggle with the latch for a moment. When he was satisfied she’d never be able to figure out the unusual lock beneath the bar, he walked over to the bed. He decided to leave his pants on out of deference to Madelyne’s feelings. She looked close to the brink of losing her control again.

“Come to bed, Madelyne,” Duncan demanded as he stretched out on top of the covers.

“I’ll not sleep next to you,” Madelyne stammered.

“We’ve slept together …”

“Only once, in that tent, Duncan, and that was for necessity’s sake. We shared each other’s heat.”

“Nay, Madelyne, I’ve slept beside you every night since,” Duncan announced.

Madelyne turned to glare at Duncan. “You have not!”

“Aye, I have.”

He was smiling at her. “How can you lie so easily?” Madelyne demanded.

She didn’t give him time to answer but turned around again and began to work on the latch.

A sliver of wood under the tender skin on her thumb was her reward for her efforts. She yelped in anger. “And now I’ve most of this damn wood under my skin, thanks to you,” she muttered as she bent her head to look at the damage.

Duncan sighed. Madelyne heard the exaggerated sound all the way across the room, but she didn’t hear him move, and when he suddenly grabbed hold of her hand, she jumped back, clipping the top of her head against the bottom of his chin. “You move just like a wolf,” she announced as she allowed him to drag her toward the light of the fire. “’Tis no compliment I’m giving you, Duncan, so you can quit smiling.”

Duncan ignored her mutterings. He reached up on the mantel and took hold of a sharp, almost needle-pointed dagger. Madelyne closed her eyes until she felt the first prick. She had to open her eyes then, for if she didn’t watch him, he’d probably cut her thumb clean off. Madelyne leaned down until she inadvertently blocked Duncan’s view of her thumb.

He pulled her hand upward to get it in a better light. He bent his head to finish his task. Madelyne’s forehead touched Duncan’s. She didn’t move away, and neither did he.

He smelled nice.

She smelled like roses again.

The splinter was removed. Madelyne didn’t say a word to him, but she was looking up at him with such a trusting expression on her face. Duncan frowned in frustration. When she looked at him like that, all he could think about was taking her into his arms and kissing her. Hell, he admitted with disgust, all she had to do was look at him and he wanted to bed her.

Duncan threw the dagger back on the mantel and then went back to bed. He hadn’t let go of Madelyne’s hand and now dragged her behind him. “Can’t even get a splinter out and you think to kill a man,” he muttered.

“I am not sleeping with you,” Madelyne stated most emphatically. She stood beside the bed, determined to win. “You’re the most arrogant, the most stubborn man. My patience is running as thin as water. I’ll not put up with much more.”

Madelyne realized her error was in getting too close to Duncan when she shouted her threat. He reached up and literally lifted her on top of him. She landed with a thud. Duncan shrugged her to his side, his hand still locked on her wrist.

He closed his eyes, obviously trying to dismiss her. Madelyne faced him.

“You hate me too much to sleep next to me. You lied, didn’t you, Duncan? We haven’t been sleeping together. I’d remember it.”

“You can sleep through a battle,” Duncan remarked. His eyes were still closed but he was smiling. “And I don’t hate you, Madelyne.”

“You most certainly do hate me,” Madelyne retorted. “Don’t you dare change your mind now.”

She waited a long while for Duncan to answer her. When he didn’t say a word, she started in again. “It was a sorry deed that brought us together. I saved your life. And how am I repaid? Why, you drag me to this godforsaken place, constantly abusing my good nature, I might add. I imagine you’ve conveniently forgotten all about my saving Gilard’s life too.”

Lord, she wished he’d open his eyes so she could see his reaction. “Now I’ve taken on caring for Adela. I’m wondering, though, if you hadn’t planned that all along.”

Madelyne frowned over that thought and then continued. “You should admit by now that I’m the innocent in this scheme of yours. I’m the one who is being wronged. Why, when I think of all I’ve been through—”

Duncan’s snore stopped her cold. Madelyne was suddenly so furious, she wished she had the courage to scream right into his ear.

“I’m the one who should hate you,” she muttered to herself. She adjusted her gown and settled herself on her back. “If I didn’t have satisfactory plans of my own, I’d be angry over what you’ve done to ruin my good name, Duncan. I can’t ever make a suitable marriage now. That’s a certainty, but I’ll admit Louddon will be the loser, not me. He was going to sell me to the highest bidder. At least that’s what he told me he was going to do. Now he’ll only kill me if he gets near enough,” she muttered. “And all because of you,” she added with gusto.

She was exhausted when she finished her complaints. “How am I ever going to get you to promise me anything? And I’ve already given my word to poor Adela,” she added with a weary yawn.

Duncan moved then. Madelyne was caught unprepared. She only had time to open her eyes before Duncan was leaning over her. His face was close to hers, his breath warm and sweet against her cheeks. One of his heavy thighs trapped her.

Good God, she was flat on her back.

“I’ll find a way to tell your Lady Eleanor if you take advantage of me,” Madelyne blurted out.

Duncan rolled his eyes heavenward. “Madelyne, your mind is consumed with my taking …”

She slapped her hand over his mouth and held it there. “Don’t dare say it,” she returned. “And why else would you be draped over me like a blanket if you didn’t want to …”

Madelyne matched his sigh with one of her own. “You try to make me daft,” she accused him.

“You already are,” Duncan announced.

“Get off me. You weigh more than the doors to your home.”

Duncan shifted his weight until his bulk was cushioned by his elbows. His pelvis rested against Madelyne’s. He could feel the heat in her.

“What promise do you want from me?”

Madelyne looked confused by the question. “Adela,” Duncan reminded her.

“Oh,” Madelyne said, sounding breathless. “I had thought to wait until tomorrow to speak to you about Adela. I didn’t realize you’d make me sleep with you though. And I’d hoped to catch you in a better mood….”

“Madelyne.” The last of her name was drawn out in a long, controlled groan and she knew from the way he clenched his jaw that his patience was gone.

“I wish you to give me your word Adela may live here with you for as long as she wants, and that you’ll not force a marriage on her, no matter what the circumstances. There, is that specific enough for you?”

Duncan frowned. “I’ll speak to Adela tomorrow,” he stated.

“Your sister is too frightened to speak freely to you, but if I may tell her you’ve given your word, then I believe you’ll see a remarkable change in her. She’s so worried, Duncan, and if we can ease her burden, she’ll feel much better.”

He felt like smiling. Madelyne had taken on the role of mother to Adela, just as he suspected she would. He was enormously pleased his plan had worked. “Very well. Tell Adela I’ve given my word. I’ll have to speak to Gerald,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Gerald will just have to find someone else to marry. Adela believes the contract isn’t binding now, anyway. Besides, Gerald will want an unblemished woman, and that makes me dislike him immensely.”

“You never even met the man,” Duncan said with exasperation. “How can you judge him so easily?”

Madelyne frowned. Duncan was right though it was almost painful to give him that admission. “Does Gerald know all of what happened to Adela?”

“By now all of England knows. Louddon would have made certain.”

“My brother is an evil man.”

“Does your uncle Berton feel the same way about Louddon?” Duncan asked.

“How did you know my uncle’s name?” Madelyne asked.

“You told me,” Duncan supplied, smiling over the way her eyes widened.

“When? I’ve an excellent memory and I don’t recall mentioning it.”

“When you were sick, you told me all about your uncle.”

“If I spoke to you, I don’t remember. It was rude of you to listen to anything I said.”

“It wasn’t possible to block out your voice,” Duncan told her, grinning over the memory. “You shouted everything you said.”

He exaggerated, just to increase her reaction. When Madelyne wasn’t guarded, her expressions were so innocently refreshing to see. “Tell me what else I said,” Madelyne demanded. Her tone sounded with suspicion.

“The list is too long. Suffice it to say that you told me everything.”

“Everything?” She looked horrified now.

Lord, she was embarrassed. What if she’d told him how much she liked him kissing her?

There was a sparkle in Duncan’s eyes. Perhaps he was only teasing her. That didn’t sit well. Madelyne decided to remove that smile. “Then I gave you all the names of the men I’ve taken to my bed, didn’t I? The game is up, I suppose,” she ended with a sigh.

“Your game was up the moment we met,” Duncan told her. His voice was soft.

Madelyne felt as though she’d just been caressed. She didn’t know how to react. “And just what does that mean?”

Duncan smiled. “You talk too much,” he told her. “’Tis yet another flaw you should work on.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Madelyne returned. “I’ve said little enough to you all week and you’ve ignored me altogether. How can you suggest I talk too much?” she asked, daring to poke his shoulder.

“I don’t suggest anything, I state facts,” Duncan answered. He watched her closely, saw the flash of fire in her blue eyes.

Baiting her was easy work. He knew he should stop but he was actually enjoying the way she responded. He could find little harm in it. She was suddenly as feisty as a hellcat.

“It displeases you when I speak what’s on my mind?”

Duncan nodded.

She thought he looked every bit the rascal now. A lock of dark hair had fallen forward to rest against his forehead. He was grinning too. Why, it was enough to rattle a saint into cursing. “Then I’ll just quit talking to you. I vow I’ll never speak to you again. Does that please you?”

He nodded again, though much slower this time. Madelyne took a deep breath, preparing to tell him what she thought about his rudeness, but Duncan silenced her. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers, startling her into temporary submission.

With barely any coaching, she opened her mouth to his insistent tongue. Duncan began to make slow love to her with his tongue. Lord, he could feel the fire in her. His hands spread wide against the sides of her face, his fingers tangling in her glorious hair.

God how he wanted her. The kiss quickly changed from gentle caress to wild passion. Their tongues mated again and again until Duncan was almost mindless with wanting more. He knew he should stop and was about to pull away, when he felt Madelyne’s hands touch his back. A soft, hesitant caress it was and at first as skittish as a butterfly, but when Duncan growled and delved again into the sweetness of her mouth, the caress gained in pressure. Their mouths were hot, wet, clinging.

He felt a shudder pass through her, heard her ragged moan escape when he reluctantly eased himself away from her.

Madelyne’s eyes were misty with passion and her lips, red and swollen, beckoned him to taste her again. Duncan knew he shouldn’t have started what he couldn’t finish. His loins throbbed with want and it took a supreme act of will to move away from her.

With another groan of frustration Duncan rolled to his side. He wrapped his arm around Madelyne’s waist and pulled her up against him.

Madelyne wanted to weep. She couldn’t understand why she kept letting him kiss her. More important, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from kissing him. She was as wanton as a wench.

All Duncan had to do was touch her and she went to pieces. Her heart raced, her palms turned hot, and she was filled with a restless yearning for more.

She heard Duncan yawn and concluded then that the kiss hadn’t meant much to him at all.

The man irritated her just like a rash. Madelyne determined to keep her distance from him even as she contradicted the decision by adjusting herself into the curve of Duncan. When she was almost settled to her satisfaction, Duncan let out a harsh groan. His hands moved to her hips and he held her firmly.

What a contrary man he was! Didn’t he realize how awkward it was to sleep in her walking gown? She moved again, felt him shudder, and thought then that he might be getting ready to snap at her.

Madelyne was too weary to worry about his temper. With a yawn of her own, she fell asleep.

It was, without a doubt, Duncan’s most difficult challenge. And if she moved her backside just one more time, he knew he’d fail this test.

Duncan had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Madelyne. He closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. Madelyne wiggled against him again, and he began to count to ten, promising himself that when he reached that magic number, he’d be more controlled.

The innocent cuddled up against him had absolutely no idea of her jeopardy. Her derriere had driven him to distraction all week long. He pictured the way she walked, saw again the gentle sway of her hips as she strolled around his fortress.

Did she affect others the way she affected him? Duncan frowned over that question, admitting that she most certainly did. Aye, he’d seen the looks his men had given her when her attention was directed elsewhere. Even faithful Anthony, his most trusted vassal and closest friend, had changed his attitude toward Madelyne. At the beginning of the week Anthony had been silent and taken to frowning, but by week’s end Duncan noticed his vassal was usually the one speaking. And he didn’t trail behind Madelyne any longer either. Nay, he was always right by her side.

Just where Duncan wanted to be.

He couldn’t fault Anthony for his weakness in falling under Madelyne’s charms.

Gilard, however, was of a different cloth altogether. It appeared that the youngest brother was taken with Madelyne. That could present a problem.

She started squirming again. Duncan felt as though he’d just been branded. A painful longing claimed his full attention. With a growl of frustration he threw off the covers and got out of bed. Though Madelyne was jarred by the sudden movement, she didn’t wake up. “Sleeps like an innocent babe,” Duncan muttered to himself as he walked over to the door.

He was going back to his lake and realized with a hefty shake of his head that he’d find true pleasure in this second swim.

Duncan wasn’t a patient man. He wanted the issues resolved before he claimed Madelyne for his own though. He resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably be swimming in his lake more often. It wasn’t a challenge that sent him outside now, but a release from the fire burning in his loins.

With a mutter of disgust, Duncan closed the door.

Chapter Twelve

A flower among thorns, an angel among thorns …

“And sometimes, Adela, if a babe was born with any noticeable flaw, why, the Spartan fathers would just throw the newborn child out a convenient window or off the top of a nearby cliff to get rid of him. Aye, I can see you’re properly shocked, but my uncle Berton did relate the tales about those fierce warriors of times gone by, and he’d not exaggerate the telling just to please me. It was his duty to recount them with accuracy, you understand.”

“What were the Spartan ladies like? Did your uncle Berton tell you all about them?” Adela asked, her voice quite eager. Duncan’s little sister sat on the edge of her bed, trying her best to stay out of the way while Madelyne rearranged the furnishings in her bedroom. Adela had given up trying to convince Madelyne that it wasn’t at all usual for her to work like a serving wench. Her new companion had a stubborn streak and it was useless to argue with her.

It had been over three weeks since Madelyne had forced the confrontation with Adela. Once Adela had told the truth about her ordeal, the pain and guilt had truly lessened. Madelyne had been right about that. Madelyne hadn’t seemed the least shocked by the story. Odd, but that helped Adela as much as the telling. Madelyne sympathized with Adela, yet she didn’t pity her.

Now Adela followed Madelyne’s lead, trusting her to know what was best. She accepted that the past couldn’t be undone and tried to put it behind her, just as Madelyne suggested. That was easier said than done, of course, but Madelyne’s friendship, so unrestrictive and so giving, helped Adela take her mind off her problems. Adela had finally started her monthly flux a week ago, and that was one less worry to concern her.

Madelyne had opened a new world to Adela. She told the most wonderful stories. Adela was amazed by the wealth of information in Madelyne’s memory and eagerly awaited each day’s new tale.

Adela smiled as she watched Madelyne now. Her friend did look a sight. A smudge of dirt had settled on the bridge of her nose, and her hair, though tied with a piece of blue ribbon behind her neck, was gradually gaining freedom from the binding.

Madelyne stopped sweeping the dust from the corner and leaned against the handle of her broom. “I can see I’ve caught your interest,” she remarked. She paused to brush a stray curl away from her face, making a new mark of dirt on her forehead, and then continued on with her story. “I do believe the Spartan ladies were most undignified. They’d have to be as horrible as their men, Adela. How would they ever have gotten along if they weren’t?”

Adela answered the question with a giggle. The sound warmed Madelyne’s heart. The transformation in Duncan’s sister was most pleasing. There was a sparkle in her eyes now and she smiled quite often.

“Now that the new priest has arrived, we must be careful not to talk like this in front of him,” Adela whispered.

“I’ve yet to meet him,” Madelyne answered. “Though I’m looking forward to it. It’s high time the Wexton brothers had a man of God looking after their souls.”

“They used to,” Adela said. “But when Father John died, and then the church caught fire, well, no one did much of anything about it.” She shrugged and then said, “Tell me more about the Spartans, Madelyne.”

“Well now, the ladies had probably all gone to fat by the time they were twelve or so, though that is just a supposition on my part and not a dictate from my dear uncle. I do know, however, that they took more than one man to their beds.”

Adela gasped and Madelyne nodded, thoroughly satisfied by her friend’s reaction. “More than one at a time?” Adela asked. She whispered the question and then blushed with embarrassment.

Madelyne nibbled on her lip while she considered if that was possible.

“I don’t think so,” she finally announced. Her back was to the door, and Adela’s full attention was centered on her friend. Neither noticed Duncan now stood in the open doorway.

He was about to announce his presence, when Madelyne spoke again.

“I don’t believe it’s possible to be flat on your back with more than one man at a time,” she admitted.

Adela giggled, Madelyne shrugged, and Duncan, having heard most of Madelyne’s dissertation on the ways of the Spartans, rolled his eyes heavenward.

Madelyne had propped the broom against the wall and was now kneeling in front of Adela’s chest. “We’ll have to empty this if we’re going to move it across the room,” she said.

“You must finish your story first,” Adela insisted. “You do tell the most unusual tales, Madelyne.”

Duncan started to interrupt again and then discarded the notion. In truth, his curiosity was caught.

“In Sparta there wasn’t any such thing as celibacy. Why, it was considered a crime not to wed. Gangs of unmarried women would take to the streets. They’d search for unmarried men and when they found them, they fell upon them.”

“Fell upon them?” Adela asked.

“Aye, they’d fall upon the poor man and beat him to a bloody pulp,” she yelled out. Her head had completely disappeared inside the trunk. “’Tis the truth I’m telling you,” Madelyne added.

“What else?” Adela asked.

“Did you know that the young men were locked in a dark room with the women they’d never seen in the light of day and they were supposed to … well, you get my meaning there,” she ended.

Madelyne took a breath, sneezed over the dust inside the chest. “Some of the women had babies before ever seeing their husbands’ faces.” She straightened up then, bumped her head on the lid of the chest, and promptly rubbed the ribbon off her head.

“It sounds horrible, but I’ll tell you this. When I think of your brother Duncan, I can imagine his Lady Eleanor might prefer a dark room.”

Madelyne made the statement as a jest. Adela let out a gasp of dismay. The little sister had just noticed Duncan was leaning against the door.

Madelyne misunderstood Adela’s reaction and was immediately contrite.

“’Tis common talk I’ve taken up,” she announced. “Duncan is your lord, after all, and brother, too, and I’ve no business teasing you about him. I do apologize.”

“I will accept it.”

It was Duncan giving her forgiveness. Madelyne was so surprised by his booming voice, she bumped her head again when she turned to look up at him.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, blushing with mortification. She stood up and faced him.

Duncan didn’t answer her, he just stood there, making her nervous. Madelyne smoothed the wrinkles from her gown, noticed a large stain right above her waist, and immediately folded her hands in front of it. A lock of hair swayed in front of her left eye, but if she moved her hand to push the hair away, he’d see what a mess she’d made of her gown, wouldn’t he?

Madelyne had to remind herself that she was only his captive and he her keeper. What difference did it make if she looked messy or not? She blew the hair out of her vision and struggled to give Duncan a serene look.

She failed miserably, and Duncan, knowing what was in Madelyne’s mind, smiled over her failure. It was getting more difficult for her to hide her feelings. That fact pleased him almost as much as her disheveled appearance.

She thought he smiled over her sorry-looking gown. Duncan reinforced her belief by giving her a thorough inspection. His gaze moved slowly from the top of her head to the dust on her shoes. His smile widened until the attractive dent was back in the side of his cheek.

“Go up to your room, Madelyne, and stay there until I come for you.”

“May I finish this task first?” Madelyne asked, trying to sound humble.

“You may not.”

“Duncan, Adela wanted to rearrange her room to look more like …” Lord, she was about to tell him Adela wanted her room to be as cozy as the tower room. He’d find out what she’d done then, and probably pitch a fit.

Madelyne glanced over to look at Adela. The poor girl was clutching her hands together and staring at the floor. “Adela, you have forgotten to give your brother a proper greeting,” she instructed her.

“Good day, milord,” Adela whispered immediately. She didn’t look up at Duncan.

“His name is Duncan. Lord or not, he is your brother.”

Madelyne turned to Duncan then and glared at him. He’d better not snap at his sister.

Duncan raised an eyebrow when Madelyne frowned at him. When she motioned with a vigorous tilt of her head toward Adela, he shrugged. He didn’t have the faintest idea what she was trying to tell him. “Well? Aren’t you going to give your sister a greeting, Duncan?” she demanded.

His sigh bounced off the walls. “Are you instructing me?” he asked.

He looked irritated. Madelyne shrugged. “I’ll not have you frightening your sister,” she said before she could stop herself.

Duncan felt like laughing. It was true then, just as Gilard had praised and Edmond had protested. Timid Madelyne had become Adela’s protector. One kitten trying to protect another, except that Madelyne was acting more like a tigress now, he decided. There was blue fire in her eyes, and oh, how she tried to keep her anger hidden from him.

Duncan gave Madelyne a look that told her what he thought of her dictate. Then he turned to his sister and said, “Good morning, Adela. Are you feeling well today?”

Adela nodded and then looked up at her brother and smiled. Duncan nodded, surprised that such a simple greeting could change his sister’s manner.

He turned to leave then, determined to get as far away from his fragile little sister as possible before letting Madelyne have a piece of his mind.

“Couldn’t Madelyne stay here and—”

“Adela, please don’t challenge your brother’s order,” Madelyne interrupted, fearing that Duncan’s patience was near the shouting point. “It wouldn’t be honorable,” she added with a smile of encouragement.

Madelyne picked up her skirt and hurried after Duncan, calling over her shoulder, “I’m certain he has good reason for his order.”

She had to run to catch up with him. “Why do I have to return to the tower?” she asked when she was certain Adela couldn’t hear her.

They’d reached the landing when Duncan turned to her. He wanted to shake her teeth loose, but the smear of dirt on the bridge of her nose drew his attention. He used his thumb to wipe the dirt away.

“Your face is covered with dirt, Madelyne. Aye, you’re flawed now. Should I throw you out a convenient window, do you suppose?”

It took Madelyne a moment to understand what Duncan was talking about. “The Spartans didn’t throw their captives out windows,” she answered. “Only ill-formed babies. They were mighty warriors with mean hearts,” she added.

“They ruled with complete control,” Duncan said. His thumb slowly moved to her lower lip. He couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his thumb against her mouth. “Without compassion.”

Madelyne couldn’t seem to move away. She stared up into Duncan’s eyes while she tried to follow their conversation. “Without compassion?”

“Aye, ’tis the way a leader should rule.”

“It isn’t,” Madelyne whispered.

Duncan nodded. “The Spartans were invincible.”

“See you any Spartans now, Duncan?” Madelyne asked.

He shrugged, though he couldn’t help but smile over her ridiculous question.

“They might have been invincible, but they’re all dead now.”

Lord, her voice shook. She knew the reason well enough. Duncan was looking at her so intently and pulling her toward him ever so slowly.

He didn’t kiss her. It was a disappointment.

Madelyne sighed.

“Madelyne, I’ll not deny myself much longer,” Duncan whispered. His head was bent, his mouth bare inches away from her own.

“You’ll not?” Madelyne asked, sounding breathless again.

“Nay, I’ll not,” Duncan muttered. He sounded angry now. Madelyne shook her head in confusion.

“Duncan, I would allow you to kiss me now,” she told him. “There’s no need to deny yourself.”

His answer to her honest admission was to grab hold of her hand and drag her up the stairs to the tower.

“You’ll not be captive here much longer,” Duncan announced.

“Then you admit it was a mistake bringing me here?” she asked.

He could hear the fear in her voice. “I never make mistakes, Madelyne.”

He hadn’t bothered to turn around and look at her, and he didn’t speak again until they reached the door to her room. When Duncan reached for the handle, Madelyne blocked the door by leaning against it. “I can open my own door,” she said, “and you most certainly do make mistakes. I was your biggest mistake of all.”

She really hadn’t meant to phrase her statement that way. Lord, she had actually insulted herself.

Duncan smiled. He’d obviously caught her blunder. Then he pulled her out of the way and opened the bedroom door. Madelyne rushed inside and tried to slam the door shut behind her.

Duncan wouldn’t let her. The fat’s in the fire now, Madelyne thought, bracing herself for his reaction to the changes she’d made.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Madelyne had changed the stark cell into an inviting retreat. The walls had been washed and a large beige-colored tapestry was centered on the wall facing him. The hanging told the story of the final battle of William’s invasion; the colors were vivid, the figures of the soldiers stitched in red and blue. It was a simple design, but pleasing too.

The bed was covered with a blue quilt. Across the room were two large chairs, both covered with red cushions. They were set at an angle to the hearth. There were footstools in front of each chair. Duncan noticed an unfinished tapestry propped up against one of the chairs. Brown threads dangled to the floor. The outline of the design was sufficiently stitched for him to recognize what it was going to be. It was the design of Madelyne’s imaginary wolf.

The muscle in the side of his jaw flinched. Twice. Madelyne wasn’t sure what that meant. She waited, her temper gaining timber for a blazing retort when he started yelling at her.

Duncan never said a word. He turned and pulled the door closed behind him.

The scent of roses followed him down the stairs. He held his temper until he reached the entrance to the hall. Gilard spotted him and immediately rushed over to speak to him. His voice was filled with youthful eagerness when he asked, “Is Lady Madelyne receiving visitors yet this morning?”

Duncan’s bellow could be heard all the way up in the tower.

Gilard’s eyes widened. He’d never heard Duncan yell like that. Edmond strolled into the hallway just in time to watch Duncan leave.

“What’s got him so riled?” Gilard asked.

“Not what, Gilard, but who,” Edmond remarked.

“I don’t understand.”

Edmond smiled and then whacked his brother on the shoulder. “Neither does Duncan, but I wager he will soon enough.”

Chapter Thirteen

“The race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong. …”

OLD TESTAMENT, ECCLESLASTES, 4:2

Madelyne worked on her tapestry. Her mind wasn’t on the task, however, she kept repeating Duncan’s remarks. What had he meant when he told her she wasn’t going to be his captive much longer?

She knew she’d have to confront him soon. She’d been acting like such a coward and was honest enough to admit the truth. She was frightened of hearing his answers.

The door suddenly flew open. Adela rushed into the room. Duncan’s little sister was terribly distressed. She looked close to weeping.

Madelyne jumped to her feet. “Who has upset you so?” she demanded to know, already jumping to the conclusion that Duncan was responsible.

Adela burst into tears. Madelyne hurried to close the door. She put her arm around Adela then and led her over to one of the chairs. “Sit down and calm yourself. Why, it can’t possibly be as terrible as you’re carrying on,” she soothed her.

Madelyne prayed she was right. “Tell me what has caused such tears and I’ll make it right again.”

Adela nodded, but once she looked up at Madelyne, she started crying again. Madelyne sat down on the stool facing Adela and patiently waited.

“Your brother has sent men to fetch you, Madelyne. Duncan allowed the messenger inside. That’s why you’ve been ordered back to your room. Duncan didn’t want the soldier to see you.”

“Why? Everyone knows I’m captive here. Louddon—”

“You misunderstand,” Adela interrupted. “Edmond told Gilard he thought Duncan didn’t want the messenger to see that you’re being treated well.” She paused to dab at the corners of her eyes with the cuff of her gown. “You do think you’ve been treated well, don’t you, Madelyne?”

“Good God, is that why you’re crying?” Madelyne asked. “Of course I’ve been treated well. Just look around you, Adela,” she added with a little smile. “Doesn’t my room look comfortable enough?”

“I shouldn’t have listened to what the messenger was telling Duncan, but I did. Gilard and Edmond were there and they heard every word too. Duncan didn’t make them leave. And no one noticed me, Madelyne. I’m certain of it.”

“Was the messenger from the king or from my brother?” Madelyne asked. She was so frightened inside now, yet knew she’d have to hide her fear from Adela. Aye, the sister depended on Madelyne’s strength, and she couldn’t fail her now.

“I don’t know who the message came from. I didn’t hear the beginning of what he was saying.”

“Tell me what you did hear,” Madelyne suggested.

“You’re to be taken to the king’s court immediately. The messenger said that even though you’ve been … soiled …” Adela’s voice cracked then and she paused to compose herself. Madelyne bit on her lower lip until it numbed. She fought the urge to grab Adela by her shoulders and shake the rest of the story out of her.

“You’re to be married as soon as you reach London.”

“I see,” Madelyne whispered. “We knew it was coming, Adela. We knew Louddon would do something. Did you catch the name of the man I’m to wed?”

Adela nodded. “Morcar.”

The sister covered her face with her hands, weeping uncontrollably now. Madelyne didn’t have to hide her expression now. She thought she was going to be sick. “What about Duncan, Adela?” she managed to ask. “What did he say to this messenger? Was he in agreement?”

“He didn’t say a word. The soldier recited his message and then returned to the others waiting outside the walls.”

“How many soldiers did Louddon send?”

“I don’t know,” Adela whispered. “Edmond and Gilard were shouting at each other once the soldier had left. Duncan didn’t say anything. He just stood there in front of the fire with his hands clasped behind his back.”

“He separates himself,” Madelyne said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Your brother must assume two positions in his household, Adela. He is lord and he is brother. I can imagine what Edmond and Gilard were arguing about. Edmond would want me given over to Louddon as soon as possible, while Gilard would argue in favor of a battle to keep me here.”

Adela was shaking her head before Madelyne finished her suppositions. “Nay, Edmond doesn’t want you handed over to Louddon’s men,” she said.

“Edmond championed my cause?”

“He did,” Adela said. “And he suggested that I be sent to my sister, Catherine, for a brief visit. He’s worried that all of this will be too much for me. I don’t want to go anywhere. Catherine’s so much older than I am, and her husband is most unusual….”

Madelyne stood up and slowly walked over to the window. She opened the shutters and stared out into the wilderness. She knew she needed to gain control of the seething anger building inside her. “Did you know, Adela, that a Spartan child was taken from his mother at a very early age and sent to live with the soldiers? The little boys were taught to steal. It was considered cunning to be a good thief.”

“Madelyne, what are you talking about? How can you tell me stories now?”

Madelyne turned around, letting Adela see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Adela had never seen Madelyne cry before.

“I find comfort in the old stories, Adela. They’re familiar to me. Once I’ve calmed my mind, I’ll be able to think clearly. Then I can decide what’s to be done.”

Adela, stunned into submission by the pain she saw in her friend’s eyes, quickly nodded.

Madelyne turned back to look out the window. She stared at the lower crest. And who will feed my wolf when I’m gone, she asked herself. Odd, but the picture of Duncan came into her mind. She confused him with her wolf, realized then that he needed as much taking care of as her wild beast. Probably more.

It didn’t make sense to her, this need to straighten out Duncan’s bleak life until she was satisfied with it.

“My uncle and I would sit before the fire every evening. I learned to play the psaltery. Uncle would join in with his viele some evenings when he wasn’t too tired. It was a most peaceful time, Adela.”

“Weren’t there any young people there, Madelyne? Every time you tell a story, you speak of such old, frail people.”

“Uncle Berton lived at the Grinsteade holding. Baron Morton was very old. And then Fathers Robert and Samuel came to stay with us as well. They all got along but I was the only one who’d play chess with Baron Morton. He cheated something fierce. Uncle said it wasn’t a sin, just cantankerous, ornery behavior because he was so old.”

Madelyne didn’t speak again for a long while. Adela stared into the fire while Madelyne stared out into the night.

It wasn’t working this time. Madelyne’s bid to gain control wasn’t going to happen. She could feel her composure cracking. Fury was building inside her.

“We must find someone to protect you,” Adela whispered.

“If I am forced to return to Louddon, all my plans will be ruined. I was going to go to Scotland. Edwythe would have welcomed me into her home.”

“Madelyne, Scotland is where—” Adela was about to explain that Catherine lived in Scotland and was married to a cousin of Scotland’s king.

She wasn’t given a chance to explain. “Why in God’s name am I worrying about my plans being ruined? Louddon will kill me or give me to Morcar. Then Morcar will kill me.” Madelyne let out a harsh laugh, sending a shiver down Adela’s legs. “I still can’t believe Louddon is bothering with me. When he chased after Duncan after his fortress was destroyed, I thought he wanted to kill only Duncan. Yet now he has sent men for me.” Madelyne paused, shaking her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”

Before Adela could offer comfort, Madelyne suddenly turned and started for the door. “Madelyne. You must stay here. Duncan hasn’t given you permission—”

“I must find a protector, Adela, isn’t that the way of it?” she shouted over her shoulder. “Well, Duncan’s fit enough for the task.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Your brother is going to send Louddon’s men away. And I am going to instruct him on the matter now.”

Before Adela could caution Madelyne, her friend was out the door and running down the steps. Adela hurried after her. “Madelyne, you think to instruct my brother?” Her voice squeaked with worry.

“I do,” Madelyne shouted.

Adela had to sit down on the step. She was stunned by the change in Madelyne. Her dear friend had lost her mind. Adela watched Madelyne continue down the circular stairs, her hair flying out behind her. Only when Madelyne had disappeared down the next level did Adela realize she should try to help her. No matter how frightening the prospect, she was determined to face Duncan by Madelyne’s side. Why, she might even be able to speak up to him.

Madelyne reached the entrance to the hall and paused to gain a breath. Edmond and Gilard were seated across from each other at the dining table. Duncan was standing with his back to the entrance, directly in front of the blazing fire.

Edmond was just finishing his comments to his brothers. Madelyne only heard the last of what he was saying. “Then it’s agreed that Duncan will take her—”

Madelyne immediately jumped to the conclusion that everyone thought it a good idea to give her over to Louddon’s men.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her bellow got an immediate reaction. Duncan slowly turned around and looked at her. She watched him a long moment and then turned her attention to his brothers. Gilard had the audacity to smile, as if he found her outburst amusing, while Edmond, true to his contrary nature, scowled.

Duncan didn’t show any reaction. Madelyne picked up her skirts. She slowly walked over to stand directly in front of him. “You captured me, Duncan. That was your decision,” she announced. “Now I’ve a decision to tell you. I’m staying caught. Do I make myself clear on that issue?”

His eyes showed his surprise. Aye, he’d heard every word. And why wouldn’t he? she asked herself. She’d fairly roared her decision right into his face.

When he just continued to stare at her, Madelyne thought he might be trying to frighten her. Well, it wasn’t going to work this time. “You’re stuck with me, Duncan.”

Damn, her voice shook.

Edmond stood up, upsetting his chair. The sound turned Madelyne’s attention. She slowly walked over to the table, her hands on her hips. “You can rid yourself of that frown, Edmond, or I promise God I’ll smack it right off your face.”

Gilard watched Madelyne. He’d never seen her this angry. Did she actually think Duncan would send her back to Louddon? The realization made Gilard smile. Poor Madelyne. She obviously didn’t know Duncan very well. She wasn’t aware of her own importance either, he concluded. She’d worked herself into a fine state. Such a gentle little thing, yet hadn’t he just seen her challenge Duncan? If he hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed it possible. God help him, he started to laugh.

Madelyne heard him. She rounded to glare at him. “You find this amusing, Gilard?”

He made the mistake of nodding. He looked up at Madelyne just in time to see her hurl one of the jugs of ale at his head. Gilard dodged the jug, and when Madelyne picked up another, Edmond reached over her head and took it from her grasp. The two were standing side by side on the edge of the platform. Madelyne gave Edmond a hard shove with her hip. The middle brother promptly lost his balance and fell backward.

He landed on his backside. Edmond might have been able to stop the fall if the stool hadn’t gotten caught up in his feet. Madelyne watched his puny efforts before turning back to Gilard. “Don’t you ever laugh at me again,” she demanded.

“Madelyne, come here,” Duncan ordered. He was leaning against the mantel, looking bored enough to fall asleep.

She obeyed without question and was almost across the room before she realized what she was doing. She stopped then, shaking her head. “I’m no longer taking orders from you, Duncan. You’ve no hold over me. I’m only a pawn to you. Kill me if you wish. I would prefer it to being sent back to Louddon.”

Her fingernails were digging into her palms. She couldn’t keep her hands from shaking.

He never took his gaze off her. “Edmond, Gilard, leave us now.” His command was softly given, yet there was an unmistakable edge of steel in his tone. “And take your sister with you.”

Adela had been hiding behind the wall next to the entrance. When she heard Duncan’s order, she rushed into the room. “I would like to stay here, Duncan, in the event Madelyne needs me.”

“You’ll go with your brothers,” Duncan stated. His voice had gone cold now, effectively stopping further argument.

Gilard took hold of Adela’s arm. “If you want me to stay, Madelyne—”

“Don’t contradict your brother’s order,” Madelyne interrupted. She hadn’t meant to shout the command.

Adela started to cry, renewing Madelyne’s anger. She reached over and patted Adela on her shoulder. She couldn’t manage a smile though. “I’m not going to marry Morcar,” she said. “’Tis a fact I’m not marrying anyone.”

“Aye, but you are,” Duncan said. He actually smiled at her when he made his promise.

Madelyne felt as if he’d just slapped her. She took a step away, shaking her head in denial.

“I’ll not marry Morcar.”

“No, you’ll not.”

His answer confused her into temporary submission.

Duncan wasn’t looking at Madelyne now. He watched his brothers walk with Adela toward the entrance. The three of them were taking their own sweet time, acting as though they had armor nailed to the bottoms of their shoes. It was obvious they were bent on hearing as much of his conversation with Madelyne as possible. Duncan placed the blame for their sudden show of insubordination directly on Madelyne’s shoulders. Aye, it was all her fault. They’d been obedient enough before she entered their lives.

From the moment Lady Madelyne had set foot inside his home, everyone and everything had gone upside down.

Duncan told himself he didn’t like the changes, even as he acknowledged there were still more to come. He was sure to meet with resistance, especially from Gilard. The youngest brother was Madelyne’s greatest ally. Duncan sighed over it. He much preferred a good battle to the dealings of family.

“Edmond, find our new priest and bring him to me,” Duncan suddenly called out.

Edmond turned, a question in his expression. “Now,” Duncan snapped.

His command was frigid enough to chill Madelyne to the bone. She started to turn around to speak to Edmond, when Duncan’s next command stopped her. “Don’t you dare instruct him to obey me, Madelyne, or so help me God, I’ll take hold of your red hair and bind your mouth shut with it.”

Madelyne let out a gasp of outrage. Duncan was satisfied, thinking that his crude threat had made her realize her vulnerable position. His goal was her submission. Aye, he wanted her docile for what was to come.

When Madelyne began to walk toward him with a murderous look in her eye, Duncan decided his threat hadn’t bothered her much. She wasn’t acting the least bit docile. “How dare you insult me? My hair isn’t red, and you damn well know it. It’s brown,” she shouted. “’Tis unlucky to have red hair, and mine isn’t.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Her contradictions were becoming a usual occurrence.

Madelyne stopped her advance when she was a scant foot away. Close enough to grab, he thought.

The woman was brave but innocent about the world. It was the only excuse Duncan could find for her comments. There were over a hundred of Louddon’s men waiting outside the walls, threatening to attack if Madelyne wasn’t handed over to them by tomorrow morning. She should have been raging about that situation, he told himself. Instead, she argues about the color of her hair. It was more red than brown, and why in God’s name she couldn’t see that was beyond him.

“Your insults know no bounds,” she told him. Then she started to cry. She couldn’t look up at him anymore, and surely that was the reason she allowed him to take her into his arms.

“You’re not going back to Louddon, Madelyne,” Duncan said, his voice gruff.

“Then I’m staying here until spring,” she said.

Edmond appeared at the entrance with the new priest. “Father Laurance is here,” he announced to get Duncan’s attention.

Madelyne pulled away from Duncan. She turned to look at the priest. Why, he was so young. That surprised her. He looked vaguely familiar to her, too, though she couldn’t put her finger on just where she might have met him. Very few young priests visited her uncle Berton.

She shook her head, deciding then that she couldn’t have met him before.

Duncan suddenly pulled Madelyne up against his side. They stood so close to the fire, Madelyne forgot about the priest and began to worry her gown would catch flame. When she tried to move away, Duncan tightened his hold. His arm was draped across her shoulders, anchoring her to him. Odd, but after a moment or so, his closeness calmed her, and she was able to fold her hands in front of her and regain her composed expression.

The priest seemed worried. He wasn’t a very appealing-looking man, for his face was pock-marked into scars. He looked unkempt too.

Gilard rushed into the room. The look on his face suggested he was ready to do battle. He and Edmond had suddenly changed dispositions. Edmond was smiling now while Gilard scowled.

“Duncan, I’ll be the one to marry Lady Madelyne. I’m more than willing to make this sacrifice,” Gilard announced. His face was red and he’d deliberately used the word sacrifice so that Duncan wouldn’t know the depth of his true feelings for Madelyne. “She did save my life,” he added when Duncan didn’t immediately answer him.

Duncan knew exactly what was going on inside Gilard’s mind. The brother was as transparent as water. He thought himself in love with Madelyne. “Don’t give me argument, Gilard. My decision is made and you will honor it. Do you understand me, brother?”

Duncan’s voice was soft but menacing, and Gilard, after giving a loud, angry sigh, slowly shook his head. “I’ll not challenge you.”

“Marriage?” Madelyne whispered the word as if it was a blasphemy.

She shouted the next. “Sacrifice?”

Chapter Fourteen

“Giving honor unto the wife, as unto the weaker vessel.”

NEW TESTAMENT, I PETER 3:7

“I’m not marrying anyone.” Madelyne meant to shout her decision, but the words came out strangled. She couldn’t help that, for she finally understood what Duncan meant to do. Gilard might not challenge that decision, but she certainly was going to.

Duncan did seem determined in the matter. He ignored Madelyne’s struggle to get away from him and motioned for the priest to begin the ceremony.

Father Laurance was so flustered, he couldn’t even remember most of the standard phrases, and Madelyne was so incensed, she wasn’t paying the least attention. She was too busy yelling at the man trying to squeeze her to death.

When Madelyne heard Duncan promise to take her as wife, she shook her head. The priest then asked her if she’d have Duncan for husband. Madelyne gave an immediate answer. “Nay, I will not.”

Duncan didn’t care for her answer. He gripped her so tightly, Madelyne thought he was trying to push the bones right out of her.

Duncan grabbed hold of her hair, twisted it back until she was looking up at him. “Answer him again, Madelyne,” Duncan suggested.

The look in his eyes almost changed her determination. “Let go of me first,” she demanded.

Duncan, believing she meant to obey him, released her. His arm settled on top of her shoulders again. “Ask her again,” he told the frazzled priest.

Father Laurance looked ready to faint. He stuttered out the question again.

Madelyne didn’t yell a denial or an acceptance. She didn’t say anything at all. Let them stand there until morning, she didn’t care. No one was forcing her into this mockery.

She hadn’t counted on Gilard’s interference. Madelyne thought he looked as if he wanted to kill Duncan. When his hand went to the handle of his sword, and he took a threatening step forward, she let out an involuntary gasp. Good God, he was going to challenge Duncan. “I do take you, Duncan,” she blurted out. She continued to stare at Gilard, saw the indecision in his eyes, and added, “Willingly do I pledge myself.”

Gilard’s hands dropped back to his sides. Madelyne’s shoulders sagged with relief.

Adela walked over to stand between Edmond and Gilard. She smiled at Madelyne. Edmond was grinning too. Madelyne wanted to scream at both of them. She didn’t dare, what with Gilard looking so crazed.

The priest rushed through the rest of the ceremony. After giving an awkward, backward blessing, he excused himself and rushed out of the room. His color had turned green. The man was obviously terrified of Duncan. She understood that feeling well enough.

Duncan finally let go of Madelyne. She rounded on him then. “This marriage is a mockery,” she whispered so that Gilard wouldn’t hear. “The priest didn’t even give us a proper blessing.”

Duncan had the audacity to smile at her. “You told me you never make mistakes, Duncan. This time you certainly have. Now you’ve gone and ruined your life. And for what purpose? Your vengeance against my brother is endless, isn’t it?”

“Madelyne, the marriage is real enough. Go up to my room and wait for me, wife. I’ll join you soon.”

He deliberately stressed the word wife. Madelyne stared up at him in astonishment. There was a warm glint in his eye now. His room?

Madelyne jumped when Adela touched her on the shoulder, trying to tell her everything would be all right. That was certainly easy enough for her to say; she wasn’t the one bound to a wolf.

She had to get away from all the Wextons. There was so much to think through. Madelyne lifted the skirt of her gown and slowly started to walk out of the room.

Edmond stopped her when she reached the entrance by putting his hand on her arm. “I would welcome you into our family,” he said.

The brother actually looked as though he meant what he said. That infuriated Madelyne almost as much as his horrible smile. She much preferred him scowling at her. “Don’t you dare smile at me, Edmond, or I’ll hit you. Just see if I don’t.”

He looked surprised enough to satisfy her.

“I seem to remember your threat to hit me for just the opposite reason, Madelyne.”

She didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about. Nor did she particularly care, for her mind was filled with far more important matters. Madelyne pulled away from Edmond, muttering to herself that she hoped he’d choke on his dinner, and then he walked out of the room.

Gilard tried to go after Madelyne but Edmond grabbed him. “She’s your brother’s wife now, Gilard. Honor that bond.” Edmond kept his voice low so Duncan wouldn’t overhear. The eldest brother had turned his back on them and was staring at the fire again.

“I would have made her happy, Edmond. Madelyne has had so much pain in her life. She deserves to be content.”

“Are you blind, brother? Haven’t you seen the way Madelyne looks at Duncan and the way he stares at her? They care for each other.”

“You’re mistaken,” Gilard answered. “Madelyne hates Duncan.”

“Madelyne doesn’t hate anyone. She isn’t capable of it.” Edmond smiled at his brother. “You just don’t want to admit the truth. Why do you think I’ve been so angry with Madelyne? Hell, I could see the attraction from the beginning. Why, Duncan never left her side when she was so ill.”

“That was only because he felt responsible for her,” Gilard argued.

The youngest brother was trying desperately to hold on to his anger, yet Edmond’s argument was staring to sound reasonable.

“Duncan married Madelyne because he wanted to. You know, Gilard, it’s quite remarkable that our brother married because of love. In these times, that is a rarity. He’ll not gain any lands, only the king’s displeasure.”

“He doesn’t love her,” Gilard muttered.

“Aye, he does,” Edmond contradicted his brother. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Duncan’s mind wasn’t on his brothers. He ignored them as he reviewed his plans for tomorrow. The messenger had hinted they’d attack with first light if Madelyne wasn’t given to them. Duncan knew it was a bluff. He was almost disappointed. Aye, he was aching for another battle with anyone pledged to Louddon. However, the paltry assembly freezing their backsides outside his walls wouldn’t be foolish enough to challenge their leader’s petition. They knew they were outnumbered, outskilled. Louddon had probably sent them so that he could stand before his king and show he’d tried to regain his sister back without involving his leader.

Satisfied with his conclusions, Duncan put the matter aside and turned his thoughts to his new life. How long would it take her to accept him as husband? It didn’t make the least difference to him how long it took, he told himself, but the sooner she came to terms with her new life, the better for her own peace of mind.

He felt honor bound to keep her safe. She’d given him her courage and her trust. He couldn’t turn his back on her. Aye, it was a sense of duty that propelled him into this hasty decision. Sending her back to Louddon would be like sending a child into a cage to fight a lion.

“Hell,” he muttered to himself. He’d known from the beginning, when he first touched her, that he’d never let her go. “She is making me daft,” he said, uncaring who overheard.

She did please him. He hadn’t realized just how rigid his life had been, until Madelyne began to interfere. She could get reactions from him with just an innocent look. When he wasn’t thinking about strangling her, he was obsessed with kissing her. It didn’t matter that Louddon was her brother. Madelyne didn’t have his black soul; she was gifted with a pure heart and a capacity for love that rocked all of Duncan’s cynical beliefs.

Duncan smiled. He wondered what state he’d find Madelyne in when he went upstairs. Would she be terrified or would she give him one of her practiced serene expressions again? Would his new wife be a kitten or a tigress?

He left the hall and went in search of Anthony. After listening to his vassal’s congratulations on his marriage, he gave Anthony additional instructions for the night’s watch.

The nightly ritual of swimming in his lake came next. Duncan took his time, giving Madelyne a bit longer to prepare herself for him. It had been over an hour since Madelyne had stormed out of the hall.

Duncan decided that was time enough. He took the steps two at a time. It wasn’t going to be easy to convince Madelyne that he meant to bed her. He wouldn’t use force, however, no matter how she tried his patience. It would take time, but she would willingly give herself to him.

His vow to keep his temper under control was strained somewhat when he reached his room and found it empty. Duncan sighed in exasperation and immediately went up to the tower.

Did she actually think she could hide from him? He found that thought amusing and smiled. His smile faded, however, when he tried to open the door and realized it was barred against him.

Madelyne was still a little worried. She’d returned to her room in a nearly hysterical state and then had been forced to wait until her tub was filled with water. Maude had already begun the nightly task. Madelyne tried to be appreciative, but the servant and the two men carrying the buckets of steaming water did take the longest time, until Madelyne was sick with fear that Duncan would find her before she could lock him out.

The slat of wood was right where she’d hidden it, tucked underneath the bed. Once she slid the heavy panel through the metal loops, she let out a loud sigh of relief.

The muscles in Madelyne’s shoulders throbbed. She was tense and out of sorts, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to reason anything through. Had Duncan married her just to infuriate Louddon? What about Lady Eleanor?

Madelyne took a long time soaking. Her hair had been washed the night before so she didn’t have that chore to do. She tied the curls on top of her head, using a strip of ribbon to anchor them in place. Yet most of the strands had fallen back to her shoulders before her bath was finished.

God’s truth, she didn’t feel the least bit calmer after her bath. Her mind was consumed with worry. She wanted to scream in anger, yet weep with humiliation too. The only reason she didn’t do either was that she couldn’t make up her mind.

She heard Duncan coming up the steps just as she was getting out of the tub. Her hands shook when she reached for her robe, but it was only because it was so cold in her room, she told herself.

The footsteps stopped. Duncan was right outside the door. Madelyne reacted with a fresh spurt of fear, shamed she was acting so cowardly when she ran over to the far corner of the room and stood there trembling like an infant. She frantically knotted the belt of her robe even as she reasoned Duncan couldn’t see through the wood, for God’s sake, and there wasn’t any need to work herself up into such a fit.

“Madelyne, get away from the door.”

His voice had sounded so mild. That surprised her. Madelyne frowned, waiting for him to start threatening. And why didn’t he want her standing by the door?

She had her answer soon enough. The sound was so explosive, she jumped back, bumping her head against the stone wall. Madelyne let out a yelp when the slat of wood snapped like a twig, and would have made the sign of the cross if she’d been able to get her hands undone from each other.

The door shredded, and what puny strips remained, Duncan easily ripped apart.

He fully intended to drag Madelyne down to his room, yet when he saw how she cowered in the corner, his heart softened. Duncan also had the real concern she’d jump out the window before he could get to her. She looked frightened enough to try it.

He didn’t want her frightened. Duncan deliberately sighed, a long-drawn-out affair it was, and then casually leaned against the doorway. He smiled at Madelyne, waiting for her to regain her control.

He’d use reason and soft words to make her come to him.

“You could have knocked, Duncan.”

The change in her happened so swiftly. She wasn’t cowering in the corner now but standing there frowning at him with a look that told him she wouldn’t be throwing herself out any windows. She might, however, be thinking of trying to push him out.

He tried not to laugh, recognizing her pride was important to both of them. Damn, he didn’t like her cowering away from him. “And would you have opened the door for me, wife?” he asked, his tone soft, coaxing.

“Don’t call me your wife, Duncan. I was forced to say those vows. Now look what you’ve done to my door. I’ll be sleeping with a draft flying around my head, thanks to your ill consideration.”

“Ah, then you would have opened the door for me?” Duncan asked, grinning. He was thoroughly enjoying her outrage. Edmond was right, Madelyne was a bossy bit of goods. Her door, indeed.

She was a lovely sight to be sure. Her hair fell below her shoulders. The fire from the hearth cast a deep red glow to her curls. Her hands were back on her hips, her back as straight as a lance, and the opening of her robe gaped almost to her waist, giving him an ample view of the cleft between her full breasts.

He wondered how long it would be before Madelyne realized her vulnerable position. The oversized robe was slowly working its way loose. Duncan had already realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath the covering. Her knees peeked out at him.

The grin slowly faded from Duncan’s face. His eyes darkened as well. His concentration was strained, and all he could think about was touching her.

Whatever was the matter with him? Madelyne wondered. His expression had turned as black as his tunic, and heavens, she did wish he didn’t look so handsome.

“Of course I wouldn’t have opened the door, Duncan, but you should have knocked all the same.” She blurted out the ridiculous statement, feeling like a fool. If only he’d quit looking at her as if he wanted to …

“Have you never told a lie?” Duncan asked when he saw fear return to her eyes.

His question caught her off guard, as was his intention. Duncan slowly straightened and walked into the room.

“I’ve always told the truth, no matter how painful,” Madelyne answered. “And you know that well enough by now.” She gave him a disgruntled look and began to walk toward him so that he’d hear her next rebuke clearly. Madelyne was determined to give Duncan a piece of her mind, and she certainly would have done just that if she hadn’t forgotten the robe was too long and the wooden tub was directly in her path. She tripped over her hem, stubbed her toe on the base of the tub. She would have pitched forward into the water if Duncan hadn’t grabbed her in time.

He took hold of Madelyne’s waist when she bent to rub the sting from her toe. “Every time I’m near you, I get injured.”

She was muttering to herself, but Duncan heard every word. He took immediate exception. “I’ve never harmed you,” he insisted.

“Well, you threatened to,” Madelyne said. She stood up then, realized his arm was around her waist. “Let go of me,” she demanded.

“Do I carry you like a sack of wheat to my room or will you walk beside me like a new wife should?” he asked.

He slowly forced her to turn around and face him.

She was staring at his chest. Duncan gently pushed her chin up. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” Madelyne asked, finally meeting his gaze.

“I have tried, Madelyne.”

She thought his voice sounded like a caress, as soft as any summer’s breeze.

His thumb was slowly stroking the curve of her chin. How could such an insignificant little touch have such a devastating effect on her? “You try to bewitch me,” Madelyne whispered, yet she didn’t pull away when his thumb moved to stroke her sensitive lower lip.

“’Tis you who bewitches me,” Duncan admitted. His voice had gone hoarse. Madelyne’s heart started pounding. She could barely catch her breath. Her tongue touched the tip of his thumb. It was all she’d allow herself, this one small pleasure that sent a shock down her legs. She bewitched him? The thought was as pleasing as his kisses. She did want him to kiss her. Just one kiss, she told herself, and then she’d demand his dismissal.

Duncan seemed content to stand there all night. Madelyne quickly grew impatient. She pushed his hands away and then rose up on tiptoe to place a single chaste kiss on the cleft of his chin.

When Duncan didn’t react, she grew a bit bolder and put her hands on his shoulders. He was looking down at her and that made the task easier, yet she hesitated when she felt him stiffen against her. “I would kiss you good night,” she explained, barely recognizing her own voice. “I do like to kiss you, Duncan, but that is all I will allow.”

He didn’t move. Madelyne couldn’t even feel him breathing. She didn’t know if her admission angered him or pleased him, until her lips touched his. Then she knew he liked kissing almost as much as she did.

Madelyne sighed, content.

Duncan growled, impatient.

He wouldn’t give her his tongue until she demanded it, using her own to push him into responding. Then he took control, thursting his tongue deep into her mouth.

Madelyne didn’t want to stop. When she realized that, she pulled away from him.

Duncan’s hands rested on her hips. He let her pull back, waiting with great curiosity to see what she’d do next. She was unpredictable.

Madelyne couldn’t quite look up at him. A true blush covered her cheeks. She was obviously embarrassed.

Duncan suddenly lifted Madelyne up into his arms, smiling over the way she grabbed the edge of her robe where it parted at the knees. He almost mentioned that her modesty was ill placed, since he’d taken care of her when she was so sick. But Madelyne was rigid in his arms and he decided not to bring up that subject.

When they were halfway down the steps, Madelyne realized how unprepared she was to spend the night with Duncan. “I’ve left my sleeping gown upstairs,” she stammered. “’Tis one thing to sleep in my day gown but this is so bulky and—”

“You won’t need anything,” Duncan interrupted.

“I will,” Madelyne muttered.

Duncan didn’t answer her. Madelyne knew she’d lost the argument when the door to his bedroom slammed shut. They were, unfortunately, inside his room.

Duncan placed Madelyne on his bed and went back to the door. He pushed the wooden slat through the loops. And then he turned, slowly folded his arms across his chest, and smiled at her.

The attractive dent was back in the side of his cheek. Madelyne would have called it a dimple, yet that was an incorrect description for a man of his size and might. Warriors didn’t have dimples.

Her mind was rambling. It was his fault, of course. Why, he just stood there, staring at her. She felt like a little mouse cornered by a hungry wolf.

“Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?” Madelyne asked, sounding terrified.

Duncan shook his head. He caught her fear, realized then that his forced smile hadn’t aided his cause at all. “I don’t want you frightened.”

He started to walk toward her. “I’d prefer you unafraid, though I can understand the first time would be frightening for a virgin.”

His bid to soothe her failed. Duncan reached that conclusion when Madelyne bounded off the bed. “First time? Duncan, you’re not going to bed me,” she shouted.

“I am,” he answered.

“’Tis one thing to be forced to sleep beside you, but that is all that’s going to take place this night!”

“Madelyne, we’re married now. ’Tis a usual occurrence to bed one’s wife on the wedding night.”

“And is it a usual occurrence to force a lady to marry?” she asked.

He deliberately shrugged. She looked ready to cry. Duncan decided to make her angry again. He preferred it over tears. “It was necessary.”

“Necessary? You mean expedient, don’t you? Tell me this, Duncan. Will it also be necessary to force yourself on me tonight?”

She didn’t give him time to answer her. “You didn’t even bother to take the time to explain your reasons for this marriage. That is unforgivable of you.”

“You actually expected me to explain my actions to you?” he roared. He was almost immediately sorry for his lack of control because Madelyne was back to sitting on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands.

Duncan attempted to cool his temper. He walked over to stand in front of the fire. With deliberate slowness he began to unfasten the lacings at the neck of his tunic. He never took his gaze off Madelyne, wanting her to see what he was doing.

She tried not to look at him, but he was an overwhelming presence, and she could not ignore him. His skin was bronzed by the sun, golden now by the glow of the fire. The play of muscles showed when he bent to remove his boots.

God’s truth, she wanted to touch him. It was such an appealing admission, she shook her head. Touch him, indeed. She wanted him out of this room. But that, she thought with a sigh that reached her toes, wasn’t the truth at all.

“You think I’m a whore,” Madelyne suddenly blurted out. “Aye, living with a defrocked priest… those were your words, Duncan,” she reminded him. “You’d not want to bed a whore.”

She prayed she was right.

Duncan smiled over the way she thought to sway him. “Whores do have certain advantages over unskilled virgins, Madelyne. You, of course, understand my meaning.”

No, she most certainly didn’t understand his meaning, but she couldn’t tell him that, now, could she? Her deception was getting out of hand.

“They do not have certain advantages,” Madelyne muttered.

“Don’t you mean to say we?”

She gave up. She wasn’t a whore and knew he realized it too.

When she didn’t answer him, Duncan concluded she’d be forced to lie if she continued. “A whore knows all the ways to please a man, Madelyne.”

“I’m not a whore and you know it.”

Duncan smiled. Oh, how her honesty pleased him. He was a man conditioned to betrayals, yet he knew with a certainty he’d stake his life on that Madelyne would never lie to him.

Duncan removed the rest of his clothes and walked over to the other side of the bed. Madelyne’s back faced him. He saw her shoulders stiffen to the snapping point when he threw back the covers and got into bed. He turned, smothered out the candle flame, and then let out a loud yawn. If Madelyne had been watching him, she would have known the yawn was a blatant lie. His arousal was obvious, even to someone as naive as his skittish wife. It was going to be a long night.

“Madelyne.”

She hated the way he called her name when he was irritated with her. Duncan always drew out the last until it sounded as though her name was actually Lane.

“My name is not Lane,” she muttered.

“Come to bed.”

“I’m not tired.” It was a stupid remark, but Madelyne was too frightened to be clever. She should have listened to more of Marta’s tales. It was too late to do anything about that now. Oh, God, she thought she was going to be sick right this minute. And wouldn’t that be humiliating—to lose her dinner in front of him. The thought made her stomach lurch, intensifying her worry.

“I don’t know what to do.”

The anguished whisper tore at Duncan’s heart. “Madelyne, do you remember the first night we spent together in my tent?” Duncan asked.

His voice was soft, husky too. Madelyne thought he might be trying to calm her.

“I promised you that night I’d never force you. And have I ever broken my word to you on any matter?” he asked.

“How would I know?” Madelyne returned. “You’ve never given me your word on anything.” She turned to see if he was going to try to grab her. That was a mistake, because Duncan hadn’t bothered to pull the cover over himself. He was as naked as a wolf. Madelyne grabbed the blanket and threw it toward him. “Cover yourself, Duncan. It isn’t decent to let me see your … legs.”

She was blushing again. Duncan didn’t know how long he could keep up this nonchalant facade. “I want you, Madelyne, but I want you willing. I’ll have you begging, even if it takes all night.”

“I’ll never beg.”

“You will.”

Madelyne stared into Duncan’s eyes, trying to discover if he was trying to trick her or not. His expression told her nothing of what he was thinking. She nibbled on her lower lip while she worried. “You promise me?” she finally asked. “You really won’t force me?”

Duncan let her see his exasperation even though he nodded. He decided that tomorrow he’d let her know she wasn’t to question him in such a manner. For tonight, however, he’d allow her transgression.

“I trust you,” she whispered. “’Tis strange, yet I think I’ve always trusted you.”

“I know.”

She actually smiled over his arrogant remark. Then she let out a sigh of relief. She felt safe again. “Since you wouldn’t let me bring my sleeping gown, I’ll just have to use one of your shirts,” she said.

Madelyne didn’t wait to gain his permission. She went over to his chest, opened the lid, and rummaged through the clothing until she found one of his shirts. She didn’t know if Duncan was watching her or not, so she kept her back to him when she pulled her robe off and put his shirt on.

The garment barely covered her knees. She hurried to get under the blankets. And surely that was the reason she accidentally bumped into Duncan.

She took an infinitely long time adjusting the covers to her satisfaction. Madelyne didn’t think it would be proper to touch him, but she wanted to get close enough to feel some of his warmth. At last she was settled. She let out a sigh. She had hoped that Duncan would have grown weary of her motions by now. In truth, she wanted him to grab hold of her and pull her up against him. Lord knew she was used to being grabbed and hauled around, and if the truth were admitted, she actually liked it a bit. She always ended up cuddled against him, feeling snug and safe. And almost loved. It was a fantasy, that, but she allowed the pretense anyway. There wasn’t any sin in pretending, was there?

Duncan had no idea what was going on inside Madelyne’s head. It had taken him far longer than he had anticipated just to get her into bed. His nightly ritual of swimming in the freezing lake was a paltry effort compared to the trial he was presently undergoing. The prize was worth the torment, however. With that thought in mind, Duncan turned to his side. Propping his head up on his elbow, he looked down at his wife. He was surprised to find her staring up at him, for he truly expected her to be hiding under the covers. “Good night, Duncan,” she whispered to him, giving him another smile.

Duncan wanted much, much more. “Kiss me good night, wife.”

His tone was arrogant. Madelyne wasn’t upset by it. She gave him a frown. “I’ve already kissed you good night,” she reminded him sweetly. “Was it so insignificant that you’ve forgotten it already?”

Was she baiting him? Duncan decided she was, and probably because she felt so safe. Victorious too. Ah, she trusted him, and while he was pleased by that fact, the throbbing increased in his loins, bothering his concentration. He couldn’t take his gaze away from her mouth, was powerless to stop himself as he slowly, inevitably, lowered his mouth to hers. His arm circled her waist, blocking any retreat if she tried to leave him. He promised himself that he wouldn’t force the kiss, only keep her next to him until he could find a way to reason with her.

His mouth settled on hers in a kiss meant to melt any resistance. His tongue plunged into her mouth, hungry, almost savage in the quest to mate with her. He wanted to give her pleasure and knew he had succeeded when her tongue touched his and her hand gently brushed the side of his cheek.

Duncan captured her sigh when he deepened the kiss. His hand caressed the side of her neck while his thumb rubbed a lazy circle above the wild pulse he felt.

Madelyne wanted to get a little closer to his warmth. Kissing him felt so right. Her hands slipped around Duncan’s neck, and when he showed his pleasure over her aggression by emitting a low growl, she smiled against his mouth.

He lifted his head to look at her. Madelyne looked thoroughly satisfied. Her lips were dewy and swollen and there was a sparkle in her eye that warmed his heart. He found himself smiling back and couldn’t explain the reason. When he felt her fingers tentatively brush the nape of his neck, he couldn’t resist kissing her again. Her lower lip was easily captured between his teeth; he tugged, bringing Madelyne up to him. She laughed, delighted. Duncan groaned, tormented.

The kiss turned fierce and hot. His hands captured the sides of her face, and when she began to respond, he let her feel the hunger in him.

Madelyne moaned and moved closer, until her toes were rubbing against the crisp hair on his legs.

Duncan stopped her restless motions by trapping her legs between his heavy thighs. His mouth never left hers. He feasted on her, using his tongue to plunder the sweet interior she so willingly offered.

He couldn’t get enough of her. The kiss turned wild, ravenous. His hands were as undisciplined as his mouth, taming and exciting as he stroked a warm path from her shoulders to the base of her spine. Shivers of ecstasy made her tremble all the more. She couldn’t seem to catch a thought and hold on to it. Madelyne felt as if she were spinning out of control. She couldn’t seem to save herself. Her mind was being ruled by such new, erotic sensations flooding her body.

Madelyne squirmed within his hold. She was drawn to the heat, until she felt his hard arousal against the junction of her thighs. She uttered a gasp and tried to pull away, but Duncan’s hot kiss was pushing away all her fear. The heat was incredible. Her mind rebelled against the intimacy, but her body knew how to respond. She instinctively captured him and held him there, using her thighs to cuddle him. She let the warmth penetrate, but when Duncan began to move his hips and his arousal rubbed against her, she tried to stop him. Her hands grabbed hold of his thighs and she pushed him. She thought she was making him stop, but the more he moved, the weaker her struggle became. His touch ignited the embers of desire deep inside her, and it wasn’t long before she was actually clinging to him, her nails digging into his backside to keep him firmly against her.

Duncan realized she was frightened by the longing that had taken her, but he was determined to make her respond with equal passion. His hands cupped her buttocks, almost roughly. He lifted her and pulled her against him, letting her feel all of him. A low mating sound came from deep in his chest, a primitive, erotic sound, and as magical as the song of the Sirens calling to Madelyne, mesmerizing her. She couldn’t resist and she kissed him with wild, free abandon.

Madelyne’s uninhibited response nearly pushed Duncan over the brink of sanity. He tore his mouth away from hers and began to press hot kisses down the column of her neck. He tried to gain control but the effort cost him. It had turned painful holding back, and he wanted nothing more than to plunge inside her, to fill her body and her soul completely. He couldn’t, of course, it was too soon for her. Duncan told himself to go easy, to give her a little more time, but his mouth and his hands refused to listen to the dictates of his mind. God help him, he couldn’t stop touching her. Her scent drove him to distraction; Duncan had never experienced such overwhelming passion. The realization that there was still much more to come made him feel close to exploding.

Madelyne knew she should stop his liberties. She was clinging to Duncan, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. She took a deep breath, trying desperately to control herself. It proved an impossible task; Duncan was tantalizing her neck with his mouth and his tongue, and whispering such bold, sexy, unrepeatable words into her ear, she couldn’t think much at all.

He called her beautiful, told her in erotic detail what he wanted to do to her. He said she made him crazed with desire, and she could tell from the way his hands shook when he pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her brow that he meant what he said.

She knew he could easily crush any resistance she offered him. Yet his strength didn’t frighten her now. All she had to do was tell him to stop. He wouldn’t force her. Duncan always kept his power contained when he was with her, whenever he touched her; he used an even greater method of winning her. Aye, he wooed her with tender caresses and soft, forbidden promises.

If she could just find the strength to put a little distance between them, perhaps she could think again. With that intent in mind she rolled away from him.

Duncan followed her. She realized then that the blankets were gone. He covered her now, most thoroughly. Their bare legs were entwined and only a thin shirt protected her virginity from him.

He removed that barrier as well, slowly edging the material up over her breasts. He was determined, and had the shirt off before she could utter a single word of denial. In truth, she might have helped him.

All thoughts of caution left when Duncan’s chest touched her breasts.

The thick mat of hair rubbed against her nipples. She moaned with true pleasure. His breathing excited her almost as much as his touch did. It was harsh, uncontrolled, as ragged with need as her own.

Duncan lifted his head to look at her. Madelyne’s eyes were dark, slumberous.

“Do you like kissing me, Duncan?”

He wasn’t prepared for the question and answered her only when he’d found his voice. “Aye, Madelyne, I like kissing you.” He smiled then. “As much as you like kissing me.”

“I do,” Madelyne whispered. She shivered with heat, nervously rubbed the tip of her tongue along her lower lip. Duncan watched her. He groaned and had to close his eyes for a second before he could look at her again.

She was making him frantic. This wooing was difficult work. He wanted her. Now. He knew she still wasn’t ready for him. He’d have to continue this trial of endurance even if it killed him. He thought it just might.

Duncan took a deep breath and placed a kiss on the tip of one of Madelyne’s finely arched eyebrows. He kissed the bridge of her nose next, right in the center of her attractive freckles, the ones he knew she probably would have denied she had.

Madelyne held her breath, waiting for him to reach her mouth. When Duncan turned and moved to the side of her neck, she tried to get him back where she wanted him.

“I want to kiss you again, Duncan,” she whispered.

She knew she was being brazen. Aye, she was playing with forbidden fire. Madelyne told herself she acted so bold because she was so unprepared. No one had ever explained the ways of men and women. No one had ever cautioned her about the intense pleasure. And the pleasure warred with her ability to reason.

Madelyne suddenly realized that the make-believe battle she fought with herself was just that, make-believe. She was trying to force Duncan into taking the decision away from her. Then he alone would be responsible for this act. She’d remain an innocent, trapped by the pleasure he forced on her.

The truth shamed her. Duncan wasn’t forcing her at all. “I’m a coward,” she whispered.

“Don’t be afraid,” Duncan soothed her. His voice was filled with tenderness.

Madelyne tried to explain, to give him all the words, to tell him how much she wanted him. Just for tonight she wanted to belong to him. She didn’t believe he could ever love her, but for one glorious night she wanted to pretend the promises he gave her were true. If Duncan could give her only a part of himself, she’d make herself believe it was enough.

“Put your arms around me, Madelyne,” Duncan ordered her. His voice was controlled, yet his hands were gentle as they played against the swell of her breasts.

The palms of his hands cupped her breasts fully then. Madelyne instinctively arched against him, thinking the pleasure he gave her was excruciatingly sweet.

Duncan ignored her surprised gasp. He used his thumbs to coax her nipples into responding. When they were hard and straining, he moved downward and took one into his mouth. His tongue was velvet torture. He used suction to drive her mad. She twisted and moaned while her hands clung to his shoulders.

Both breasts felt swollen when he finished with them. Duncan covered them with his chest again and captured her mouth in a long, searing kiss that only made her desperate for more.

He couldn’t wait any longer. In the back of his mind he knew she still hadn’t given him permission. He lifted his head to look at her, saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Do you want me to stop?” Even as he asked the question he wondered how in God’s name he’d ever be able to accomplish that feat.

“Tell me why you’re crying, Madelyne.” He caught the first tear that escaped from her lashes with his thumb.

She didn’t answer him. Duncan roughly took hold of her hair. His fingers twisted into the silky strands. “Give me your honesty now, wife, full measure. I can see the passion in your eyes. Say the words, Madelyne.”

His demand was as forceful as his need. Duncan could feel the heat in Madelyne. Her body moved restlessly against him.

“’Tis wrong of me to want you, but I do,” Madelyne whispered. “I want you so much, I ache.”

“You’re my wife now, Madelyne,” Duncan answered, his voice raspy. “What we do isn’t wrong.” He leaned down and kissed her again, a hot, searing kiss that held nothing back. She responded with equal passion. When her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades, he abruptly pulled back.

“Tell me you want me inside you. Now. Say it, Madelyne.” Duncan stared into her eyes as he slowly pushed her legs apart with his thigh. Before Madelyne understood his intention, his hand slid into the soft mount of curls covering the most sensitive part of her. His fingers gentled and stroked until her heat was wet and slick with desire. And all the while he watched her passionate response.

His finger slowly penetrated her. Madelyne instinctively arched against his hand, giving him so much pleasure by her uninhibited action, he thought he was going to die. She was so incredibly hot. And the heat belonged to him.

“Cease this torment, Duncan. Come to me.”

He moaned her name just before his mouth took hers again. As slowly as he could manage, he settled himself between her silky thighs, lifted her hips, and began to penetrate. She twisted, driving Duncan forward.

Duncan paused when he felt the shield proving her virginity. “Put your legs around me.” He groaned the instruction. His face fell against her neck. When he felt her move to obey him, he plunged forward. Madelyne cried out in pain and tried to pull back. “It’s all right, love. The pain is over now, I promise. Hush now,” he whispered.

Duncan wanted to wait until her body had adjusted to his invasion, but the throbbing was unbearable now. He couldn’t stop. He began to move, slowly at first, and then with growing need and force. His hand moved between them, arousing her to a fevered pitch when his fingers rubbed against her.

The pain was soon forgotten. Duncan filled her completely. Madelyne began to move with him, arched her hips to take him deeper inside, and felt the change that overcame her husband then.

The power uncoiled, surrounded, penetrated. She glorified in the sensations, allowed her softness to become the sheath for his power. They were so much a part of each other now; each belonged to the other, body, mind, and soul.

Her control deserted her. She was wild, as free as a tigress now, reaching to attain the mystery of fulfillment just outside her grasp. She gave herself up to the feelings, surrendering herself to her husband, her lover. And all because he surrendered himself to her.

He whispered bold words into her ear, but she was soon too mindless to understand what he was saying. She couldn’t think, only feel the power pulling at her, stroking, demanding.

The climax was so overwhelming, she cried out. His name. She was terrified, vulnerable, safe. She was loved.

Duncan answered her with an explosive climax and a harsh growl. He called out to her, held her so tightly she thought he might absorb her. And then he collapsed against her, sighing her name with true satisfaction.

Their bodies were damp with perspiration. The musky smell of loving surrounded the haze of their passion. Madelyne touched his shoulder with her tongue, licked the salty taste of him.

Duncan didn’t think he had the strength left in him to roll away from her. He decided he’d stay right where he was forever.

He had never experienced such contentment. When he was finally able to gather his wits, he leaned up on his elbows to look at her. Madelyne’s eyes were closed. Her cheeks were pink. She was back to being a timid kitten, Duncan concluded with a smile. Lord, how could she be embarrassed now, after the way she’d responded to him. He thought he’d carry her scratches on his shoulders for at least a week.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes.” She sounded shy.

“Very much?” He sounded worried.

“Very little.”

“And did I pleasure you, Madelyne?” Duncan asked.

Madelyne dared a look up at him. His arrogant smile captured her. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Very little?”

She shook her head, smiling now. Madelyne suddenly realized he needed to hear her tell him how much he’d pleased her almost as much as she needed to hear of his satisfaction. “Very much, Duncan.”

He nodded, thoroughly satisfied. Though he’d known he’d given her fulfillment, his contentment was intensified because of her honesty. “You’re a passionate woman, Madelyne. You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about.” He kissed her long and hard, and when he next looked at her, he was pleased to see her shyness gone. Her eyes had turned a deep blue. Lord, he could lose himself in her again.

Duncan suddenly felt vulnerable. He couldn’t give a reason for the feeling. It was too foreign to his nature to understand. If he didn’t guard against her, Madelyne could turn him into Samson. He thought she was more enticing than Delilah. Aye, she’d snatch his strength away if he allowed it.

With a frown Duncan rolled onto his back, clasped his hands behind his head, catching some of Madelyne’s hair under his elbow. He ignored her, staring at the ceiling while she struggled to get free of the restriction.

Duncan was trying to come to terms with all the truths demanding his attention. He’d ignored the facts too long. The only time he’d been honest with himself was when he touched Madelyne. He couldn’t control his reactions then, no matter how valiantly he tried. She had come to mean a good deal to him. The power she had over him actually worried him. And Duncan wasn’t a man given to worry much or easily.

Madelyne pulled the covers up to her chin. She rested on her back but glanced over to catch the ferocious frown on her husband’s face.

She immediately became frightened. Had she failed him some way? She knew she’d been a little timid, awkward too. “Do you have regrets now, Duncan?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

She couldn’t look at him. Madelyne closed her eyes, letting her fear and shame build.

“None.”

He snapped out the denial. His voice was harsh. Madelyne wasn’t the least comforted. She felt hurt and humiliated. The glow of their lovemaking was gone now, replaced by such a desolate, desperate feeling of failure. God help her, she started to cry.

Duncan wasn’t paying Madelyne much attention, for he had only just accepted the full truth.

The admission staggered him. The disrespectful, unpredictable woman weeping loud enough to wake the dead had tripped her way right into his heart.

He suddenly felt as vulnerable as this Achilles warrior Madelyne told him about. Aye, Achilles couldn’t have been too pleased to find out his heels were vulnerable. He’d probably been infuriated, as infuriated as Duncan suddenly was.

Duncan didn’t have the faintest idea how he was going to protect himself from her. He decided he needed time to think through this situation. Aye, time, and distance, too, because it just wasn’t possible to think about all the ramifications when Madelyne was near him. Hell, that infuriated him.

Duncan sighed, long and loud. He knew what Madelyne wanted, what she needed from him now. With a groan of frustration he jerked the covers away and pulled her into his arms. He told her to quit crying, but she blatantly disobeyed him and continued on until his neck was soaking wet from where her face rested.

Madelyne fully intended to tell him she despised him and that she was never going to speak to him again, that he was the most insensitive, overbearing man she’d ever encountered. She needed to quit crying first, else she’d just sound pitiful instead of angry.

“Do you have regrets now, Madelyne,” he asked her when he couldn’t stand the sound of her weeping any longer.

She nodded, bumping his chin. “I do,” she told him. “I obviously didn’t please you. I know that’s true because you’re frowning and snapping at me, but it was only because I didn’t do what I was supposed to do, Duncan.”

Lord, she was unpredictable. She cried because she thought she hadn’t satisfied him. The realization made him smile.

Madelyne suddenly pulled out of his arms, bumping him again. “I don’t want you to touch me ever again.”

In her anger she forgot all about her nakedness. Duncan’s body reacted swiftly to the lovely view. Madelyne faced him, her legs tucked beneath her, and her breasts, magnificent, full and rosy-tipped, were too irresistible to ignore. Duncan reached out and circled the nipple of one with his thumb. The nipple hardened before Madelyne could slap his hand away.

She tried to deny him then by pulling the covers over her bosom, but Duncan easily won the spontaneous tug-of-war when he ripped the blanket out of her grasp and flung it to the floor. She would have followed it if he hadn’t grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her back on top of his chest.

Duncan trapped her hands with his and grinned. The grin left quite abruptly when her knee found a vulnerable target between his legs.

He groaned, captured her legs by locking his own around her ankles, effectively stopping her struggles. He let go of her hands and then slowly pulled her head down to him. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, wanted nothing more than to kiss her anger away, but when she was just a breath away, he stopped. “Listen well, wife. You weren’t awkward, only innocent. And you have pleased me more than I had thought was possible.”

Madelyne stared at him a long moment. Tears flooded her eyes again. “The truth, Duncan? I did please you?”

He nodded, exasperated. He vowed to lecture her first thing in the morning about questioning him, and then remembered he’d already made that vow.

She was appeased. “You pleased me too,” she whispered.

“I know I did, Madelyne.” He wiped the tears away from her cheeks and sighed over the disgruntled look that came over her face. “Don’t frown at me,” he ordered.

“How do you know you pleased me?”

“Because you screamed my name and you begged me to—”

“I never beg, Duncan,” Madelyne interrupted. “You exaggerate.”

He smiled most arrogantly. Madelyne opened her mouth to tell him just how arrogant she thought he was, but his mouth caught hers, effectively stopping her rebuke.

It was a hot kiss. Madelyne could feel his arousal pressed against her. She moved her hips against him restlessly, teasingly, too, arousing him all the more.

Duncan gently pulled away. “Go to sleep now. It would be too painful a second time.”

She stopped his protest with another kiss. Madelyne decided she liked being on top of him, shyly whispered that fact to him.

He smiled, yet still insisted she sleep. “I command it,” he told her.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Madelyne said. She nibbled on the side of his neck, shivering with new awareness. “You smell so good,” she told him. Her tongue played with his earlobe, driving him to distraction.

Duncan decided to put an end to her game now, before he was unable to stop himself from taking her again. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew that she was too innocent to understand.

He’d have to show her how uncomfortable it would be for her.

With that intent in mind, his hand moved between them. When he thrust his finger inside, Madelyne moaned. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders. “Now tell me you want me,” Duncan demanded, his voice harsh with his desire.

Madelyne slowly arched up. Pain and pleasure blended into confusion. She rubbed her breasts against his chest. “I do want you, Duncan,” she whispered.

Duncan suddenly felt his control desert him. He felt strong enough to conquer the world. When Madelyne tried to roll onto her back, he shook his head.

“Do you really force me to beg you, Duncan?” she asked, though it sounded more of a demand to her husband. He thought her voice quavered because she ached with as much need as he did.

He kissed the frown away from her face while he slowly began to penetrate her.

Madelyne straddled his hips, moaning with contentment. Her last coherent thought was a revelation. She didn’t have to be flat on her back.

Chapter Fifteen

“Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

NEW TESTAMENT, LUKE, 12:34

Duncan had always believed himself to be a practical man. He knew he was stubborn, set in his ways, too, but didn’t look at either of those as flaws in his character. He liked his days to follow the same rigid pattern, believing there was safety and comfort in predictability. As a leader of such vast numbers, it was imperative to maintain order and discipline. Why, without a well-constructed plan for each day, there’d be chaos.

Ha, chaos. The word reminded Duncan of his gentle little wife. Though he didn’t voice his opinion, he thought Madelyne gave the word confusion new meaning. Lord only knew how chaotic, how unpredictable his life had become since he had made the decision to marry the woman. He admitted, but only to himself, of course, that his marriage was the first impractical thing he had ever done.

Duncan truly believed he’d be able to continue his routine without interruption. He also thought he’d be able to ignore Madelyne just as thoroughly as he had before they had exchanged those binding vows. And he had been vastly mistaken in both beliefs.

Madelyne was far more stubborn than he had thought. It was the only excuse he could find to explain the blatant way she disregarded his position.

Duncan hated changes. In the back of his mind he thought Madelyne knew it. She gave him innocent looks when he demanded she cease her constant meddling and then blithely went on her way to change something else.

Oh, his pretty wife was still timid enough around him. At least she gave the appearance that she was. She blushed quite easily. Duncan only had to give her a good long stare to get her immediate reaction. He puzzled over it, yet didn’t question her about her obvious embarrassment. But when he was not paying attention, she did anything she pleased.

The changes Madelyne instituted weren’t even subtle. Most impressive and the least to complain about was the radical change in his hall. Without gaining permission, Madelyne had ordered the wobbly platform removed. The old scarred table was carried down to the soldiers’ keep, and a new, unblemished, smaller table was built by a carpenter Madelyne had commissioned, again without asking his permission.

Madelyne drove the servants ragged over what they referred to as her cleaning fits. The servants probably thought Madelyne was demented, though none would openly declare such in front of their lord. Yet Duncan also noticed how each hurried to comply with Madelyne’s orders, as though pleasing his mistress was a treasured goal.

The floors had been scrubbed, the walls stained and decorated. New rushes, smelling suspiciously like roses, lined the floor. A gigantic banner, primarily the color of royal blue, with white stitching of Duncan’s impressive crest, hung above the hearth now, and Madelyne had placed two tall-backed chairs right in front of the fireplace. The room mimicked the tower room in some ways. Madelyne had reduced the size of the hall by making several small sitting areas. Why anyone would want to sit in the hall was beyond Duncan’s comprehension. Even though it looked inviting, the hall was just a place to eat a meal, and perhaps to stand before the roaring fire for a few minutes to gain warmth. No one was supposed to linger there. Yet his wife didn’t seem capable of comprehending that simple fact and transformed his hall into a room that beckoned laziness.

Duncan also noticed that the soldiers made certain their boots were clean before walking into the hall. He didn’t know if that pleased him or not. Why, even his men were bending to Madelyne’s silent dictates.

The dogs had proven to be Madelyne’s greatest challenge. She kept dragging them downstairs. The dogs kept coming back. Madelyne had gotten around that problem too. Once she had established which animal was the leader of the pack, she wooed him down the stairs by dangling a piece of mutton in front of his face to gain his compliance. She then had him barred from the stairwell until the pattern of feeding downstairs was firmly established.

No one threw their discarded bones over their shoulders anymore either. Gilard told Duncan how Madelyne stood at the head of the table and sweetly explained they were all going to eat like civilized men or not eat at all. The men didn’t complain. They seemed as eager as the servants to please Madelyne.

Aye, she was more tigress than kitten now. If she thought any of the servants were being the least disrespectful to any Wexton, she lectured them into humiliation.

Now that he thought about it, Duncan realized she lectured him too. His wife was a little more subdued with him but she still spoke her mind often enough.

She constantly challenged his opinions. Duncan remembered an incident that had taken place the day before, when Madelyne was listening to a conversation he was having with Gilard about King William and his brothers, Robert and Henry. As soon as Gilard left the hall, Madelyne told Duncan she was worried about the king’s brothers. She said in a voice that reeked with authority that neither brother had been given sufficient responsibility. In her mind, since the two men were so unappreciated, both would certainly become discontent and cause problems for their king.

She hadn’t known what she was talking about, of course. How could a woman understand politics? Duncan had patiently taken time to point out to her that the oldest brother, Robert, had been given Normandy, for God’s sake, a far greater treasure than England, and had already shown his lack of responsibility by bonding the land to his brother for enough coins to go crusading.

Madelyne ignored his logical argument, insisting that he himself acted just like King William because he kept his own brothers under his wing and wouldn’t allow either of them to make any decisions. She was lecturing him then, explaining her worry that both Edmond and Gilard would soon feel as restless as the king’s two brothers.

Duncan had finally grabbed her and kissed her. It was the only way he could find to take her mind off the subject. It was also a very satisfying method.

Duncan told himself at least ten times a day that he couldn’t be bothered with the mundane problems of his household. He had greater, far more important work to do. Aye, it was his duty to turn ordinary men into mighty warriors.

For that reason he tried to maintain a distance from his brothers, his sister, and most especially, his stubborn, undisciplined wife.

Yet while he could remove himself from the workings of his household, he couldn’t seem to separate himself from the problem of Madelyne. He was too busy protecting her.

In truth, all his men took a turn saving Madelyne’s life. She never offered a word of appreciation to any of them, yet Duncan knew it wasn’t because his wife was a discourteous woman. Nay, the truth was far worse. Madelyne simply didn’t realize how her own impulsiveness put her into constant jeopardy.

Madelyne was in such a hurry to get to the stables one afternoon, she ran right in front of a line of soldiers practicing with their bows and arrows. An arrow just missed the back of her head. The poor soldier who had shot the arrow immediately fell to his knees. He couldn’t find his target the rest of the day, thanks to his brief encounter with Duncan’s wife. Madelyne hadn’t even realized the danger. She had hurried on, oblivious to the chaos she had created.

The incidents involving near tragedy were too many for Duncan to recount. He was fast approaching the point where he dreaded the evening report given to him by Anthony. His faithful vassal looked haggard from his duty. Though he never complained, Duncan was certain the vassal would have preferred a good battle to the death instead of trailing behind his leader’s wife.

It had taken him time, but Duncan finally understood why Madelyne had become so carefree, so uninhibited. It was such a simple reason too. And it pleased him immensely. Madelyne felt safe. When the fever ruled her mind, Duncan had learned all about her childhood. She was a quiet child who tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Madelyne’s mother had sheltered her daughter from her father and her brother, but the two years Madelyne lived alone with Louddon after her mother’s death had been cruel, painful years indeed. Madelyne had quickly learned not to laugh or to cry, or show spirit or anger, for to do so would have drawn attention to herself.

Though the years she spent with her uncle Berton were blessed years, Duncan doubted Madelyne acted like a normal little girl even then. Living with a priest would have taught her additional restraint. Duncan didn’t believe she’d been mischievous when she had to answer to a fragile old man who probably depended on her more than she depended on him.

Madelyne had learned control from her uncle. Duncan knew the priest was trying only to help Madelyne survive. The uncle taught her how to hide her emotions from her brother, assuming she’d be returning to him soon. Neither Madelyne nor her uncle expected the visit to stretch into years. For that reason Madelyne lived in constant fear that Louddon would appear on her uncle’s doorstep at any moment and take her back home.

With fear came caution. Now that Madelyne felt safe, she let go of all restraint.

Duncan understood Madelyne better than she understood herself. She appeared clumsy, but the simple truth was that she was in such a hurry to catch up with life, to savor each experience, she didn’t have time for caution. That duty fell to her husband. Madelyne was like a young filly just testing her legs. She was a joy to watch, a nightmare to protect.

What Duncan didn’t understand was his own feelings for his wife. He’d gone to Louddon’s fortress to take Madelyne captive. His plan was revenge; an eye for an eye. And that had been reason enough.

Until she’d warmed his feet.

Everything had changed at that moment. Duncan had known with a certainty he couldn’t deny that they were henceforth bound together. He could never let her go.

And then he’d married her.

The following morning, Louddon’s army left Wexton land.

Each day Duncan would find a new reason for having made his impractical decision to marry her. Aye, he wanted to use his most logical mind to give reason to the feelings inside his heart.

On Monday he told himself he married her because he wanted her to have a safe haven, a place to live without being afraid. Her unselfish act of kindness in trying to rescue him merited such a reward.

On Tuesday he told himself he married her because he wanted to bed her. Aye, lust was a good enough reason.

Wednesday he changed his mind, deciding that he’d pledged himself to her because she was weak and he was strong. All his training conditioned him for such a response. Madelyne was just like a vassal, and though she hadn’t knelt on the ground and given him her pledge, it was still his duty to protect her. And so, compassion was the true reason after all.

Thursday arrived and with it came another realization. Why, he’d married Madelyne not only to protect her but to show her how valuable she really was. The early years spent with Louddon had been cruel years indeed. His gentle wife had been taught she was unworthy. She didn’t believe she had value. Louddon had abused her sorely for two years, then sent her to her uncle Berton for a visit. It was obvious, even to Duncan, that Louddon had forgotten her existence. It was the only reason he could find for Madelyne living with the old priest for nearly ten years.

When he gave Madelyne his name, Duncan was actually showing her just how worthy she really was.

It was unfortunate, but that reason didn’t even make it through the day.

He stubbornly ignored the truth. Duncan actually believed he’d be able to make passionate love to Madelyne every night and then ignore her during the day. It sounded reasonable enough to him. After all, he’d been most successful in separating himself from his family. He was lord and he was brother. Neither duty conflicted with the other. Aye, it sounded easy enough. Madelyne had worked herself into his heart, but that didn’t mean she was going to affect his way of life.

The truth nagged him all week long, as irritating as the first whispering sounds of thunder. On Friday afternoon, just two weeks to the day after he’d married Madelyne, the storm erupted. Violently.

Duncan had just returned to the upper bailey when Edmond’s shout drew his attention. He turned, just in time to see Madelyne strolling toward the stables. The doors to the barn were wide open. Silenus had gotten free. The animal was galloping toward Madelyne, his head down, his hooves thundering. The huge stallion was about to trample her to death.

The stablemaster chased after the horse, holding a bridle in his hands. Anthony was right behind him. Both were shouting warnings to Madelyne, but Duncan decided the noise from the stallion’s pace must have blocked out the sound, for his wife never even looked around her.

He was certain she was going to die.

“No!” The bellow came from the depths of his soul. Duncan’s heart felt as though it were being ripped out of his chest. All he could think of was getting to Madelyne and protecting her.

Everyone was running toward Madelyne, trying to save her.

And there wasn’t even need.

Madelyne was oblivious to the chaos surrounding her. She kept her attention directed on Silenus. She carried his treat in her hand and was on her way to visit him when he lurched out of the stables and headed for her. She assumed the animal was eager to meet her halfway.

Silenus came within a breath of killing her. Dust flew around Madelyne’s face when the stallion stopped so abruptly a scant inch or two in front of her. She waved her hand in front of her face to clear the air. Silenus immediately nudged her hand. The animal was looking for his clump of sugar, Madelyne guessed.

Everyone was too stunned to move. They watched the great stallion paw the ground and nudge Madelyne again. She laughed, delighted with his show of affection, finally holding her hand out for him to lick the sugar from her palm.

When the stallion was finished with his treat, Madelyne patted him. She noticed James and Anthony standing a short distance behind the animal then. Anthony was leaning against James for support.

Madelyne smiled at the men. “Is your injury bothering you, Anthony? You look a little pale to me,” she said.

Anthony shook his head quite vigorously. Madelyne turned to James, took in his glassy-eyed stare. “Did my lamb finally tear the door down? He’s been trying for the longest time.”

When James didn’t answer her, Madelyne decided Silenus must have given him a fright. “Come, Silenus, I believe you’ve upset James,” she said. She slowly walked around the animal and headed for the stables. Silenus turned, quite docile now as he danced back toward his home. Her voice, crooning a soft melody, kept the beast trailing meekly behind her.

Duncan wanted to go after Madelyne. He was going to kill her for trying to scare him to death. But he’d have to wait, he knew, until his legs would let him walk again.

God’s truth, he had to lean against the wall. His strength had deserted him. He felt like an old man with a weak heart. Duncan noticed Edmond was in much the same condition. His brother was kneeling on the ground. Duncan knew it wasn’t by choice.

Anthony seemed to be the only one in control now. He strolled over to Duncan, whistling under his breath. Duncan wanted to kill him.

The vassal put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. It was probably meant as a sympathetic gesture. Duncan wasn’t sure if Anthony was offering him condolences because he was wed to Madelyne or if the vassal was giving him understanding over the scene he’d just witnessed. Duncan didn’t appreciate the action, no matter what the motive.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Duncan.”

Anthony’s voice was mild but it captured Duncan’s attention. He turned to scowl at his first-in-command. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Your wife is determined to ride Silenus,” Anthony said.

“When I’m dead and unable to witness it,” Duncan roared.

Anthony had the gall to smile. He turned, a blatant attempt to shield his face from Duncan. “Protecting your wife is an unusually demanding challenge. When her mind is set on a plan of action, there’s no stopping her.”

“She has ruined my faithful horse,” Duncan shouted.

“Aye,” Anthony answered, unable to keep his amusement out of his voice. “She has.”

Duncan shook his head. “God, I thought I’d lost her.” His voice had turned into a harsh whisper. When he looked down at his hands, saw how they still shook, he was immediately furious again. “I’m going to kill her. You may witness the deed if you wish.”

Duncan was back to shouting. Anthony wasn’t intimidated. The vassal leaned back against the wall. He asked only curiously, “Why?”

“It would improve your day,” Duncan announced.

Anthony did laugh then. “I didn’t mean to ask you why I’d want to witness Madelyne’s death, Baron. I meant to ask you why you’d want to kill her.”

Anthony’s laughter didn’t sit well with his lord. “How would you like the new duty of seeing to the water?” he threatened. “Would you find it amusing to drag bucket after bucket to the kitchens? Would that duty be challenge enough, Anthony?”

It was an insulting suggestion for someone of Anthony’s rank. Duncan thought his vassal would immediately show contrition over his lack of respect.

Anthony, however, didn’t seem to be the least contrite. “’Tis a dangerous mission you give me, Baron. You’ve only to ask Ansel just how dangerous this duty is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your squire nearly drowned the other day. He had climbed to the top of the steps to the rainwater vat, when a ball hit him square in the shoulders. He lost his balance, of course, and—”

Duncan held up his hand for silence. He didn’t want to hear any more of this tale. He closed his eyes, praying for patience. Though he didn’t know the full story, he had an instinctive feeling his gentle little wife was behind Ansel’s mishap. He’d also noticed her showing a new game to the children yesterday afternoon.

Edmond walked over to join Duncan and Anthony. “What is so amusing to you, Anthony?” Edmond asked. Duncan’s brother was still too shaken by Madelyne’s brush with death to find anything remotely humorous.

“Our lord is going to kill his wife,” Anthony remarked.

Edmond looked exasperated. “For God’s sake,” he muttered. “Look at our leader now.” A slow grin settled on his face before he added, “Why, Duncan couldn’t kill a lamb.”

Hell, it was humiliating. Edmond had obviously heard Madelyne call his stallion her lamb. Everyone probably heard, and if they hadn’t, Edmond would certainly tell them.

“It would seem, Anthony, our captive has turned captor.”

“I’m in no mood for your riddles, Edmond,” Duncan muttered.

“You’re in no mood for admitting you love Madelyne either. Look at your condition, brother, and the truth will hit you between the eyes.”

Edmond shook his head, turned, and slowly walked away.

“Madelyne’s an easy woman to love, Baron,” Anthony commented when they were again alone.

“Easy? As easy as swallowing a mace.”

They were completely ill suited for each other. He was as rigid as a trunk of an old tree. Madelyne was as flighty as the wind.

And he never stood a chance … not since the moment she touched his feet. Duncan knew that now. Lord, he did love her.

“I’ll not have chaos in my life.” Duncan made the proclamation as a fervent vow.

“Perhaps, in time, all will settle—”

“When Madelyne is too old to get out of bed,” Duncan interrupted. “Then I’ll have peace again.”

“Peace can be boring,” Anthony commented with a smile. “Your wife has given new life to your home, Duncan.”

Anthony sought to appease Duncan with his argument. He concluded, from the way Duncan scowled, that his plan wasn’t working. Perhaps his lord had only just realized how much Madelyne meant to him. If that was the situation, Anthony decided his baron wasn’t taking the realization well at all.

He decided to leave Duncan to his own thoughts, excused himself with a bow, and walked away.

Duncan was glad for the solitude. He kept picturing his stallion racing toward his gentle little wife, knowing he’d never forget the horror for as long as he lived.

She’d captured his horse just as she’d captured him. Duncan found his first smile when he realized what a feat Madelyne had accomplished. Edmond was right. Madelyne was captor now, for she owned his heart.

There was surprising strength with the truth. Duncan suddenly felt as though he’d just ended a forty-day fast. He wasn’t going to have to ignore Madelyne any longer. Aye, he could feast on her. Besides, he admitted, it was past time he took a firm hand.

He started after his wife, thinking he would lecture her awhile, then kiss her. He was still angry. It was her fault, of course. She was the one who’d made his heart start pounding. She’d scared the hell out of him. He didn’t like that feeling, not at all. He wasn’t used to loving either. The first would take time to get over; the second would take time to adjust to.

Another shout stopped him. Fergus, soldier in charge of the south watch, called out a warning that a visitor was approaching the fortress. From the colors displayed on the banner waving in the breeze, the watchman knew that Baron Gerald and his assembly wished entrance.

It was all Duncan needed to turn his day completely black. Damn, he had sent a messenger to Gerald with the full explanation of Adela’s condition. He assumed Gerald would have sent a messenger back with agreement to nullify the contract. Obviously, because Gerald had troubled to journey such a distance, there was still a problem to be solved before the betrothal could be set aside.

Hell, he was going to have to be diplomatic. And Adela would probably revert to her crazed condition when she learned her intended was here for a visit.

Duncan realized he might be jumping to conclusions. Gerald was an old friend. There could be a number of reasons for the baron to visit. Lord, Madelyne was affecting him more than he’d realized. He was beginning to take on her flaws.

She was gifted with affecting his concentration too. Why, only two days ago he’d been in the middle of issuing an important command to his men, when his wife had strolled into his line of vision. Duncan suddenly found himself watching the gentle sway of her hips as she walked by, forgetting all about the order he was giving.

Duncan smiled over that memory. The soldiers had been staring at him so expectantly, and there he stood, without a glimmer of an idea what he was telling them, probably looking quite stupid, until Gilard stepped forward and reminded him of their topic.

Fergus shouted to Duncan again, interrupting his concentration. Duncan immediately gave the order to let Baron Gerald inside.

Madelyne was just coming out of the stables when Duncan intercepted her. Without giving her any sort of proper greeting, he abruptly stated his order.

“Adela’s inside, Madelyne. Go and tell her Baron Gerald is here. She’ll greet him at dinner.”

Madelyne’s eyes widened over Duncan’s startling news. “Why is he here, Duncan? Did you send for him?”

“I did not,” Duncan answered, irritated she didn’t immediately pick up her skirts and run to do his bidding. He was standing close enough to kiss her, and that thought fully consumed him. “Now, do as I’ve instructed, wife.”

“I always do what you instruct,” Madelyne answered with a smile. She turned, started to walk toward the castle. “And good day to you too, Duncan,” she called back over her shoulder.

It was a disrespectful comment meant to remind him of his lack of manners, Duncan supposed. He told himself it was too bad there wasn’t time to throttle her senseless.

“Madelyne.”

She stopped as soon as he called out to her, yet didn’t turn around until he commanded it. “Come here.”

Madelyne complied, frowning now, for her husband’s voice had sounded very tender. “Yes, Duncan?” she asked.

Duncan cleared his throat, frowned, and then said, “Good afternoon.”

He hadn’t even meant to say that, had he? Duncan frowned all the more when Madelyne smiled. Duncan suddenly pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She was too stunned to respond at first. Duncan had never touched her during the day. Why, he always ignored her. He wasn’t ignoring her now, however. Nay, he was kissing her quite forcefully, and in clear view of anyone who might be passing by.

The kiss wasn’t gentle either, but passionately arousing. Just when she was getting the way of it, Duncan pulled away.

He smiled at her. “Don’t ever call my horse your lamb again. Do you understand me?”

Madelyne stared up at Duncan, looking confused and flushed.

Before she could form an answer, Duncan walked away from her. Madelyne picked up her skirts and chased after him. She grabbed hold of his hand, stopping him with her touch, and when he turned to look at her, he was still smiling.

“Are you ill, Duncan?” Madelyne asked. Fear sounded in her voice.

“Nay.”

“Then why are you smiling so?” she demanded.

Duncan shook his head. “Madelyne, please go and tell Adela about Gerald’s arrival,” he said.

“Please?” Madelyne asked. She looked appalled. “You’ve told me to please—”

“Madelyne, do as I’ve ordered,” Duncan said.

She nodded but didn’t move. Madelyne just stood there, watching Duncan walk away from her. She was too stunned to go after him again. Duncan had always been so predictable. Now he was trying to change on her. She wrung her hands together while she worried about that. Had it been a hot summer day, she would have believed the sun had baked his head. Since it was January, however, and as cold as purgatory, Madelyne couldn’t find any acceptable excuse for his sudden turnabout in attitude.

She needed time to think. Madelyne sighed and tried to dismiss her husband’s unusual behavior from her thoughts. She hurried in search of Adela then.

Trying to dismiss Duncan was easier said than done. Why, it would have been less difficult to walk across a bed of nails barefoot.

Adela did help take Madelyne’s mind off her husband. Duncan’s little sister was in her bedroom. She was sitting on the side of the bed, braiding her hair.

“We have company, Adela,” Madelyne announced cheerfully.

Adela was happy to see Madelyne until she heard who company was. “I’m staying in this room until he leaves,” Adela shouted. “Duncan gave me his word. How could he ask Gerald to come here?”

Madelyne could see how frightened Adela was. Her hands fell to her lap and her shoulders sagged.

“Duncan didn’t invite Gerald. Don’t get upset, Adela. You know your brother won’t break his promise. In your heart you know I speak the truth, don’t you?”

Adela nodded. “Maybe, if I act like I did when you first came here, then Gerald will be so disgusted he’ll leave immediately.”

“’Tis foolish talk,” Madelyne announced, squelching the spark of eagerness in Adela’s eyes. “Gerald will only think you’re quite pitful. He just might think you haven’t gotten over your incident,” Madelyne said. “If you look as pretty as you can and greet him respectfully, well, then I do believe he’ll know your mind is set and you simply don’t want to marry him. Besides, Duncan is the one who’ll have to answer to Gerald, not you, Adela.”

“But Madelyne, I can’t face Gerald, I just can’t,” Adela cried out. “He knows what happened to me. I’ll die of shame.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Madelyne answered, trying to sound exasperated. Inside, she ached for Adela. “What happened wasn’t your fault. Gerald knows that.”

Adela didn’t look relieved by Madelyne’s argument, so she decided to turn the topic a little. “Tell me what you remember about Baron Gerald. What does he look like?”

“He has black hair and hazel-colored eyes, I think,” Adela answered, shrugging.

“Do you think he might be handsome then?” Madelyne asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Is he kind?”

“Barons aren’t kind,” Adela returned.

“Why not?” Madelyne asked. She walked over and started to rebraid Adela’s hair.

“They don’t have to be kind,” Adela answered. “What does it matter if he’s pleasing to look at or not, Madelyne?” She tried to turn around to look up at Madelyne.

“Be still, else your braid will be lopsided,” Madelyne interjected. “I was just curious about the baron, that is all.”

“I can’t go downstairs,” Adela said.

She started to cry. Madelyne wasn’t sure what to do. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Adela. Duncan did give you his word, however, and it would seem to me that the least you could do to show your appreciation is to stand beside your brother and treat Gerald as an honored guest.”

Madelyne had to keep up her argument for quite a while. In the end she was able to sway Adela. “Will you go downstairs with me? Will you stay by my side?” Adela asked.

“Of course I will,” Madelyne promised. “Remember, Adela. Together we can face any challenge.”

Adela nodded. Madelyne sought to lighten her mood. “I’m afraid your braid is hanging over your ear,” she said. “You’ll have to redo it, then change your gown. I must see to dinner arrangements and change my own clothes.”

Madelyne patted Adela on her shoulder. Her hands were shaking. She knew it was because Adela was so upset and had this new ordeal to go through.

She kept smiling until she shut the door behind her. Then she let her worry show. Madelyne began to pray for what she believed would take a miracle. She prayed for courage.

Chapter Sixteen

“Love conquers all; let us too yield to love.”

VIRGIL, ECLOGUES, X

After Madelyne had given proper instructions to Gerty for dinner arrangements, she went up to the tower room.

It had been two weeks since Duncan had torn the door down and a week since it had been rebuilt. The loops were missing from the new door, however, and Madelyne smiled over that change every time she noticed it. Duncan must have given the order as a precaution so that Madelyne couldn’t lock him out again.

Madelyne went through all her gowns and finally chose a royal blue chainse. The new ankle-length gown fit snugly and made a pretty contrast to the off-white knee-length bliaut she added. They were Wexton colors and a deliberate choice on Madelyne’s part. She was Duncan’s wife, after all, and hostess to Baron Gerald. She wanted Duncan to be proud of her tonight.

She brushed her hair a long while, until it curled against the swell of her breasts. Since there was still ample time, she sat down on the bed and braided three long strips of blue ribbon into a pretty belt. She draped the braid around her waist but left it loose enough to fall against the tilt of her hips, as was the current fashion dictate, according to Adela, who knew far more on the subject of fashion than Madelyne did. She finished her dress by placing the small dagger she used for stabbing her meat inside the extra loop in the braid she had struggled to design.

Madelyne wished she had a mirror so that she could see how she looked, then decided it was vain of her to want such an unnecessary extravagance.

She was halfway down to Adela’s room, when a sudden worry stopped her. Would Baron Gerald treat her as Duncan’s wife or as Louddon’s sister? God only knew he had sufficient reason to hate Louddon. Her brother had destroyed Gerald’s future with Adela. Would Baron Gerald lash out at her because of his anger?

Madelyne pictured one horrible scene after another. When she pictured Baron Gerald grabbing hold of her throat, she forced herself to calm down. She was afraid, true, but that fear helped give her composure. Madelyne forced a serene expression.

She told herself she’d gotten through far more degrading encounters. That thought gave her strength. Besides, no matter how horrible Gerald treated her, Duncan wouldn’t let him harm her.

Adela was ready when Madelyne finally knocked on her door. The little sister wore a rose-colored bliaut over a lighter-colored pink chainse. Her hair was braided into a coronet on top of her head. Madelyne thought she looked pretty. “Adela, dove, you look splendid.”

Adela smiled. “You call me such funny names, as if I were younger than you are, when you know perfectly well I’m almost two years older.”

“That is no way to acknowledge a compliment,” Madelyne instructed, ignoring Adela’s reminder of their age difference. After all, Adela might be older in years, but Madelyne felt far more worldly. She wasn’t nearly as fragile as her friend, and she was a married woman.

“Thank you for telling me I look splendid,” Adela said. “Madelyne, you always look beautiful. Tonight you wear Duncan’s colors. My brother won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

“He probably won’t even notice I’m in the room,” Madelyne returned.

“Oh, he’ll notice all right,” Adela predicted with a smile. “Have you softened in your attitude toward your husband yet?”

Adela tried to sit down on the bed, as if she had all the time in the world for this discussion. Madelyne took hold of her hand and started tugging her toward the door. “I never know how to feel about your brother,” she admitted once Adela was walking next to her. “One minute I pretend our marriage will work to both our satisfactions, and the next I’m certain Duncan would like to be rid of me. I’m no fool, Adela. I understand why your brother married me.”

“To get even with your brother?” Adela asked, frowning.

“See? You’ve realized that fact too,” Madelyne exclaimed.

Madelyne had ignored the fact that Adela asked the question and hadn’t spoken a certainty. Adela thought to explain herself more fully because she really didn’t think Duncan would go to such extreme measures to get even, but Madelyne started talking again, turning her concentration. “It would be a foolish hope to think Duncan would become accustomed to having me for his wife, and I know it will only be temporary anyway. The king is sure to demand that the church nullify our marriage.”

Adela nodded. She’d also thought of that possibility. “I heard Gilard say that our king is in Normandy again, settling yet another rebellion.”

“I’ve heard the same,” Madelyne commented.

“Madelyne, what did you mean when you said you hoped Duncan would become accustomed?” Adela asked.

“Your brother has made a sacrifice when he married me. He gave up his Lady Eleanor. I just wish he wouldn’t be unhappy….”

“You see yourself as a sacrifice?” Adela asked. “Don’t you realize how important you’ve become to all of us?”

When Madelyne didn’t answer, Adela said, “Do you love my brother?”

“I’m not that foolish,” Madelyne answered. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has been taken from me. Besides, I’m not about to give my love to a wolf. I only wanted to live peacefully together for the time we’re united.”

Adela smiled. “Duncan isn’t a wolf, Madelyne. He’s a man. And I think you’re not telling the truth.”

“I always tell the truth,” Madelyne returned, appalled Adela could suggest such a thing.

“Well then, you’re lying to yourself and don’t know it,” Adela answered. You might be trying to protect your heart against losing Duncan, but I think you’re beginning to love him all the same, else you wouldn’t look so upset by my question.”

“I’m not the least upset,” Madelyne snapped. She immediately regretted her angry outburst. “Oh, Adela, life isn’t as simple as it should be. Why, I almost feel sorry for Duncan. He had to change his future just to satisfy his lust for revenge, and now he’s saddled with me for a wife. I believe he regrets his rash action now. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Duncan has never done anything you could call rash in his life,” Adela argued.

“There’s always a first time,” Madelyne answered, shrugging.

“Maude saw Duncan kissing you outside,” Adela whispered.

“And she immediately told you, didn’t she?”

“Of course,” Adela returned, laughing. “Maude and Gerty compete with each other. Each wants to be the first in telling the latest gossip.”

“It was the strangest thing, Adela. Duncan kissed me in front of everyone.” Madelyne stopped to sigh. “I think he might be coming down with a chill.”

They reached the bottom step outside the entrance to the hall. Adela paused. “Lord, I’m so frightened, Madelyne.”

“I am too, Adela,” Madelyne admitted.

“You? Why, you don’t look frightened at all,” Adela said, so surprised by her friend’s confession, her own fear lessened. “Why are you frightened?”

“Because Baron Gerald surely hates me. I am Louddon’s sister. Dinner will probably be a trial to get through.”

“Duncan won’t let Gerald offend you, Madelyne. You’re my brother’s wife now.”

Madelyne nodded but she wasn’t at all convinced. When Adela took hold of her hand and squeezed it, she smiled at her friend.

They stopped again when they reached the entrance. Adela’s grip on Madelyne became painful.

The reason was obvious. Duncan and Gerald were standing together in front of the hearth. They were both staring at Madelyne and Adela. Odd, but Madelyne thought they both looked a bit stunned. And neither appeared to be angry.

Madelyne smiled at Baron Gerald and immediately glanced over to look at her husband. Duncan was staring quite intently at her. He wasn’t smiling. His gaze made her blush. She recognized the look. Duncan always wore that expression after he kissed her.

It soon became awkward, what with the four of them staring at one another. Madelyne was the first to remember her manners. She made a small curtsy, nudged Adela into doing the same, and then slowly walked into the hall. Adela trailed behind her.

Her expression was serene. She gave the appearance of being most tranquil.

Madelyne walked with a haughty, dignified, ladylike stride, and Duncan immediately knew something was wrong. He met his wife in the center of the room. He stood so close to her, his tunic brushed her arm. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, leaning down until his face was a breath away from hers. His voice was so low, she had to rise up on tiptoe to hear what he said.

She was surprised he knew she was frightened. “Does Baron Gerald know I’m Louddon’s sister, Duncan?” she asked. Fear sounded in her whisper.

Duncan understood then. He nodded, giving Madelyne answer to her question, and then put his arm around her shoulders. When she was settled against his side, he introduced her to the baron.

Gerald didn’t appear to be the least offended with her. He smiled, a true warm smile it was, and bowed after their introduction.

He was a nice-looking man, but Madelyne wouldn’t have called him handsome, not when he was standing so close to Duncan. Why, her husband was much better looking. In truth, he probably overshadowed every other man in England.

Madelyne looked up at Duncan. She was going to ask him to help Adela, in a whisper, of course, so Gerald wouldn’t chance to overhear, yet standing so close to her husband addled her thoughts and she could only stare at him. She couldn’t even manage a smile. His eyes were the most amazing color of gray, with such beautiful chips of silver.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Duncan asked. His nose almost touched hers. He was close enough to kiss.

“How am I looking at you?” Madelyne asked.

She sounded out of breath, and she was blushing enough for Duncan to surmise her thoughts. He suddenly wanted to carry her upstairs. Aye, he wanted to make love to her until tomorrow.

The tranquil expression was gone from his wife’s face now. Duncan grinned with pleasure.

Edmond walked into the hall just as Duncan was about to kiss his wife. Adela was staring at the floor, Gerald was staring at Adela, and Madelyne seemed mesmerized by her husband.

“Good eve,” Edmond bellowed out into the silent hall.

Everyone moved at the same time. Madelyne jumped, knocking Duncan’s nose. Her husband took a step back, then hurried to grab hold of Madelyne before she fell to her knees. Adela turned, forcing a smile for Edmond. Baron Gerald nodded his greeting.

“’Tis a fine evening, isn’t it, Duncan? Gerald, my God, you’ve aged to an ugly old man since I last saw you,” Edmond stated in a loud, cheerful voice.

Duncan’s head cleared. He still wanted to pick up his wife and leave the hall, but he found enough discipline to see dinner through first. “It’s time for supper,” he announced. Duncan grabbed hold of Madelyne’s arm and guided her toward the table.

Madelyne couldn’t understand his hurry. She’d thought they’d have a bit of conversation before dining. But the look in her husband’s eyes decided her against arguing the matter.

Duncan sat at the head of the table, with Madelyne seated on his left. He showed his surprise when Ansel appeared at his other side and began to serve him. Though it was the custom for the squires to learn all about the duties required to serve their lord, Duncan had instructed the boy only in defense.

Another change instituted by Madelyne, of course, and without gaining his permission. He shook his head over her breach, nodded to Ansel, and then glared at his wife.

She had the audacity to smile at him. “Did you know, Duncan, this is the first meal we’ve shared together?” she whispered, trying to take his mind off the squire.

Duncan didn’t seem inclined to answer her comment. In fact, he barely spoke during dinner. Gilard was late in arriving, which made Duncan frown. Madelyne was thankful though that Duncan didn’t chastise his brother in front of their guest.

Father Laurance didn’t come for dinner at all. Madelyne was the only one who wasn’t surprised by his absence. She didn’t believe he’d taken ill either, although Edmond had given that story. Madelyne thought the true reason was that the priest was frightened of Duncan. She couldn’t blame the man. He was terribly young for the duty of advising Duncan on matters of God and church.

Edmond and Gilard kept up a constant chatter through dinner, taking turns questioning Gerald about his past year, for it had been that long since any of them had seen one another.

Madelyne listened to their conversation, fascinated by the easy way they badgered one another. They were insulting one another’s looks, ability, too, but it didn’t take Madelyne long to realize it was just their way of showing affection. She thought it a most interesting observation.

Baron Gerald was obviously a good friend of the Wexton brothers. He had a nice laugh. When Edmond called him a weakling and repeated a story of how Gerald had misplaced his sword during an important battle, Gerald shouted with laughter and then came up with a story of his own to prove Edmond’s worthlessness.

Adela sat across from Madelyne. She stared at the table-top, yet Madelyne noticed there were a few instances when she smiled over the ridiculous remarks flying across the table.

Gerald didn’t speak directly to Adela until dinner was nearly finished. Edmond sat between the two. Madelyne was certain Gerald was going to have a permanent crick in his neck from tilting his head around Edmond in order to look at Adela.

Edmond finally took mercy on Adela’s would-be suitor. He stood up and casually walked around the table, pretending to be fetching a jug of ale. No one was fooled by the ploy, least of all Adela. There was another jug right in front of Edmond’s trencher.

“And how are you, Adela?” Gerald politely inquired. “I was sorry I missed you when you were …”

Gerald’s face turned red, though not as red as poor Adela’s. The baron had inadvertently mentioned the incident.

An awkward silence fell over the group. Duncan sighed and then said, “Adela was sorry she missed you in London, Gerald. Adela? The baron asked you how you were feeling,” he reminded his sister.

Duncan’s voice was tender, filled with understanding as he spoke to his sister. Lord, he was becoming an easy man to love. Too easy. Was she in love with her husband and just too stubborn to admit it?

Madelyne immediately began to worry. She sighed as well, a loud, unladylike sound she immediately regretted. Duncan turned and grinned at her. He surprised the worry right out of her when he gifted her with a slow, teasing wink.

“I am very well, Gerald,” Adela said.

“You look well.”

“I feel well, thank you.”

Madelyne watched her husband roll his eyes heavenward, knew he thought all this talk about looking well and feeling well was ridiculous.

“Madelyne, I’ve never had such a fine meal,” Gerald said in praise, drawing her attention away from her husband.

“Thank you, Gerald.”

“I’ve eaten too much of everything,” the baron told her. He turned to Adela then. “Would you like to walk with me in the courtyard after dinner, Adela?” He glanced over at Duncan and hastily added, “Gaining your brother’s permission, of course.”

Before Adela could deny the request, Duncan granted it. Adela immediately looked at Madelyne for help.

Madelyne didn’t know what she could do, but determined to find a way to change Duncan’s mind. She nudged his leg with her foot. When Duncan didn’t even look over at her, she nudged him again, much more forcefully.

Her patience wore out when he still wouldn’t look at her. Madelyne kicked him then, but all she gained from her effort was to lose her shoe under the table.

Yet while Duncan still pretended to ignore her, he did reach under the table and grab hold of her foot, pulling it up onto his lap.

Madelyne was mortified by her undignified position and thanked God no one seemed to notice how she gripped the table with her hands when Duncan began to stroke the arch of her foot. She tried to pull away but she lost her balance. She almost fell off the stool.

Gilard was sitting next to her. When she bumped him, he gave her a puzzled look and then grabbed hold of her arm and helped straighten her.

She knew she was blushing. Adela was staring at her, reminding her of the dreaded walk outside, Madelyne supposed. She decided it was high time she took control. Duncan might have hold of her foot so she couldn’t kick him again, but he couldn’t grab hold of her mind, now, could he? “What a wonderful idea, to stroll outside after dinner,” Madelyne said.

She looked at her husband when she made the comment. Duncan frowned. Madelyne smiled, sensing victory. “Duncan and I would love to join you, wouldn’t we, husband?” she asked.

One had to be on one’s toes around Duncan, Madelyne thought, even when the toes were in his lap. He wouldn’t dare deny her suggestion in front of their guest. Madelyne turned to Adela and shared a smile with her. Adela did look relieved.

“No, we wouldn’t,” Duncan announced to the group in a mild voice.

His denial forced frowns on both Madelyne’s and Adela’s faces. “Why wouldn’t we?” Madelyne challenged.

Madelyne tried to smile at Duncan because she knew Gerald was observing the exchange.

Duncan smiled at her. His eyes, however, told a different story. He was probably wishing he could throw her out a window, she supposed. She had noticed that Duncan didn’t like his decisions questioned. Madelyne thought the trait was an irritating one. Aye, irritating for Duncan, she thought with a bit of sympathy, knowing full well she’d continue to question his orders whenever the mood came over her. She couldn’t help herself.

“Because, Madelyne, I would like to speak to you in private after dinner.”

“Speak to me about what?” Madelyne demanded with a disgruntled look.

“Men and their horses,” Duncan told her.

Edmond snorted; Gilard laughed outright. Madelyne gave both of them a good frown before she turned back to Duncan. She didn’t believe this nonsense any more than his brothers did. Men and horses, indeed. The real message was clear enough. He was going to strangle her for challenging him. Madelyne thought to give him a saucy retort, couldn’t think of any, decided then she’d better not goad him further. He just might say something to embarrass her.

Madelyne decided to ignore him and all but turned her back on him. It was a rude gesture, a mistake as well, because she’d forgotten all about her foot resting in his lap. Gilard had to catch her again.

Duncan knew she was trying to dismiss him. The smile reached his eyes. When he turned to nod at Gerald, he realized his friend had also caught on to Madelyne’s game. The baron was trying not to laugh.

“With Duncan’s permission, I’ve a gift to give you, Adela.”

“You do?” Adela was surprised by Gerald’s thoughtfulness. “Oh, I couldn’t accept anything from you, Gerald, though it was good of you to take the trouble to bring me something.”

“What’d you bring her?” Gilard asked. It wasn’t a polite question. Baron Gerald didn’t seem offended though. He grinned and shook his head.

“Well?” Gilard demanded.

“A musical instrument,” Gerald advised. “A psaltery.”

“Catherine had one of those,” Gilard said. He turned to Madelyne. “Our oldest sister couldn’t seem to conquer the thing though. Thank God she took it with her when she married,” he added with a grin. “She could set our teeth to grinding with one song.”

Gilard turned back to Gerald and said, “It was a good gesture, Gerald, but it’ll only gather dust here. Adela doesn’t know how to work the strings and God help us all if Catherine comes back to teach her.”

“Madelyne knows how,” Adela blurted out. She remembered Madelyne had told her she played the instrument for her uncle every evening. Adela was embarrassed by the way her brother tried to denigrate the gift. “And she’ll teach me the way of it, won’t you, Madelyne?”

“Of course,” Madelyne answered. “It was most kind of you to bring such a gift, Baron.”

“Yes,” Adela rushed out. “Thank you.”

“Well then?” Gerald asked, looking at Duncan.

Duncan nodded, Gerald grinned, Adela actually smiled, and Madelyne sighed. “I shall go and get it for you now,” Gerald announced. He stood up and started for the doorway and then called over his shoulder, “Perhaps we can persuade Madelyne to give us a song or two before we take our walk, Adela, if Duncan’s talk about men and horses can wait a while longer.”

Gerald heard Duncan’s laugh before he left.

Gilard also stood up. “Where are you going?” Edmond asked.

“To get Madelyne another chair. There seems to be something wrong with this one,” he added. “She keeps trying to fall off it.”

Madelyne slowly turned to Duncan and glared at him. If he said one word, she was going to throw him out a window.

Adela thought it was a wonderful idea for Madelyne to play the psaltery. She was all for any plan that would delay her walk with Gerald. She pleaded with Madelyne to play for them all.

“Oh, Adela, I don’t think tonight would be a good time—”

“Are you so eager to be alone with your husband?” Duncan asked in a soft whisper.

Madelyne turned to her husband again, frowned, and was rewarded with one of his heart-stopping smiles. The dimple was back in his cheek too. And then he winked at her again, right in front of everyone.

Duncan was tearing a piece of bread in half and she very stupidly watched him, until it dawned on her that he wasn’t holding her foot now. How long had both his hands been in plain sight?

She immediately removed her foot from his lap. “And if I sing like a frog, Duncan, and shame you?” she asked him.

“You could never shame me,” Duncan answered.

It was such a kind thing to say. Madelyne didn’t know how to respond. Was he teasing her or telling her the truth? “You’re my wife, Madelyne. Nothing you could do would shame me.”

“Why?” Madelyne asked, leaning toward her husband so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Because I’ve chosen you,” Duncan answered. He also leaned toward his lovely wife. “’Tis a simple fact, even to a—”

“If you call me half witted, I shall be forced to take Adela’s gift and knock you senseless with it.”

Madelyne was more appalled by her threat than Duncan appeared to be. Duncan took hold of her hand and pulled her closer. “Stop touching me,” Madelyne whispered.

She glanced over to the other Wextons. Gilard was telling an amusing story and both Adela and Edmond were listening to him.

“No.”

She looked back at Duncan when she heard him deny her request. “I don’t like it, Duncan.”

“Yes, you do, Madelyne. When you’re in my arms, you like everything I do to you. You moan and you beg me to—”

Her hand covered his mouth and she blushed as red as the fire in the hearth. Duncan laughed, a loud booming sound that filled the hall with warmth. Edmond and Gilard both demanded to know the cause. Duncan looked like he just might tell them. Madelyne started praying, and held her breath.

She started breathing again when Duncan merely shrugged and changed the subject.

Madelyne happened to notice Adela was straightening the sleeves of her gown. She patted her hair too.

And then it dawned on her. Lord, she really was simple-minded. Adela wanted to look pretty for Gerald. She was primping and squirming enough to give that impression at least.

Now that she thought about it, Madelyne realized Gerald was still attracted to Adela. The way he had stared at her said as much.

Madelyne’s heart softened with the knowledge that Gerald might still want Adela. It made her feel great affection for the baron.

And then she immediately began to worry. Adela’s mind was set on remaining with her family. Duncan had given his word. It was a complication.

“What has you frowning so, Madelyne?” Gilard asked.

“I was just thinking how complicated life becomes the older we get,” Madelyne answered.

“We can’t stay children forever,” Edmond interjected with a predictable shrug that made Madelyne smile. She thought Edmond was as set in his ways as her uncle was.

“I’ll wager you frowned your childhood away,” she teased.

Edmond looked taken aback by the remark. He started to frown and then stopped himself. Madelyne laughed.

“I don’t remember much of my childhood,” Edmond said. “I do remember Gilard as a boy all too clear. Our brother was in constant mischief.”

“Did you get into mischief when you were a little girl?” Gilard asked Madelyne, thinking to draw attention away from his embarrassing escapades. Madelyne didn’t need to know about his wild inclinations. She might think less of him.

Madelyne shook her head. “Oh, nay, I never got into mischief, Gilard. I was very quiet. “Why, I never did anything wrong.”

Duncan laughed as loud as his brothers. Madelyne took exception until she realized she’d made herself sound like a saint. “Well, I did have flaws,” she stammered.

“You? Never,” Edmond interjected, smiling.

Madelyne blushed. She wasn’t sure how she should take Edmond’s comment. She still didn’t completely trust this Wexton, though she’d adjusted to his smiles. She turned to look at Duncan.

“Don’t embarrass Madelyne,” Duncan admonished his brother.

“Tell us one of your flaws, Madelyne,” Adela asked, smiling with encouragement.

“Well, I know you’ll find this difficult to believe, but I was a most awkward child, clumsy, in fact.”

No one found it the least bit difficult to believe. Duncan shook his head at Gilard, who looked ready to shout with laughter over Madelyne’s confession. Edmond started choking on a drink he was trying to swallow when Madelyne shyly admitted her flaw. Adela was giggling while she slapped her brother on his back.

Baron Gerald returned with the psaltery and placed it on the table in front of Adela just as Edmond controlled his fit of coughing. The triangular-shaped instrument was made of a light bleached wood. The strings numbered a dozen and Madelyne watched with envy as Adela ran her thumb across the wires.

“Father Laurance will have to bless this instrument,” Adela said.

“Aye, at mass tomorrow,” Gilard interjected. “I’ve instructed the priest to say the mass in the hall each morning until the chapel is repaired, Duncan.”

Duncan nodded. He stood, giving the unspoken command that dinner was over.

Madelyne waited until everyone started to walk toward the chairs in front of the hearth. As soon as their backs were turned, Madelyne knelt down and searched under the table for her missing shoe.

Duncan lifted her by her waist, pulled her back against him, and then dangled her shoe in front of her face.

Madelyne turned and tried to grab her shoe.

“Why are you frowning at me?” Duncan asked. He lifted her onto the edge of the table, took hold of her foot, and put her shoe back on.

“I could have done that,” Madelyne whispered. “And I’m frowning because you’re teasing me, Duncan. I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Duncan lifted Madelyne back to the ground. He didn’t let go of her waist, however, a fact that bothered Madelyne more than she cared to admit.

“Why?” she asked, wishing she could remember what she wanted to say. It was all his fault, of course, because he was staring at her as though he’d like to kiss her, and how could she think of anything but kissing him back?

“Why don’t you like me teasing you?” Duncan asked, leaning down toward her upturned face.

“Because you aren’t predictable when you tease,” Madelyne answered. “You’re like a blade of grass in the winter, Duncan. Cold and stiff, aye, rigid.” She tried to take a step back, but Duncan increased his hold and slowly pulled her closer, until she was touching his chest. “And now you’re acting like the grass of summer, bending this way and that. …”

She looked so flustered, he didn’t dare laugh. “I have never been compared to a blade of grass,” he told her. “Now give me the truth and not another parable if you please.”

“If you please?” She looked appalled by his suggestion. “Duncan, I don’t like you teasing me because it makes me think you’re being kind to me. I want you predictably angry,” she muttered. “And I’m going to break my neck looking up at you like this.”

The woman wasn’t making sense. That shouldn’t have surprised him, he told himself. Wives were more difficult to understand than he had suspected. “You don’t want me to be kind to you?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

“I do not.” Her voice increased in volume.

“Why the hell not?” Duncan didn’t whisper his question. He had forgotten all about his family and his guest. All he could think about was getting this contrary woman into his arms, and making love to her.

Madelyne didn’t want to answer him. She’d have to be honest.

“We’ll stand here all night until you answer me,” Duncan promised.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Madelyne, if I didn’t laugh at your suggestion that I was like a blade of grass, I doubt I’ll laugh at your next comment.”

“Oh, all right,” Madelyne said. “When you’re kind to me, I want to love you. There, are you satisfied?”

He was very satisfied. And if Madelyne had been watching him, she’d have known how her words had pleased him.

Dear God, she’d actually shouted at him. Madelyne felt like crying. She took a deep breath, stared at Duncan’s chest, and whispered, “Then I’d get my heart broken, wouldn’t I?”

“I would protect your heart,” Duncan answered.

He sounded very arrogant. Madelyne gave him an exasperated look. Duncan couldn’t stop himself. Her mouth was too close to deny. All his discipline evaporated. He leaned down and captured her mouth in a searing kiss.

“For God’s sake, Duncan, we’re all waiting for Madelyne to play the psaltery,” Edmond shouted.

Duncan sighed into Madelyne’s mouth before pulling away. His thumb slowly rubbed her lower lip. “I forgot we weren’t alone,” he told her with a grin.

“I also,” Madelyne whispered back. She blushed and tried to catch her breath.

Duncan took hold of her arm and escorted her to the one vacant chair. “This is where you’re supposed to sit,” Madelyne told him. “It has the highest back,” she explained.

When it became obvious Madelyne wasn’t going to begin until Duncan sat where she thought he should, he complied with her order. He even smiled over it.

Edmond pushed another chair toward Madelyne. “You’ll be more comfortable here,” he told her when she reached for a stool.

Madelyne thanked him and sat down. Gerald handed her the psaltery. Her hands shook when she placed the instrument in her lap. Madelyne was terribly nervous now. She hated being the focus of everyone’s attention. There was comfort in being inconspicuous.

Gerald stood behind Adela’s chair. His arm was draped over the back. Both Gilard and Edmond stood, leaning against the hearth at opposite corners. And every one of them was staring at Madelyne.

“It has been such a long time,” Madelyne said. She looked down at the instrument. “And I sang only for my uncle and his friends. I’ve had no true training.”

“I’m certain your uncle and his friends thought you were wonderful,” Adela interjected. She had noticed how Madelyne’s hands trembled and tried to encourage her.

“Oh, they did think I was wonderful,” Madelyne admitted, smiling at Adela. “But then, they were all quite deaf.”

Duncan immediately leaned forward so that everyone could see him clearly. The look on his face suggested no one laugh.

Baron Gerald coughed. Gilard turned around to stare into the fire. Madelyne thought he was weary of waiting for her to begin.

“I could sing some of our Latin chant we use during Eastertime,” she suggested.

“Do you know any songs about blades of grass?” Duncan inquired.

Madelyne looked startled. Duncan grinned.

“A blade in winter can be broken in half when you stomp on it,” Madelyne told Duncan sweetly. “And a blade in summer can be smothered if you keep your boot on top of it long enough,” she added.

“What are you talking about?” Gilard asked, puzzled.

“A sad tune,” Duncan commented.

“Predictability,” Madelyne answered at the same time.

“I’d rather you sang about Polyphemus,” Edmond interjected.

“Who or what is a Polyphemus?” Baron Gerald asked.

“A one-eyed giant,” Edmond answered, grinning at Madelyne.

“He was the leader of the Cyclops,” Madelyne said. “Do you know the stories about Odysseus?” she asked Edmond.

“Bits and pieces,” Edmond answered. He didn’t add that everything he’d learned had come from Madelyne when she raged with fever.

“Gerald? Madelyne does tell the most wonderful stories,” Adela said. In her enthusiasm she actually reached up and touched his hand.

“I’ve never heard of this Odysseus,” Gerald announced. “Why is that, do you suppose?”

Madelyne smiled. Gerald sounded irritated that he was uninformed. He seemed to be looking for someone to blame.

“There’s no shame in that admission,” Madelyne returned. “Have you heard of Gerbert of Aurillac perchance?”

“The monk?” Gerald asked.

Madelyne nodded. She looked at Adela to give her explanation, certain Duncan’s little sister couldn’t have heard of the man. “Gerbert lived a long time ago, Adela. Almost a hundred years past, I believe. He left his monastery and went to study in Spain. When he returned to France, he led the cathedral school at Reims, and it was during that time that he gave his students some of the ancient stories he’d translated. It was another man named Homer who told the tales about the mighty warrior, Odysseus, and Gerbert who translated the tales from Greek to Latin.”

“Were Homer and Gerbert friends, do you suppose?” Adela asked.

“No,” Madelyne answered. “Homer lived in ancient times, in a place called Greece. He died hundreds of years before Gerbert was born. Homer’s stories were kept safe in the monasteries. Some of them would make our church frown, but I mean no disrespect when I repeat the stories. In truth, they’re really too foolish to believe as fact.”

Everyone looked interested. Madelyne turned to Duncan, caught his nod, and then began to play the psaltery.

She made several ear-wincing mistakes in the beginning. And then the ballad of Odysseus meeting the Cyclops became the focus of her attention. Madelyne stared down at the psaltery, pretended she was sitting next to her uncle Berton and singing to him. Once she’d captured the pretext, her hands stopped shaking. Her voice grew in strength and purity as the tale about the warrior came to life.

The poem captured her audience. Duncan thought her voice was bewitching. It was a true reflection of the gentle woman he now claimed as his wife.

Madelyne spun a magical spell around all of them. Duncan, a man who wasn’t given to linger, now leaned back in his chair and smiled with contentment.

She began the story when Odysseus and his men were taken captive by Polyphemus, since Edmond had specifically requested that tale. Polyphemus determined to eat every one of the soldiers. The one-eyed giant kept them imprisoned inside his cave by blocking the entrance with a large boulder. Since Polyphemus also kept his sheep in the cave every night, it was necessary for him to move the stone each morning to let his flock out into the fields to graze. Odysseus blinded the giant and then showed his men how to crawl under the sheep and cling to their bellies. Polyphemus let the sheep pass by but waved his arms higher into the air, trying to catch the soldiers. Odysseus’s clever plan saved them all.

When Madelyne finished her recital, her audience begged to hear another.

Everyone took a turn telling their favorite part, interrupting one another in their enthusiasm.

“It was brilliant of Odysseus to tell Polyphemus his name was Nobody,” Gilard stated.

“Aye,” agreed Gerald. “And when the other Cyclops heard Polyphemus screaming because Odysseus had blinded him, they called into the cave to him, asking if he needed help and to give them the name of his tormentor.”

Edmond’s laugh joined the others. “And when he called out that Nobody was tormenting him, his friends left him alone.”

Madelyne smiled, pleased with the enthusiastic reaction to her story. She turned to look at Duncan. Her husband was staring into the fire. He was smiling and had a satisfied look on his face.

He had a beautiful profile. As she continued to stare at him, a warm glow washed over her. And then she realized who Duncan reminded her of. Odysseus. Aye, Duncan was just like the mighty warrior she had dreamed about when she was a little girl. Odysseus had become her imaginary confessor, her friend, her confidant; she had whispered all her fears to him when she was frightened and lonely. She liked to pretend that one day Odysseus would magically appear and take her away with him. He’d fight for her, protect her from Louddon. And he’d love her.

When Madelyne became a woman, she put the childhood dreams away. And until this moment, she’d actually forgotten her secret dream.

Yet in this precious moment, while she stared at her husband, she realized that her dream had come true. Duncan was her Odysseus. He was her lover, her protector, her savior from her brother.

Dear God, she was in love with the man.

Chapter Seventeen

“The price of wisdom is above rubies.”

OLD TESTAMENT, JOB, 28:18

“Madelyne, what ever is the matter with you? Are you ill?” Adela bounded to her feet and hurried over to her friend. She thought Madelyne looked ready to faint. Madelyne’s face had lost all color, and if Adela hadn’t reached out in time, the beautiful psaltery would have fallen to the floor.

Madelyne shook her head. She started to stand up, then decided her legs might not support her. In truth, she was still shaking over her realization. She was in love with Duncan. “I’m fine, Adela. Just a little tired, that is all. Please don’t carry on so.”

“Are you well enough to sing another song?” Adela asked. She immediately felt guilty for asking, but excused her conduct by telling herself she was desperate, after all, and would think of a way to repay Madelyne for her kindness if she’d only come to her aid now. Why, she’d carry a breakfast tray up to Madelyne in the morning.

Madelyne knew Adela was stalling. She sympathized with her friend yet couldn’t think of any plan to get her out of her walk with Gerald.

When Gerald walked over to stand beside Adela, Madelyne said, “’Tis a fine instrument you’ve given Adela. You’ve chosen with care, Gerald.”

The baron smiled. “Duncan has also chosen with care.”

Madelyne puzzled over his odd remark. Then Edmond and Gilard expressed their pleasure over her performance. She was soon blushing with embarrassment. In truth, she wasn’t used to such praise. She thought the Wextons were the most unusual family. They threw out compliments so easily. They didn’t think it detracted from their own value, Madelyne decided.

She’d never been called beautiful until she met the Wextons. Yet each one of them had given her that compliment more than once. It seemed to Madelyne that they believed she really was beautiful. “You’re going to make me quite vain if you keep up this praise,” she admitted with a shy smile.

She did notice, however, that Duncan hadn’t offered her any comment and wondered if she’d pleased him.

Her husband still wasn’t acting like himself. He’d behaved so strangely outside when he grabbed her and kissed her in front of the world. And he’d teased her during dinner. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have to think the man had a sense of humor. That was ridiculous, of course.

Madelyne watched Gerald take hold of Adela’s hand and escort her out of the hall. Duncan’s little sister kept glancing back over her shoulder at Madelyne, giving her a pleading look.

“Don’t stay outside long, Adela,” Madelyne called out. “You’ll get a chill.”

It was the best she could do. Adela grasped the suggestion with a thankful nod before Gerald pulled her out of Madelyne’s view.

Gilard and Edmond also left the hall. Duncan and Madelyne were suddenly alone.

Madelyne smoothed her gown to give her hands something to do. She wished she could go up to the tower room to spend a few minutes alone. Lord, there was so much to think about, so many decisions to make.

She could feel Duncan staring at her. “Would you like to tell me about men and their horses now, Duncan,” Madelyne asked, “before you take your swim in the lake?”

“What?” He looked perplexed.

“You said you were going to talk to me about men and their horses,” she explained. “Don’t you remember?”

“Ah, that,” Duncan replied. He gave her a warm smile. “Come closer, wife, and I shall begin my instructions.”

She frowned over the request, thinking she was close enough. “You’re acting very strange, Duncan,” she remarked when she’d walked over to stand at his side. “And looking very relaxed too. You’re not yourself at all,” she added.

Madelyne nibbled on her lower lip while she stared down at her husband. She suddenly reached out and put the back of her hand to his forehead. “You don’t have fever,” she announced.

He thought she sounded disappointed. Her frown was fierce enough to give him that idea. Duncan grabbed Madelyne, pulled her into his lap.

Madelyne adjusted her gown and sat as primly as she could manage. She folded her hands in her lap.

“Are you worried about something?” Duncan asked. His thumb rubbed her lower lip away from her teeth.

Of course she was worried. Duncan was acting like a complete stranger. Wasn’t that enough to worry any wife? Madelyne sighed. She brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes, accidentally bumping Duncan’s chin with her elbow.

She apologized, embarrassed by her sudden awkwardness.

He nodded, thoroughly resigned to it.

“You don’t sing like a frog.”

Madelyne smiled, thinking it was the most wonderful compliment she’d ever received. “Thank you, Duncan,” she said. “And now you’ll instruct me in the ways of men and horses,” she suggested.

Duncan nodded. His hand slowly moved upward along her back until it rested against her shoulder. The motion made Madelyne’s skin tingle. Then he pulled her forward. Madelyne found herself settled against his chest.

“We men form a special attachment to our steeds, Madelyne,” Duncan began. His voice was as warm as the heat from the fire. Madelyne snuggled a little closer, yawned, and closed her eyes.

“Aye, we depend upon our mounts to obey our every command. A knight can’t fight diligently if he has to take time to control his horse. It could mean his life if the battle is fierce and the animal unruly.”

Duncan continued on with his explanation for several more minutes. “You, wife, have bewitched my stallion away from me. I should be furious with you. Now that I think about it, I am furious,” Duncan muttered. The smile soured on his face as he mulled over the loss of his faithful mount. “Aye, you’ve ruined Silenus. You may protest now if that is your wish, but I’ve already made up my mind to give you Silenus. And so I will listen first to your apology for ruining my horse and next your appreciation for the gift I’ve given you.”

Duncan didn’t get either. Madelyne didn’t apologize or thank him. He frowned over her stubbornness and then tilted her head back so he could look at her face.

She was sound asleep. She probably hadn’t heard a word he’d said. He should have been angry with her. It was certainly disrespectful at the very least. Duncan kissed her instead of waking her. Madelyne snuggled closer. Her hands crept up around his neck.

Edmond walked into the hall just as Duncan placed a second kiss on the top of Madelyne’s head. “She’s asleep?” Edmond asked.

“My lecture frightened her into a faint,” Duncan answered dryly.

Edmond laughed, remembered Madelyne was sleeping, and softened his voice.

“Don’t worry about waking her, Edmond. She sleeps like a well-fed kitten.”

“Your wife puts in a long day. The food at dinner was exceptional and all because Madelyne demands perfection from her staff. I ate four tarts,” Edmond admitted. “And did you know it was Madelyne’s own recipe given to Gerty?”

“Her staff?”

“Aye, they are loyal to Madelyne now.”

“And you, Edmond? Are you loyal to Madelyne?”

“She’s my sister now, Duncan. I would give my life to protect her,” he added.

“I don’t doubt you, Edmond,” Duncan returned when he caught the defense in Edmond’s voice.

“Then why did you ask?” Edmond said. He pulled up a chair and sat down, facing his brother. “Did Gerald bring news concerning Madelyne?”

Duncan started to nod but as soon as he moved his head, Madelyne took up the space under his chin. He smiled. “Gerald did bring news. Our king is still in Normandy, but Louddon is gathering his troops. Gerald lines with us, of course.”

“I am bound to return to Baron Rhinehold in just three weeks,” Edmond remarked. “Though he has my pledge of fealty, I’m vassal to our king first, you second, Rhinehold third. For that reason, Rhinehold would allow me to stay here as long as I’m needed.”

“Rhinehold would also line up with Gerald and me against Louddon if it became necessary. Together we can muster over a thousand men.”

“You forget your alliance with the Scots,” Edmond reminded Duncan. “Catherine’s husband could rally eight hundred, perhaps more.”

“I haven’t forgotten, yet I don’t wish to bring Catherine’s family into this feud,” Duncan answered.

“And if the king sides with Louddon?”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be so certain?” Edmond asked.

“There are many misunderstandings about our king, Edmond. I’ve fought by his side many times. He’s thought to have an uncontrollable temper. Yet, once in battle, one of his own men accidentally knocked our king to the ground. Soldiers surrounded William, each vowing to kill the careless vassal. The king laughed over the mishap, slapped the soldier on the shoulder who’d thrown him down, and then bade him to remount his horse and see to his defense.”

Edmond mulled over the story. “It’s said Louddon has an unusual hold over the king’s mind.”

“I doubt our king would let anyone rule his mind.”

“I pray you’re right, brother.”

“There is another matter I wish to discuss with you, Edmond. The Falcon holding to be exact.”

“What about it?” Edmond asked, frowning. The Falcon land was barren but thought to be rich farming land, owned by Duncan. It consisted of the southernmost area of the Wexton holdings.

“I would like you to oversee that domain, Edmond. Build yourself a fortress there. I would deed the land over to you if it were possible. The king wouldn’t allow it, unless a way was found to gain his pleasure.”

Duncan paused while he considered the complexities of the problem.

Edmond was stunned by his brother’s comments. “’Tis unheard of, this plan you propose,” he stammered. For the first time in his life, Edmond was actually rattled. And though it was highly improbable, a beacon of hope flamed in his heart. To own his own land, to rule as his own master, why, it was all too overwhelming to take in.

“Why would you want me to take over Falcon land?” Edmond asked.

“Madelyne.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My wife listened to Gilard and me discussing the king’s brothers. When Gilard left the hall, Madelyne pointed out how restless Robert and Henry were. She believes it’s because neither was given sufficient responsibility.”

“Good Lord, Robert was given Normandy,” Edmond interjected.

“Aye,” Duncan said, smiling. “But the king’s youngest brother was given gold and a small, insignificant holding from his father and I can see the restlessness in him. He’s a born leader, denied by birth the right to rule.”

“If there is a parallel, I am eager to hear it,” Edmond said.

“Madelyne did start me thinking. You’re vassal to me and to Rhinehold, and those duties must remain intact, yet, if we could gain the king’s grant, then you could take Falcon and make it profitable. You’ve a good head for turning one coin into ten, Edmond.”

The brother smiled, pleased with the compliment. “If nought comes of our petition, you’ll still build your home there and act as my overseer. The king will welcome the additional tithing and won’t care which brother makes the contribution.”

“I’m in agreement with your plan,” Edmond announced, smiling now.

“Gilard will soon return to Baron Thormont to complete his forty days,” Duncan interjected.

“Gilard has a way of leading others and will soon become first-in-command just as Anthony has became your first-in-command,” Edmond said.

“Our brother will have to learn to control his temper first,” Duncan commented.

Edmond nodded in agreement. “You’ve still to tell me what news Gerald brings us about Madelyne,” he said then.

“Gerald is convinced that the king’s brother, Henry, might be stirring up mischief. Gerald has been requested to speak with Henry.”

“When? Where?”

“The Clares will have Henry as their guest. I don’t know when the meeting will come about.”

“Do you think Henry will ask Gerald’s loyalty against our king?” Edmond asked. “And what of you? Are you also invited to this gathering?”

“Nay. He knows I’ll stand beside my king,” Duncan answered.

“You suggest Henry will turn against William then?”

“If I was convinced of that, I’d stand in front of our leader and give my life for him. I am honor bound to protect him.”

Edmond nodded, satisfied. “Gerald said that the number of those becoming discontent is growing. There is more than one plot to kill him. That is not unusual. His father had just as many enemies.”

When Duncan didn’t comment, Edmond continued. “Gerald believes he’s been invited to join this gathering because of his friendship to me. He thinks Henry wants to know if I’ll honor him as king in the event of William’s death.”

“We wait to see what the outcome of this meeting brings?”

“Aye, we wait.”

Edmond frowned. “There is much to consider, brother.”

“Tell me this, Edmond,” Duncan asked, changing the topic, “does Gilard still believe himself in love with Madelyne?”

Edmond shrugged. “He was having a time of it, adjusting to your marriage,” he admitted. “But he’s over the infatuation now, I believe. He loves Madelyne, yet she keeps calling him brother, and that puts a damper on his ardor. I’m surprised though that you noticed Gilard’s affliction.”

“Gilard wears his thoughts on his face,” Duncan remarked. “Did you see the way he reached for his sword during the marriage ceremony, when he thought I was forcing Madelyne?”

“You were forcing her,” Edmond returned with a grin. “And yes, I did witness the act. Madelyne also saw his reaction. I think that is the only reason she suddenly agreed to take you for husband.”

Duncan grinned. “A true observation, Edmond. Madelyne will always try to protect anyone she believes weaker. At that moment she feared I would retaliate.”

Duncan began to caress his wife’s back. Edmond watched the way his brother stroked Madelyne and thought to himself that he probably wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. “Does Madelyne want us gone then?” Edmond asked.

“Nay, Edmond. I imagine she’ll become upset and blame me,” Duncan answered. “My wife doesn’t understand that your loyalty extends to Rhinehold too.”

Edmond nodded. “I think Madelyne worries I’ll keep you and Gilard under my control for the rest of your lives and won’t allow either of you to act on any thought of your own.”

“Your wife has strange ideas,” Edmond remarked. “Yet she has changed your life, hasn’t she, Duncan? And ours as well. This is the first time we’ve ever had such a long discussion on any issue. I believe Madelyne has made us a stronger family.”

Duncan didn’t respond to that comment. Edmond stood up and started to walk toward the entrance. “It’s a shame you know,” he called over his shoulder.

“What’s a shame?” Duncan asked.

“That I didn’t capture her first.”

Duncan smiled. “Nay, Edmond, it was a blessing. God’s truth, I would have taken her from you.”

Madelyne awakened just as Duncan made his comment. She struggled to sit up and smiled shyly at her husband. “What would you have taken away from your brother, Duncan?” she asked him in a husky voice. She patted her hair and Duncan dodged her elbows before answering.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Madelyne.”

“You should always share what you have with your brothers,” Madelyne instructed Duncan.

Edmond obviously heard her remark. His laughter trailed behind him.

Just then, Adela came tearing into the hall. As soon as Duncan’s little sister spotted Madelyne, she burst into tears. “Gerald still insists that the contract is valid, Madelyne. What am I going to do? The man still wants to marry me.”

Madelyne jumped off Duncan’s lap just as Adela threw herself into her arms.

Duncan stood up and sighed in exasperation over his sister’s near hysteria.

“You should be asking me that question, Adela,” he snapped. He took hold of Madelyne’s arm, ignoring the fact that Adela was clinging to her like a wet gown, and started pulling Madelyne toward the entrance.

“We can’t just leave your sister in such a condition,” Madelyne protested. Lord, she felt like she were in the middle of a tug-of-war. “Duncan, you’re pulling my arm off.”

Baron Gerald came rushing into the hall then, disrupting Duncan’s bid to take Madelyne upstairs and deal with Adela’s problem in the morning. Duncan wasn’t in the mood for a long discussion and determined to resolve the matter immediately.

Before Gerald could say a word, Duncan asked, “Do you still want to marry Adela?”

“I do,” Gerald answered. His voice challenged, as did his stance. “She will be my wife.”

“I’ve given Adela my word she can stay here for as long as she wishes, Gerald.”

Gerald’s face showed his anger. Duncan felt like growling. “I was wrong to give her such a promise,” he said, admitting the error in front of Edmond, Madelyne, Adela, and Gerald. It was an amazing confession coming from a man who never admitted any mistake. Duncan smiled over the way his confession stunned everyone.

He turned to Madelyne and whispered, “Your obsession with telling the truth has affected me, wife. Now, close your mouth, love. All will be well.”

Madelyne slowly nodded. She gave her husband a smile, letting him know she trusted him. He was so pleased that when he turned back to confront Gerald, he was still smiling. Gerald knew Duncan well enough to wait until he was given a full explanation before openly challenging him. Duncan had always been a man of his word in the past.

“Adela,” Duncan demanded, “quit screeching like a hen and tell Baron Gerald my exact promise to you.”

His tone of voice didn’t suggest argument. Adela straightened away from Madelyne and said, “You said I could live here until I died if that was my wish.”

Gerald took a step toward Adela then, but Duncan’s stare stopped him.

“Now then, Gerald? What promise did I give to you?”

Duncan’s voice was mild, giving the impression he was bored with the conversation. Madelyne clutched his hand.

Gerald answered Duncan with a shout. “With the king’s blessing, you agreed Adela would become my wife.”

Edmond couldn’t keep silent any longer. “How in God’s name are you going to honor both pledges?” he asked Duncan.

“Gerald,” Duncan said, ignoring Edmond, “my word to Adela is dependent upon her wish to remain here. I believe it is up to you to change her mind.”

“Do you suggest…”

“You’re a welcome guest in my home for as long as it takes,” Duncan said.

Gerald looked startled, then a most arrogant grin transformed his face. He turned to Adela and smiled at her. “Adela, since you won’t leave, then I shall stay here with you.”

“You’ll what?”

Adela was back to screeching, yet Madelyne couldn’t see fear if her eyes, only disbelief, and anger.

“As your brother said, for as long as it takes me, Adela, to make you realize I mean to marry you,” Gerald said. “Do you hear me?”

Of course she heard him. Madelyne thought the south watchman must have heard Gerald. He shouted his announcement loud enough.

Madelyne took a step toward Adela, fully intending to protect her from Gerald’s anger, but Duncan suddenly took hold of her hand again. He jerked her up against his side, and when she opened her mouth to protest, his grip intensified, and Madelyne decided to save her protest for later.

Adela was too enraged to speak. She picked up her skirts and rushed over to Gerald. “You’ll be old and gray and withered, too, before I change my mind, Gerald.”

Gerald smiled at Adela. “You underestimate my abilities, Adela,” he told her.

“You’re the most stubborn man alive,” Adela blurted out. “You … you plebeian.” She turned her back on him then and left the hall.

It was all going to be all right. Madelyne felt it in her heart. Adela was furious, but she wasn’t terrified.

“What’s a plebeian?” Gerald asked Edmond.

Edmond shrugged and looked over at Madelyne. “Another one of your words?” he asked.

“Aye,” Madelyne admitted.

“Is it as distasteful as Polyphemus?” Edmond asked.

Madelyne shook her head.

“At least Adela places higher value on you, Gerald, than Madelyne placed on me when we first met,” Edmond said with a grin.

Madelyne didn’t know what Edmond was talking about. Duncan bade everyone a good night and dragged Madelyne out of the hall before she could question Edmond.

Neither husband nor wife said a word to each other until they reached Duncan’s bedroom. When he opened the door for her, Madelyne was waylaid from asking him about Adela or Edmond. The bedroom drew her attention first. Duncan had moved her possessions from the tower to his chambers. The two chairs now flanked his hearth, the cover now lined his huge bed, and her tapestry was hanging above his hearth.

Maude was just leaving the room and announced to the baron that Madelyne’s bath was ready for her, as he’d instructed.

As soon as the door closed behind the servant, Madelyne said, “I can’t bathe in front of you, Duncan. Please go and swim in your lake while I—”

“I’ve seen you often enough without your clothes on, Madelyne,” Duncan said. He untied her braided belt, tossed it over one of the chairs, then proceeded to remove her bliaut and chainse as well.

“But always in bed, Duncan, with the covers and …” Her voice trailed off.

Duncan chuckled. “Get into your bath, love, before the water turns cold.”

“You swim in a freezing lake,” Madelyne reminded him. Her husband was slowly edging her chemise up over her shoulders. “Why do you do that?” she asked, blushing enough to feel the heat in her cheeks. “Do you like to swim when it’s so cold?”

Madelyne thought to turn his attention away from undressing her. But Duncan seemed capable of answering her question and stripping her at the same time.

“I don’t particularly enjoy it,” Duncan answered. Duncan made short work of her undergarment, eager to get rid of the clothing that shielded her beauty from him. He knelt down in front of her and slowly removed her stockings and shoes, and then caressed a hot trail back to her waist.

His hands made her sigh with pleasure.

“Then why do you do it?” Madelyne stammered.

“To toughen my mind and my body.”

He stopped touching her. Madelyne was disappointed. “There are easier ways to toughen your body,” Madelyne whispered.

She thought she sounded hoarse. Madelyne tried to cover her breasts by pulling her hair forward, frowning when she realized the length didn’t do an adequate job. She twisted the ends of her hair, conveniently blocking his view of her breasts.

Duncan wouldn’t let her hide from him. He stood up and gently pushed her hands away. His palms cupped the fullness of her breasts while his thumbs made lazy circles around her pink nipples. Madelyne’s toes curled into the rushes. She instinctively leaned forward, seeking more of his touch.

“If I kiss you, Madelyne, I won’t let you have your bath. I can see the passion in your eyes. Can you feel how much I want you?” He whispered to her in a voice that caressed as tenderly as his hands.

Madelyne slowly nodded. “I always want you, Duncan.”

She forced herself to turn around and walk over to the tub.

Duncan tried not to watch his wife. He had vowed to go slowly this night. He was going to make love to her without rushing, no matter how much the urge to throw her on the bed and love her wildly challenged him.

He was going to gentle her with soft words too. His plan was to force her to tell him how much she loved him. Duncan was uneasy. He needed to hear the words now that he’d admitted to himself how much he loved her.

Duncan was determined to make her love him. And he was arrogant enough to believe that once he’d wooed her, she wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

Duncan smiled to himself. He was about to use her obsession with telling the truth to his advantage. He removed his tunic, then knelt down before the hearth to add another log to the fire.

Madelyne washed quickly, worrying that Duncan would turn and watch her doing such an intimate task.

And then she saw the humor in her predicament and laughed.

Duncan walked over to stand beside the tub. With his hands on his hips, he demanded to know what she found so amusing.

He wasn’t wearing his shirt now. Madelyne’s heart started racing. She suddenly became breathless too. Oh, how he could so easily arouse her. “I sleep beside you every night without a stitch of clothing and I really shouldn’t be embarrassed now. That was why I was laughing,” she added with a shrug that nearly drowned her.

Madelyne stood and faced her husband, proving to herself and to him she wasn’t embarrassed any longer.

Droplets of water glistened against her skin. The ends of her hair were clumped together in wet locks. She had a mischievous look on her face. Duncan leaned down to kiss her once, on the top of her forehead, then again, on the bridge of her nose. He couldn’t help himself. Madelyne was looking so magnificent and trying so nobly not to be shy with him.

When she shivered, Duncan reached for the cloth Maude had left on one of the chairs. He wrapped the material around Madelyne, lifted her from the tub, and carried her over to the hearth.

Madelyne stood with her back to the fire. She closed her eyes when Duncan’s chest rubbed against her breasts. The heat from the blaze warmed her shoulders and Duncan’s tender gaze warmed her heart.

She felt cherished. It was such a wonderful feeling, she didn’t offer any protest when Duncan began to dry her. At first he used the cloth to pat her skin, but when he’d finished with her back, he suddenly pulled the edges of the material toward him, dragging her up against his chest. And then his mouth captured hers in a searing kiss. His tongue penetrated the treasure she offered him. Duncan let go of the cloth, cupped her buttocks, pulling her up against his hardness, his incredible heat.

She moaned with pleasure into his mouth, stroked his tongue with her own. Her hands carressed his back, but when her fingertips edged under the waistband of his pants, Duncan abruptly pulled away.

“Take me to bed, Duncan,” Madelyne pleaded. She tried to capture his mouth for another kiss. But Duncan deliberately eluded her.

“In time, Madelyne,” he promised her in a husky whisper. He kissed the tip of her chin, then slowly made his way down to her breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her.

He wanted to taste all of her. Duncan stroked one breast with his hand while he worshipped the other with his mouth, sucking until the nipple was a hard nub.

His tongue felt like hot velvet. Madelyne could barely stand up. When Duncan knelt down and began to rain hot, wet kisses down the length of her belly, she took a deep breath and forgot to let it out. His hands rubbed her thighs, moved between them, driving her to the brink of losing her control. He kissed a path along the length of her scar as his hands continued their sweet torment, stroking, caressing, adoring the very heat of her.

He held her by her hips, and when his mouth began to kiss the soft mound of curls between her thighs, her knees did buckle.

Duncan wouldn’t let her move. His mouth and his tongue tasted the moist heat he’d created in her. She was as sweet as honey and as intoxicating as a fine wine.

Madelyne thought she was going to die from the pleasure. Her fingernails dug into Duncan’s shoulder blades. She moaned a soft whimper. The primitive erotic sound nearly drove Duncan mad.

He slowly lowered Madelyne to the floor. His mouth claimed hers just as his fingers penetrated her tight, wet sheath. Madelyne arched against his hand, cried out his name when the splendor erupted inside her. Wave after wave of incredible pleasure washed over her, and through it all, Duncan held her close, whispering words of love.

She felt like liquid gold in his arms, thought to tell him how much he pleased her, but couldn’t seem to quit kissing him long enough to tell him anything.

Duncan pulled away and quickly removed the rest of his clothes. He stretched out on his back then and pulled Madelyne on top of him.

He knew he was about to lose control. Duncan pushed her legs apart, trying not to be rough, and when she was straddling him, his hand began to stroke her wild again. Madelyne moaned his name, begged him with her hands and her mouth to end this torment.

He lifted her hips and thrust into her with one powerful surge. She was more than ready for him.

She was so incredibly hot, so wet, so tight.

Duncan let her capture him then. Madelyne arched her back until she surrounded all of him, and then began to move, with slow, instinctive motions that drove him crazed.

He felt as weak as a squire and as powerful as a warlord. Duncan held her by the sides of her hips, demanding her to move more forcefully.

He found release before Madelyne did, but the sound and feel of him gave Madelyne her own blissful surrender.

Madelyne collapsed against his chest. Duncan groaned but Madelyne was too exhausted, too satisfied to apologize.

Long minutes passed before either was capable of speaking. Madelyne’s fingers stroked Duncan’s chest. She loved the feel of his crisp hair, his smooth, hot skin, his wonderful scent.

Duncan slowly rolled with Madelyne until she was trapped underneath him. He moved to his side then, propped his head up with one elbow, and casually draped one heavy thigh over her legs.

Madelyne thought he looked most arrogant. He stared at her with such a smug expression on his face. A lock of hair had fallen forward to rest against his forehead.

Madelyne was about to reach up and brush the hair back in place when Duncan spoke. “I love you, Madelyne.”

Her hand froze in the air between them.

Madelyne’s eyes widened and it was then that Duncan realized what he’d said to her.

It wasn’t at all how he’d planned it. She was supposed to tell him she loved him. He smiled over his own blunder while he patiently waited for her to recover from his admission and tell him how much she loved him.

Madelyne couldn’t believe he’d said the words. His expression turned solemn, telling her he meant what he said.

She started to cry. Duncan didn’t know what to make of that. “Are you weeping because I’ve told you I love you?”

Madelyne shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Then why are you so upset? I have just pleased you, haven’t I?”

He actually sounded a little worried. Madelyne wiped the tears from her cheeks, bumping Duncan’s chin. “You have pleased me,” she told him. “I’m so frightened, Duncan. You shouldn’t love me.”

Duncan sighed. He decided he’d have to wait a few more minutes to get a decent explanation out of her. She was shivering too much to speak coherently.

He really held his patience, but once he’d carried Madelyne to their bed and they were under the covers, she snuggled up against him and didn’t say a word.

“Why are you afraid?” he asked. “Is it so terrible for me to love you?”

His voice was filled with tenderness and that made Madelyne cry again.

“There can be no hope for us, Duncan. The king will—”

“Give us his blessing, Madelyne. Our king will have to approve this marriage.”

He sounded so sure of himself. She drew comfort from his confidence. “Tell me why you think the king will side with you. Make me understand. I don’t want to be frightened.”

Duncan sighed. “King William and I have known each other since we were young boys. He has many flaws, but he has proven himself to be an able leader. You dislike him because of the stories you’ve heard from your uncle. And your uncle reflects only the attitudes of his church. The king has lost the support of the clergy because he took treasures from their monasteries. He has never been quick to replace any church official either. The clergy belittles our king because he doesn’t bend to their dictates.”

“But why do you think—”

“Do not interrupt me when I’m instructing you,” Duncan said. He softened his command by giving her a gentle squeeze. “Though I don’t mean to boast, in truth I’ve helped our king unite the Scots and maintain a peaceful coexistence. The king knows my value. I’ve a well-trained army he can call upon in time of need, Madelyne. He relies on my loyalty. I would never betray him. He knows that too.”

“But, Duncan, Louddon is his special friend,” Madelyne interjected. “Marta told me so and I’ve also heard rumors from my uncle’s friends.”

“Who is this Marta?”

“One of the servants assigned to my uncle,” Madelyne answered.

“Ah, then she must surely be as infallible as the pope,” Duncan returned. “Is that your way of thinking?”

“Of course not,” Madelyne muttered. She tried to turn around to look at Duncan, but he wouldn’t let her move. She settled back against his shoulder and said, “My brother even boasts of his power over William.”

“Tell me, wife, what you mean by special,” Duncan commanded.

Madelyne shook her head vehemently. “I cannot say the words. It would be sinful.”

Duncan sighed in exasperation. He knew well enough what the king’s preferences were, had guessed long ago that Louddon was more than a clerk in William’s court. He was surprised, however, that his innocent little wife would have such knowledge.

“You will just have to trust me on this, Duncan, when I tell you it’s a sinful pact between my brother and our king.”

“It will not matter,” Duncan returned. “We’ll not speak of this any longer, since it seems to embarrass you so. I know what you mean by special, Madelyne. Yet the king will not betray his barons. Honor is on my side in this feud.”

“Are we speaking about the same honor that got you tied to a post in Louddon’s fortress perchance?” Madelyne asked. “You’re so honorable, you trusted Louddon to honor the temporary truce, didn’t you?”

“It was a most carefully thought out plan,” Duncan answered. His voice grated against Madelyne’s ear. “I never trusted your brother.”

“He could have killed you before your men gained entrance, Duncan,” Madelyne returned. “As for that matter, you could have frozen to death. I, of course, saved you. Honor had little to do with it.”

Duncan didn’t argue with her. Madelyne was wrong in her assumptions, of course, but he didn’t feel he needed to point out her error.

“Louddon will use me to harm you.”

That comment didn’t make any sense at all. “Madelyne, there isn’t a baron in England who hasn’t heard about Adela. If the king turns his back on the truth, he’ll have made his first foolish mistake. There are other loyal barons who will stand by me. We are all honor bound to our leader, aye, but he must also act with honor toward each of us. Otherwise our pledge of fealty means nothing. Have faith in me, Madelyne. Louddon cannot win this war. Trust me, wife, to know what’s to be done.”

Madelyne thought about what he said for several minutes and then whispered, “I’ve always trusted you, ever since that night we slept together in your tent. You promised me you wouldn’t touch me when I slept, and I believed you.”

Duncan smiled over the memory. “Now do you realize how absurd it was for you to think I could take advantage without you knowing it?”

Madelyne nodded. “I am a very sound sleeper, Duncan,” she teased.

“Madelyne, I’m not going to let you ignore our initial topic. I’ve just vowed my love for you. Have you nothing to say to me in return?” Duncan asked.

“Thank you, husband.”

“Thank you?” He shouted the words back at her. His patience deserted him. Madelyne was supposed to tell him how much she loved him and why the hell she didn’t know that infuriated him.

Madelyne suddenly found herself flat on her back with her husband looming over her. The muscle in the side of his jaw flexed, a true indication of his anger. He looked ready to do battle.

She wasn’t the least intimidated. Madelyne gently stroked his shoulders, then let the palms of her hands slowly slide down his arms. His body was stiff, rigid. She could feel the strength of steel under her fingertips. Madelyne never took her gaze away from his as she caressed him. And though she could feel the power in him, she could also see the vulnerability in his eyes. It was a look she’d never seen before but recognized all the same. Duncan looked good and worried.

When she gifted him with a tender smile, Duncan immediately stopped frowning. He saw the sparkle in her eyes and responded to it. His body relaxed against her.

“You dare to tease me?”

“I’m not teasing you,” Madelyne told him. “You’ve just given me the most wonderful gift, Duncan. I am overwhelmed.”

He waited to hear more. “You’re the only man to ever tell me you love me.” Madelyne whispered. A wrinkle crossed her brow and she added, “How could I not love you in return?”

She looked as if she’d only just realized that fact. Duncan’s sigh of exasperation all but parted her hair. “Then I suppose I’m damn fortunate Gilard didn’t tell you he loved you first.”

“He did,” Madelyne announced, smiling over the startle that admission caused. “But I didn’t count that pledge of love as being the first, you see, because it wasn’t really true. Your brother had a small infatuation.”

Madelyne suddenly stretched up and kissed Duncan. She put her hands around his waist and squeezed him. “Oh, Duncan, I’ve loved you for the longest time. What a fool I’ve been not to have realized it sooner. Though I must confess, tonight, when we were sitting by the fire with your family and your guest, I did realize it then. You’ve given me value, Duncan. In my heart I know I matter to you.”

Duncan shook his head. “You’ve always had value, Madelyne. Always.”

Madelyne’s eyes filled with tears. “It is a miracle, your love for me. You captured me to fulfill your plan of revenge against my brother. Didn’t you?”

“Aye,” Duncan admitted.

“That is why you married me,” Madelyne said. She was suddenly frowning up at her husband. “Did you love me then?”

“I thought it was lust,” Duncan answered. “I wanted to bed you,” he added with a grin.

“Revenge and lust,” Madelyne returned. “Sorry reasons at best, Duncan.”

“You’ve forgotten compassion,” Duncan informed her.

“Compassion? You mean you felt sorry for me, is that the way of it?” Madelyne asked, growing irritated. “Good Lord, you love me out of pity?”

“My love, you’ve just relisted all the reasons I gave myself.”

She took exception to his laughter. “If your love is based upon lust, pity, and revenge then—”

“Madelyne,” Duncan interrupted, trying to soothe her, “what did I say to you before we left your brother’s fortress. Do you remember?”

“You told me it was an eye for an eye,” Madelyne returned.

“You asked me if you belonged to Louddon. Do you remember my answer to that question?”

“Aye, though I didn’t understand it,” Madelyne said. “You said I belonged to you.”

“I spoke the truth,” Duncan told her. He kissed her just to rid her of her suspicious look.

“I still don’t understand,” Madelyne told him when he let her speak again.

“Neither did I,” Duncan said. “I thought I’d keep you, but I didn’t consider marriage until later. In truth, Madelyne, it was your act of kindness that sealed your fate.”

“It was?” Madelyne’s eyes brimmed with tears again. The look on Duncan’s face was so loving, so tender.

“It was inevitable from the moment you warmed my feet, though it took a while before I’d acknowledge the truth.”

“You called me simpleminded,” Madelyne told him, smiling over the memory.

The sparkle was back in her eyes. She wasn’t angry any longer. Duncan pretended outrage over her remark just to gain her reaction. “I’ve never called you simpleminded. It was someone else and I will challenge him immediately.”

Madelyne burst into laughter. “It was you, Baron. I’ve already forgiven you though. Besides, I’ve called you many unkind names.”

“You have? I’ve never heard any of them,” Duncan said. “When did you call me these names?”

“When your back was turned, of course.”

She looked so innocent. Duncan’s smile widened. “Your obsession for telling the truth will get you into trouble one day.” He kissed her again before continuing. “But I’ll be by your side to protect you.”

“Just as I will always protect you,” Madelyne told him. “It is my duty as your wife.”

She laughed over his incredulous expression. “You don’t worry me,” she boasted. “I’ll not be afraid of you anymore now that I have your love.”

He thought she sounded smug. “I know.”

Madelyne laughed because of his forlorn tone of voice.

“I would hear you tell me you love me once again,” Duncan demanded.

“Such an arrogant command you give me,” Madelyne whispered. “I love you with all my heart, Duncan.” She kissed him on his chin. “I would give my life for you, husband.” She rubbed his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “I will love you forever.”

Duncan growled his pleasure and proceeded to make slow, sweet love to her.

“Duncan?”

“Yes, love?”

“When did you realize you loved me?”

“Go to sleep, Madelyne. It’s nearly dawn.”

She didn’t want to sleep. Madelyne never wanted this glorious night to end. She deliberately wiggled her backside against his stomach. Her toes curled against his legs. “Please, tell me exactly when it was.”

Duncan sighed. He knew she wouldn’t quiet until he answered her. “Today.”

“Ha!” Madelyne announced.

“Ha what?” Duncan asked.

“Now you are beginning to make sense,” Madelyne explained.

“You’re not making any sense,” Duncan returned.

“You’re the one who has been acting so unpredictable all day. To tell you the truth, you had me a bit worried. When today?”

“When what?”

“When exactly did you realize you loved me?” Madelyne wasn’t going to give up.

“When I thought my horse was going to kill you.”

“Silenus? You thought Silenus would harm me?”

He heard the astonishment in her voice. He smiled against the top of her head. She still didn’t have any idea of the terror she’d given him.

“Duncan?”

He liked the way she whispered his name when she wanted something from him. It was tender, coaxing, and terribly sexy. “You’ve ruined my stallion. I was telling you that downstairs when you fell asleep in my lap.”

“I haven’t ruined him,” Madelyne protested. “I’ve only shown him kindness. Surely being affectionate can’t be harmful.”

“Affection might be the death of me if you don’t let me rest,” he answered with a yawn. “You’ve turned into an insatiable wench,” he added with a mock sigh. “You’ve taken my strength.”

“Thank you.”

“You can have Silenus for your own.”

“Silenus? Mine?” She sounded as eager as a child.

“The animal is loyal to you now. You’ve demoted my great beast from stallion to lamb. I’ll never live it down.”

“Live what down?”

Duncan ignored her question. He made her turn around to face him. Then he gave her a good long stare. “Now listen to me well, wife. You’re not to ride him until I’ve given you proper instruction. Do you understand me?”

“What makes you think I haven’t had proper instruction?” Madelyne asked. She hadn’t, of course, yet thought she’d hidden that flaw from him. But her husband was more astute than she’d realized.

“Just promise me,” Duncan demanded.

“I promise.” She began to nibble on her lower lip, when a sudden thought began to nag her. “You won’t change your mind in the morning, will you?”

“Of course not. Silenus is yours now.”

“I wasn’t speaking of Silenus.”

“What then?”

She looked worried. Duncan frowned until she whispered her fear to him. “You won’t change your mind about loving me, will you?”

“Never.”

He kissed her to give her proof of his pledge, then closed his eyes and rolled onto his back, fully intending to go to sleep. He was exhausted.

“You didn’t remember to swim in your lake tonight. That was very unpredictable of you.”

When he didn’t comment, Madelyne prodded him. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because it was too damn cold.”

It was a sensible answer, yet strange coming from Duncan. Madelyne smiled to herself. Oh, how she loved him. “Duncan? Did you like making love to me by the fire? You know, when you kissed me … there?”

She sounded shy, curious as well. “Aye, Madelyne. You taste as sweet as honey.”

The memory of her taste was making him aroused yet again. His lust for his wife astonished him.

Madelyne rolled to her side and looked at Duncan. His eyes were closed but he was smiling and looking very satisfied.

Her hand slowly stroked a path from his chin to his stomach. “Will I like the taste of you?” she asked him in a husky whisper.

Before Duncan could answer her, Madelyne leaned down and kissed his navel, smiling when she saw how his stomach muscles contracted. Her hand slowly moved lower, stroking a line for her mouth and her tongue to follow.

Duncan stopped breathing when her hand captured him. “You’re so hard, Duncan, so hot,” she told him. “Give me your fire.”

Duncan forgot all about sleeping. He let his wife weave her magic spell over him. He thought he was surely the richest man in all the world, and all because his wife loved him.

And then he couldn’t think at all.

Chapter Eighteen

“I proclaim that might is right, Justice the interest of the stronger.”

PLATO, THE REPUBLIC, I

The harsh days of winter boasted unholy temperatures, led by a howling wind that gripped the countryside in its frozen, frostbitten jaws. Winter promised to hold the world in glacial splendor for eternity it seemed, until that gentle maiden, spring, came forth with a promise of her own. She carried the gift of rebirth, wrapped in the warm glow of the sun. Wooed by the promise, the wind lost its shivering edge and magically turned into soft breezes.

The trees were the first to show fulfillment of the promise. Branches were no longer brittle, but malleable with graceful motion when the breeze coaxed them. Fragile buds and green leaves fattened each limb. Forgotten seeds, blown into the earth by autumn’s warning blusters, now bloomed into a riot of color and fragrance, heady enough to entice vain, flittering honey bees.

It was a magical time for Madelyne. And there was such joy in loving Duncan. She thought it was a miracle that Duncan loved her. The first few weeks after his declaration, she had actually been uneasy, worried that he’d grow bored with her. She went to great lengths to please him. Yet the inevitable first fight occurred anyway. A simple misunderstanding that could easily have been resolved, blown out of proportion because of Duncan’s black mood and her exhaustion.

In truth, Madelyne couldn’t even remember what started the argument. She recalled only that Duncan had yelled at her. She had immediately retreated behind her safe mask of composure, but it didn’t take her husband long to goad the perfected tranquility right out of her. She had burst into tears, told him he obviously didn’t love her anymore, and then ran to the tower.

Duncan followed her. He still bellowed, but the topic had changed to her habit of jumping to incorrect conclusions. When she realized he was furious that she thought he’d stopped loving her, she hadn’t minded the fierce frown or the shouts. After all, he was yelling that he loved her.

She’d learned an important lesson that night. It was quite all right to yell back. The rules had all shifted on her since meeting the Wextons. The freedom she was now allowed unlocked all the doors to her emotions. She didn’t have to be restrained. When she felt like laughing, she laughed. And when she felt like yelling, she went right ahead, though she did try to maintain a ladylike, dignified manner.

Madelyne also realized she was taking on some of her husband’s characteristics.

There was safety in predictability and she was beginning to dislike change as much as he did. When Gilard and Edmond both left to give their forty days to their overlord, Madelyne let everyone within shouting distance know of her displeasure.

Duncan pointed out the inconsistency of her reasoning, even reminded her she’d once argued in favor of giving his brothers more responsibility. Madelyne, however, didn’t want to listen to reason. She had turned into a mother hen and wanted all the Wextons to stay right where she could keep an eye on them.

Duncan understood his wife far better than she understood him. His brothers and Adela had all become members of her family. She had been alone for so many years, the pleasure of having so many caring people surrounding her was too comforting to let go without protest.

She was a peacemaker too. Madelyne constantly interfered if she thought one was being picked on. She was each one’s protector and yet was amazed when anyone sought to protect her.

In truth, she still didn’t understand her value. Duncan knew she thought it was a miracle that he loved her. He wasn’t a man given to proclaiming his feelings, but he quickly realized she needed to hear his vow of love often. There was an underlying sense of fear and insecurity, understandable because of her background, and he accepted that it would take time for her to gain confidence in her abilities.

The days spent with his new wife would have been idyllic if Adela hadn’t been so determined to drive them all daft. Duncan tried to maintain a sympathetic manner toward his sister, but her behavior was enough to make him secretly want to throttle her.

He made the mistake of telling Madelyne how he felt about Adela’s conduct and his urge to put a gag in her mouth. Madelyne was appalled. She immediately defended Adela. His wife suggested Duncan learn to be more compassionate, and why in God’s name she thought he’d want to do that was beyond his comprehension.

Madelyne called him unsympathetic, yet the opposite was really the truth of the matter. Duncan was extremely sympathetic toward Baron Gerald. His friend had the patience of Job and the endurance of forged steel.

Adela was doing everything she could to dissuade her suitor. She mocked, she screamed, she cried. None of it mattered. Gerald wasn’t the least deterred from his singular goal of winning her. Duncan thought Gerald was either as stubborn as a donkey or as stupid as a bull. He might have been a little of both.

Duncan couldn’t help but admire Gerald. Such determination was praiseworthy, especially when one considered the prize Gerald was after had turned into a screaming shrew.

Duncan really would have preferred ignoring the whole situation. Madelyne, however, wouldn’t allow him that privilege. She constantly dragged him into the middle of family squabbles, explaining it was his duty to set things right.

She told him, very matter-of-factly, he could be both lord and brother, but all that nonsense about keeping a cold, distant attitude toward his family was a habit of the past to be shed.

Madelyne also told him he could keep his brothers’ respect and gain their friendship too. Duncan didn’t argue with her. Lord only knew he hadn’t won a single argument since they’d wed.

In this instance, however, she’d been correct. He didn’t bother to tell her, of course, knowing she’d immediately point out some other “habit” he should discard.

He began to eat his evening meal with his family because he knew it would please Madelyne, and found he gained pleasure in the experience. He discussed various topics and enjoyed the lively debates that resulted. His brothers were both perceptive men and it wasn’t long before Duncan began to value their suggestions.

He slowly removed the barriers he’d erected to separate himself from his family, found the rewards were far greater than the effort.

His father had been wrong. Duncan knew that now. His father might have ruled rigidly in order to protect his position as lord. Perhaps he thought he’d lose their respect if he showed his children affection. Duncan wasn’t sure what his father’s reasoning had been. He only knew he didn’t have to follow the old ways any longer.

He had his wife to thank for the change in his attitude. She taught him that fear and respect didn’t have to go hand in hand. Love and respect worked just as well, perhaps even better. It was ironic. Madelyne thanked Duncan for giving her a place in his family, when the reverse was really the truth. She had given him a place in his own home. She had shown him how to be a brother to Gilard, Edmond, and Adela. Aye, she’d dragged him right into the middle of the family circle.

Duncan did continue to maintain the same schedule with his men, but he set aside an hour each afternoon to instruct his wife in the proper way of riding. She was a quick learner and it wasn’t long before he let her ride Silenus to the lower hill outside the walls. He followed behind her, of course, as a precaution. And he grumbled, too, over her stubborn habit of taking food to her imaginary wolf.

Madelyne asked him to explain why one side of the hill was barren while the other side was a forest of trees and wilderness.

Duncan explained that all the trees had been chopped down on the side of the hill that faced the fortress. The watchman couldn’t see beyond the crest, so it wasn’t necessary to chop the trees down on the other side. Anyone who wanted entry to his home would have to climb the lower crest first. The watchmen could see if it was enemy or friend then. And if it was an enemy, archers would have easy targets without the clutter of trees providing shelter and hiding places.

She’d been amazed by his explanation; it seemed everything he did had something to do with protection. He shook his head and pointed out to his wife that protection was his responsibility as lord of Wexton.

Madelyne smiled over his lecture. He had grown accustomed to her smiles too.

Duncan knew Madelyne worried about their future. She still didn’t like to be reminded of her brother and everyone tried not to bring his name up in conversation. Since he couldn’t seem to convince her that everything would be all right, both of them avoided the topic.

Spring was a time of enlightenment for Duncan. He had to leave Madelyne for nearly a month because of pressing business matters, and when he returned, his wife wept with happiness. They stayed awake all night, loving each other passionately, and would have stayed in bed the following day if the household hadn’t intruded.

Madelyne hated it when Duncan had to leave her. He hated it just as much, and though he never would tell Madelyne, his thoughts were consumed with getting back to her side.

Spring left her cloak of sunshine and flowers behind her. Warm summer days at last came to Wexton land.

Travel was easier now. Duncan knew it was only a matter of time before he would be called to answer to his king. He hid his concerns from Madelyne while he quietly gathered his soldiers.

Baron Gerald returned to Wexton land in the last days of June for yet another attempt to woo Adela. Duncan met his friend in the courtyard. Each had important news to give the other. Duncan had just received a messenger and had accepted a missive with the king’s seal upon it. Baron Wexton could read, a fact his wife wasn’t aware of, and the letter he’d just read made his manner brisk. He was too preoccupied to greet Gerald properly.

Gerald seemed to be of the same frame of mind and disposition. After giving Duncan a curt bow, he handed the reins of his stallion to Ansel and turned back to Duncan. “I’ve just returned from the Clares,” he announced in a low whisper.

Duncan motioned Anthony over to his side. “There are many things to talk about and I would have Anthony included,” he explained to Gerald.

Gerald nodded. “I was telling Duncan I’ve just returned from the Clare holding,” Gerald repeated. “The king’s brother, Henry, was there as well. He asked many questions about you, Duncan.”

The three men slowly walked toward the hall. “I believe he was trying to come to some sort of understanding as to your position if he were to become our king,” Gerald confessed.

Duncan frowned. “What questions?” he asked.

“The conversation was guarded. It was as if they were all privy to some information I lacked. I’m not making much sense, am I?” he asked.

“Is there need to defend William? Do you think Henry might challenge?”

“I do not,” Gerald answered, sounding emphatic. “I thought it strange though. You weren’t invited, yet all the questions asked me were about you.”

“Were they questions about my loyalty?”

“Your loyalty was never an issue,” Gerald answered. “But you command an army of the strongest fighting men in England, Duncan. You could easily challenge our king if you’d a mind to.”

“Does Henry believe I’d turn against my liege lord?” he asked, clearly astonished by the possibility.

“Nay, everyone knows you to be an honorable man, Duncan. Still, the meeting made little sense to me. There was such an uneasy atmosphere.” Gerald shrugged, then said, “Henry admires you, yet I could tell he was worried about something. God only knows what.”

The three men climbed the steps to the main hall. Madelyne was standing beside the dining table, arranging a cluster of wildflowers into a fat jar. Three little boys were sitting on the floor next to her, eating tarts.

Madelyne glanced up when she heard the men approach. She smiled when she saw Gerald was once again visiting. With a curtsy she greeted all three. “Dinner will be ready in one hour’s time. Gerald, ’tis good to see you again. Isn’t it, Anthony? Adela will be pleased.”

The men shouted with laughter.

“’Tis the truth I’m giving you,” Madelyne insisted. She turned to the children then. “Go and finish your treats outside. Willie, please go and find Lady Adela. Tell her she has a guest. Can you remember that important duty?” she asked him.

The children bounded to their feet and ran out of the room. Willie suddenly rounded on Madelyne and threw his arms around her legs. Duncan watched his wife grab hold of the table with one hand and pat Willie on the top of his head with her other hand.

He was warmed by her gentleness. All the children loved Madelyne. They followed her wherever she went. Each was eager for her smiles and her words of praise. None of the little ones were ever disappointed. Madelyne knew each by name, a considerable accomplishment considering that there were well over fifty of them living inside the manor with their parents.

When Willie finally let go of Madelyne and ran toward the entrance, her gown was covered with the stains from the lad’s face.

She looked down at the damage and sighed. Then she called out to the child. “Willie, you’ve forgotten to bow to your lord again.”

The little one tripped to a stop, turned, and affected an awkward bow. Duncan nodded. The child smiled and started in running again.

“Who do the children belong to?” Gerald asked.

“The servants,” Duncan answered. “They follow my wife.”

A shout of distress interrupted their talk. Duncan and Gerald sighed in unison. Willie had obviously just informed Adela of Gerald’s arrival.

“Don’t frown so, Gerald,” Madelyne said. “Adela’s been dragging around here ever since your last departure. I do believe she missed you. Don’t you agree, Anthony?”

Duncan could tell from the look on his vassal’s face that he didn’t agree. He laughed when Anthony said, “If you think so, then I’ll allow for the remote possibility.”

Gerald grinned. “Playing the diplomat, are you, Anthony?”

“I don’t wish to disappoint my mistress,” Anthony announced.

“I pray you are correct, Madelyne,” Gerald said. He sat down adjacent to Duncan and Anthony at the table. Madelyne handed him a goblet of wine, and Gerald took a long, thirsty swallow. “Are Gilard and Edmond here?” he asked then.

Duncan shook his head. He took the cup of wine Madelyne offered him but didn’t let go of her hand. Madelyne leaned against his side and smiled at him.

“Duncan, Father Laurance is finally going to say mass for us,” Madelyne announced. She turned to Gerald to explain her remark. “The priest burned his hands right after he wed Duncan and me. The poor man has taken the longest time healing. It was a terrible accident, though he hasn’t explained the exact way it happened.”

“If he’d allowed Edmond to see to his burns, it wouldn’t have taken him such a long time to heal,” Anthony remarked. “Now Edmond’s gone, of course,” he added with a shrug.

“I’ve been meaning to have a word with Father Laurance,” Duncan muttered.

“You don’t like the man?” Gerald asked.

“I do not.”

Madelyne was surprised by her husband’s comment. “Duncan, he’s never around you. How can you like or dislike him? You barely know him.”

“Madelyne, the man doesn’t do his duty. He hides in his chapel. He’s too timid to suit me.”

“I didn’t know you were such a religious man,” Gerald interjected.

“He isn’t,” Anthony commented.

“Duncan just wants the priest to do what he was sent here to do,” Madelyne said. She reached over and refilled Anthony’s goblet with more wine.

“He insults me,” Duncan announced. “This morning a missive arrived by messenger from his monastery. I’ve requested his replacement. Madelyne wrote the petition for me,” he ended with a boastful tone of voice.

Madelyne nudged Duncan’s arm, nearly upsetting his cup of wine. Duncan knew she didn’t want him telling anyone she could read or write. He smiled at her, amused she was ashamed of such a remarkable talent.

“What did the missive say?” Madelyne asked.

“I don’t know,” Duncan answered. “I’ve had other pressing matters to attend to, wife. It can wait until after dinner.”

Another bellow stopped the conversation. Adela was obviously working herself into a fine state. “Madelyne, for God’s sake, go and make Adela cease her screams. Gerald, I’m beginning to dread your visits,” Duncan told his friend.

Madelyne rushed to soften the rebuke. “My husband didn’t mean to sound rude,” she told Gerald. “He has many important matters on his mind.”

Duncan sighed, long enough to make his wife turn back to look at him. “You needn’t excuse my behavior, Madelyne. Now see to Adela.”

Madelyne nodded. “I shall also invite Father Laurance to our dinner table. He won’t come, but I’ll invite him all the same. If he does give us his presence, please be polite to the man until supper is over. Then you may yell at him.”

It was phrased as a request, yet given in a voice that reeked of command. Duncan scowled at Madelyne. She smiled at him.

As soon as Madelyne left the hall, Gerald said, “Our king is back in England.” His voice was a low whisper.

“I’m ready,” Duncan answered.

“I’ll go with you when the petition arrives,” Gerald said.

Duncan shook his head. “Surely you can’t believe our king will ignore your marriage, Duncan. You’ll have to give an accounting for your actions. And I’ve as much right to challenge Louddon as you have. Perhaps more. I’m determined to kill the bastard.”

“Half of England would like to kill him,” Anthony interjected.

“The petition has already arrived,” Duncan commented. His voice was so mild, it took a moment for the other men to react.

“When?” Gerald demanded.

“Just before you arrived,” Duncan answered.

“When do we ride?” Anthony asked.

“The king demands I leave for London immediately,” Duncan said. “The day after tomorrow will be soon enough. Anthony, you will stay behind this time.”

The vassal showed no outward reaction to his lord’s decision. He was puzzled, however, for he usually rode by his lord’s side.

“Will you take Madelyne with you?” Gerald asked.

“No, she’ll be safer here.”

“Safe from the king’s wrath or from Louddon?”

“Louddon. The king would protect her.”

“You have more faith than I do,” Gerald admitted.

Duncan looked at Anthony now. “I leave my greatest treasure in your hands, Anthony. This could all be a trap.”

“What do you suggest?” Gerald asked.

“That Louddon has access to the king’s seal. The instructions in the missive weren’t given in the king’s voice. That is what I’m suggesting.”

“How many men will you take and how many will you leave to guard Madelyne?” Anthony asked. He was already thinking about the protection of the fortress. “This could be a plan to get you away from here so that Louddon can attack. He knows you won’t take Madelyne with you, I’m thinking.”

Duncan nodded. “I’ve considered that.”

“I’ve only a hundred men with me now,” Gerald interjected. “I’ll leave them here, with Anthony, if that is your wish, Duncan.”

Gerald and Anthony discussed the issues of numbers while Duncan stood up and walked over to stand in front of the fire. He happened to turn just in time to see Madelyne go around the corner. She was probably going to speak to Father Laurance now, he thought. The little boy, Willie, had hold of her skirt and was running to keep up.

Duncan dismissed his wife from his mind when Anthony and Gerald joined him again. A good ten minutes elapsed in heated debate over the defense of Wexton fortress. Anthony and Gerald both pulled up chairs and Duncan also sat down in the chair Madelyne had declared belonged to him.

All of a sudden, Willie came running into the hall. The child skidded to a halt when he saw Duncan. Willie had a wild, terrified look in his eyes.

Duncan thought the boy looked as though he’d just seen the devil. He never took his gaze off the child. Willie timidly walked over to stand beside Duncan’s chair.

“What is it, lad? Do you wish to speak to me?” Duncan asked. He kept his voice soft so the little one wouldn’t become any more frightened.

Anthony started to ask Duncan a question, but his baron held up a hand for silence.

Duncan turned in his chair until he was facing the child. He leaned down and motioned Willie closer. Willie started whimpering, but he edged between Duncan’s legs, sucking on his thumb while he stared up at his lord.

Duncan’s patience was wearing thin. Suddenly Willie pulled his thumb out of his mouth and whispered, “He’s hitting her.”

Duncan bounded out of the chair, overturning it, and was halfway across the room before Gerald and Anthony knew what was happening.

“What’s going on?” Gerald asked Anthony when the vassal started after his lord.

Gerald was the last to catch the fear. “Madelyne.” Anthony shouted her name. Gerald jumped to his feet and chased after Anthony. His sword was drawn before he reached the steps.

Duncan reached the chapel first. The door was barred against him but he made quick work of ripping it apart. Rage gave him added strength.

The sound he made alerted Father Laurance. When Duncan rushed into the vestibule, the priest was using Madelyne as his shield. He held her in front of him and pointed a dagger against the side of her neck.

Duncan didn’t look at Madelyne. He didn’t dare. His rage would explode then. He kept his attention totally focused on the demented man challenging him.

“If you come any closer, I’ll slit her throat,” the priest screamed. He was slowly backing away, half dragging, half pulling his hostage.

Each step the priest took in retreat, Duncan measured with a step in advance.

The priest backed up against a small square table laden with burning candles. He dared a quick look behind him, obviously judging the distance around the obstacle to the side door, and that was the miscalculation Duncan was waiting for.

Duncan attacked. He wrenched the knife away from Madelyne’s face, forcing the blunt side of the blade through the priest’s neck in one swift, deadly motion. The priest was propelled backward just as Duncan jerked Madelyne free.

Father Laurance was dead before he hit the ground.

The table crashed against the far wall, overturning the candles. Flames immediately began to lick the dry wood.

Duncan ignored the fire. He gently lifted Madelyne into his arms. She sagged against his chest. “You took the longest time getting here,” she whispered against his neck. Her voice was ragged and she was weeping softly.

Duncan took a deep, settling breath. He was trying to rid himself of his anger so that he could be gentle with her. “You are all right?” he finally managed, though his voice was as harsh as his fury.

“I’ve seen better moments,” Madelyne whispered.

Her lighthearted answer calmed him. Then Madelyne looked up at him. When he saw the damage to her face, he was furious again. Her left eye was already swollen. The corner of her mouth was bloody and there were numerous scratches on her neck.

Duncan wanted to kill the priest all over again. Madelyne could feel the tremor that passed through her husband. His eyes mirrored his anger. She reached up, touched his cheek with her fingertips. “It is over, Duncan.”

Gerald and Anthony rushed into the church. Gerald saw the fire and immediately ran back outside, shouting an order for aid to the gathering men.

Anthony stood next to his leader. When Duncan turned and started out the doorway, his vassal lifted one of the boards out of the way, the only remnant of the door Duncan hadn’t destroyed.

Madelyne could see how worried Anthony was. He was frowning as ferociously as Duncan was. She tried to give him comfort, to let him know she was still fit enough.

“Have you noticed, Anthony, how my husband likes to walk through doors?” she asked him.

Anthony looked startled for a moment, and then a slow grin settled on his face.

Duncan bent down, guarding Madelyne’s head as he walked through the opening. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. It wasn’t until they’d reached the doors of the castle that she realized she was still crying. A leftover from the fright she’d just had, she thought with a shiver.

By the time they reached Duncan’s room, Madelyne’s teeth were chattering. Duncan wrapped her in blankets and held her on his lap while he tended to her bruised face.

He was sweating from the heat of the fire he’d started in the hearth for Madelyne. “Duncan? Did you see the crazed look in his eyes?” Madelyne shivered over the memory. “He was going to … Duncan? Would you still love me if he’d raped me?”

“Hush now, my love,” Duncan soothed her. “I’ll love you forever. That was a foolish question.”

She was comforted by his gruff answer. Madelyne rested quietly against his chest for several minutes. There was much she needed to tell Duncan and she needed strength for the duty.

Duncan thought she might have fallen asleep, when she suddenly blurted out, “He was sent here to kill me.”

Madelyne turned in his arms until she was facing him. The look in his eyes chilled her again. “He was sent?” His voice was soft. Madelyne thought he might be trying to keep his anger hidden. It wasn’t working, but she didn’t tell him that.

“I went to the church to tell Father Laurance he was invited to dinner. I caught him unawares because he wasn’t dressed in his robes. He was dressed just like a peasant, but of course you must have noticed that too. Anyway, his hands weren’t covered with bandages either.”

“The rest,” Duncan instructed when Madelyne stared at him so expectantly.

“There weren’t any scars. The priest was supposed to have burned his hands, remember. He couldn’t say mass because of his injuries. Only there weren’t any scars.”

Duncan nodded for her to continue. “I didn’t say anything about his hands. I pretended I didn’t even notice, but I thought to remember to tell you. Anyway,” she continued, “I told him we’d received a letter from his monastery and that after dinner you wanted to speak to him. That was my mistake, though at the time I didn’t know why,” she added. “The priest went into a rage then. He told me Louddon had had him sent here. His duty was to kill me if the king granted you his favor instead of Louddon. Duncan, how could a man of God have the soul of the devil? Father Laurance knew his game was up, I guess. He told me he was going to get away but not before he killed me.”

Madelyne sagged against Duncan’s chest again. “Were you frightened, Duncan?” Madelyne asked in a whisper.

“I am never frightened,” Duncan snapped. He was so incensed over the priest’s treachery, he could barely concentrate.

Madelyne smiled over her husband’s statement. “I meant to ask you if you were concerned, not frightened,” she amended.

“What?” Duncan asked. He shook his head, forcing his anger aside. Madelyne needed his comfort now. “Concerned? Hell, Madelyne, I was furious.”

“I could tell you were,” Madelyne answered. “You reminded me of my wolf when you were stalking my captor.”

Duncan let her sit up so he could kiss her. He was very gentle, for her lips were too bruised to allow true passion.

Madelyne pushed herself off his lap. She took hold of his hand, tugging until he stood up and followed her across the room. She sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him.

Duncan took off his tunic. He was drenched from the heat in the room. He sat down beside his wife, put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. He wanted to hold her close and tell her how much he loved her. God’s truth, he thought he needed to say the words more than she needed to hear them. “Madelyne, were you frightened?”

“A little,” Madelyne replied. She would have shrugged, but the weight of his arm wouldn’t allow the gesture. Her head was inclined and she was tracing circles around his thigh, trying to distract him, he supposed.

“Only a little?”

“Well, I knew you’d come for me, so I wasn’t terribly frightened. Yet I was beginning to get a bit irritated when you didn’t appear at the door right away. The man was tearing my gown …”

“He could have killed you,” Duncan said. His voice was shaking with anger.

“Nay, you wouldn’t have let him kill me,” Madelyne told him.

Lord, she had such faith in him. Duncan was humbled by it.

The slow circles Madelyne was making with her fingertips were moving toward the junction of his legs. Duncan grabbed hold of her hand, settled it against his thigh. His wife was probably so distraught, she didn’t realize what she was doing, or how it was beginning to affect him.

“Lord, it’s gone warm in here,” Madelyne whispered. “Why would you want to start a fire in this weather, Duncan?”

“You were shaking,” Duncan reminded her.

“I’m better now.”

“Then I’ll go downstairs and get this letter from the monastery. I am curious to learn what his superiors have to tell us,” Duncan announced.

“I don’t want you to go downstairs just yet,” Madelyne said.

Duncan was immediately solicitous. “You must rest for an hour or so,” he told her.

“I don’t want to rest,” Madelyne answered. “Will you help me out of these clothes?” she asked her husband in such an innocent voice, Duncan was immediately suspicious.

Madelyne stood between her husband’s legs and didn’t help at all while her husband pulled her clothes off her. “What made you come to the church when you did?” she suddenly thought to ask him.

“Maude’s boy saw the bastard hit you. He came to tell me,” Duncan answered.

“I didn’t know Willie followed me into the church. He must have run back out before the priest barred the door. Willie must have been terrified. He’s only five summers. And you must reward him for coming to fetch you.’”

“Damn, this is all my fault,” Duncan stated. “I should have seen to my household as thoroughly as I see to my men’s training.”

Madelyne put her hands on Duncan’s shoulders. “’Tis my duty to see to your home. Though, now that I think about it, none of this would have happened if—”

His sigh stopped her. “I know, none of this would have happened if I’d been there to protect you,” he interjected.

His voice was filled with anguish. Madelyne shook her head. “I wasn’t going to say that,” she told him. “You mustn’t jump to conclusions, Duncan. It’s a sorry trait. Besides, you have more important matters to attend to.”

“You come before everyone and everything else,” Duncan stated quite emphatically.

“Well, I was only going to tell you that this wouldn’t have happened if I’d known how to protect myself.”

“What are you suggesting?” Duncan asked. He really didn’t have a clue as to what was going on inside her mind. He smiled then, for he had just realized he rarely did know what she was thinking.

“Father Laurance wasn’t much bigger than I am,” she said. “Ansel is just my height.”

“How did my squire get into this conversation?” Duncan asked.

“Ansel is learning about defense,” Madelyne announced. “Therefore, you must instruct me in the ways of defending myself also. You see the way of it, don’t you?”

He didn’t, but decided not to argue with her. “We’ll speak of this later,” Duncan announced.

Madelyne nodded. “Then you must now see to my needs, Duncan. I order it.”

Duncan reacted to the teasing tone in her voice. “And what is this order you dare give your husband?” he asked.

Madelyne explained by slowly pulling the ribbon free that kept her chemise in place. The garment edged off her shoulders. Duncan shook his head, trying to deny her. “You’re too bruised to think of—”

“You’ll think of a way,” Madelyne interrupted. “I know I don’t look very pretty now. I do look a fright, don’t I?”

“You’re bruised, as ugly as one of your Cyclops, and I can barely stand to look at you.”

His words made her laugh. She knew he was teasing because he was trying to pull her down on top of him and take her chemise off at the same time.

“Then you’ll have to close your eyes when you make love to me,” Madelyne instructed Duncan.

“I’ll suffer through it,” he promised.

“I can still feel his touch,” Madelyne whispered. Her voice had a tremor in it now. “I need you to touch me now. You’ll make me forget. I’ll feel clean again, Duncan. Do you understand?”

Duncan answered her by kissing her. Madelyne soon forgot everything but kissing him back. Within moments only the two of them mattered.

And she was cleansed in body and heart.

Chapter Nineteen

“Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

NEW TESTAMENT, JOHN, 8:32

Though it was ironic, the attack Madelyne suffered helped to reconcile Gerald and Adela.

Madelyne had insisted on eating dinner with the family and their guest. When she and Duncan walked into the hall, Adela was already seated at the table. Gerald was pacing in front of the fireplace, looking lost in thought.

Duncan sighed, letting Madelyne know he wasn’t in any mood for another one of Adela’s scenes. Madelyne started to tell him to please be patient and then decided against it. She wasn’t in the mood for dissension either.

When Adela saw Madelyne, she let out a loud gasp. She completely forgot Gerald. “What has happened to you? Did Silenus finally unseat you?” she asked.

Madelyne turned to frown at Duncan. “Just before we left our room, I specifically remember you telling me I looked all right,” she whispered to him.

“I lied,” Duncan answered, grinning.

“I should have looked in Adela’s mirror,” Madelyne returned. “Adela looks like she’s going to be sick. Will I ruin everyone’s appetite, do you suppose?”

Duncan shook his head. “An invasion wouldn’t wreck my hunger. I’ve just used up all my strength trying to satisfy your—”

She nudged him to be quiet, for they were close enough for Adela to overhear. “I needed you to love me,” she whispered. “I’ve forgotten all about the priest’s foul touch now. It was the only reason I was a little … bold.”

“Bold?” Duncan chuckled. “Madelyne love, you turned into a—”

She nudged him again, more forcefully, then turned to watch Gerald and Adela.

It was Gerald, in fact, who gave Adela explanation about Madelyne’s injuries.

“Oh, Madelyne, you look terrible,” Adela confessed in a sympathetic voice.

“It’s a sin to lie,” Madelyne said to Duncan, glaring at him.

Duncan demanded Father Laurance’s name not be mentioned during dinner. Everyone complied. Adela went back to ignoring Gerald too. The baron offered Duncan’s sister a compliment when everyone stood to leave the table. Adela made a rude comment back to him.

Duncan’s patience was gone. “I would speak to both of you,” he demanded. His voice had a hard edge to it.

Adela looked frightened, Gerald looked puzzled, and Madelyne looked like she was going to smile.

Everyone followed Duncan over to the hearth. Duncan sat in his chair, but when Gerald started to take a chair for his own, Duncan said, “Nay, Gerald. Stand next to Adela.”

He turned to Adela then and demanded, “Do you trust me to know what’s best for you?”

Adela slowly nodded. Her eyes were as large as trenchers, Madelyne thought.

“Then let Gerald kiss you. Now.”

“What?” Adela sounded appalled.

Duncan frowned over her reaction. “When my wife was attacked by Laurance, she wanted me to wipe the memory away. Adela, you’ve never been kissed or touched by a man who loves you. I suggest you let Gerald kiss you now and then decide if you are repelled or enlightened.”

Madelyne thought it was a wonderful plan.

Adela was turning red with embarrassment. “In front of everyone?” she asked. Her voice sounded like a squeak.

Gerald smiled. He took hold of Adela’s hand. “I would kiss you in front of the world if you’d allow it,” he told her.

Duncan thought Gerald was going a little overboard, telling Adela she could allow or disallow, yet he kept his thoughts to himself.

Besides, his command was finally being carried out. Before Adela could back away, Gerald leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

Duncan’s sister looked up at Gerald in confusion. And then he kissed her again. His hands never touched her but his mouth held her captive all the same.

Madelyne felt foolish watching the pair. She walked over and sat on the arm of Duncan’s chair and tried to stare at the ceiling instead of the two people kissing each other so thoroughly.

When Gerald took a step back, Madelyne looked at Adela. Duncan’s sister looked flushed, embarrassed, and truly astonished.

“He doesn’t kiss like Mor—” The color immediately drained from her face over her near blunder, and she looked at Madelyne for help.

“He’ll have to know, Adela.”

Gerald and Duncan shared a frown. Neither knew what Madelyne was talking about. “I cannot tell him,” Adela whispered. “Would you do this one terrible duty for me? Please, Madelyne. I beg of you.”

“If you’ll let me tell Duncan as well,” Madelyne said.

Adela looked at her brother. He could see the worry in her gaze.

Adela finally nodded. She turned back to Gerald then and said, “You’ll not ever want to kiss me again when you know the full truth of what happened to me. I’m sorry, Gerald. I should have …”

Adela started to cry. Gerald reached out to take her into his arms but she shook her head. “I think I do love you, Gerald. And I am so sorry.” With those parting words, Adela rushed out of the room.

Madelyne had little liking for the promise she’d made. She knew she was about to cause her husband and Gerald pain. Both men loved Adela.

“Gerald, please sit down and listen to me,” Madelyne asked. Her voice sounded strained. “Duncan, promise you won’t be angry with me for keeping this from you. Adela made me promise to share her secret.”

“I’ll not be angry,” Duncan announced.

Madelyne nodded. She couldn’t bear to look at Gerald while she told the full truth about Adela, so she stared at the floor through the recitation. She stressed the fact that Adela was so disappointed that Gerald hadn’t joined her in court and for that reason was easy prey for Louddon’s deceptions. “She was really trying to punish you, I think,” Madelyne told Gerald. “Though I doubt she realizes that.”

Madelyne dared a look over at Gerald, caught his nod, and then looked at Duncan. She told the rest then, leaving nothing out, and when she told of Morcar’s treachery, she fully expected one or both men to shout in anger.

Neither baron said a word.

When the telling was finished, Gerald got up and slowly walked out of the hall.

“What will he do?” Madelyne asked Duncan. She realized she was crying, brushed the tears away from her face, wincing when she knocked her bruises.

“I don’t know,” Duncan answered. His voice was soft, angry too.

“Are you upset with me for not telling you sooner?”

Duncan shook his head. A sudden thought occurred to him then. “Morcar is the man you wanted to kill, isn’t he?”

Madelyne frowned. “You told me you were going to kill a man. Remember? It was Morcar you meant, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t let him get away with his treachery, yet I was honor bound to keep Adela’s secret,” she whispered. “Duncan, I didn’t know what to do. It is God’s duty to see to sinners. I know that well enough. And I shouldn’t want to kill him. I do, though, God help me, I do.”

Duncan pulled her into his lap. He held her tenderly. He understood his gentle wife’s torment.

Each lapsed into silence for several minutes. Madelyne was worrying about Gerald. Would he leave now or would he continue to pursue Adela?

Duncan used the time to gain control of his emotions. He didn’t blame Adela for her infatuation with Louddon. His sister was such an innocent, she couldn’t be faulted. But Louddon had deliberately preyed on that innocence.

“I’ll take care of Morcar,” Duncan said to Madelyne.

“You will not.”

It was Gerald who bellowed the denial. Both Madelyne and Duncan watched Gerald rush over to stand in front of them. His anger was most evident. He was shaking with it. “I’ll kill him, and you as well, Duncan, if you dare deny me this right.”

Madelyne gasped. She looked up at Duncan. His expression didn’t tell her if he was insulted or angry.

Duncan stared at Gerald a long moment. Then he slowly nodded. “Aye, Gerald, it is your right. I’ll stand behind you when you challenge him.”

“As I’ll stand behind you when you challenge Louddon,” Gerald answered.

The fight went out of Gerald then. He sat down in the chair facing Duncan.

“Madelyne? Would you please tell Adela I’d like to speak to her?”

Madelyne nodded. She hurried to comply but had worried herself sick before she reached Adela’s bedroom. She still didn’t know what Gerald was going to do.

Adela had already made up her mind Gerald was going to leave her. “It’s all for the best,” she told Madelyne between sobs. “Kissing is one thing, but that is all I could ever allow. I could never let him come to my bed.”

“You don’t know if you could or couldn’t,” Madelyne returned. “Adela, it won’t be easy but Gerald is a patient man.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Adela said. “He’s going to leave me.”

Adela was wrong. Gerald was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. Without saying a word, he took hold of her arm and led her down the next staircase.

Duncan walked over to Madelyne and lifted her up into his arms. “You look exhausted, wife. ’Tis time for bed.”

“I’d better wait until Adela comes back. She might need me,” Madelyne protested when Duncan started up the steps.

“I need you now, Madelyne. Gerald will take care of Adela.”

She nodded. “Madelyne, I have to leave you tomorrow. It will be for a short time only,” he added before she could interrupt.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “Do you have important matters to attend to?” she asked then, trying her best to sound interested and not disappointed. She couldn’t expect him to spend every minute with her. Duncan was an important man, after all.

“I do have a matter that calls for attention,” Duncan answered, deliberately keeping his explanation to a minimum. Madelyne had been through enough torment today. Duncan didn’t want to add another worry, and he knew if he told her about the king’s petition tonight, she wouldn’t get any rest.

Maude was just coming down the steps when Duncan turned the corner. She said she’d see to the baroness’s bath right away, but Duncan shook his head. He told Maude he’d take care of the task.

Maude made a curtsy. “Maude, your son has done a courageous thing today.”

The woman beamed. She’d already heard all about her son’s brave act. The lad had made his parents proud. Why, he saved the baroness’s life.

“I’ll have to think of a suitable reward for such bravery,” Duncan said.

Maude looked too overwhelmed to speak. She made another curtsy, then stammered out her gratitude. “I do thank you, milord. My Willie took a fancy to the baroness. He’s a bit of a nuisance, running after her all the time, but she don’t seem to mind it and always has a kind word for my boy.”

“He’s an intelligent lad,” Duncan said in praise.

His flattery, an unusual event to be sure, added to the fact that he was actually speaking to her, made Maude feel giddy. She thanked her lord again, picked up her skirts, and went flying down the steps. Gerty would be wanting to hear this tale to be sure. Maude was bent on being the first to tell her.

Madelyne brushed her hand against her husband’s cheek. “You’re a good man, Duncan,” she whispered to him. “’Tis yet another reason I love you so much.”

Duncan shrugged, forcing Madelyne to grab hold of his shoulders to keep her balance. “I do only my duty,” he commented. Madelyne smiled. She thought her husband was as awkward with praise as Maude appeared to be.

“I’ve been denied my bath,” she said, teasing him. “Perhaps I’ll swim in your lake. What say you to that?” she added.

“I say it’s a good plan, wife. I will swim with you.”

“I was only teasing you,” Madelyne rushed out. “I don’t want to swim in your lake.”

She shivered. “When I was little, I jumped into the pond. It wasn’t deep, and I did know how to swim, you understand. But my toes squished in the mud and my gown weighed ten stone, at least, before I could drag myself out. Why, I needed another bath then and there. Mud was even caked in my hair.”

Duncan laughed. “First of all, my lake has a rock bottom in most places,” he said. “And you aren’t supposed to swim with your clothes on, Madelyne. I’m surprised you didn’t drown.”

She didn’t look too convinced of the merits of his lake. “The water is clear. You can almost see to the bottom,” Duncan told her.

They reached their bedroom. Madelyne was undressed and waiting for Duncan in their bed before her husband had removed his tunic.

“You don’t want to swim with me?” he asked her with a grin.

“No,” Madelyne said. “There are soldiers outside. Good Lord, Gerald and Adela are outside too. It wouldn’t be decent to parade in front of them without my clothes on. Whatever could you be thinking of, Duncan, to suggest such—”

“Madelyne, no one goes to the lake at night. Besides, the moon isn’t bright enough to—”

She interrupted him with a startled gasp. “Duncan, what are you doing?”

It was obvious, even to her. Duncan was standing next to the bed, holding her cloak up. “Wrap yourself in this. I’ll carry you to the lake,” he suggested.

Madelyne nibbled on her lip in indecision. She really did want to swim. It was hot and sticky tonight. Yet the thought of being seen by anyone was a worry to be considered.

Duncan patiently waited for Madelyne to make her choice. He thought she looked terribly appealing right now. Only a thin blanket covered her, and the tips of her breasts were nicely revealed.

“You said I looked exhausted,” Madelyne stalled. “Perhaps …”

“I lied.”

“’Tis a sin to lie to me,” Madelyne commented. She pulled the blanket up, holding it like a shield against him. “My soap is in your chest,” she told him.

Madelyne thought to send him on an errand so she could wrap the cloak around her in privacy. She still wasn’t used to parading around him naked.

Duncan grinned. He walked over to the chest to get the soap. Madelyne tried to grab her cloak before he turned, but she wasn’t quick enough.

Her husband returned to the side of the bed. Her cloak was draped over his arm. The packet of soap was in one hand and a small circular mirror in the other.

He handed the mirror to Madelyne. “You’ve a black eye to match the one you gave Edmond,” he remarked.

“I never gave Edmond a black eye,” Madelyne protested. “You’re teasing me.”

She turned the mirror over and looked at her face.

Madelyne screamed.

Duncan laughed.

“I do look like a Cyclops,” she shouted. She dropped the mirror and began to pull her hair forward over the injured side of her face. “How can you stand to kiss me?” she asked. “I’ve a black circle around my eye and …”

She sounded like she was wailing. Duncan’s smile faded when he leaned forward. With the palm of his hand he forced her chin up to make her look at him. His expression was most serious now. “Because I love you, Madelyne. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and much, much more. Do you think a bruise or two could sway my heart? Do you believe my love could be so shallow?”

Madelyne shook her head. She slowly edged the blanket away and then stood up next to her husband.

She wasn’t shy with him anymore. Duncan loved her. That was all that mattered.

“I would like to go to your lake now, Duncan. But we better hurry, before I begin to beg you to make love to me.”

Duncan cupped her chin with his hands and kissed her. “Oh, I am going to love you, Madelyne.”

She was warmed by the promise and the dark look in his eyes. She heard herself sigh, felt a warm knot in her stomach begin to spread inside of her.

Duncan wrapped the cloak around her, lifted her into his arms, and carried her out of their room.

They didn’t encounter anyone on their route to the lake. Duncan was right, too, for the moon wasn’t bright tonight.

Duncan took her to the far side of the lake. Madelyne tested the water with her toes, declared it was too cold.

He told her to suffer through it. She stood next to Duncan, her cloak held around her in a firm grip while she watched him casually strip out of his clothes.

Duncan made a clean dive into the water. Madelyne sat down on the bank, then edged into the water. She would have taken her cloak with her had Duncan allowed it. Her husband surfaced next to her, jerked the cloak out of her hands, and tossed it onto the grass.

The water took a few minutes to get used to. It was such an erotic feeling to swim without a stitch of clothing. Madelyne felt quite wanton, told Duncan so, admitting shyly that it was a pleasant sensation.

Madelyne hurried through her bath. She washed her hair and rinsed it by dunking herself under the water. When she surfaced a third time, Duncan was standing in front of her.

He was only going to talk to her, but Madelyne was smiling up at him with such a bewitching look in her eyes. The water lapped against her breasts. The nipples were hard, beckoning him. His hands covered them.

She leaned into him, tilted her head back for his kiss. It was a temptation he didn’t want to resist. Duncan took her mouth hungrily. His tongue thrust into her mouth. Wet. Wild. So predictably undisciplined.

Duncan would have allowed only the one kiss, then carried her back to their chambers to make love to her, but Madelyne’s stomach rubbed against him then and her hands boldly moved into the water to capture his arousal.

Duncan wrapped his arms around her, roughly pulling her up against him. The kiss deepened, became consuming.

She was as rough as he was. Her hands moved to his shoulders, stroking him wild. Duncan lifted her higher, until her breasts were rubbing against his chest. Her legs moved restlessly against him. Her sweet whimper of longing drove him wild.

He whispered instructions to her, his voice gruff with need. When Madelyne wrapped her legs around his thighs, he entered her slowly, cautiously, thoroughly.

She pushed against him, demanded with her fingernails. “Duncan,” she begged.

He kissed her temple. “I’m trying to be gentle with you, Madelyne,” he whispered, sounding hoarse.

“Later, Duncan,” Madelyne moaned. “Be gentle later.”

Duncan gave in to his need. He was forceful, giving her as much pleasure as she gave him. When he felt Madelyne arch against him in fulfillment, he covered her mouth to catch her moans. His seed filled her and he clung to her as the tremor of bliss exploded.

Madelyne sagged against him, weak with satisfaction. Her breath warmed his neck. Duncan smiled with arrogant pleasure. “You are a wild woman, Madelyne.”

She laughed, delighted with his compliment, until she remembered where they were. “Good Lord, Duncan. Do you think anyone saw us?”

She sounded so appalled. She buried her face into the crook of his neck. Duncan chuckled. “Love, no one saw us,” he whispered.

“You’re certain?”

“Of course, the light isn’t sufficient.”

“Thank God for that,” Madelyne answered.

She was thoroughly relieved, until Duncan spoke again. “You did make enough noise to wake the dead though. You’re a moaner, my love. The hotter you get, the louder your moans.”

“Oh, God.” Madelyne tried to sink under the water. Duncan wouldn’t let her. He laughed, a husky, deep sensual sound, and then continued to tease. “I’m not complaining, sweetheart. As long as your fire is for me, I’ll let you moan all you want.”

Just when she was about to tell him how sinfully arrogant he sounded, Duncan deliberately fell backward. She had time only to hold her breath.

He kissed her again, under the water. She pinched him when she needed new air.

Madelyne didn’t know how to play in the water. When Duncan splashed her, she took immediate offense. He had to tell her to splash him back. She thought it a silly game to try to drown each other, but she was laughing by the time she finished her comment, and trying to overturn him by nudging him with her foot.

She was the one who lost her footing. When Duncan pulled her up, she was sputtering, coughing, and trying to lecture him at the same time.

They stayed in the lake for almost an hour. Duncan taught her how to swim properly, though he’d begun his instructions by insulting her. “You look like you’re about to drown when you swim.”

She wasn’t too offended, even kissed him to let him know her feelings weren’t injured.

When Duncan finally carried her back to their bedroom, Madelyne was exhausted.

Duncan, however, was in the mood to talk. He was in bed, his hands folded behind his head, watching his wife brush her hair. Both were naked, and neither was shy about it.

“Madelyne, I’ve been invited to speak to my king,” Duncan commented. He kept his voice controlled, trying to give Madelyne the impression he was bored with the request. “That is where I’m going tomorrow.”

“Invited?” The brush was discarded when Madelyne turned to frown at Duncan.

“A summons then,” Duncan admitted. “I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m in the middle of this, aren’t I? Duncan, I won’t be ignored or pushed aside. I’ve a right to know what is happening.”

“I’ve neither ignored you nor pushed you aside,” Duncan answered. “I was only trying to protect you.”

“Will it be dangerous?” He wasn’t given time to answer her. “Of course it will be dangerous. When do we leave?”

“We don’t leave. You’re staying here. It will be safer for you.”

She looked ready to argue. Duncan shook his head and said, “If I have to worry about you, my concentration will be compromised. My mind is made up, Madelyne. You’re staying here.”

“And will you come back to me?”

He was surprised by her question. “Of course.”

“When?”

“I don’t know how long this will take, Madelyne.”

“Weeks, months, years?”

He saw the fear in her eyes, remembered the time she’d been ignored by her family. Duncan pulled Madelyne on top of him. He kissed her. “I’ll always come back to you, Madelyne. You’re my wife, for God’s sake.”

“Your wife,” Madelyne whispered. “Whenever I become frightened, or begin to fret about the future, I remember that I’m bound to you.” Duncan smiled. She didn’t look frightened any longer. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll find your grave and spit on it,” she threatened.

“Then I’ll take every care.”

“You promise me?”

“I promise you.”

Madelyne tenderly cupped the sides of her husband’s face. “You take my heart with you, my loving captor.”

“Nay, Madelyne. I am your captive in body and soul.”

And then he fulfilled his vow by making love to her again.

Duncan was dressed before the full light of dawn reached the sky. He called for Anthony and then waited for him in the hall.

When his vassal entered the room, Duncan was just breaking the seal on the neglected missive from the monastery.

Anthony sat down across from Duncan at the table, waiting for him to finish reading. Gerty intruded with a tray filled with bread and cheese.

The vassal had eaten a fair portion of his meal before Duncan finished the letter. The news obviously didn’t please his lord. Duncan threw the parchment across the table and then slammed his fist down on the tabletop.

“The news displeases you?” Anthony asked.

“It is as I suspected. There is no Father Laurance.”

“But the man you killed …”

“Sent from Louddon,” Duncan said. “I already knew that much, yet I still believed he was a priest.”

“Well, at least you didn’t kill a man of the cloth then.” Anthony made the observation with a shrug. “He wasn’t able to report back to Louddon either, Duncan. He hasn’t left this fortress since his arrival. I’d have known of it.”

“If I’d been paying attention, I’d have noticed his odd behavior sooner. My lack of attention nearly cost my wife her life.”

“She doesn’t blame you,” Anthony commented. “It didn’t get as ugly as it could have either, Duncan. He could have been hearing all our confessions.” Anthony shuddered over that obscene thought.

“I didn’t get married either,” Duncan said, slamming his fist on the table again.

The parchment bounced and settled against the bottom of the jar of wildflowers.

“Good God, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Madelyne hasn’t either,” Duncan answered. “She will though. She’ll have a fit. If there was time. I’d find a priest and wed her before I leave.”

“It would take weeks …”

Duncan nodded. “Have you told Madelyne where you’re going?” Anthony asked.

“Aye, but I’m not going to tell her about our impostor. When I return, I’ll bring a priest with me. I’ll tell her we aren’t married a minute or two before I marry her again. Hell, what a mess.”

Anthony smiled. His lord was right. Madelyne would have a fit.

Duncan forced himself to put aside the matter of Laurance’s deception. He went over his plans with his vassal, trying to cover every eventuality.

“You’ve been trained by the best. I have complete faith in your ability,” Duncan said when he’d finished his instructions.

It was an attempt to lighten his mood, a self-serving remark as well, since it was Duncan who trained Anthony. The vassal grinned.

“You’re leaving enough soldiers to conquer England,” Anthony remarked.

“Have you seen Gerald yet?”

Anthony shook his head. “The men are gathering in front of the stables,” he remarked. “He could be there, waiting.”

Duncan stood and walked with his vassal to the stables. The baron addressed his soldiers, cautioning them all that they could well be riding into a trap. He turned to the men who would remain behind and spoke to them. “Louddon could well be waiting for me to leave to attack the fortress.”

When he finished addressing his men, Duncan returned to the hall. Madelyne was just coming down the steps. She smiled at her husband. Duncan took her into his arms and kissed her.

“Remember your promise to take every care,” Madelyne whispered when he released her.

“I promise,” Duncan answered. He put his arm around her shoulders and walked outside. They had to pass the church on their way to the stables. Duncan paused to stare at the damage from the fire. “I’ll have to rebuild the vestibule,” he said.

The mention of the church reminded Madelyne of the letter. “Duncan, do you have time to show me the letter from Father Laurance’s monastery? I am most curious, I confess.”

“I’ve already read it.”

“You can read! I’d suspected as much, but you’ve never boasted of your skill. Why, just when I think I know you quite well, you say or do something to surprise me.”

“So I’m not as predictable as you imagined?” he asked, smiling.

She nodded. “In certain matters you’re always predictable. Oh, I wish you weren’t leaving. I wanted you to teach me defense. If I could protect myself as well as Ansel does, you’d probably let me come with you.”

“I would not,” Duncan answered. “I promise, though, to begin your instructions as soon as I return.” He made the comment to placate Madelyne. There were a few tricks every woman should know about, he decided. Perhaps it wasn’t such a ridiculous request after all. Madelyne wasn’t very strong but her determination impressed him.

Duncan noticed that Baron Gerald still hadn’t arrived. Since he had a few more minutes with his wife, he turned to her and said, “I’ll give you your first lesson now. Since you use your right hand, you must carry your dagger on the left side of your body.” He removed her dagger and placed it in a loop of her belt on the tilt of her left hip.

“Why?”

“Because it is much easier to pull the weapon free. Sometimes, wife, every second counts.”

“You carry your sword on the right side of your body, Duncan. I know you favor holding your sword with your left hand. The steps! Does this lesson have anything to do with the steps being built on the left side of the wall instead of the right?”

He nodded. “My father also favored his left over his right. When an enemy invades, he comes from below, not above. My father had added advantage. He could use his right hand to balance himself against the wall, and fight with his left hand.”

“Your father was cunning,” Madelyne announced. “Most men use their right hands, don’t they? What a wonderful idea to go against tradition and build his home to his specifications.”

“In truth, my father borrowed the idea from one of his uncles,” Duncan said.

Duncan thought he’d successfully turned her attention away from the letter. He was mistaken, however, for Madelyne came right back to that topic. “What did the letter say, Duncan?”

“It was nothing significant,” Duncan returned. “Laurance left the monastery when he was assigned to Louddon’s fortress.”

It was difficult lying to his wife. Yet his intent was good-hearted. He was trying to keep her from worrying while he was away.

“He was probably a good man until my brother got hold of him,” Madelyne commented. “I’ll see that his body is sent back to the monastery immediately, Duncan. They’ll want to give him a proper burial.”

“No.” He realized he’d shouted. “I mean to say that arrangements have already been made.”

Madelyne was puzzled by Duncan’s abrupt manner. Baron Gerald walked over to greet them, turning her attention.

“Adela and I will be married when this task is finished,” Gerald announced. “She has finally agreed.”

Madelyne smiled. Duncan slapped Gerald on his shoulder. “Where is Adela?” he asked.

“In her room, crying. I’ve already said my farewell,” Gerald added with a grin.

“You’re certain you want to wed her, Gerald? My sister spends most of her days weeping.”

“Duncan!” Madelyne protested.

Gerald laughed. “I’m hoping she’ll use up all her tears before we’re married.”

Duncan suddenly turned and grabbed Madelyne. He kissed her before she knew what he was going to do. “I’ll be home before you notice I’ve left,” he told her.

Madelyne struggled to smile. She wasn’t about to cry. It wouldn’t be dignified, what with the soldiers filing past.

She stood in the center of the courtyard and watched her husband leave.

Anthony walked over to stand beside Madelyne. “He’ll come back to us,” Madelyne said. “He gave me his word, Anthony.”

“He’s a man of honor, Madelyne. He won’t break his promise.”

“I shall have to keep busy,” she told the vassal. “Duncan has promised to teach me defense methods.”

“Defense methods?” Anthony repeated, showing his confusion.

“Aye. He would like me to know how to protect myself,” Madelyne explained. She deliberately made it sound as though it had all been her husband’s idea. Madelyne knew it would be easier to gain Anthony’s cooperation if he believed Duncan wished it. She didn’t think she was being deceitful. “Perhaps you could give me a lesson or two. What do you think, Anthony? Could you spare me a little time each day to show me the way of defense?”

The way of defense? Anthony was at first too incredulous to speak. He stared at Madelyne and realized she was quite serious.

Madelyne didn’t think Anthony looked too thrilled by her request. “I believe I’ll go and speak to Ned. He could fashion a nice bow for me, arrows, too, of course. If I apply my mind to the task, I believe I could become very accurate in no time at all.”

Anthony felt like making the sign of the cross. He couldn’t, of course, because his mistress was looking up at him with such a hopeful expression.

He was too weak-hearted to deny her. “I shall speak to Ned,” he promised.

Madelyne thanked him profusely. The vassal bowed and walked away.

Anthony had a new problem to consider. His primary duty was to keep Duncan’s wife safe. Now another duty had been thrust upon him. He was going to have to protect his men from Madelyne.

His sense of humor saved him from despair, however. By the time he reached the smith’s hut, he was laughing. Heaven help them all. By week’s end they’d probably all be wearing arrows in their backsides.

Chapter Twenty

“What measure ye mete, it shall be measured unto you.”

NEW TESTAMENT, MATTHEW, 7:2

Duncan was the first to catch the scent of danger. He gave the signal to stop. The soldiers lined up behind him. Not a word was spoken, and once the horses had settled down, an eerie silence descended upon the woods.

Baron Gerald was on Duncan’s right. He waited, as did his men, deferring to Duncan’s judgment. Duncan’s reputation was legendary. Gerald had fought by his side in the past. He recognized Duncan’s superior ability, and though they were nearly the same age, Gerald considered himself the student and Duncan his trainer.

When Duncan raised his hand, several soldiers fanned out to scan the area.

“It’s quiet, too quiet,” Duncan said to Gerald.

Gerald nodded. “’Tis not the place I would have chosen for a trap, Duncan,” he admitted.

“Exactly.”

“How do you know? I’ve seen nothing,” Gerald said.

“I feel it,” Duncan answered. “They’re there, below us, waiting.”

A faint whistle sounded from the forest to the left. Duncan immediately turned in his saddle. He motioned to his soldiers to split into sections.

The soldier who’d given the sound rode back to the gathering. “How many?” Duncan asked.

“I couldn’t tell, but I spotted several shields.”

“Then add that many a hundred times,” Gerald said.

“By the bent crossing,” the soldier announced. “They hide there, milord.”

Duncan nodded. He reached for his sword but Gerald stayed his hand. “Remember, Duncan, if Morcar be one of them …”

“He is yours,” Duncan acknowledged. His voice was harsh, controlled.

“As Louddon is yours,” Gerald said.

Duncan shook his head. “He won’t be there. The bastard hides behind his men or in William’s court. Now I have my answer, Gerald. It was a false letter sent by Louddon and not the king. ’Tis the last game of deceit I play with Louddon.”

Duncan waited until a third of his contingent had spread in a semi-circle on the western slope. The second third followed the same order, though they fanned in a half circle on the eastern bridge. The last third of their troops waited behind the barons. They were chosen to mount the direct assault.

Gerald was pleased with Duncan’s plan. “We’ve trapped them inside their own trap,” he said proudly.

“And now we close our circle, Gerald. Give the call.”

It was an honor he bestowed on his friend. Gerald lifted himself in his saddle, raised his sword into the air, and shouted the battle cry.

The sound echoed throughout the valley. The soldiers who had circled the enemy now began their downward descent.

The net closed. The battle belonged to the fittest; might ruled this day, conquered.

Those cunning men who hid like women behind trees and rocks, waiting to pounce upon their unknowing victims, soon found themselves trapped.

Duncan’s men showed their superiority now. They took command from the outset, fought with valor, and quickly claimed victory.

They took no prisoners.

It wasn’t until the battle was nearly finished that Gerald spotted Morcar. Their gazes locked in challenge across the valley. Morcar sneered and then turned to mount his steed. He thought he had adequate time to make his escape.

Gerald’s mind snapped. He began to fight like a man possessed, desperate to get to Morcar before he got away. Duncan protected Gerald’s back more than once, shouted to his friend to regain control.

Duncan was furious. He was a man who demanded discipline from himself and his soldiers. Yet his equal, Baron Gerald, had cast off all the rules of training. His friend was out of control.

Gerald was beyond hearing any warnings. His eyes were glazed over with fury. Rage, so raw and wild, ruled his mind and body now.

Morcar sat on his mount and watched Gerald struggle to get to him. He wasted precious seconds, but he felt safe enough. Baron Gerald was on foot.

His smirk turned into a bellow of laughter when Gerald stumbled and fell to his knees. Morcar seized the opportunity. He charged his horse down the slope. Leaning to the side of his saddle, he waved his curved sword at Gerald.

Gerald feigned weakness. His head was bowed and he knelt on one knee, waiting for his enemy to come close enough.

Morcar lashed out with his sword just as Gerald jumped to the side.

Gerald used the flat of his own weapon to knock Morcar to the ground.

Morcar fell on his side, rolled onto his back, thinking to regain his weapon and leap to his feet.

He was never given the chance. Gerald’s foot trapped his hand. When Morcar looked up, he saw the baron standing over him with the tip of his sword pointed at his neck. When the blade pricked his skin, Morcar squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering in terror.

“Will there be women in hell for you to rape, Morcar?” Gerald asked.

Morcar’s eyes flew open. And in those last seconds before he died, he knew Gerald had learned the truth from Adela.

Duncan hadn’t witnessed the fight. When the battle was finished, he walked among his own men, gaining numbers of those who had been killed. He saw to his injured as well.

Several hours later, when the sun was fading from the sky, he went looking for Gerald. He found his friend sitting on a boulder. Duncan spoke to Gerald, but didn’t receive an answer.

Duncan shook his head. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Where’s your sword, Gerald?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

Gerald finally looked up at Duncan. His eyes were red and swollen. Though Duncan wouldn’t ever comment on it, he could tell his friend had been weeping. “Where it belongs,” Gerald said. His voice was devoid of emotion and as flat as the expression on his face.

Duncan didn’t understand what Gerald was talking about until he found Morcar’s body. Gerald’s sword was embedded in Morcar’s groin.

They made camp up on the ridge above the battleground. Gerald and Duncan ate a meager offering and didn’t speak to each other until darkness was upon them.

Gerald used the time to rid himself of his rage.

Duncan used the time to fuel his anger.

When Gerald began to speak, he poured out his anguish. “I’ve lived a pretense all this time with Adela,” Gerald said. “I thought I’d come to terms with all that happened to her. When I vowed to kill Morcar, it was a logical decision. Until I saw him, Duncan. Something broke inside me. The bastard laughed.”

“Why do you give me these excuses?” Duncan asked. His voice was soft.

Gerald shook his head. He smiled faintly. “Because I’ve the feeling you’re wanting to run your sword through me,” he said.

“You fought like a fool, Gerald. If I hadn’t been there, you never would have made it up that hill. You’d be dead now. Your lust for revenge almost destroyed you.”

Duncan paused a moment to give Gerald time to think about what he’d just said. His anger over his friend’s undisciplined conduct was blown out of proportion. Duncan realized that now. He was infuriated with Gerald because he saw the flaw in his friend’s character and now admitted he carried the same mark.

“I have acted the fool. I’ll give you no more excuses,” Gerald said.

Duncan knew the admission was difficult for his friend to make. “I don’t demand excuses. Learn from this, Gerald. I’m no better than you are. I, too, have been ruled by my thirst for revenge. Madelyne was injured in battle because I took her captive. She could have been killed. We have both taken a turn acting the part of a fool.”

“Aye, we have,” Gerald returned. “Though I’m not about to acknowledge it in front of anyone else but you, Duncan. You tell me you almost lost Madelyne. You would have been denied her magic and never known your loss.”

“Her magic?” Duncan smiled over the flowery comment. It wasn’t usual for Gerald to speak in such a manner.

“I cannot explain it,” Gerald said. He blushed, obviously embarrassed by what he’d said. “She’s so untarnished. And though you regret taking her captive now, I’m grateful. She was the only one who could give Adela back to me.”

“I’ve never regretted taking Madelyne. I’m only sorry she was involved in my battle with Louddon.”

“Ah, my sweet Adela,” Gerald said. “I could have been killed today. Adela would have forever been denied the bliss only I can give her.”

Duncan smiled. “It’s still undecided in my mind, Gerald, if Adela would have mourned your passing or celebrated your death.”

Gerald laughed. “I will tell you something, and if you repeat it, I’ll cut your throat. I had to make Adela a promise before she would agree to marry me.”

Duncan was highly curious. Gerald was looking embarrassed again.

“I had to vow I wouldn’t bed her.”

Duncan shook his head. “You feast on punishment, Gerald. Tell me, do you plan to honor your vow?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“I will,” he announced, surprising Duncan.

“You plan to live as a monk in your own home?” Duncan sounded appalled.

“No, but I’ve learned from you, Duncan.”

“What are you talking about?” Duncan asked.

“You told Adela she could live with you for the rest of her days, remember? And then you suggested I move to Wexton fortress and change her mind. It was a clever ploy and I am parroting it.”

“I see,” Duncan said with a nod.

Gerald laughed. “No, you don’t,” he said. “I’ve promised Adela I wouldn’t bed her. She, however, can bed me anytime she wishes.”

Duncan smiled, understanding at last.

“It will take time,” Gerald admitted. “She loves me, but she still doesn’t trust me yet. I accept the conditions, for I know she won’t be able to resist my charms forever.”

Duncan laughed.

“We best get some rest. Do we ride to London tomorrow?” Gerald asked.

“No, we ride to Baron Rhinehold. His fortress is central to my plan.”

“And what is your plan?”

“To gather my allies, Gerald. The game is over. I’ll send word from Rhinehold’s home to the others. If all goes well, we’ll gather in London within two weeks, three at the most.”

“Do you call up their numbers as well?” Gerald asked, thinking of the huge army Duncan could so easily amass. Though the barons were inclined to fight among themselves, and constantly jostled for a more significant position of power, they all were quite equal in their respect and admiration for Baron Wexton. Each sent their fittest knights to train under Duncan. None were ever turned away.

The barons deferred to Duncan’s judgment. He’d never asked their backing before. Yet none among the bickering group would turn his back on Duncan.

“I don’t want their armies at my side, only my equals. I’m not going to challenge our leader, only confront him. There is a difference, Gerald.”

“I will stand by your side as well, though I’m sure you know that,” Gerald announced.

“Louddon has played his last game of deceit. I don’t believe the king knows about Louddon’s treachery. I plan to enlighten him, however. He cannot continue to ignore this problem. Justice will be served.”

“You’ll enlighten our leader in front of the other barons?”

“I will. Every one of them knows about Adela,” he said. “They might as well hear the truth.”

“Why?” Gerald’s face showed his anguish. “Will Adela have to stand before—”

“No, she’ll stay at my home. There isn’t any need to put her through the ordeal.

Gerald immediately looked relieved. “Then why are you—”

“I’ll present the truths to our king, in front of his barons.”

“And will our leader act with honor over this issue?” Gerald asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough. There are many who believe our king is incapable of that. I’m not one of them.” Duncan’s voice was emphatic. “He has always acted with honor toward me, Gerald. I’ll not judge him so easily.”

Gerald nodded. “Madelyne will have to go with us, won’t she?”

“It is necessary,” Duncan answered.

Gerald could tell from the look on Duncan’s face that his friend didn’t want Madelyne to go to court any more than he wanted Adela to.

“Madelyne will have to recount what has happened. Otherwise it will be Louddon’s word against mine.”

“Does the outcome depend upon Madelyne then?” Gerald asked. His frown matched Duncan’s.

“Of course not,” Duncan answered. “But she has been a pawn in all of this. Louddon and I have both used her. It isn’t easy for me to acknowledge that, Gerald.”

“You saved her from Louddon’s abuse when you took her with you,” Gerald pointed out. “Adela told me a little about Madelyne’s past.”

Duncan nodded. He was weary of conflicts. Now that he’d discovered the joy of loving Madelyne, he wanted to spend every minute with her. He smiled when he realized he was mimicking Madelyne’s imaginary hero, Odysseus. She had told him all about the warrior who was forced to endure one challenge after another, for ten long years, before he could return home to his beloved.

It would be another two weeks before he could hold her in his arms again. He sighed once more. He was beginning to act quite pathetic. “At least there will be time before we reach London—”

“Time for what?” Gerald asked.

Duncan hadn’t realized he’d spoken his thought aloud until Gerald questioned him. “To marry Madelyne.”

Gerald’s eyes widened. Duncan turned and walked into the wilderness, leaving Gerald to wonder what in heaven’s name he was talking about.

Duncan’s home underwent a few subtle changes while he was away. They were necessary precautions, and every one of them because of the baroness.

The courtyard was always deserted in the morning hours now. Though the heat should have beckoned the staff out into the upper bailey to do their daily chores of washing the linens and braiding fresh rushes, everyone preferred to work indoors. They waited until late afternoon to go outside and gain a few minutes of fresh, cooling air.

More specifically, they waited for Madelyne to finish her target practice.

Madelyne was determined to gain accuracy with her new bow and arrows, and toward this end she drove Anthony to distraction. He tutored her, yet couldn’t understand why his mistress didn’t get any better. Her determination was admirable. Her accuracy, however, was a different story. She was consistently three feet above her target. Anthony kept commenting on that fact, but Madelyne didn’t seem to be able to correct her aim.

Ned kept Madelyne supplied with new arrows. She’d gone through a good fifty of them before she corrected her aim enough to keep the arrows below the top of the wall. She was then able to retrieve her arrows to use again, arrows that had speared the trees, the huts, and hanging linens.

Anthony was patient with his mistress. He understood her goal. She wanted to learn to protect herself, true, but she also wanted to make her husband proud of her. The vassal wasn’t guessing Madelyne’s second motive. No, she told him her quest several times a day.

Anthony knew why she repeated herself. His baroness worried he’d get disgusted with her poor performance and stop tutoring her. The vassal wouldn’t, of course, deny Madelyne anything.

A messenger from the King of England arrived at Wexton fortress late in the afternoon. Anthony received him in the hall, fully expecting to be given a verbal message. The king’s servant handed Anthony a parchment scroll. The vassal called for Maude, directing her to give the soldier food and drink.

Madelyne walked into the room just as the soldier followed Maude into the buttery. She noticed the scroll immediately. “What news is there, Anthony? Does Duncan send us word?” she asked.

“The message comes from the king,” Anthony said. He walked over to a small chest located against the wall opposite the buttery. An ornately carved wooden box sat on top of the chest. Madelyne had thought it was merely a decorative piece of work, until Anthony lifted the top and placed the scroll inside.

She was close enough to see other pieces of parchment inside. The box was obviously where Duncan kept his important papers. “You’re not going to read it now?” she asked Anthony when he turned back to her.

“It will have to wait until Baron Wexton returns,” Anthony announced.

Madelyne could tell from the look on his face that Anthony wasn’t pleased about waiting. “I could send for one of the monks at—”

“I would read it for you,” Madelyne interjected.

Anthony looked astonished by her remark. Madelyne felt her cheeks heat, knew she blushed. “It’s true, I can read, though I would appreciate it, Anthony, if you didn’t tell anyone. I’ve no wish to be the topic of ridicule,” she added.

Anthony nodded. “Duncan has been gone over three weeks now,” Madelyne reminded him. “And you told me he could be away another month. Do you dare wait that long to fetch a priest to read the message for you?”

“No, of course not,” Anthony returned. He opened the box and handed the scroll to Madelyne. Then he leaned on the edge of the table, folded his arms in front of him, and listened to the message from his overlord.

The letter was written in Latin, the preferred language for official communications.

It didn’t take Madelyne any time at all to translate the message. Her voice never quavered, but her hands trembled when she’d finished reading the missive.

The king gave no greeting to Baron Wexton. His anger was as evident as his breach in manners, Madelyne thought. He demanded, from the first word to the last, that Madelyne appear before him.

She wasn’t as upset over that command as she was over the announcement that King William was sending his own troops to fetch her.

“So our king sends soldiers to take you,” Anthony said when she finished reading. His voice shook.

Anthony was caught in the middle, Madelyne thought. His loyalty belonged to Duncan. Aye, he’d pledged fealty to him. Yet Anthony and Duncan were both vassals to the King of England. William’s command would have to take precedence over all others.

“Was there anything else, Madelyne?” Anthony asked.

She slowly nodded. And then she braved a smile for him. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask,” she whispered. “It would seem, Anthony, in our king’s mind, there are two sisters, two barons. William wants the feud ended, suggesting that perhaps … aye, he uses just that word, perhaps each sister be returned to the rightful brother.”

Madelyne’s eyes brimmed with tears. “The other alternative is for Duncan to wed me,” she whispered.

“The king obviously doesn’t know you’re already wed,” Anthony interjected. His frown intensified, for he knew Madelyne wasn’t aware of the fact she really wasn’t married to Duncan yet. “And if Duncan weds me, then Adela will become Louddon’s bride.”

“God help us,” Anthony muttered with disgust.

“Adela mustn’t know about this, Anthony,” Madelyne rushed out. “I will tell her only the king demands my presence.”

Anthony nodded. “Can you write as well as read, Madelyne?” he suddenly asked.

When Madelyne nodded, he said, “Then perhaps, if the king hasn’t already dispatched his troops, we might gain a little time.”

“Time for what?” Madelyne asked.

“Time for your husband to return to you,” Anthony told her.

The vassal hurried over to the chest, picked up the oblong wooden box, and carried it over to Madelyne. “There is parchment and dye inside,” he told Madelyne.

Madelyne sat down and quickly prepared for the task ahead. Anthony turned his back on her. He began to pace while he decided what he’d tell his king.

Madelyne noticed the rolled missive on the table then, next to the jar of flowers. The torn seal was from Roanne monastery. Out of curiousity, she took the time to read the letter from Father Laurance’s superiors.

Anthony turned back to Madelyne just as she was finishing the missive. He recognized the seal, knew then the pretense was over. “He didn’t want you to worry,” Anthony said to Madelyne. He put his hand on her shoulder, offering her comfort.

Madelyne didn’t make any comment. She tilted her head up to look at him. Anthony was stunned by the amazing change in his mistress. She looked very serene. He knew then how terrified she really was. Aye, it was the same expression she wore those first few weeks she’d been Duncan’s captive.

He didn’t know how to help her. If he tried to explain that Duncan meant to marry her as soon as he returned, he might just make the situation worse. They both knew the baron had lied to Madelyne. “Madelyne, your husband loves you,” he said, sorry he couldn’t keep the harshness out of his voice.

“He isn’t my husband, is he, Anthony?”

She didn’t give him time to answer but turned her back on him. “What is it you wish me to say to our king?” she asked. Her voice was mild, almost pleasant.

Anthony admitted defeat. He’d have to leave the explanation to Duncan, he decided. He turned his attention to his dictation.

In the end, it was a simple message, giving only the notification that Baron Wexton hadn’t returned to his fortress, and therefore had no knowledge of the king’s demand.

Anthony made Madelyne read the message twice. When he was satisfied, she fanned the parchment dry, then oiled the back until it was pliable enough to roll into a scroll.

Anthony gave the message to the king’s soldier and commanded him to make haste returning to his king.

Madelyne went to her room to pack her gowns. It was a precaution, for Madelyne knew the king’s soldiers could arrive at any moment.

She went and explained to Adela what had happened, using most of the afternoon to visit with her friend. She didn’t tell Adela the exact wording of the king’s message. Nay, Madelyne deliberately left out any mention about Adela possibly going to Louddon.

Madelyne wouldn’t ever let that happen. Nor would she put Duncan in the position of having to choose.

She didn’t eat dinner that night but went up to the tower room instead. Madelyne stood in front of the window for over an hour, letting her emotions control her mind.

Laurance really should have been found out sooner. Madelyne blamed herself for being too preoccupied to notice all the little oddities. Then she blamed Duncan. If he hadn’t frightened her so much during that wedding ceremony, she’d have caught on to Laurance’s deception.

She never considered the possibility that Duncan knew all along. No, she was certain he thought Laurance had truly married them. She was still angry. He had blatantly lied to her about the contents of the letter from the Roanne monastery. Duncan knew how much she valued the truth. She never lied to him. “Just you wait until I get my hands on you,” she muttered. “Adela isn’t the only one who knows how to scream.”

Her burst of anger didn’t help her mood much. She started to cry again.

By midnight she had exhausted herself. She leaned against the window. The moon was bright. Madelyne wondered if it was shining down on Duncan now. Did he sleep outdoors tonight or in one of the king’s chambers?

Madelyne’s attention turned to the crest of the hill outside the wall. A movement had caught her eye, and she looked just in time to see her wolf climb the ridge.

It really was a wolf, wasn’t it? Maybe even the same one she’d seen months before. The animal looked large enough.

She wished Duncan were here, standing beside her, so she could prove to him that her wolf did exist. She watched the animal lift the meaty bone she’d left there for him, turn, and disappear down the other side of the hill.

Madelyne was so exhausted, she decided she was getting fanciful again. It was probably just another wild dog after all, and not even the one she’d seen before.

Duncan was her wolf. He loved her. Madelyne never doubted him on that issue. Aye, he lied to her about the letter, yet she instinctively knew he’d never lie to her about his love for her.

It was a comforting admission. Duncan was too honorable to deceive her in such a manner.

She tried to sleep. Fear made it impossible though. How content she’d been to let Duncan take care of the future. She felt so safe because she carried his name. Aye, she was bound to him.

Until today.

Now she was terrified again. The king demanded her attendance in court. She was going back to Louddon.

Madelyne began to pray. She pleaded with God to keep Duncan safe. She asked favor for Adela’s future, Gerald’s, too, and even prayed for Edmond and Gilard.

And then she whispered a prayer for herself. She begged for courage.

Courage to face the devil.

Chapter Twenty-one

“Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit.”

OLD TESTAMENT, PROVERBS, 26:5

Duncan knew something was wrong the minute he rode into the lower bailey. Anthony wasn’t there to greet him, and neither was Madelyne.

A feeling of dread settled around his heart. He goaded his stallion forward, galloped over the bridge and into the courtyard.

Adela came rushing out of the castle just as he and Gerald dismounted. She hesitated a short distance away from the two men, finally seemed to make up her mind, and then ran and threw herself into Gerald’s arms. When she embraced him, she started to cry.

It took patience and several long minutes to gain any information from Adela.

Duncan’s second-in-command, a large but soft-spoken man by the name of Robert, came running up to give his accounting. While Gerald sought to hush Adela, Robert explained that the king’s soldiers had come for Madelyne.

“Was the king’s seal on this missive?” Duncan asked.

Robert frowned over the question. “I do not know, Baron. I didn’t see the summons. And your wife insisted that she take the letter with her.” Robert lowered his voice to a whisper when he added, “She didn’t want anyone to read the contents of the summons to your sister.”

Duncan wasn’t sure what to make of his wife’s action. He concluded the directive must have included some sort of threat toward Adela and that Madelyne was trying to protect his sister from worry.

The king wouldn’t have threatened. Nay, William wouldn’t treat his loyal barons in such a way. Duncan had sufficient faith in his leader to believe his king would wait to hear all the explanations.

Louddon’s hand was in this treachery. Duncan would stake his life on it.

He immediately shouted the order to prepare to ride again. Duncan was so angry, he could barely think logically. The only calming thought was the fact that Anthony had gone with Madelyne. His loyal vassal had taken a small contingent of Duncan’s fittest warriors with him. Robert explained that Anthony dared not take too many soldiers, lest the king think he was being distrustful.

“Then Anthony believes the summons came directly from our king?” Duncan asked.

“I was not privy to his thoughts,” Robert answered.

Duncan called for a fresh mount. When the stablemaster led Silenus to him, Duncan asked why Madelyne hadn’t chosen his stallion to carry her to court.

James, unaccustomed to speaking directly to his lord, stammered out his reply. “She worried her brother would abuse the horse if he found out Silenus belonged to you, milord. Those were her true words.”

Duncan nodded, accepting the explanation. How like his gentle wife to be concerned about the horse. “She demanded one of the king’s horses,” James added.

Adela actually begged to go along with them. Duncan had already gained his saddle but was forced by his sister’s hysterics to wait precious minutes while Gerald disengaged himself from his intended.

After declining Adela’s plea to go with them, Gerald had to vow on his mother’s grave he’d return to her unscratched, a vow Duncan knew to be false since Gerald’s mother was still alive. He certainly didn’t comment on the contradiction, for he saw how Gerald’s promise had calmed his sister.

“Will you be able to catch up with milady?” James dared to ask his lord.

Duncan turned to look down at the stablemaster. He saw the frightened look in the man’s eyes and was warmed by his concern. “I’m at least a week late,” Duncan said. “But I will bring your mistress back, James.”

Those were the last words Duncan spoke until he was halfway to London. If the horses hadn’t needed rest, Gerald thought Duncan wouldn’t have stopped at all.

Baron Wexton separated himself from his men. Gerald left him alone for a few minutes and then went over to speak to him. “I would offer you a word of advice, friend.”

Duncan turned to look at Gerald. “Remember my reaction when I saw Morcar. Don’t let your rage control you, though I vow I’ll try to defend your back while we are in court.”

Duncan nodded. “I’ll be under control as soon as I see Madelyne. She’s been in court at least a week now. God only knows what Louddon has done to her. I swear to God, Gerald, if he has touched her, I’ll…”

“Louddon has too much at stake to harm her, Duncan. He needs her support, not her anger. Nay, there will be too many people watching him. Louddon will play the loving brother.”

“I pray you’re right,” Duncan answered. “I … worry about her.”

Gerald patted him on the shoulder. “Hell, man, you’re scared of losing her, just as I was scared of losing Adela.”

“What an arrogant pair we make,” Duncan announced. “Don’t worry about my anger. When I see my wife, I’ll be disciplined again.”

“Yes, well, there is another issue that needs discussion,” Gerald confessed. “Adela told me about the letter you received from the monastery.”

“How could she know about the letter?” Duncan asked.

“Your Madelyne told her. It seems she found the letter and read it.”

Duncan’s shoulders sagged. His worries had just multiplied. He wasn’t sure what his wife would do. “Did Adela tell you how Madelyne reacted? Was she angry. God, I hope she was angry.”

Gerald shook his head. “Why would you want her angry?”

“I lied to Madelyne, Gerald, and I would hope she’s angry over the lie. I don’t want her to think that I… used her in ill faith.” Duncan shrugged. It was difficult for him to put his feelings into words. “When I first met Madelyne, she tried to convince me Louddon wouldn’t come after her. She told me she wasn’t worthy of his attention. Madelyne wasn’t trying to deceive me, Gerald. God’s truth, she really believed what she said. Louddon made her feel that way, of course. She was under his thumb for nearly two years.”

“Two years?”

“Aye, from the time her mother died until he sent her to her uncle, Louddon was Madelyne’s sole guardian. You know as well as I what cruelty Louddon is capable of, Gerald. I’ve seen Madelyne grow stronger each day, but she is still… vulnerable.”

Gerald nodded. “I know you wish you’d been the one to tell her that Laurance wasn’t a true man of the cloth, but consider how unprepared she would have been if Louddon had been the one to explain it.”

“Aye, he would have caught her unprepared,” Duncan admitted. “Do you know that Madelyne asked me to teach her how to defend herself. There wasn’t time. Nay, I didn’t make time. If anything happens to her …”

Duncan was a man tormented. His innocent wife was back in the devil’s hands. The thought chilled his soul.

Gerald didn’t know what words to offer to give Duncan solace. “The moon gives us sufficient light to continue on through the night,” he suggested.

“Then we will take advantage of the light.”

The barons didn’t speak again until they’d gained their destination.

Madelyne tried to sleep. She was locked inside the chamber next to her sister Clarissa’s room. The walls were parchment-thin. Madelyne tried not to listen to the discussion Louddon was having with Clarissa.

She’d already heard enough. Madelyne was so sickened by her sister and her brother, she’d made herself ill. Her stomach wouldn’t keep any food down and her head pounded with pain.

Louddon had been very predictable. He greeted her in front of the king’s soldiers, kissed her on the cheek, even embraced her. Aye, he played the role of loving brother, especially in front of Anthony. As soon as they were alone in her chambers, however, Louddon had turned on her. He raged accusations, ending his tirade by knocking Madelyne to the floor with a powerful fist against her cheek. It was the same cheek he’d kissed in greeting.

Her brother regretted his outburst immediately, for he realized Madelyne’s face was going to bruise. Since he knew some of his enemies would conclude he was responsible, he kept Madelyne locked in her room and gave everyone the excuse that his sister had been through such an ordeal in the hands of Baron Wexton that she would need a few days to regain her strength.

Yet, while Louddon had been predictable, Clarissa had proven to be a devastating disappointment to Madelyne. When she had time to think about it, Madelyne realized she’d built up a fanciful picture of her older sister. Madelyne wanted to believe Clarissa cared about her. Yet every time she sent messages to both her sisters, neither Clarissa nor Sara ever bothered to answer her. Madelyne had always made excuses for their behavior. Now she realized the truth. Clarissa was every bit as self-serving as Louddon.

Sara hadn’t even come to London. Clarissa explained her absence by telling Madelyne that Sara was newly married to Baron Ruchiers and didn’t wish to leave his side. Madelyne hadn’t even known Sara was betrothed to anyone.

Madelyne gave up trying to rest. Clarissa’s voice grated like a shrill rooster’s call. The sister was prone to whine, was doing so now as she complained to Louddon about the humiliation Madelyne had caused her.

A snatch of conversation drew her over to the connecting door. Clarissa was talking about Rachael. Her voice was filled with loathing as she so easily defamed Madelyne’s mother. Madelyne knew Louddon hated Rachael, yet never thought his two sisters felt the same way.

“You wanted the bitch from the day she walked through the door,” Clarissa said.

Madelyne edged the door open. She saw Clarissa sitting on a padded cushion in the window well. Louddon was standing next to his sister. His back faced Madelyne. Clarissa was looking up at her brother. Both held goblets in their hands.

“Rachael was very beautiful,” Louddon said. His voice was harsh. “When Father turned against her, I was amazed. Rachael was such an appealing woman. Father forced the marriage, Clarissa. It was assumed that Baron Rhinehold would wed her.”

Clarissa snorted. Madelyne watched her take a long drink from her cup. Dark red wine spilled down the front of her gown, but Clarissa seemed oblivious to the mess and poured another cupful from the jug she held in her other hand.

The sister was as pretty as Louddon, with the same white-blond hair and hazel eyes. Her expression, when she was angry, was also just as ugly as her brother’s. “Rhinehold was no match for our father back then,” Clarissa said. “But Father was played the fool, wasn’t he? In the end Rachael mocked him. I wonder, Louddon, if Rhinehold knows Rachael was carrying his child when she wed our father?”

“No,” Louddon answered. “Rachael was never allowed to see Rhinehold. When Madelyne was born, Father wouldn’t even look at her. Rachael was punished for her folly.”

“And you hoped Rachael would turn to you for comfort, didn’t you, Louddon?” Clarissa asked. She laughed when Louddon turned to glare at her. “You were in love with her,” she goaded. “Rachael thought you were disgusting, though, didn’t she? If she didn’t have her brat to look after, I think she really might have killed herself. God knows I suggested it to her often enough. Perhaps, brother dear, Rachael didn’t fall down those steps. She might have been pushed.”

“You were always jealous of Rachael, Clarissa,” Louddon snapped. “Just as you’re now jealous of her daughter, illegitimate or not.”

“I’m not jealous of anyone,” Clarissa screamed. “God, I’m looking forward to getting this over and done with. Then I swear I’m going to tell Madelyne about Rhinehold. I might even tell her you killed her mother.”

“You will say nothing,” Louddon screamed. He slapped the goblet out of Clarissa’s hand. “You’re a fool, sister. I didn’t kill Rachael. She did slip and fall down those steps.”

“She was trying to get away from you when she fell.” Clarissa sneered.

“Let it be,” Louddon yelled. “And no one must ever know Madelyne isn’t one of us. The shame would affect you and me.”

“Will the little bitch do as you demand? Will Madelyne perform before our king the way you have decided? Or will she turn against you, Louddon?”

“She’ll do whatever I tell her to do,” Louddon boasted. “She obeys me because she’s afraid. What a coward she is. She hasn’t changed in temperament since she was a child. Besides, our little Madelyne knows I’ll kill Berton if she displeases me.”

“’Tis a shame about Morcar’s death,” Clarissa said. “He would have paid handsomely for Madelyne. Now no one will want her.”

“You’re wrong, Clarissa. I want her. I won’t let anyone marry her.”

Madelyne shut the door on Clarissa’s obscene laughter. She made it to the chamber pot just in time to throw up the bile from her stomach.

She wept for her mother, Rachael, and the hell Louddon and his father had put her through. She’d been appalled to learn that Rachael had gone to her marriage bed carrying another man’s child. And then the full truth dawned on Madelyne. She wept tears of joy next, for she’d just realized she wasn’t blood relative to Louddon after all.

She’d heard the name Rhinehold from Duncan, knew they were allies. She wondered if Baron Rhinehold was in court. She wanted to see what he looked like. Had he ever married? Louddon was right; no one must ever know … and yet, Madelyne knew she’d tell Duncan the truth. Why, he’d probably be as pleased as she was.

She was finally able to force her emotions under control. She would need her wits about her. Aye, she must try to protect Father Berton and Duncan. Louddon believed Madelyne would willingly betray one to save the other. There was also the problem of Adela, of course, but Madelyne wasn’t concerned about Duncan’s sister now. Nay, Gerald would marry Adela soon, and when that happened, the king couldn’t very well threaten to give Adela to Louddon.

Madelyne spent most of the night formulating her plan. She prayed Louddon would stay predictable, that Duncan would remain safe, and that God would give her courage for the battle ahead.

She finally closed her eyes to sleep. And then she played the same pretense she used to play when she was a little girl. Whenever she was frightened that Louddon was going to take her back home, she’d pretend Odysseus was standing over her, guarding her. The pretense changed, however. It was not Odysseus but Duncan standing guard now.

Aye, she’d found someone more powerful than Odysseus. She had her wolf to protect her now.

The following afternoon Madelyne accompanied Louddon to meet with their king. When they neared the king’s private chambers, Louddon turned to Madelyne and smiled at her. “I am counting on your honesty, Madelyne. You need only tell the king what has happened to your home and to you. I’ll do the rest.”

“And the truth will damn Duncan, is that what you believe?” Madelyne asked.

Louddon’s smile abruptly soured. He did not like the tone his sister used with him. “Dare you find your backbone now, Madelyne? Remember your precious uncle. Even now I have men ready to ride. If I give the word, Berton’s throat will be slit.”

“How do I know you haven’t already killed him?” Madelyne argued. “Aye,” she added when Louddon grabbed hold of her arm in a threatening manner. “You can’t control your temper, Louddon. You never could. How do I know you haven’t already killed my uncle?”

Louddon proved her comment about his temper was accurate. He lashed out, striking her face. The bejeweled ring he wore cut the edge of her lip. Blood immediately began to trickle down Madelyne’s chin. “Look what you’ve made me do,” Louddon bellowed. He arched his hand again to inflict another blow, and suddenly found himself slammed up against the wall next to Madelyne.

Anthony had appeared out of the shadows. He now had Louddon by his neck, and was giving Madelyne every indication he was going to strangle her brother.

Madelyne had deliberately provoked her brother into losing his temper. God’s truth, she wasn’t even thankful for Anthony’s interference. “Anthony, unhand my brother,” Madelyne commanded. Her voice was harsh but she softened the order by placing her hand on the vassal’s shoulder. “Please, Anthony.”

The vassal shook off his anger, let go of Louddon, and calmly watched the baron crumble into a coughing fit to the floor.

Madelyne took advantage of her brother’s weakened condition. She leaned up and whispered into Anthony’s ear. “’Tis time for me to put my plan into action. No matter what I do or say, do not argue with it. I am protecting Duncan.”

Anthony nodded so that Madelyne would know he’d understood her. He longed to ask her if her plan was to goad Louddon into killing her. And why was she thinking to protect Duncan? It was obvious to the vassal that his mistress wasn’t the least bit concerned about her own safety.

It took all of Anthony’s determination not to show any reaction when Madelyne helped Louddon to his feet. He didn’t want Madelyne to touch the bastard.

“Louddon, I don’t believe you haven’t harmed Uncle Berton,” Madelyne said when her brother tried to drag her away from Anthony. “We will solve this problem here and now.”

Louddon was astonished by Madelyne’s boldness. His sister wasn’t acting timid or frightened now. “What do you think to tell the king when he notices the marks on my face, Louddon?”

“You aren’t going to see the king,” Louddon bellowed. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m taking you back to your chambers, Madelyne. I’ll speak to our leader on your behalf.”

Madelyne pulled out of her brother’s grasp. “He’ll want to see me and hear my explanation,” she said. “Today, tomorrow, or next week, Louddon,” she added. “You have only extended the wait. And do you know what I’ll tell our king?”

“The truth.” Louddon sneered. “Aye, your honesty will trap Baron Wexton.” He actually laughed over his own announcement. “You can’t help yourself, Madelyne.”

“I would tell the truth if I spoke to the king. But I’m not going to say a word. I’ll simply stand there and stare at you when the king asks me his questions. God’s truth, I’ll not say one word.”

Louddon was so enraged by Madelyne’s threat, he almost hit her again. When he raised his hand, Anthony took a menacing step forward. Louddon’s urge to retaliate was immediately pushed aside.

“We’ll speak of this later,” Louddon said. He gave Anthony a meaningful glare before he continued. “When we are alone, I promise you I’ll change your mind.”

Madelyne hid her fear. “We’re going to speak of this now, Louddon, else I’ll send Anthony to our king to tell him how you are mistreating me.”

“You think William would care?” Louddon shouted.

“I am as much his subject as you are,” Madelyne returned. “I will also instruct Anthony to tell the king how concerned I am that you are going to kill Uncle Berton. I doubt William would like the church’s reaction to a baron murdering one of their own.”

“The king wouldn’t believe you. And you know damn well your precious priest is alive. But if you persist in this rebellion, I will have him killed. Goad me further, bitch, and I’ll—”

“You’ll send me back to live with Uncle Berton. That is what you’ll do.”

Louddon’s eyes widened and his face turned a blotchy red. He couldn’t believe this radical change in his sister’s disposition. She was standing up to him, and in front of a witness too. Worry edged into Louddon’s mind. It was imperative that he have Madelyne’s cooperation if he was going to sway their king into ruling against Duncan. Aye, he’d counted on Madelyne to tell how Duncan had destroyed his fortress and taken her captive. Suddenly Madelyne had become unpredictable.

“You expect me to answer only certain truths, don’t you? What if I begin my accounting by telling how you tried to kill Baron Wexton?”

“You will answer only those questions put to you,” Louddon bellowed.

“Then give in to my request. Let me go to my uncle. I’ll stay with him and let you take care of this problem with Baron Wexton.”

Madelyne felt like weeping over her deliberate choice of words. Problem, indeed. Louddon was out to see Duncan destroyed. “I swear to you, I could do your petition far more damage if I’m called before the king. The truth might damn Duncan, but my silence will damn you.”

“When this is over …”

“You’ll kill me, I suppose,” Madelyne announced with a forced shrug of indifference. Her voice was devoid of emotion when she said, “I don’t care, Louddon. Do your worst.”

Louddon didn’t need to think about Madelyne’s threat. He concluded immediately that she should be removed from court. There simply wasn’t time to beat her into submission.

Just two days past he’d learned of Morcar’s failure to kill Duncan. Morcar was dead, and Duncan would surely arrive in London anytime now.

Perhaps he should let his sister have her way. Her departure would serve his purpose well, he decided.

“You will leave within the hour,” Louddon announced. “But my men will escort you, Madelyne. Wexton’s men,” he added, staring at Anthony now, “have no reason to follow after you. The baron no longer has a say in your affairs. He has his sister back and you now belong to me.”

Madelyne agreed before Anthony could offer argument. The vassal exchanged a look with his mistress and then nodded his acceptance.

He didn’t have any intention of honoring the agreement, of course. Anthony would follow Madelyne no matter where Louddon sent her. He would be discreet, however, and let Louddon believe his duty was done. “Then I’ll return to Wexton fortress,” he announced before he turned and walked away.

“I must go and have a few words with the king,” Louddon muttered. “He is expecting us. I’m giving in to your whim, Madelyne, but you and I both know the time will come when you must report what happened to William.”

“I will give him my honesty,” Madelyne returned. When Louddon looked suspicious, she hastily added, “And that will, of course, support your cause.”

Louddon looked slightly appeased. “Yes, well, perhaps the visit to your uncle is best after all. Seeing him again will remind you of your tenuous position.”

The bitch needs reminding of how important her uncle is to her, Louddon decided. She’d obviously forgotten what an old, frail man Berton was, and how impossible it would be for him to protect himself. Aye, she needed to see the priest again. Then he’d have his fearful, timid sister back where he wanted her.

“There is always the chance that I’ll have taken care of Duncan before you’re asked to return to court, Madelyne. Return to your rooms now and get your puny possessions. I shall send soldiers to escort you to the courtyard.”

Madelyne pretended humility. She bowed her head and whispered her appreciation. “I have truly been through such an ordeal,” she told her brother. “I hope the king does not argue with your request that I leave …”

“My request?” Louddon laughed, an obscene sound that grated. “He won’t even know, Madelyne. I need not request anything from William on such minor issues.”

Louddon turned and walked away after making his odious boast. Madelyne watched him until he’d disappeared around the curve in the corridor. She turned then and started back toward her chambers. Anthony waited in the shadows and was quick to intercept her. “You take too many chances, milady,” Anthony muttered. “Your husband will be displeased.”

“We both know Duncan isn’t my husband,” Madelyne said. “It is important that you not interfere, Anthony. Louddon must believe he truly has his sister back.”

“Madelyne, I know you think to protect Adela, but Gerald’s duty—”

“Nay, Anthony,” Madelyne interrupted. “I am only thinking to gain time. And I must go to my uncle. He is like a father to me. Louddon will kill him if I don’t protect—”

“You must protect yourself,” Anthony argued. “Instead, you try to protect the world. Will you not listen to reason? You’ll be vulnerable if you leave the castle grounds.”

“I am far more vulnerable here,” Madelyne whispered. She patted Anthony’s hand and then said, “I’ll be vulnerable until Duncan has righted this problem. You will tell Duncan where I’ve gone, Anthony, and then it will be his decision.”

“What decision?” Anthony asked.

“Whether to come after me or not.”

“You actually doubt…”

Madelyne let out a long sigh. “Nay, I do not doubt,” she said, shaking her head for emphasis. “Duncan will come after me, and when he does, he’ll leave soldiers to guard my uncle. I only pray he is quick about it.”

Anthony couldn’t fault Madelyne’s plan. “I’ll keep you in my sight at all times,” he vowed. “You’ve only to cry out and I’ll be there.”

“You must stay here and tell Duncan—”

“I’ll leave another to see to that duty,” Anthony said. “I gave my word to my lord to protect his wife,” he added, placing force on the word wife.

Though she didn’t admit it, Madelyne was relieved to have Anthony’s guard. When she’d finished gathering her clothing, she hurried to the courtyard adjacent to the king’s stables. Three of Louddon’s soldiers had escorted her. They left her standing alone now while they prepared their mounts.

Madelyne was thankful she hadn’t run into Clarissa again. And Louddon was still in conference with their king… filling his head full of lies about Duncan, Madelyne knew.

A curious crowd had gathered to watch the departure. The marks on Madelyne’s face were quite noticeable, and she couldn’t help but overhear the speculative comments behind her back.

A tall red-headed woman separated herself from the group and rushed over to Madelyne. She was a beautiful woman, with a regal, elegant manner, a good deal taller than Madelyne, and a bit more filled out as well. She didn’t smile at Madelyne but gave her a look of hostility.

Madelyne met her stare and asked, “Is there something you wished to say to me?”

“’Tis a risk I take in speaking so openly to you,” the woman began. “I must think of my reputation, you see.”

“And speaking to me will tarnish it?” Madelyne asked.

The woman looked surprised by the question. “But of course,” she admitted. “Surely you realized that you are no longer a desirable—”

Madelyne cut off the veiled insult. “Say what you wish to say and be gone then.”

“I am Lady Eleanor.” Madelyne couldn’t hide her surprise. “Then you’ve heard of me? Perchance Baron Wexton has spoken of—”

“I have heard of you,” Madelyne whispered. Her voice shook. She couldn’t help but feel a bit inferior standing next to the woman. Lady Eleanor was dressed splendidly, while Madelyne wore a simple traveling gown of faded blue.

Duncan’s intended appeared to be everything Madelyne believed she wasn’t. She was so composed, so dignified. Madelyne doubted the woman had ever been clumsy, even when she was a little girl.

“My father has still to come to formal agreement with Baron Wexton regarding our wedding date. I just wanted to tell you that you have my compassion, poor child. I don’t place any blame on my future husband though. He was merely retaliating in kind. But I did wonder if Baron Wexton mistreated you.”

Madelyne heard the worry in Lady Eleanor’s voice and was furious. “If you must ask me that question, then you don’t know Baron Wexton well at all.”

She turned her back on the woman and mounted the horse one of the soldiers had led over to her. When she was settled, she looked down at Lady Eleanor and said, “He did not mistreat me. Now you have your question answered and it is my turn to ask you something.”

Lady Eleanor agreed with a curt nod.

“Do you love Baron Wexton?”

It became obvious after a long silent moment that Lady Eleanor wasn’t going to answer Madelyne. She did raise an eyebrow, and the look of disdain on her face told she had little liking for the question.

“I am not a poor child, Lady Eleanor,” Madelyne announced, letting her anger sound in her voice. “Duncan won’t marry you. He won’t sign the contracts. He’d have to give up his greatest treasure in order to marry you.”

“And what be that treasure?” Lady Eleanor inquired, her voice mild.

“Why, I’m Duncan’s greatest treasure. He’d be a fool to give me up,” she added. “And even you must know that Duncan is anything but a fool.”

Madelyne then goaded her mount forward. Lady Eleanor had to jump out of the way, else be pounded into the ground. Dust flew up in the silly woman’s face.

She didn’t look so superior now. Aye, Lady Eleanor was clearly furious. Her anger pleased Madelyne considerably. She felt as though she’d just won an important battle. It was victory to Madelyne’s way of thinking, childish, born of rudeness, true, but a victory all the same.

Chapter Twenty-two

“We walk by faith, not by sight.”

NEW TESTAMENT, II CORINTHIANS, 5:7

She told him everything.

The retelling of all that had happened to Madelyne took almost two full days. The dear priest demanded to hear every word, every feeling, every outcome.

Father Berton had wept tears of joy when Madelyne walked into his tiny cottage. He admitted he’d missed her terribly and couldn’t seem to gain control of his emotions for most of that first day. Madelyne, of course, did a fair amount of weeping too. Her uncle declared that it was fine enough to be so undisciplined because they were all alone, after all, and no one could witness their emotional display. Father’s companions were off to visit another old friend who’d suddenly taken ill.

It wasn’t until she’d prepared their supper and they were seated side by side in their favorite chairs that Madelyne was finally able to begin her recitation. While the priest ate his dinner, Madelyne told her story. She thought only to give her uncle Berton a brief summary, but he wouldn’t allow a skimpy accounting.

The priest seemed to savor every detail. He wouldn’t let Madelyne continue until he’d memorized each word. His training as both a translator and a guardian of the old stories was the reason Madelyne gave for this familiar peculiarity.

When Madelyne first greeted her uncle, she began to worry about his health. He seemed to be failing. Aye, she thought his shoulders slumped a little more now. His back appeared to be a bit more bent, too, and he didn’t seem to move about the cottage as quickly. Yet his gaze was just as direct, his comments just as sharp. Father Berton’s mind was as keen as ever. When he confessed that his companions wouldn’t be returning to live out their last years with him, Madelyne surmised it was loneliness and not his advanced years of fifty summers that accounted for the changes she’d noted.

Madelyne was confident Duncan would come for her. Yet when three full days had passed, and still not a sign of Duncan, her confidence began to evaporate.

Madelyne admitted her fears to her uncle. “Perhaps, once he was again acquainted with Lady Eleanor, he changed his mind.”

“’Tis foolish talk you’re giving me,” Father Berton announced. “I’ve as much faith as you, child, that Baron Wexton didn’t know Laurance wasn’t a priest. He thought he’d married you, and for a man to take such a step, there’d be a true commitment in his heart. You’ve told me his declaration of love. Have you no faith in his word then?”

“Oh, of course I do,” Madelyne returned. “He does love me, Father. I know he does, inside my heart, yet a part of my mind does try to make me worry. I awakened during the night and my first thought was a frightening one. I asked myself what I would do if he doesn’t come for me. What if he did change his mind?”

“Then he be a fool,” Father Berton answered. A sparkle appeared in the priest’s eyes. “Now tell this old man again, child, what were your very words to Lady Eleanor with the pretty red hair and the regal bearing?”

Madelyne smiled over the way he teased her with her own description of Lady Eleanor. “I told her I was Duncan’s greatest treasure. It wasn’t a very humble remark, was it?”

“You spoke the truth, Madelyne. Your heart knows it well enough, but I’m agreeing there’s a wee portion of your mind that needs some convincing.”

“Duncan isn’t a fool,” Madelyne said then. Her voice was firm with conviction. “He won’t forget me.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against the cushion on the back of the chair. So much had happened to her in such a short time. Now, as she sat beside her uncle, it seemed as though nothing had really changed at all.

The old fears were trying to get the better of her. She’d soon be weeping and feeling pity for herself if she didn’t guard against it. Madelyne decided she needed rest. Aye, it was only because she was so exhausted that she tended to worry now. “I do have value,” she blurted out. “Why has it taken me so long to know it?”

“It doesn’t matter how long it took,” her uncle said. “What’s important is that you’ve finally realized it.”

The rumble of thunder drew her uncle’s attention. “Sounds as though we’ll be having a good rain in a few minutes,” he remarked as he stood and started for the window.

“Thunder’s close enough to pull the roof apart,” Madelyne remarked, her voice a sleepy whisper.

Father Berton was about to agree with his niece’s comment when he reached the window and looked outside. The sight he beheld so startled him, he had to brace his hands against the window’s ledge, else lose his balance and surely collapse to his knees.

The thunder was silent now. But Father could see the lightning. It wasn’t in the sky though. Nay, it was on the ground … for as far as his eyes could see.

The sun forced the pretense, deflecting the shards of silver bolts as they bounced from chest plate to chest plate.

A legion it be, united behind one warrior, all armored, all quiet, all waiting.

Father squinted against the magnificent sight. He nodded once to the soldier’s leader and then turned to walk back to his chair.

A wide smile transformed the old priest’s face. When he was again seated beside Madelyne, he forced his smile aside, dared to affect a disgruntled sound to his voice, and said, “I believe there’s someone here to see you, Madelyne. Best see who it be, child. I’m too weary to get up again.”

Madelyne frowned over his request. She hadn’t heard anyone knock on their door. As a measure to placate him, she stood up to do his bidding. She remarked over her shoulder that she supposed it could be Marta paying a call to give them fresh eggs and old gossip.

The priest gained such a chuckle over her comment, he actually slapped his knee.

She thought it was a strange reaction from a man who’d just protested weariness.

And then she opened the door.

It took a minute or two for Madelyne to comprehend what she was seeing. She was so astonished, she couldn’t move. She simply stood there, in the center of the doorway, with her hands clenched at her sides, staring up at Duncan.

He hadn’t forgotten her after all. The realization settled in Madelyne’s mind once the numbness had worn through.

He wasn’t alone either. Nay, over a hundred soldiers were lined up behind their lord. All were still on horseback, all were wearing their full glorious battle armor, and every one of them was looking at her.

A silent signal brushed through the legion. As one, they suddenly raised their swords in salutation. It was the most magnificent show of loyalty Madelyne had ever witnessed.

She was overwhelmed. Madelyne had never felt so cherished, so loved, and so very, very worthy.

And then she understood the reason Duncan had called up so many of his soldiers to make this journey. He was showing her how important she was to him. Aye, he was proving her value.

Duncan didn’t move. He didn’t say a word for a long time. He was content to stay on Silenus’s back and look upon his beautiful wife. Duncan could feel his worry, his uncertainty, ebb from his heart. God’s truth, he thought he was the most content man in all the world.

When he noticed the tears streaming down Madelyne’s face, he finally gave her the words he thought she needed to hear. “I’ve come for you, Madelyne.”

Was it coincidence that Duncan now repeated the very first words he’d ever spoken to her? Madelyne didn’t think so. The look in Duncan’s eyes made her believe he did remember.

Madelyne straightened away from the door, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and then very deliberately put her hands on her hips. “’Tis high time, Baron Wexton. I have waited the longest while for you.”

She thought her arrogant remarks pleased Duncan, but she couldn’t be certain. He moved too quickly for her to see his face. One minute he was seated atop Silenus, and the next he was pulling her into his arms.

When he leaned down to kiss her, Madelyne threw her arms around his neck. She clung to him as his mouth feverishly settled on hers with almost frantic possessiveness. His tongue thrusted inside to reconquer what belonged to him.

Madelyne felt as though she was being swept away by a tide of arousal rushing through her. She met Duncan’s demand by giving him all she knew how to give. Aye, she was just as savage in her quest to devour him. She was just as hungry for his touch, just as frantic.

The noise finally penetrated Duncan’s mind. Reason was slow to return, however. He pulled his mouth away only to immediately return to her bruised lips a second time.

Madelyne also caught the sound. When Duncan finally lifted his head away from hers, she realized the soldiers were cheering. Good Lord, she’d quite forgotten they were there.

She knew she blushed and told herself she didn’t care. Duncan didn’t seem the least concerned, but he was so covered with dust and grime, and a full week’s worth of whiskers, it was difficult to see any reaction.

He kissed her again, a quick, hard kiss it was, that told her he wasn’t the least concerned about their audience. Madelyne’s arms circled his waist. She leaned the side of her face against his chest and squeezed with all her might.

He sighed, pleased with her enthusiasm.

Madelyne remembered her duty, when she heard a discreet cough sound behind her. She should introduce Duncan to her uncle. The problem, of course, was that she couldn’t get the words past her throat. And when Duncan leaned down and whispered, “I love you Madelyne,” she became too preoccupied with weeping to speak at all.

Duncan motioned for his men to dismount and turned to look over Madelyne’s head to the old man waiting a short distance behind her. He pulled Madelyne into his side, unwilling to let her move away from him for even a short time, and then said, “I am Baron Wexton.”

“I would certainly hope so,” Father Berton answered. The priest smiled over his own jest and then started to bow. He was stayed from the formal show of respect by the baron’s hand.

“’Tis I who should kneel before you,” he told the priest. “I’m honored to meet you at last, Father.”

The priest was humbled by the baron’s speech. “She is your greatest treasure, is she not, Baron?” he asked. He was looking at Madelyne now.

“Aye, she is,” Duncan admitted. “I will be forever in your debt,” he added. “You have protected her for me all these years.”

“She isn’t yours yet,” Father Berton announced. He was pleased to see the surprise that remark caused. “Aye, I’ve still to give her to you. ’Tis a marriage I’m speaking of, a true marriage, Baron, and the sooner done the better for this old man’s peace of mind.”

“Then you will wed us in the morning,” Duncan dictated.

Father Berton had witnessed the passionate kiss between the baron and his niece. He wasn’t at all sure tomorrow would be fast enough. “You’ll not be sleeping next to Madelyne tonight then,” he warned. “I’ll continue to guard her well, Baron Wexton.”

Duncan and Father Berton exchanged a long, hard stare. Then Duncan smiled. For the first time in a very long while, he found he couldn’t intimidate someone. Nay, the priest wasn’t going to back down.

He nodded. “Tonight.”

Madelyne witnessed the exchange. She knew full well what the two men were talking about. She thought she might have looked as red as a sunburn. It was, after all, an embarrassment for her uncle Berton to know she’d slept with the baron.

“I would also like to wed Duncan tonight, but I do not—” Madelyne paused in her explanation when she saw Anthony walk over to stand by her side. “Father, this is the vassal I old you about,” she said, smiling now.

“You are the one who placed yourself between my niece and Louddon when he tried to strike her again?” the priest asked, moving forward to grasp Anthony’s hand.

“I was,” Anthony admitted.

“Again?” Duncan shouted. “She wasn’t in the king’s protection?”

“It was nothing,” Madelyne protested.

“He would have killed her,” the priest interjected.

“Aye, he wanted to harm her,” Anthony said.

Madelyne could feel the tension in Duncan’s grip around her waist.

“It was nothing,” Madelyne protested again. “A mere slap …”

“She carries the bruises still,” Father Berton announced with a vigorous nod.

Madelyne gave her uncle a good frown. Couldn’t he tell his comments were upsetting Duncan?

When Duncan tilted her face up so that he could see the marks, Madelyne shook her head again. “He’ll never touch me again, Duncan. That is all that matters. Your loyal vassal did protect me,” she added before turning back to look at her uncle. “Uncle, why do you incite Duncan’s anger?”

“There are marks on her shoulders and back, Baron,” Father Berton said, ignoring Madelyne’s question.

“Uncle!”

“You did not say a word to me,” Anthony said to Madelyne. “I would have—”

“Enough. Father, I know you well. What game do you play now?” Madelyne demanded.

“You were about to tell Baron Wexton you’d like to marry him tonight, child, but you didn’t finish your comments, now, did you? The truth of the matter, Baron,” the priest said, turning to Duncan, “is that my niece will try to delay this marriage. Won’t you, Madelyne? You see, child,” he added, giving Madelyne a tender smile, “I know your mind better than you think I do.”

“Does he speak the truth?” Duncan asked, frowning. “You have not changed your feelings, have you?” Before Madelyne could answer, he said, “It will not matter. You belong to me, Madelyne. ’Tis a fact you cannot turn your back on.”

Madelyne was so astonished that Duncan would feel such insecurity. She realized then that his feelings were just as vulnerable as her own. It seemed that he needed to hear the words of her love as often as she did. “I love you, Duncan,” she said, loud enough for both Anthony and Father Berton to hear.

“I’m aware of that,” Duncan returned, sounding arrogant again. His grip lessened, though, and he did relax against her.

“There is much to be seen to,” Anthony commented. “I have need to speak to you in private, Baron.” The vassal turned and started to walk away.

“And you must surely be in need of a meal,” the priest added. He turned to walk back inside his cottage. “I shall begin preparations immediately.”

“A bath is first,” Duncan said, giving Madelyne a good squeeze before releasing her. He was following her uncle, when Madelyne’s words stopped him cold. Anthony and Father Berton also paused.

“We cannot marry just yet, Duncan.”

She could tell, from the look on all three faces, that none of them cared for her announcement.

Madelyne clasped her hands together. Her words were hurried, for she wanted to make Duncan see reason before he bellowed at her. “If only we could wait until Gerald is wed to Adela, then Louddon cannot use the argument…”

“I knew it,” Anthony muttered. “You still try to protect the world. Baron, that is only one of the announcements I’ve need to explain to you.”

“She always would protect those she believed needed it,” the priest said.

“You don’t understand,” Madelyne said, rushing up to face Duncan. “If we marry now, you’ll be going against your king. He’ll give Adela to Louddon. That’s what the missive suggested, Duncan.”

Madelyne would have continued her argument but for look in Duncan’s eyes. She couldn’t stop wringing her hands, but she was able to close her mouth.

Duncan stared at Madelyne a long moment. She couldn’t tell if he was pleased or angered with her now. “I have but one question to put to you, Madelyne. Do you have faith in me?”

She didn’t need time to think about it. Her answer was quick and forceful.

“I do.”

Her answer pleased him. Duncan embraced her, placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, and then turned away again. “We marry tonight.”

He stopped then, but didn’t turn around. Madelyne knew what he waited for. Aye, he sought her agreement.

“Yes, Duncan, we’ll marry tonight.”

It was, of course, the correct answer. Madelyne knew that well enough when her uncle started chuckling, Anthony started whistling, and Duncan turned to give her a firm nod.

He wasn’t smiling. That didn’t bother her, however, when she realized Duncan had never doubted her. Her answer was but a reaffirmation. Nothing more.

The next hour was a blur of activity. While Duncan and Anthony sat at the small table inside the cottage and ate their supper, Father Berton went to explain the situation to his host, the Earl of Grinsteade.

The earl was still hanging on to life, and though he didn’t have the strength to attend the ceremony, Duncan would pay a formal visit as soon as the wedding was over.

Duncan and his vassal walked to the lake behind the earl’s home to bathe and speak to each other in private. Madelyne used the time to change her gown. She brushed her hair until it curled to her satisfaction, then decided to forget fashion and leave it unbound. She knew Duncan preferred it that way.

She wore his colors again, of course. Her shoes and chainse were a pale cream in color, and partially covered by the hand-stitched royal blue bliaut. She’d worked nearly a month on the yoke circling the neckline of the bliaut, making minute stitches, all the color of cream, of the design she wished to effect. In the center of her artwork was the outline of her magical wolf.

Duncan probably wouldn’t even notice, she thought. Warriors of his stature didn’t take time to note such things. “It’s just as well,” she admitted out loud. “He’d think me fanciful again and surely tease me.”

“Who will tease you?” Duncan asked, standing in the doorway.

Madelyne turned, a smile on her face, and looked at her warrior. “My wolf,” she immediately answered. “Is something amiss, Duncan. You look … unsettled.”

“You grow more beautiful with each passing hour,” Duncan whispered. His voice felt like a caress.

“And you more handsome,” Madelyne said. She smiled at Duncan, then dared to tease him. “I’m wondering why my intended would wear black attire to his wedding though. Such a grim color,” Madelyne announced. “And one used for mourning. Could you be mourning your fate, milord?”

Duncan was taken aback by her comments. He shrugged before answering. “It is clean, Madelyne. That is all that should matter to you. Besides, it is the only other clothing I carried with me from London.” He started toward her, his intent obvious in his dark gaze. “I’m going to kiss you senseless enough not to notice my attire.”

Madelyne ran to the other side of the table. “You cannot kiss me until we are wed,” she said, trying not to laugh. “And why didn’t you shave?”

Duncan continued to stalk his quest. “After.”

Now, what did he mean by that? Madelyne paused to frown. “After?”

“Aye, Madelyne, after,” Duncan answered. His hot stare confused her almost as much as his odd remark.

She deliberately hesitated long enough to be captured. Duncan pulled her into his arms. He was about to take her mouth, when the door opened. A loud cough gained his attention.

“We’re waiting to begin,” Father Berton announced. “There is one worry, however.”

“What is that?” Madelyne asked once she’d wiggled out of Duncan’s arms and righted her appearance.

“I would like to walk by your side, but I can’t be in two places at the same time. And who be the witnesses to this act?” he added, frowning.

“Can you not walk with Madelyne to the altar and then proceed with the mass?” Duncan asked.

“And when, as priest I ask who gives this woman in holy matrimony, I should then run to Madelyne’s side to answer my own question?”

Duncan grinned, picturing the scene.

“It will be an oddity, but I could manage,” Father Berton announced.

“My soldiers will all bear witness,” Duncan said. “Anthony will stand behind Madelyne. Is that good enough for you, Father?”

“So be it,” Father Berton decreed. “Go now, Baron, wait by the makeshift altar I have fashioned outside. You’ll be wed under the stars and the moon. ’Tis God’s true palace to my way of judging.”

“All right then, let’s get this over and done with.”

Madelyne took exception to his choice of words. She chased after Duncan, claiming his hand to get his attention. “Over and done with?” she asked, frowning.

When he looked down at her, Madelyne decided he’d been teasing her. And then he spoke, and her frown disappeared altogether. “We have been bound to each other since the moment we met, Madelyne. God knew it, I knew it, and if you’ll only reflect upon the truth, you’ll admit it too. We’ve pledged ourselves to each other, and though Laurance was not a priest and couldn’t give us his true blessing, we are still wed.”

“From the moment I warmed your feet,” Madelyne whispered, repeating his past explanation.

“Aye, from that moment.”

She looked as if she were going to weep. What an emotional woman his gentle wife had turned out to be. While her reaction pleased him, he knew she wouldn’t wish to appear so undisciplined in front of his men. He immediately sought to repair her control. “You should be thankful, you know.”

“Thankful for what, Duncan?” Madelyne asked, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

“That it wasn’t summer when we met.”

She didn’t understand at first. And then she laughed, a full, lusty sound that warmed his heart. “So it’s the weather that gave you to me, is that your way of thinking?”

“You wouldn’t have had to warm my feet if it had been summer,” he said. He gave Madelyne a quick wink.

She thought he looked most arrogant. “You would have found another reason,” she said.

Duncan would have responded to that comment if Father Berton hadn’t started pushing him toward the door. “The men are waiting on you, Baron.”

As soon as Duncan left, Father Berton turned to Madelyne. He spent several minutes advising her on her duties as wife. When that task was done, he spoke from his heart, telling her how very proud he was to claim her for his family.

And then he offered his arm to the woman he’d baptized, seen raised, and loved as a daughter.

It was a beautiful ceremony, and when it was finished, Duncan presented his wife to his vassals. The men knelt before Madelyne and gave her their vow of loyalty.

Duncan was exhausted and impatient. He left his wife to pay an official call on the Earl of Grinsteade, and returned to Father Berton’s cottage less than twenty minutes later.

The priest had already gone to sleep. His pallet was across the room. Madelyne’s bed was on the opposite wall, with only a curtain to protect her privacy.

Duncan found his wife sitting on the edge of the narrow bed. She was wearing the gown she’d been married in.

After he’d removed his clothing, he stretched out on top of the covers, drawing Madelyne down upon his chest. He kissed her soundly and then suggested she get ready for bed.

Madelyne took her time with the task. She kept pausing to peek around the curtain to see if her uncle was sleeping. Then she finally leaned down to tell Duncan that she really thought they should find a private place outside to sleep together. After all, it was their wedding night, and it had been a long time since they’d touched each other. Surely he could see the way of it, couldn’t he, for once she started kissing him, she knew she’d be frightfully wild about it. God’s truth, she knew she’d be loud. Why, she was ready to scream now.

Duncan didn’t even try to hush her. She realized then that she really needn’t have bothered with her explanation. Her husband was sound asleep.

The frustrated bride snuggled up against her husband, gritted her teeth together, and tried to fall asleep.

The sounds of Father Berton moving around the room awakened Duncan. He was instantly alert, feeling something was amiss and not immediately understanding what it was.

He started to stand up, his mind clearing now, only to realize he almost stepped on Madelyne. Duncan smiled over the absurdity of it. His wife was sleeping on the floor, a thick blanket her only covering.

Lord, he’d fallen asleep on their wedding night.

Duncan sat on the side of the bed, staring down at his lovely wife, until he heard the door open and then close behind the priest. He glanced out the window on the other side of the bed in time to see Father Berton walk toward the castle doors. The priest was wearing his church vestments and carrying a small silver chalice.

Duncan turned back to Madelyne. He knelt beside her and lifted her into his arms. Then he placed her on the bed. Madelyne immediately rolled onto her back, kicking the cover aside.

She wasn’t wearing her sleeping gown. Dawn’s light, streaming through the window, dappled her skin a golden hue. Madelyne’s glorious hair was transformed by the rising sun into the color of fire.

Duncan’s desire intensified until he was aching with need. He sat down on the side of the bed and began to make love to his wife.

Madelyne awakened with a sigh. She felt wonderfully lethargic. Duncan’s hands were caressing her breasts. Her nipples strained for more. Madelyne moaned and moved her hips restlessly in sleepy invitation to her husband.

She opened her eyes and looked up at Duncan. His hot gaze made her shiver with desire. She reached up to him, trying to draw him down upon her, but Duncan shook his head, denying her.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispered to her. “And much, much more,” he promised.

Before Madelyne could answer him, Duncan leaned down and took one breast into his mouth. He sucked the nipple while his hands stroked the flat of her stomach.

Madelyne’s moans became wilder, louder. The sounds she made in the back of her throat pleased him, though not nearly as much as the taste of her.

His hand moved between her legs. He found the treasure he sought, thrust his finger inside, and was nearly driven beyond reason by her hot, wild response.

He wanted it all.

Duncan abruptly rolled to his side. Madelyne turned to her husband. The side of her face rested on Duncan’s warm thigh.

His mouth was driving her wild. She couldn’t seem to draw a breath, her stomach indrawn as her husband placed wet kisses around her navel. His fingers continued his sweet torture. Madelyne whimpered when Duncan gently nudged her thighs apart. She knew what he wanted to do and opened herself to him, begging him to kiss her there.

Duncan moved lower, until he was tasting the heat of her. His tongue teased, tormented. And his beard drove her mad. His whiskers were excitingly abrasive against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

She wanted to taste him. All of him.

There was no warning of her intent, no tender kisses leading up to her quest. Madelyne arched her hips against Duncan as she captured him and took him into her mouth.

She was given her moans then. Her hands and mouth were just as pleasing, just as erotic as Duncan’s. Aye, he told of his pleasure by moving forcefully against her.

And then he was suddenly pulling away from her. He turned, settled himself between her thighs, and penetrated her. His seed immediately spilled forth, his climax seemingly unending. The force of his surrender gave Madelyne her own release to the same splendor.

She was too weak to move, couldn’t even summon the strength to let go of her husband’s shoulders.

He was content. He thought to kiss his wife, to tell her how very satisfied he was, but he couldn’t seem to make the effort. Aye, he was too content to move.

They stayed as one for long, pleasing minutes.

Madelyne recovered her wits before her husband did. She suddenly remembered where they were. When she tensed against Duncan, he guessed her thoughts. “Father Berton has gone to say mass,” he whispered.

Madelyne relaxed against him. “Of course, you were loud enough for my army to hear,” he added.

“You were just as loud,” Madelyne whispered back.

“Now I’ll shave,” Duncan told her.

Madelyne started to laugh. “I understand what you meant by telling me you’d shave after, Duncan. You knew your beard would drive me mad.”

Duncan braced himself on his elbows and looked down into Madelyne’s eyes. “Do you know how much you please me, wife?”

“I do,” she whispered. “I love you, Duncan, now and forever.”

“Did you love me when you realized Laurance wasn’t a true priest and I lied to you?”

“Aye, though I did want to throttle you for not telling me. Lord, I was angry.”

“Good,” Duncan remarked, smiling over the startle that comment caused. “I worried you would have thought I’d lied to you about other things,” he admitted.

“I’ve never doubted your love, Duncan,” Madelyne said.

“But you doubted your worth,” he reminded her.

“No longer,” she whispered. She drew him down to kiss him and then demanded that he make love to her once again.

It was a much more leisurely union the second time, but just as satisfying.

Father Berton returned to his home to find both Madelyne and Duncan dressed. The baron sat at the table, his gaze never leaving his wife’s figure as she went about the task of preparing their breakfast.

“I’ve need for a priest, Father,” Duncan said. “Would you like the duty of looking after my soul? I could request your attendance immediately.”

Madelyne was so pleased with Duncan’s suggestion, she clapped her hands together.

Father Berton smiled, then denied the request with a shake of his head. “The earl has taken me in all these years, Duncan. I cannot abandon him now. He depends upon my council. Nay, I can’t leave him.”

Madelyne knew her uncle was doing the honorable thing. She nodded. “I would suggest that you come to us after the earl is put to rest, but God’s truth, I do think he’s going to outlive us all.”

“Madelyne! Do not speak so unkindly of the earl,” Father Berton admonished.

Madelyne immediately looked contrite. “I didn’t mean to be unkind, Uncle. And I am ashamed, for I understand your duty to the earl.”

Duncan nodded. “Then we will come to visit you, and when you are finished with this duty, you will come to live with us.”

He was much more diplomatic than she was. Madelyne saw how her uncle smiled and nodded his agreement. “How long will we be staying here?” she asked her husband then.

“We must leave today,” Duncan announced.

“We could stay here until the summer’s end,” she suggested before she could stop herself.

“We leave today.”

Madelyne sighed. Duncan was trying to stare her down, she realized. “Then today it is,” she said.

Father left the cottage then, pretending an errand to fetch bread from the cook. As soon as the door closed behind him, Madelyne walked over to her husband. “You must allow me to have an opinion, husband. I’ll not always bow to your dictates.”

Duncan grinned. “I know that well enough, Madelyne. You are my wife and will rule by my side. But your argument to stay here is most—”

“Unreasonable,” Madelyne interjected with a sigh. She sat down on Duncan’s lap and put her arms around his neck. “I’m putting off the inevitable. You might as well know the full truth about your wife, Duncan. I am a bit of a coward on occasion.”

Duncan thought his wife’s confession was quite amusing. He laughed, uncaring that Madelyne wasn’t looking too pleased with his conduct. When he gained control, he said to her, “You have more courage inside you than all my men put together. Who dared death to release her brother’s enemy?”

“Well, I did, but—”

“Who stood behind Gilard’s back and saved him?”

“I did, Duncan, but I was so frightened and I—”

“Who took on the task of caring for my sister? Who conquered Silenus for her lamb? Who—”

“You know it was me,” Madelyne said. She put her hands on Duncan’s cheeks and then said, “But you’ve still to understand. Each time I did any of those tasks you believe are honorable, I was so afraid inside. Why, I was terrified just standing up to you.”

Duncan pushed Madelyne’s hands away and drew her down for a long kiss. “Fear doesn’t mean you’re a coward, love. Nay, in my mind it means you are mortal. Only a fool puts caution aside.”

When he finished his speech, he had to kiss her again.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do when we return to court, Duncan,” Madelyne said next. “I don’t want to displease you or say the wrong thing in answer to the king’s questions. He’ll question me, won’t he, Duncan?”

He caught the fear in her voice, shook his head over it. “Madelyne, nothing you do will ever displease me. And you’ve only to tell the truth to the king’s questions. That is all I would ever ask of you.”

“’Tis what Louddon said to me,” Madelyne muttered. “He thinks my truths will trap you.”

“This is my battle, Madelyne. Tell the truth and leave the rest to me.”

Madelyne sighed. She knew he was right.

Duncan tried to lighten her mood. “I must shave before we leave for court,” he announced.

Madelyne started to blush. “I would prefer that you never shave again. I have come to … appreciate your beard, milord.”

Duncan fully appreciated his wife’s honesty. His forceful kiss told her so.

Duncan and Madelyne arrived in London two days later. Gilard, Edmond, and Gerald met them at the gates. They all wore grim expressions.

After giving Madelyne a welcoming embrace, Edmond told Duncan the other barons had already settled in their chambers.

Gilard next embraced Madelyne. He took his time with the greeting, and when he turned to speak to Duncan, his arm was still circling Madelyne’s waist. “Do you go to the king tonight?”

Duncan decided Gilard wasn’t quite over his infatuation with Madelyne. He pulled his wife into his side before he answered his brother. “I go now.”

“Louddon thinks Madelyne is with her uncle. He’s probably hearing of her return right this minute, Duncan. I must remind you that Louddon knows you’re not married,” Gerald interjected.

“We are married now,” Duncan said. “Father Berton officiated, with my vassals as witnesses to the act, Gerald.”

Gerald couldn’t help but smile over that news.

“The king’s going to be angry,” Edmond predicted with a scowl. “Marrying before this matter is righted will be taken as a personal insult.”

Duncan was about to respond to Edmond’s comments, when his attention was drawn to the king’s soldiers. Led by William’s brother, Henry, the men marched in union to stand directly in front of Duncan.

Henry motioned to the soldiers to wait and then said to Duncan, “My brother sends his guard to escort Lady Madelyne to her chambers.”

“I’m going to William now to give him my accounting, Henry. I’m uneasy letting Madelyne go anywhere without me. She was mistreated when last under our king’s protection,” he added, his voice grim.

Henry didn’t show any reaction to Duncan’s harsh voice. “’Tis doubtful the king even knew she was here, Duncan. Louddon …”

“I’ll not have her placed in jeopardy again, Henry,” Duncan argued.

“Then you wish this dear lady to be placed in the middle of your tug-of-war with her brother?” Henry inquired.

Before Duncan could answer, Henry said, “Come, walk with me. There is something I wish to say to you.”

Out of deference to his position, Duncan immediately obeyed the order. He walked by Henry’s side to a secluded area of the courtyard.

Henry did most of the talking. Madelyne had no idea what he was saying, but she could tell from the look on her husband’s face that Duncan wasn’t too pleased with the conversation.

As soon as Duncan and Henry returned to the waiting group, Duncan turned to his wife. “Madelyne, go with Henry. He’ll see you settled.”

“In your chambers, Duncan?” Madelyne asked, trying not to sound worried.

Henry answered her question. “You’ll have your own rooms, my dear, under my guard. Until this matter is settled, neither Louddon nor Duncan will be allowed near you. ’Tis a fact that my brother has a fierce temper. Let us not fire the timber just yet. Tonight will be soon enough.”

Madelyne looked at Duncan. When she received his nod, she bowed to Henry. Duncan took her aside then, leaned down, and whispered into her ear.

Everyone became highly curious over this conversation, for when Madelyne turned back to Henry, she was looking quite radiant.

Gilard watched Madelyne take Henry’s arm and walk toward the entrance. “What did you say to her, Duncan? One minute our Madelyne was looking ready to weep and the next she was smiling and looking most content.”

“I merely reminded her of an ending to a certain story,” Duncan said with a shrug.

It was all he was going to say on the matter. Edmond suggested he go refresh his appearance and even sleep for a few hours.

Though Duncan thought it ludicrous for Edmond to suggest sleep, he did follow his advice about changing his tunic.

“I believe I’ll follow Madelyne,” Edmond commented then. “Perhaps I’ll find Anthony standing outside her door and stay with him until this evening.”

Duncan nodded. “Don’t let Henry think you doubt his guard,” he warned.

With those parting words Duncan walked away.

Gilard turned to Baron Gerald then. “We’ve averted a battle. Duncan would have charged into the king’s chambers and demanded immediate justice.”

“A temporary condition,” Gerald answered. “The battle is still to come. The other barons will call on Duncan this afternoon. He’ll be kept busy enough. Henry interceded and deserves his due for it. One day Duncan will thank him.”

“Why would Henry be concerned over this matter?” Gilard asked.

“He wants Duncan’s loyalty,” Gerald answered. “Come, Gilard, find me a cool drink and toast my coming marriage to your sister.”

Gilard looked pleased. “She has agreed then?”

“She has. I’m going to marry her before she changes her mind.”

Gilard laughed over Gerald’s announcement. Gerald smiled. He was pleased because he’d successfully turned Gilard’s attention away from Henry’s motives. Gerald didn’t feel Gilard needed to be privy to the secret meeting he’d attended, nor Henry’s odd questions about Duncan’s loyalty. His reasons were easy enough to understand. Gilard might ask questions of the wrong barons, inadvertently causing trouble that wasn’t needed now. Aye, the Wexton brothers had enough problems to solve.

“After we’ve toasted your marriage, I believe I’ll go and stand with Edmond.”

“It’s going to be crowded in the corridor outside Madelyne’s rooms,” Gerald commented. “I wonder what Louddon will do, Gilard, when he learns his sister is back.”

The baron under question had gone hunting in the king’s forest. Louddon didn’t return to the castle grounds until late that afternoon. He was immediately informed of Madelyne’s return.

Louddon was, of course, furious. He went to claim his sister.

Anthony stood alone outside Madelyne’s door now. Both Edmond and Gilard had gone to change for the coming dinner and confrontation.

When the vassal saw Louddon approaching, he lounged against the wall and gave Madelyne’s brother a look of disgust.

Louddon ignored the vassal. He pounded on the door, shouting for entrance.

Henry opened the door. He greeted Louddon politely and then announced that no one was allowed to speak to Madelyne.

Before Louddon could argue, the door slammed shut in his face.

Madelyne watched the scene with bewilderment. She didn’t know what to think of Henry’s behavior. The king’s brother hadn’t left her side for more than a few minutes when she’d gone into the sleeping chamber to change her dress for her meeting with the king.

“Your brother’s face is as red as my brother’s,” Henry announced after closing the door against Louddon. He walked over, took hold of Madelyne’s hand, and led her over to the window, a considerable distance from the door.

“The walls have ears,” he whispered. His voice, Madelyne noticed, was very kind.

She decided then and there to discard the rumors about Henry. He wasn’t a very handsome man, small in size when compared to Duncan. It was said that Henry was greedy for power, a manipulator as well. He was known to have a lusty appetite, too, having fathered over fifteen bastard children. Because he was being so kind to her, Madelyne decided she wasn’t going to judge him.

“I thank you again for aiding my husband this day,” Madelyne said when Henry continued to look at her so expectantly.

“Something has been prickling my curiosity all afternoon,” Henry confessed. “If it not be a private matter, I would like you to tell me what Duncan said to you before you left him. You seemed very pleased.”

“He told me to remember that Odysseus is home.”

When she didn’t continue the explanation, Henry commanded her to give him the full story.

It sounded like an arrogant demand, yet Madelyne wasn’t bothered by it. “I told my husband a story about a warrior named Odysseus. He was away from his wife a long time, and when he finally returned, he found his home infested with evil men who were trying to harm his wife and rob him of his treasury. Odysseus sent his wife the message that he was home. He cleaned his house of these terrible infidels too. Duncan is reminding me that he’ll take care of Louddon.”

“Your husband and I are alike in character then,” Henry announced. “Aye, the time for cleaning this house has arrived.”

Madelyne didn’t understand. “I worry Duncan will do something to anger our king,” she whispered. “You have said how fierce the king’s temper is.”

“I’ve another matter to take up with you,” Henry suddenly said. His voice had gone hard.

Madelyne tried not to look startled. “Are you my husband’s friend as well as his ally?” she asked.

Henry nodded. “Then I will do anything I can to help you,” Madelyne said.

“You’re as loyal as Duncan,” Henry remarked. He seemed pleased with his observation. “If I intercede on your behalf with the king, will you do whatever is decided. Even if it means your exile?”

Madelyne didn’t know how to answer. “You could be saving your husband’s life,” Henry said.

“I will do whatever is necessary.”

“You’ll have to trust me as much as you trust your husband,” Henry warned.

Madelyne nodded. “My husband believes you’re the most clever of the three—” She gasped when she realized what she’d just said.

Henry laughed. “So he knows my value, does he?”

Madelyne blushed. “He does,” she said. “I’ll do anything to keep my husband safe. If it means my own death, so be it.”

“So you think to sacrifice yourself?” Henry asked. His voice was kind now. He smiled, too, confusing Madelyne. “I don’t imagine Duncan will go along with your plan.”

“This matter is most complicated,” Madelyne whispered.

“You’ve told me you trust me. I will aid your cause, my dear.”

Madelyne nodded. She started to curtsy and then decided to kneel. “I thank you for your help.”

“Stand, Madelyne. I am not your king.”

“I wish that you were,” Madelyne confessed. Her head was bowed but she let Henry help her to her feet.

Henry didn’t respond to her traitorous remark. He walked over to the door. Before he opened it, he turned back to Madelyne. “Wishes do come true, Madelyne.”

Madelyne frowned over Henry’s odd comment. “Show loyalty to neither side when we walk into the hall, Madelyne. Let everyone speculate until you’re called to speak. I’ll stay by your side.”

With those words Henry left.

Two hours passed before the king’s brother came back to fetch her. She walked next to him, her hands down at her sides, her back stiff. She prayed she gave a serene appearance. And she thought she’d die if she didn’t see Duncan soon. She needed to know he was near.

When she and Henry walked into the main hall, she realized they were late. Most of the guests had already eaten and servants were clearing the tables.

She could feel everyone staring at her. Madelyne met their curious gazes with a tranquil expression. It was the most difficult pretense, and all because she’d slowly looked around the room and couldn’t find Duncan in the crowd.

Her husband stood against the far wall. Gilard and Edmond stood by his side. Duncan watched his wife walk into the hall. She looked composed, and very, very beautiful. She was wearing the gown she’d been married in. The memory of that blessed event saved Duncan from charging after her.

“She holds herself like a queen,” Gilard whispered.

“She isn’t awkward now,” Edmond lamented.

“She’s terrified.”

Duncan made that announcement as he started forward. Gilard and Edmond immediately blocked his path. “She’ll come to you, Duncan. Give Henry time.”

Louddon was speaking to Madelyne now. Henry had turned to speak with an old acquaintance.

“I’ll thrust my blade into your back if you take one step toward Baron Wexton,” Louddon threatened. “And give the order to kill your precious priest as well.”

“Tell me this,” she asked, surprising her brother with the anger in her voice. “Will you also kill Duncan and his brothers, and all his allies too?”

Louddon couldn’t restrain himself. He grabbed hold of Madelyne’s arm. “Don’t test me, Madelyne. I’ve more power than any other man in England.”

“More power than our king?” said Henry.

Louddon jumped visibly. He turned to confront Henry, twisting Madelyne’s arm in the process. “I’m your brother’s humble advisor, nothing more, nothing less.”

Henry showed his displeasure over Louddon’s remark. He took hold of Madelyne’s hand, knocking Louddon’s own away. Henry then stared at the red marks on Madelyne’s arm a long, silent minute. When he looked back at Louddon, his eyes seemed to mirror his disgust. “I’m going to introduce your sister to a few of our loyal friends.”

His voice was hard, challenging. Louddon backed away. He gave his sister another threatening glare and then nodded to Henry.

“What did he say to you?” Henry demanded.

“He promises to kill my uncle Berton if I take one step toward Duncan.”

“He bluffs, Madelyne. He can’t do anything now, not in front of his peers. And tomorrow it will be too late. You’ll have to trust me to know what I’m talking about.”

Clarissa had obviously seen Louddon dismissed by Henry. She strolled over to greet Madelyne.

“I was going to show Madelyne my brother’s impressive gardens,” Henry told her.

“Oh, I’d love to see the garden as well,” Clarissa announced.

Her plan to stay by Madelyne’s side was easily seen through. Henry immediately foiled her. “Another time, perhaps?” he said.

Clarissa wasn’t able to hide the hatred from her gaze. She turned without saying another word and walked away.

Madelyne walked by Henry’s side toward the doors leading onto the terrace. “Who is that man speaking to Edmond?” she asked then. “The one with the bright hair. He has the most unsettled look on his face.”

Henry quickly located the man. “He is Baron Rhinehold.”

“Is he married? Does he have a family?” Madelyne asked, trying not to sound too curious.

“He never took a wife,” Henry said. “Why do you take this interest in Rhinehold?”

“He knew my mother,” Madelyne answered. She continued to look at Baron Rhinehold, waiting for him to glance her way. When he finally looked at her, Madelyne gave him a smile.

Though she knew it wasn’t possible, she wished she could spend a few minutes alone with the baron. According to Clarissa, Rhinehold was Madelyne’s father, and the reason Rachael’s husband hated her.

Madelyne was a bastard. The truth didn’t shame her. No one would ever know the truth, except Duncan, of course, and … dear God, she’d forgotten to tell him.

“Does Duncan call Baron Rhinehold his friend?” Madelyne asked Henry.

“He does,” Henry answered. “Why do you ask?”

Madelyne didn’t know how to answer him, and so she sought to change the topic. “I wish I could speak to Duncan for just a moment. I’ve just remembered something I have need to share with him.”

“Luck is on your side, Madelyne. Did you not just see Louddon leave with his friends? He’s no doubt going to try one last time to sway our king before the meeting is called. Wait on the terrace and I’ll send Duncan to you.”

She wasn’t kept waiting long.

“Madelyne, it will be over soon,” Duncan said as way of greeting. He took her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. “Soon, love, I promise you. Have faith in me, my sweet—”

“Have faith in me, Duncan,” Madelyne whispered. “You do, don’t you, husband?”

“I do,” Duncan answered. “Come, stand by my side when we speak to the king. He should arrive at any moment.”

Madelyne shook her head. “Louddon believes I’ll trap you. Henry wants my brother to continue to feel confident until the last moment. For that reason I cannot stand by you. Don’t frown so, Duncan. It will be over soon enough. And I’ve the most wonderful news to give you. Why, I’ve known the truth for several days but there’s been so much going on I quite forgot to tell you when I first—”

“Madelyne.”

She realized she was rambling then. “I am illegitimate. What think you of that news, husband?”

Duncan did look surprised. “I’m a bastard, Duncan. Doesn’t that please you? God’s truth, I am pleased, because it means I’m not related to Louddon at all.”

“Who has called you bastard?” Duncan demanded. His voice was soft, yet filled with rage.

“No one. I heard Louddon talking to Clarissa. I always wondered why Louddon and his father had turned against my mother. Now I know the truth. She was carrying a child when she married. She was carrying me.” Duncan stared at Madelyne. She thought he might be worried. “Will it matter to you that I’m a bastard?”

“Stop that talk,” Duncan told her. He shook his head. But he was smiling and Madelyne’s heart was warmed with love. “Wife, you’re the only woman in this world who would welcome such news.” He tried, yet couldn’t contain his laughter.

“Louddon won’t tell anyone,” Madelyne whispered. “He has freed me and doesn’t even know it. Will it matter to you?”

“How can you ask such a question?”

“Because I love you,” Madelyne said with a mock sigh. “It doesn’t matter if you’re upset or not. You have to love me forever, husband. You gave me your word.”

“Aye, Madelyne,” Duncan answered. “Forever.”

The trumpets sounded behind them just as Duncan leaned down to kiss his wife again. “Do you know who is your father perchance?” he asked when he saw the fear return to Madelyne’s eyes.

“Rhinehold,” Madelyne announced, nodding vigorously when Duncan smiled at her. “You are pleased,” she said. “I can see that you are.”

“Very pleased,” Duncan whispered. “He is a good man.”

Henry made the interruption from behind Duncan’s back. “It’s time,” he called out. “Madelyne, come with me now. The king waits.”

Duncan could feel Madelyne tremble. He gave her a squeeze before releasing her. When she started to walk away, his mind worked to find something, anything, to ease her worry.

Madelyne had just reached the doorway when Duncan called out to her. “Rhinehold has red hair, wife. As red as fire.”

She didn’t turn around. “’Tis more brown than red, Duncan. Surely you can see that.”

And then her laughter reached him and he knew she was going to be all right.

Chapter Twenty-three

“… The just is blessed, but the name of the wicked shall rot.”

OLD TESTAMENT, PROVERBS, 10:7

Silence descended upon the gathering as William II made his way to his chair positioned atop a platform. When the king sat down, everyone lowered their heads.

The laughter was gone from Madelyne’s eyes now. She stood alone in the center of the room. Henry had left her unattended and was now speaking to his brother.

Whatever Henry was saying to the king didn’t seem to sit well. She watched as King William suddenly shook his head and waved his hand in front of his brother’s face. It was an obvious dismissal.

Madelyne closed her eyes and prayed for courage. Henry had told her that Louddon would present his side of the debate first, Duncan second, and she last of all.

She opened her eyes and found Duncan across the room. He stared at her as he slowly made his way over to her side. Neither said a word, but each looked at the other for a long time. Madelyne felt as though Duncan were giving her some of his strength. She rose up on tiptoe and kissed her husband, in plain sight of anyone who might be watching.

Oh, Lord, how she loved him. Duncan looked so confident, so unconcerned. He even winked at her when the soldier shouted his name.

“Stay here until you’re called,” Duncan said. He brushed his hand against her cheek before he turned and went to his king.

Madelyne didn’t want to obey him. She started to follow, and hadn’t gotten very far when she suddenly found herself completely surrounded on all sides by Edmond, Gilard, Gerald, and a number of barons she didn’t even know. They made a complete circle around her.

The crowd parted as Duncan and Louddon made their way to stand before their leader. The two men faced each other a good thirty feet apart.

The king spoke, addressing the crowd. He told of his displeasure over these two warring barons, the pity and anger he felt because of slain soldiers, his frustration over hearing so many different accountings of what had truly taken place. The king ended his tirade by demanding the truth. He then nodded to each baron and motioned for Louddon to begin.

Louddon immediately protested innocence of any wrongdoing. He accused Duncan of treachery, stating that the baron had destroyed his fortress, killed as many as two hundred good, loyal men, taken his sister captive, and nearly destroyed her.

Louddon then took the defense, stating that Duncan blamed him for something another man had done to his sister, Adela. He spun a web of lies around the king, reeking with sincerity as he claimed he hadn’t even known Baron Wexton was going to challenge him. How could he? He was in court when Duncan and his soldiers attacked his fortress and had witnesses ready to testify to that fact.

Louddon ended his persuasive argument by insisting that Duncan had no evidence of any wrongdoing, while he had plenty of evidence regarding Duncan’s foul deeds.

He was as slick as an eel and lied like a whore to his king. He turned cunning next. Louddon explained he understood the king’s difficulty in knowing which one to believe and therefore called forth three men to give testimony on his behalf.

When the king nodded, each man Louddon called knelt before their leader and told their lies. Madelyne didn’t recognize any of the faces, but she knew their names well. They all shared the same. Aye, each one was Judas.

The last witness finished his obviously rehearsed story and moved to stand behind Louddon. Madelyne grabbed hold of the back of Edmond’s tunic and was twisting the edge. Edmond turned, pulled his garment free, and then took hold of Madelyne’s hand. Gilard grabbed hold of her other hand.

They offered her their comfort. Neither brother had expected the king to allow witnesses. Both were furious, and worried too. And both tried to hide their feelings from Madelyne.

Louddon stepped forward again. He bowed, added a few more of his obscene truths, and finished his version by dramatically pleading for true justice.

It was Baron Wexton’s turn to speak. The king was obviously on good terms with his vassal, for he called him Duncan when he commanded him to tell his version.

Duncan was a man of few words. He quickly stated the facts. He didn’t call any witnesses but explained that Louddon had abused Adela, tried to kill him, and he had retaliated in kind. It was evident to everyone in the hall that Duncan wasn’t pleading for justice. He was demanding it.

“You have witnesses to bring forth to verify your accounting?” the king asked.

“I have given you the truth,” Duncan answered. His voice was hard, controlled. “I need no witnesses to verify my honesty.”

“You have each charged the other with ill conduct. There are still questions to be settled in my mind.”

“He is caught in the middle,” Gilard whispered to Edmond.

Edmond nodded. Each man did contradict the other. Edmond thought the king wanted to rule in Duncan’s favor. Yet Louddon had balanced the scale in his favor by bringing witnesses to lie on his behalf. Duncan was a loyal vassal, a warrior as well, who could become a threat if he felt his king had betrayed him.

It was an insult to ask Duncan to have others testify on his behalf. He had told the truth. The king would either believe him or not.

Edmond let out a ragged sigh. Duncan wouldn’t play the game now. He was stubborn in his belief that he’d acted honorably in the past and that the king would believe him now.

Yet Louddon had also made a valid point in his maze of lies. Duncan had married Madelyne without gaining permission. That was an insignificant breach, but destroying another baron’s fortress and killing over two hundred soldiers was a more serious charge.

Duncan had stated that Louddon had tried to trap him twice, but those charges couldn’t be proven. Gilard could testify to one battle, true, yet he couldn’t state for fact that Louddon had been behind the attack.

Gerald could also testify against Louddon when the second trap was set, but Morcar could be blamed. Louddon hadn’t been there either.

Edmond cleared his mind when Madelyne’s name was called. He turned to look at her.

Madelyne straightened her shoulders, composed her expression, and slowly walked toward the king. She stopped when she reached the platform and then knelt down with her head bowed.

“Your brother has convinced me that you have been through too much pain to give me your accounting now,” the king announced. “I therefore release you from this duty.”

Madelyne took to her feet and stared in astonishment at the king. She understood now why Louddon was looking so confident all evening. He’d already made certain that she wouldn’t be allowed to speak.

“I am one of your loyal subjects,” Madelyne announced. She could tell she had the king’s full attention, for his eyes did seem to widen. “Though I do not have an army of vassals to give you aid, I would do anything within my power to serve you. I would like to answer your questions.”

The king immediately nodded. “You do not seem distraught, as your brother has indicated,” he announced. He leaned forward and said in a lowered voice, “Would you prefer that I empty the hall before you tell me all that has happened to you?”

Madelyne was surprised by the gentle tone the king used with her. “I do not prefer it,” she whispered.

“Then tell me what you can about this puzzle.”

Madelyne obeyed. She folded her hands in front of her, took a calming breath, and then began her recounting.

It was quiet enough to hear a mouse nibble on cheese. “I would begin with the night of the attack on my brother’s fortress if you wish,” she said.

“That would be good enough,” the king said. “I know it will be difficult for you, gentle lady, but I would have more light shed on this problem.”

Madelyne wished the king weren’t being so kind to her. It made her task all the more difficult. “My husband says you are an honorable man,” she whispered.

William leaned forward in his chair again. He was the only one who heard what she said. “I am many things to many people,” he boasted. He kept his voice as low as Madelyne’s, wishing only to share his comments with her. “I believe I am honorable to everyone, even gentle ladies who have no armies to help my cause.”

Madelyne gifted the king with a smile.

“Now, begin your tale,” the king commanded, his tone loud enough for all to hear.

“I was on my way up to my chambers when one of my brother’s soldiers announced to Louddon that Baron Wexton wished to speak with him.”

“Louddon was there?” the king asked.

“He was,” Madelyne said. “I heard him tell the soldier to let Duncan inside the gates under the sign of truce. It was a trap, of course, for as soon as Duncan rode inside the fortress, he was taken captive. My brother told his vassal he was going to kill Duncan. He thought himself very clever, you see, because he’d come up with a plan to kill the baron by freezing him to death.”

Louddon let out a gasp. He started toward Madelyne, but stopped when he noticed Duncan reach for his sword. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Louddon stammered out. “Madelyne is too distraught to know what she’s saying. Release her from this ordeal!”

The king waved his hand for silence. Louddon took a deep breath. He calmed himself when he realized that the rest of Madelyne’s story would be in his favor.

“There will be no more interruptions,” the king shouted. He turned back to Madelyne, gave her a curt nod. “Continue, if you please, by explaining this clever plan to freeze my baron to death. I do not understand.”

“Louddon didn’t want to use a weapon on the baron. Once he’d died from the freezing temperature, the men would take his body to a remote area and leave it there until someone found him or until wild animals got to him. They stripped him of his clothes and tied him to a post in the courtyard.”

Madelyne paused to take another deep breath. “Louddon left for London. He left some of his men to guard Duncan, but they couldn’t take the cold, and finally went inside. As soon as they left, I untied Duncan.”

“And did his soldiers attack the fortress then?”

“They gained entrance by climbing over the walls. Their duty was to protect their lord,” Madelyne said.

“I see.”

Madelyne didn’t know what that meant. She glanced over to look at Louddon, saw him smirk, and then looked over at Duncan. Her husband nodded encouragement to her.

“They came inside, you say?” the king asked after a long minute.

“A fight began,” Madelyne said.

“And then you were taken captive?”

“In truth, I was given freedom from my brother’s mistreatment. He did like to hurt me, and as God is my witness, I tired of his abuse.”

A surprised murmur rolled through the crowd. “Baron Wexton took me with him. I was afraid of Louddon and I confess again to you that for the first time in my life, I really felt safe. Duncan is an honorable man. He treated me well. I never feared he would hurt me. Never.”

The king glared at Louddon a long minute and then turned back to Madelyne. “Who burned his home to the ground? Or was it burned at all?”

His voice had risen in volume.

“Duncan destroyed my fortress,” Louddon shouted.

“Silence,” the king roared. “Your sister is giving her accounting and she’s the only one I wish to hear. Answer this question,” he added to Madelyne.

“Louddon destroyed his own home when he dishonored the sign of truce,” Madelyne announced.

The king sighed. He looked weary now. “Then I can assume your virtue wasn’t taken from you?”

Madelyne all but shouted her answer. “He didn’t touch me.”

Another low murmur escaped the crowd. Everyone was quite spellbound by the strange tale unfolding.

Until that moment Madelyne hadn’t actually spoken a lie. “Duncan didn’t touch me, but I’ve promised to speak the full truth and so I’ll confess to you that I did try to take advantage of his good nature. ’Tis the truth that I did eventually seduce him.”

A gasp replaced the murmur now. Madelyne thought she heard Duncan groan. The king looked ready to scream. Duncan was suddenly standing next to Madelyne, and his hand covered her mouth. She guessed he wanted her to stop.

When she nudged him, Duncan moved his hand back to rest on her shoulder.

“Do you realize how you defame yourself, my dear woman?” the king bellowed.

“I love Duncan,” Madelyne answered. “And I wasn’t able to seduce him until we were married.”

The king turned to scowl at Louddon again. “Your charge that your sister was defiled I now deny. I’ve only to look at her to see she speaks the truth.”

The king then asked Madelyne, “What about your husband’s charge that Louddon defiled his sister?”

“It is true,” Madelyne said. “Adela told me what happened to her. Morcar attacked her, but Louddon was there too. It was his plan and he was therefore just as responsible.”

“I see.” The king looked furious. He continued to question Madelyne a long while. She fenced with her answers, yet always spoke the truth.

“My husband acted with courage, my brother with deceit,” Madelyne said.

She sagged against Duncan’s side when she was finally finished.

“Do you have anything further to say to me?” the king asked Louddon.

Louddon could barely speak. His face was mottled with fury. “My sister boldly lies to you,” he stammered.

“Isn’t this the same sister you praised to me as always speaking the truth?” he yelled.

Louddon didn’t answer him. The king turned back to Madelyne. “You are loyal to your husband. An admirable trait. Do you tell me truths now or do you protect Duncan?”

Before Madelyne could answer, the king turned to Duncan. “Do you have anything further to add to this?”

“Only that it was an equal seduction,” Duncan commented. His voice was mild now. “And thoroughly satisfying.”

A roar of approval echoed through the hall. The king smiled.

He stood then and gave his decision. “Louddon, you have betrayed my confidence in you. You are now stripped of all duties and forever banned from my court.”

He turned to Duncan next. “My brother, Henry, has suggested a time to cool your anger. I am displeased over the havoc caused and the lives lost, but I accept that you were retaliating in measure for your sister’s honor. Perhaps a month with the Scots would be sufficient time.”

Madelyne felt Duncan stiffen against her. She took hold of his hand and squeezed it, begging him to keep silent.

“If, when you return, you still wish to challenge Louddon and the men who stand with him in this matter, I will allow a fight to the death. The choice of confronting will belong to you.”

Duncan didn’t immediately accept or reject the order. He didn’t like waiting to challenge Louddon.

He felt Madelyne tremble. Her fear made the decision for him. “I will leave immediately.”

The king nodded. “I’ve released Louddon from his duties, Duncan. I’ve given him a month to hide from you,” he admitted.

“I’ll find him.”

The king smiled. “Of that I have no doubt.”

Duncan bowed to his king. William then left the room, with Louddon chasing after him.

“I would have a few words with you, wife,” Duncan whispered.

Madelyne tried to smile at her husband. His face was masked. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or just irritated. “I am very tired, Duncan. And you did tell the king we would leave immediately.”

“We?”

“You wouldn’t leave me here, would you?” she asked, clearly appalled.

“I would not.”

“Do not tease me,” she muttered. “I have been through an ordeal.”

Baron Rhinehold interrupted the discussion. “Your wife equals you in courage, Duncan. She faced our king and told him her story. Why, her voice never wavered.”

“And what did she tell him?” Duncan asked, his voice mild.

Baron Rhinehold smiled. “That is the question, isn’t it? I listened to her explanation and am still confused as to who burned what, who attacked and who retreated … and still I haven’t the faintest idea of what happened.”

“You have just described my life with Madelyne,” Duncan announced. His voice sounded pained now.

Duncan looked down at Madelyne and saw how she stared at the baron. “I’ve forgotten to introduce you,” he realized out loud. “Baron, this is my wife, Madelyne. I understand that you knew her mother?”

The baron nodded. “Your wife looks like Rachael,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Baroness.”

He had such a nice smile. Madelyne could feel herself getting emotional. She forced a smile and said, “I would like to speak to you about my mother, Baron. Perhaps, when we return from our temporary exile, you would pay us a visit.”

“I would be honored,” Rhinehold said.

There wasn’t any more time to talk with the baron. The other allies came to express their pleasure over the outcome. Madelyne stood by Duncan’s side, holding his hand, wishing he’d tell her what he thought about this encounter.

Duncan ignored her. He turned when Gerald joined them and stated that they would ride in one hour’s time.

“Duncan? Is there time for me to gather my things from my room?” Madelyne asked.

“You wear the clothes on your back, wife.”

Madelyne sighed. “You’re angry then?” she asked.

Duncan looked down at his wife. Her eyes were misty and she chewed on her lower lip. He slowly shook his head. “Seduce me? My God, you told the king you seduced me. When you decide to tell a falsehood, you aren’t the least timid.” He grinned at her while he rebuked her.

“It wasn’t a falsehood,” Madelyne said. “I did want you to kiss me and I never liked it when you stopped. That is a bit of a seduction, isn’t it, Duncan? And I kissed you that first night. You only responded in kind, husband. Aye, it was the truth. I did seduce you.”

“If you’d told the full truth, I would have been able to challenge Louddon now,” Duncan pointed out.

“Oh, I know how that works,” Madelyne said. “You both contradicted each other. The king would have put you in a lake, with your hands and feet tied to stones. And if you sank to the bottom, then he’d know you spoke the truth. Of course you’d be dead, but your honor would be intact. Well, I don’t want to go to bed at night with your honor for company. I want you alive and well. What say you to that, husband?”

Though she tried, she couldn’t help the tears that escaped.

Duncan was staring at her with the most astonished expression on his face.

“Madelyne,” he said, drawing her name out in an exaggerated sigh, “warriors are not put to such trials. The church uses that method, not the king.”

“Oh.”

Duncan felt like laughing. He took Madelyne into his arms, smiled when he heard her mutter, “I have been through an ordeal.”

“You have a heart of gold,” he said. “Come, wife. I have the urge to let you seduce me.”

Madelyne was in complete agreement with his plan.

They made camp almost four hours later. Madelyne was weary. Clarissa had intercepted her just as she was leaving with Duncan. The vile, angry words she’d yelled at Madelyne still echoed in her mind.

Duncan left her by a stream he’d found while he saw to protecting his camp. Madelyne was in his sight at all times, however. As long as Louddon was alive, Duncan wasn’t going to leave Madelyne’s side.

Madelyne washed as best she could under the circumstances and then returned to the campsite. Duncan had just finished building a tent for the two of them. It was a short distance away from the contingent of men traveling with them.

“Will Father Berton be safe enough? Or do you think you should increase the number of men guarding him?” she asked Duncan.

“He will be fine,” Duncan said. “I left the fittest men in charge. Don’t worry, love.”

Madelyne nodded. “Do you remember the first night we slept together?”

“I remember it well.”

“I thought the fire was too close and worried our tent would catch flame,” she said.

“You worried about everything,” Duncan told her. He untied the roped belt resting against her hips. “You slept with your clothes on that night.”

“I protected my virtue,” Madelyne said. “I hadn’t known then that I really wanted to seduce you.” She laughed over the disgruntled look on her husband’s face.

“I protected your virtue,” Duncan countered.

Madelyne settled herself on top of the animal skins. It was a cool, accommodating evening. The breeze refreshed and the bright moon gave them a soft light.

“Take your clothes off, Madelyne,” Duncan told her. He’d already stripped out of his tunic and his boots.

Madelyne wanted to do just that, but she worried about the men. She tugged Duncan’s hand. When he was leaning over her, she whispered to him, “We can’t make love this night. Your soldiers would see us.”

Duncan shook his head. “No one can see us, wife. I want you. Now.” He showed her he meant what he said by kissing her soundly. Madelyne sighed into his mouth as she wound her arms around his neck. She opened her mouth, rubbed her tongue against his, instinctively arching against him.

“You make too much noise,” Madelyne whispered when Duncan ended the kiss and began to nibble on her earlobe.

She shivered in reaction to the pleasure he gave her. Duncan chuckled. “You’re the one who screams for fulfillment, love,” Duncan told her. “I’m too disciplined to make a sound.”

“Is that the truth?” Madelyne asked. Her hand slowly caressed a line to his throbbing arousal.

Duncan forgot what they were talking about. He caught her mouth again while he roughly pulled on the hem of her gown. He wanted her heat, and when his fingers probed the satin folds shielding the very core of her femininity, he knew she wanted him. She was moist with heat, and arched against him when he thrust his fingers inside.

Their clothes were discarded in wild abandon. Duncan didn’t want to calm his ardor. He needed Madelyne now, and he could tell from her uninhibited response that she didn’t want tenderness. Aye, she needed him to forget all restraint.

Duncan silenced her moans by covering her mouth with his. He settled himself between her thighs, penetrated her. She drove him to the brink of fulfillment with her erotic whimpers of pleasure, goaded him toward spilling his seed into her with her pleas and her nails digging into his shoulders. When Duncan couldn’t hold back any longer, he slid his hand between their bodies and stroked her into climax.

Duncan wanted to shout with his release. He couldn’t, of course, and claimed Madelyne’s mouth again, trapping her own scream.

“I love you, wife,” he whispered later, when she was cuddled up against his side.

“I love you too, Duncan,” Madelyne said. She was content to rest against her husband for several more minutes. Then she asked, “Did I embarrass you in court when I said I seduced you?”

Duncan smiled against the top of her head. Madelyne turned, bumping him.

“I do not get embarrassed,” he announced. His voice was laced with arrogance. “Women become embarrassed.”

Madelyne smiled. “What do warriors become?”

“Tired,” he said. “They become exhausted after making love to their wives.”

“Are you suggesting I go to sleep now?”

“I am.”

“Then I will, of course, obey your suggestion after just one more question.” She heard him sigh but ignored it. “Who were those men who lied for my brother? Were they barons?”

“They were not barons, only men who have joined your brother against me,” Duncan said.

“Then they have no following? No armies of their own?”

Duncan hesitated a long minute. “They have no armies, Madelyne. Yet there are many unscrupulous men who would join them if given enough incentive. Louddon doesn’t have enough gold at his disposal now to cause much of a threat.”

Madelyne was content with his answer. She put the worry of Louddon aside. “Duncan? You’ll be able to meet my cousin, Edwythe, when we go to Scotland. I was going to live with her. That was the plan I’d formed before I met you.”

“You’ll be able to meet my sister, Catherine,” Duncan said. His voice sounded sleepy.

“Your sister is married to a Scot?” she asked. Her voice sounded incredulous.

“She is.”

“Does her husband …”

“No, he doesn’t have red hair,” Duncan interjected.

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” Madelyne protested. “I just wondered if Catherine and her husband might know Edwythe.”

Duncan’s deep, even breathing told her he’d fallen asleep. When he began to snore, she was certain. Madelyne snuggled up against him.

She had the most wonderful dreams that night. They were dreams of the innocent.

Chapter Twenty-four

Love and honor, treasures above value …

The following month was a calming period for Duncan, a blissful time for Madelyne.

Madelyne was enchanted with the Scots. She thought they were the most amazing warriors in all the world, save for her husband, of course. The Scots reminded Madelyne of the ancient Spartans because of their stark existence and their fierce loyalty.

They treated Duncan as one of their own. Catherine was also happy to welcome Madelyne into her home. Duncan’s sister was very pretty and very much in love with her husband.

Madelyne wasn’t able to see Edwythe, though Catherine promised to send a message of greeting to her for Madelyne. Edwythe lived in the highlands, a considerable distance from Catherine’s home, too far, in fact, to go for a visit.

They stayed with Duncan’s relatives a full thirty days. Duncan remembered his promise to teach his gentle wife how to defend herself. He was patient with her until she reached for her bow and arrows. He left her on her own then, fearing he’d lose his temper if he had to watch her make the same error over and over again. She was consistently off target. Anthony had warned him about that flaw. Madelyne was always three feet, a little less perhaps, above the mark she wished to hit.

Duncan and Madelyne returned to Wexton fortress the end of August. It was then that they learned of King William II’s death. The accounts were milky, but everyone who had witnessed the tragedy vowed it had truly been an accident. William, with his brother and his friends, had gone hunting in his forest. A soldier shot his arrow toward a stag, it was said, but the king’s neck got in the way. The king died before he hit the ground.

The most accepted and least believed account came from an eyewitness who claimed he’d seen the whole of it, from start to finish. He stated that the loyal subject had truly aimed his arrow at the stag, but when the arrow was flying toward the animal, the devil’s red hand suddenly reached up out of the earth. The arrow was caught in the devil’s fist and redirected toward the king.

The church blessed the account as accurate. Aye, it was written down immediately. Satan had ended the king’s short life, and certainly none of those who witnessed it were responsible.

Henry immediately claimed the treasury and became king.

Madelyne was thankful she and Duncan had left court before the tragedy. Her husband was just as angry that he hadn’t been there. He thought he might have been able to save his leader’s life.

Neither believed the story about the devil’s hand, and neither would admit that Henry might have had something to do with his brother’s accident.

Though Madelyne wasn’t as knowledgeable as Duncan in matters of state, she remembered that Henry had suggested to King William that Duncan spend a month with the Scots. She believed he wanted Duncan away from London, believed, too, that Henry might have given Duncan his life by sending him away. She never spoke such thoughts to her husband, however.

Gerald and Adela were married on the first Sunday of October. Father Berton had only just arrived with his baggage to take up the task of saving Wexton souls. The Earl of Grinsteade had died five days after Madelyne’s wedding ceremony.

Duncan had sent soldiers throughout England, searching for Louddon. Since Henry was now king, Louddon was an outcast. Henry had made no pretension about his dislike for Louddon.

Madelyne believed Louddon had left England. Duncan didn’t argue with her, but he was convinced Louddon was hiding, waiting for his chance for revenge.

A summons arrived requesting that Duncan kneel before his new king and give him his pledge of fealty. Duncan couldn’t refuse the order, yet found he was uneasy leaving Madelyne.

He sat in the hall, the petition from Henry still in his hands, when Madelyne finally came down for breakfast. Duncan had already eaten his midday meal.

His wife looked rested, but he knew in just a few hours she’d need a nap. She tired easily these days. Madelyne tried to hide the fact from Duncan, but he knew she was sick every morning.

He wasn’t the least upset over her sickness. No, he waited for her to realize she carried his child.

Madelyne smiled when she saw her husband sitting in his chair by the hearth. It had turned chilly and the fire beckoned her. Duncan pulled her into his lap.

“Duncan, I must speak to you. It’s almost noon and I’ve just gotten out of bed. I believe I’m ill, though I don’t wish to worry you. I did ask Maude for a potion yesterday.”

“And did she give it to you?” Duncan asked. He tried not to smile, for his wife’s expression was close to brooding.

Madelyne shook her head. She pushed her hair away from her shoulder, hitting Duncan’s chest in her haste. “No, she didn’t,” she said. “She just smiled at me and walked away. What am I to think about that I ask you?”

Duncan sighed. He was going to have to tell her. “Will you be very upset if our son has red hair?”

Madelyne’s eyes widened and her hand instinctively moved to her stomach. Her voice shook when she finally answered his question. “She’ll have brown hair, like her mother. And I will be the most wonderful mother, Duncan.”

Duncan laughed and then kissed Madelyne. “You have taken on my arrogance, wife. You’ll give me a son and that’s the end of this discussion.”

Madelyne nodded, pretending agreement while she pictured the beautiful baby girl she would hold in her arms.

She was so overwhelmed with joy, she thought she might weep.

“You can’t feed your wild animals anymore. I don’t want you going outside the walls.”

“It’s my wolf,” Madelyne teased. She still hadn’t admitted to Duncan that she really thought it was a wild dog. “Today will be the last time I leave food for him,” she promised. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Why today?” Duncan asked.

“Because it’s been exactly one year since I arrived here. You may walk with Anthony and me if you wish.” She gave a mock sigh. “I shall miss my wolf.”

Duncan saw the sparkle in her eyes.

“I will stop feeding him only because you order it, husband.”

“I don’t believe that for one minute,” Duncan returned. “You obey me because you feel like it.”

Duncan finally promised to accompany Madelyne. She waited for him but when she’d finished her target practice, the sun was beginning to fade, and Duncan still hadn’t finished his other duties.

Madelyne collected her arrows, slipped them into the cloth carrier Ned had fashioned for her, and then strapped the carrier on her back.

Anthony carried the food for her in the burlap sack she always used for the task. She carried her bow, boasting to the vassal that she just might catch at least one rabbit for their dinner.

Anthony thought it impossible.

When they reached the crest of the hill, Madelyne took the food from Anthony. She spread the cloth on the ground, kneeling now, and placed the food into a pile. A large bone, fat with meat, topped her pyramid. Since Madelyne knew she wouldn’t be feeding the wild animals any longer, she thought to leave them one last filling treat.

Anthony was first to catch the noise behind him. He turned, scanning the trees behind Madelyne, just as an arrow whistled through the air and lodged in his shoulder. The vassal was knocked to the ground. He tried to catch his balance and then saw his enemy raise his bow a second time.

The watchman shouted the warning as soon as Anthony fell. Soldiers lined the walkway along the wall, their arrows raised to their bows. They waited for the enemy to show himself.

Duncan had just mounted his horse. He had thought to please his wife by joining her and carrying her back. He heard the shout, then goaded his horse into a full gallop. His bellow of rage could be heard throughout the fortress. Men ran to their horses to follow their lord.

Madelyne knew she didn’t have time to run. A half circle of almost twenty men slowly came from their hiding places behind the trees. She knew, too, that the watchman and the archers wouldn’t be able to see them until they reached the crest.

She wasn’t given any choice. Madelyne reached for one of her arrows, adjusted the indented edge to her bow, and took careful aim.

She recognized the man closest to her. He was one of the three who had testified to Louddon’s lies. She knew then that Louddon was close by.

The knowledge made her more furious than frightened. She shot the arrow and was reaching for another before the enemy fell to the ground.

Duncan didn’t climb the crest. He rode around the base of the hill, motioning for the others to take the opposite side. He thought to cut off the enemy by placing himself between them and his wife.

Within bare minutes Duncan’s soldiers were engaged in battle with the enemy. Madelyne dropped her bow and turned, thinking to help Anthony. The vassal had rolled halfway down the hill but was standing now and slowly making his way back up to her.

“Madelyne, get down,” Anthony suddenly shouted.

She heard his order, started to do as he commanded, when she was grabbed from behind. Madelyne screamed as she turned, and came face-to-face with Louddon.

He had a crazed look in his eyes. His grip was excruciating. Madelyne stomped her foot down on his, causing him to change balance. Remembering Duncan’s lessons in defense, she slammed her knee into his groin. Louddon went crashing to the ground, pulling Madelyne with him.

She rolled to her side just as Louddon staggered to his knees. He hit Madelyne with his fist, his aim right below her jaw. The pain proved too intense to endure. Madelyne fainted.

Louddon jumped to his feet when Madelyne went limp. He looked to the bottom of the hill, saw his men running away. They deserted him, trying to escape Duncan’s wrath.

Louddon knew then he couldn’t get away from Duncan this time. “You’ll watch me kill her,” he screamed.

Duncan was on foot now. He started running up the hill. Louddon knew he had only seconds left. He frantically searched the ground for his knife. He would plunge it into Madelyne’s heart before Duncan could stop him.

Louddon shouted with obscene laughter when he spotted his dagger on top of a pile of garbage. He knelt down and reached for his weapon.

He made the mistake of touching the food.

Louddon’s hand rested on the handle of his dagger. He was turning, when a low growl stopped him. The sound intensified until it was earthshaking.

Duncan also heard the sound. He saw Louddon throw up his hands in front of his face. And then a streak of brown lightning leapt at his throat.

Louddon fell backward, strangling to death on his own blood.

Duncan motioned to his men to stand where they were. He kept his gaze on the mighty wolf as he slowly reached for his bow and arrow. The wolf stood over Louddon. The animal’s teeth were bared and a low, threatening growl permeated the stillness.

Duncan prayed Madelyne wouldn’t wake up. He started forward so he could gain a clear shot at the beast.

The wolf suddenly moved to stand over Madelyne. Duncan stopped breathing.

Her scent must have been familiar to the animal, Duncan decided, for the wolf quickly ended his curiosity and went back to the food. Duncan watched the wolf take the bone between his teeth, turn again, and disappear down the other side of the hill.

Duncan threw down his bow and arrow as he ran to his wife. Madelyne was just waking up when he knelt down beside her. He gently lifted her into his arms.

She rubbed her jaw, testing her injury. She was able to move it, yet thought it throbbed enough to make her think it should be broken. She realized then that Louddon was there.

“Are they gone?” she asked Duncan. She was squeezed so tightly against his chest, she could barely whisper her question.

“Louddon’s dead.”

Madelyne closed her eyes and said a prayer for his soul. She didn’t think it would do him much good, but she said it all the same.

“Is Anthony all right? We must see to his injury, Duncan,” Madelyne said, trying to struggle out of her husband’s hold. “He’s wearing an arrow in his shoulder.”

Duncan stopped shaking. Madelyne was deliberately talking without pause. She knew he needed a few minutes to recover. When he eased up on his hold, Madelyne smiled at him. “Now is it over?” she asked.

“It is over,” Duncan said. “Your wolf saved your life.”

“I know you did, love, you will always protect me,” Madelyne answered.

“Madelyne, you misunderstand,” Duncan said, frowning. “Your wolf killed Louddon.”

Madelyne shook her head. How like her husband to become fanciful in her moment of fear. She knew he teased her just to lighten her worry.

“Are you strong enough to stand?” Duncan asked. “Do you feel—”

“I am fine. We are fine,” she amended. She patted her stomach for emphasis. “I can’t feel her yet, Duncan, but I know she’s safe.”

When Duncan helped her to her feet, she tried to look at Louddon. Duncan moved in front of her, effectively blocking her view. “You needn’t look at him, Madelyne, it would only distress you,” he told her. Louddon’s throat had been shredded by the wolf’s jaws. It was not a sight Madelyne would soon forget if she saw it, Duncan decided.

Anthony came to stand with them. He looked more incredulous than pained.

“Anthony, your shoulder—”

“’Tis only a flesh wound,” Anthony said. “Baroness, you shot one of them right through his heart,” he stammered.

Duncan didn’t believe him. “It was her arrow?”

“It was.”

Both men turned to stare at Madelyne. They looked quite astonished. Madelyne was a little irritated by their lack of faith in her ability. For a fleeting second she thought she just might keep silent. The truth, however, won out. “I was aiming for his foot.”

Both Duncan and Anthony thoroughly enjoyed her admission. Duncan lifted Madelyne into his arms and began to walk down the hill.

“The wolf saved your life,” he told her once again, thinking to explain the full truth.

“I know, dear.”

He gave up. He’d have to explain it all to her later, when her mind wasn’t so stubbornly set on believing he was her savior. “You’ll never feed the beast again, Madelyne. I’ll see the duty done. The wolf deserves to live an easy life now. He has earned it.”

“Will you stop teasing me, Duncan?” Madelyne announced, clearly exasperated. “I’ve been through an ordeal.”

Duncan smiled. Such a bossy bit of goods she was, and such a delight. He rubbed his chin against the top of her head while he listened to her complain about her new bruise.

Baron Wexton was eager to get Madelyne home, as eager, he thought, as Odysseus must have been to get home to his wife.

The future belonged to them. Madelyne liked to call him her wolf, but he was only a man, yet a man more powerful than the magical Odysseus.

For though Duncan was a mere mortal, flawed as well, he’d accomplished a daring feat. Aye, he’d captured an angel. And she belonged to him.

POCKET BOOKS

PROUDLY PRESENTS

Mercy

JULIE GARWOOD

Now available in paperback

from Pocket Books

The following is a preview of

Mercy….

Theo Buchanan couldn’t seem to shake the virus. He knew he was running a fever because every bone in his body ached and he had chills. He refused to acknowledge that he was ill, though; he was just a little off-kilter, that was all. He could tough it out. Besides, he was sure he was over the worst of it. The god-awful stitch in his side had subsided into a dull throbbing, and he was positive that it meant he was on the mend. If it was the same bug that had infected most of the staff back in his Boston office, then it was one of those twenty-four-hour things, and he should be feeling as good as new by tomorrow morning. Except, the throbbing in his side had been going on for a couple of days now.

He decided to blame his brother, Dylan, for that ache. He’d really nailed Theo during a family football game on their parents’ lawn at Nathan’s Bay. Yeah, the pulled muscle was Dylan’s fault, but Theo figured that if he continued to ignore it, the pain would eventually go away.

Damn, he was feeling like an old man these days, and he wasn’t even thirty-three yet.

He didn’t think he was contagious, and he had too much to do to go to bed and sweat the fever out of his body. He’d flown from Boston to New Orleans to speak at a law symposium on organized crime and to receive recognition he didn’t believe he deserved for simply doing his job.

Tonight was the first of three black-tie affairs. He’d promised to attend a fund-raiser, and he couldn’t back out. Dinner was going to be prepared by five of the top chefs in the city, but the gourmet food was going to be wasted on him. The thought of swallowing anything, even water, made his stomach lurch. He hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.

He sure as certain wasn’t up to pointless chitchat tonight. He tucked the room key into his pocket and was reaching for the doorknob, when the phone rang.

It was his brother Nick calling to check in.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m walking out the door,” Theo answered. “Where are you calling from? Boston or Holy Oaks?”

“Boston,” Nick answered. “I helped Laurant close the lake house and then we drove back home together.”

“Is she staying with you until the wedding?”

“Are you kidding? Tommy would send me straight to hell.”

Theo laughed. “I guess having a priest for a future brother-in-law does put a crimp in your sex life.”

“Five more weeks and I’m gonna be a married man. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“It’s hard to believe any woman would have you.”

“Laurant’s nearsighted. I told her I was good-looking and she believed me. She’s staying with Mom and Dad until we all head back to Iowa for the wedding. What are you doing tonight?”

“I’ve got a fund-raiser I have to go to,” he answered. “So what do you want?”

“I just thought I’d call and say hello.”

“No, you didn’t. You want something. What is it? Come on, Nick. I’m gonna be late.”

“Theo, you’ve got to learn to slow down. You can’t keep running for the rest of your life. I know what you’re doing. You think that if you bury yourself in work, you won’t think about Rebecca. It’s been four years since she died, but you—”

Theo cut him off. “I like my life, and I’m not in the mood to talk about Rebecca.”

“You’re a workaholic.”

“Did you call to lecture me?”

“No, Laurant’s been bugging me to call you.”

“Is she there? Let me talk to her,” he said. He sat down on the side of the bed and realized he was feeling better. Nick’s fiancée had that effect on all the Buchanan brothers. She made everyone feel good.

“She isn’t here. She went out with Jordan, and you know our sister. God only knows what time they’ll get home. Anyway, I promised Laurant that I’d track you down and ask …”

“What?”

“She wanted me to ask you but I figure I didn’t need to,” he said. “It’s understood.”

Theo held his patience. “What’s understood?”

“You’re gonna be my best man in the wedding.”

“What about Noah?”

“He’s in the wedding, of course, but I’m expecting you to be best man. I figured you already knew that, but Laurant thought I should ask you anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, what?”

Theo smiled. “Yeah, okay.”

His brother was a man of few words. “Okay, good. Have you given your speech yet?”

“No, that’s not until tomorrow night.”

“When do you get your trophy?”

“It’s a plaque, and I get it right before I give my speech.”

“So if you blow it and put all those armed officers to sleep, they can’t take the trophy back, can they?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Hey, Theo? For once, stop thinking about work. See the sights. Get laid. You know, have a good time. Hey, I know … why don’t you give Noah a call. He’s in Biloxi for a couple of months for a training conference. He could drive over to New Orleans, and the two of you could have some fun.”

If anyone knew how to have fun, it was Noah Clayborne. The FBI agent had become a close friend of the family after working on several assignments with Nick and then later assisting Theo with his investigations as a federal attorney for the Justice Department. He was a good man, but he had a wicked sense of fun, and Theo wasn’t sure he could survive a night out with Noah just now.

“Okay, maybe,” he answered.

Theo hung up the phone, stood, and quickly doubled over from the pain that radiated through his right side. It had started in his belly, but it had moved down, and, damn, but it stung. The muscle he’d pulled felt like it was on fire.

A stupid football injury wasn’t going to keep him down. Muttering to himself, he grabbed his cell phone from the charger, put it into his breast pocket with his reading glasses, slipped his gun into his belt holster, and left the room. By the time he reached the lobby, the pain had receded and he was feeling almost human again. That, of course, only reinforced his own personal golden rule. Ignore the pain and it would go away. Besides, a Buchanan could tough anything out.

It was a night to remember.

Michelle had never attended such an extravagant affair before, and as she stood on the steps overlooking the hotel ballroom, she felt like Alice about to fall through the looking glass into Wonderland.

There were flowers everywhere, beautiful spring flowers in sculptured urns on the marble floors and in crystal vases on all the white linen tablecloths. In the very center of the ballroom, beneath a magnificent crystal chandelier, was a cluster of giant hothouse-nurtured magnolia trees in full bloom. Their heavenly fragrance filled the air.

Waiters moved smoothly through the crowd carrying silver trays with fluted champagne glasses while others rushed from table to table lighting long, white tapered candles.

Mary Ann Winters, a friend since childhood days, stood by Michelle’s side taking it all in.

“I’m out of my element here,” Michelle whispered. “I feel like an awkward teenager.”

“You don’t look like one,” Mary Ann said. “I might as well be invisible. I swear every man is staring at you.”

“No, they’re staring at my obscenely tight dress. How could anything look so plain and ordinary on a hanger and so—”

“So devastatingly sexy on you? It clings in all the right places. Face it, you’ve got a killer figure.”

“I should never have spent so much money on a dress.”

“For heaven’s sake, Michelle, it’s an Armani … and you got it for a song, I might add.”

Michelle self-consciously brushed her hand down the side of the soft fabric. She thought about how much she’d paid for the dress and decided she would have to wear it at least twenty times to make it cost-effective. She wondered if other women did that—rationalized a frivolous expense to appease the guilt. There were so many more important things she could have used the money for, and when, in heaven’s name, was she ever going to have another opportunity to wear this beautiful dress again? Not in Bowen, she thought. Not in a million years.

“What was I thinking? I never should have let you talk me into buying this dress.”

Mary Ann impatiently brushed a strand of white blond hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare start in complaining about the cost again. You never spend any money on yourself. I’ll bet it’s the first really gorgeous dress you’ve ever owned, isn’t it? You’re absolutely beautiful tonight. Promise me you’ll stop worrying and enjoy yourself.”

Michelle nodded. “You’re right. I’ll stop worrying.”

“Good. Now let’s go mingle. There’s hors d’oeuvres and champagne out in the courtyard, and we’ve got to eat at least a thousand dollars’ worth each. That’s what the tickets cost. I’ll meet you there.”

Her friend had just gone down the stairs, when Dr. Cooper spotted Michelle and motioned for her to join him. He was the chief of surgery at Brethren Hospital, where she had been moonlighting the past month. Cooper was usually reserved, but the champagne had rid him of his inhibitions, and he was quite affectionate. And effervescent. He kept telling her how happy he was that she was using the tickets he’d given her and how pretty she looked all dressed up. Michelle thought that if Dr. Cooper got any happier, he was going to pass out in the soup.

A few minutes later, Cooper’s wife joined them with another older couple in tow. Michelle used the opportunity to sneak away. She walked around into the adjacent hallway with the bank of elevators.

And that’s when she noticed him. He was leaning against a pillar, hunched over, tilted protectively to one side. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, well built, like an athlete, she thought. But there was a sickly gray pallor to his complexion, and as she walked toward him, she saw him grimace and grab his stomach.

He was definitely in trouble. She touched his arm to get his attention just as the elevator doors opened. He staggered upright and looked down at her. His gray eyes were glazed with pain.

“Do you need help?”

He answered her by throwing up all over her.

She couldn’t get out of the way because he’d grabbed hold of her arm. His knees buckled then and she knew he was going to go down. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tried to ease him to the floor, but he lurched forward at the same time, taking her with him.

Theo’s head was spinning. He landed on top of the woman. He heard her groan and desperately tried to find the strength to get up. He thought he might be dying and he didn’t think that would be such a bad thing if death would make the pain go away. It was unbearable now. His stomach rolled again, and another wave of intense agony cut through him. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be stabbed over and over again. He passed out then, and when he next opened his eyes, he was flat on his back and she was leaning over him.

He tried to bring her face into focus. She had pretty blue eyes, more violet than blue, he thought, and freckles on the bridge of her nose. Then, as suddenly as it had stopped, the fire started burning in his side again, so much worse than before.

A spasm wrenched his stomach, and he jerked. “Son of a bitch.”

The woman was talking to him, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. And what the hell was she doing to him? Was she robbing him? Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his jacket, his tie, his shirt. She was trying to straighten out his legs. She was hurting him, damn it, and every time he tried to push her hands away, they came back to poke and prod some more.

He felt her open his jacket, knew she could see the gun holstered above his hip. He was crazed with pain now, couldn’t seem to think straight. He only knew he couldn’t let her take his weapon.

She was a damned talkative mugger. He’d give her that. She looked like one of those J. Crew models. Sweet, he thought. No, she wasn’t sweet. She kept hurting him.

“Look, lady, you can take my wallet, but you’re not getting my gun. Got that?” He could barely get the words out through his gritted teeth.

Her hand pressed into his side. He reacted instinctively, knocking her back. He thought he might have connected with something soft because he heard her yell before he went under again.

Theo didn’t know how long he was out, but when he opened his eyes, the bright lights made him squint. Where the hell was he? He couldn’t summon up enough energy to move. He thought he might be on a table. It was hard, cold.

“Where am I?” His mouth was so dry, he slurred the question.

“You’re in Brethren Hospital, Mr. Buchanan.” The man’s voice came from behind him, but Theo couldn’t see him.

“Did they catch her?”

“Who?”

“J. Crew.”

“He’s loopy.” A female voice he didn’t recognize made the comment.

Theo suddenly realized he wasn’t in any pain. He felt good, in fact. Real good. Like he could fly. Odd, though, he didn’t have the strength to move his arms. A mask was placed over his mouth and nose. He turned his head to get away from it.

“Are you getting, sleepy, Mr. Buchanan?”

He turned his head again and saw her. Blue Eyes. She looked like an angel, all golden. Wait a minute. What the hell was she doing here? Wait…

“Mike, are you going to be able to see what you’re doing? That eye looks bad.”

“It’s fine.”

“How’d it happen?” the voice behind Theo’s head asked.

“He clipped me.”

“The patient decked you?”

“That’s right.” She was staring into Theo’s eyes when she answered. She had a green mask on, but he knew she was smiling.

He was in such a happy daze now and so sleepy, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Conversation swirled around him, but none if it made any sense.

A woman’s voice. “Where did you find him, Dr. Renard?”

“At a party.”

Another woman leaned over him. “Hubba, hubba.”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“You decide. He threw up all over me and ruined my new dress.”

Someone laughed. “Sounds like love to me. I’ll bet he’s married. All the good-looking men are married. This one’s sure built. Did you check out the goods, Annie?”

“I hope our patient is sleeping.”

“Not yet,” a male voice said. “But he isn’t going to remember anything.”

“Where’s the assist?”

“Scrubbing.”

There seemed to be a party going on. Theo thought there were at least twenty or thirty people in the room with him. Why was it so damned cold? And who was making all the clatter? He was thirsty. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Maybe he ought to go get a drink. Yeah, that’s what he would do.

“Where’s Dr. Cooper?”

“Probably passed out in the dessert by now.” Blue Eyes answered the question. Theo loved the sound of her voice. It was so damned sexy.

“So you saw Cooper at the party?”

“Uh-huh,” Blue Eyes answered. “He wasn’t on call tonight. He works hard. It was nice to see him having a good time. Mary Ann’s probably having a great time too.”

“You.” Theo struggled to get the word out. Still, he’d gotten her attention because when he opened his eyes, she was leaning over him, blocking out the glaring light above him.

“It’s time for you to go to sleep, Mr. Buchanan.”

“He’s fighting it.”

“What…” Theo began.

“Yes?”

“What do you want from me?”

The man hiding behind him answered. “Mike wants your appendix, Mr. Buchanan.”

It sounded good to him. He was always happy to accommodate a beautiful woman. “Okay,” he whispered. “It’s in my wallet.”

“We’re ready.”

“It’s about time,” the man said.

Theo heard the chair squeak behind him, then the stranger’s voice telling him to take deep breaths. Theo finally figured out who the man behind him was. Damn if it wasn’t Willie Nelson, and he was singing to him, something about Blue Eyes cryin’ in the rain.

It was one hell of a party.

Theo slept through recovery. When he awoke the following morning, he was in a hospital bed. The side rails were up, and he was hooked to an IV. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. What the hell had happened to him? He couldn’t remember.

It was past ten o’clock when he opened his eyes again. She was there, standing beside the bed, pulling the sheets up around his waist. Blue Eyes. He hadn’t imagined her after all.

She looked different today. She was still dressed in surgical scrubs, but her hair wasn’t hidden underneath a cap. It was down around her shoulders, and the color was a deep, rich auburn.

She was much prettier than he remembered.

She noticed he was awake. “Good morning. How are you feeling? Still a little drowsy?”

He struggled to sit up. She reached for the controls and pushed a button. The bed slowly rose. Theo felt a tugging in his side and a mild stinging sensation.

“Tell me when.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Thanks.”

She picked up his chart and started writing while he blatantly stared at her. He felt vulnerable and awkward sitting in bed in a hospital gown. He couldn’t think of anything clever to say to her. For the first time in his life he wanted to be charming, but he didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about it. He was a die-hard workaholic, and there simply wasn’t room for social graces in his life.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” she asked, glancing up from her notes.

“I had surgery.”

“Yes. Your appendix was removed. Another fifteen minutes and you definitely would have ruptured.”

“I remember bits and pieces. What happened to your eye?”

She smiled as she started writing in his chart again. “I didn’t duck fast enough.”

“Who are you?”

“Dr. Renard.”

“Mike?”

“Excuse me?”

“Someone called you Mike.”

Michelle closed the folder, put the lid back on her ink pen, and tucked it into her pocket. She gave him her full attention. The surgical nurses were right. Theo Buchanan was gorgeous … and sexy as hell. But none of that should matter. She was his physician, nothing more, nothing less, yet she couldn’t help reacting to him as any woman naturally would react to such a fit specimen. His hair was sticking up and he needed a shave, but he was still sexy. There wasn’t anything wrong with her noticing that… unless, of course, he noticed her noticing.

“You just asked me a question, didn’t you?” She drew a blank.

He could tell he’d rattled her, but he didn’t know why. “I heard someone call you Mike.”

She nodded. “Yes. The staff calls me Mike. It’s short for Michelle.”

“Michelle’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

It was all coming back to Theo now. He was at a party, and there was this beautiful woman in a slinky black evening gown. She was breathtaking. He remembered that. She had killer blue eyes and Willie Nelson was with her. He was singing. No, that couldn’t be right. Obviously, his head hadn’t quite cleared yet.

“You were talking to me … after the surgery,” he said.

“In recovery. Yes,” she agreed. “But you were doing most of the talking.” She was smiling again. “And by the way, the answer’s no. I won’t marry you.”

He smiled, sure she was joking. “I don’t remember being in pre-op. I remember the pain though. It hurt like a son of a …”

“I’m sure it did.”

“You did the surgery, didn’t you? I didn’t imagine that?”

“Yes, I did the surgery.”

She was backing out of the room. He didn’t want her to leave just yet. He wanted to find out more about her. “You don’t look old enough to be a surgeon.” Stupid, he thought, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment.

“I hear that a lot.”

“You look like you should be in college.” That statement, he decided, was worse than stupid.

She couldn’t resist. “High school, actually. They let me operate for extra credit.”

“Very funny.”

“Dr. Renard? May I interrupt?” A male aide was standing in the hallway, shifting a large cardboard box under his arm.

“Yes, Bobby?”

“Dr. Cooper filled this box with medical supplies from his office for your clinic,” the young man said. “What do you want me to do with it? Dr. Cooper left it at the nurses’ station, but they wanted it moved. It was in the way.”

“Would you mind taking it down to my locker?”

“It’s too big, Dr. Renard. It won’t fit. It isn’t heavy, though. I could carry it out to your car.”

“My father has the car,” she said. She glanced around, then looked at Theo. “Would you mind if Bobby left my box here? My father will carry it down to the car for me just as soon as he arrives.”

“I don’t mind,” Theo said.

“I won’t be seeing you again. I’m going home today, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. Dr. Cooper’s Chief of Surgery here at Brethren, and he’ll take good care of you.”

“Where’s home?”

“In the swamp.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No,” she said. She smiled again, and he noticed the little dimple in her left cheek. “Home is a little town that’s pretty much surrounded by swamp, and I can’t wait to get back there.”

“Homesick?”

“Yes, I am,” she admitted. “I’m a small-town girl at heart. It isn’t a very glamorous life, and that’s what I like about it.”

“You like living in the swamp.” It was a statement, not a question, but she responded anyway.

“You sound shocked.”

“No, just surprised.”

“You’re from a big, sprawling city, so you’d probably hate it.”

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “You seem too … sophisticated.”

He didn’t know if that was a compliment or a criticism. “Sometimes you can’t go home. I think I read that in a book once. Besides, you look like a New Orleans kind of woman to me.”

“I love New Orleans. It’s a wonderful place to come for dinner.”

“But it won’t ever be home.”

“No.”

“So, are you the town doctor?”

“One of several,” she said. “I’m opening a clinic there. It’s not very fancy, but there’s a real need. So many of the people don’t have the resources to get regular medical care.”

“Sounds like they’re very lucky to have you.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m the lucky one.” Then she laughed. “That sounded saintly, didn’t it? I am the lucky one, though. The people are wonderful, at least I think they are, and they give me far more than I can give them.” When she spoke, her whole face lit up. “You know what I’m going to like best?”

“What’s that?”

“No games. For the most part, they’re honest, ordinary people trying to scrape a living together. They don’t waste a lot of time on foolishness.”

“So, everyone loves everyone else?” He scoffed at the notion.

“No, of course not,” she replied. “But I’ll know my enemies. They won’t sneak up behind me and blindside me. It isn’t their style.” She smiled again. “They’ll get right in my face, and I’m going to like that. Like I said, no games. After the residency I just finished, that’s going to be a refreshing change.”

“You won’t miss the big beautiful office and all the trappings?”

“Not really. There are rewards other than money. Oh sure, it would be great to have the supplies and equipment we need, but we’ll make do. I’ve spent a lot of years getting ready for this … besides, I made a promise.”

He kept asking her questions to keep her talking. He was interested in hearing about her town but not nearly as much as he was fascinated with her expressions. There were such passion and joy in her voice, and her eyes sparkled as she talked about her family and friends and the good she hoped she could do.

She reminded him of how he had felt about life when he had first started practicing the law, before he’d become so cynical. He too had wanted to change the world, to make it a better place. Rebecca had changed all that. Looking back, he realized he had failed miserably.

“I’ve worn you out, going on and on about my hometown. I’ll let you rest now,” she said.

“When can I get out of here?”

“That’s Dr. Cooper’s call, but if it were up to me, I’d keep you another night. You had quite a nasty infection. You need to take it easy for a couple of weeks, and don’t forget to take your antibiotics. Good luck, Theo.”

And then she was gone, and he’d lost the only chance he had to find out more about her. He didn’t even know where her home was. He fell asleep trying to figure out a way to see her again.

JULIE GARWOOD

is the author of seventeen New York Times

bestsellers, including Mercy, Heartbreaker, Ransom,

and Come the Spring. There are more than thirty

million copies of her books in print.

This book is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents relating to nonhistorical figures are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of such incidents, places, or figures to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 1988 by Julie Garwood

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN 13:978-0-671-73783-2

ISBN: 978-1-4516-8188-8 (eBook)

ISBN 10:        0-671-73783-X

First Pocket Books printing December 1988

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Cover photo by Derke/O’Hara

“Julie Garwood attracts readers like beautiful heroines attract dashing heroes....”

—USA Today

Praise for Julie Garwood’s splendid

New York Times bestseller

RANSOM

“AN ENTHRALLING TALE.... In this powerful story, passion, loyalty, friendship, and mystery superbly blend with realistic, three-dimensional characters.”

—Romantic Times

“PURE ENTERTAINMENT. . . . TRULY UNFORGETTABLE. Romance never felt so good.”

—Rendezvous

“A KEEPER.... Anyone who has had the pleasure of reading Julie Garwood’s classic tale The Secret will remember the two lovable rogues Brodick Buchanan and Ramsey Sinclair. Now they star in their own story. . . . The plot is crisp, entertaining, and makes medieval England seem real.”

—Under the Covers Book Reviews

“A RIP-ROARING ROMP, full of humor, romance, sword fights, and crisp dialogue.... So much fun, it begs to be read in one sitting.... Characters feel like old friends, and readers will regret to see the story end.”

—The Cedar Rapids Gazette (IA)

“Wonderful.... RANSOM provides suspense, passion, and humor.”

—All About Romance

“Julie Garwood’s stories happen in a different world, and she makes that world palpable. Readers ... appreciate the fragility of life in a time when death was omnipresent.”

—The Kansas City Star

BOOKS BY JULIE GARWOOD

Gentle Warrior

Rebellious Desire

Honor’s Splendour

The Lion’s Lady

The Bride

Guardian angel

The Gift

The Prize

The Secret

Castles

Saving Grace

Prince Charming

For the Roses

The Wedding

Come the Spring

Ransom

Heartbreaker

Mercy

The Clayborne Brides

One Pink Rose

One White Rose

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The Lion’s Lady

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

THE

LION'S LADY

Prologue

The Black Hills, America, 1797

It was time to seek the vision.

The shaman waited for the Great Spirit to send him a sign. One month passed, then another, and still the gods ignored him. But the shaman was a patient man. He continued his daily prayers without complaint and waited for his humble petition to be heard.

When the moon was covered by a thick mist for four consecutive nights, the holy man knew the time had arrived. The Great Spirit had heard him.

He immediately began his preparations. After gathering his sacred powders, rattle, and drum, he made the slow climb to the top of the mountain. It was an arduous journey, made more difficult by his advanced years and the dense fog the evil spirits had surely sent to test his determination.

As soon as the old man reached the summit, he built a small fire in the center of the ledge overlooking the valley of the bitterroot. He sat down beside the flames with his face turned toward the sun. Then he reached for his powders.

First he sprinkled sage over the fire. The shaman knew all evil spirits hated the bitter smell. The scent would make them stop their mischief and leave the mountain.

The mist left the mountaintop the following morning, a signal to the holy one that the mischief makers had been chased away. He put the remaining sage powder away and began to feed incense to the flames. The scent was made sweet by the addition of sacred buffalo prairie grass. Incense would purify the air and was known to attract benevolent gods.

For three days and nights the shaman stayed close to the fire. He fasted and prayed, and on the fourth morning he reached for his rattle and drum. He then began the chant that would bring the Great Spirit closer.

During the black hours of the fourth night, the shaman’s sacrifice was rewarded. The Great Spirit gave him his dream.

While the holy man slept, his mind was suddenly awakened to the vision. The sun appeared in the night sky. He saw a speck of black that grew and took shape, until it was magically transformed into a vast herd of buffalo. The magnificent animals thundered above the clouds towards him. An eagle, gray with white-tipped wings, flew overhead, leading them on.

As the buffalo drew closer, some of their faces became those of the holy man’s ancestors who had traveled to the Afterlife. He saw his father and his mother, his brothers, too. The herd parted then, and in the middle stood a proud mountain lion. The animal’s coat was as white as lightning, the spirit Thunderbolt’s work no doubt, and the Great Spirit had given the lion’s eyes the color of the sky.

The herd of buffalo again enclosed the lion before the dream abruptly ended.

The holy man returned to his village the following morning. His sister prepared a meal for him. Once he’d taken his fill, he went to the leader of the Dakota, a mighty warrior named Gray Eagle. He told his leader only that he must continue to guide his people. The holy man kept the rest of his vision to himself, for the full meaning had yet to be revealed to him. And then he returned to his tipi to remember his vision with his dyes. On a soft deerskin hide he painted a circle of buffalo. In the center he drew the mountain lion, making certain the color of the animal’s coat was just as white as he could recall, the color of the eyes just as blue as a sky in summer. When the rendering was completed he waited for the dye to dry, then carefully folded the skin and put it away.

The dream continued to haunt the shaman. He’d hoped to be given some comforting message for his leader. Gray Eagle was grieving. The shaman knew his friend wanted to pass leadership on to a younger, more fit warrior. Since his daughter and grandson had been taken from him, the leader’s heart hadn’t belonged to his people. He was filled with bitterness and anger.

The holy man could offer his friend little comfort. And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t ease his anguish.

From anguish came the legend.

Gray Eagle’s daughter Merry and her son were returning from the dead. The Dakota woman knew her family believed both she and White Eagle had been killed. Gray Cloud, bastard leader of the tribe’s outcasts, had deliberately provoked the battle near the river’s edge. He’d left bits of Merry’s clothing on the riverbank, too, in hopes Merry’s husband would believe his wife and son had been swept away with the others by the swift current.

The tribe would still be in mourning. Though it seemed an eternity to Merry, it had actually only been eleven months since the attack. She’d kept careful count on her reed stick. There were eleven notches now. Two more were needed to complete a full year by the Dakota reckoning.

It was going to be a difficult homecoming. The tribe would welcome White Eagle back into the family. Merry wasn’t worried about her son. He was, after all, first grandson of their chief, Gray Eagle. Yes, there’d be much rejoicing with his return to the fold.

The fear, of course, was for Christina.

Merry instinctively tightened her hold on her new daughter. “Soon, Christina,” she crooned softly to the baby. “We’ll be home soon.”

Christina didn’t appear to be paying any attention to her mother’s promise. The fidgety two-year-old was trying to wiggle out of her mother’s lap and off the speckled mount, determined to walk beside her older brother. Merry’s six-year-old son was leading the mare down the slope into the valley.

“Be patient, Christina,” Merry whispered. She gave her daughter another gentle squeeze to emphasize her order.

“Eagle.” The baby wailed her brother’s name.

White Eagle turned when his sister cried out to him. He smiled up at her, then slowly shook his head. “Do as our mother orders,” he instructed.

Christina ignored her brother’s command. She immediately tried to hurl herself out of her mother’s lap again. The little one was simply too young to understand caution. Though it was a considerable distance from the top of the horse to the hard ground, Christina didn’t appear to be the least intimidated.

“My Eagle,” Christina shouted.

“Your brother must lead us down into the village, Christina,” Merry said. She kept her voice soft, hoping to calm the fretful child.

Christina suddenly turned and looked up at her mother. The little girl’s blue eyes were filled with mischief. Merry couldn’t contain her smile when she saw the disgruntled expression on her daughter’s face. “My Eagle,” the child bellowed.

Merry slowly nodded. “My Eagle,” Christina shouted again, frowning up at her mother.

“Your Eagle,” Merry acknowledged with a sigh. Oh, how she wished Christina would learn to imitate her soft voice. Thus far, that lesson had failed. Such a little one she was, yet gifted with a voice that could shake the leaves off their branches.

“My mama,” Christina bellowed then, jabbing Merry’s chest with her chubby fingers.

“Your mama,” Merry answered. She kissed her daughter, then brushed her hand across the mop of white-blond curls framing the baby’s face. “Your mama,” Merry repeated, giving the child a fierce hug.

Comforted by the caress, Christina settled back against her mother’s chest and reached for one of Merry’s braids. When she’d captured the tip of one braid, she put her thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes, using her other hand to rub Merry’s hair across the bridge of her freckled nose. In a matter of minutes, she was sound asleep.

Merry pulled the buffalo hide up over the baby so that her delicate skin would be shielded from the summer’s midday sun. Christina was clearly exhausted from their long journey. And she’d been through so much distress in the past three months. It was a wonder to Merry that the child could sleep at all.

Christina had taken to trailing behind White Eagle. She mimicked his every action, though Merry noticed the baby always kept her in sight as well. One mother had left her, and Merry knew Christina was worried she and White Eagle would also disappear. The little girl had become extremely possessive, a trait Merry hoped would lessen in time.

“They watch us from the trees,” White Eagle told his mother. The boy stopped, waiting for his mother’s reaction.

Merry nodded. “Keep going, son. And remember, stop only when you’ve reached the tallest tipi.”

White Eagle smiled. “I still remember where my grandfather’s tipi is,” he said. “We’ve only been away eleven months,” he added, pointing to the reed stick.

“I’m pleased you remember,” Merry said. “Do you also remember how much you love your father and your grandfather?”

The boy nodded. His expression turned solemn. “It will be difficult for my father, won’t it?”

“He’s an honorable man,” Merry announced. “Yes, it will be difficult for him, but in time he’ll see the rightness in it.”

White Eagle straightened his shoulders, turned, and continued on down the hill.

He walked like a warrior. The boy’s arrogant swagger was almost identical to his father’s. Merry’s heart ached with pride for her son. White Eagle would become chief of his people when his training was completed. It was his destiny to rule the warriors, just as it had now become her destiny to raise the white-skinned baby girl sleeping so innocently in her arms.

Merry tried to clear her mind of everything but the coming confrontation. She kept her gaze directed on her son’s shoulders as he led the mare into the center of the village. Merry silently chanted the prayer her shaman had taught her to chase away her fears.

More than a hundred Dakota stared at Merry and White Eagle. No one said a word. White Eagle walked straight ahead and came to a halt when he’d reached the tipi of his chief.

The older women edged closer until they surrounded Merry’s horse. Their faces mirrored their astonishment. Several women reached out to touch Merry’s leg, as if the feel of her skin beneath their hands would confirm that what they saw was real.

They petted and sighed. Merry smiled over their show of affection. She glanced up and saw Sunflower, her husband’s younger sister. Her good friend was openly weeping.

Thunder suddenly broke the silence. The ground trembled from the pounding of horses being ridden back down into the valley. The warriors had obviously been informed of Merry’s return. Black Wolf, Merry’s husband, would be leading them.

The flap of the chief’s tipi opened just as the braves dismounted. Merry watched her father. Gray Eagle stood at the entrance and stared at her a long while. His leathered face showed his stunned reaction, but his eyes, so warm and kind, soon misted with emotion.

Everyone turned to watch their leader now. They waited for him to give the signal. It was Gray Eagle’s duty to be the first to welcome Merry and her son back into his family.

Gray Eagle turned just as Merry’s husband walked over to stand by his side. Merry immediately lowered her head in submission. Her hands started trembling, and she thought her heart was pounding loud enough to wake Christina. Merry knew her control would vanish if she looked at her husband now. She would certainly start to cry. That wouldn’t be dignified, of course, for such a show of emotion would shame her proud husband.

It wouldn’t be honorable either. Merry loved Black Wolf, but the circumstances had drastically changed since she’d last seen him. Her husband would have to make an important decision before he welcomed her back into his arms.

The chief suddenly raised his hands to the Great Spirit above. His palms faced the sun.

The signal was given. A resounding cheer echoed throughout the valley. Chaos erupted as Merry’s son was embraced first by his grandfather and then by his father.

Christina stirred in Merry’s arms. Though the buffalo skin concealed the baby, there were several startled gasps when the movement was noticed by some of the women.

Black Wolf held his son, but his gaze was directed at his wife. Merry dared a timid look up at him, caught his pleased smile, and tried to smile back.

Gray Eagle nodded several times, showing her his joy and his approval, then slowly made his way over to her side.

The holy man stood outside the purifying tipi, watching the reunion. He understood now why he hadn’t seen Merry’s face or White Eagle’s in his vision. The rest of the dream’s meaning continued to elude him. “I am a patient man,” he whispered to the spirits. “I will accept one gift at a time.”

While the shaman watched, a path was made for the chief. The braves ignored Merry and gathered around Black Wolf and his son. The women swelled forward again, for they wished to hear what their leader would say to his daughter.

Some of the more enthusiastic braves began to shriek with joy. The shrill noise jarred Christina awake.

The baby had little liking for her dark confinement. She pushed the buffalo hide away from her face just as Gray Eagle reached Merry’s side.

Merry couldn’t decide who looked more surprised. Christina seemed to be quite fascinated by the huge man watching her so intently. She was a bit uncertain, too, for she put her thumb back into her mouth and scooted up against her mother’s chest.

Gray Eagle didn’t even try to mask his astonishment. He stared at the child a long moment, then turned to look up at his daughter. “There is much for you to tell us, daughter,” he announced.

Merry smiled. “There is much I would explain, Father.”

Christina caught her mother’s smile. She immediately pulled her thumb out of her mouth and looked around her with curiosity. When she found her brother in the crowd of strangers, she reached out with both hands for him. “Eagle,” she shouted.

Gray Eagle took a step back, then turned to look at his grandson.

Christina fully expected her brother to come and fetch her. When he didn’t immediately obey her order, she tried to squirm out of her mother’s lap. “My Eagle, Mama,” she bellowed.

Merry ignored her daughter now. She stared at her husband. Black Wolf’s expression was hard, impassive. He stood with his legs braced apart and his arms folded across his chest. She knew he’d heard Christina call her mama. The baby spoke the Siouan language as well as any Dakota child and had shouted her claim loud enough for the entire village to hear.

Sunflower rushed over to help her friend dismount. Merry handed Christina to her, thought to caution her friend to keep a firm hold, but it was already too late. Christina easily slipped to the ground, landing on her padded backside. Before Sunflower or Merry could reach for her, the little one grabbed hold of Gray Eagle’s legs, pulled herself up, and ran to her brother. The baby’s laughter trailed behind her.

No one quite knew what to make of the beautiful white-skinned baby. A few older squaws reached out to touch Christina’s golden curls, for their curiosity was too great to contain. The little girl allowed their pawing. She stood beside her brother, barely reaching his knees, mimicking his stance, and clung to his hand.

While Christina didn’t mind being touched, she made it quite clear she didn’t want anyone near her brother. When the chief tried to embrace his grandson again, Christina tried to push his hands away. “My Eagle,” she shouted up at him.

Merry was horrified by her daughter’s behavior. She grabbed Christina, managed a weak smile for her father, then whispered to her son, “Go with your father.” Merry’s husband had abruptly turned and disappeared inside Gray Eagle’s tipi.

The moment she was separated from her brother, Christina started crying. Merry lifted the baby into her arms and tried without success to soothe her. Christina hid her face in the crook of her mother’s neck and wailed her distress.

Merry’s friends surrounded her. No one dared ask about the child until a full accounting had been given to her husband and her chief, but they smiled at the baby and patted her soft skin. Some even crooned the sleeping chant to the little one.

The shaman caught Merry’s attention then. She immediately hurried over to stand in front of the holy man, then affected a rather awkward bow.

“Welcome home, my child,” the holy man said in greeting.

Merry could barely hear the old man over the screams of her daughter. “I have missed you, Wakan,” she said. Christina’s wails became ear-piercing, and Merry gently shook her. “Hush, baby,” she said. She turned back to the shaman and said, “My daughter roars like a lioness. Perhaps, in time, she will learn.…”

The incredulous look on the shaman’s face stopped Merry’s explanation. “You are ill, Wakan?” she asked, worry sounding in her voice.

The holy man shook his head. Merry noticed that his hands trembled when he reached out to touch Christina. “Her hair is the color of white lightning,” he whispered.

Christina suddenly turned to stare at the shaman. She soon forgot her distress and actually smiled at the strange-looking man whose ceremonial feathers seemed to grow out of the top of his head.

Merry heard the shaman gasp. He did seem ill to her. “My new daughter is known by the name Christina, holy one,” she said. “If we are allowed to stay, she will need a Dakota name, and your blessing, too.”

“She is the lioness,” the shaman announced. His face broke into a wide smile. “She will stay, Merry. Do not worry about your child. The buffalo will protect her. The spirits will counsel your father, and your husband as well. Be patient, child. Be patient.”

Merry wished she could question the shaman further, but his order to wait couldn’t be ignored. His reaction to Christina puzzled her. She wasn’t given more time to worry about it, however, for Sunflower took hold of her hand and pulled her toward her home.

“You look exhausted, Merry, and must certainly be hungry. Come into my tipi and we will share our midday meal together.”

Merry nodded. She followed her friend across the clearing. Once they were settled on the soft blankets inside Sunflower’s home, Merry fed her daughter and then let her explore the tipi.

“I’ve been away such a long time,” Merry whispered. “Yet when I returned, my husband didn’t come to me.”

“Black Wolf still loves you,” Sunflower answered. “My brother has mourned you, Merry.”

When Merry didn’t comment, Sunflower continued, “It is as though you have returned to us from the dead. After the attack, when no one could find you or White Eagle, some believed you’d been swept away by the river. Black Wolf wouldn’t believe that. No, he led the attack against the outcasts, thinking he would find you in their summer village. When he returned without you, he was filled with grief. Now you’ve come home to us, Merry, yet you bring another man’s child with you.”

Sunflower turned to look at Christina. “You know how much your husband hates the white man, Merry. I think that is the reason he didn’t come to your side. Why have you taken this baby for your own? What happened to her mother?”

“Her mother is dead,” Merry answered. “It’s a long story, my friend, and you know I must first explain to my husband and my father. I will tell you this much,” she added in a firm voice. “If the tribe decides against accepting Christina, then I must leave. She is now my daughter.”

“But she has white skin,” Sunflower protested, clearly appalled by Merry’s fierce announcement.

“I’ve noticed the color of her skin,” Merry answered with a smile.

Sunflower saw the humor in her friend’s comment and laughed. The sound was immediately imitated by Christina. “She’s such a beautiful child,” Sunflower remarked.

“She’ll have a pure heart, like her mother,” Merry said.

Sunflower turned to reclaim a clay jar Christina had just overturned. Merry helped her scoop up the healing herbs the baby had sprinkled on the ground. “She’s a very curious child,” Merry commented, apologizing for her daughter.

Sunflower laughed again. The tipi looked as though a strong wind had just passed through. The baby echoed the sound again.

“It isn’t possible to dislike such a joyful child,” Sunflower remarked. The smile soon faded when she added, “But your husband, Merry. You know he’ll never accept her.”

Merry didn’t argue with her friend. She prayed Sunflower was wrong, though. It was imperative that Black Wolf claim Christina as his daughter. The promise she’d given Christina’s mother couldn’t truly be fulfilled without her husband’s help.

Sunflower couldn’t resist the urge to take the baby into her arms. She reached out for Christina, but the little one scooted around her and sat down in Merry’s lap.

“I would like to rest for just a few minutes, if you’ll watch Christina for me. I warn you,” Merry hastily added when Sunflower nodded eagerly, “My daughter gets into constant mischief. She’s too curious to be fearful.”

Sunflower left the tipi to gain permission from her husband for Merry and Christina to stay with them. When she returned, she found Merry sound asleep. Christina was curled up against her mother’s stomach. Merry’s arm was draped over the baby. The little one was also sleeping. Her thumb was in her mouth, and one of Merry’s braids rested on her face.

Merry and her daughter slept for several hours. The sun was just setting when Merry carried Christina down to the river to bathe. Sunflower trailed behind with fresh clothing in her arms.

The baby loved the water. The day had been hot and sticky, and the child seemed to delight in splashing in the cool water. She even allowed Merry to wash her hair without making too much fuss.

Merry had just emerged from the water with her daughter when Black Wolf suddenly appeared. He stood on the bank with his hands resting on his hips—a challenging stance, yet Merry could see the tender expression in his eyes.

He confused her, giving her this show of affection now. Merry turned away from her husband to dress herself and Christina.

Black Wolf waited until Merry had finished her task, then motioned for his sister to take the child away. Sunflower had to pry Christina’s hands away from her mother. The little girl screamed in distress, but Merry didn’t argue with the command. She knew Sunflower would look after her child.

As soon as they were alone, Merry turned to face her husband. Her voice trembled as she told him everything that had happened to her since being taken captive.

“At first I thought their leader, Gray Cloud, wanted to keep us so that he could barter with you. I knew your hatred for each other was fierce, but I didn’t think he meant to kill us. We rode for several days—nights, too, when the moon was bright enough—and finally made camp above the brown valley of the white trails. Gray Cloud was the only one who touched us. He boasted to the others that he was going to kill your son and your wife. He blamed you, husband, for his dishonor.”

Black Wolf nodded when Merry paused in her recitation, yet didn’t offer any comment. Merry took a deep breath before continuing. “He beat our son until he thought he’d killed him. Then he turned on me.”

Merry’s voice broke. She turned to look at the river. “He used me the way a man uses an unwilling woman,” she whispered.

She started to weep then, for her shame was suddenly overwhelming. The memories tore at her heart. Black Wolf reached out to take her into his arms. His touch immediately calmed her. Merry sagged against his chest. She wished she could turn around and cling to her husband, but she knew she needed to tell the rest of her story before she sought his solace.

“An argument broke out among them, for they’d seen the wagons below. Though Gray Cloud was against it, in the end it was agreed by the others that they would attack the whites and take their horses. Gray Cloud stayed behind. He was furious because they went against his decision.”

Merry didn’t have enough strength to continue. She wept softly. Black Wolf waited several minutes for his wife to go on with her story, then gently forced her to turn around to face him. Her eyes were tightly closed. He wiped the tears away from her cheeks. “Tell me the rest of this,” he commanded, his voice as soft as a gentle wind.

Merry nodded. She tried to take a step back, but Black Wolf increased his hold. “Your son awakened and began to moan. He was in terrible pain, husband. Gray Cloud rushed over to our son. He pulled his knife and was about to kill White Eagle. I screamed and edged closer, as close as the rope binding my hands and legs would allow. I cursed Gray Cloud, trying to goad him into turning his anger on me. My plan distracted him. He used his fist to silence me, so fiercely I fell backwards. The blow made me sleep, and when I next opened my eyes I saw a white woman kneeling beside me. She held White Eagle in her arms. Christina, her baby, was sleeping on the ground next to the woman. Black Wolf, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me until my son opened his eyes and looked at me. He was alive. It was the white woman who saved him, husband. Her knife was in Gray Cloud’s back.

“I didn’t know where she’d come from until I remembered the wagons trailing below the ridge. I trusted her, too, from the very beginning, because of the way she held our son. I begged her to take White Eagle away before Gray Cloud’s followers returned from their raid. The woman wouldn’t leave me, no matter how much I protested. She helped me onto her horse, lifted my son into my arms, then led us into the forest, carrying her own child in her arms. The woman didn’t speak again until we stopped to rest many hours later.”

“The gods favored us that day, for the renegades didn’t chase after us. Jessica, the white woman, thought they might have been killed by the people they attacked. We found a cabin high in the hills and wintered there. Jessica took care of us. She spoke the missionary’s English, yet all the words sounded very different to me. When I remarked upon this, Jessica explained that she had come from a distant land called England.”

“What happened to this woman?” Black Wolf asked, frowning intently.

“When spring arrived, White Eagle was well enough to travel again. Jessica was going to take Christina back down into the valley, and I was going to bring your son home to you. The day before we planned to leave, Jessica went out to collect the traps she’d set the day before. She didn’t return. I went searching for her. She was dead,” Merry whispered. “A mountain bear had caught her unawares. It was a terrible death. Her body was mangled, barely recognizable. She shouldn’t have died in such a way, Black Wolf.”

“And this is why you have the white child with you?” Black Wolf asked, though he was already nodding over his own conclusions.

“Jessica and I became sisters in our hearts. She told me all about her past, and I shared my own with her. We made a promise to each other. She gave me her word that if anything happened to me, she’d find a way to bring White Eagle back to you. I also gave her a promise.”

“You wish to take the child back to the whites?” Black Wolf asked.

“I must raise Christina first,” Merry announced.

Black Wolf looked stunned by his wife’s statement. Merry waited a moment before continuing. “Jessica didn’t want Christina to go home to this place called England until she was fully grown. We must make Christina strong, husband, so that when she does return to her people, she’ll be able to survive.”

“I don’t understand this promise,” Black Wolf confessed, shaking his head.

“I learned all about Jessica’s family. She was running away from her mate. She told me this evil man tried to kill her.”

“All white men are evil,” Black Wolf stated.

Merry nodded. She didn’t agree with her husband, yet she wanted to placate him. “Every day Jessica would open a book she called her journal and write inside it. I promised to keep this book for Christina and give it to her when she’s ready to go home.”

“Why did this man try to kill his wife?”

“I don’t know,” Merry confessed. “Jessica believed she was a weak woman, though. She spoke of this flaw often, and she begged me to make Christina as strong as a warrior. I told her all about you, but she told me little about her mate. Jessica had the sight, husband. She knew all along she would never see her daughter raised.”

“And if I’m against this plan?” Black Wolf asked.

“Then I must leave,” Merry answered. “I know you hate the whites, yet it was a white woman who saved your son. My daughter will prove to be just as courageous in spirit.”

“Her daughter,” Black Wolf corrected, his voice harsh.

Merry shook her head. Black Wolf walked past her to stand next to the river. He stared out into the night a long while, and when he finally turned back to Merry, his expression was hard. “We will honor this promise,” he announced.

Before Merry could show her gratitude, Black Wolf raised his hand. “Sunflower has been wife for three summers now and still hasn’t given her husband a child. She will take care of this white-skinned baby. If my sister isn’t willing, another will be found.”

“No, we must raise her,” Merry insisted. “She’s my daughter now. And you must also take a hand in this, Black Wolf. I promised to make Christina as strong as a warrior. Without your guidance—”

“I want you back, Merry,” Black Wolf said. “But I won’t allow this child into my home. No, you ask too much of me.”

“So be it,” Merry whispered. Her shoulders sagged with defeat.

Black Wolf had lived with Merry long enough to recognize that her stubborn determination was now asserting itself. “What difference will it make if she is raised by you or by another?”

“Jessica died believing you and I would raise her daughter. The child must be taught the skills needed to survive in the white man’s world. I bragged to Jessica about your strength, husband, and I—”

“Then we’ll never send her back,” Black Wolf interjected.

Merry shook her head. “I would never ask you to break your word. How can you ask me to dishonor my pledge now?”

Black Wolf looked furious. Merry started to cry again. “How can you still want me for your wife? I have been used by your enemy. I would have killed myself if I hadn’t had White Eagle with me. And now I’m responsible for another child. I can’t let anyone else raise her. In your heart, you know I’m right. I think it would be better if I took Christina away. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“No.” Black Wolf shouted the denial. “I have never stopped loving you, Merry,” he told her. “You will return to me this night.”

“And Christina?” Merry asked.

“You’ll raise her,” he conceded. “You may even call her daughter, but she belongs only to you. I have only one child. White Eagle. I will allow Christina into my tipi because her mother saved my son’s life. But this child will have no meaning in my heart, Merry. I will ignore her completely.”

Merry didn’t know what to make of her husband’s decision. She did return to him that night, however, and carried her daughter with her.

Black Wolf was a stubborn man. He proved to be as good as his word, too. He did set out to ignore Christina thoroughly.

It was, however, a task that grew more challenging with each passing day.

Christina always fell asleep next to her brother. Yet each morning, when Black Wolf opened his eyes, he found the baby girl snuggled up between him and his wife. She was always awake before he was, and always staring up at him.

The child simply didn’t understand he was ignoring her. Black Wolf would frown when he found her watching him so trustingly. Christina would immediately imitate his expression. If she’d been older, he would have thought she dared to mock him. But she was only a baby. And if she hadn’t been white-skinned, he knew he’d find amusement in the way she trailed after his son. Why, he might even have been pleased by the baby’s arrogant swagger.

Then Black Wolf would remember Christina didn’t exist inside his mind. He’d turn his back on the child and leave his tipi, his mood as black as rain clouds.

The days blended into full weeks as the tribe waited for their chief to call Merry before the council. But Gray Eagle watched his son-in-law, waiting to see if he could accept Christina.

When Black Wolf separated his son from Christina, Merry knew something had to be settled. The baby didn’t understand what was happening, of course, and spent most of her waking hours crying. She became extremely fretful and finally quit eating altogether.

Desperate, Merry went to her father and put the problem in his lap. She explained that until he, as chief, openly acknowledged Christina, the women and children would continue to follow Black Wolf’s lead and ignore the child.

Gray Eagle saw the wisdom in this argument. He promised to call the council that evening. He then went to the shaman to seek his advice.

The holy man seemed to be just as concerned about Christina’s welfare as Merry was. The chief was surprised by this attitude, for the shaman was known to be as hostile towards the whites as Black Wolf was.

“Yes, it is time to call the warriors together. Black Wolf must change his heart towards this child. It would be best if he made the decision alone,” he added, “but if he refuses to bend in his attitude, I will tell the council the fullness of my vision.”

The shaman shook his head when he saw his leader was about to question him. He walked over to a folded animal skin and handed it to Gray Eagle.

“Do not untie this rope, do not look upon this drawing until the time is right.”

“What is this drawing, Wakan?” Gray Eagle asked. His voice had turned to a whisper.

“The vision I was given by the Great Spirit.”

“Why have I not seen this before?”

“Because I didn’t understand the meaning of all that was revealed to me. I told you only that I’d seen the eagle flying above the herd of buffalo. Do you remember?”

Gray Eagle nodded. “I remember,” he said.

“What I didn’t tell you is that some of the buffalo were changed into the faces of those who had gone to the Afterlife. Merry and White Eagle weren’t among the dead, Gray Eagle. I didn’t understand at the time, and didn’t want to counsel you until I could solve the riddle in my mind.”

“Now we both understand,” Gray Eagle announced. “They were not dead.”

“But there is more to the vision, my friend. At first I thought the sight of the buffalo meant that hunting would be plentiful. Yes, that is what I thought.”

“And now, Wakan?”

The holy man shook his head again. “Do not open the skin until Black Wolf has again stated his position. If he refuses to claim the child, the drawing will sway him. We cannot allow him to go against the spirits.”

“And if he decides to call the child his? Will the drawing remain a mystery?”

“No, one and all must see the drawing, but not until Black Wolf has chosen the right path. The recounting will then reaffirm his wisdom.”

Gray Eagle nodded. “You must sit beside me this evening, my friend,” he announced.

The two men embraced each other. Gray Eagle then returned to his tipi with the animal skin. His curiosity was great, but he forced himself to be patient. There was much to be done before this evening’s council. The preparations would take his mind off the skin and what the drawing would reveal.

Merry paced the confines of her tipi until all the warriors had gathered into a circle around their leader’s fire. Christina had fallen into a fitful sleep on the pallet she no longer shared with her brother.

When one of the younger braves came to take Merry to the meeting, she left Christina alone, certain the baby was too exhausted to wake before morning.

The men were seated on the ground, with their leader at one end of the long oval. The shaman sat on Gray Eagle’s left side, Black Wolf on his right.

Merry slowly walked around the circle, then knelt down in front of her father. She quickly recounted all that had happened to her during the past year, putting great emphasis on the fact that Jessica had saved White Eagle’s life.

Gray Eagle showed no outward reaction to this tale. When his daughter finished her recitation, he gave her the formal signal to leave.

Merry was on her way back to Christina when Sunflower intercepted her. The two women stood in the shadows of the clearing, waiting to hear what their leader would decide.

Merry’s son was next called to give his version of what had happened. When the boy finished, he went to stand directly behind his father.

All of a sudden, Christina appeared at her brother’s side. Merry saw her daughter take hold of White Eagle’s hand. She started to go after the child, but Sunflower restrained her. “Wait and see what happens,” Sunflower advised. “The warriors will be angry if you interrupt them now. Your son will look after Christina.”

Merry saw the wisdom in her friend’s advice. She kept her gaze on her son, hoping he’d look her way so that she could motion for him to take Christina back to their tipi.

White Eagle was listening to the fierce argument being given by the majority of the warriors. They all wished to show their loyalty to Black Wolf by supporting his decision to ignore the child.

The chief nodded, then deliberately suggested that an old woman called Laughing Brook take on the duty of raising the child. Black Wolf immediately shook his head, denying the idea.

“Merry’s child would suffer at her hand,” Black Wolf announced to the warriors. “I could not let this happen. The child is innocent.”

Gray Eagle hid his smile. Black Wolf was opposed to giving the child to the crazed old squaw, proving he did in fact care.

The problem would be to make Black Wolf realize the full truth—a difficult challenge, the chief realized, for his son-in-law was a proud, stubborn man.

The chief reached for the animal skin, thinking to put an end to the dispute now, but the shaman stayed the action with a shake of his head.

Gray Eagle let the holy man have his way. He rested his hands on the folded skin and continued to mull over the problem while the warriors argued with one another.

And in the end, it was Christina, with her brother’s gentle prodding, who solved the problem for everyone.

Black Wolf’s son listened to the harsh debate over Christina’s future. Though the boy was only six summers, he’d already shown streaks of his father’s arrogant nature. Uncaring what the retributions would be, he suddenly pulled Christina along with him as he edged around to face his father.

Christina hid behind her brother now, though she peeked out at the angry-looking man staring at her brother so ferociously.

The chief was the only one who saw the baby mimick Black Wolf’s scowl before she pressed her face against White Eagle’s knees.

“Father,” White Eagle announced, “a white woman saved my life so that I could return to my people.”

The boy’s fervent words gained an immediate silence. “Christina is now my sister. I would protect her as well as any brother would protect his sister.”

Black Wolf couldn’t contain his surprise over the arrogant way his son dared to speak to him. Before he could form a reply, White Eagle turned to where his mother stood. He pointed to her, looked down at Christina, and said, “My mother.”

He knew full well what was going to happen. Christina had proved to be quite consistent in her possessiveness. What belonged to White Eagle belonged to her as well. White Eagle only had to repeat the words once before the little girl scooted out to her brother’s side. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth long enough to shout, “My mama.” Then she smiled up at her brother, waiting for him to continue this new game.

White Eagle nodded. He squeezed her hand to let her know he was pleased with her answer, then turned until he was staring at his father again. He slowly raised his hand and pointed at Black Wolf. “My father,” he announced in a firm voice.

Christina sucked on her thumb while she stared at Black Wolf.

“My papa,” White Eagle stated, giving Christina’s hand another squeeze.

Christina suddenly pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “My papa,” she bellowed, pointing her finger at Black Wolf. She then looked up at her brother to gain his approval.

White Eagle glanced over to look at his grandfather. When the leader nodded, Christina’s brother nodded to her.

It was all the approval the little girl needed. She let go of White Eagle’s hand, turned, and scooted backwards. Without showing the least bit of fear, she fell into Black Wolf’s lap.

Everyone watched the baby settle herself. Black Wolf visibly stiffened when Christina reached up and caught hold of one of his braids. He didn’t push her hand away, though, but turned to look at his chief.

Gray Eagle was smiling with satisfaction.

Merry rushed over to kneel down in front of her husband, keeping her head bowed. Black Wolf could see how his wife trembled. He let out a long, controlled sigh of acceptance.

“My children have no place at this council. Take them to our tipi.”

Merry immediately reached out to take Christina into her arms. She was prying her daughter’s hand away from her husband’s braid when the full impact of what he’d just said settled in her mind.

His children.

Merry really did try not to smile, but when she glanced up at her husband, she knew he could see her joy. And certainly her love.

Black Wolf acknowledged both with an arrogant nod.

Gray Eagle waited until Merry had taken the children away. “Do I now have a granddaughter?” he asked Black Wolf, demanding confirmation.

“You do,” Black Wolf answered.

“I am pleased,” Gray Eagle announced. He turned to the shaman then and asked him to tell the council about his vision.

The holy man stood and recounted his dream to the warriors. He slowly unwound the rope binding the deerskin and held it up for all to see.

There were many startled murmurs. The shaman silenced the group with a dramatic sweep of his hand. “We are the buffalo,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest. “The lion does not belong with the buffalo. On this earth, they are enemies, just as the white man is enemy of the Dakota. Yet the gods test us now. They’ve given us a blue-eyed lioness. We must protect her until the time comes for her to leave us.”

Black Wolf was clearly astonished by the shaman’s words. He shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner, Wakan?” he asked.

“Because your heart needed to learn the truth first,” the holy man answered. “Your daughter is the lioness, Black Wolf. There can be no mistake. Her hair is the color of white lightning, and her eyes are as blue as the Great Spirit’s home in the sky.”

Christina’s bellow of anger suddenly echoed throughout the village. The shaman paused to smile. “She has the voice of a lioness, too,” he remarked.

Black Wolf smiled with the others and nodded.

The holy man raised the skin into the air. “Merry’s promise will be fulfilled. The spirits have decreed it.”

Christina was formally accepted into the tribe the following evening.

They were a gentle people, the Dakota. Everyone opened their hearts to the blue-eyed lioness and gave her treasures beyond value.

They were intangible gifts that molded her character.

From her grandfather, Christina was given the gift of awareness. The old warrior showed her the beauty, the wonder of her magnificent surroundings. The two became inseparable. Gray Eagle gave Christina his love without restraint, his time without limitation, and his wisdom when she demanded immediate answers to continual little-girl questions of why and why and why. Christina gained patience from her grandfather, but the greatest treasure of all was the ability to laugh at what couldn’t be changed, to weep over what had been lost, and to find joy in the precious gift of life.

From her father, Christina was given courage, and determination to finish any task, to conquer any difficulty. She learned to wield a knife and ride a horse as well as any brave—better, in fact, than most. She was Black Wolf’s daughter and learned by observation to strive for perfection in every undertaking. Christina lived to please her father, to receive his nod of approval, to make him proud of her.

From her gentle mother, Christina was given the gift of compassion, understanding, and a sense of justice towards friends and enemies alike. She mimicked her mother’s ways until they became a true part of her personality. Merry was openly affectionate with her children and her husband. Though Black Wolf never showed his own feelings in front of others, Christina quickly learned that he’d chosen Merry because of her loving nature. His gruffness with his wife in front of the other warriors was all part of his arrogant manner. Yet in the privacy of their tipi, Black Wolf more than allowed Merry’s petting and soft words. He demanded them. His gaze would take on a warm expression, and when he thought his daughter was sound asleep, he’d reach for his wife and give her back all the gentle words of love she’d taught him.

Christina vowed to find a man like Black Wolf when the time came for her to choose a mate. He would be a warrior as proud and arrogant as her father, as demanding and protective of what belonged to him, and with the same fierce capacity to love.

She told her brother she’d never settle for less.

White Eagle was her confidant. He didn’t wish to break his sister’s innocent determination, but he worried for her. He argued in favor of caution, for he knew, as well as everyone else in their isolated village, that Christina would one day return to the world of the whites.

And in his heart, the truth tormented him. He knew, with a certainty he couldn’t deny, that there were no warriors like his father in this place called England.

None at all.

Chapter One

London, England, 1810

Lettie’s screams were getting weaker.

Baron Winters, the physician in attendance to the Marchioness of Lyonwood, leaned over his patient and frantically tried to grab hold of her hands. The beautiful woman was writhing in agony. She was clearly out of her head now and seemed determined to tear the skin off her distended abdomen.

“There, there, Lettie,” the physician whispered in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “It’s going to be all right, my dear. Just a bit longer and you’ll have a fine babe to give your husband.”

The baron wasn’t at all certain Lettie even understood what he was saying to her. Her emerald-green eyes were glazed with pain. She seemed to be staring right through him. “I helped bring your husband into this world. Did you know that, Lettie?”

Another piercing scream interrupted his attempt to calm his patient. Winters closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. His forehead was beaded with perspiration, and his hands were actually shaking. In all his years, he’d never seen such a difficult laboring. It had gone on much too long already. The Marchioness was growing too weak to help.

The door to the bedroom slammed open then, drawing the baron’s attention. Alexander Michael Phillips, the Marquess of Lyonwood, filled the doorway. Winters sighed with relief. “Thank God you’re home,” he called out. “We were worried you wouldn’t return in time.”

Lyon rushed over to the bed. His face showed his concern. “For God’s sake, Winters, it’s too early for this to happen yet.”

“The baby has decided otherwise,” Winters replied.

“Can’t you see she’s in terrible pain?” he shouted. “Do something!”

“I’m doing everything I can,” Winters yelled back before he could control his anger. Another spasm caught Lettie, and her scream turned Winter’s attention back to her. The physician’s shoulders heaved forward with his effort of restraining her. The Marchioness wasn’t a small woman by any means. She was extremely tall and well rounded. She fought the physician’s hold on her shoulders with a vengeance.

“She’s out of her mind, Lyon. Help me tie her hands to the posts,” Winters ordered.

“No,” Lyon shouted, clearly appalled by such a command. “I’ll hold her still. Just be done with it, Winters. She can’t take much more. God, how long has she been this way?”

“Over twelve hours now,” Winters confessed. “The midwife sent for me a few hours ago. She ran off in a panic when she realized the baby isn’t in the proper position for birthing,” he added in a whisper. “We’re going to have to wait it out and pray the baby turns for us.”

Lyon nodded as he took hold of his wife’s hands. “I’m home now, Lettie. Just a little longer, my love. It will be over soon.”

Lettie turned toward the familiar voice. Her eyes were dull, lifeless. Lyon continued to whisper encouragement to his wife. When she closed her eyes and he believed she was asleep, he spoke to Winters again. “Is it because the baby is almost two months early that Lettie is having so much difficulty?”

The physician didn’t answer him. He turned his back on the Marquess to lift another cloth from the water basin. His motions were controlled, angry, but his touch was gentle when he finally placed the cool cloth on his patient’s brow. “God help us if she gets the fever,” he muttered to himself.

Lettie’s eyes suddenly opened. She stared up at Baron Winters. “James? Is that you, James? Help me, please help me. Your baby is tearing me apart. It’s God’s punishment for our sins, isn’t it, James? Kill the bastard if you have to, but rid me of it. Lyon will never know. Please, James, please.”

The damning confession ended with a hysterical whimper.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Winters blurted once he’d recovered his composure. He wiped the blood away from Lettie’s lips before adding, “Your wife is delirious, Lyon. The pain rules her mind. Pay no heed to her rantings.”

Baron Winters glanced over to look at the Marquess. When he saw the expression on Lyon’s face, he knew his speech hadn’t swayed the man. The truth had won out after all.

Winters cleared his throat and said, “Lyon, quit this room. I’ve work to do here. Go and wait in your study. I’ll come for you when it’s over.”

The Marquess continued to stare at his wife. When he finally lifted his gaze and nodded to the physician, his eyes showed his torment. He shook his head then, a silent denial, perhaps, of what he’d just heard, and abruptly left the room.

His wife’s screams for her lover followed him out the door.

It was finished three hours later. Winters found Lyon in the library. “I did everything I could, Lyon. God help me, I lost both of them.”

The baron waited several minutes before speaking again. “Did you hear what I said, Lyon?”

“Was the baby two months early?” Lyon asked.

Winters didn’t immediately answer. He was slow to recover from the flat, emotionless tone in Lyon’s voice. “No, the baby wasn’t early,” he finally said. “You’ve been lied to enough, son. I’ll not add to their sins.”

The baron collapsed in the nearest chair. He watched Lyon calmly pour him a drink, then reached forward to accept the glass. “You’ve been like a son to me, Lyon. If there is anything I can do to help you through this tragedy, only tell me and I’ll do it.”

“You’ve given me the truth, old friend,” Lyon answered. “That is enough.”

Winters watched Lyon lift his goblet and down the contents in one long swallow.

“Take care of yourself, Lyon. I know how much you loved Lettie.”

Lyon shook his head. “I’ll recover,” he said. “I always do, don’t I, Winters?”

“Yes,” Winters answered with a weary sigh. “The lessons of brotherhood have no doubt prepared you for any eventuality.”

“There is one task I would give you,” Lyon said. He reached for the inkwell and pen.

Long minutes passed while Lyon wrote on a sheet of paper. “I’ll do anything,” Winters said when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

Lyon finished his note, folded the sheet, and handed it to the physician.

“Take the news to James, Winters. Tell my brother his mistress is dead.”

Chapter Two

Your father was such a handsome man, Christina. He could have chosen any woman in England. Yet he wanted me. Me! I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I was only pretty enough to be passable by the ton’s measure, terribly shy and naive, the complete opposite of your father. He was so sophisticated, so very polished, kind and loving, too. Everyone thought he was the most wonderful man.

But it was all a terrible lie.

Journal entry

August 1, 1795

London, England, 1814

It was going to be a long night.

The Marquess of Lyonwood let out a controlled sigh and leaned against the mantel of Lord Carlson’s receiving room. It wasn’t a casual stance but one employed for necessity’s sake. By shifting his considerable weight, Lyon was able to ease the throbbing in his leg. The injury was still a constant irritant, and the sharp pain radiating up through his kneecap did absolutely nothing to lighten his somber mood.

Lyon was attending the party under duress, having been successfully nagged into doing his duty by escorting his younger sister, Diana, to the event. Needless to say, he wasn’t at all happy about his circumstances. He thought he should try to affect a pleasant expression on his face, yet couldn’t quite manage that feat. Lyon was simply in too much pain to care if others noticed his sour disposition or not. He settled on a scowl instead, his usual expression these days, then folded his arms across his massive chest in a gesture of true resignation.

The Earl of Rhone, Lyon’s good friend since Oxford pranks, stood beside him. Both were considered handsome men. Rhone was dark-haired, fair-skinned, and stood six feet in height. He was built on the lean side, always impeccable in dress and taste, and gifted with a lopsided smile that made the young ladies forget all about his crooked nose. They were simply too mesmerized by his enviable green eyes to notice.

Rhone was definitely a lady’s man. Mothers fretted over his reputation, fathers worried about his intentions, while unseasoned daughters ignored their parents’ cautions altogether, competing quite brazenly for his attention. Rhone drew women to his side in much the same way honey drew a hungry bear. He was a rascal, true, yet too irresistible to deny.

Lyon, on the other hand, had the dubious distinction of being able to send these same sweetly determined ladies screaming for cover. It was an undisputed fact that the Marquess of Lyon wood could clear a room with just one glacial stare.

Lyon was taller than Rhone by a good three inches. Because he was so muscular in chest, shoulders, and thighs, he gave the appearance of being even larger. His size alone wasn’t enough to thoroughly intimidate the stronger-hearted ladies hoping to snatch a title, however. Neither were his features, if you could take them just one at a time. Lyon’s hair was a dark golden color, given to curl. The length was left unfashionably longer than society liked. His profile mimicked the statues of Roman soldiers lining Carlton House. His cheekbones were just as patrician, his nose just as classical, and his mouth just as perfectly sculptured.

The warm color of his hair was Lyon’s only soft feature, however. His brown eyes mirrored cold cynicism. Disillusionment had molded his expression into a firm scowl. The scar didn’t help matters much, either. A thin, jagged line slashed across his forehead, ending abruptly in the arch of his right eyebrow. The mark gave Lyon a piratical expression.

And so the gossip makers called Rhone a rake and Lyon a pirate, but never, of course, to either gentleman’s face. These foolish women didn’t realize how their insults would have pleased both men.

A servant approached the Marquess and said, “My lord? Here is the brandy you requested.” The elderly man made the announcement with a formal bow as he balanced two large goblets on a silver tray.

Lyon grabbed both glasses, handed one to Rhone, and then surprised the servant by offering his gratitude. The servant bowed again before turning and leaving the gentlemen alone.

Lyon emptied his glass in one long swallow.

Rhone caught the action. “Is your leg bothering you?” he asked, frowning with concern. “Or is it your intention to get sotted?”

“I never get sotted,” Lyon remarked. “The leg is healing,” he added with a shrug, giving his friend a roundabout answer.

“You came away lucky this time, Lyon,” Rhone said. “You’re going to be out of commission for a good six months, maybe more. Thank God for that,” he added. “Richards would have you back in jeopardy tomorrow if he could have his way. I do believe it was a blessing your ship was destroyed. You can’t very well go anywhere until you build another.”

“I knew the risks,” Lyon answered. “You don’t like Richards, do you, Rhone?”

“He never should have sent you on that last little errand, my friend.”

“Richards places government business above personal concerns.”

“Above our personal concerns, you mean to say,” Rhone corrected. “You really should have gotten out when I did. If you weren’t so vital to—”

“I’ve quit, Rhone.”

His friend couldn’t contain his astonishment. Lyon knew he should have waited to give him the news, for there was a real concern Rhone would let out a shout. “Don’t look so stunned, Rhone. You’ve been after me to retire for a good while now.”

Rhone shook his head. “I’ve been after you because I’m your friend and very likely the only one who cares what happens to you,” he said. “Your special talents have kept you doing your duty longer than a normal man could stand. God’s truth, I wouldn’t have had the stomach for it. Do you really mean it? You’ve actually retired? Have you told Richards?”

Rhone was speaking in a furious whisper. He watched Lyon intently.

“Yes, Richards knows. He isn’t too pleased.”

“He’ll have to get used to it,” Rhone muttered. He raised his glass in salutation. “A toast, my friend, to a long life. May you find happiness and peace. You deserve a bit of both, Lyon.”

Since Lyon’s glass was empty, he didn’t share in the toast. He doubted Rhone’s fervent wish would come true anyway. Happiness—in sporadic doses, of course—was a true possibility. But peace … no, the past would never allow Lyon to find peace. Why, it was as impossible a goal as love. Lyon accepted his lot in life. He had done what he believed was necessary, and part of his mind harbored no guilt. It was only in the dark hours of the night, when he was alone and vulnerable, that the faces from the past came back to haunt him. No, he’d never find peace. The nightmares wouldn’t let him.

“You’re doing it again,” Rhone announced, nudging Lyon’s arm to gain his attention.

“Doing what?”

“Frowning all the ladies out of the room.”

“It’s good to know I’ve still got the ability,” Lyon drawled.

Rhone shook his head. “Well, are you going to frown all night?”

“Probably.”

“Your lack of enthusiasm is appalling. I’m in a wonderful mood. The new season always stirs my blood. Your sister must also be eager for all the adventures,” he added. “Lord, it’s difficult to believe the little brat has finally grown up.”

“Diana is excited,” Lyon admitted. “She’s old enough to start looking for a husband.”

“Is she still … spontaneous? It’s been over a year now since I last saw her.”

Lyon smiled over Rhone’s inept description of his sister’s conduct. “If you mean to ask me if she still charges into situations without showing the least amount of restraint, then yes, she’s still spontaneous.”

Rhone nodded. He looked around the room, then let out a sigh. “Just think of it. A fresh crop of beautiful ladies waiting to be sampled. In truth, I thought their mamas would have made them stay home, what with Jack and his band of robbers still on the prowl.”

“I heard the thieves visited Wellingham last week,” Lyon commented.

“Caused quite a stir,” Rhone interjected with a true grin. “Lady Wellingham took to her bed after making the vow she wasn’t going to get up until her emeralds were recovered. An odd reaction, to my way of thinking, when you consider how much thieving her husband does at the gambling tables. The man’s a flagrant cheat.”

“I understand Jack only robbed the Wellinghams. Is it true he left the guests alone?”

Rhone nodded. “Yes. The man obviously was in a hurry.”

“Seems to me he’s aching to get caught,” Lyon said.

“I don’t agree,” Rhone answered. “Thus far, he’s only stolen from those who I think needed a good set down. I actually admire the man.”

When Lyon gave him a puzzling look, Rhone hastened to change the topic. “The ladies would approach us if you’d smile. Then you might begin to enjoy yourself.”

“I think you’ve finally lost your mind. How can you pretend to enjoy this farce?”

“There are those who think you’ve lost your mind, Lyon. It’s a fact you’ve been secluded from the ton too long.”

“And it’s a fact you’ve endured one too many seasons,” Lyon answered. “Your mind has turned to mush.”

“Nonsense. My mind turned to mush years ago when we drank sour gin in school together. I really do enjoy myself, though. You would, too, if you’d only remember this is all just a game.”

“I don’t play games,” Lyon said. “And war is a better description for this scene.”

Rhone laughed, loud enough to draw curious stares. “Tell me this, friend. Are we pitted against the ladies, then?”

“We are.”

“And what is their quest? What do they hope to gain if they conquer us?”

“Marriage, of course.”

“Ah,” Rhone replied, dragging out the sound. “I suppose they use their bodies as their weapons. Is it their battle plan to make us so glazed with lust we’ll offer anything?”

“It’s all they have to offer,” Lyon answered.

“Good Lord, you are as jaded as everyone says. I worry that your attitude will rub off on me.”

Rhone shuddered as he spoke, but the effect was ruined by his grin.

“You don’t appear to be too concerned,” Lyon remarked dryly.

“These ladies are only after marriage, not our lives,” Rhone said. “You don’t have to play the game if you don’t want to. Besides, I’m only an insignificant earl. You, on the other hand, must certainly marry again if the line is to continue forward.”

“You know damn well I’m never going to marry again,” Lyon answered. His voice had turned as hard as the marble he was leaning against. “Drop this subject, Rhone. I’ve no sense of humor when it comes to the issue of marriage.”

“You’ve no sense of humor at all,” Rhone pronounced in such a cheerful tone of voice Lyon couldn’t help but grin.

Rhone was about to continue his list of Lyon’s other faults when a rather attractive redheaded lady happened to catch his concentration. He gave her his full attention until he spotted Lyon’s little sister making her way over to them.

“Better get rid of your frown,” Rhone advised. “Diana’s coming over. Lord, she just elbowed the Countess Seringham.”

Lyon sighed, then forced a smile.

When Diana came to an abrupt stop in front of her brother, her short-cropped brown curls continued to float around her cherublike face. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. “Oh, Lyon, I’m so happy to see you smiling. Why, I do believe you’re enjoying yourself.”

She didn’t wait for her brother to reply to her observation but turned to curtsy in front of Rhone. “It’s so good to see you again,” she said, sounding quite breathless.

Rhone inclined his head in greeting.

“Isn’t it remarkable I was able to plead Lyon into coming this evening? He really doesn’t like parties very much, Rhone.”

“He doesn’t?” Rhone asked, sounding so disbelieving Lyon actually laughed.

“Don’t jest with her,” Lyon said. “Are you enjoying yourself, Diana?” he asked his sister.

“Oh, yes,” Diana answered. “Mama will be pleased. I do hope she’s still awake when we get home so I can tell her all about tonight. I’ve just learned Princess Christina will be making an appearance, too. I confess I’m most curious to meet her. Why, I’ve heard the most wonderful stories about her.”

“Who is Princess Christina?” Lyon asked.

It was Rhone who hastened to answer his question. “You’ve been secluded too long, Lyon, or you surely would have heard of her. Though I haven’t actually met the lady, I’ve been told she’s very beautiful. There’s an air of mystery surrounding her, too. Her father was ruler of some little principality near Austria’s border. He was unseated during a rather nasty revolution,” Rhone continued. “Lady Christina, if we use the title she gained from her mother, has traveled all over the world. Brummel met her and was immediately infatuated. He was the first to call her Princess. The woman neither accepted nor rejected that title.”

“What happened to her mother?” Diana asked.

She looked quite spellbound by the story about the princess. Rhone smiled at her eagerness. “A tragedy, I’m told. The mother was weakheaded, and she—”

“What do you mean by weakheaded?” Diana interrupted to ask.

“Insane,” Rhone explained. “When the mother learned she was going to have a child, she ran off. Until three months ago, everyone believed both mother and babe were dead.”

“What happened to Princess Christina’s father?” Diana asked.

“He left England shortly after his wife disappeared. No one has heard of him since. Probably dead by now,” Rhone ended with a shrug.

“Oh, the poor Princess,” Diana whispered. “Does she have anyone to call family now, or is she all alone?”

“For God’s sake, Diana, you don’t even know the woman and you look ready to weep for her,” Lyon said.

“Well, it is such a sad story,” Diana said, defending herself. She turned back to Rhone and added, “I remember how unbearable it was for all of us when James died. Mother still hasn’t recovered. She stays hidden in her room pretending all sorts of ills, when it’s truly grief that keeps her there.”

Rhone took one look at Lyon’s cold expression and immediately hastened to turn the topic around. “Yes, well, we all miss James,” he lied, his tone brisk. “I’m anxious to meet Princess Christina, too, Diana. No one has been able to glean a scrap of information about her past. That does make for a mystery to be solved, now doesn’t it?”

When Rhone gave Diana a wink, she blushed. Lyon’s sister was still such an innocent. She was fetching enough, too, now that Rhone paused to really take a good look at her. Diana had filled out nicely since he’d last seen her. That realization actually irritated Rhone, though for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. “Brat,” he suddenly blurted out, “you do look pretty tonight.” Rhone grimaced over the roughness he’d heard in his own voice.

Diana didn’t seem to notice. She smiled over his compliment, affected another curtsy, and said, “Thank you, Rhone. It is kind of you to notice.”

Rhone frowned at Lyon. “Her gown is cut entirely too low. What could you have been thinking of to allow her in public this way? You’d better keep a close eye on her.”

“If I keep my eye on you, Diana will be safe enough,” Lyon answered.

“All the same, I really think …” The sentence trailed off, for Rhone had just glanced toward the entrance of the salon. He let out a low whistle. Diana quickly turned around to see what held Rhone so enthralled.

“Princess Christina.” Diana whispered the obvious, her voice filled with awe.

Lyon was the last to react. When he saw the vision standing across the room, he literally jerked away from the mantel. His body instinctively assumed a battle stance, his muscles tensed, ready.

He was slow to regain control. He realized his hands were actually fisted at his sides and his legs were braced apart for a fight, and he forced himself to relax. The abrupt movement made his knee start throbbing again. Lyon couldn’t do anything about the pain now, or the furious pounding in his chest.

And no matter how valiantly he tried, he couldn’t seem to take his gaze away from the Princess.

She really was lovely. She was dressed in silver from head to toe. The color belonged to an angel and highlighted the paler threads of her blond hair.

Without a doubt, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her skin appeared to be flawless, and even from the distance separating them Lyon could see the color of her eyes. They were the most startling shade of blue.

Princess Christina neither smiled nor frowned. Her expression showed only mild curiosity. The woman obviously understood her own appeal, Lyon concluded, hoping his cynical nature would save him from heart failure. He wasn’t at all pleased about the way his body continued to respond to her.

“Brummel was right,” Rhone announced. “The lady is enchanting.”

“Oh, I do hope I’ll be able to meet her,” Diana said. She whispered as though they were in church. “Just look at everyone, Rhone. They are all taken with her. Do you think the Princess will be agreeable to an introduction?”

“Hush, Diana,” Rhone said. “Princess Christina wouldn’t dare ignore you. You seem to forget just who your brother is.”

Diana gave Rhone a timid nod. “Sweetling, straighten your shoulders and quit wringing your hands. You’ll give yourself spots. We’ll find someone to give us a proper introduction.”

Rhone knew Lyon’s little sister hadn’t heard the last of his remarks. She’d already picked up her skirts and headed for the entrance. “Now what do we do?” he asked when Lyon grabbed hold of his arm to stop him from chasing after Diana.

“We wait and see,” Lyon advised. His voice sounded with irritation.

“Your sister is too impetuous,” Rhone muttered, shaking his head. “She’s ignoring all her lessons in—”

“It’s high time Diana learned the lesson of discretion.”

“Let us hope it isn’t too painful for her.”

Lyon didn’t remark on that hope. He continued to give his attention to the beautiful Princess. An elderly couple approached the woman just as Diana came barreling to a halt a bare inch or so in front of them.

Diana almost knocked Christina to her knees. Rhone let out a long groan. The elderly couple didn’t even try to hide their displeasure when they were so rudely cut off. Both turned away, staring at each other in obvious embarrassment.

“Oh, God, Diana just cut in front of the Duke and Duchess,” Rhone said.

Lyon was infuriated with his sister. He was about to go after her to save her from further humiliation when the Princess took matters into her own hands. Rather nicely, too. She greeted Lyon’s sister with what appeared to be a sincere smile, then took hold of Diana’s hands when she spoke to her. Lyon thought the Princess was deliberately giving the impression to all those watching that she and Diana were close friends.

He watched the way Christina motioned Diana over to her side so that both could greet the Duke and Duchess of Devenwood. The Princess included Diana in the brief conversation, too, effectively smoothing over the mistake his sister had made.

Rhone sighed with relief. “Well, what do you know? She’s still holding Diana’s hand, too. A clever ploy to keep Diana from accidentally belting her one, I would imagine.”

Lyon rested his shoulder against the mantel again, smiling over Rhone’s observation. “Diana does like to use her hands when she speaks,” he admitted.

“The Princess has a good heart. God’s truth, I believe I’m in love.”

“You’re always in love,” Lyon answered.

He wasn’t able to keep the irritation out of his voice. Odd, but for some reason Rhone’s jest bothered him. He didn’t particularly want Princess Christina added to Rhone’s list of future conquests. It was a ridiculous notion, Lyon realized. Why did he care if his friend chased after the woman or not?

He sighed when he realized he didn’t have a ready answer. He did care, however. Fiercely so. And that honest admission soured Lyon’s mood all the more. Damn, he was too old and too tired for an infatuation.

Christina didn’t have any idea of the stir she was causing. She patiently waited in the center of the doorway for her Aunt Patricia to finish her conversation with their host. An eager young lady stood beside her, chattering away at such an incredible pace Christina couldn’t quite keep up with her. She pretended interest, smiled when it seemed appropriate, and nodded whenever the lady named Diana paused for breath.

Lady Diana announced she was going to fetch her friends for an introduction. Christina was left alone again. She turned to look at all the people openly gawking at her, a serene smile on her face.

She didn’t think she was ever going to get used to them. The English were such a peculiar lot. Though she’d been living in London for almost three months now, she was still perplexed by the odd rituals these whites seemed so determined to endure.

The men were just as foolish as their women. They all looked alike, too, dressed as they were in identical black garb. Their white neck wraps were starched to the point of giving the impression they were being strangled to death, an impression strengthened by their red, ruddy cheeks. No, Christina silently amended, they weren’t called neck wraps … cravats, she told herself. Yes, that was the proper name for a neck wrap. She mustn’t forget again.

There was so much to remember. Christina had studied diligently since arriving on her Aunt Patricia’s doorstep in Boston a year ago. She already spoke French and English. The missionary Black Wolf had captured years before had taught her very well.

Her lessons in Boston centered on the behavior expected of a gentle lady. Christina tried to please her aunt, and to ease some of her fears, too. The sour woman was Christina’s only link with her mother’s family. Later, however, when Christina had conquered the written word well enough to understand the meaning in her mother’s diary, her motives had changed. Dramatically. It was now imperative Christina win a temporary place in this bizarre society. She couldn’t make any mistakes until her promise was carried out.

“Are you ready, Christina?”

The question was issued by Aunt Patricia. The old woman came to Christina’s side and grabbed hold of her arm in a clawlike grip.

“As ready as I shall ever be,” Christina answered. She smiled at her guardian, then turned and walked into the throng of strangers.

Lyon watched her intently. He noticed how protective the princess appeared to be toward the wrinkle-faced woman clinging to her arm; noticed, too, how very correct the beautiful woman was in all her actions. Why, it was almost like a routine of some sort, Lyon thought. The Princess greeted each new introduction with a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Next followed a brief conversation, and last, a brisk, efficient dismissal.

Lyon couldn’t help but be impressed. The lady was good, all right. No wonder Brummel was so taken with her. The Princess followed all the rules of proper behavior. But Rhone was wrong. She wasn’t all that different. No, she appeared to be just as rigid, just as polished, and certainly just as superficial as all the other ladies of the ton. Brummel embraced superficiality with a passion. Lyon detested it.

He wasn’t disappointed by his conclusions about the Princess. The opposite was true for he’d felt off balance from the moment he’d first looked at the woman. Now his equilibrium was returning full force. He actually smiled with relief. Then he saw Rhone elbow his way through the crush of guests to get to the Princess. Lyon would have wagered his numerous estates that the woman would pay Rhone far more attention than the other men. Everyone in London knew of Rhone’s family, and though he wasn’t the most titled gentleman at the party, he was certainly one of the wealthiest.

Lyon would have lost his bet. Rhone didn’t fare any better than all the others. A spark of perverse satisfaction forced a reluctant grin onto Lyon’s face.

“You’re losing your touch,” Lyon remarked when Rhone returned to his side.

“What do you mean?” Rhone asked, pretending bewilderment.

Lyon wasn’t buying it for a minute. He could see the faint blush on Rhone’s face.

He really was starting to enjoy himself, Lyon realized. He decided then to rub salt in Rhone’s wounds like any good friend would. “Was it my imagination, or did Princess Christina give you the same treatment she’s given every other man in the room? She really didn’t seem too impressed with your charms, old boy.”

“You won’t do any better,” Rhone pronounced. “She really is a mystery. I specifically remember asking her several pertinent questions, yet when I walked away—”

“You mean when she walked away, don’t you?”

Rhone gave Lyon a good frown, then shrugged. “Well, yes, when she walked away I realized I hadn’t gotten a single answer out of her. At least I don’t think I did.”

“You were too interested in her appearance,” Lyon answered. “A pretty face always did ruin your concentration.”

“Oh?” Rhone said, drawing out the sound. “Well, old boy, let’s see how many answers you gain. I’ll put a bottle of my finest brandy up against one of yours.”

“You’re on,” Lyon announced. He glanced around the room and found Princess Christina immediately. He had the advantage of being taller than everyone else in the room, and the object of his quest was the only blond-haired woman there.

She was standing next to his father’s old friend, Sir Reynolds. Lyon was happy to see that Christina’s dour-looking guardian had taken a chair across the room.

When Lyon was finally able to catch Sir Reynolds’s attention, he motioned with an arrogant tilt of his head for an immediate introduction.

Sir Reynolds nodded—a little too enthusiastically for Lyon’s liking—then leaned down and whispered to the Princess. Christina’s back faced Lyon, but he saw her give an almost imperceptible nod. Long minutes elapsed before the heavyset woman speaking to the Princess paused for air. Sir Reynolds seized the opportunity to say goodbye. Lyon concluded his hasty explanation must have included his name, because the woman gave him a frightened look, picked up her skirts, and went scurrying in the opposite direction. She moved like a fat mouse with a cat on her tail.

Lyon’s smile widened. His boast to Rhone hadn’t been in vain. He really hadn’t lost his touch.

He dismissed the silly woman from his mind when Princess Christina came to stand directly in front of him. Sir Reynolds hovered at her side like a nervous guardian angel. Lyon slowly pulled himself away from his lazy repose, patiently waiting for her to execute the perfect little curtsy he’d seen her give everyone else.

Her head was bowed, but even so he could tell she wasn’t quite flawless after all. He could see the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The marks made her look less like a porcelain doll and far more touchable.

The woman barely reached his shoulders. She was too delicate-looking and much too thin for his liking, he decided. Then she looked up at him. Her gaze was direct, unwavering, captivating.

Lyon couldn’t remember his own name.

He knew he’d eventually thank God for Sir Reynolds’s intervention. He could hear the man’s voice drone on and on as he listed Lyon’s numerous titles. The long list gave Lyon time to recover.

He’d never been this rattled. It was her innocent gaze that held him so spellbound. Her eyes, too, he grudgingly admitted. They were unlike any shade of blue he’d ever seen.

He knew he had to get hold of himself. Lyon deliberately dropped his own gaze, settled on her mouth, and realized his mistake at once. He could feel himself reacting physically again.

Sir Reynolds finally ended his litany by stating, “I believe, my dear, you’ve already been introduced to the Earl of Rhone.”

“Yes,” Rhone interjected, smiling at Christina.

“Lyon, may I present Princess Christina to you?” Sir Reynolds said, sounding terribly formal.

Her eyes gave her away. Something said during the introduction had unsettled her. She quickly recovered, though, and Lyon knew that if he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would have missed the surprise in her gaze.

“I’m honored to meet you, sir,” Christina whispered.

Her voice appealed to him. It was soft, sensual. The unusual accent was noticeable, too. Lyon had traveled extensively, yet couldn’t put his finger on the origin. That intrigued him almost as much as his senseless urge to grab hold of her, drag her off into the night, and seduce her.

Thank God she couldn’t know what was going on inside his mind. She’d go screaming for a safe haven then, no doubt. Lyon didn’t want to frighten her, though. Not just yet.

“Rhone has been Lyon’s friend for many years,” Sir Reynolds interjected into the awkward silence.

“I’m his only friend,” Rhone commented with a grin.

Lyon felt Rhone nudge him. “Isn’t that true?”

He ignored the question. “And are you a Princess?” he asked Christina.

“It would seem to many that I am,” she replied.

She hadn’t quite answered his question, Lyon realized. Rhone coughed—a ruse to cover his amusement, Lyon supposed with a frown.

Christina turned to Rhone. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

“Immensely,” Rhone announced. He looked at Lyon and said, “Your questions?”

“Questions?” Christina asked, frowning now.

“I was just wondering where you call home,” Lyon said.

“With my Aunt Patricia,” Christina replied.

“Lyon, surely you remember Lord Alfred Cummings,” Sir Reynolds interjected with a great show of enthusiasm. “He was an acquaintance of your father’s.”

“I do recall the name,” Lyon answered. He tried yet couldn’t seem to take his gaze away from Christina long enough to spare a glance for Reynolds. It was probably rude, Lyon thought, even as he realized he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

“Well, now,” Sir Reynolds continued, “Alfred was appointed to the colonies years back. He died in Boston, God rest his soul, just two or three years ago, and the Countess returned home to England with her lovely niece.”

“Ah, then you’ve been in England two years?” Lyon asked.

“No.”

It took Lyon a full minute before he realized she wasn’t going to expound upon her abrupt answer. “Then you were raised in the colonies.” It was a statement, not a question, and Lyon was already nodding.

“No.”

“Were you born there?”

“No,” Christina answered, staring up at him with a hint of a smile on her face.

“But you lived in Boston?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

He really hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but Princess Christina was proving to be extremely exasperating. Rhone’s choked laughter wasn’t helping matters much either.

Lyon immediately regretted letting her see his irritation, certain she’d try to bolt at the first opportunity. He knew how intimidating he could be.

“Sir, are you displeased with me because I wasn’t born in the colonies?” Christina suddenly asked. “Your frown does suggest as much.”

He heard the amusement in her voice. There was a definite sparkle in her eyes, too. It was apparent she wasn’t the least bit intimidated. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was actually laughing at him.

“Of course I’m not displeased,” Lyon announced. “But are you going to answer all my questions with a yes or no?” he inquired.

“It would seem so,” Christina said. She gave him a genuine smile and waited for his reaction.

Lyon’s irritation vanished. Her bluntness was refreshing, her smile captivating. He didn’t try to contain his laughter. The booming sound ricocheted around the room, drawing startled expressions from some of the guests.

“When you laugh, sir, you sound like a lion,” Christina said.

Her comment nudged him off center. It was such an odd remark to make. “And have you heard the roar of lions, Christina?” he asked, dropping her formal title.

“Oh, many times,” Christina answered before she thought better of it.

She actually sounded like she meant what she said. That, of course, didn’t make any sense at all. “Where would you have heard such a sound?”

The smile abruptly left her face. She’d inadvertently been drawn into revealing more than caution dictated.

Lyon waited for her to answer him. Christina gave him a wary look, then turned to Sir Reynolds. She bid him goodnight, explaining that she and her aunt had promised to make an appearance at another function before quitting the evening. She turned back to Lyon and Rhone and dismissed them both with cool efficiency worthy of a queen.

Lyon wasn’t a man used to being dismissed.

Princess Christina was gone before he could mention that fact to her.

She knew she had to get away from him. She could feel her composure faltering. Her guardian was seated in a chair against the wall. Christina forced herself to walk with a dignified stride until she reached her aunt’s side.

“I believe we should prepare to leave now,” she whispered.

The Countess had lived with her niece long enough to know something was amiss. Her advanced years hadn’t affected her keen mind or her physical shape. She all but bounded out of her chair, anchored herself to Christina’s arm, and headed for the door.

Lyon stood with Rhone and Sir Reynolds. All three men watched Christina and her aunt make a hasty farewell to their host. “I’ll be over tomorrow to get that bottle of brandy,” Rhone announced with a nudge to get Lyon’s attention.

“Rhone, if you jam your elbow into my ribs one more time, I swear I’ll break it,” Lyon muttered.

Rhone didn’t look worried by the threat. He whacked his friend on the shoulder. “I believe I shall go and guard your sister for you, Lyon. You don’t seem capable of the task.”

As soon as Rhone left his side, Lyon turned to Sir Reynolds. “What do you know about Patricia Cummings?” he asked. “The truth, if you please, and no fancy fencing.”

“You insult me, Lyon,” Sir Reynolds announced, grinning a contradiction to his comment.

“You’re known for your diplomacy,” Lyon answered. “Now, about Christina’s guardian. What can you tell me about her? Surely you knew her when you were younger.”

“Of course,” Reynolds said. “We were always invited to the same functions. I know my comments won’t go any further, so I’ll give the black truth to you, Lyon. The woman’s evil. I didn’t like her back then, and I don’t like her now. Her beauty used to make up for her … attitude,” he said. “She married Alfred when his older brother took ill. She believed he’d die at any moment. Patricia was like a vulture, waiting to inherit the estates. Alfred’s brother outfoxed her, though. Lived a good ten years beyond everyone’s expectations. Alfred was forced to take an appointment to the colonies, else be packed off to debtor’s prison.”

“What about Patricia’s father? Didn’t he attempt to settle his son-in-law’s debts? I would have thought the embarrassment would have swayed him, unless, of course, he didn’t have enough money.”

“Oh, he was plenty rich enough,” Sir Reynolds announced. “But he’d already washed his hands of his daughter.”

“Because she married Alfred, perchance?”

“No, that isn’t how the rumor goes,” Reynolds said, shaking his head. “Patricia was always an abrasive, greedy woman. She was responsible for many cruelties. One of her little jests ended in tragedy. The young lady made the butt of her joke killed herself. I don’t wish to go into further detail, Lyon, but let it suffice to say she doesn’t appear to have changed her colors over the years. Did you notice the way she watched her niece? Gave me the shudders.”

Lyon was surprised by the vehemence in Sir Reynolds’s voice. His father’s old friend was known for his calm, easygoing disposition. Yet now he was literally shaking with anger. “Were you the victim of one of her cruelties?” he asked.

“I was,” Reynolds admitted. “The niece seems to be such a gentle, vulnerable little flower. She wasn’t raised by her aunt. I’m sure of it. I pity the poor child, though. She’s going to have a time of it trying to please the old bitch. The Countess will no doubt sell her to the highest bidder.”

“I’ve never heard you speak in such a manner,” Lyon said, matching Reynolds’s whisper. “One last question, sir, for I can tell this conversation distresses you.”

Sir Reynolds nodded.

“You said the Countess’s father was a rich man. Who gained his estates?”

“No one knows. The father settled his affections on the younger daughter. Her name was Jessica.”

“Jessica was Christina’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“And was she as demented as everyone believes?”

“I don’t know, Lyon. I met Jessica several times. She seemed to be the opposite of her sister. She was sweet-tempered, shy—terribly shy. When she married, her father was extremely pleased. He strutted around like a rooster. His daughter, you see, had captured a king. I can still remember the glorious balls held in their honor. The opulence was staggering. Something blackened, though. No one really knows what happened.” The elderly man let out a long sigh. “A mystery, Lyon, that will never be solved, I imagine.”

Though he’d promised to curtail his questions, Lyon was too curious to drop the topic just yet. “Did you know Christina’s father then? A king, you say, yet I’ve never heard of him.”

“I met him, but I never really got to know him well. His name was Edward,” Reynolds remembered with a nod. “Don’t recall his last name. I liked him. Everyone did. He was most considerate. And he didn’t hold with pomp. Instead of lording it over us, he insisted everyone call him baron instead of king. He’d lost his kingdom, you see.”

Lyon nodded. “It’s a riddle, isn’t it?” he remarked. “This Jessica does intrigue me.”

“Why is that?”

“She married a king and then ran away from him.”

“Jessica’s reasons went to the grave with her,” Sir Reynolds said. “I believe she died shortly after Christina was born. No one knows more than what I’ve just related to you, Lyon. And after your rather one-sided conversation with the lovely Princess, it would seem evident to me she’s going to keep her secrets.”

“Only if I allow it,” Lyon said, grinning over the arrogance in his remark.

“Ah, then you have taken an interest in the Princess?” Sir Reynolds asked.

“Mild curiosity,” Lyon answered with a deliberate shrug.

“Is that the truth, Lyon, or are you giving me fancy fencing now?”

“It is the truth.”

“I see,” Reynolds said, smiling enough to make Lyon think he didn’t really see at all.

“Do you happen to know where Christina and her guardian were going when they left here? I heard Christina tell you they had one more stop to make before finishing the evening.”

“Lord Baker’s house,” Reynolds said. “Do you plan to drop in?” he asked, his voice bland.

“Reynolds, don’t make more out of this than it really is,” Lyon said. “I merely wish to find out more about the Princess. By morning my curiosity will be appeased.”

The briskness in Lyon’s voice suggested to Reynolds that he stop his questions. “I haven’t greeted your sister yet. I believe I’ll go and say hello to her.”

“You’ll have to be quick about it,” Lyon announced. “Diana and I are going to be leaving in just a few minutes.”

Lyon followed Reynolds over to the crush of guests. He allowed Diana several minutes to visit and then announced it was time to leave.

Diana’s disappointment was obvious. “Don’t look so sad,” Sir Reynolds said. “I believe you aren’t going home just yet.” Sir Reynolds started chuckling.

Lyon wasn’t the least amused. “Yes, well, Diana, I had thought to stop by Baker’s place before taking you home.”

“But Lyon, you declined that invitation,” Diana argued. “You said he was such a bore.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“He isn’t a bore?” Diana asked, looking completely bewildered.

“For God’s sake, Diana,” Lyon muttered, giving Reynolds a glance.

The harshness in Lyon’s voice startled Diana. Her worried frown said as much.

“Come on, Diana. We don’t want to be late,” Lyon advised, softening his tone.

“Late? Lyon, Lord Baker doesn’t even know we’re going to attend his party. How can we be late?”

When her brother merely shrugged, Diana turned to Sir Reynolds. “Do you know what has come over my brother?” she asked.

“An attack of mild curiosity, my dear,” Sir Reynolds answered. He turned to Lyon and said, “If you’ll forgive an old man’s interference, I would like to suggest that your sister stay here for a bit longer. I would be honored to see her home.”

“Oh, yes, Lyon, please, may I stay?” Diana asked.

She sounded like an eager little girl. Lyon wouldn’t have been surprised if she started clapping her hands. “Do you have a particular reason to stay?” he asked.

When his sister started blushing, Lyon had his answer. “What is this man’s name?” he demanded.

“Lyon,” Diana whispered, looking mortified. “Don’t embarrass me in front of Sir Reynolds,” she admonished.

Lyon sighed in exasperation. His sister had just repeated his opinion that Baker was a bore, and now she had the audacity to tell him he was embarrassing her. He gave her a good frown. “We’re going to discuss this later, then,” he announced. “Thank you, Reynolds, for keeping a close watch on Diana.”

“Lyon, I don’t need a keeper,” Diana protested.

“You’ve yet to prove that,” Lyon said before he nodded farewell to Sir Reynolds and left the room.

He was suddenly most eager to get to the bore’s house.

Chapter Three

We stayed in England longer than Edward really wished so that my father could join in my birthday celebration. Edward was so very thoughtful of my dear papa’s feelings.

The day after I turned seventeen, we sailed for my husband’s home. I wept, yet remember thinking I was being terribly selfish. I knew I was going to miss my father. My duty was to follow my husband, of course.

After the tears were spent, I became excited about my future. You see, Christina, I thought Edward was taking me to Camelot.

Journal entry

August 10, 1795

Christina was feeling ill. She felt close to suffocating and kept telling herself her panic would dissipate just as soon as the horrible carriage ride was over.

How she hated the closeness inside the wobbly vehicle. The curtains were drawn, the doors bolted, the air dense and thick with her Aunt Patricia’s heavy perfume. Christina’s hands were fisted at her sides, hidden from her aunt’s view by the folds of her gown. Her shoulders were pressed against the padded brown leather backrest.

The Countess didn’t realize her niece was having any difficulty. As soon as the door was closed, she started in with her questions, never once allowing her niece time to give answers. The aunt laced each question with sharp, biting remarks about the guests they’d just left at Lord Carlson’s townhouse. The Countess seemed to derive great pleasure in defaming others. Her face would twist into a sinister look, her thin lips would pucker, and her eyes would turn as gray as frostbite.

Christina believed the eyes reflected the thoughts of the soul. The Countess certainly proved that truth. She was such an angry, bitter, self-serving woman. Foolish, too, Christina thought, for she didn’t even try to hide her flaws from her niece. Such stupidity amazed Christina. To show weakness was to give another power. Aunt Patricia didn’t seem to understand that primitive law, however. She actually liked to talk about all the injustices done to her. Constantly.

Christina no longer paid any attention to her guardian’s contrary disposition. She’d adopted a protective attitude toward the woman, too. The Countess was family, and while that probably should have been reason enough, there was another motive as well. Her aunt reminded Christina of Laughing Brook, the crazed old squaw who used to chase after all the children with her whipping stick. Laughing Brook couldn’t help the way she was, and neither could the Countess.

“Didn’t you hear me, Christina?” The Countess snapped, drawing Christina from her thoughts. “I asked you what made you want to leave Carlson’s party so suddenly.”

“I met a man,” Christina said. “He wasn’t at all like the others. They call him the Lion.”

“You speak of the Marquess of Lyonwood,” Patricia said, nodding her head. “And he frightened you, is that it? Well, do not let it bother you. He frightens everyone, even me. He’s a rude, impossible man, but then his position does allow for insolence, I suppose. The ugly scar on his forehead gives him a sinister look.”

“Oh, no, he didn’t frighten me,” Christina confessed. “Quite the contrary, Aunt. I was, of course, attracted to his mark, but when I heard Sir Reynolds call him Lion, I was immediately so homesick I could barely think what to say.”

“How many times must I tell you those savages should mean nothing to you?” Patricia screeched. “After all I’ve sacrificed so that you can take your rightful place in society and claim my inheritance …”

The Countess caught her blunder. She gave her niece a piercing look to measure her reaction, then said, “You simply must not think about those people. The past must be forgotten.”

“Why do they call him Lion?” Christina asked, smoothly changing the topic. She slowly moved her arm away from her aunt’s painful grip. “I’m only curious,” she explained, “for you did say the English didn’t name themselves after animals or—”

“No, of course not, you stupid chit,” Aunt Patricia muttered. “The Marquess isn’t named after an animal. The spelling isn’t the same.” The Countess slowly spelled Lyon’s name. Her voice lost some of its brittle edge when she continued, “It is in deference to his title that he’s called Lyonwood. Closer friends are permitted to shorten the name, of course.”

“He won’t suit?” Christina asked, frowning.

“He most certainly will not,” the Countess answered. “He’s too shrewd, too rich. You’ll have to stay away from him. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

The Countess nodded. “Why you would be attracted to him is beyond my comprehension. He wouldn’t be the least manageable.”

“I wasn’t truly attracted to him,” Christina answered. She lied, of course, but only because she didn’t wish to goad her aunt into another burst of anger. And she really couldn’t make her aunt understand anyway. How could she reason with a woman who believed a warrior’s mark was a detraction? With that feeble mind-set, Christina’s aunt would be appalled if she gave her the truth.

Oh, yes, the lion did appeal to her. The golden chips in his dark brown eyes pleased her. His powerful build was that of a warrior, and she was naturally drawn to his strength. There was an aura of authority surrounding him. He was aptly named, for he did remind her of a lion. Christina had noticed his lazy, almost bored attitude, yet she instinctively knew he could move with bold speed if given enough provocation.

Yes, he was attractive. Christina liked looking at him well enough.

But she loved his scent. And what would her aunt think of that admission, Christina wondered with a bit of a smile. Why, she’d probably install another chain on her bedroom door.

No, the Countess wouldn’t understand her attraction. The old shaman from her village would understand, though. He’d be very pleased, too.

“We needn’t worry that Lyon will show you the least interest,” Aunt Patricia announced. “The man only escorts paramours. His latest attraction, according to the whispers I overheard, is a woman called Lady Cecille.” The Countess let out an inelegant snort before continuing, “Lady indeed. Whore is the real name for the bitch. She married a man twice and half her age and no doubt began her affairs before the wedding was over.”

“Doesn’t this woman’s husband mind that she—”

“The old goat died,” her aunt said. “Not that long ago, I heard. Rumor has it Lady Cecille has her cap set for Lyon as her next husband.”

“I don’t think he’d marry a woman of ill repute,” Christina said, shaking her head for emphasis. “But if she is called Lady, then she must not be a paramour. Isn’t that right?” she asked, frowning over the confusion in her mind.

“She’s accepted by the ton because of her title. Many of the married women do have affairs. All the husbands certainly keep mistresses,” Aunt Patricia said. “The morals disgust me, but men will always follow their baser instincts, won’t they?”

Her tone of voice didn’t suggest she wanted Christina’s opinion. “Yes, Aunt,” she answered with a sigh.

“Lyon is rarely seen in public these days,” the Countess continued. “Ever since his wife died he has set himself apart.”

“Perhaps he still mourns his wife. He seemed vulnerable to me.”

“Ha,” the aunt sneered. “Lyon has been called many things, but never was the word vulnerable put to his name. I can’t imagine any man mourning over the loss of a wife. Why, they’re all too busy chasing after their own pleasures to care about anyone else.”

The carriage came to a halt in front of the Bakers’ residence, forcing an end to the conversation. Christina was acutely relieved when the door to the carriage was finally opened by the footman. She took several deep breaths as she followed her aunt up the steps to the brick-faced townhouse.

A soft, sultry breeze cooled her face. Christina wished she could pull all the pins out of her hair and let the heavy curls down. Her aunt wouldn’t allow her to leave it unbound, however. Fashion ordered either short, cropped curls or intricately designed coronets. Since Christina refused to cut her unruly hair, she was forced to put up with the torture of the pins.

“I trust this won’t be too much for you,” the Countess sarcastically remarked before striking the door.

“I won’t fail you,” Christina replied, knowing those were the only words her aunt wanted to hear. “You really mustn’t worry. I’m strong enough to face anyone, even a lion.”

Her jest didn’t take. The Countess puckered her lips while she gave her niece a thorough once-over. “Yes, you are strong. It’s obvious you haven’t inherited any of your mother’s odious traits. Thank God for that blessing. Jessica was such a spineless woman.”

It was difficult, but Christina held her anger. She couldn’t let her aunt know how the foul words about Jessica upset her. Though she’d lived with her aunt for over a year now, she still found it difficult to believe that one sister could be so disloyal to another. The Countess wasn’t aware her sister had kept a journal. Christina wasn’t going to tell her about the diary—not just yet, anyway—but she wondered what her aunt’s reaction would be if she was confronted with the truth. It wouldn’t make any difference, Christina decided then. Her aunt’s mind was too twisted to accept any changes in her opinions.

The pretense was becoming unbearable. Christina wasn’t gifted with a patient nature. Both Merry and Black Wolf had cautioned her to keep a firm hold on her temper. They’d warned her about the whites, too. Her parents knew she’d have to walk the path alone. Black Wolf feared for her safety. Merry feared for her heart. Yet both ignored her pleas to stay with them. There was a promise to be kept, no matter how many lives were lost, no matter how many hearts were broken.

And if she survived, she could go home.

Christina realized she was frowning. She immediately regained her smile just as the door was opened by Lord Baker’s butler. The smile stayed firmly in place throughout the lengthy introductions. There were only twenty guests in attendance, most of them elderly, and Christina was given hardly a moment’s respite from the seemingly contagious topic of current illnesses until the call for refreshments was given.

The Countess reluctantly left Christina’s side when Lord Baker offered her his arm. Christina was able to discourage three well-meaning gentlemen from ushering her into the dining room by pretending an errand in the washroom above the stairs. When she returned to the first floor, she saw that the drawing room was empty of guests. The solitude proved irresistible. Christina glanced over her shoulder to make certain she wasn’t being observed, then hurried to the opposite end of the long, narrow room. She’d noticed a balcony beyond a pair of French doors nestled inside an arched alcove. Christina only wanted to steal a few precious minutes of blissful quiet before someone came looking for her.

Her hope was in vain. She’d just made it to the alcove when she suddenly felt someone watching her. Christina stiffened, confused by the feeling of danger that swept over her, then slowly turned around to face the threat.

The Marquess of Lyonwood was standing there, lounging against the entrance, staring at her.

The lion was stalking her. She shook her head, denying her own fanciful notions, yet took an instinctive step back at the same time. The scent of danger was still there, permeating the air, making her wary, confused.

Lyon watched her for a good long while. His expression was intense, almost brooding. Christina felt trapped by his dark gaze. When he suddenly straightened away from the wall and started toward her, she took another cautious step back.

He moved like a predator. He didn’t stop when he reached her but forced her with his measured steps to back up through the archway and into the night.

“What are you doing, sir?” Christina whispered, trying to sound appalled and not too worried. “This isn’t at all proper, is it?”

“No.”

“Why, you’ve forgotten to make your presence known to our host,” Christina stammered. “Did you forget your duty?”

“No.”

She tried then to walk around him. Lyon wouldn’t let her escape. His big hands settled on her shoulders, and he continued his determined pace. “I know you didn’t speak to Lord Baker,” Christina said. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Christina replied, sounding quite breathless. “It is a rudeness, that.”

“Yes.”

“I really must go back inside now, my lord,” she said. She was growing alarmed by his abrupt answers. His nearness was driving her to distraction, too. He’d confuse her if she let him, she told herself. Then she’d forget all her training.

“Will you unhand me, sir?” she demanded.

“No.”

Christina suddenly understood what he was doing. Though she tried, she couldn’t contain her smile. “You’re trying to be as abrupt as I was with you, aren’t you, Lyon?”

“I am being abrupt,” he replied. “Do you like having all your questions answered with a simple yes or no?”

“It is efficient,” Christina said, staring intently at his chest.

She’d mispronounced the word “efficient.” Her accent had become more noticeable, too. Lyon assumed she was frightened, for he’d also caught the worry in her voice. He slowly forced her chin up, demanding without words that she look at him. “Don’t be afraid of me, Christina,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer him. Lyon stared into her eyes a long minute before the truth settled in his mind. “I don’t worry you at all, do I?” he asked.

She thought he sounded disappointed. “No,” she admitted with a smile. She tried to shrug his hand away from her chin, and when he wouldn’t let go of her she took another step back, only to find a weak railing blocking her.

She was good and trapped, and Lyon smiled over it. “Will you please let me go back inside?” she asked.

“First we’re going to have a normal conversation,” Lyon announced. “This is how it works, Christina. I’ll ask you questions, and you may ask me questions. Neither of us will give abrupt one-word answers.”

“Why?”

“So that we may get to know each other better,” Lyon said.

He looked determined enough to stay on Lord Baker’s balcony for the rest of the night if he needed to. Christina decided she had to gain the upper hand as soon as possible.

“Are you angry because I’m not afraid of you?” she asked.

“No,” Lyon answered, giving her a lazy grin. “I’m not angry at all.”

“Oh, yes you are,” Christina said. “I can feel the anger inside you. And your strength. I think you might be just as strong as a lion.”

He shook his head. “You say the oddest things,” he remarked. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her. His thumb slowly brushed her full lower lip. Her softness fascinated him, beckoned him.

“I don’t mean to say odd things,” Christina said, frowning now. “It is very difficult to banter with you.” She turned her face away from him and whispered, “My Aunt Patricia doesn’t want me in your company, Lyon. If she realizes I’m outside with you, she’ll be most displeased.”

Lyon raised an eyebrow over that announcement. “She’s going to have to be displeased then, isn’t she?”

“She says you’re too shrewd,” Christina told him.

“And that is a fault?” Lyon asked, frowning.

“Too wealthy, too,” Christina added, nodding her head when he gave her an incredulous look.

“What’s wrong with being wealthy?” Lyon asked.

“You wouldn’t be manageable.” Christina quoted her aunt’s opinion.

“Damn right.”

“See, you agree with my Aunt Patricia after all,” Christina returned. “You aren’t like the others, are you, Lyon?”

“What others?”

Christina decided to ignore that question. “I’m not a paramour, sir. Aunt tells me you’re only interested in loose women.”

“You believe her?” he asked. His hands caressed her shoulders again, and he was starting to have difficulty remembering what they were talking about. He could feel the heat of her through her gown. It was a wonderful distraction.

How he wanted to taste her! She was boldly staring up into his eyes now, with such an innocent look on her face, too. She was trying to make a mockery out of all his beliefs about women, Lyon decided. He, of course, knew better. Yet she intrigued him enough to play the game for just a little longer. There wasn’t any harm in that, he told himself.

“No,” Christina said, interrupting his thoughts.

“No, what?” Lyon asked, trying to remember what he’d said to her.

“No, I don’t believe my aunt was correct. You’re obviously attracted to me, Lyon, and I’m not a loose woman.”

Lyon laughed softly. The sound was like a caress. Christina could feel her pulse quicken. She understood the danger now. Lyon’s appeal could break through all her barriers. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her, he would be able to cut through her pretense. “I really must go back inside now,” she blurted out.

“Do you know how much you confuse me?” Lyon asked, ignoring her demand to leave him. “You’re very good at your craft, Christina.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Lyon drawled out. “I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve got me acting like a schoolboy. You’ve such a mysterious air about you. Deliberate, isn’t it? Do you think I’ll be less interested in you if I know more about you?”

Less interested? Christina felt like laughing. Why, the man would be appalled if he knew the truth. Yes, her aunt was right after all. The Marquess of Lyonwood was entirely too cunning to fool for long.

“Don’t look so worried, my sweet,” Lyon whispered.

She could see the amusement in his eyes. “Don’t call me that,” she said. Her voice shook, but it was only because of the strain of the pretense. “It isn’t a proper law,” she added, nodding vigorously.

“Proper law?” Lyon didn’t know what she was talking about. His frustration turned to irritation. He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. “Let’s start over, Christina. I’ll ask you a simple question, and you may give me a direct answer,” he announced. “First, however, kindly explain what you mean when you say calling you sweet isn’t a proper law.”

“You remind me of someone from my past, Lyon. And I’m too homesick to continue this discussion.” Her confession came out in a sad, forlorn whisper.

“You were in love with another man?” Lyon asked, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

“No.”

He waited, and when she didn’t expound on her answer he let out a long sigh. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “You will explain,” he added, tightening his grip on her shoulders. “Christina, I’ve known you less than two hours, and you’ve got me tied in knots already. It isn’t an easy admission to make,” he added. “Can we not stay on one topic?”

“I don’t think we can,” Christina answered. “When I’m near you, I forget all the laws.”

Lyon thought she sounded as bewildered as he felt. They’d circled back to her laws again, too. She wasn’t making any sense. “I’ll win, you know,” he told her. “I always do. You can push me off center as many times as you like, but I’ll always …”

He’d lost his train of thought when Christina suddenly reached up and trailed the tips of her fingers across the ragged line of his scar. The gentle touch sent shock waves all the way to his heart.

“You have the mark of a warrior, Lyon.”

His hands dropped to his sides. He took a step back, thinking to put some distance between them so he could cool the fire rushing through his veins. From the innocent look in her eyes, he knew she didn’t have any idea of the effect she was having on him.

It had happened so suddenly, so overwhelmingly. Lyon hadn’t realized desire could explode so quickly.

Christina took advantage of the separation. She bowed her head and edged her way around him. “We must never touch each other again,” she said before turning her back on him and walking away.

She had reached the alcove when his voice stopped her. “And do you find warriors with scars unappealing?”

Christina turned, so swiftly her skirt swirled around her ankles. She looked astonished by his question.

“Unappealing? Surely you jest with me,” she said.

“I never jest,” Lyon answered. His voice sounded bored, but the look in his eyes told her of his vulnerability.

She knew she must reveal this one truth. “I find you almost too appealing to deny.”

She couldn’t quite look into his eyes when she made her confession, overcome by shyness because of her bold admission. She thought she might be blushing, too, and that thought irritated her enough to turn her back on Lyon once again.

He moved with the speed of a lion. One minute he was standing across the balcony, and the next he had her pinned against the brick wall adjacent to the alcove. His body kept her right where he wanted her. The lower half of Christina’s body was trapped by his legs, and his hands were anchored on her shoulders. When he suddenly reached over to shut the doors, his thighs brushed intimately against hers. The touch unsettled both of them. Christina pushed herself up against the wall, trying to break the contact. Lyon’s reaction was just the opposite. He leaned closer, wanting the touch again.

Lyon knew he was embarrassing her. He could see her blush, even in the soft moonlit night. “You’re like a fragile little flower,” he whispered while his hands caressed her shoulders, her neck. “Your skin feels like hot silk.”

Her blush deepened. Lyon smiled over it. “Open your eyes, Christina. Look at me,” he commanded in a voice as gentle as the breeze.

His tender words sent shivers down her arms. Love words, almost identical in meaning to the words Black Wolf always gave Merry when he thought they were alone. Lyon was trying to gentle her in much the same way. Did that mean he wanted to mate with her? Christina almost blurted out that question, then realized she shouldn’t. Lyon was an Englishman, she reminded herself. The laws weren’t the same.

Heaven help her, she mustn’t forget. “I would never flirt with a lion,” she blurted. “It would be dangerous.”

Lyon’s hands circled her neck. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her. The woman certainly did confuse him with her ridiculous comments. He could feel the frantic pulse of her heartbeat under his fingers. “Your eyes don’t show any fear, but your heart tells the truth. Are you afraid of your attraction to me?”

“What an arrogant man you are,” Christina said. “Why, I’m so frightened I believe I might swoon if you don’t unhand me this very minute.”

Lyon laughed, letting her know he didn’t believe her lie. He leaned down until his mouth was just a breath away from hers. “Didn’t you tell me I was too irresistible to deny, Christina?”

“No,” she whispered. “I said you were almost too irresistible to deny, Lyon. Almost. There is a difference.”

She tried to smile yet failed the task completely. Christina was simply too occupied fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to melt against him, to hold him tightly, to learn his touch, his taste. She wanted his scent to mate with her own.

She knew it was a forbidden, dangerous longing. It was one thing to tease a cub and quite another to play with a fully grown lion. The dark look in Lyon’s eyes told her he’d be just as determined as a hungry lion, too. He’d consume her if she didn’t protect herself.

“Lyon,” she whispered, torn between desire and the need for caution. “You really must help fight this attraction. I’ll forget everything if you don’t cooperate.”

He didn’t know what she was talking about. What did she think she’d forget? Perhaps he hadn’t heard her correctly. Her accent had become so pronounced it was difficult to be certain. “I’m going to kiss you, Christina,” he said, catching hold of her chin when she started to shake her head.

“One kiss,” he promised. He nuzzled his chin against the top of her head, inhaled her sweet scent, and let out a soft, satisfied sigh. Then he took hold of her hands and slipped them around his neck.

God, she was soft. His hands slid down her arms, causing goosebumps he could feel. Pleased with her reaction to his touch, he settled his hands possessively on her hips and pulled her closer.

He was taking entirely too long getting on with it. Christina couldn’t fight her attraction any longer. One small touch would certainly satisfy her curiosity. Then she’d go back inside and force herself to forget all about Lyon.

Christina leaned up on her tiptoes and quickly brushed her mouth against his chin. She placed a chaste kiss on his mouth next, felt him stiffen in reaction. Christina drew back, saw him smile, and knew her boldness had pleased him.

His smile abruptly faded when she traced his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Lyon reacted as though he’d just been hit by lightning. He dragged her up against him until her thighs were flattened against his own. He didn’t care if his arousal frightened her or not. His arms circled her in a determined grip that didn’t allow any leverage. Christina wasn’t going to bolt until he let her.

She suddenly tried to turn her head away, and the tremor he felt rush through her made him think she might be having second thoughts. “Lyon, please, we will—”

His mouth found her, effectively silencing her protests. He teased and tantalized, coaching her to open her mouth for him. Christina responded to his gentle prodding. Her fingers slid into his hair as a passionate tremor coursed through his body. Lyon groaned into her mouth, then thrust his tongue deeply inside, demanding with his husky growl that she mate with him.

Christina forgot caution. Her hands clung to Lyon’s shoulders. Her hips moved instinctively until she was cuddling his heat with her own. A whimper of pleasure escaped her when Lyon began to move against her hips. Christina used her tongue to explore the wonderful textures of Lyon’s warm mouth, mimicking him.

A fire raged in his loins. Lyon’s mouth slanted over hers once again in a hot, wild kiss that held nothing back. Christina’s uninhibited response was a blissful torment he wanted never to end. The way she kissed him made him think she wasn’t innocent of men after all. Lyon told himself he didn’t care. The desire to bed her at the first possible moment overrode all other considerations.

Lyon had never experienced such raw desire. Christina made a soft moan deep in her throat. The sound nearly drove him beyond common sense. He knew he was about to lose all control and abruptly ended the kiss. “This isn’t the time or the place, love,” he told her in a ragged whisper.

He took a deep breath and tried desperately not to stare at her mouth. So soft, so exciting. She looked as though she’d just been thoroughly kissed, which of course she had, and Lyon could tell she was having as much difficulty regaining control as he was.

That fact pleased him immensely. He had to peel her hands away from his shoulders, too, for Christina didn’t seem capable of doing more than staring up at him. Her eyes had turned a deep indigo blue. Passion’s color, Lyon thought as he kissed her fingertips and then let go of her hands.

“I’m going to learn all of your secrets, Christina,” Lyon whispered, thinking of the pleasure they could give each other in bed.

His promise penetrated with the swiftness of a dagger. Christina believed he’d just promised to find out about her past. “Leave me alone, Lyon,” she whispered. She scooted around him, walked inside the archway, and then turned to look at him again. “Your curiosity could get you killed.”

“Killed?”

She shook her head to let him know she wasn’t going to expound upon that comment. “We satisfied each other by sharing one kiss. It was enough.”

“Enough?”

His bellow followed her inside the drawing room. Christina grimaced at the anger she’d heard in his voice. Her heart was pounding, and she thanked the gods that the guests were still in the dining room. There was an empty chair next to her aunt. Christina immediately sat down and tried to concentrate on the boring conversation the Countess was having with their host and hostess.

Minutes later Lyon appeared in the entrance. Lord Baker was beside himself with excitement. It was obvious that he and everyone else in the dining room believed the Marquess of Lyonwood had only just arrived.

Christina acknowledged Lyon with a curt nod, then turned her back on him. The rude gesture delighted the Countess. The old woman actually reached out to pat Christina’s hand. It was the first show of affection she’d ever given her niece.

Lyon ignored Christina just as thoroughly. He was, of course, the center of attention, for his title and his wealth set him above the others. The men immediately surrounded him. Most of the women also left their chairs. They stood together like a covey of quail, bobbing their heads and eyelashes in unison whenever Lyon happened to glance their way.

When Christina couldn’t stand the disgusting display any longer, she returned to the drawing room.

Lyon was trapped by their eager host into a discussion about crop rotation. He listened rather than advised, using the time to regain control of his temper. Though nothing showed on his face, inside he was shaking with fury.

Hell, she’d dismissed him again. Twice in one evening. Had to be some sort of record in that feat, he told himself. She was good, too. Why, she’d made him believe she was as hot as he was. Quite a little temptress, he decided.

Lyon was feeling as though he’d just been tossed into a snowbank. Christina was right, too. She had satisfied his curiosity. The problem, he grudgingly admitted, was the taste of her. Hot, wild honey. He hadn’t gotten enough. And while Lord Baker enthusiastically spoke about the merits of barley, Lyon heard again the soft whimpers Christina had given him. It was all surely an act on her part, but the memory still made his blood run heavy.

Christina’s aunt had followed her into the drawing room. The Countess stayed right by her niece’s side, making snide remarks about the ill-tasting food of which she’d just eaten a horrendously large portion. Christina thought she was safe enough until Lyon happened to walk into the room at the very moment the Countess left to go upstairs to the washroom to repair her appearance.

Christina was suddenly vulnerable again. Lyon was striding toward her, and though he smiled at the other guests, she could certainly see the anger in his eyes. She immediately hurried over to Lord Baker and spoke to him, warily watching Lyon out of the corner of her eye.

“You have such a lovely home,” Christina blurted out to the host.

“Thank you, my dear. It is comfortable for my needs,” Lord Baker stated, his chest puffing out with new importance. He began to explain where he’d picked up various pieces of art littering the shelves in the room. Christina tried to pay attention to what he was telling her. She noticed Lyon hesitate, and she smiled over it.

“My wife actually made most of the selections. She has a keen eye for quality,” Lord Baker commented.

“What?” Christina asked, puzzled by the way Lord Baker was staring at her. He did seem to expect some sort of answer. It was unfortunate, for she didn’t have the faintest idea what they were talking about.

Lyon was getting closer. Christina blamed her lack of concentration solely on him, of course. She knew she’d make a fool of herself in front of her host if she didn’t try to pay attention. She deliberately turned her back on Lyon and smiled again at her host. “Where did you find that lovely pink vase you’ve placed on your mantel?” she asked.

Lord Baker puffed up again. Christina thought he looked like a fat rabbit. “The most valuable piece in my collection,” he announced. “And the only one I picked out on my own. Cost more than all my wife’s jewels put together,” he whispered with a nod. “Had to be firm with Martha, too. My wife declared it simply didn’t work.”

“Oh, I think it’s very beautiful,” Christina said.

“Baker, I’d like to speak to Princess Christina for a moment. In privacy, if you wouldn’t mind.” Lyon spoke right behind her. Christina knew if she took a step back she’d touch his chest. The thought was so unsettling she couldn’t seem to come up with a quick denial.

“Certainly,” Lord Baker announced. He gave Lyon a speculative look. Matching in his mind, Lyon decided. The rumor that he’d taken an interest in Christina would certainly be all over London by noon tomorrow. Odd, but that realization didn’t bother Lyon too much. If it kept all the other dandies at bay, then perhaps the rumor would work to his advantage.

“Certainly not,” Christina suddenly blurted out. She smiled at Lord Baker to soften her denial while she prayed he’d come to her rescue.

It was an empty prayer. Lord Baker looked startled and confused until Lyon interjected in a smooth, lying voice, “Christina does have the most wonderful sense of humor. When you get to know her better, I’m sure you’ll agree, Baker.”

Their host was fooled by Lyon’s chuckle. Christina wasn’t. Lyon’s unbreakable hold on her hand told her he wasn’t really amused at all.

He was determined to win. Christina thought he’d probably cause a scene if she tried to deny his request again. The man didn’t seem to care what others thought of him. It was a trait she couldn’t help but admire.

Lyon didn’t have to use pretense, she reminded herself. His title assured compliance. Why, he was as arrogant and as confident as the chief of the Dakotas.

Christina tried to disengage herself from his hold when she turned to confront him. Lyon was smiling at Lord Baker, yet increasing the pressure in his grip at the same time. He was telling her without words not to argue, she supposed. Then he turned and started to pull her with him.

She didn’t struggle but straightened her shoulders and followed him. Everyone was staring at them, and for that reason she forced herself to smile and to act as though it was nothing at all to be dragged across the room by a man she’d only just met. When she heard one woman whisper in a loud voice that she and the Marquess made a striking couple, she lost her smile. Yes, she did feel like hitting Lyon, but it was certainly uncomplimentary of the woman to make such a remark. She knew Lyon had also heard the comment. His arrogant grin said as much. Did that mean he wanted to strike her?

Lyon stopped when they reached the alcove. Christina was so relieved he hadn’t dragged her outside, she began to relax. They were still in full view of the other guests—a blessing, because Christina knew Lyon wouldn’t try to kiss her senseless with an audience watching his every move. No, tender embraces and soft words belonged to moments of privacy, when a man and woman were alone.

After nodding to several gentlemen, Lyon turned back to Christina. He stood close enough to touch if she took just one step forward. Though he’d let go of her hand, his head was inclined toward hers. Christina deliberately kept her head bowed, refusing to look up into his eyes. She thought she probably appeared to be very humble and submissive. It was an appearance she wished to give her audience, yet it irritated her all the same.

Another lie, another pretense. How her brother, White Eagle, would laugh if he could see her now. He knew, as well as everyone else back home, that there wasn’t a submissive bone in Christina’s body.

Lyon seemed patient enough to stare at her all evening. Christina decided he wasn’t going to speak to her until she gave him her full attention. She captured her tranquil smile and finally looked up at him.

He was angry with her, all right. The gold chips were missing. “Your eyes have turned as black as a Crow’s,” she blurted out.

He didn’t even blink over her bizarre comment. “Not this time, Christina,” he said in a furious whisper. “Compliments won’t get me off balance again, my little temptress. I swear to God, if you ever again dismiss me so casually, I’m going to—”

“Oh, it wasn’t a compliment,” Christina interrupted, letting him see her irritation. “How presumptuous of you to think that it was. The Crow is our enemy.”

Heaven help her, she’d done it again. Lyon could so easily make her forget herself. Christina fought the urge to pick up her skirts and run for the front door. But she suddenly realized he couldn’t possibly understand her comment. The confused look on his face told her she’d swayed his attention, too.

“Birds are your enemies?” he asked in a voice that sounded incredulous.

Christina smiled. “Whatever are you talking about?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Did you wish to speak to me about birds?”

“Christina.” He’d growled her name. “You could make a saint lose his temper.”

She thought he looked ready to pounce on her, so she took a protective step back and then said, “But you aren’t a saint, are you, Lyon?”

A sudden shout drew Lyon’s full attention. Christina also heard the sound, yet when she tried to turn around, Lyon grabbed hold of her and roughly pushed her behind his back. His strength amazed her. He’d moved so quickly Christina hadn’t even guessed his intent until the deed was accomplished.

His broad shoulders blocked her view. Christina could tell by his rigid stance that there was danger. And if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was trying to protect her.

She was highly curious. She hadn’t sensed any threat, yet when she peeked out from Lyon’s side she could see armed men standing in the entrance. Her eyes widened with surprise. The evening had certainly taken another bizarre twist. First she’d encountered a lion, and now it appeared that they were about to be robbed by bandits. Why, it was turning out to be an extremely interesting evening after all.

Christina wanted to get a better look at the mischief makers. Lyon, however, had other ideas. As soon as she moved to his side he pushed her behind him again.

He was protecting her. A warm feeling swept over Christina. She was pleased with his determination and actually smiled over it. She decided to let him have his way, then stood on her tiptoes, braced her hands against Lyon’s back, and peeked over his shoulder so she could see what was going on.

There were five of them. Four held knives. Poor workmanship, Christina noted with a shake of her head. The fifth man held a pistol in his right hand. All wore masks that covered the lower portion of their faces. The man with the pistol—obviously the leader in Christina’s judgment—shouted orders from the entrance. His voice was strained into a deep, guttural tone. Christina immediately assumed he was known by some of the guests. He wouldn’t have disguised his voice unless he thought he’d be recognized. And while he was dressed like the others in peasant garb and an ill-fitting hat, his boots weren’t the same at all. They were old and scruffy, like the boots the others wore, but the quality of the leather was apparent to Christina.

And then the leader turned and looked across the room. His eyes widened in surprise. Christina let out an involuntary gasp. Good Lord, she’d just met the man not an hour past.

Lyon heard her indrawn breath. The scowl increased on his face, for he immediately assumed Christina was terrified. He backed up a space, pushing Christina further into the shadows. His intent was to block her inside the alcove, and if the danger increased, he’d shove her out the doorway.

Lord Baker’s wife swooned when one of the bandits demanded her diamond necklace. She conveniently landed on the settee. Christina was desperately trying not to laugh. Swooning was such a delightful pretense.

All of a sudden, Christina’s aunt walked into the middle of the commotion. The Countess didn’t seem to comprehend the fact that there was a robbery going on. When the leader turned and aimed his pistol in her direction, Christina immediately retaliated.

Crazed or not, Aunt Patricia was family. No one was going to harm her.

It happened too quickly for anyone to react. Lyon heard the whistle of the knife seconds before the bandit’s howl of pain. He’d seen the glint of metal fly by his right shoulder. He turned, trying to protect Christina from the new threat, but didn’t see anyone standing behind her. Whoever had thrown the weapon had vanished out the doorway to the balcony, he concluded.

Poor Christina. She tried to look dignified. Her hands were demurely folded together, and she gave him only a curious look. She even looked behind her when Lyon did, yet she didn’t seem to understand there might be jeopardy there, lurking in the shadows.

Lyon quickly pushed her into the corner so that the wall protected her back. When he was satisfied no one could get to her from behind, he turned back to face the bandits. His shoulders pressed Christina against the wall.

She didn’t argue over the confinement. She knew what he was doing. Lyon was still protecting her and was making sure no one was going to come back in through the archway. A noble consideration, Christina thought.

There wasn’t any need, of course, for there had never been anyone behind her. She couldn’t very well tell Lyon that, however, and his concern for her safety did please her immensely.

The leader had disappeared out the front door. The other bandits threatened the guests by waving their knives in front of them as they backed out of the room.

Both pistol and knife lay on the floor.

Lyon turned to Christina. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

He sounded so concerned. Christina decided to look frightened. She nodded, and when Lyon placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him she could feel the anger in him.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked.

He was surprised by her question. “No,” he announced. His voice was so harsh, he thought he might not have convinced her. “Of course I’m not angry with you, love.”

Christina smiled over the forced gentleness in his tone. “Then you may quit squeezing my shoulders,” she told him.

He immediately let go of her. “You’re angry because you couldn’t fight the mischief makers, aren’t you, Lyon?”

“Mischief makers? My dear, their intent was a little more serious,” Lyon said.

“But you did want to fight them, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a grin. “I was aching to get in the middle of it. Some habits die hard,” he added.

“You’ll always be a warrior, Lyon.”

“What?”

Oh dear, he was looking confused again. Christina hastened to say, “There are too many old people here. It wouldn’t have been safe for you to interfere. Someone might have been hurt.”

“Is your concern only for the old men and women?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Lyon frowned over her answer. Then she realized he wanted her to be concerned for his safety, too. Didn’t he realize it would have been an insult for her to show concern for him? Why, that would mean she didn’t have enough faith in his ability! Still, he was English, she reminded herself. And they were a strange breed.

“I wouldn’t worry for you, Lyon. You would have held your own.”

“You have that much faith in me, do you?”

She smiled over the arrogance in his tone. “Oh, yes,” she whispered, giving him the praise he seemed to need. She was about to add a bit more when a loud wail interrupted her.

“Our hostess is coming out of her swoon,” Lyon announced. “Stay here, Christina. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She did as he ordered, though she kept her attention directed on him. Her heart started pounding when Lyon knelt down and picked up her knife. She took a deep breath, held it, and then sighed with relief when he put the knife on the table and turned his attention to the pistol.

The chaos surrounding her was confusing. Everyone was suddenly talking at the same time. Perhaps she should try to swoon after all, Christina considered. No, the settee was already taken, and the floor didn’t look all that appealing. She settled on wringing her hands. It was the best she could do to look upset.

Two gentlemen were in deep discussion. One motioned Lyon over to join them. As soon as he moved toward the dining room Christina edged her way over to the table. She made certain no one was paying her any attention, then she cleaned and sheathed her knife.

She hurried over to stand beside her aunt. The Countess was administering blistering advice to the distressed woman draped on the settee.

“I believe we’ve had enough excitement for one evening,” Christina told her guardian when she was finally able to catch her attention.

“Yes,” the Countess answered. “We’d better be on our way.”

Lyon was blocked in the dining room, listening to absurd suggestions as to how two ancient gentlemen thought to trap Jack and his band.

After ten minutes or so, he’d had his fill. His attention kept returning to the unusual dagger he’d held in his hands. He’d never seen the like before. The weapon was crudely made, yet toned to needle-point sharpness. The handle was flat. Whoever owned the knife certainly hadn’t purchased it in England.

Lyon decided to take the weapon with him. He was highly curious and determined to find the man who’d thrown it.

“I’ll leave you gentlemen to think your plans through,” Lyon announced. “I believe I’ll see Princess Christina and her guardian safely home. If you’ll excuse me?”

He didn’t give them time to start in again but turned and hurried back inside the drawing room. He remembered telling Christina to wait for him until he returned. He shouldn’t have left her alone, assuming she was still frightened enough to need his comfort. He sincerely hoped she was, for the thought of offering her solace was very appealing.

Lyon was already planning how he’d get Christina away from her guardian. He just wanted to steal a few minutes so he could kiss her once more.

“Well, hell.” Lyon muttered the obscenity when he realized Christina had vanished. He glanced over at the table where he’d left the knife, then let out another foul expletive.

The knife had vanished, too. Lyon’s mood blackened. He considered questioning the guests, but they were all still occupied rehashing their reactions to the robbery. He decided not to bother.

Lyon turned to look again at the alcove where he and Christina had stood together during the robbery. A sudden revelation popped into his mind. No, he told himself. It wasn’t possible.

Then he strolled over to the alcove and continued on until he was standing next to the balcony railing.

A good twenty feet separated the balcony from the sloping terrace below. Impossible to scale. The railing was shaky, too weak to hold rope and man.

His mind immediately jumped to a ludicrous conclusion.

Lyon shook his head. “Impossible,” he muttered out loud. He decided to put that puzzle aside and concentrate on the real worry now.

Lyon left Baker’s house in a black mood. He was too angry to speak just yet. He determined to wait until tomorrow.

Then he was going to have a long, hard talk with Rhone.

Chapter Four

Edward always wore white. Colors displeased him. He preferred me to wear long, flowing Grecian-styled gowns of white also. The palace walls were whitewashed once a month, and all the furnishings were devoid of even a splash of color. While Edward’s peculiarity amused me, I did comply with his wishes. He was so good to me. I could have anything I wanted and wasn’t allowed to lift a finger in labor. He only bound me to one rule. Edward made me promise never to leave the pristine palace grounds, explaining it was for my protection.

I kept my promise for almost six months. Then I began to hear rumors about the conditions outside my walls. I believed Edward’s enemies spread the rumors of brutality solely to cause unrest.

My maid and I changed into peasant clothing and set out on foot for the nearest village. I looked upon the outing as an adventure.

God help me, I walked into purgatory.

Journal entry

August 15, 1795

The solicitors in care of the Earl of Acton’s estate called upon Countess Patricia Cummings Tuesday morning at ten o’clock. Misters Henderson and Borton were prompt to the minute.

The Countess could barely contain her enthusiasm. She ushered both gray-haired gentlemen into her study, shut the door behind her, and took her place behind the scarred desk.

“You’ll have to forgive such shabby furnishings,” she said. She paused to give both men a brittle smile before continuing. “I was forced to use the last of my reserves to dress my niece, Christina, for the season ahead of us, and there just wasn’t anything left over. Why, I’ve had to turn down many requests for visitations with my niece—too embarrassed, you understand, to let anyone see the way we’re living. Christina has caused a sensation. I’ll marry her well.”

The Countess suddenly realized she was rambling. She gave a dainty little cough to cover her embarrassment. “Yes, well, I’m certain you both know this townhouse is only on loan to us for another month. You did receive the bid for purchase, did you not?”

Henderson and Borton nodded in unison. Borton turned to his associate and gave him an odd, uncomfortable look. He poked at his cravat. The Countess narrowed her eyes over the rudeness. “When will my money be transferred into my hands?” she demanded. “I can’t go on much longer without proper funds.”

“But it isn’t your money, Countess,” Borton announced after receiving a nod from his associate. “Surely you realize that fact.”

Borton blanched over the horrid frown the Countess gave him. He couldn’t continue to look at her. “Will you explain, Henderson?” he asked, staring at the floor.

“Certainly,” Henderson said. “Countess, if we might have a word in privacy with your niece, I’m certain this misunderstanding will be cleared up.”

Henderson obviously wasn’t intimidated by the Countess’s visible anger. His voice was as smooth as good gin. He continued to smile all through the foul woman’s tantrum. Borton was impressed.

Patricia slammed her fists down on the desk. “What does Christina have to do with this meeting? I am her guardian, and therefore I control her funds. Isn’t that the truth?” she screeched.

Before Henderson could answer, Patricia slapped the desk again. “I do control the money, don’t I?”

“No, madam. You do not.”

Christina heard her aunt’s bellow all the way upstairs. She immediately left her bedroom and hurried down the steps to see what had caused the Countess such an upset. Christina had learned the difference between her aunt’s screams long ago. This one resembled the protest of a trapped owl, telling Christina her Aunt Patricia wasn’t frightened. Just furious.

She reached the library door before she realized she was barefoot. Lord, that would certainly push her aunt into a tither, Christina thought. She hurried back upstairs, found her impractical shoes, and quickly put them on.

Christina counted five more shrieks before she was once again downstairs. She didn’t bother to knock on the library door, knowing her aunt’s shouts would drown out the sound. She threw the door open and hurried inside.

“Is there something I can do to help, Aunt?” Christina asked.

“This is your niece?” Henderson asked as he hurried out of his chair.

“Christina, go back to your room. I’ll deal with these scoundrels.”

“We’ll not speak to you of the conditions set down in writing by your father, Countess,” Borton said. “It is you who must leave us alone with your niece. Those were your father’s wishes as spelled out in his will.”

“How could such a condition exist?” the Countess shouted. “My father didn’t even know Jessica was carrying a child. He couldn’t have known about her. I made certain.”

“Your sister wrote to your father, madam, and told him about his grandchild. I believe she sent the letter when she was staying with you. And she’d also left a message for him. The Earl found it a year after her disappearance.”

“Jessica couldn’t have written to him,” Patricia announced with an inelegant snort. “You’re lying. I would have known. I looked through each letter.”

“You mean you destroyed each letter, don’t you, Countess?” Henderson asked, matching Patricia’s glare. “You didn’t want your father to know about his heir, did you?”

Aunt Patricia’s face turned as red as fire. “You can’t know that,” she muttered.

Christina was concerned about her aunt’s extreme anger. She walked over to her side and put her hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter how my grandfather learned about me. The past is behind us, gentlemen. Let it rest.”

Both men hastily nodded. “A sensible request, my dear,” Henderson commented. “Now, according to the conditions of the will, we must explain the finances to you in privacy.”

Christina increased her grip on her aunt’s shoulder when she saw she was about to object. “If I request that the Countess remain, will you agree?” she asked.

“Of course,” Borton said after receiving another nod from his partner.

“Then kindly sit down and begin your explanation,” Christina instructed. She felt the tension leave her Aunt Patricia and slowly let go of her.

“A man by name of Captain Hammershield delivered your mother’s letter to the Earl of Acton,” Henderson began. “We have the letter in our file, and the one Jessica left behind in our files, if you wish to challenge this, Countess,” the solicitor added. “I need not go into the other details of the letters, for as you say, Princess Christina, the past is behind us. Your grandfather fashioned a new will immediately. He had turned his back on you, Countess, and was so infuriated with his other daughter’s behavior that he decided to put his fortune in holding for his only grandchild.”

Borton leaned forward to interject, “He didn’t know if you were going to be a boy or girl. There are conditions in both events, of course, but we will only explain the conditions for a granddaughter, you see.”

“What did my mother do to cause her father to change his mind about her? I thought they were very close to each other,” Christina said.

“Yes, whatever did my sainted sister do to turn Father against her?” Patricia asked, a sneer in her voice.

“Jessica humiliated her father when she left her husband. Princess Christina, your grandfather was most upset. He liked his son-in-law and thought his daughter was acting … out of sorts,” he ended with a shrug to cover his embarrassment.

“What you’re sniffing around and refusing to say is that my father at last realized Jessica was crazy,” the Countess announced.

“That is the sad truth,” Borton said. He gave Christina a sympathetic look.

“So the money goes directly to Christina?” the Countess asked.

Henderson saw the shrewd look that came into the woman’s eyes. He almost laughed. The Earl of Acton had been right about this daughter, the solicitor decided. Henderson decided to rush through the rest of the stipulations, concerned that the old woman would ruin his midday meal if he had to look at her much longer.

“The funds were placed in abeyance until your nineteenth birthday, Princess Christina. If you marry before that day, the funds will be given to your husband.”

“That is less than two months away,” the Countess remarked. “She will not marry so soon. And so, as guardian—”

“Please listen to the rest of the stipulations,” Henderson requested in a hard voice. “While the Earl liked his son-in-law, he decided to proceed with caution, in the event that his daughter’s accusations about her husband turned out to have a drop of credibility.”

“Yes, yes,” Borton eagerly interjected. “The Earl was a most cautious man. For that reason, he added further controls to the distribution of his vast fortune.”

“Will you get on with it?” the Countess demanded. “Spell out the damned conditions before you make me as demented as Jessica was.”

The Countess was getting all worked up again. Christina supported her demand, though in a much softer tone of voice. “I would also like to hear the rest of this, if you will please continue.”

“Certainly,” Henderson agreed. He deliberately avoided looking at the Princess now, certain he’d lose his train of thought if he paused to appreciate the lovely shade of her blue eyes. He found it amazing that the two women were actually related to each other. The Countess was an ugly old bitch, in looks and manners, yet the lovely young woman standing next to her was as pretty as an angel and seemed to be just as sweet-tempered.

Henderson focused his attention on the desktop and continued. “In the event you reach nineteen and are unmarried, your father will oversee your inheritance. Princess Christina, your father was informed of the conditions of the will before he left England in search of your mother. He understood he wouldn’t have access to the money until—”

“He can’t still be alive,” the Countess exclaimed. “No one’s heard of him in years.”

“Oh, but he is alive,” Borton said. “We received a missive from him just a week past. He’s currently living in the north of France and plans to return to claim the money on the day of his daughter’s nineteenth birthday.”

“Does he know Christina is alive? That she’s here, in London?” the Countess asked. Her voice shook with anger.

“No, and we didn’t feel the need to so inform him,” Henderson said. “Princess Christina’s birthday is less than two months off now. Of course, if you wish us to try to notify your father, Princess, before—”

“No.” Christina controlled her voice. She felt like shouting the denial, however, and could barely catch her breath over the tightness in her chest. “It will be a happy surprise for him, don’t you agree, gentlemen?” she added with a smile.

Both men smiled back in agreement. “Gentlemen, we have tired my aunt,” Christina announced. “As I understand this will, I can never control my own money. If I marry, my husband will direct the funds, and if I do not, then my father will have free hand with the inheritance.”

“Yes,” Borton answered. “Your grandfather would not allow a woman to have such power over his money.”

“All this time I believed I would …” The Countess crumbled against her chair. “My father has won.”

Christina thought her aunt might start weeping. She dismissed the two gentlemen a few minutes later. In a magnanimous gesture, Henderson told Christina he’d release a sum of money to tide her over until her father returned to gain guardianship.

Christina was humble in her gratitude. She saw the solicitors out the front door, then returned to the library to speak to her aunt.

The Countess didn’t realize how upset her niece was. “I’ve lost everything,” she wailed as soon as Christina rushed back into the room. “Damn my father’s soul to hell,” she shouted.

“Please don’t get upset again,” Christina said. “It cannot be at all good for your health.”

“I’ve lost everything, and you dare to tell me not to get upset?” the Countess screeched. “You’re going to have to plead on my behalf to your father, Christina. He’ll give me money if you ask. Edward didn’t like me. I should have been nicer to him, I suppose, but I was so jealous of Jessica’s good fortune in capturing him I could barely be civil to the man. Why he chose her over me still doesn’t make any sense. Jessica was such a mouse. I was far better-looking.”

Christina didn’t answer her aunt’s mutterings. She started to pace in front of the desk, her mind filled with the problem ahead of her.

“Were you surprised to learn that your father is still alive?” the Countess asked.

“No,” Christina answered. “I never believed he’d died.”

“You’re going to have to take care of me, Christina,” the aunt whined. “Whatever will I do if your father doesn’t support me? How will I get along? I shall be the laugh of the ton” she cried.

“I’ve promised to take care of you, Aunt,” Christina said. “Remember how I gave you my word before we left Boston? I shall see my promise carried through.”

“Your father might not agree with your noble intentions, Christina. He’ll have control of my money, the bastard, and I’m sure he’ll refuse to give me a single shilling.”

Christina came to an abrupt halt in front of her aunt. “Giving my father control of the money does not suit my purposes,” she announced. “I’ll not let it happen.”

Patricia Cummings had never seen her niece look so angry. She nodded, then smiled, for she assumed the stupid chit was infuriated on her behalf. “You’re a dear girl to be so concerned about my welfare. Of course, your concern isn’t misplaced. A grave injustice was done to me by my father, and I did use the last of my own accounts to see you properly attired. It was all for nought,” the Countess added. “I should have stayed in the Godforsaken colonies.”

Christina was irritated by the self-pity she heard in her aunt’s voice. She took a deep breath, hoping to regain her patience, and said, “All is not lost. The solution to our problem is obvious to me. I will marry before my father returns to England.”

Christina’s calmly stated announcement gained her aunt’s full attention. The old woman’s eyes widened, and she actually straightened in her chair. “We don’t know when Edward will arrive. He could walk into this very room as early as tomorrow,” she said.

Christina shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Remember, he must surely believe I didn’t survive. Everyone else seemed very surprised to see me. And I plan to marry as soon as possible.”

“How could we make the arrangements in time? We don’t even have a suitable man in mind.”

“Make a list of those I must consider,” Christina advised.

“This isn’t at all proper,” the Countess protested.

Christina was going to argue when she noticed the gleam settle in her aunt’s gaze. She knew then that she was giving the idea consideration. Christina goaded her into complete agreement. “We must move quickly if we are to be successful.”

“Why? Why would you sacrifice yourself this way?” Patricia gave her niece a suspicious look. “And why would you rather have the money in your husband’s hands instead of your father’s?”

“Aunt, as I said before, it doesn’t suit my purposes to let my father have any money. Now, what other objections must you raise before you see the wisdom of my plan?”

“Your father might have gained a new fortune by now. He may not even want the money.”

“You know better,” Christina said. “I doubt that he’s rich. Why would he keep in correspondence with the solicitors if he was so wealthy? Oh, he’ll come back to England, Aunt Patricia.”

“If you claim Edward will want the inheritance, I won’t argue with you,” the Countess said.

“Good,” Christina said. “I think you are one of the most clever women I’ve ever known,” she praised. “Surely you can come up with a plausible reason for my hasty marriage.”

“Yes,” the Countess agreed. “I am clever.” Her shoulders straightened until her spine looked ready to snap. “Just how will your marriage help me?” she demanded.

“We will ask the man I marry to sign over a large amount to you. He must sign the papers before we are wed.”

“Then it will have to be someone manageable,” the Countess muttered. “There are plenty of that kind around. I’ll have to think of a good reason for the rush. Leave me now, Christina, while I make a list of possible husbands for you. With your looks, we can get just about anyone to agree to my conditions.”

“I would like the Marquess of Lyonwood placed at the top of your list,” Christina announced, bracing herself for her aunt’s displeasure.

“You can’t be serious,” the Countess stammered. “He’s rich, doesn’t need the money, and simply isn’t the type to cooperate with my plans.”

“If I can get him to sign your papers, then will it be all right for me to wed with him for the short time I’m in England?”

“To wed with him isn’t proper English, Christina. Oh, very well, since you’re willing to make this necessary sacrifice, I’ll allow you to approach the disgusting man. He won’t agree, of course, but you have my permission to try.”

“Thank you,” Christina said.

“You’re still set on returning to those savages?”

“They are not savages,” Christina whispered. “And I will return to my family. Once you have the money in your hands, it shouldn’t matter to you.”

“Well, you certainly shouldn’t mention that fact to the man we choose to marry you. It would surely set him against you, Christina.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Christina answered.

“Get out of here and change that gown,” the Countess snapped. “You look positively ugly in that color of yellow. Your hair needs tending, too. Do something about it at once.”

Christina immediately left the library, ignoring the ridiculous criticisms of her appearance.

By the time she shut the bedroom door behind her she’d shed the pretense. Christina was visibly shaking. Her stomach felt as though it was twisted into knots, and her head was pounding.

Though it was difficult to admit, Christina was honest enough to realize she was really frightened. She didn’t like the strange feeling at all.

She understood the reason. The jackal was returning to England. He’d try to kill her. Christina didn’t doubt her father’s determination. Jackals didn’t change their nature over the years.

Christina was going to give Edward a second chance to murder her. God willing, she’d kill him first.

Chapter Five

There really are demons living on this earth, Christina. I didn’t know such evil men existed until I saw innocent children who’d been tortured, mutilated, destroyed, just to gain their parents’ obedience. An army of enforcers slaughtered defenseless peasants. My husband was a dictator; anyone believed to have a subversive thought was murdered. The dead, the dying littered the alleys. Carts would come to collect the bodies every night. The stench that would make us close our doors in the palace each sunset wasn’t due to excess garbage … no, no, the odor came from the burial fires.

The people were kept hungry so they would be too weak to rebel. Even the water was rationed. I was so sickened by the atrocities I couldn’t think clearly. Mylala, my faithful maid, cautioned me against confronting Edward. She feared for my safety.

I should have listened to her, child. Yes, I acted the part of a naive fool, for I went to challenge my husband.

Learn from my mistakes, Christina. It’s the only way you’ll survive.

Journal entry

October 12, 1795

Lyon was slouched behind his desk, a full goblet of brandy in his hand and a hot container of water balanced on his knee.

Odd, but the injury hadn’t given him any notice until this evening. It was well past four o’clock in the morning now. The nagging pain—and the dreams, of course—had forced him back to his study to work on the problems of his estates. He wouldn’t retire until dawn was well upon the city of London … when his mind was too fatigued to remember.

He was feeling out of sorts. An old warrior, he thought with a smile. Wasn’t that what Christina had called him? Warrior, yes, he remembered her calling him that… old, no, he didn’t recall that mention.

The past had caught up with the Marquess. His years working for his country had taken a toll. He was a man who was feared still—had become legend, in fact, in many disreputable circles of French society. Lyon had always been given the most difficult, delicate missions. He was never called until the atrocity had been done, the evidence judged. His duty was solitary, his reputation unblemished by failure. The Marquess of Lyonwood was considered to be the most dangerous man in England. Some claimed the world.

No matter where the traitor hid, Lyon could ferret him out and dispatch him with quiet, deadly efficiency.

He’d never failed in his duty. Never.

The results of his loyalty were twofold. Lyon was given knighthood for his courage, nightmares for his sins. It was an easy enough retirement to accept. Since he lived alone, no one ever knew his torment. When the nightmares visited, and he once again saw the faces of those he’d eliminated, no one was there to witness his agony.

Lyon rarely thought about James or Lettie anymore, though he continued to shake his head over the irony of it all. While he was abroad defending his homeland against betrayers, his brother was home in England betraying him.

No, he didn’t think about James much, and since meeting Princess Christina his mind had been in such a turmoil he could barely think with much reason at all.

He was a man given to intrigue. A good puzzle held his attention until he’d resolved it. Christina, however, still proved too elusive to understand. He didn’t know what her game was … yet. When she didn’t openly flirt with him—or Rhone either, for that matter—his interest had picked up. Lyon kept mulling over the strange conversation he’d had with the lady, but after a while he gave up. He’d have to see her again, he told himself. She still hadn’t given him enough clues to satisfy him.

And where in God’s name would she have heard the roar of lions?

Lyon knew he was becoming obsessed with finding out about her past. His determination didn’t make much sense to him. Christina was affecting him in ways he’d thought impossible. He’d never felt so overwhelmed by a woman before. The admission bothered him far more than the nagging pain in his knee.

He would learn all her secrets. She was sure to have them—every woman did—and then his curiosity would be satisfied. Yes, then he’d dismiss her.

The obsession would end.

With that decision reached, Lyon dispatched notes to the gossip leaders of the ton. He was, of course, discreet in his requests for information about the Princess, using his sister Diana and her introduction into society as his main reason for wanting to know the ins and outs of “business.”

He wasn’t the least concerned about his deceitful endeavor. And in the end, when all the letters had been answered, Lyon was more frustrated than ever. According to all those in the know, Princess Christina didn’t have a past.

The woman hadn’t even existed until two months ago.

Lyon wasn’t about to accept such a conclusion. His patience was running thin. He wanted real answers … and he wanted to see Christina again. He had thought to corner her at Creston’s ball the following Saturday, then decided against waiting.

Ignoring good manners altogether, he called upon No. 6 Baker Street at the unholy hour of nine o’clock in the morning. Lyon hadn’t bothered to send a note begging an audience, certain the ill-tempered Countess would have denied him entrance if she’d been given advance warning.

Luck was on Lyon’s side. An extremely feeble old man with a mop of stark yellow hair opened the door for him. His clothing indicated that he was the butler, and his manner resembled that of an uncivil pontiff.

“The Countess has just left for an appointment, sir, and won’t return home for a good hour or more.”

Lyon held his grin. “I don’t want to see the Countess,” he told the butler.

“Then who exactly did you want to see?” the servant asked in a haughty tone of voice.

Lyon let his exasperation show. The old man guarded the entrance like a gargoyle. Lyon brushed past him before he could issue a protest, calling over his shoulder, “I wish to speak to Princess Christina.” He deliberately used his most intimidating voice to gain compliance. “Now.”

A sudden grin transformed the servant’s dour expression into wrinkles of delight. “The Countess ain’t going to like it,” he announced as he shuffled ahead of Lyon to the double doors on the left of the entryway. “She’ll be displeased, she will.”

“You don’t seem too disturbed by that eventuality,” Lyon remarked dryly when the butler let out a loud cackle.

“I won’t be telling her about your visit, sir,” the butler said. He drew himself up and turned toward the staircase. “You can wait in there,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll go and inform the Princess of your wish to speak to her.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you don’t tell your mistress who her caller is,” Lyon instructed, thinking Christina just might decide against seeing him. “I’d like to surprise her,” he added.

“Since you ain’t given me your name, it’ll be easy enough to comply with your wishes.”

It seemed to Lyon that it took an eternity for the butler to make it across the hallway. He leaned against the door frame and watched the old man. A sudden question made him call out, “If you don’t know who I am, how can you be so sure the Countess will be displeased?”

The butler let out another crackle of laughter that sounded very like a long nail being dragged across a chalkboard. The effort nearly toppled him to the floor. He grabbed hold of the bannister before giving Lyon an answer. “It doesn’t matter who you be, sir. The Countess don’t like anyone. Nothing ever makes the old bat happy.” The butler continued up the stairs in his slow, sluggish stride.

Lyon would have sworn it took the old man ten minutes to gain three steps.

“I take it the Countess wasn’t the one who employed you,” Lyon remarked.

“No, sir,” the servant answered between wheezes. “It was Princess Christina who found me in the gutter, so to speak. She picked me up, dusted me off, and fixed me up real nice in new clothes. I was a butler many years ago, afore hard times caught me.” The old man took a deep breath, then added, “The Princess don’t like me calling her aunt an old bat, though. Says it ain’t dignified.”

“It might not be dignified, my good man, but old bat really does describe the Countess rather well.”

The butler nodded, then grabbed hold of the bannister again. He stayed in that position a long moment. Lyon thought the man was trying to catch his breath. He was wrong in that conclusion, however. The butler finally let go of the railing, then cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth and literally bellowed his announcement up the stairwell. “You got yourself a visitor, Princess. I put him in the drawing room.”

Lyon couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. When the servant repeated the scream, he started laughing.

The butler turned back to explain to Lyon. “She don’t want me overdoing,” he said. “Got to save me strength for the old bat’s orders.”

Lyon nodded. The butler shouted to his mistress again.

Christina suddenly appeared at the top of the steps, drawing Lyon’s full attention. He wasn’t ever going to get used to looking at her, he decided. She kept getting prettier. Her hair wasn’t pinned atop her head today. Glorious. It was the only word that came to mind, for the thick, silvery mass of curls framing the angelic face defied any other description.

When she started down the steps, Lyon saw that the length of hair ended against the swell of her slender hips.

She was dressed in a pale pink gown. The scoop neckline showed only a hint of the swell of her bosom. There was something a little unusual about the modest ensemble, but Lyon was too distracted watching her smile at her butler to decide what seemed out of place to him.

She hadn’t seen him yet. “Thank you, Elbert. Now go and sit down. The Countess will be home soon, and you’ll have to be on your feet again.”

“You’re too good to me,” Elbert whispered.

“It is good of you to think so,” she said before continuing on down the steps. She spotted Lyon leaning against the entrance to the salon.

He knew she was surprised. Her eyes widened. “Oh, dear, the Countess is going to be—”

“Displeased,” Lyon finished her comment with an exasperated sigh.

Elbert had obviously heard the remark. His scratchy laughter followed Christina into the drawing room. Lyon followed her, pausing long enough to shut the door behind him. “Believe it or not, Christina, I’m considered pleasing enough by the rest of the town. Why your aunt takes exception to me is beyond my comprehension.”

Christina smiled over the irritation she’d caught in Lyon’s voice. He sounded like a little boy in need of assurance. She sat down in the center of the gold brocade settee so Lyon couldn’t sit beside her, motioned for him to take the chair adjacent to her, and then said, “Of course you’re pleasing. Do not let my aunt’s opinions upset you. Though it is rude of me to admit, your feelings are surely at stake, and so I will confess that my aunt doesn’t really like too many people.”

“You mistake my comment,” Lyon drawled out. “I don’t give a damn what your aunt thinks of me. I just find it puzzling that I …”

She was giving him a wary look, and he paused in his reply to change the topic. “Are you unhappy I called?” he asked, frowning over his own question.

Christina shook her head. “Good day to you,” she suddenly blurted, trying to remember her manners. It was a problem for her, of course, because Lyon was looking wonderfully handsome again. He was dressed in buckskin riding pants that were the color of a young deer. The material clung to his powerful thighs. His shirt was white, probably made of silk, Christina thought, and partially covered by a forest-in-autumn-colored brown jacket that nicely matched the color of his shiny Hessian boots.

She realized she was staring at him, yet decided to excuse her ill conduct because he was looking at her with much the same intensity.

“I like looking at you.”

“I like looking at you, too,” Lyon answered with a chuckle.

Christina folded her hands in her lap. “Was there a specific reason for your sporadic visitation?” she asked.

“Sporadic? I don’t understand …”

“Spontaneous,” Christina said hastily.

“I see.”

“Well, sir? Was there a specific reason?”

“I don’t remember,” Lyon answered, grinning at her.

She gave him a hesitant smile back. “Would you care for refreshment?”

“No, thank you,” Lyon answered.

“Well, then, kindly explain what it is you don’t remember,” she instructed.

She gave him an expectant look, as if what she’d just requested was the most logical thing in the world. “How can I explain what it is I don’t remember?” he asked. “You’re back to making little sense again, aren’t you?”

His smile could melt snow. Christina was having difficulty sitting still. All she wanted to think about was the way Lyon had kissed her, and all she wanted to do was find a way to get him to kiss her again.

It was, of course, an unladylike thought. “The weather has turned warm, hasn’t it? Some people say it’s the warmest autumn in many years,” she added, staring intently down at her hands.

Lyon smiled over her obvious nervousness. He slowly stretched out his long legs, settling in for a confrontation. It was going to be easy work finding out his answers if Christina remained this ill at ease.

The tips of Lyon’s boots touched the hem of her gown. She immediately scooted back against the settee, glanced down at the floor, and let out a small gasp. “Would you care for refreshments?” she asked in a surprisingly loud voice, jerking her gaze back to him. She wiggled to the edge of the settee again.

She was as skittish as an abandoned kitten. “You’ve already asked me that question,” Lyon reminded her. “No, I don’t care for refreshments. Do I make you uncomfortable?” he added, grinning enough to let her know he’d be happy if he did.

“Why would you think that?” Christina asked.

“You’re sitting on the edge of the cushion, looking ready to run at any second, my sweet.”

“My name is Christina, not sweet,” she said. “And of course I’m uncomfortable. You’d make a buffalo nervous.”

“A buffalo?”

“You’d make anyone nervous when you frown,” Christina explained with a dainty shrug.

“Good.”

“Good? Why, Lyon, you do say the oddest things.”

“I say …” Lyon shouted with laughter. “Christina, you haven’t made any sense since the moment I met you. Every time I see you I promise myself I’ll get a normal conversation out of you, and then—”

“Lyon, you’re being fanciful,” Christina interrupted. “This is only the second—no, the third time I’ve seen you, if you count two times in one evening—”

“You’re doing it again,” Lyon said.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to push me off center.”

“I couldn’t push you anywhere. You’re too big. I know my strengths, Lyon.”

“Do you take everything in literal meaning?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who has trouble making sense. Yes,” Christina added with a quick nod. “You see, Lyon, you don’t ask logical questions.”

She laughed when he glared. “Why are you here?” she asked again.

She was back to staring at her hands again. A faint blush covered her cheeks. She was suddenly embarrassed about something.

He didn’t have any idea what or why. That didn’t surprise him, though. The unusual was becoming commonplace where Christina was concerned. Lyon thought he was ready for just about anything now. He was confident he’d have her game found out before the end of their visit.

“I really do know why you came to see me,” Christina whispered timidly.

“Oh?” Lyon asked. “What is that reason?”

“You like being with me,” she answered, daring a quick look up to see his reaction. When he didn’t seem irritated by her honesty, she warmed to her topic.

“Lyon? Do you believe in destiny?”

Oh, dear, he was looking confused again. Christina let out a long sigh. “Well, you do admit you like being with me, don’t you?” she coached.

“Yes, but God only knows why,” Lyon confessed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Yes, the Great Spirit does know why.”

“Great Spirit?” Lyon shook his head. “Lord, I’m starting to sound like an echo. All right, I’ll ask. Who is this Great Spirit?”

“God, of course. Different cultures have their own names for the All Powerful, Lyon. Surely you know that. You aren’t a heathen, are you?” She sounded quite appalled at that possibility.

“No, I’m not a heathen.”

“Well, you needn’t get irritated with me. I only asked.”

He stared at her a long, silent minute. Then he stood up. Before Christina knew what he was going to do, he’d pulled her up into his arms. He hugged her to him and rested his chin against the top of her head. “I’m either going to strangle you or kiss you,” he announced. “The choice is yours.”

Christina sighed. “I would prefer that you kiss me. But first, please answer my question, Lyon. It’s important to me.”

“What question?”

“I asked you if you believed in destiny,” she said. She pulled away from him and looked up at his face. “You really do have trouble holding a thought, don’t you?”

She had the gall to sound disgruntled. “I don’t have any trouble holding a thought,” he muttered.

Christina didn’t look like she believed him. She was a witch, trying to cast her magical spell on him. Lyon felt as besotted as a silly, worthless fop and as puny as an infant when her gaze was directed on him so enchantingly.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Lyon asked. He shook his head over his ridiculous reaction to the nymph glaring up at him. A lock of hair fell forward, concealing a part of his scar. Christina quit trying to pull away from him and reached up to smooth the lock back in place. The gentle touch jarred him back to her question.

“No, I don’t believe in destiny.”

“That’s a pity.”

She acted as though he’d just confessed a grave, unforgivable sin. “All right,” he announced. “I know better than to ask, but God help me, I’m going to anyway. Why is it a pity?”

“Dare you laugh at me?” she asked when she saw his smile.

“Never,” he lied.

“Well, I guess it really doesn’t matter.”

“That I laugh at you?”

“No, it doesn’t matter if you believe in destiny,” Christina answered.

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because what will happen will happen whether you believe or not. See how simple it is?”

“Ah,” Lyon said, drawing the sound out. “You’re a philosopher, I see.”

She stiffened in his arms and glared at him again. The change in her mood happened so swiftly that Lyon was thrown off center. “Did I just say something to upset you?” he asked.

“I’m not a flirt. How can you so easily slander me? Why, I’ve been honest with you all during this conversation. I came right out and said I liked looking at you, and that I’d like you to kiss me. A philosopher, indeed.”

The woman was making him daft. “Christina, a philosopher is a man who devotes his mind to the study of various beliefs. It was not slander for me to call you such.”

“Spell this word, please,” she said, looking extremely suspicious.

Lyon did as she requested. “Oh, I see now,” she said. “I believe I’ve confused philanderer with this man who studies. Yes, that’s what I’ve done. Don’t look so confused, Lyon. It was an easy mistake to make.”

“Easy?” He told himself not to ask. Curiosity won out again. “Why is it easy?”

“Because the words are close in spelling,” she answered.

She sounded as though she was instructing a simple-minded child. He took immediate exception to her manner. “That is without a doubt the most illogical explanation I’ve ever heard. Unless of course … you’ve only just learned to speak English, haven’t you, Christina?”

Because he seemed so pleased by his conclusion, Christina really didn’t have the heart to tell him no, she hadn’t just learned English. She’d been speaking the difficult language for several years now.

“Yes, Lyon,” she lied. “I speak many languages and sometimes confuse my words. I’m not at all a bluenose, though. And I only seem to forget the laws when I’m with you. I do prefer to speak French. It’s a much easier language, you see.”

It all fell into place in Lyon’s head. He’d solved the puzzle. “No wonder I had difficulty understanding you, Christina. It’s because you’ve just learned our language, isn’t that so?”

He was so happy he’d reasoned it all out, he’d just repeated his statement.

Christina shook her head. “I don’t think so, Lyon. No one else seems to have the least bit of trouble understanding me. Have you been speaking English long?”

He hugged her again and laughed over the outrageous way she’d just turned the tables on him. In the corner of his mind was the thought that he could be content standing in the center of her salon holding her for the rest of the morning.

“Lyon? Would it make you unhappy if I really was a bluestocking? Aunt says it’s not at all fashionable to even admit to reading. For that reason I must also pretend to be uninformed.”

“Must also pretend?” Lyon asked, homing in on that odd remark.

“I really do like to read,” Christina confessed, ignoring his question. “My favorite is the story of your King Arthur. Have you read it, by chance?”

“Yes, love, I have. Sir Thomas Mallory wrote it,” Lyon said. “Now I know where you get your fantasies. Knights, warriors—both are the same. You have a very romantic nature, Christina.”

“I do?” Christina asked, smiling. “That’s good to know,” she added when Lyon nodded. “Being romantic is a nice quality for a gentle lady to have, isn’t it, Lyon?”

“Yes, it is,” he drawled.

“Of course, we mustn’t let Aunt Patricia know of this inclination, for it would surely—”

“Let me guess,” Lyon interrupted. “It would displease her, right?”

“Yes, I fear it would. You’d better go home now. When you remember what it was you wanted to speak to me about, you may call again.”

Lyon wasn’t going anywhere. He told himself he couldn’t take much more of her conversation, though. He decided to kiss her just to gain a moment’s peace. Then he’d have her submissive enough to answer a few pertinent questions, providing of course that he could remember what those questions were. He’d already gained quite a bit of information about her. Christina had obviously been raised in France, or in a French-speaking neighborhood. Now he wanted to find out why she guarded that simple truth so ferociously. Was she ashamed, embarrassed? Perhaps the war was the reason for her reticence.

Lyon caressed her back to distract her from dismissing him again. Then he leaned down and tenderly nuzzled her lips while his hands continued to stroke her, gentle her. Christina moved into his embrace again. Her hands slowly found their way up around his neck.

She obviously liked the distraction. When Lyon finally quit teasing her and claimed her mouth completely, she was leaning up on her tiptoes. Her fingers threaded through his hair, sending a shudder through him. Lyon lifted her off the floor, bringing her mouth level with his own.

It was a strange sensation to be held in such a way, though not nearly as strange as the way Lyon was affecting her senses. His scent drove her wild. It was so masculine, so earthy. Desire swept through her in waves of heat when Lyon’s tongue slid inside her mouth to deepen the intimacy.

It didn’t take Christina any time at all to become as bold as Lyon was. Her tongue mated with his, timidly at first, and then with growing ardor. She knew he liked her boldness, for his mouth slanted almost savagely over hers and she could hear his groan of pleasure.

Christina was the most responsive woman Lyon had ever encountered. Her wild enthusiasm stunned him. He was a man conditioned to the game of innocence most women played. Christina, however, was refreshingly honest with her desire. She aroused him quickly, too. Lyon was actually shaking when he dragged his mouth away. His breath was choppy, uneven.

She didn’t want to let go of him. Christina wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a suprisingly strong hug. “You do like kissing me, don’t you, Lyon?”

How could she dare to sound timid now, after the way she’d just kissed him? Hell, her tongue had been wilder than his. “You know damn well I like kissing you,” he growled against her ear. “Is this part of the charade, Christina? You needn’t be coy with me. I honestly don’t care how many men you’ve taken to your bed. I still want you.”

Christina slowly lifted her gaze to stare into his eyes. She could see the passion there, the possessiveness. Her throat was suddenly so constricted she could barely speak. Lyon was being just as forceful as a warrior.

God help her, she could easily fall in love with the Englishman.

Lyon reacted to the fear in her eyes. He assumed she was frightened because he’d guessed the truth. He captured a handful of her hair, twisted it around his fist, and then pulled her back up against his chest until her breasts were flattened against him. Then he gently forced her head further back. He leaned down, and when his mouth was just a breath away he said, “It doesn’t matter to me. I give you this promise, Christina. When you’re in my bed, you won’t be thinking about anyone but me.”

He kissed her again, sealing his vow. The kiss was unashamedly erotic. Ravenous. Entirely too short-lived. Just when she began to respond, Lyon pulled away.

His gaze immediately captured her full attention. “All I’ve been able to think about is how good we’re going to be together. You’ve thought about it, too, haven’t you, Christina?” Lyon asked, his voice husky with arousal.

He was already prepared for her denial. He was expecting the ordinary. That was his mistake, he realized, and certainly the reason he was so stunned when she answered him. “Oh, yes, I have thought about mating with you. It would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?”

Before he could reply, Christina moved out of his arms. She slowly walked across the room. Her stride was every bit as sassy as the smile she gave him over her shoulder when she tossed her hair behind her. When she’d opened the doors to the foyer, she turned back to him. “You have to go home now, Lyon. Good day.”

It was happening again. Damn if she wasn’t dismissing him. “Christina,” Lyon growled, “come back here. I’m not finished with you yet. I want to ask you something.”

“Ask me what?” Christina responded, edging out of the room.

“Quit looking so suspicious,” Lyon muttered. He folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her. “First I would like to ask you if you’d like to go to the opera next—”

Christina stopped him by shaking her head. “The Countess would forbid your escort.”

She had the audacity to smile over her denial. Lyon sighed in reaction.

“You’re like a chameleon, do you know that? One second you’re frowning and the next you’re smiling. Do you think you’ll ever make sense to me?” Lyon asked.

“I believe you’ve just insulted me.”

“I have not insulted you,” Lyon muttered, ignoring the amusement he heard in her voice. Lord, she was giving him such an innocent look now. It was enough to set his teeth grinding. “You’re deliberately trying to make me daft, aren’t you?”

“If you think calling me a lizard will win my affections, you’re sadly mistaken.”

He ignored that comment. “Will you go riding with me in the park tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don’t ride.”

“You don’t?” he asked. “Have you never learned? I’d be happy to offer you instruction, Christina. With a gentle mount… now what have I said? You dare to laugh?”

Christina struggled to contain her amusement. “Oh, I’m not laughing at you,” she lied. “I just don’t like to ride.”

“Why is that?” Lyon asked.

“The saddle is too much of a distraction,” Christina confessed. She turned and hurried across the foyer. Lyon rushed after her, but Christina was already halfway up the steps before he’d reached the bannister.

“The saddle is a distraction?” he called after her, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Yes, Lyon.”

God’s truth, he didn’t have an easy argument for that ridiculous statement.

He gave up. Christina had just won this battle.

The war, however, was still to be decided.

Lyon stood there, shaking his head. He decided to be content watching the gentle sway of her hips, and it wasn’t until she was out of sight that he suddenly realized what it was that had bothered him when he first saw her.

Princess Christina was barefoot.

The Countess Patricia was in high spirits when she returned home from her appointment. Calling upon a possible suitor for her niece had been an improper undertaking, yes, but the outcome had been so satisfying, the Countess snickered away any worry of being found out.

Emmett Splickler was everything the Countess had hoped he’d be. She’d prayed Emmett had inherited his father’s nasty disposition. Patricia hadn’t been disappointed. Emmett was a spineless halfwit, pint-sized in stature and greed. Very like his father, Emmett’s crotch controlled his mind. His lust to bed Christina was soon obvious. Why, the man positively drooled when the Countess explained the reason for her visit. From the moment she’d mentioned marriage to Christina, the stupid man became jelly in her hands. He agreed to sign over anything and everything in order to get his prize.

The Countess knew Christina wasn’t going to take to Emmett. The man was too much of a weakling. To placate her niece, Patricia had made a list of possible candidates. She’d even put the odious Marquess of Lyonwood at the top of the lines. It was all a farce, of course, but the Countess wanted Christina docile and unsuspecting for what was to come.

The Countess wasn’t about to leave anything to chance. Under no circumstances would she allow her niece to wed someone as honorable as Lyon.

The reason was very simple. Patricia didn’t want just a substantial portion of her father’s estate. She meant to have it all.

The plan she laid out for Splickler was shameful, even by a serpent’s measure. Emmett had blanched when she calmly told him he’d have to kidnap her niece, haul her off to Gretna Green, and force her to marry him there. He could or could not rape the girl before or after the marriage certificate was signed. It made no matter to the Countess.

Emmett was more frightened of being found out than she was. When she told him to include two or three other men to help restrain Christina, the stupid man quit his complaining and grasped the plan wholeheartedly. She’d noticed the bulge grow between his legs, knew his mind had returned to the picture of bedding her niece, assumed then he’d be desperate enough to do what was required.

The worries exhausted the Countess. There was always the remote possibility that Emmett’s cowardice was greater than his lust to bed Christina. The plan could fail if there was any interference.

For that reason, Patricia knew she was going to have to get rid of Christina’s filthy Indian family. If her niece didn’t marry Emmett, and she ended up with someone as strong-willed as Lyon, the union couldn’t possibly last long. Christina’s upbringing was bound to come out sooner or later. She wouldn’t be able to hide her savage instincts forever. And what normal husband would put up with her disgusting ideas about love and honor? He’d be horrified by her true nature, of course. Though it wouldn’t be possible for him to set her aside, for divorce was an unheard-of undertaking, he certainly would turn his back on her and turn to another woman for his needs.

Such rejection might well send Christina scurrying back to the savages who’d raised her. The stupid chit still insisted on returning home. The Countess couldn’t let that happen. Christina had become her means of getting back into the ton. Even those who remembered her past indiscretions were so taken with Christina that they forced themselves to include the Countess again.

Last of all her worries was Edward. Christina’s father wasn’t going to take it kindly that she’d outwitted him. As goodnatured as she remembered him to be, Edward would probably still try to get his hands on a share of the fortune. Christina would certainly be able to control her father, the Countess believed.

Oh, yes, it was imperative that the little bitch remain in England until the Countess was finished with her. Imperative indeed.

Chapter Six

Edward kept his private quarters in a separate building adjacent to the main wing of the palace. I decided not to wait to tell him what his men were doing. You see, child, I couldn’t believe my husband was responsible. I wanted to place the blame on his officers.

When I entered Edward’s office by the side door, I was too stunned by what I saw to make my presence known. My husband was with his lover. They’d shed their clothes and were cavorting like animals on the floor. His mistress’s name was Nicolle. She rode Edward like a stallion. My husband was shouting crude words of encouragement, his eyes tightly closed in ecstasy.

The woman must have sensed my presence. She suddenly turned her head to look at me. I was sure she’d cry out my presence to Edward. She didn’t. No, Nicolle continued her obscene gyrations, but she was smiling at me all the while. I thought it was a smile of victory.

I don’t remember how long I stood there. When I returned to my own rooms, I began to plan my escape.

Journal entry

August 20, 1795

Lyon, whatever is the matter with you? Why, you actually smiled at Matthews. Didn’t I hear you ask after his mother, too? You aren’t feeling well, are you?”

The questions were issued by Lyon’s sister, Lady Diana, who was now chasing her brother up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Lyon paused to turn back to Diana. “You aren’t happy when I’m frowning, and now you seem upset because I’m smiling. Make up your mind on the matter of my disposition and I shall try to accommodate you.”

Diana’s eyes widened over the teasing tone in her brother’s voice. “You are sick, aren’t you? Is your knee paining you again? Don’t look at me as though I’ve grown another head. It isn’t at all usual for you to smile, especially when you come to visit Mama. I know how tiring she can be. Remember, brother, I live with her. You only have to visit her once a week. I know Mama can’t help the way she is, but there are times I wish you’d let me move into your town-house. Is that shameful of me to admit?”

“Being honest with your brother is not shameful. You’ve had a time of it since James died, haven’t you?”

The sympathy in Lyon’s voice made Diana’s eyes fill with tears. Lyon hid his exasperation. His sister was such an emotional whirlwind when it came to matters of family. Lyon was quite the opposite. It was difficult for him to show outward affection. He briefly considered putting his arm around his sister’s shoulders to offer her sympathy, then pushed the awkward notion aside. She’d probably be so astonished by the gesture she’d break down into full-blown weeping.

Lyon wasn’t up to tears today. It was quite enough he was going to endure another god-awful visit with his mother.

“I really thought Mama was going to get better when you made her servants open her townhouse for my season, Lyon, but she hasn’t left her room since the day we arrived in London.”

He merely nodded, then continued toward his destination. “Mama isn’t the least bit better,” Diana whispered. She trailed behind her brother’s shadow. “I try to talk to her about the parties I’ve attended. She doesn’t listen, though. She only wants to talk about James.”

“Go back downstairs and wait for me, Diana. There’s something I wish to discuss with you. And quit looking so worried,” he added with a wink. “I promise I won’t upset our mother. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“You will?” Diana’s voice squeaked. “You aren’t feeling well, are you?”

Lyon started laughing. “God, have I really been such an ogre?”

Before Diana could think of a tactful answer that wouldn’t be an outright lie, Lyon opened the door to his mother’s quarters. He used the heel of his boot to close the door, then proceeded across the dark, stuffy room.

The Marchioness was reclining on top of her black satin covers. She was, as usual, dressed in black, from the silk cap covering her gray hair to the cotton stockings covering her feet. Lyon wouldn’t have been able to find her if it weren’t for her pasty white complexion glaring out from the shroud of black.

It was a fact that the Marchioness mourned with true dedication. Lyon thought she took to the task with as much intensity as a spoiled child took to tantrums. God only knew the woman had done it long enough to have become a master.

It was enough to make a dead man sit up and take notice. James had been gone for over three years now, but his mother continued to act as though the freakish accident had just taken place the day before.

“Good afternoon, Mother.” Lyon gave his standard greeting, then sat down in the chair adjacent to the bed.

“Good afternoon, Lyon.”

The visit was now over. They wouldn’t speak again until Lyon took his leave. The reason was simple. Lyon refused to talk about James, and his mother refused to talk about any other topic. The silence would be maintained during the half hour Lyon stayed. To pass the time, he struck light to the candles and read The Morning Herald.

The ritual never varied.

He was usually in a foul mood when the ordeal was over. Today, however, he wasn’t too irritated by his mother’s shameful behavior.

Diana was waiting in the foyer. When she saw the smile was still on her brother’s face, her worry about his health intensified. Why, he was acting so strangely!

Her mind leapt from one horrid conclusion to another. “You’re going to send Mama and me back to the country, aren’t you, Lyon? Oh, please, do reconsider,” Diana wailed. “I know Uncle Milton has been a disappointment, but he can’t help being bedridden with his liver again. And I do so want to go to Creston’s ball.”

“Diana, I shall be honored to take you to Creston’s bash. And I never considered sending you home, sweet. You’ve had your presentation, and you’ll certainly have the rest of the season. Have I ever gone back on my word?”

“Well … no,” Diana admitted. “But you’ve never smiled this much either. Oh, I don’t know what to think. You’re always in a terrible mood after you’ve seen Mama. Was she more agreeable today, Lyon?”

“No,” Lyon said. “And that’s what I wanted to discuss with you, Diana. You need someone here to show you the way to go around. Since Milton isn’t able and his wife won’t go anywhere without him, I’ve decided to send for Aunt Harriett. Does that meet with your—”

“Oh, yes, Lyon,” Diana interrupted. She clasped her hands together. “You know how much I love Father’s sister. She has such a wonderful sense of humor. Will she agree, Lyon?”

“Of course,” Lyon answered. “I’ll send for her immediately. Now then, I’d like a favor.”

“Anything, Lyon. I’ll—”

“Send a note to Princess Christina inviting her here for tea. Make it for the day after tomorrow.”

Diana broke into giggles. “Now I understand your strange behavior. You’re smitten with the Princess, aren’t you?”

“Smitten? What a stupid word,” Lyon answered. His voice sounded with irritation. “No, I’m not smitten.”

“I shall be pleased to invite the Princess. I can’t help but wonder why you don’t just send a note requesting an audience, though.”

“Christina’s aunt doesn’t find me suitable,” Lyon announced.

“The Marquess of Lyonwood isn’t suitable?” Diana looked horrified. “Lyon, you have more titles than most men in England. You can’t be serious.”

“By the way, don’t tell Christina I’ll be here. Let her think it will be just the two of you.”

“What if she requests that I come to her home instead?”

“She won’t,” Lyon advised.

“You seem very certain.”

“I don’t think she has enough money to entertain,” Lyon said. “Keep this a secret, Diana, but I believe the Princess is in dire financial straits. The townhouse is a bit shabby—so are the furnishings—and I’ve heard the Countess had denied everyone who has requested entrance.”

“Oh, the poor dear,” Diana announced, shaking her head. “But why don’t you want her to know you’ll be here?”

“Never mind.”

“I see,” Diana said.

Lyon could tell from her expression she didn’t see at all. “I do like the Princess,” Diana gushed when Lyon glared at her.

“You didn’t come away confused?”

“I don’t understand,” Diana said. “Whatever do you mean?”

“When you spoke to her,” Lyon explained. “Did she make sense with her answers?”

“Well, of course she made sense.”

Lyon hid his exasperation. It had been a foolish question to put to someone as scatterbrained as his little sister. Diana’s disposition had always been as flighty as the wind. He loved her, yet knew he’d go to his grave without having any understanding of what went on inside her mind. “I imagine you two will become fast friends,” Lyon predicted.

“Would that upset you?”

“Of course not,” Lyon answered. He gave Diana a curt nod, then started out the door.

“Well, why are you frowning again?” Diana called after him.

Lyon didn’t bother to answer his sister. He mounted his black steed and went riding in the countryside. The brisk exercise was just what he needed to clear his mind. He was usually able to dispatch all unnecessary information and target in on the pertinent facts. Once he’d thrown out the insignificant, he was certain he’d be able to figure out his attraction to the most unusual woman in all of England. He was going to use cold reason to come to terms with his unreasonable affliction.

And it was an affliction, Lyon decided. To let Christina affect his every thought, his every action, was simply unacceptable. Confusing, too.

As confusing as being told he made her as nervous as a buffalo.

And where in God’s name had she seen buffaloes?

The Earl of Rhone paced the carpet in front of his desk. His library was in shambles, but Rhone wouldn’t let any of the servants inside to clean. Since being wounded, he’d been in too much discomfort to think about such mundane matters as household chores.

The injury was healing. Rhone had poured hot water over the opening, then wrapped his wrist in clean white gauze. Even though he, wore an oversized jacket from his father’s closet so that he could conceal the bandage, he was determined to stay hidden inside his townhouse until the wound was completely healed. He wasn’t about to take any chances of being found out. There was too much work still to be done.

Rhone’s primary concern was Princess Christina. He thought she might have recognized him. The way she’d stared at him and the funny, surprised look on her face did suggest she had known who was behind the mask.

Did Lyon know? Rhone mulled over that worry a long while, then concluded his friend had been too occupied with protecting the little Princess to take a good look at him.

And just who in God’s name had thrown the knife at him? Why, he’d been so surprised, he’d dropped his pistol. Whoever it was had a lousy aim, Rhone decided, and he’d thank God for that small blessing. Damn, he could have been killed.

He was going to have to be more careful. Rhone had no intention of quitting his activity. There were four names on his list, and every one of them was going to be tormented. It was the least he could do to ease his father’s humiliation.

A servant’s hesitant knock on the door broke Rhone’s pacing. “Yes?” he bellowed, letting his irritation carry through the door. He had specifically ordered his staff not to interrupt him.

“The Marquess of Lyonwood is here to see you, my lord.”

Rhone rushed over to take his seat behind the desk. He rested his good arm on a stack of papers, hid his injured hand in his lap, then called out in a surly voice, “Send him in.”

Lyon strolled into the room with a bottle of brandy tucked under his arm. He placed the gift on the desk, then sat down in a leather chair in front of Rhone. After casually propping his feet on the desktop, he said, “You look like hell.”

Rhone shrugged. “You never were a diplomat,” he remarked. “What’s the brandy for?”

“Our wager,” Lyon reminded him.

“Oh, yes. Princess Christina,” Rhone grinned. “She never did answer any of your questions, did she?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already found out quite enough about her. She was raised somewhere in France, or thereabouts,” he stated. “There are a few little nagging inconsistences, but I’ll have them worked out in short time.”

“Why the interest, Lyon?”

“I’m not sure anymore. In the beginning I thought it was just curiosity, but now—”

“In the beginning. Lyon, you sound as though you’d known the woman for months.”

Lyon shrugged. He reached over to the sideboard, extracted two glasses, and poured each of them a drink. Lyon waited until Rhone was in the process of swallowing a hefty portion before asking his question. “How’s the hand, Jack?”

Needless to say, Lyon was immensely satisfied with his friend’s reaction. Rhone started choking and coughing and trying to effect a denial all at the same time. It was laughable. Damning, too, Lyon thought with a sigh.

He waited until his friend had regained some control before speaking again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in such financial trouble? Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Financial trouble? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhone protested. It was a weak lie. “Hell,” he muttered. “It’s always been impossible to lie to you.”

“Have you lost your mind? Do you have a passion to live in Newgate prison, Rhone? You know it’s only a matter of time before you’re found out.”

“Lyon, let me explain,” Rhone stammered. “My father has lost everything. I’ve used my own estates, put them up as promise against the rest of the notes, but…”

“You and your father are free of debt as of yesterday eve,” Lyon said. “Get angry and then get over it, Rhone,” Lyon demanded, his voice edged with steel. “I paid off the moneylenders. In your name, by the way.”

“How dare you involve—” Rhone bellowed. His face was flushed a bright red.

“Someone sure as hell had to intervene,” Lyon announced. “Your father means as much to me as he does to you, Rhone. God only knows the number of times he put himself in front of my father to protect me when I was young.”

Rhone nodded. Some of the fight went out of him. “I’ll pay you back, Lyon, just as soon—”

“You will not pay me back,” Lyon roared. He was suddenly furious with his friend. He took a deep, settling breath before continuing. “Do you remember what I was like when Lettie died?” he asked.

Rhone was surprised by the change in topic. He slowly nodded. “I remember.”

“You stood by me then, Rhone. You’re the only one who knows about James. Have I ever asked to pay you back for your friendship?”

“Of course not. I would have been insulted.”

A long moment stretched between the two men. Then Rhone actually grinned. “May I at least tell my father that you—”

“No,” Lyon interrupted, his voice soft. “I don’t want him to realize I know what happened to him. Let him think his son is the only one who knows, that you came to his assistance.”

“But Lyon, surely—”

“Let it rest, Rhone. Your father is a proud man. Don’t take that away from him.”

Rhone nodded again. “Tell me what you know about my father’s problems.”

“I recognized you at Baker’s, of course,” Lyon began, smiling over the start that statement gave his friend. “It was foolish of you to—”

“You weren’t supposed to be there,” Rhone muttered. “Why did you attend his party? You can’t stand Baker any more than I can.”

Lyon chuckled. “The most carefully laid plans,” he drawled. “For all his good points, your father is still a little naive, isn’t he, Rhone? Baker and his cohorts took advantage, of course. Baker would have been the one to set up the games. Let’s see if I have this straight. He would have included Buckley, Stanton, and Wellingham in the farce, too. They’re all bastards. Did I get all the names, Rhone?”

His friend was astonished. “How did you learn all this?”

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t know about their little club? Your father isn’t the only one to fall victim to their scheme.”

“Does everyone know?”

“No,” Lyon answered. “There isn’t a hint of a scandal about your father. I would have heard of it.”

“You’ve been out of circulation, Lyon. How can you be so sure?”

Lyon gave Rhone a look of exasperation. “With my line of work, you can seriously ask me that question?”

Rhone grinned. “I thought you might have gotten a little rusty,” he said. “Father is still hiding in his country home. He’s so ashamed of his own gullibility he won’t show his face. He’ll be relieved to learn no one is the wiser.”

“Yes, he can come out of hiding now. And you can give up this foolish plan of yours. You’ll eventually get caught.”

“You’d never turn me in.” Rhone’s voice was filled with conviction.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Lyon acknowledged. “How was it done, Rhone? Did Baker mark the cards?”

“Yes. They are all blatant cheats, which of course is all the more humiliating for my father. He’s feeling duped.”

“He was duped,” Lyon said. “Will you give it up, Rhone?”

Rhone let out a harsh groan. “Damn it all, Lyon. I’m itching to get even.”

Lyon took a drink of his brandy. “Ah,” he drawled. “Now you’ve touched on my area of expertise. Perhaps, Rhone, a game of chance is what is needed.”

Lyon grinned when Rhone finally caught his meaning. “You mean to give them a dose of their own medicine, to cheat the cheaters?”

“It would be easy enough to accomplish.”

Rhone slapped his hand on the tabletop, then let out a groan. “I keep forgetting about this injury,” he excused. “Count me in, Lyon. I’ll leave the details to you. As you just admitted, you’re better versed in trickery than I am.”

Lyon laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Another knock sounded at the door, interrupting their conversation. “Now what is it?” Rhone shouted.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but Princess Christina is here to see you,” the servant shouted back.

The announcement gave Rhone a start. Lyon didn’t look too happy with the news either. He glared at Rhone. “Have you been after Christina, Rhone? Did you invite her here?”

“No,” Rhone answered. “My charms must have impressed her after all, Lyon.” He grinned when Lyon’s scowl increased. “So it is as I guessed. You’re more than mildly interested in our little Princess.”

“She isn’t our little Princess,” Lyon snapped. “She belongs to me. Understood?”

Rhone nodded. “I was only jesting,” he said with a sigh. “Send her in,” he bellowed to his servant.

Lyon didn’t move from his position. Christina hurried into the library as soon as the door was opened for her. She spotted Lyon immediately and came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conference, sir. I shall come back later, Rhone.”

Christina frowned at Lyon, turned, and started back out the door.

Lyon let out a long, controlled sigh. He carefully put his glass down on the desk, then stood up. Christina saw him out of the corner of her eye. She ignored Rhone’s pleas for her to stay and continued to move toward the front door.

Lyon trapped her just as she reached for the handle. His hands settled on the door on either side of Christina’s face. Her back touched his chest. Lyon smiled when he saw how rigid her shoulders became. “I really must insist you stay,” he whispered against her ear.

A tremor of warmth shook Christina. She slowly edged around until she was facing Lyon. “And I really must insist upon leaving, sir,” she whispered.

She pushed one hand against his chest, hoping to dislodge him.

He didn’t budge. He gave her a rascal’s grin, then leaned down and kissed her.

Rhone’s deep chuckle interrupted his desire to continue.

Christina immediately blushed over the intimacy. Didn’t the man realize he wasn’t supposed to show affection in front of others? She guessed he didn’t. Lyon winked at her before grabbing hold of her hand and dragging her back inside the library.

She was wearing a light blue gown. Lyon deliberately checked to see if she’d remembered to put her shoes on. He wasn’t disappointed to see she had.

Rhone hurried back to his chair. He hid his bandaged arm in his lap.

Christina refused to sit down. She stood beside Lyon, trying to ignore him altogether. He put his booted feet back up on the edge of Rhone’s desk and reached for his glass. She gave him a disgruntled look. If the man was any more relaxed, he’d fall asleep.

It soon became awkward. Rhone was looking at her expectantly. Christina clutched the blue receptacle in her left hand and kept trying to pull her other hand out of Lyon’s hold. He’d forgotten to let go of her.

“Was there something in particular you wished to speak to me about?” Rhone prodded gently. He tried to put Christina at ease. The poor woman looked terribly worried.

“I’d hoped to find you alone,” Christina announced. She gave Lyon a meaningful look. “Were you about to take your leave, Lyon?”

“No.”

His abrupt answer was given in such a cheerful voice, Christina smiled. “I would like to speak to Rhone in private, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, sweet, but I do mind,” Lyon drawled out. He increased his grip on her hand, then suddenly jerked her off balance.

She landed right where he wanted her. Christina immediately started to struggle out of his lap. Lyon circled her waist with one arm, anchoring her to him.

Rhone was amazed. He’d never seen Lyon act in such a spontaneous manner. To show such open possessiveness was certainly out of character. “Princess Christina? You may speak freely in front of Lyon,” Rhone advised.

“I may?” Christina asked. “Then he knows?”

When Christina hesitated, Rhone announced, “Lyon is privy to all my secrets, my dear. Now what is it you wanted to say to me?”

“Well, I was wondering, sir, how you’re feeling.”

Rhone blinked several times. “Why, I’m feeling very well,” he replied awkwardly. “That is all you wanted to ask me?”

The two of them were dancing around the real issue, to Lyon’s way of thinking. “Rhone, Christina wants to know how your injury is doing. Isn’t that right, Christina?”

“Oh, then you do know?” Christina asked, turning to look at Lyon.

“You know?” Rhone’s voice cracked.

“She knows,” Lyon confirmed, chuckling over the flabbergasted look on Rhone’s face.

“Well, hell, who doesn’t know?”

“You sound pathetic,” Lyon told his friend.

“It was the color of your eyes, Rhone,” Christina explained, giving him her attention again. “They’re an unusual shade of green, and very easy to remember.” She paused to give him a sympathetic look. “And you did look right at me. I really didn’t mean to recognize you. It just happened,” she ended with a delicate shrug.

“Are we putting all our cards on the table?” Rhone asked, leaning forward to give Christina an intent look.

“I don’t understand,” Christina said. “I don’t have any cards with me.”

“Christina takes everything you say in its literal sense, Rhone. It’s a trait guaranteed to make you daft. Believe me, I know.”

“That is most uncharitable of you, Lyon,” Christina announced, glaring at him. “I don’t know what you mean when you say I’m literal. Is it yet another insult I should take exception to, perchance?”

“Rhone is asking you if he may speak freely,” Lyon told Christina. “Hell, I feel like an interpreter.”

“Of course you may speak freely to me,” Christina announced. “No one’s holding a knife to your neck, Rhone. I’ve some medicine with me. I’d like to tend your injury, Rhone. You probably haven’t had proper care.”

“I couldn’t very well call upon my physician, now could I?” Rhone said.

“Oh, no, you’d be found out,” Christina said. She scooted off Lyon’s lap and went to Rhone’s side. Rhone didn’t protest when she began to unwrap his badly fashioned bandage.

Both men watched as Christina opened a small jar of horrid-smelling salve. “My God, what’s in there? Dead leaves?”

“Yes,” Christina answered. “Among other things.”

“I was jesting,” Rhone said.

“I wasn’t.”

“The smell will keep me hidden,” Rhone muttered. “What else is in there?” he asked, taking another sniff of the foul medicine.

“You don’t want to know,” Christina answered.

“It’s best not to ask Christina questions, Rhone. The answers will only confuse you.”

Rhone took Lyon’s advice. He watched Christina pat a large amount of the brown-colored salve on the cut, then rewrap the arm. “You have a nice scent, Rhone. Of course, the salve will soon remove it.”

“I have a nice scent?” Rhone looked as though he’d just been handed England’s crown. He thought he should return her compliment. “You smell like flowers,” he told her, then promptly laughed over saying such a thing. It was the truth, but certainly ungentlemanly of him to comment upon. “You’re the one with the unusual eyes, Christina. They’re the most wonderful color of blue.”

“That’s quite enough,” Lyon interjected. “Christina, hurry up and finish your task.”

“Why?” Christina asked.

“He doesn’t want you standing so close to me,” Rhone explained.

“Give it up, Rhone.” Lyon’s voice had turned hard. “You aren’t going to pursue Christina, so you can save your charms for someone else.”

“Lady Diana would like your charms very much, Rhone,” Christina interjected. She smiled at the reaction her comment caused in both men. Rhone looked perplexed. Lyon looked appalled. “Lyon, you don’t own me. It is therefore unreasonable of you to dictate to other gentlemen. If I wanted Rhone’s attention, I would let him know it.”

“Why do you suggest Lyon’s sister would like my attention?” Rhone asked. He was highly curious about her strange remark.

Christina replaced the jar in her receptacle before answering. “You English are so narrow-minded in your thinking sometimes. It’s obvious Lady Diana is taken with you, Rhone. You only have to look at her to see the adoration in her eyes. And if you count the way you look after her, why, you’d realize you were meant for each other.”

“Oh, God.” It was Lyon who groaned out the words.

Both Christina and Rhone ignored him. “How can you be so certain?” Rhone asked. “You only met her once, and you couldn’t have spent more than fifteen minutes with her. No, I think you’re imagining this infatuation. Diana’s just a child, Christina.”

“Believe what you will,” Christina answered. “What will happen will happen.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rhone looked confused again. Lyon shook his head. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one dimwitted around Christina. “Destiny, Rhone,” Lyon interjected.

“I really must leave now. Aunt Patricia believes I’m resting in my room,” she confessed. “You will have to share my confidence, Rhone. Or should I call you Jack now?”

“No.”

“I was only jesting, sir. Do not be so distressed,” Christina said.

Rhone sighed. He reached out to take hold of Christina’s hand, thinking to keep her by his side while he thanked her properly for tending his injury.

Christina moved so quickly Rhone was left reaching for air. Before he could blink, she was standing next to Lyon’s chair again.

Lyon was just as surprised. He was arrogantly pleased, too, for even though Christina probably wasn’t aware of what she’d done, she had instinctively moved back to him. There was some kind of little victory in that choice, wasn’t there?

“Christina, if you recognized me, why didn’t you tell Baker and the others?” Rhone asked.

She took exception to his question. “They’ll have to find out on their own,” she said. “I would never break a confidence, Rhone.”

“But I didn’t ask you to keep this confidence,” Rhone stammered.

“Don’t try to understand her, Rhone. It will be your undoing,” Lyon advised with a grin.

“Then please answer me this,” Rhone asked. “Did you see who threw the knife at me?”

“No, Rhone. In truth, I was too frightened to look behind me. If Lyon hadn’t been there to protect me, I think I would have swooned.”

Lyon patted her hand. “The pistol wasn’t loaded,” Rhone protested. “Did you think I’d actually hurt someone?”

Lyon prayed for patience. “I cannot believe you set out to rob Baker with an empty pistol.”

“Why would you use an empty weapon?” Christina asked.

“I wanted to scare them, not kill them,” Rhone muttered. “Will you two quit looking at me like that? The plan did work, I might remind you.”

“You just did remind us,” Christina announced.

“Lyon, will you be able to find out who injured me?” Rhone asked.

“Eventually.”

Christina frowned. Lyon sounded too certain. “Why does it matter?”

“Lyon likes a good puzzle,” Rhone announced. “As I recall, Baker’s balcony is a good fifty feet from the terrace below. Whoever it was had to be—”

“Twenty feet, Rhone,” Lyon interjected. “And the balcony couldn’t be scaled. The railing was too weak.”

“Then whoever it was must have been hiding behind you … somewhere,” Rhone said with a shrug. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Well, thank God he had a lousy aim.”

“Why do you say that?” Christina asked.

“Because he didn’t kill me.”

“Oh, I think his aim was quite on target,” she announced. “If he’d wanted to kill you, I think he might have. Perhaps he meant to make you drop your weapon.”

Christina suddenly realized she was sounding too sure of herself. Lyon was staring at her with a strange, intent expression on his face. “It was just a possibility I was giving you,” she added quickly. “I could be wrong, of course. His aim could have been faulty.”

“Why did you come over here to tend Rhone’s injury?” Lyon asked.

“Yes, why did you?” Rhone asked also.

“Now I am insulted,” Christina announced. “You were hurt, and I only thought to help you.”

“That was your only motive?” Lyon asked.

“Well, there was another reason as well,” Christina admitted. She walked over to the door before explaining. “Didn’t you tell me you were Lyon’s only friend?”

“I might have made that remark,” Rhone admitted.

“You did,” Christina said. “I never forget anything,” she boasted. “And it seemed to me that Lyon is a man in need of friends. I shall continue to keep your secret, Rhone, and you must promise not to tell anyone I came to see you. The Countess would be upset.”

“He doesn’t suit either?” Lyon asked, sounding vastly amused.

“I don’t suit?” Rhone asked. “Suit what?”

Christina ignored the question and started out the doorway.

“Christina.”

Lyon’s soft voice stopped her. “Yes, Lyon?”

“I didn’t promise.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh, but you’d never … you don’t even like the Countess. You wouldn’t bother to tell her …”

“I’m seeing you home, love.”

“I’m not your love.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I really prefer to walk.”

“Rhone, what do you think the Countess will say when I inform her that her niece is strolling around town, paying calls on—”

“You don’t fight with an ounce of dignity, Lyon. It’s a sorry trait.”

“I’ve never fought fair.”

Her sigh of defeat echoed throughout the library. “I shall wait for you in the hall, you despicable man.” Christina slammed the door shut to emphasize her irritation.

“She isn’t at all what she appears to be,” Rhone remarked. “She called us English, Lyon, as if we were foreigners. Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“Nothing Christina says makes sense, unless you remember she wasn’t raised here.” He stood up, stretched to his full height, and started for the door. “Enjoy the brandy, Rhone, while I go back into battle.”

“Battle? What are you talking about?”

“Not what, Rhone. Who. Christina, to be exact.”

Rhone’s laughter followed Lyon out the door. Christina was standing next to the front door. Her arms were folded across her chest. She wasn’t trying to hide her irritation.

“Ready, Christina?”

“No. I hate carriages, Lyon. Please let me walk home. It’s only a few short streets away from here.”

“Of course you hate carriages,” Lyon said. His voice was filled with amusement. “Now, why didn’t I realize that sooner, I wonder?” he asked as he took hold of her elbow. He half led, half dragged Christina to his vehicle. Once they were seated across from each other, Lyon asked, “Are carriages as much a distraction as saddles, perchance?”

“Oh, no,” Christina answered. “I don’t like being confined like this. It’s suffocating. You weren’t going to tell the Countess I left without permission, were you, Lyon?”

“No,” he admitted. “Are you afraid of the Countess, Christina?”

“I’m not afraid of her,” Christina said. “It’s just that she is my only family now, and I don’t like to upset her.”

“Were you born in France, Christina?” Lyon asked. He leaned forward to take hold of her hands.

His voice coached, his smile soothed. Christina wasn’t fooled for a moment. She knew he thought to catch her off guard. “When your mind is set on finding something out, you really don’t give up, do you, Lyon?”

“That’s about right, my dear.”

“You’re shameful,” Christina confessed. “Quit smiling. I’ve insulted you, haven’t I?”

“Were you born in France?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Now, are you satisfied? Will you quit your endless questions, please?”

“Why does it bother you to be questioned about your past?” Lyon asked.

“I merely try to protect my privacy,” she answered.

“Did you live with your mother?”

He was like a dog after a meaty bone, Christina decided. And he wasn’t going to let up. It was time to soothe his curiosity. “A very kind couple by the name of Summerton raised me. They were English but enjoyed traveling. I’ve been all over the world, Lyon. Mr. Summerton preferred to speak French, and I’m more comfortable with that language.”

The tension slowly ebbed away from her shoulders. She could tell by Lyon’s sympathetic expression that he believed her. “The Countess can be difficult, as you well know. She had a falling out with the Summertons and refuses to let me speak of them. She wants everyone to think I was raised by her, I suppose. Lying is very difficult for me,” she added with a straight face. “Since Aunt Patricia won’t let me tell the truth, and I’m not any good telling lies, I decided it would be best to say nothing at all about my past. There, are you satisfied?”

Lyon leaned back against the upholstery. He nodded, obviously satisfied with her confession. “How did you meet up with these Summertons?”

“They were dear friends of my mother,” Christina said. She gave him another smile. “When I turned two years of age, my mother took ill. She gave me to the Summertons because she trusted them, you see. My mother didn’t want her sister, the Countess, to become my guardian. And the Summertons weren’t able to have children.”

“Your mother was a shrewd woman,” Lyon remarked. “The old bat would have ruined you, Christina.”

“Oh, my, did Elbert call my aunt an old bat in front of you? I really must have another firm talk with him. He seems to have taken an extreme dislike to her.”

“Love, everyone dislikes your aunt.”

“Are you finished with your questions now?” Christina asked.

“Where did you hear the sound of lions, Christina, and where did you see buffaloes?”

The man had the memory of a child given the promise of candy. He didn’t forget anything. “I did spend a good deal of time in France, because of Mr. Summerton’s work, but he was very devoted to his wife—and to me, for he did think of me as his daughter. And so he took both of us with him when he went on his trips. Lyon, I really don’t want to answer any more of your questions.”

“Just one more, Christina. Will you let me escort you to Creston’s ball on Saturday? It will be very proper. Diana will be with us.”

“You know my aunt won’t allow it,” Christina protested.

The carriage came to a halt in front of Christina’s home. Lyon opened the door, dismounted, and turned to lift Christina to the ground. He held her a bit longer than necessary, but Christina didn’t take exception. “Simply tell your aunt that arrangements have already been made. I’ll call for you at nine.”

“I do suppose it will be all right. Aunt Patricia need never know. She’s going to the country to visit a sick friend. If I don’t mention the ball, I really won’t have to lie. It isn’t quite the same if the Countess believes I mean to stay home, is it? Or is it still a lie by deliberate silence, I wonder.”

Lyon smiled. “You really do have trouble telling a lie, don’t you, sweet? It is a noble trait,” he added.

Heaven help her, she really mustn’t laugh. Lyon would certainly grow suspicious then. “Yes, it is difficult for me,” she confessed.

“You don’t know how it pleases me to find a woman with such high standards, Christina.”

“Thank you, Lyon. May I put a question to you now?”

Elbert opened the door just then. Christina became distracted. She smiled at the butler, then waved him inside. “I shall see the door closed, Elbert. Thank you.”

Lyon patiently waited until Christina turned back to him. “Your question?” he gently prodded.

“Oh, yes,” Christina said. “First of all, I would like to ask you if you will be attending Sir Hunt’s party Thursday evening.”

“Are you going?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall be there.”

“There is one more question, please.”

“Yes?” Lyon asked, smiling. Christina was acting terribly shy all of a sudden. A faint blush covered her cheeks, and she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“Will you marry me, Lyon? For just a little while?”

“What?”

He really hadn’t meant to shout, but the woman did say the damnedest things. He couldn’t have heard her correctly. Marriage? For just a while? No, he had misunderstood. “What did you say?” he asked again, calming his voice.

“Will you marry me? Think about it, Lyon, and do let me know. Good day, sir.”

The door closed before the Marquess of Lyonwood could summon a reaction.

Chapter Seven

It took over three weeks before Mylala was able to find a captain willing to take the risk of helping us escape. I don’t know what I would have done without my loyal maid. She put her family and her friends in jeopardy to aid me. I listened to her advice, for she had been in my husband’s household for several years and knew his ways.

I had to act as though nothing had changed. Yes, I played the loving wife, but every night I prayed for Edward’s death. Mylala suggested that I not take any possessions with me. When the call came for me to go, I would simply walk away with only the clothes on my back.

Two nights before word came from the captain, I went to see Edward in his quarters. I entered by the side door again, very quietly, as a precaution against finding Nicolle with him again. Edward was alone. He was sitting at his desk, holding a large, sparkling sapphire in his hands. On the desk top were over twenty other gems. Edward was fondling them in much the same way he fondled Nicolle. I stood there, in the shadows, watching him. The madman actually spoke to the jewels. After another few minutes, he wrapped the gems in a cloth and put them back in a small black lacquered box.

There was a false panel built into the wall. Edward slid the box into the dark crevice.

I went back to my rooms and related what I’d seen to my maid. She told me she’d heard a rumor that the treasury was barren. We came to the conclusion that the revolution was closer to reality than we’d believed. My husband had converted the coins into jewels, for they would be much easier to carry with him when he left his country.

I vowed to steal the jewels. I wanted to hurt Edward in any way that I could. Mylala cautioned me against such a plan, but I was past caring. The jewels belonged to the people. I promised myself that one day I’d find a way to give the jewels back.

God, I was so noble, but so very, very naive. I really thought I would get away with it.

Journal entry

September 1, 1795

The early morning hours belonged to Christina. It was a peaceful, quiet time of day, for the Countess rarely made an appearance or a demand before noon. Christina’s aunt preferred to take her morning meal of biscuits and tea in bed, and only broke that ritual when an important visitation couldn’t be rescheduled.

Christina was usually dressed and finished with her duties before the full light of dawn warmed the city. She and her aunt shared a lady’s maid between them, but Beatrice had quite enough to do filling the Countess’s orders. For that reason, Christina took care of her clothes and her bedroom. In truth, she was happy with the arrangement. She didn’t have to keep up a pretense when she was alone in her room. Since Beatrice rarely interrupted her, Christina didn’t have to wrinkle the covers on her bed every morning to give the appearance she’d actually slept there.

Once she bolted the door against intruders, she could let her defenses slide. Every night she carried her blanket across the room to sleep on the floor in front of the double windows.

She didn’t have to be strong when she was alone. She could cry, just as long as she was quiet about it. It was a weakness to shed tears, yet since no one was there to witness her distress, Christina felt little shame.

The tiny garden hidden behind the kitchens was Christina’s other private domain. She usually spent most of the morning hours there. She blocked out the noise of the city and the stench of discarded garbage, slipped off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the rich brown dirt. When the droplets of dew had been snatched away by the sun, Christina would return to the erupting chaos inside the house.

The precious reunion with the sun helped her endure the rest of the day. She could usually worry through any perplexing problem in such a tranquil setting too. However, since meeting the Marquess of Lyonwood, Christina hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything. Her every thought belonged to him.

She’d been attracted to him from the moment of their meeting. When Sir Reynolds had called him Lyon, she’d been nudged into awareness. Then she’d looked up into his eyes, and her heart had been captured. The vulnerability she’d seen there, in his dark gaze, had made her want to reach out to him.

He was a man in need of attention. Christina thought he might be just as lonely as she was. She didn’t understand why she’d come away with that impression, however. Lyon was surrounded by his family, embraced by the ton, envied, and somewhat feared. Yes, the ton bowed to him because of his title and his wealth. They were superficial reasons, to Christina’s way of viewing matters, but Lyon had been raised in such a fashion.

He was different, though. She’d noticed he didn’t bend to any of their laws. No, Lyon seemed determined to make his own.

Christina knew it hadn’t been proper to ask him to marry her. According to the laws, it was the man’s place to offer for his woman, not the other way around. She’d given the matter considerable thought, then reached the decision that she’d simply have to break this one law in order to be wed before her father returned to England.

Still, her timing might not have been perfect. She knew she’d stunned him with her hastily blurted question. The astonished look on his face worried her. She couldn’t make up her mind if he was getting ready to shout with laughter or explode with anger.

Once he’d gotten over his initial reaction, however, Christina was certain he’d say yes. Why, he’d already admitted how much he liked being with her, how much he liked touching her. Life in this strange country would be so much more bearable with Lyon by her side.

And it would only be for a little while … he wouldn’t have to be saddled with her forever, as the Countess liked to say.

Besides, she told herself, he really wouldn’t be given a choice, would he?

She was the lioness of the Dakota. Lyon simply had to marry her.

It was his destiny.

Thursday evening didn’t arrive soon enough to suit the Marquess of Lyonwood. By the time he entered Sir Hunt’s townhouse, he was fighting mad.

Lyon had alternated between absolute fury and total disappointment whenever he thought about Christina’s outrageous proposal. Well, he sure as hell had her game now, didn’t he? She was after marriage, all right—marriage and money, just like every other woman in the kingdom.

He was just as angry with himself. His instincts had certainly been sleeping. He should have known what she was up to from the very beginning. God’s truth, he’d done exactly what he accused Rhone of doing—he’d fallen victim to a pretty face and a clever flirtation.

Lyon was disgusted enough to want to bellow. And he was going to set Christina straight at the first opportunity. He wasn’t about to get married again. Once had been enough. Oh, he meant to have Christina, but on his terms, and certainly without benefit of clergy to muck up the waters. All women changed once wedded. Experience had taught him that much.

It was unfortunate that the first person he ran into when he entered Hunt’s salon was his sister, Diana. She spotted him immediately, picked up her skirts, and charged over to curtsy in front of him.

Hell, he was going to have to be civil.

“Lyon, thank you for asking Sir Reynolds to escort me. He is such a kind man. Aunt Harriett will be arriving Monday next, and you won’t have to be bothered with the duty any longer. Do you like my new gown?” she asked, straightening the folds of her yellow skirt.

“You look very pretty,” Lyon announced, barely giving her a glance.

There was such a crowd, Lyon was having difficulty finding Christina. Though he was much taller than the other guests, he still hadn’t been able to spot the golden crown of curls he was looking for.

“Green is a nice color for me, isn’t it, Lyon?”

“Yes.”

Diana laughed, drawing Lyon’s attention. “My gown is yellow, Lyon. I knew you weren’t paying me the least notice.”

“I’m in no mood for games, Diana. Go and circulate through the crush like a good girl.”

“She isn’t here, Lyon.”

“She isn’t?” Lyon asked, sounding distracted.

Diana’s giggles increased. “Princess Christina hasn’t arrived yet. I had the most wonderful visit with her yesterday.”

“Where did you see her?” Lyon asked. His voice was a bit sharper than he intended.

Diana didn’t take exception. “For tea. Mother didn’t join us, of course. Neither did you, by the way. Did you actually forget you asked me to invite her, Lyon?”

Lyon shook his head. “I decided against intruding,” he lied. He really had forgotten the appointment, but he placed the blame for his ill discipline on Christina’s shoulders. Since receiving her proposal of marriage, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else.

Diana gave her brother a puzzled look. “It isn’t like you to forget anything,” she announced. When he didn’t comment on that fact, she said, “Well, I was happy to have the time alone with her. Princess Christina is a fascinating woman. Do you believe in destiny, Lyon?”

“Oh, God.”

“You needn’t groan,” Diana chided. “I do not believe in destiny.”

“Now you’re shouting. Lyon, everyone is giving us worried looks. Do force a smile. I believe in destiny.”

“Of course you do.”

“Now why would that displease you?” Diana asked. She continued on before her brother could form an answer. “The princess makes such refreshing observations about people. She never says anything unkind, either. She’s such a delicate, dainty woman. Why, I feel very protective around her. She’s so gentle, so—”

“Was the old bat with her?” Lyon interrupted impatiently. He wasn’t in the mood to hear about Christina’s qualities. No, he was still too angry with her.

“I beg your pardon?” Diana asked.

“The Countess,” Lyon explained. “Did she join you?”

Diana tried not to laugh. “No, she wasn’t with Christina. I made an unkind remark about her aunt, though of course I didn’t call her an old bat, and my comment was quite by accident. Christina was very gracious when she told me it was impolite to speak of the elderly in such a fashion. I was humbled by her gentle rebuke, Lyon, and then found myself telling her all about Mama and how she still grieves for our James.”

“Family matters shouldn’t be discussed with outsiders,” Lyon said. “I really would appreciate it if you’d—”

“She says it’s all your fault about Mama being—”

“What?” Lyon asked.

“Please let me finish before you sanction me,” Diana advised. “Christina said the strangest thing. Yes, she did.”

“Of course she did,” Lyon returned with a long sigh.

Lord, it was contagious. One afternoon with Princess Christina had turned Diana completely senseless.

“I didn’t understand what she meant, but she did say—rather firmly, too—that it was all your fault, and that it was up to you to direct Mama into returning to her family. Those were her very words.”

Diana could tell by Lyon’s expression he was just as puzzled as she was. “I tell you, Lyon, it was as though she was repeating a rule from her memory. I didn’t want her to think me unschooled, so I didn’t question her further. But I didn’t understand what she was telling me. Princess Christina acted like her advice made perfect sense.…”

“Nothing the woman says or does makes any sense,” Lyon announced. “Diana, go back to Sir Reynolds’s side. He’ll introduce you around. I’ve still to speak to our host.”

“Lady Cecille is here, Lyon,” Diana whispered. “You can’t miss her. She’s dressed in bright, shameful red.”

“Shameful red?” Lyon grinned over the absurd description.

“You aren’t still involved with the woman, are you, Lyon? Princess Christina would surely be put off if she thought you were seeing a woman of such stained reputation.”

“No, I’m not involved with Cecille,” Lyon muttered. “And how did you find out—”

“I listen to the rumors, just like everyone else,” Diana admitted with a blush. “I’ll leave you to your grumpy mood, Lyon. You may lecture me later.” She started to turn away from him, then paused. “Lyon? Is Rhone going to be here tonight?”

He caught the eagerness in her voice. “It shouldn’t matter to you if Rhone shows up or not, Diana. He’s too old for you.”

“Old? Lyon, he’s your age exactly, and you’re only nine years my senior.”

“Don’t argue with me, Diana.”

She dared to frown at her brother before giving in to his advice. When Diana finally left him alone, Lyon leaned against the bannister in the foyer, waiting for Christina.

His host found him and dragged him across the salon and into a heated debate about government issues. Lyon patiently listened, though he kept glancing toward the entrance.

Christina finally arrived. She walked into the salon, flanked by their hostess and the Countess, just as Lady Cecille touched Lyon’s arm.

“Darling, it is wonderful to see you again.”

Lyon felt like growling. He slowly turned around to acknowledge his former mistress.

What in God’s name had he ever seen in the woman? The difference between Cecille and Christina was stunning. Lyon felt like taking a step back.

Cecille was a tall woman, somewhat stately, and terribly vulgar. She wore her dark brown hair piled high atop her head. Her cheeks were tinged with pink paint, as were her full, pouting lips.

Christina never pouted. She didn’t pretend coyness either, Lyon decided. His disgust with Cecille was a sour taste in his mouth. Cecille was trying to be provocative now. She deliberately lowered her eyelashes to half mast. “I’ve sent you notes asking you to call, Lyon,” she whispered as she increased her hold on his arm. “It’s been such an unbearably long while since we shared a night together. I’ve missed you.”

Lyon was thankful the men he was speaking to had walked away. He slowly removed Cecille’s hand. “We’ve had this discussion, Cecille. It’s over. Accept it and find someone else.”

Cecille ignored the harshness in Lyon’s voice. “I don’t believe you, Lyon. It was good between us. You’re only being stubborn.”

Lyon dismissed Cecille from his mind. He didn’t want to waste his anger on her. No, he told himself, he was saving all of it for Princess Christina. He turned to find the woman he sought to reject and spotted her immediately. She was standing next to their host, smiling sweetly up at him. She looked entirely too pretty tonight. Her gown was the color of blue ice. The neckline was low-cut, showing a generous amount of her full, creamy-looking bosom. The gown wasn’t as indecently fashioned as Cecille’s, but Lyon still didn’t like it. Hunt was giving Christina’s chest lecherous looks. Lyon thought he just might kill him.

There were too many dandies at the party, too. Lyon looked around the room, glaring at all the men openly coveting his Christina. He knew he wasn’t making any sense. He wasn’t going to marry Christina, but he wasn’t willing to let anyone else have her, either. No, he wasn’t making any sense at all. It was Christina’s fault, of course. The woman had made him crazy.

Cecille stood beside Lyon, watching him. It didn’t take her long to realize he was mesmerized by the Princess. Cecille was irritated. She wasn’t about to let anyone compete for Lyon’s attention. No one was going to interfere with her plan to marry him. Lyon was a stubborn man, but Cecille was certain enough of her own considerable charms to believe she’d eventually get her way. She always did. Yes, Lyon would come around, provided she didn’t prod too obviously.

From the way Lyon kept his gaze directed on the beautiful woman, Cecille knew she’d better act quickly. The little Princess could cause trouble. Cecille made up her mind to have a talk with the chit as soon as possible.

She had to wait a good hour before she gained a proper introduction. During that time she heard several comments about Lyon’s preoccupation with the woman. There was actual speculation that Lyon was going to offer for her. Cecille turned from irritated to incensed. It was obviously far more serious than she’d first guessed.

She waited for her opportunity. When Christina finally stood alone, Cecille nudged her arm and begged for a private audience in their host’s library to discuss an issue of high importance.

The innocent little Princess looked confused by her request. Cecille smiled as sweetly as she could manage. She felt like gloating. In just a few minutes she’d have the silly girl terrified enough to do anything she suggested.

The library was located in the back of the main floor. They entered the chamber from the hallway.

Three high-backed chairs were angled in front of a long desk. Christina sat down, folded her arms in her lap, and smiled up at Lady Cecille expectantly.

Cecille didn’t sit down. She wanted the advantage of towering over her adversary.

“What is it you wish to say to me?” Christina asked, her voice soft.

“The Marquess of Lyonwood,” Cecille announced. The sweetness was missing from her voice now. “Lyon belongs to me, Princess. Leave him alone.”

Lyon had just opened the side door to the library in time to overhear Cecille’s demand. It wasn’t by accident that he happened upon the conversation, nor was it coincidence he’d chosen to go around to the door connecting the kitchens to the study. Lyon remembered from past meetings with Sir Hunt that there were two doors leading to the library. And he’d kept his attention on Christina since the minute she’d entered the townhouse. When Cecille had taken hold of Christina’s arm and led her down the hallway, Lyon was right behind her.

Neither Christina nor Cecille noticed him. Lyon knew it was bad form to listen in on their private conversation, yet he believed his motives were pure enough. He knew what Cecille was capable of. She could make mutton out of a gentle little lamb. Gentle Christina wasn’t up to handling anyone as cunning, as vicious as Cecille. Lyon only wanted to protect Christina. The beautiful woman was simply too naive for her own good.

“Has Lyon offered for you, then?” Christina suddenly asked.

“No,” Cecille snapped out. “Don’t give me that innocent look, Princess. You know he hasn’t offered for me yet. But he will,” she added with a sneer. “We’re intimate friends. Do you know what that means? He comes to my bed almost every night. Do you get my meaning?” she asked in a malicious voice.

“Oh, yes,” Christina answered. “You’re his paramour.”

Cecille gasped. She folded her arms across her chest and glared down at her prey. “I’m going to marry him.”

“No, I don’t think you are, Lady Cecille,” Christina answered. “Was that all you wanted to say to me? And you really don’t have to raise your voice. My hearing is sound.”

“You still don’t understand, do you? You’re either stupid or a real bitch, do you know that? I’m going to ruin you if you get in my way,” Cecille announced.

Lyon was puzzled. He’d thought to intervene the moment Cecille started her insults, but the look on Christina’s face kept him from moving.

Christina seemed to be totally unaffected by the discussion. She actually smiled up at Cecille, then asked in an extremely casual voice, “How could you ruin me?”

“I’ll make up stories about you. It won’t matter if they’re true or not. Yes,” Cecille rushed on, “I’ll tell everyone you’ve slept with several men. Your reputation will be in tatters when I’m done with you. Give Lyon up, Christina. He’d tire of you soon anyway. Your looks are nothing in comparison to mine. Lyon will always come back to me. My beauty captivates him. You will immediately let him know you aren’t interested in him. Then ignore him completely. Otherwise—”

“Say what you will,” Christina said. “I don’t care what your people think of me.”

Cecille was infuriated by the amusement in Christina’s voice. “You are a stupid woman,” she shouted.

“Please don’t get so bothered, Lady Cecille. It’s upsetting your complexion. Why, your face is full of splotches.”

“You … you …” Cecille paused to take a deep, calming breath. “You’re lying. You have to care what others think. And your aunt will certainly care, I can promise you that. She can’t be as ignorant as you are. Ah, I see I’ve finally gotten your attention. Yes, the Countess will be ruined by the scandal I’m going to weave.”

Christina straightened in her chair. She frowned up at Cecille. “Are you saying your made-up stories will upset my aunt?”

“God, you really are a simple one, aren’t you? Of course she’ll be upset. When I’m finished, she won’t be able to show her face in public. Just you wait and see.”

Cecille could smell victory. She turned her back on Christina to circle the chair as she began to detail the vile lies she would spread.

Lyon had heard enough. He turned to pull the door wide open, determined to walk into the library and end Cecille’s terror tactics at once.

It was time to protect his angel from the serpent.

She must have moved with incredible speed. Lyon had only taken his gaze off Christina for a second or two, but when he glanced back, the scene he witnessed so astonished him that he couldn’t move.

He had trouble believing what he was seeing. Christina had Cecille pinned up against the wall. His former mistress wasn’t making a sound of protest over the violation. She couldn’t. Christina’s left hand was anchored around the woman’s neck, holding her in place. From the way Cecille’s eyes were beginning to bulge, Lyon thought Christina just might be strangling her to death.

Cecille outweighed Christina by a good twenty pounds. She was much taller, too, yet Christina acted as though she was holding up a trinket for closer observation.

The little angel Lyon wanted to protect used only one hand to secure Cecille. She held a dagger in her other hand. The tip of the blade rested against Cecille’s cheek.

The victim had just turned victor.

Christina slowly increased her hold on Cecille’s neck, then let her see the tip of her knife. “Do you know what my people do to vain, deceitful women?” she asked in a soft whisper. “They carve marks all over their faces, Cecille.”

Cecille started whimpering. Christina pricked her skin with the tip of the knife. A drop of blood appeared on her cheek. Christina nodded with satisfaction. She had Lady Cecille’s full attention now. The woman looked terrified. “If you tell one lie, I’ll hear about it. Then I’m going to hunt you down, Cecille. There isn’t a rock large enough for you to crawl under, nor enough men in England to see to your protection. I’ll come to you during the night, when you’re sleeping. And when you open your eyes, you’ll see this blade again. Oh, yes, I’ll get to you, I promise. And when I do,” Christina added, pausing to dramatically drag the flat of her blade across the woman’s face, “I’m going to cut your skin into ribbons. Do you understand me?”

Christina let up on her hold only long enough for Cecille to gulp air and nod. Then she squeezed her up against the wall again. “The Countess is my family. No one upsets her. And no one is going to believe you if you think to tell them I just threatened you. Now get out of here and go home. Though it is unkind of me to say so, you really do look a fright.”

With those words of dismissal, Christina moved away from the disgusting woman.

Lady Cecille didn’t possess an ounce of dignity. She was weeping all over her gown. She had obviously believed every word of Christina’s threats.

Lord, she was a silly woman. Christina had difficulty maintaining her stern expression. She wanted to laugh. She couldn’t, of course, and she kept her gaze locked on the terrified woman a long moment before she took pity on her. Lady Cecille couldn’t seem to move. “You may leave now,” Christina announced.

Cecille nodded. She slowly backed away from Christina until she reached the exit. Her hands shook when she lifted her skirt all the way up to her knobby knees, then she flung the door wide and ran with enough speed to suggest she thought demons were chasing her.

Christina let out a long, weary sigh. She replaced the dagger in the sheath above her ankle, straightened the folds of her gown, then daintily patted her hair into place. “Such a silly woman,” she whispered to herself before walking out of the room.

Lyon had to sit down. He waited until Christina was out of sight before he went over to Hunt’s desk and leaned against it. He tried to pour himself a drink of his host’s whiskey from the cart to the side of the desk, but he quickly discarded that idea. God help him, he was laughing too hard to get the deed done.

So much for his conclusion that Christina was just like every other woman. She certainly wasn’t raised in France, either. Lyon shook his head. She gave the appearance of being helpless … or had he drawn that conclusion on his own, he wondered. It was an easy mistake to make, he realized. Christina was so feminine, so dainty, so damned innocent-looking … and she wore a knife strapped to her leg.

It was identical to the knife he’d held in his hands the night of Baker’s party, the knife that had wounded Rhone. What a cunning little liar she was. Lyon remembered how he’d turned to see who’d thrown the weapon. Christina had looked so frightened. Hell, the woman had turned around to look behind her, too. She’d gone right along with his thought that someone lurked behind them in the shadows. Then, when he was locked in conversation with the gentlemen, she’d quietly snatched her weapon back.

Lyon’s instincts were wide awake now. His temper began to simmer, too. Hadn’t she told him the night of the robbery she was so frightened she thought she might swoon?

No wonder she’d gone to Rhone to take care of his injury. Guilt, Lyon decided.

He wasn’t laughing now. Lyon thought he just might throttle the woman.

“Has trouble telling a lie, does she?” he muttered to himself. Oh, yes, she’d looked him right in the eye when she told him that story. It was very difficult for her … yes, she’d said that, too.

He was going to throttle her. But first he was going to have a long talk with her … his little warrior had a large amount of explaining to do.

Lyon slammed his empty glass down on the tray and went in search of Christina.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

Christina visibly jumped. She whirled around to confront Lyon. “Where did you just come from?” she asked, sounding highly suspicious. She glanced around him to look at the library door.

Lyon knew exactly what she was thinking. She looked worried. He forced himself to look calm. “In the library.”

“No, I just came from the library, Lyon. You couldn’t have been in there,” she announced, shaking her head.

He almost said that he wasn’t the one who lied, then caught himself. “Oh, but I was in the library, my sweet.”

His announcement gave her a start. “Was there anyone else in there?” she asked, trying to sound only mildly curious.

Lyon knew she was testing him.

“I mean to ask, sir, that is, did you happen to notice if anyone else was in the library?”

He took his sweet time nodding. Christina decided he looked just like a mischievous devil. He was dressed like one, too. Lyon’s formal attire was all of black, save for the white cravat, of course. The clothing fit him well. The man was too handsome for her peace of mind.

She was certain Lyon hadn’t seen or heard anything. He was looking down at her with such a tender expression in his eyes. Christina felt safe enough. Lyon wasn’t acting the least appalled. But why had he lied to her? Christina decided he must have seen her go inside the study with Lady Cecille. The poor man was probably worried that his paramour had told Christina something he didn’t want repeated. Yes, she told herself, he was just prodding for information.

It was a plausible explanation. Still, one did need to be absolutely certain. Christina lowered her gaze to stare at his waistcoat. She forced a casual voice and asked, “You didn’t perchance overlisten to my conversation with Lady Cecille, did you?”

“The word is eavesdropping, Christina, not overlistening.”

His voice was strained. She thought he might be trying not to laugh at her. Christina didn’t know if it was her question or her mispronunciation that had caused the change. She was too irritated with him for lying to her to take great exception, however. “Thank you, Lyon, for instructing me. Eavesdropping, yes, I do recall that word.”

Lyon wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started wringing her hands. She was upset, all right, for she’d just spoken to him in French. He doubted she was even aware she’d slipped into the foreign language.

He decided to answer her in kind. “I am always happy to instruct you, love.”

She didn’t notice. “But you didn’t eavesdrop, did you?”

“Why, Christina, what an unkind question to put to me. Of course not.”

She tried not to let her relief show.

“And you know I’d never lie to you, my sweet. You’ve always been so open, so honest with me, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have,” Christina returned, giving him a quick smile. “It is the only way to be with each other, Lyon. Surely you realize that.”

Lyon clasped his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t be able to give in to his urge to grab her by her throat. She seemed very relaxed with him now, very sure of herself. “Did you learn the value of honesty from the Summertons?” he asked.

“Who?”

His grip on his control intensified. “The Summertons,” Lyon repeated, trying to control his anger. “Remember, love, the people who raised you?”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye when she answered him. He was such a good, trusting man. It was becoming a little bit of a strain to lie to him. “Yes, the Summertons did teach me to be honest in all endeavors,” she announced. “I simply can’t help myself. I’m not any good at fabrications.”

He was going to strangle her.

“Did I hear you say you were in the study with Lady Cecille?”

Her guess had been right all along. Lyon was worried about the conversation. He had seen her go inside the library with Lady Cecille. Christina decided to put his fears to rest. “I was,” she said. “Lady Cecille seems to be a dear woman, Lyon. She had some rather pleasing remarks to make about you.”

No, he wasn’t going to strangle her. He thought he’d beat her first. “I’m pleased to hear it,” Lyon said. His voice was as smooth as a soft wind. The effort made his throat ache. “What exactly did she say?”

“Oh, this and that.”

“What specific this and that?” Lyon insisted. His hands had moved to rest on Christina’s shoulders, and it was all he could do not to shake the sincerity right out of her.

“Well, she did mention that we made a lovely couple,” Christina said.

She was back to staring at his waistcoat again. While she appreciated the fact that the English tended to be somewhat naive, she was beginning to feel ashamed of herself for lying so blatantly to Lyon.

“Did she mention destiny, perchance?” Lyon asked.

She hadn’t noticed the edge in his voice. “No, I don’t recall Lady Cecille mentioning destiny. That does remind me, though, of my question. Have you given my proposal consideration?”

“I have.”

“Lyon, why are you speaking French to me? We’re in England, and you really should speak the language of your own people.”

“It seemed appropriate,” Lyon muttered.

“Oh,” Christina said. She tried to shrug his hands away from her shoulders. They were still alone in the hallway, but there was always the chance someone could come along and see them. “Are you going to mate with … I mean, are you going to marry me?”

“Yes, I’m going to mate with you. As for marriage, I fear I will have to decline your proposal.”

Christina wasn’t given time to react to Lyon’s announcement. Sir Reynolds called out, interrupting them. Lyon let go of her shoulders, then pulled her around and up against his side. He trapped her with one hand wrapped around her waist.

“Lyon, I’ve been looking all over this house for you. Do you approve of my taking your sister over to Kimble’s do? We’d stay here until dinner hour is over, of course.”

“Certainly,” Lyon said. “And I appreciate your taking Diana under your wing, sir.”

“Glad to do it,” Reynolds said. “Good evening, Princess Christina. I trust you are well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Christina answered. She tried to curtsy, but Lyon wouldn’t let up on his hold. She settled on a smile instead. It was a puny half effort at best, for Lyon’s answer had just settled in her mind.

Though she told herself it didn’t matter, that she’d surely find someone else to marry, she knew she was lying to herself. It did matter. Lord, she felt close to weeping.

“My dear,” Sir Reynolds said, addressing Christina, “I’ve agreed to see you home. Your aunt pleaded fatigue and has taken your carriage. She explained she was leaving for the countryside tomorrow. I was given to understand you won’t be going with her.”

“Yes, that is correct,” Christina answered. “My aunt is going to visit a friend who has taken ill. She prefers that I stay in London. I will have to wait for another opportunity to see your lovely countryside.”

“I forget you’ve only been here a very short while,” Sir Reynolds said. “But you’re surely not on your own for an entire week, are you? Do you wish me to lend my arm Saturday eve? You do intend to go to Creston’s ball, of course. Or do you already have an escort?”

“I shall not be going,” Christina interjected, her voice firm.

“Yes, you will,” Lyon said. He squeezed her waist before adding, “You promised.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Sir Reynolds, I’m also fatigued. I’d be pleased if you’d—”

“I’ll take you home.” Lyon’s voice was hard with anger.

Sir Reynolds could feel the tension between the two. They’d obviously had a falling out, he decided. From the way Princess Christina was trying to get out of his embrace, and the determined way Lyon wasn’t letting her, it was very apparent. Why, he could almost see the sparks between them.

Determined to douse the argument and aid Lyon at the same time, he asked him, “Are you sure you wish to see Princess Christina home?”

“Yes,” Lyon snapped. “When must she get there, Reynolds? Did the Countess set the hour?”

“No, she assumed Christina would accompany your sister and me to Kimble’s. You’ve at least two hours before the Countess takes notice,” he added with a grin.

“Please don’t discuss me as if I were not present,” Christina said. “I really am tired now and would prefer—”

“That we leave immediately.” Lyon finished the sentence for her, increasing his hold on her waist until she could barely catch her breath.

“Perhaps you might consider leaving by the back door,” Sir Reynolds suggested in a conspiratorial whisper. “I shall make certain everyone believes Princess Christina left with her aunt, you see, and will of course offer your regrets to our host as well.”

“A good idea,” Lyon announced with a grin. “Of course, Reynolds, we must keep this deception between the three of us. Christina has such difficulty telling a lie. As long as she doesn’t have to fabricate a story to her aunt, her honor will remain unblemished. Isn’t that right, love?”

She gave him a good long frown. And she really wished he’d quit dragging up the issue of her honesty. It was making her terribly uncomfortable. Lyon looked sincere enough for her to believe he actually admired her.

It no longer signified what he thought, she told herself when Lyon started dragging her toward the back of the house. He’d just rejected her offer of marriage. No, it didn’t matter what he thought of her anymore.

She wouldn’t see him again after this evening. Heaven help her, her eyes were filling with tears. “You’ve just broken another law,” she muttered into his back. She tried to sound angry instead of desolate. “My aunt will be outraged if she hears of this trickery.”

“Speak English, sweetheart.”

“What?”

Lyon didn’t say another word until he had Christina settled inside his carriage. He sat down next to her, then stretched his long legs out in front of him.

The carriage was much bigger than the one Aunt Patricia had rented, and much more elegant in detail.

Christina still hated it. Large or small, elegant or not, it made no difference to her. “Don’t you have any of those open carriages like the ones I’ve seen in Hyde Park, Lyon? And please quit trying to crush me. Do move over.”

“Yes, I have an open carriage. It’s called a phaeton. One doesn’t use a phaeton after dark, however,” he explained with exasperation. His patience was wearing thin. Lyon was itching to get the truth out of her, not discuss such mundane matters as carriages.

“One should,” Christina muttered. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t admit this to you, but I won’t be seeing you again, so it really doesn’t matter. I can’t stand the darkness. May we open the drapes covering the windows, please? I can’t seem to catch my breath.”

The panic in her voice turned his attention. His anger quickly dissipated when he felt her tremble against his side.

Lyon immediately pulled the drapes back, then put his arm around her shoulders.

“I’ve just handed you a weapon to use against me, haven’t I?”

He didn’t know what she was talking about. The light filtering in through the windows was sufficient for him to see the fear in her eyes, though. He noticed that her hands were fisted in her lap.

“You really are frightened, aren’t you?” he asked as he pulled her up against him.

Christina reacted to the gentleness in his voice. “It isn’t really fear,” she whispered. “I just get a tightness here, in my chest,” she explained. She took hold of his hand and placed it against her heart. “Can you feel how my heart is pounding?”

He could have answered her if he’d been able to find his voice. The simple touch had sent his senses reeling.

“I’ll try to take your mind off your worry, love,” he whispered when he could speak again. He leaned down and kissed her. The intimacy was slow, languid, consuming, until Christina reached up to brush her fingertips across his cheek.

A shudder rushed through him. His heart was pounding now. “Do you know what a witch you are?” he asked when he pulled away. “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you, Christina?” His fingers slid just inside the top of her gown to gently caress her softness.

He whispered erotic, forbidden longings into her ear. “I can’t wait much longer, my love. I want you under me. Naked. Begging. God, I want to be inside you. You want me just as much, don’t you, Christina?”

He didn’t wait for her answer but claimed her soft lips for another deep kiss. His mouth moved hungrily over hers, his tongue delving inside, deeper and deeper with each new penetration, until she was reaching for his tongue with her own whenever he deliberately withdrew.

Christina didn’t know how it happened, but she suddenly realized she was sitting on his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. “Lyon, you mustn’t say such things to me.” Her protest sounded like a ragged moan. “We cannot share the same blankets unless we’re wed,” she added before she cupped the sides of his face and kissed him again.

She forgot all about the closeness inside the carriage, forgot all her worries and his rejection of her proposal. His kisses were robbing her of all thoughts.

Her breasts ached for more of his touch. She moved, restlessly, erotically, against his arousal. Lyon trailed wet kisses down the side of her neck, pausing to tease her earlobe with his warm breath, his velvet tongue. His knuckles brushed against her nipples, once, twice, and then again, until a fever began to burn inside her.

She tried to stop him when he pushed the top of her gown down, exposing her breasts. “No, Lyon, we mustn’t—”

“Let me, Christina,” Lyon demanded, his voice harsh with need. His mouth found her breasts before she could protest again, and then she was too weak, too overwhelmed by what he was doing to her to protest at all.

“I love the taste of you,” he whispered. “God, you’re so soft.” His tongue caressed the nipple of one breast while his hand stroked the other. Christina clung to him, her eyes tightly closed. A soft whimper escaped when he took the nipple into his mouth and began to suckle. An aching tightness made her move against Lyon again. He groaned, telling her how much pleasure her instinctive motion had given him.

Christina never wanted the sweet torture to end.

It was Lyon’s driver who saved her from disgrace. His shout that they’d gained their destination penetrated her sensual haze. “Dear God, we are home!” Her announcement came out in a strained voice.

Lyon wasn’t as quick to recover. It took a moment for her announcement to settle in his mind. His breathing was harsh, ragged. He leaned back against the cushion and took a deep breath while he fought to regain some semblance of control.

Christina had adjusted her gown to cover her breasts and moved to sit beside him. She dropped her hand on his thigh. Lyon reacted as though she’d just stabbed him. He pushed her hand away. “Are you angry with me?” she whispered.

His eyes were closed now. The muscle was flexing in the side of his cheek, though, and she thought he really was angry with her. She clasped her hands together in her lap, trying to stop herself from trembling. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Damn it, Christina. Give me a minute to calm down,” Lyon snapped.

Christina bowed her head in shame. “I’m so sorry, Lyon. I didn’t mean for our kisses to go so far, but you made me weak and I forgot all about stopping.”

“It was my fault, not yours.” Lyon muttered his roundabout apology. He finally opened his eyes and glanced down at her. Hell, she looked so dejected. Lyon tried to put his arm around her again, but she scooted over into the corner. “Sweetheart, it’s all right.” He forced a smile when she looked up at him. “Do you want me to come inside with you?”

She shook her head. “No, the Countess is a light sleeper. She’d know,” Christina whispered.

Lyon didn’t want to leave her. Not yet … not like this. He was feeling extremely guilty because she was looking so ashamed. If she started to cry, he didn’t know how he’d be able to comfort her.

“Hell,” he muttered to himself. Every time he touched her he went a little crazy. If he tried to offer her solace, he’d probably make it worse.

Lyon threw open the door and helped Christina to the ground. “When will I see you again?” he asked her. They were in the midst of a struggle, and he wasn’t certain she heard him. Christina was trying to push his hands away, and he was trying to hug her. “Christina, when will I see you again?”

She refused to answer him until he let go of her.

Lyon refused to let go of her until she answered him. “We’ll stand here all night,” he told her when she kept pushing against his shoulders.

Christina suddenly threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I blame myself, Lyon. It was wrong of me to ask you to marry with me. I was being very selfish.”

Her words so surprised him, he let go of her. Christina kept her head bowed so he couldn’t see her distress, yet was powerless to keep her voice from trembling. “Please forgive me.

“Let me explain,” Lyon whispered. He tried to pull her back into his arms. Christina evaded him again by taking a quick step back. “Marriage changes a person. It isn’t a rejection of you, Christina, but I—”

She shook her head. “Do not say another word. You might have fallen in love with me, Lyon. When the time came for me to go home, you would have had a broken heart. It is better for me to choose someone else, someone I don’t care about.”

“Christina, you are home. You aren’t going anywhere,” Lyon said. “Why can’t we go along the way we—”

“You’re very like Rhone, do you know that?”

Her question confused him. Christina hurried up the steps to her townhouse. When she turned back to look at Lyon, he could see how upset she was. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Your friend only steals jewels, Lyon. Your sin is greater. If I let you, you’d steal my heart. I cannot allow that to happen. Goodbye, Lyon. I must never see you again.”

With those parting words, Christina went inside the house. The door closed softly behind her.

Lyon was left standing on the stoop. “The hell you will forget me,” he bellowed.

Lyon was furious. He thought he had to be the most frustrated man in England. How in God’s name had he ever allowed himself to get involved with such a confusing woman?

She’d had the audacity to tell him he might fall in love with her.

Lyon knew the truth. Heaven help him, he was already in love with her.

Needless to say, that admission didn’t sit well. Lyon almost ripped the door off the carriage when he climbed back inside. He shouted the order to his driver to take him home, then began to list all the reasons he should stay away from Christina.

The woman was a blatant liar.

He despised liars.

God only knew how many hearts she’d broken.

Destiny … he decided he hated that word.

By the time he arrived home, he’d accepted the fact that none of his reasonable arguments made any difference. He was stuck with Christina whether he wanted to be or not.

Chapter Eight

Mylala wouldn’t leave her homeland. She wouldn’t leave her family. While I understood her reasons, I was afraid for her. She promised me she’d take every precaution. My maid planned to hide in the hills until Edward was unseated from power or fled the country. Her family would look after her. I gave her all my own treasury, though it was a pittance by England’s standards. We wept together before we parted, like true sisters who knew they’d never see each other again.

Yes, she was my sister, in spirit and heart. I’d never had a confidant. My own sister, Patricia, could never be trusted. Be warned, child. If Patricia is still alive when you’ve grown up, and you meet up with her one day, protect yourself. Don’t put your faith in her, Christina. My sister loves deception. She feeds on others’ pain.

Do you know, she really should have married Edward. They would have been very compatible. They are so very much alike.

Journal entry

September 3, 1795

Lyon spent most of Friday afternoon sitting in the Bleak Bryan tavern, located in a particularly seedy section of the city. Lyon wasn’t there to drink, of course, but to glean information from the captains and shipmates who favored the tavern.

He moved easily in and out of such a setting. Though dressed in quality buckskins and riding jacket, he didn’t need to worry about being set upon. Lyon was always given a wide berth. Everyone in this area knew his reputation well. They feared him, yet respected him, and entered into conversation only when he motioned to them for an audience.

Lyon sat with his back against the wall. Bryan, a retired shipmate from the moment he lost his hand in a knife fight, sat beside him. Lyon had purchased the tavern and set Bryan up in business as a reward for past loyalty.

He questioned one man after another, refusing to become impatient when the hours stretched or the shipmates lied in order to get another free glass of ale. A newcomer strutted over to the table and demanded his share of the bounty. The big man lifted the seaman Lyon was questioning by his neck and carelessly threw him to the side.

Bryan smiled. He still enjoyed a good fight. “Have you never met the Marquess of Lyonwood, then?” he asked the stranger.

The seaman shook his head, took his seat, and then reached for the pitcher of ale. “Don’t give a belch who he be,” the man muttered menacingly. “I’m wanting my due.”

Bryan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. He turned to Lyon and said, “He’s wanting his due.”

Lyon shrugged. He knew what was expected of him. Every face in the tavern was looking at him. There were appearances to keep up, and if he wanted a peaceful afternoon, he’d have to take care of this little matter.

He waited until the seaman had put the pitcher back on the table, then slammed the heel of his boot into the man’s groin.

It happened too quickly for the seaman to protect himself. Before he could scream in pain, Lyon had him by the throat. He squeezed hard, then flung the big man backwards.

The crowd roared their approval. Lyon ignored them. He tilted his chair back against the wall, never taking his gaze off the man writhing in agony on the floor.

“You got your due, you horse’s arse. Now crawl on out of here. I run a respectable tavern,” Bryan bellowed between bouts of laughter.

A thin, jittery man drew Lyon’s attention then. “Sir, I hear you’re wanting information about ships from the colonies,” he stammered out.

“Take a seat, Mick,” Bryan instructed. “He’s a good, honest man, Lyon,” Bryan continued, nodding at his friend.

Lyon waited while the seaman exchanged news with Bryan. He continued to watch the man he’d just injured until the door slammed shut behind him.

Then his thoughts returned to Christina and his mission.

Lyon had decided to start over. He was finished forming his own conclusions based on logical assumptions. Logic didn’t work where Christina was concerned. He threw out all her explanations about her past. The only fact he knew to be truthful was that the Countess had returned to England approximately three months ago.

Someone had to remember the old bat. The woman was foul enough to have drawn attention to herself by complaining about something to someone. She wouldn’t have been an appreciative passenger.

Mick, as it turned out, remembered the woman. Rather well. “Captain Curtiss weren’t a fair man with me, sir. I would have chosen to slop the decks or empty the pots rather than fetch and carry for the Cummings woman. Gawd, she kept me legs running day and night.”

“Was she traveling alone?” Lyon asked. He didn’t let Mick know how excited he was to finally have real information, thinking the man might lace his answers in order to please him into giving him more ale.

“Of a sort,” Mick announced.

“Of a sort? That don’t make sense, Mick. Tell the man straight,” Bryan advised.

“I mean to say, sir, she came on board with a gentleman and a pretty little lady. I only got a quick glance at the lovey, though. She wore a cape with the hood over her head, but before the Countess pushed her below deck she looked right at me and smiled. Yes, sir, she did.”

“Did you happen to notice the color of her eyes?” Lyon asked.

“Blue they were, as blue as my ocean.”

“Tell me what you remember about the man traveling with the Countess,” Lyon instructed. He motioned for Bryan to refill Mick’s glass.

“He weren’t family,” Mick explained after taking a swig of ale. “A missionary, he told some of the men. Sounded Frenchy to me, but he told us he lived in a wilderness past the colonies. He was going back to France to see his relatives. Even though he was French, I liked him. Because of the way he protected the little lass. He was old enough to be her father—treated her like he was, too. Since the Cummings woman stayed below most of the voyage, the missionary man would take the pretty for a stroll on the decks.”

Mick paused to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “The old woman was a strange bird. She didn’t have nothing to do with the other two. Even demanded to have an extra chain put on the inside of her door. Captain Curtiss tried to calm her fears by telling her none of us would touch her. Gawd almighty, we couldn’t stomach to look at her, and why she’d be thinking we’d want to bother her didn’t make a spit of sense. It took a while, sir, but some of us did finally figure out her scheme. She was bolting her door against the little miss. Yes, sir, she was. The missionary man was overheard telling the little lady not to feel sad ’cause her aunt was afraid of her. Don’t that beat all?”

Lyon smiled at Mick. It was all the encouragement the seaman needed to continue. “She was such a sweet little thing. ’Course, she did throw Louie overboard. Flipped him right over her shoulder, she did. Couldn’t believe it—no, sir, couldn’t believe it. Louie had it coming, though. Why, he snuck up behind her and grabbed her. That’s when I seen the color of her hair. Real light yellow. She’d always been wearing that hood, even in the heat of the afternoons. Must have been mighty uncomfortable.”

“She threw a man overboard?” Bryan asked the question. He knew he shouldn’t interfere in Lyon’s questions, but he was too astonished by Mick’s casually given remark to keep silent. “Enough about the hood, man, tell me more about this girl.”

“Well, it were a good thing for Louie the wind weren’t up. We fished him out of the water without too much backache. He left the miss alone after that surprise. Come to think on it, most o’ the men did.”

“When will Captain Curtiss be returning to London?” Lyon asked.

“Not for another month or two,” Mick said. “Would you be wanting to speak to the missionary man, too?”

“I would,” Lyon answered, keeping his expression impassive. He sounded almost bored.

“He’s coming back to London real soon. He told us he was only going to stay in France a short while, then planned on giving the little miss a nice visit before going back to the colonies. He was real protective toward the girl. Worried about her, too. Don’t blame him none. That old …”

“Bat?” Lyon supplied.

“Yes, she was an old bat,” Mick said with a snicker.

“Do you remember the missionary’s name, Mick? There’s an extra pound for you if you can give me his name.”

“It’s right on the tip of me tongue,” Mick said, frowning intently. “When it comes to me, I’ll tell you, Bryan. You’ll keep the coins safe for me, won’t you?”

“Question some of your shipmates,” Bryan suggested. “Surely one of them will recall the man’s name.”

Mick was in such a hurry to gain his reward, he immediately left the tavern to go search for his companions.

“Is this government business?” Bryan asked when they were once again alone.

“No,” Lyon answered. “A personal concern.”

“It’s the lady, isn’t it? Don’t need to pretend with me, Lyon. I’d be interested in her, too, if I were young enough.”

Lyon smiled. “You’ve never even seen her,” he reminded his friend.

“Makes no matter. Mick said she was a slip of a girl with blue eyes and yellow hair. Sounds pretty enough for my tastes, but that isn’t the true reason I’d chase after her skirts. Have you ever met Louie?”

“No.”

“He’s as big as I am, though he weighs a few stones more. Any lady who could toss him overboard has to be mighty interesting. Lord, I wish I’d been there to see it. Never could like Louie. There’s a rank smell coming from him. His mind’s as sour as his body. Damn, I wish I’d seen him hit the water.”

Lyon spent a few more minutes exchanging bits of news with Bryan, then stood to take his leave. “You know where to find me, Bryan.”

The tavern owner walked Lyon to the curb. “How’s Rhone getting on?” he asked. “Up to his usual antics?”

“Afraid so,” Lyon drawled. “That reminds me, Bryan. Would you have the back room ready for Friday after next? Rhone and I are setting up a card game. I’ll give you the details later.”

Bryan gave Lyon a speculative look. “Always trying to outguess me, aren’t you, Bryan?” Lyon asked.

“My thoughts are always on my face,” Bryan answered, with a grin. “It’s why I’d never make it in your line of work,” he added.

Bryan held the door of the carriage open for Lyon. He waited until the Marquess was about to close the door behind him before calling out his ritual farewell. “Guard your back, my friend.” On the spur of the moment, he included another caution. “And your heart, Lyon. Don’t let any pretties throw you overboard.”

That suggestion had come a little too late, to Lyon’s way of thinking. Christina had already caught him off guard. He’d vowed long ago not to get emotionally involved with another woman for as long as he lived. He was going to keep his relationships short and sweet.

So much for that vow, Lyon thought with a sigh. He couldn’t guard his heart now. It already belonged to her.

His mind returned to the puzzle of Christina’s bizarre remarks. He remembered she’d told him that his curiosity could get him killed. Was she lying or was she serious? Lyon couldn’t decide.

Christina had been truthful when she announced she wasn’t going to stay in London long, that she meant to return home. At least she looked like she was telling the truth.

He wasn’t about to let her go anywhere. Christina was going to belong to him. But he wasn’t taking any chances. If she did manage to get away from him, his job of hunting her down would be much easier if he knew exactly where her home was.

“She isn’t going anywhere,” Lyon muttered to himself. No, he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight.

With a growl of new frustration, Lyon accepted the truth. There was only one way he could keep Christina by his side.

Hell, he was going to have to marry her.

“Where in God’s name have you been? I’ve been sitting in your library for hours.”

Rhone bellowed the question as soon as Lyon strode into the foyer of his townhouse. “I have messengers searching the town for you, Lyon.”

“I wasn’t aware I had to account to you, Rhone,” Lyon answered. He threw off his jacket and walked into the study. “Shut the door, Rhone. What do you think you’re doing? You shouldn’t be out in public. Someone might notice the bandage. You took a needless chance. Your man would have found me soon enough.”

“Well, where have you been? It’s almost dark outside,” Rhone muttered. He collapsed in the first available chair.

“You’re beginning to sound like a nagging wife,” Lyon said with a chuckle. “What’s the problem? Is your father having more difficulties?”

“No, and you sure as hell won’t be laughing when I tell you why I’ve been looking all over London for you. Better put your jacket back on, my friend. You’ve work to do.”

The seriousness in Rhone’s tone gained Lyon’s complete attention. He leaned against the desk top, folded his arms across his chest, and said, “Explain yourself.”

“It’s Christina, Lyon. She’s in trouble.”

Lyon reacted as though he’d just been hit by lightning. He bounded away from the desk and had Rhone by his shoulders before his friend could take a new breath. “There’s still plenty of time, Lyon. I was just worried you might have taken off for your country home. We’ve got until midnight before they come after her … for God’s sake, man, unhand me.”

Lyon immediately let Rhone fall back into his chair. “Who are they?” he demanded.

His expression had turned deadly. Rhone was immensely thankful Lyon was his friend and not his enemy. “Splickler and some men he hired.”

Lyon gave Rhone a brisk nod, then walked back out into the foyer. He shouted for his carriage to be brought around front again.

Rhone followed Lyon out the front door. “Wouldn’t your steed get you there quicker?”

“I’ll need the carriage later.”

“What for?”

“Splickler.”

The way he’d said the bastard’s name told Rhone all he needed or wanted to know. He waited until they were both settled inside the conveyance to give his full explanation. “One of my men—or rather one of Jack’s men—was offered a sizable amount to help take Christina to Gretna Green. Splickler thinks to force a marriage, you see. I went to meet with my men to tell them there wasn’t going to be another raid. One of them is a decent enough fellow—for a bandit—by the name of Ben. He told me he’d been asked by Splickler and agreed to go along. Ben thought it was a rather amusing way to make some easy money.”

The look on Lyon’s face was chilling.

“Splickler hired Ben and three others. I paid Ben so he’d pretend to be in on the scheme. He won’t help Splickler, if we can count on his word.”

“You’re certain it’s set for midnight?” Lyon asked.

“Yes,” Rhone answered with a nod. “There’s still plenty of time, Lyon.” He let out a long sigh. “I do feel relieved you’re going to take care of the matter,” he admitted.

“Oh, yes, I’ll take care of the matter.”

Lyon’s voice was whisper-soft. It sent a chill down Rhone’s spine. “You know, Lyon, I always thought Splickler was a snake, but I didn’t think he had enough rattle in him to do something this obscene. If anyone finds out about this plot of his, Christina’s reputation might very well suffer.”

“No one’s going to find out. I’ll see to it.”

Rhone nodded again. “Could someone have put Splickler up to this, Lyon? The man isn’t smart enough to make change.”

“Oh, yes, someone put him up to it, all right. The Countess. I’d stake my life on it.”

“Good God, Lyon, she’s Christina’s aunt. You can’t believe—”

“I do believe it,” Lyon muttered. “She left Christina all alone. A little too convenient, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Do you have an extra pistol for me?” Rhone asked.

“Never use them.”

“Why not?” Rhone asked, appalled.

“Too much noise,” Lyon answered. “Besides, there are only four of them, if we can believe your friend’s count.”

“But there are five.”

“Splickler doesn’t count. He’ll run at the first sign of trouble. I’ll find him later.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Rhone answered.

“Rhone, when we reach Christina’s townhouse, I’ll have my man take you home. I don’t want my carriage sitting out front. Splickler would see it. We don’t want him to change his plans. I’ll have my driver return for me an hour after midnight.”

“I insist on lending a hand,” Rhone muttered.

“You’ve only got one good hand to lend,” Lyon answered, smiling.

“How can you be so glib?”

“The word is controlled, Rhone. Controlled.”

Lyon was out of the carriage giving fresh instructions to his driver before the vehicle had rocked to a full stop. “Damn it, Lyon. I could be of help,” Rhone shouted.

“You’d be more of a hindrance than a help. Go home. I’ll send word to you when it’s over.”

Lord, he acted so unaffected by what was taking place. Rhone knew better, though. He almost felt a little sorry for the stupid, greedy men who’d joined with Splickler. The poor fools were about to find out just how the Marquess of Lyonwood had earned his reputation.

Damn, he really hated to miss the action. “I’m sure as certain not going to,” Rhone muttered to himself. He waited for his opportunity. When the carriage slowed to round the corner, Rhone jumped to the street. He landed on his knees, cursed himself for his clumsiness, then brushed himself off and started walking towards Christina’s house.

Lyon was going to get his good hand whether he wanted it or not.

The Marquess was shaking mad. He knew he’d calm down as soon as he saw Christina and knew she was all right. She was taking her sweet time opening the door for him. His nerves were at the snapping point. Lyon was about to break the lock with one of the special tools he always carried with him for just such an eventuality when he heard the sound of chain being slipped from the bar.

Though he’d held his temper in front of Rhone, the minute Christina opened the door he exploded with anger. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing opening the door with just a robe on? Hell, you didn’t even find out who it was, Christina!”

Christina clutched the lapels of her robe together and backed out of Lyon’s way. The man literally charged into the foyer like a crazed stallion.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Why didn’t Elbert answer the door?” Lyon demanded. He stared at the top of her head, knowing full well that the sight of her dressed in such scanty attire, with her hair unbound in lovely disarray, would make him lose his train of thought.

“Elbert’s visiting his mother,” Christina explained. “Lyon, isn’t it terribly late to be paying a call?”

“His what?” Lyon’s anger suddenly evaporated.

“His mama. And just why is that so amusing, I wonder?” she asked. “You’re the lizard, Lyon. You shout at me, then turn to laughing in the blink of an eye.”

“Chameleon, Christina, not lizard,” Lyon instructed. “Elbert has to be at least eighty if he’s a day. How can his mother still be alive?”

“Oh, I’ve met her, Lyon. She’s a dear woman. Looks just like Elbert, too. Well, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“Go upstairs and get dressed. I can’t think with you strutting around like that.”

“I’m not strutting,” Christina protested. “I’m standing perfectly still.”

“We’re going to have company in a little while.”

“We are?” Christina shook her head. “I didn’t invite anyone. I’m really not in the mood to entertain, Lyon. I had only just begun to mourn you, and now here you are—”

“Mourn me?” Lyon repeated, matching her frown. “What the hell are you mourning me for?”

“Never mind,” Christina said. “And quit losing your temper. Who is coming to pay a call?”

Lyon had to take a deep breath to regain his control. He then explained all about Splickler and his men. He deliberately left out mention of the Countess’s involvement, for he didn’t want Christina too upset. He decided to wait, thinking to take care of one problem at a time.

“What is it you want me to do?” Christina asked. She bolted the front door and walked over to stand directly in front of him.

Lyon inhaled the scent of flowers. He reached out to take her into his arms. “You smell good,” he told her.

His hands cupped the sides of her angelic face. Lord, she was staring up at him with such trust in her eyes.

“You must tell me what to do,” Christina whispered again.

“Kiss me,” Lyon commanded. He lowered his head to steal a quick kiss.

“I was talking about the mischief makers,” Christina said when he’d pulled away. “You really can’t hold a thought for more than a minute, can you, Lyon? Does the flaw run in your family?”

Lyon shook his head. “Of course I can hold a thought. I’ve been thinking about getting you into my arms since the moment you opened the door. You don’t have anything on underneath this flimsy little robe, do you?”

She would have shaken her head if he hadn’t been holding her so securely. “I just finished my bath,” she explained, smiling over the fact that he’d just admitted wanting to touch her.

He was such an honest man. Christina leaned up on her tiptoes to give him what he wanted. She thought only to imitate the same quick kiss he’d given her. Lyon had other notions. His thumb nudged her chin down just enough for his tongue to thrust inside her mouth in search of hers.

Christina held onto the lapels of his jacket, fearing her knees were about to buckle. When she was certain she wouldn’t disgrace herself by falling down, she returned his kiss with equal fervor.

The way she responded to him made him half-crazed. His mouth slanted over hers, powerfully, possessively. Christina wasn’t able to hold back. That fact aroused Lyon almost as much as her whispered moans, her soft lips, her wild tongue.

Yes, he was thoroughly satisfied with her response. He was fast coming to the conclusion that it was the only time she was honest with him.

Lyon reluctantly pulled away from her. “You’ve made my hands tremble,” Christina said. “I won’t be much help to you if they knock on my door now.”

“Too bad you aren’t talented with a knife,” Lyon remarked.

He waited for the lie, knowing full well she couldn’t admit to such training.

“Yes, it is too bad,” Christina answered. “But knives are for men. Women would harm themselves. I don’t have a pistol, either. Perhaps you’re disappointed I’m so poorly educated?”

He could tell by the way she’d asked the question she was hoping for agreement.

“Not at all, sweet,” Lyon answered, his voice smooth. He draped his arm around her shoulder and started up the steps. “It’s a man’s duty to protect his little woman.”

“Yes, that’s the way in most cultures,” Christina returned. Her voice turned hesitant, almost shy, when she added, “Still, you wouldn’t take great exception if this same little woman did know how to defend herself. Would you? I mean to say, you wouldn’t think it was unladylike … or would you?”

“Is this your room?” Lyon asked, deliberately evading her question. He pushed the door of the first bedroom open, took in the dark colors and the rank odor of old perfume, and knew before Christina answered him that he’d breached the Countess’s quarters.

The room was dark enough to please a spider. Or an old bat, Lyon thought with a frown.

“This is my aunt’s room,” Christina said. She peeked inside. “It’s awfully gloomy, isn’t it?”

“You seem surprised. Haven’t you ever been inside?”

“No.”

Lyon was pulling the door closed when he saw the number of bolts and chains attached to the inside. “Your aunt must be an uneasy sleeper,” he remarked. “Against whom does she lock her door, Christina?”

He knew the answer and was already getting angry. Lyon remembered the seaman’s remark about the Countess being frightened of the pretty little miss.

The locks were on the wrong side of the door, as far as Lyon was concerned. Christina should be protecting herself against the Countess, and not the other way around.

What kind of life had Christina been forced to live since returning to her family and her homeland? She must surely be lonely. And what kind of woman would shun her only relative?

“My aunt doesn’t like to be disturbed when she sleeps,” Christina explained.

Lyon reacted to the sadness in her voice by hugging her close to him. “You haven’t had an easy time of it since coming home, have you, love?”

He could feel her shrug against him. “My room is at the end of the hall. Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Yes,” he answered. “But I want to check all the windows, too.”

“I have two windows in my room,” Christina said. She pulled away from him, took hold of his hand, and hurried into her room.

Lyon took in everything in one quick glance. The bedroom was sparse by most women’s standards, immensely appealing by his own. Trinkets didn’t litter the two chest tops. No, there wasn’t any clutter. A single chair, angled in the corner, a privacy screen behind it, a canopy bed with a bright white coverlet, and two small chests were the only pieces of furniture in the large square room.

Christina obviously liked order. The room was spotless, save for the single blanket someone had dropped on the floor by the window.

“The garden’s right below my windows,” Christina said. “The wall would be easy to scale. The greenery reaches the ledge. I think the vines are sturdy enough to hold a man.”

“I’d rather they didn’t come in through the windows,” Lyon remarked, almost absentmindedly. He tested the frames, then looked down at the garden. He wished the moon wasn’t so accommodating this evening. There was too much light.

Lyon glanced over at Christina. His expression and his attitude had changed. Drastically.

Christina felt like smiling. He really was a warrior. His face was just as impassive as a brave’s. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking now, and the rigidity of his bearing indicated to her he was preparing for battle.

“The drawing room only has two front windows, as I recall. Is there another entrance besides the one from the foyer?”

“No,” Christina answered.

“Good. Get dressed, Christina. You can wait in there until this is over. I’ll make it safe enough.”

“How?”

“By blocking the windows and the doors,” Lyon explained.

“No. I mean, I don’t wish to be locked inside anywhere, Lyon.”

The vehemence in her tone surprised him. Then he remembered how uncomfortable she’d been inside the closed carriage. His heart went out to her. “If I fashion a lock on the inside of the door so you’ll know you could get out if you—”

“Oh, yes, that would do nicely,” Christina interrupted with a brisk nod. She looked very relieved. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Now why are you frowning?” Lyon asked, clearly exasperated.

“I’ve just realized you have another weapon to use against me if you become angry with me,” she admitted. “I’ve just shown you a weakness,” she added with a shrug.

“No, you’ve just insulted me,” Lyon returned. “I don’t know too many men, or women either, who would like to be locked in a room, Christina. Now quit trying to distract me. Get dressed.”

She hurried to do his bidding. “I don’t think I want to wait in the drawing room at all,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed the first gown she could lay her hands on and moved behind the screen to change. She realized what a poor selection she’d made after she’d shed her robe and put the royal blue dress on.

“Lyon? The fastenings are in the back,” she called out. “I can’t do them up properly.”

Lyon turned from the window to find Christina holding the front of her dress against her chest.

When she turned to give him her back, the first thing he noticed was her flawless skin. In the candlelight she looked too enticing for his peace of mind.

The second thing he took notice of was that she wasn’t wearing a damn thing underneath. He wasn’t unaffected either. His hands shook when he bent to the task of securing her gown, his fingers awkward because he wanted to caress her smooth skin.

“Where’s your maid, Christina?” he asked, hoping conversation would pull him away from the ungentlemanly thought of carrying her over to the bed and seducing her.

“I’m alone for the week. I let Beatrice have the time away.”

Her casually spoken comment irritated him. “For God’s sake, no gentle lady stays all by herself,” he muttered.

“I do well enough for myself. I’m most self-serving.”

“Self-sufficient,” Lyon said with a sigh. He was having difficulty catching the last button. Her silky hair kept getting in his way.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lyon lifted her hair and draped it over her shoulder. He smiled when he saw the goosebumps on her skin. “Self-sufficient, my sweet, not self-serving.”

“There is a difference?” she asked, trying to turn around to look at him.

“Stand still,” Lyon ordered. “Yes, there is a difference. Your aunt is self-serving. You’re self-sufficient.”

“Do you know I never make mistakes except when I’m with you, Lyon? It is therefore all your fault I get confused.”

He didn’t want to waste time arguing with her. “Come along,” he ordered after he’d finished fastening her gown. He took hold of her hand and pulled her behind him.

Christina had to run to keep up with him. “I haven’t braided my hair,” she said quickly. “I really must, Lyon. It could be used against me. Surely you realize that.”

He didn’t realize, knew he shouldn’t ask, but did anyway. “Why is your hair a weapon?”

“The men could catch hold of me if they grabbed my hair, unless of course I’m as quick as a panther, as fearless as a wolf, as cunning as a bear.”

The woman was getting carried away. Lyon let her see his exasperation when they’d reached the drawing room.

“Will you be all right sitting in the dark?” Lyon asked. He walked over to the front windows, pulled the braided cord from one side of the drape, and handed it to Christina.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she answered, looking disgruntled. “What a silly question to put to me.”

“Tie this rope around the door handles, Christina. Make it good and tight. If anyone tries to break in, I’ll hear the noise. All right?”

Lyon checked the windows. Age had sealed them tight. “Yes, Lyon, I’ll not let you down,” Christina said from behind him.

“Now listen well, my little warrior,” Lyon said in a hard voice. He took hold of her shoulders to give her a squeeze. “You’re going to wait inside this room until the danger is over. Do you understand me?”

His voice had been harsh, angry. It didn’t seem to worry Christina, though. She was still smiling up at him. “I really would like to help you, Lyon. After all, I would remind you that they are my attackers. Surely you will allow me to do my part.”

“Surely I will not,” Lyon roared. “You’d just get in my way, Christina,” he added in a softer voice.

“Very well,” Christina said. She turned to the small oval mirror hanging on the wall adjacent to the windows and began the task of braiding her hair. She looked so graceful, so feminine. When she lifted her arms, her gown edged up above her ankles.

“You’ve forgotten to put your shoes on,” Lyon said, a smile in his voice. “Again.”

“Again? Whatever do you mean?” Christina asked, turning back to him.

He shook his head. “Never mind. You might as well leave your hair alone. You aren’t going to get involved.”

Her smile reeked of sincerity. Lyon was immediately suspicious. “Give me your word, Christina. Now.”

“What word?” she asked, feigning innocence. She turned away from his glare and started braiding her hair again.

Lyon held his patience. The little innocent didn’t realize he could see her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t looking sincere now, only very, very determined.

He would gain her promise, even if he had to shake it out of her. Her safety was his primary concern, of course. Lyon wasn’t about to let anything happen to her. But there was another reason as well. Though it was insignificant in comparison with the first, it still worried him. In truth, he didn’t want her to watch him. There was a real possibility Christina would become more frightened of him than of Splickler and his men by the time the night was over.

Lyon didn’t fight fair, or honorably either. Christina couldn’t have heard about his past. Now that he realized how much he cared about her, he wanted to protect her from the world in general, bastards like Splickler in particular … but protect her from knowing about his dark side, too. He didn’t want to disillusion her. She believed he was simply the Marquess of Lyonwood, nothing more, nothing less. God help him, he meant to keep her innocent.

He thought he’d lose her if she knew the truth.

“I promise I won’t interfere until you ask me to,” Christina said, interrupting his dour thoughts. “Mrs. Smitherson did show me how to defend myself,” she hastened to add when he gave her a dark look. “I would know what to do.”

“Summerton,” Lyon answered on a long, drawn-out sigh. “The people who raised you were called Summerton.”

His mood was just like the wind, Christina decided. Completely unpredictable. He wasn’t smiling now but looking as though he was contemplating murder.

“You act as though we have all the time in the world before our visitors arrive,” Christina remarked. “Won’t they be here soon?” she asked, hoping to turn his attention away from whatever sinister thought had him glaring so.

“Not for a while yet,” Lyon answered. “Stay here while I have a look around.”

Christina nodded. The minute he was out of sight she ran upstairs to fetch a ribbon for her hair. And her knife, of course. Lyon was going to get her help whether he wanted it or not.

She was back inside the drawing room, sitting demurely on the worn settee, her knife hidden under the cushion, when Lyon returned.

“I’ve decided to make it easy for Splickler.”

“How?”

“Left the back door unlatched.”

“That was most accommodating of you.”

Lyon smiled over the praise in her voice. He walked over to stand directly in front of her. His big hands rested on his hips, his legs were braced apart, and Christina was given the disadvantage of having to tilt her head back as far as she could just to see his face. Since he was smiling again, she assumed his mood had lightened. “If you’re sure they’ll come through the garden, why let them inside the house at all? Why not greet them outside?”

“Greet them?” Lyon shook his head. “Christina, they aren’t coming here to speak to you. There might very well be a fight.”

He hated to worry her but knew she needed to understand. “Well, of course there will be a fight,” Christina answered. “That’s the reason I prefer you to meet them outside, Lyon. I’m the one who’ll have to clean up the mess, after all.”

He hadn’t thought of that. And when he realized she thoroughly understood what was going to happen, he was immensely relieved. “You’re very brave,” he told her. “The moon, however, gives too much light. I memorized every detail of the room they’ll enter before I put out the candles. They’ll have the disadvantage.”

“They’ll also have to come through one at a time,” Christina interjected. “A very cunning idea, Lyon. But what if they climb the vines instead of trying the door?”

“They won’t, sweetheart.”

He seemed so certain, Christina decided not to worry about it. She watched him walk over to the doors. “Time to put out the candles, love. Tie the rope around the doorknobs first, all right? You aren’t frightened, are you? I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“I trust you, Lyon.”

Her answer warmed him. “And I trust you to stay here.”

“Lyon?”

“Yes, Christina?”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and Lyon?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll try not to make too much of a mess, won’t you?”

“I’ll try.”

He winked at her before closing the door behind him. Christina tied the rope around the two door handles, forming a tight double knot. She blew out the candles and settled down to wait.

The minutes dragged by at a turtle’s pace. Christina kept straining to hear sounds from the back of the house. For that reason, she was quite unprepared to hear a scraping sound coming from the front windows.

They weren’t suppose to come through the front of the house. Lyon was going to be disappointed. Christina felt like instructing the villains to go around back, then realized how foolish that suggestion would have been. She decided she’d just have to wait it out in hopes they’d give up trying to breach the windows and eventually try the back door.

“Christina?”

Her name was called out in a soft whisper, but she recognized the voice all the same. The Earl of Rhone was trying to get her attention.

She pulled the drape back and found Rhone hanging on the ledge, grinning up at her. The smile didn’t stay long—nor did Rhone, for that matter. He suddenly lost his grip on the ledge and disappeared. A soft thud came next, followed by several indecent curses telling Christina the poor man hadn’t landed on his feet.

She was going to have to fetch him out of the hedges, she decided. He was making such a commotion he was sure to alert the mischief makers.

Rhone met her at the front door. He looked a sight, for his jacket was ripped away from his sleeve, his cravat was soiled and undone, and he was favoring one leg.

He was such a clumsy man, she thought, yet her heart warmed to him all the same. Lyon must have confided in him. Christina believed he’d ventured out to give his friend assistance. It was the only answer for such an unexpected visit. “You look as though you’ve already lost one fight. Rhone, behind you!”

A crash echoing from the back of the house nearly drowned out her voice. Rhone caught her warning, however. He reacted with good speed, wasted little time by turning around to face the threat, and used his right shoulder to shove the door into the face of a wiry-looking man trying to barrel through the opening. His legs were buckled to the task, his face red with exertion.

When it became evident he wasn’t going to get the door closed without her help, Christina added her own strength.

“Lyon!”

Rhone’s shout made her ears ring. “Go and hide someplace,” Rhone gasped out to Christina, his voice strained.

“Christina. Go back inside the salon.”

Lyon’s voice came from behind her. Christina thought only to glance over her shoulder to explain that her weight was needed to get the door closed, but the sight that met her pushed her explanation out of her mind.

She slowly turned around and took a tentative step forward. She was too dazed to move more quickly.

The transformation in the Marquess held her spellbound. He didn’t even resemble an Englishman now. His jacket was gone, his shirt torn to the waist. Blood trickled down his chin from a cut on the side of his mouth. It wasn’t a significant wound, and it didn’t frighten her. Neither did the splatter of blood on his sleeve, for she instinctively knew the blood wasn’t his … no, she wasn’t frightened of his appearance.

The look in his eyes was another matter. He looked ready to kill. Lyon appeared to be quite calm. His arms were folded across his chest, and his expression was almost bored. It was all a lie, of course. The truth was there, in his eyes.

“Now!”

His bellow shook her from her daze. Christina didn’t even spare a backward glance for Rhone as she ran toward the drawing room.

“Get out of the way, Rhone.”

Rhone didn’t hesitate to follow Lyon’s order. As soon as he jumped back, three men the size of giants lunged inside. They fell, one atop another. Rhone stood in the corner, hoping Lyon would ask for his help.

Lyon stood in the center of the foyer patiently waiting for the three cutthroats to get back on their feet. Rhone thought that was just a bit too accommodating of his friend.

He was outnumbered, outweighed, outweaponed. The men now crouched in front of him all held knives in their hands. One of the bastards clutched a dagger in each hand.

Someone started to snicker. Rhone smiled. The poor fool obviously didn’t realize Lyon still had the advantage.

The fat man in the center suddenly lashed out at Lyon with his blade. Lyon’s boot caught him under his chin. The force of the blow lifted the man high enough in the air for Lyon to slam his fists into the man’s groin. The attacker blacked out before he hit the floor.

The other two attacked in unison just as another man came charging up the front steps. Rhone heard him coming, reached out, and kicked the door shut. The howl of pain radiating through the door told Rhone his timing had been excellent.

Rhone never took his gaze off Lyon. Though he’d seen him in battles before, Lyon’s strength continued to impress him. Lyon used his elbow to crack one man’s jaw while he anchored the other man’s arm away from him. He dealt with him next, and when Rhone heard the snap of bone he knew Lyon had broken the man’s wrist.

Bodies littered the entrance when Lyon was done. “Open the door, Rhone.”

“Hell, you’re not even out of breath,” Rhone muttered. He got the door open, then moved out of the way as Lyon, showing not the least amount of effort, lifted each man and threw him out into the street.

“We work well together,” Rhone commented.

“We?”

“I watch, you work,” Rhone explained.

“I see.”

“What happened to Splickler? Did he come in through the back door, or did he run away?”

Lyon grinned at Rhone, then nodded toward the pyramid of bodies at the bottom of the steps. “Splickler’s on the bottom. I think you probably broke his nose when you slammed the door in his face.”

“Then I did do my part,” Rhone announced, puffing up like a cloud.

Lyon began to laugh. He whacked Rhone on the shoulder, then turned to find Christina standing in the center of the doorway.

She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. The color was gone from her cheeks, and her eyes were wide with fright. Lyon’s heart lurched. God, she must have seen the fight. He took a step toward her but stopped when she took a step back.

He felt defeated. She was afraid of him. Lord, he’d meant to protect her, not terrify her.

Christina suddenly ran to him. She threw herself into his arms, very nearly knocking both of them to the floor. Lyon didn’t understand what had caused the change in her attitude, yet he was thankful all the same. Relief washed the rigidity from his stance. He put his arms around her, rested his chin on the top of her head, and let out a long sigh. “I’m never going to understand you, am I?”

“I’m so happy you aren’t angry with me.”

Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he understood her. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because I broke my promise,” Christina reminded him. “I left the salon to let Rhone in the front door.”

Lyon looked over at his friend. “I specifically remember telling you to go home.” He frowned at his friend, then suddenly noticed his appearance. “What happened to you? I don’t recall you getting in the fight.”

“A little mishap,” Rhone said.

“He fell in the hedge,” Christina explained, smiling over the embarrassment she could see in Rhone’s face. Why, the man was actually blushing.

“The hedge?” Lyon sounded incredulous.

“I think I’ll walk home. Your carriage is probably waiting in front of my townhouse, Lyon. I’ll have your driver bring it along for you. Good evening, Princess Christina.”

“No, you really mustn’t walk. Lyon, you should—”

“Let him walk. It’s only a short distance away,” Lyon interjected.

Christina didn’t argue further. Someone was going to have to fetch the carriage, and she preferred that Rhone took care of the matter so that she could spend a few minutes alone with Lyon.

“Thank you for your assistance, Rhone. Lyon, what are you going to do about those men cluttering my walkway? And am I mistaken, or are there one or two in the back of the house as well?”

“There are two,” Lyon said. “I threw them out back.”

“They’ll wake up and crawl home,” Rhone advised. “Unless, of course, you—”

“I didn’t,” Lyon said.

“Didn’t what?” Christina asked.

“Kill them,” Rhone said.

“Rhone, don’t frighten her,” Lyon said.

“Goodness, I hope not. Think of the mess.” Christina sounded appalled, but for all the wrong reasons. Both Lyon and Rhone started laughing.

“Shouldn’t you be crying or something?” Rhone asked.

“Should I?”

“No, Christina, you shouldn’t,” Lyon said. “Now quit frowning.”

“You aren’t wearing any shoes, Christina,” Rhone suddenly blurted out.

“Do be careful walking home,” Christina answered, ignoring his comment about her bare feet. “Don’t let anyone see your bandage. They might begin to wonder.”

As soon as the door was bolted shut, Christina turned back to Lyon, only to find that he was already halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Where are you going?”

“To wash,” Lyon called back. “Wasn’t there a pitcher of water in your room, Christina?”

He was out of sight before she could give him a proper answer. Christina hurried up the steps after him.

When she caught up with him she wished she’d waited below the stairs. Lyon had already stripped out of his shirt. He was bent over the basin, splashing water on his face and arms.

Christina was suddenly overwhelmed by his size. She could see the sinewy strength in his upper arms, his shoulders; a pelt of golden hair covered his chest, narrowed to a line above the flat of his stomach, then disappeared below the waistband of his pants. She’d never seen the like. She was fascinated and wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms now.

He reached for the cloth. Christina took the strip of linen from his hands and began to pat his face dry. “Your skin is so dark, Lyon. Have you been working in the sun without your shirt on?” she asked.

“When I was on my ship I used to,” Lyon answered.

“You have a ship?” Christina answered, sounding quite pleased.

“Had a ship,” Lyon corrected. “Fire destroyed it, but I plan to build another.”

“With your own hands, Lyon?”

Lyon smiled down at her. “No, love. I’ll hire others to do the work.”

“I liked the ship I was on when I came to England. I didn’t like it much below the deck though. It was too confining,” she admitted with a shrug.

Her voice trembled. So did her hands when she started to dry his shoulders. There were several glorious marks on him, and the sight of such handsome scars made her heartbeat quicken.

For the first time in his life, Lyon was actually feeling a little awkward. Christina was such a beautiful woman, while he was covered with marks. They were reminders of his black past, Lyon thought, but the ugly scars hadn’t bothered him until this moment.

“I promise to take you on my new ship,” he heard himself say.

“I would like that, Lyon,” Christina answered. The towel dropped to the floor when she gently traced the long, curved scar on Lyon’s chest. “You are so handsome,” she whispered.

“I’m covered with flaws,” Lyon whispered back. His voice sounded hoarse to him.

“Oh, no, they are marks of valor. They are beautiful.”

She was looking up at him, staring into his eyes, and Lyon thought he’d never get used to her beauty.

“We should go back downstairs.” Even as he said the words, he was pulling her into his arms. God help him, he couldn’t stop himself. The realization that he was alone with her, that they were in fact in her bedroom, rocked all the gentlemanly thoughts out of his mind.

“Will you kiss me before we go downstairs?” she asked.

Lyon thought she looked as though she’d already been kissed. A faint blush covered her cheeks, and her eyes had turned a deep blue again.

The woman obviously didn’t understand her own jeopardy. And if she only knew the wild thoughts rambling through his mind, her face would turn as white as the sheets.

She trusted him. She wouldn’t have asked him to kiss her if she didn’t trust him. Lyon was going to have to control his baser instincts. Yes, he was going to be a gentleman.

One kiss surely wouldn’t hurt. He’d wanted to take her into his arms the moment the fight had ended. The anger had been flowing like lava through his veins. Oh, he’d wanted her then, with a primitive passion that had shaken him.

And then she’d backed away from him. The sudden remembrance gave him a start.

“Christina, are you afraid of me?”

She could tell he was serious. The worry in his gaze said he was. The question was puzzling. “Why would you think I’d be afraid of you?” she asked, trying not to laugh. He did look terribly concerned.

“After the fight, when you backed away from me …”

She did smile then, couldn’t help herself. “Lyon, the little skirmish I witnessed couldn’t possibly be called a fight … and you actually thought I was afraid?”

He was so surprised by her comment, he immediately defended himself. “Well, I’ll admit that I didn’t think it was much of a fight either, but when you stared at me with such a frightened look on your face I naturally assumed you were upset. Hell, Christina, most women would have been hysterical.”

By the time he’d finished his statement, he’d gone from sounding very matter-of-fact to muttering with irritation.

“Was it my duty to weep, Lyon? I apologize if I’ve displeased you, but I’ve still to understand all your laws.”

“You could make a duck daft,” Lyon announced.

Because he was grinning down at her, Christina decided not to let her exasperation show. “You’re the most confusing man,” she remarked. “I have to keep reminding myself that you’re English.”

The temptation was too compelling. Before she could stop her inclination, she reached out to touch his chest. The heat in his skin felt good against her fingertips, the mat of hair crisp yet soft.

“I wasn’t afraid of you, Lyon,” Christina whispered, avoiding his eyes now. “I’ve never been afraid of you. How could I be? You’re such a gentle, kind man.”

He didn’t know how to answer her. She sounded almost in awe of him. She was wrong, of course. He’d never been kind or gentle. A man could change, though. Lyon determined to be anything and everything Christina wanted him to be. By God, if she thought him gentle, then gentle he’d be.

“You really are a warrior, aren’t you, Lyon?”

“Do you want me to be?” he asked, sounding confused.

“Oh, yes,” Christina answered, daring a quick look up.

“Warriors aren’t gentle,” he reminded her.

She didn’t want to press the issue because she knew he wouldn’t understand. He was wrong, but it would be rude of her to set him straight. Her hands slipped around his neck, her fingers entwining in his soft, curly hair.

She felt him shudder; his muscles tightened.

Lyon would have spoken to her, but he was certain his voice would betray him. Her touch was driving him to distraction.

Gentle, he cautioned himself, I have to be gentle with her. He placed a kiss on her forehead. Christina closed her eyes and sighed, encouraging him. He kissed her on the bridge of her freckled nose next and finally reached her soft lips.

It was a very gentle kiss. Sweet. Undemanding.

Until her tongue touched his. The hunger inside him seemed to ignite. The feeling was so intoxicating, so overpowering, he forgot all about gentleness. His tongue penetrated her warmth, tasting, probing, taking.

When Christina pulled him closer, his demand increased until all he could think about was filling her … completely.

She wasn’t resisting. No, her soft moans told him she didn’t want him to stop. Her hips cuddled his arousal. He knew her action was instinctive, yet the way she slowly arched against him made him wild. She felt so good, so right.

Lyon dragged his mouth away from hers with a harsh groan. “I want to make love to you, Christina,” he whispered against her ear. “If we’re going to stop, it has to be now.”

Christina’s head fell back as Lyon rained wet kisses along the column of her throat. Her hands, still entwined in his hair, clenched, pulled, begged.

He knew he’d soon be past the caring point. Lyon tried to separate himself from the torment. “God, Christina, walk away from me. Now.”

Walk away? Dear Lord, she could barely stand up. Every part of her body responded to his touch. She could hear the anger in his voice, could feel the tension in his powerful hold. Her mind tried to make sense out of the confusion of his reaction. “I don’t want to stop, Lyon.”

She knew he’d heard her. Lyon clasped her shoulders, squeezed until it was painful. Christina looked into his eyes, saw the desire there. The force of his passion overwhelmed her, robbed her of her own strength to think logically.

“Do you know what you’re saying to me?”

She answered him the only way she knew how. Christina used her body to give him permission. She deliberately arched against him again, then pulled his head down toward her.

She kissed him with a passion that sent his senses reeling. Lyon was at first too stunned to do more than react to her boldness, but he soon became the aggressor again.

He wanted to pleasure her so completely that any memory of other men would be washed away. She would belong to him, now and forever.

Lyon fumbled with the fastenings at the back of her gown, his mouth fastened on hers. Christina heard the sound of material being ripped away. He suddenly pulled her hands away from him, then tore the gown completely free. The dress fell to the floor.

There were no undergarments to hinder his gaze. When he took a step back, Christina stood before him, her hands at her sides.

Her body belonged to him. He was her lion. Christina accepted the truth, repeated it again and again inside her mind, trying to overcome her shyness, her fear.

She couldn’t shield her body from him … or her heart.

Both belonged to Lyon.

Lyon’s gaze was ravenous as it swept over her. She was so perfectly formed, so very, very beautiful. Her skin was smooth, creamy-looking in the soft candlelight. Her breasts were high, full, taut. The nipples were erect, waiting for his touch. Her waist was so narrow, her stomach flat, her hips slender.

She was irresistible.

And she belonged to him.

Lyon’s hands shook when he reached for her, drew her back into his arms.

Christina gasped from the initial contact of her bare breasts against his chest. His hair tickled her, his skin warmed her, and the way he controlled his strength as he held her close to him made her forget all her fears. She was innocent of men, yes, yet she knew with a certainty that made tears come to her eyes that Lyon would be gentle with her.

She kissed his throat where she could see the throbbing of his pulse, then rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his wonderful masculine scent, waiting for him to show her what to do.

Lyon slowly untied the ribbon from the bottom of Christina’s braid, then unwound the silky curls until a blanket of sunlight covered her back. He lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, pausing only to pull the covers back before placing her in the center.

Christina tried to protest, to tell him it was her duty to undress him, but Lyon had already taken his shoes and socks off. Her voice became locked in her throat when he stripped out of the rest of his clothes, and all she could do was stare at him in wonder.

He was the most magnificent warrior she’d ever seen. The power was there, in his arms and legs. His thighs were muscular, strong, beautiful. His arousal was full, hard, and when he came to lie on top of her Christina instinctively opened herself to him. He settled himself between her thighs. Christina had barely accepted his weight before he captured her mouth for another searing kiss.

Christina wrapped her arms around his waist. His mouth had never felt so wonderful, his tongue never so exciting. His hands were never still, stroking, caressing, giving her shivers of pleasure. Their legs entwined, and when Lyon moved to take her breast into his mouth her toes brushed against his legs. Her moans of pleasure drove him wild. His hands fondled her breasts while his tongue swirled around one nipple and then the other. When he finally began to suckle, a white-hot knot of need started to burn inside her. Christina’s hips moved restlessly, rubbing against his arousal. She wanted to touch him, to worship his body the way he was worshipping hers, but the sensations coursing through her body were too new, too raw. She could only cling to him and beg him with her whimpers.

His hands settled between her thighs to tease her sensitive skin. His fingers soon made her wild with need, caressing the nub protected by her soft curls until she was moist with desire. His fingers penetrated her tight sheath just as his tongue thrust into her mouth.

Lyon could feel the incredible heat of her. He was nearly out of control now, for Christina was so unashamedly responsive to his touch. He couldn’t wait much longer, knew he’d soon lose his control. He cautioned himself against hurrying her even as his thigh pushed her legs further apart.

“From this moment on you belong to me, Christina. Now and forever.”

He entered her with a swift, determined thrust, lifting her hips with his hands to penetrate her completely.

She was a virgin. The realization came late. Lyon was fully embedded inside her now. He took a deep breath and tried not to move. The effort nearly killed him. Christina was so hot, so tight; she fit him perfectly.

His heart was slamming against his chest. His breath was harsh, choppy. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asked her. He propped himself up on his elbows to look down into her face. God, she hadn’t made a sound. Had he hurt her? “Why didn’t you tell me you haven’t been with a man before?” he asked again, capturing her face with his hands.

“Please, Lyon, don’t be angry,” Christina whispered.

She knew she was going to start weeping. The fierce light in his eyes frightened her. Her body was throbbing with pain from his invasion, and every muscle was tense, tingling. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” she apologized in a ragged voice. “But I didn’t want you to stop. Could you be disappointed later, please?”

“I’m not disappointed,” Lyon answered. “I’m very pleased.” He was trying to keep his voice soft, gentle. It was an excruciating task, because his arousal was begging for release, and all he wanted to do was spill his seed into her.

He was going to make certain she found complete satisfaction first. “I’ll try not to hurt you, Christina.”

“You already did.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’ll stop,” he promised, knowing full well he wouldn’t.

“No,” Christina protested. Her nails dug into his shoulders, keeping him inside her. “It will be better now, won’t it?”

Lyon moved, groaning over the pleasure he gained. “Do you like that?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Christina answered. She arched her hips up against him, pulling him higher inside her. “Do you like that?”

He might have nodded. She was too consumed by the waves of heat to notice. His mouth slanted over hers then, claiming her full attention.

Lyon tried to be tender, but she was making it an impossible quest. She kept moving against him restlessly, demandingly, urgently. Lyon’s discipline deserted him.

“Easy, love, don’t let me hurt you.”

“Lyon!”

“Christina, why did you let me think you’d been with other men?”

Lyon was stretched out on his back, his hands behind his head. Christina was cuddled up against his side, one shapely leg draped over his thigh. Her face rested on his chest. “Let you think?” she asked him.

“You know my meaning,” Lyon said, ignoring the laughter he’d heard in her voice.

“It seemed unimportant to argue with you. Your mind was set on the matter. Besides, you probably wouldn’t have believed the truth anyway.”

“I might have believed you,” he protested. He knew he was lying. No, he wouldn’t have believed her.

“Why did you think I’d—”

“It’s the way you kissed me,” Lyon explained, grinning.

“What is the matter with the way I kiss you? I was only imitating you.”

“Oh, nothing’s the matter, love. I like your… enthusiasm.”

“Thank you, Lyon,” Christina said, after she’d given him a good look to see if he was jesting with her or not. “I like the way you kiss, too.”

“What else do you imitate?” Lyon asked.

Because he was teasing her, he was unprepared for her answer. “Oh, everything. I’m quite good at it, you know, especially if I like what I’m imitating.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Christina,” Lyon whispered. “If you’d told me you were a virgin before, I could have made it easier for you.”

Lyon was feeling a bit guilty, but terribly arrogant, too.

She belonged to him. He hadn’t realized just how possessive he could be. Lyon wanted to believe Christina wouldn’t have given herself to him unless she loved him.

He knew she’d reached fulfillment. Lord, she’d cried out his name loud enough for the streetwalkers to hear. A smile settled on his face. She hadn’t been the delicate little flower he’d thought she was. When she let go, she let go. Wild. Totally uncontrolled. And loud, Lyon admitted. His ears were still ringing from her lusty shouts. Lyon didn’t think he could ever be happier. No, Christina hadn’t held back. He had the scratches to prove it.

Now all he wanted to hear from her was the truth inside her heart. He wanted her to tell him how much she loved him.

Lyon let out a long sigh. He was acting just like a virgin on his wedding night. Uncertain. Vulnerable.

“Lyon, do all Englishmen have such hair on their bodies?”

Her question nudged him away from his thoughts. “Some do, others don’t,” he answered with a shrug that nearly pushed her off his chest. “Haven’t you ever seen Mr. Summerton without his shirt on, love?” he teased.

“Who?”

He wasn’t going to remind her again. If the woman couldn’t keep her lies straight, he certainly wasn’t going to help. Lyon was immediately irritated. He knew it was his own fault for bringing up the lie, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Christina, now that we’ve become so intimate, you don’t have to fabricate stories any longer. I want to know everything about you,” he added, his voice a little more intense than he wished. “No matter what your childhood was like, I’ll still care for you.”

Christina didn’t want to answer his questions. She didn’t want to have to lie to him again … not now. A warm glow still surrounded her heart. Lyon had been such a tender lover. “Did I please you, Lyon?” she asked, trailing her fingers down his chest to distract him.

“Very much,” he answered. He captured her hand when she’d reached his navel. “Honey, tell me about—”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if you pleased me?” she asked, pulling her hand free of his grasp.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Lyon took a deep breath. He could feel himself getting hard again. “Because I know I pleased you,” he ground out. “Christina, stop that. It’s too soon for you. We can’t make love again.”

Her hand touched his arousal, stealing the breath out of his protest. Lyon let out a low groan. His hand dropped to his side when she began to place wet kisses on the flat of his indrawn stomach. She moved lower to taste more of him.

“No more,” Lyon commanded.

He pulled her by her hair, twisting the curls to get her attention. “If you want to tease, you’d better wait until tomorrow,” he warned. “A man can only take so much, Christina.”

“How much?” she whispered. Her mouth was getting closer to his hard shaft.

Lyon jerked her back up to his chest. “We only have this one night,” Christina protested.

“No, Christina,” Lyon said. “We have a lifetime.”

She didn’t answer him, but she knew he was wrong. Her eyes filled with tears when she turned her face away from him. Christina was almost desperate to touch him again, to taste all of him. The memory of her Lyon would have to stay with her … forever.

She lowered her head to his stomach again. She kissed him there, moved to his thighs next, and finally between them.

His scent was just as intoxicating as the taste of him. She was only given a few minutes to learn his secrets, however, before Lyon dragged her up on top of him.

He kissed her hungrily as he rolled her to his side. Christina moved her leg over his thigh and begged him with her mouth and her hands to come to her.

She was more than ready for him. Lyon was shaken when he touched the sweet wetness between her thighs. He slowly penetrated her warmth, holding her hips in a fierce grip, determined not to let her hurt herself by pushing up against him too quickly.

She bit him on his shoulder in retaliation. Lyon was driving her mad. He slowly penetrated her, then withdrew just as slowly. It was agonizing. Maddening.

He had the patience and the endurance of a warrior. She thought she could withstand the sweet torment for the rest of her life. But Lyon was far more adept at the ways of loving than she was. When his hand slipped between them and he touched the heat of her in such a knowing way, her control completely vanished.

Her climax was unimaginable, consuming her. Christina clung to him, her face pillowed against the side of his neck, her eyes tightly closed against the hot sensations shooting through her body.

Lyon was no longer controlled. His thrusts became powerful. When she instinctively arched against him, tightened herself around him, he found his release. The force of his climax stunned him. Lyon felt it in the very depths of his soul.

He was at peace.

Several long minutes elapsed before he could slow his racing heart or his ragged breath. He was too content to move.

Christina was crying. Lyon suddenly felt the wetness of her tears on his shoulder. The realization jarred him out of his haze. “Christina?” he whispered, hugging her close to him. “Did I hurt you again?”

“No.”

“You’re all right?”

She nodded against his chin.

“Then why are you crying?”

If he hadn’t sounded so caring, she might have been able to restrain herself. There wasn’t any need to be quiet about it now, since he knew she was weeping, and she was soon wailing, loud and undignified as a crazed old squaw.

Lyon was horrified. He rolled Christina on her back, brushed her hair out of her face, and gently wiped her tears away. “Tell me, love. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

It was a ludicrous answer, of course, but Lyon held his patience. “I really didn’t hurt you?” he asked, unable to keep fear out of his voice. “Please, Christina. Quit crying and tell me what’s the matter.”

“No.”

His sigh was strong enough to dry the tears from her cheeks. Lyon cupped the sides of her face, his thumbs rubbing the soft skin below her chin. “I’m not going to move until you tell me what’s bothering you, Christina. Your aunt will find us in just this position when she comes home next week.”

She knew he meant what he said. He had a stubborn look on his face. The muscle in the side of his jaw flexed. “I’ve never felt the way you make me feel, Lyon. It frightened me,” she admitted.

She started crying again. Dear God, how could she ever leave him? The full truth was unbearable. Shameful. Lyon probably loved her. No, she admitted, shaking her head. He loved a princess.

“Christina, you were a virgin. Of course you were frightened,” he said. “Next time it won’t be so terrifying for you. I promise you, my sweet.”

“But there can’t be a next time,” Christina wailed. She pushed against Lyon’s shoulders. He immediately shifted his weight, then rolled to his side.

“Of course there’s going to be another time,” he said. “We’ll be married first, just as soon as possible. Now what have I said?”

He had to shout his question. Christina was making so much noise he knew she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he’d spoken in a normal tone of voice.

“You said you wouldn’t marry me.”

Ah, so that was the reason. “I’ve changed my mind,” Lyon announced. He smiled, for he understood her real anxiety now. He was also very pleased with himself. Lord, he’d just said the word marriage without blanching. Even more amazing was the fact that he really wanted to marry her.

The turnabout stunned him.

Christina struggled to sit up. She threw her hair over her shoulder when she turned to look at Lyon. She stared at him a long while and tried to form an explanation that wouldn’t sound confusing. Christina finally decided to say as little as possible. “I’ve changed my mind, too. I can’t marry you.”

She jumped off the bed before Lyon could stop her, then hurried over to her chest to get her robe. “At first I thought I could, because I knew you’d be able to make my stay in England so much more bearable, but that was when I thought I’d be able to leave you.”

“Damn it, Christina, if this is some kind of game you’re playing, I would advise you to stop.”

“It isn’t a game,” Christina protested. She tied the belt around her waist, pausing to wipe the fresh tears away from her face, then walked back over to stand at the foot of the bed. Her head was bowed. “You want to marry Princess Christina,” she said. “Not me.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Lyon muttered. He got out of bed and walked over to stand behind her.

He hadn’t the faintest idea what was going through her mind, and he told himself it didn’t matter.

“You can tell me all the lies you want to, but the way you just gave yourself to me was honest enough. You want me as much as I want you.”

He was about to pull her up against him when her next comment gave him pause. “It doesn’t matter.”

The sadness in her voice tore at him. “This isn’t a game, is it? You really think you aren’t going to marry me.”

“I can’t.”

Her simple answer made him livid. “The hell you can’t. We’re getting married, Christina, just as soon as I can make the arrangements. God’s truth, if you shake your head at me one more time I’m going to beat you.”

“You needn’t shout at me,” Christina said. “It’s almost dawn, Lyon. We are both too tired for this discussion.”

“Why did you ask me to marry you,” he asked, “and then change your mind?”

“I thought I’d be able to marry you for just a little while and then—”

“Marriage is forever, Christina.”

“According to your laws, not mine,” she answered. She took a step away from him. “I’m too upset to speak of this tonight, and I’m afraid you’ll never understand anyway—”

Lyon reached out to pull her up against his chest. His hands circled her waist. “Did you know before we made love that you weren’t going to marry me?”

Christina closed her eyes against the anger in his voice. “You had already declined my proposal,” she said. “And yes, I knew I wouldn’t marry you.”

“Then why did you give yourself to me?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

“You fought for my honor. You protected me,” she answered.

He was infuriated over her perplexed tone of voice. She acted as though he should have understood. “Then it’s damned fortunate someone else didn’t—”

“No, I wouldn’t have slept with any other Englishman. Our destiny is—”

“Your destiny is to become my wife, understand, Christina?” he shouted.

Christina pulled away from him, somewhat surprised he’d let her go. “I hate England, do you understand me?” she shouted back at him. “I couldn’t survive here. The people are so strange. They run from one tiny little box to another. And there are so many of them, a person has no room to breathe. I couldn’t—”

“What little boxes?” Lyon asked.

“The houses, Lyon. No one ever stays outside. They scurry like mice from one place to another. I couldn’t live like that. I couldn’t breathe. And I don’t like the English people, either. What say you to that full truth, Lyon? Do you think me daft? Perhaps I’m as crazy as everyone here believes my mother was.”

“Why don’t you like the people?” he asked. His voice had turned soft, soothing. Christina thought he really might be thinking she’d just lost her mind.

“I don’t like the way they act,” she announced. “The women take lovers after they’ve pledged themselves to a mate. They treat their old like discarded garbage. That is their most appalling flaw,” Christina said. “The old should be honored, not ignored. And their children, Lyon. I hear about the little ones, but I’ve yet to see one. The mothers lock their children away in their schoolrooms. Don’t they understand the children are the heartbeat of the family? No, Lyon, I could not survive here.”

She paused to take a deep breath, then suddenly realized Lyon didn’t look very upset about her comments. “Why aren’t you angry?” she asked.

He grabbed her when she tried to step away from him again, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close to him. “First of all, I agree with most of what you’ve just said. Second, all during your irate protest you kept saying ‘they,’ not ‘you.’ You didn’t include me with the others, and as long as it’s the other English you dislike, that’s quite all right with me. You told me once you thought I was different. It’s why you’ve been drawn to me, isn’t it? It doesn’t really matter,” he added with a sigh. “You and I are both English. You can’t change that fact, Christina, just as you can’t change the fact that you belong to me now.”

“I’m not English where it matters most, Lyon.”

“And where might that be?” Lyon asked.

“In my heart.”

He smiled. She sounded like a small child in need of comfort. She happened to pull away from him just at that moment, saw his smile, and was infuriated. “How dare you laugh at me when I tell you what is in my heart?” she shouted.

“I dare, all right,” Lyon shouted back. “I dare because this is the first time you’ve ever been completely honest with me. I dare because I’m trying to understand you, Christina,” he added, taking a menacing step toward her. “I dare because I happen to care about you. God only knows why, but I do care.”

Christina turned her back on him. “I’ll not continue this discussion,” she announced. She picked up his pants and threw them at him. “Get dressed and go home. I’m afraid you’ll just have to walk, because I don’t have a servant available to fetch your carriage for you.”

She glanced back at him, took in his startled expression. A sudden thought made her gasp. “Your carriage isn’t waiting out front, is it?”

“Oh, hell,” he muttered. He had his pants on in quick time, then strode out of the bedroom, barechested and barefooted, still muttering under his breath.

Christina ran after him. “If anyone sees your carriage … well, I can certainly count on someone telling my aunt, can’t I?”

“You don’t care what the English think, remember?” Lyon shouted back. He threw the front door open, then turned to give her a good glare. “You would have to live on the main street,” he said, sounding as if her choice of townhouses had been a deliberate provocation somehow.

Lyon turned to yell instructions to his driver after making that accusation. “Go and wake up the servants, man. Bring half the number over here. They’ll stay with Princess Christina until her aunt returns from the country.”

He’d been forced by circumstances to bellow his orders. His driver wouldn’t have heard him otherwise. No, the parade of carriages coming down the street was making too much of a clatter.

He knew he should have felt a shred of shame for what he was deliberately doing. When he spotted the first carriage rounding the corner, the very least he could have done was wave his driver away and shut the door.

“Thompson’s party must have just let out,” he remarked in a casual voice to the horrified woman hovering behind his back.

Lyon actually smiled when he heard her gasp, pleased she understood the ramifications well enough. Then he leaned against the door frame and waved at the startled occupants of the first carriage.

“Good eve, Hudson, Lady Margaret,” he shouted, totally unconcerned that his pants were only partially buttoned.

Over his shoulder he told Christina, “Lady Margaret looks like she’s about to fall out of the carriage, love. She’s hanging halfway out the window.”

“Lyon, how could you?” Christina asked, clearly appalled by his conduct.

“Destiny, my dear.”

“What?”

He waved to three more carriages before he finally closed the door. “That ought to do it,” he remarked, more to himself than to the outraged woman looking ready to kill him. “Now, what were you saying about not marrying me, my sweet?”

“You are a man without shame,” she shouted when she could find her voice.

“No, Christina. I’ve just sealed your fate, so to speak. You still do believe in destiny, don’t you?”

“I’m not going to marry you, no matter what scandal you weave.”

If she hadn’t been so infuriated, she might have tried to explain again. But Lyon was grinning at her with such a victorious, arrogant look on his face, she decided to keep the full truth to herself.

He drained the anger right out of her. Lyon suddenly pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. When he finally let go of her, she was too weak to protest.

“You will marry me.”

He started back up the stairs in search of his shoes.

Christina held on to the bannister, watching him. “Do you think ruining my reputation will matter, Lyon?”

“It’s a nice start,” Lyon called back. “Remember, what will be is going to be. Your words, Christina, not mine.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going to be,” she shouted. “I won’t be in England long enough to care about my reputation. Don’t you understand, Lyon? I have to go home.”

She knew he’d heard her. She’d shouted loud enough to rattle the walls. Lyon disappeared around the corner, but Christina patiently waited for him to come back downstairs. She wasn’t about to go chasing after him again. No, she knew she’d end up back in bed with him if she went up the stairs. God help her, she’d probably be the one to suggest it. Lyon was simply too appealing, and she was too weak-hearted to fight him.

Besides, she told herself, she hated him. The man had the morals of a rattlesnake.

He was dressed when he came downstairs. He was ignoring her, too. Lyon didn’t speak another word until his carriage had returned with two big men and one heavyset maid. Then he spoke to his staff, giving them his orders.

Christina was infuriated with his high-handed manner. When he instructed the men to see to her protection, to let no one enter her home without his permission, she decided to protest.

The look he gave her made her reconsider. She was seeing a different side of Lyon’s character now. He was very like Black Wolf when he was addressing his warriors. Lyon was just as cold, as rigid, as commanding. Christina instinctively knew it would be better not to argue with him now.

She decided to ignore him just as thoroughly as he was ignoring her. That decision was short-lived, however. Christina was staring into the fireplace, trying to pretend the man didn’t even exist, when she heard a rather descriptive curse. She turned just in time to see Lyon jump up from the settee. He’d sat on her knife.

“Serves you justice,” she muttered when he held the blade up and glared at it.

She tried to snatch her weapon away from him, but Lyon wouldn’t let her have it. “It belongs to me,” she announced.

“And you belong to me, you little warrior,” Lyon snapped out. “Admit it, Christina, now, or I swear to the Great Spirit I’ll show you how a real warrior uses a knife.”

Their gazes held a long, ponderous moment. “You really don’t know what you’re trying to catch, do you? Very well, Lyon. For now—until you change your mind, that is—I will belong to you. Does that satisfy you?”

Lyon dropped the knife and pulled Christina into his arms. He then proceeded to show her just how immensely satisfied he really was.

Chapter Nine

Edward had left to put down a resistance in the West. When the captain of my ship came for me, I made him wait outside my husband’s office while I went inside to steal the jewels. I briefly considered leaving a note for Edward, then decided against it.

We set sail immediately, but I didn’t begin to feel safe until we were two days out to sea. I stayed below in my cabin most of the time, for I was terribly ill. I couldn’t hold any food in my stomach, and I believed it was the weather that was the cause.

It wasn’t until a week had passed that the truth settled in my mind. I was carrying Edward’s child.

God forgive me, Christina, but I prayed for your death.

Journal entry

September 7, 1795

Monday was a trial of endurance for Christina. Although she protested vehemently, Lyon’s servants had her possessions packed up and transferred to his mother’s townhouse by noon.

Christina kept insisting that she wasn’t going anywhere, that the Countess would be home Monday next, and that she would take care of herself until that time. No one paid her the least attention. They followed the instructions from their employer, of course, and though they were friendly enough, one and all suggested she mention her distress to the Marquess of Lyonwood.

Although Christina had not seen Lyon since Friday evening, his presence was certainly felt. He hadn’t allowed her to attend Creston’s ball, or to go anywhere else, for that matter. Christina thought he kept her closeted inside her townhouse so she wouldn’t be able to run away.

There was also the possibility that he was trying to protect her feelings, Christina realized. He might not want her to hear any of the whispers circling the ton about her liaison with Lyon. It was a scandal, to be sure, but a scandal Lyon had personally caused.

Perhaps Lyon thought she’d be upset about the slurs against her character. She was unmarried, Lyon had been undressed, and half the ton had witnessed the scene. Oh, there was a scandal floating about; Christina had heard Colette, the lady’s maid Lyon had thrust upon her, tell one of the other servants a juicy bit of gossip she’d overheard when she’d gone to do the marketing with the cook.

Christina had a splitting headache by midafternoon. It came upon her all at once when she happened to notice the wedding announcement in the newspapers. Lyon had had the gall to post his intention to marry Princess Christina the following Saturday.

Colette caught her tearing up the paper. “Oh, my lady, isn’t it romantic the way the Marquess flaunts tradition? Why, he’s doing everything to his liking and doesn’t care what others will say.”

Christina didn’t think it was romantic at all. She felt like screaming. She went upstairs to her bedroom, thinking to find a few minutes’ peace, but she’d barely closed the door behind her when she was once again interrupted.

A visitor was waiting for her in the drawing room. Since Lyon had ordered that no one was to be allowed entrance, Christina naturally assumed he was the one waiting for her.

She was fighting mad when she stormed into the salon. “If you think you can …”

Her shout tapered off as soon as she saw the elderly woman sitting in the gold wing-back chair. “If I think what, my dear?” the woman asked, looking perplexed.

Christina was embarrassed by her outburst. The woman smiled at her then. Some of the awkwardness left her. Christina could tell the stranger was kind. There were laugh wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth. The top of her gray-haired bun was level with the top of the chair, indicating she was an extremely tall woman. She wasn’t very attractive. Her hooked nose took up a good portion of her face, and she had a slight yet noticeable line of hair above her thin upper lip. She was a heavy-bosomed woman with wide shoulders.

She seemed to be about the Countess’s age. “I do apologize for shouting at you, madam, but I believed you were Lyon,” Christina explained after making a low curtsy.

“How very bold of you, child.”

“Bold? I don’t understand,” Christina said.

“To raise your voice to my nephew. Proves you’ve got spirit,” the woman announced with a brisk nod. She motioned for Christina to sit down. “I’ve known Lyon since he was a little boy, and I’ve never had the courage to shout at him. Now, allow me to introduce myself,” she continued. “I’m Lyon’s aunt. Aunt Harriett, to be correct. I’m his father’s younger sister, you see, and since you’ll soon be the new Marchionness of Lyonwood, you might as well call me Aunt Harriett from the beginning. Are you ready to come home with me now, Christina, or do you need a little more time to prepare? I shall be happy to wait in here, if you could order me a spot of tea. My, it has gone warm again today, hasn’t it?” she asked.

Christina didn’t know how to answer her. She watched her take a small fluted fan from her lap, open it with a quick flip of her wrist, and begin to wave it a bit violently in front of her face.

Because of the woman’s advanced years, Christina naturally took a submissive attitude. The elders were to be respected and—whenever possible—obeyed without a word of protest. It was the way of the Dakota, the way Christina was raised.

Christina bowed her head and said, “I am honored to meet you, Aunt Harriett. If you have the patience to listen to me, I would like to explain that there seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Harriett asked. Her voice sounded with amusement. She pointed her fan at Christina. “My dear, may I be open with you? Lyon has ordered me to see you settled in his mother’s townhouse. We both know he’ll have his way, regardless of your feelings. Don’t look so crestfallen, child. He only has your best interests at heart.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Do you want to marry Lyon?”

Her blunt question demanded an answer. She was staring intently at Christina. Very much like a hawk, Christina thought.

“Well, child?”

Christina tried to think of a way to soften the truth. “What I would like to do and what I must do are two separate issues. I’m trying to protect Lyon from making a terrible mistake, madam.”

“Marriage would be a mistake, you say?” Aunt Harriett asked.

“If he marries me, yes,” Christina admitted.

“I’ve always been known for my bluntness, Christina, so I’m going to ask you right out. Do you love my nephew?”

Christina could feel herself blushing. She looked up at Aunt Harriett for a long moment.

“You don’t need to answer me, child. I can see you do.”

“I am trying not to love him,” Christina whispered.

Aunt Harriett started fanning herself again. “I certainly don’t understand that remark. No, I don’t. Lyon did tell me you’ve only just learned the English language, and that you might not make sense all the time. Now, don’t get red in the face, Christina, he meant no criticism. Do you have any idea how remarkable it is that this union will be based on love?”

“When I first met Lyon, I believed we were meant to be together … for a short time. Yes,” she added when Aunt Harriett gave her a puzzled look. “I believed it was our destiny.”

“Destiny?” Aunt Harriett smiled. “What a romantic notion, Christina. I believe you’re just what my nephew needs. He’s such an intense, angry man most of the time. Now please explain what you meant by saying it would be for only a short while. Do you believe you’d fall out of love so quickly? That is a bit of a shallow constitution, isn’t it?”

Christina wasn’t sure what the woman meant by her remark. “Lyon would like to marry a princess. I would like to go home. It is really very simple.”

The look on Aunt Harriett’s face indicated she didn’t think it was simple at all.

“Then Lyon will have to go home with you,” Aunt Harriett announced. “I’m sure he’d insist upon visiting your homeland.”

The absurd suggestion made Christina smile.

“See? I’ve lightened your worry already,” Aunt Harriett said. “Why, of course, Lyon will take you home for a visitation.”

Christina knew it was pointless to argue with the kind woman’s expectations, and it would have been rude to disagree openly with her. After ordering refreshments, Christina spent the next hour listening to Aunt Harriett tell amusing stories about her family.

She learned that Lyon’s father had died in his sleep. Lyon was away at school when the tragedy happened, and Christina thought it sad indeed that he hadn’t been by his father’s side. She also learned that Lyon’s wife, Lettie, had died in childbirth. The story was so sad, Christina had to fight back her tears.

And when the hour was up, Christina went with Aunt Harriett to Lyon’s mother’s home.

She’d been inside the beautiful townhouse once before, when she’d visited Lady Diana by request, and for that reason the sight of such luxury didn’t quite take her breath away.

The entrance blazed with candlelight. The receiving room was on the left. It was a good three times the size of all the others Christina had seen. The dining room was on the right. A long, narrow table took up most of the room, polished to such a sheen one could actually see his face in the reflection. There were sixteen chairs lining each side.

Christina assumed there were that many relatives living with Lyon’s mother. Lyon had provided well for his family. There were servants rushing around, fetching and carrying. Aunt Harriett had told her that Lyon paid for it all.

Lady Diana rushed down the steps to greet Christina. “Lyon is waiting for you upstairs in the library,” she announced, tugging on Christina’s arm. “Oh, you do look lovely in pink, Christina. It’s such a soft color,” she added. “Do you know, I wish I were as delicate in stature as you are. Why, I feel like an elephant when I’m standing next to you.”

Diana continued her chatter, so Christina assumed she wasn’t supposed to comment on that observation.

Lady Diana led her up the stairs and into the library. It was a bright, airy room, but that was all Christina noticed when she walked inside. Lyon captured her full attention. He was standing by the windows, his back to her. A surge of anger washed over her. Christina was suddenly infuriated with Lyon’s high-handed manner in taking over her life. She knew she was going to shout at him. The urge was making her throat ache.

She kept her intention hidden from his sister, even managed a weak smile when she said, “Lady Diana? May I have a few minutes alone with your brother?”

“Oh, I really don’t know if that’s a good idea. Aunt Harriett says you can’t be unchaperoned for a single minute. She’d heard the rumors, you see,” Diana whispered to Christina. “Still, she’s downstairs now, and if you give me your promise that it will only be for a few minutes, no one will—”

“Diana, close the door behind you.”

Lyon had turned around. He was staring at Christina when he gave the order to his sister.

Christina held his gaze. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by him. And she certainly wasn’t going to take any time at all to notice how ruggedly handsome he looked today. He was wearing a dark blue riding jacket. The fit made his shoulders look bigger than she’d remembered them to be.

Christina suddenly realized he was frowning at her. Why, he was actually angry with her. The observation didn’t sit well. Christina was at first so astonished she could barely speak. How dare he be angry? He was the one causing all the mischief.

“I understand you accepted Baron Thorp’s request to accompany you to Westley’s affair, Christina. Is that true?”

“How did you hear that?” Christina asked.

“Is it true?”

He hadn’t raised his voice, but the harshness was there in his tone.

“Yes, Lyon, I did agree to the baron’s request. He asked me last week. We’re going to this Westley’s lawn party, whatever in heaven’s name that is, and I don’t particularly care if you’re angry or not. It would be rude of me to cancel his escort now. I did give my word.”

“You aren’t going anywhere unless you’re by my side, Christina,” Lyon said. He took a deep breath before continuing. “One does not accompany other men when one is about to be married. It’s becoming obvious to me that you don’t grasp the situation, love. We are getting married Saturday, and I’ll be damned if you’ll have another escort the day before.”

Lyon had tried to hold his temper, but by the time he ended his comments he was shouting.

“I shall not marry you,” Christina shouted, matching his tone. “No, we shouldn’t get married. Can’t you see I’m trying to protect you? You don’t know anything about me. You want a princess, for God’s sake.”

“Christina, if you don’t start making sense …”

Lyon suddenly moved and had her in his arms before she could take a step back. Christina didn’t try to struggle. “If you weren’t so stubborn, Lyon, you’d realize I was right. I should find someone else. If Thorp doesn’t agree to my proposal, I could ask someone else, even Splickler.”

He had to force himself to take another deep breath. “Listen carefully, Christina. No one’s going to touch you but me. Splickler’s not going to be able to walk for a month, and I forsee a long voyage coming Thorp’s way. Believe me when I tell you that every man you settle on will meet with a few unpleasant surprises.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re a Marquess. You can’t just go around frightening people. Why can’t Splickler walk?” she suddenly asked. “I remember quite specifically that Rhone shut the door on his nose. You’re exaggerating. You wouldn’t—”

“Oh, but I would.”

“Dare you smile at me while you make such obscene remarks?”

“I dare to do whatever I want to do, Christina.” He rubbed his thumb across her mouth. Christina felt like biting him.

Then her shoulders sagged in defeat. All the man had to do was touch her, and her rational thoughts went flying out the window. God help her, she could feel the shivers gathering in her stomach now.

She let him kiss her, even opened her mouth for his tongue, then let him coach all the anger out of her.

Lyon didn’t let up on his tender assault until Christina was responding to him with equal ardor. He ended the intimacy only after she’d put her arms around his shoulders and was clinging to him.

“The only time you’re honest with me is when you kiss me, Christina. For now, that’s quite enough.”

Christina rested her head against his chest. “I will not give my heart to you, Lyon. I will not love you.”

He rubbed his chin against the top of her head. “Yes, you will, my sweet.”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” she muttered.

“You gave yourself to me, Christina. Of course I’m sure.”

A loud knock on the door interrupted them. “Lyon, unhand that maiden immediately. Do you hear me?”

The question was unnecessary. Aunt Harriett had shouted loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

“How did she know you were holding me, Lyon? Does she have the sight?” Christina asked, her voice filled with awe.

“The what?” Lyon asked.

“Open this door. Now.”

“The sight,” Christina whispered between Aunt Harriett’s bellows. “She can see through the door, Lyon.”

Lyon laughed. The booming sound made her ears tingle. “No, my love. My Aunt Harriett just knows me very well. She assumed I’d be holding you.”

She looked disappointed. When Aunt Harriett shouted again, Christina turned to go to the door. “If you give me one or two promises, I’ll wed you Saturday,” she said.

Lyon shook his head. The little innocent still didn’t understand. Promises or not, he was going to marry her.

“Well?” she asked.

“What promises?”

Christina turned and found Lyon standing with his arms folded across his chest, waiting. His manner seemed condescending to her. “One, you must promise to let me go home when my task is done here. Two, you must promise not to fall in love with me.”

“One, Christina, you aren’t going anywhere. Marriage is forever. Get that little fact in your head. Two, I don’t have the faintest idea why you wouldn’t want me to love you, but I’ll try to accommodate you.”

“I knew you’d be difficult. I just knew it,” Christina muttered.

The door suddenly opened behind her. “Well, why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t latched?” Aunt Harriett demanded. “Did you get this misunderstanding straightened out, Christina?” she asked.

“I have decided to marry Lyon for a little while.”

“A long while,” Lyon muttered.

The woman was as dense as fog. Lyon felt like shaking her.

“Good. Now come along with me, Christina, and I’ll show you your room. It’s next to my bedroom,” she added, with a long, meaningful look in Lyon’s direction. “There will be no private meetings during the night while I’m about.”

“She’ll be there in just a minute,” Lyon said. “Christina, answer me one question before you leave.”

“I shall wait right outside this door,” Aunt Harriett announced before pulling the door closed.

“What is your question?” Christina asked.

“Are you going to change your mind before Saturday? Do I have to keep you guarded inside the townhouse until then?”

“You’re smiling as though you’d like to do just that,” Christina announced. “No, I won’t change my mind. You’re going to be very sorry, Lyon,” she added in a sympathetic voice. “I’m not at all what you think I am.”

“I know exactly what I’m getting,” Lyon said, trying not to laugh. She was giving him a forlorn look, telling him without words that she felt sorry for him.

“You’re marrying me because you realize how good it was when we slept together,” he announced.

It was an arrogant statement, and he really didn’t think she’d bother to answer him.

“No.”

Christina opened the door, smiled at Aunt Harriett, then turned to give Lyon her full answer. “The full truth, Lyon?”

“That would be nice for a change,” Lyon answered with a drawl.

“In front of your dear Aunt Harriett?” she qualified, giving the perplexed woman a quick smile.

Aunt Harriett let out a sigh, then pulled the door closed again. Christina could hear her muttering something about not needing her fan what with the door flapping back and forth in her face, but she didn’t understand what the older lady meant.

“Answer me, Christina, with your full truth.”

His sudden impatience irritated her. “Very well. I’m marrying you because of the way you fought the mischief makers.”

“What does that have to do with marriage?” he asked.

“Oh, everything.”

“Christina, will you make sense for once in your life?” Lyon demanded.

She realized then she should simply have lied to him again. The truth was often more upsetting, more complex than a simple fabrication. Still, it was a little too late to fashion another lie now. Lyon looked as if he wanted to shout. “I’m trying to make sense, Lyon. You see, even though the battle wasn’t much to boast about, you did fight like a warrior.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s perfectly clear to me.”

“Christina.” His voice was low, angry.

“You aren’t going to be an easy man to kill. There, now you have the full truth. Does it satisfy you?”

Lyon nodded, giving her the impression he understood what she was talking about. He knew in that moment that nothing the woman ever said to him in the future would confuse him. No, he’d just reached his limit. A man could only take so many surprises, he told himself.

Then he tried to concentrate on the new puzzle she’d handed him. “Are you telling me you’ll try to kill me once we’re wed, but because I can defend myself, you might not be able to accomplish the deed? And that is why you’re marrying me?”

He had to shake his head when he’d finished his illogical conclusions.

“Of course not,” Christina answered. “How shameful of you to think I’d want to harm you. You’ve a devious mind, Lyon.”

“All right,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I apologize for jumping to such unsavory conclusions.”

Christina looked suspicious. “Well, I would hope so,” she muttered. “I shall accept your apology,” she added grudgingly. “You look contrite enough to make me believe you’re sincere.”

Lyon vowed he wasn’t going to lose his patience. He wasn’t as certain about his mind, however. Christina was making mincemeat out of all his thoughts. God help him, he was going to get a clear answer out of her, no matter how long it took. “Christina,” he began, keeping his voice soothing enough to lull an infant, “since you’ve decided I’m not an easy man to kill—and I do appreciate your faith in me, by the way—do you happen to know who’s going to try?”

“Try what?”

“To kill me.”

The man really needed to learn how to control his temper. Christina had just opened the door again. She smiled at Aunt Harriett, saw the poor woman was about to speak, but shut the door in her face before she could get a word out. She didn’t want the woman to overhear her answer.

“My father. He’s coming back to England. He’ll try to kill me. I promise to protect you, Lyon, for as long as I’m here. When I go away again, he’ll leave you alone.”

“Christina, if he’s going to try to kill you, why do you think to protect me?”

“Oh, he’ll have to kill you first. It’s the only way he’ll be able to get to me,” she reasoned. “You’re a very possessive man, Lyon. Yes, you are,” she added when she thought he was about to protest. “You’ll guard me.”

Lyon was suddenly feeling extremely pleased but didn’t have the faintest idea why. Had she just given him a compliment? He couldn’t be sure.

He decided to make certain. “Then you trust me,” he announced.

She looked astonished. “Trust a white man? Never.”

Christina jerked the door open and set about smoothing the bluster out of Aunt Harriett. It was a difficult undertaking, for her mind was still occupied with Lyon’s outrageous conclusion. Trust him? Where in God’s name had he come by that ridiculous notion?

“It’s about time, young lady. A woman could grow old waiting for you.”

“Aunt Harriett, I appreciate your patience. And you were so right. A good talk with Lyon has resolved all my worries. Will you show me to my room now? I would like to help the maid unpack my gowns. Do you think there’s enough room here for my aunt when she returns to London next week? The Countess will be displeased when she learns I’ve moved away.”

Her ploy worked. Aunt Harriett immediately lost her puzzled expression. The urge to take charge overrode all other considerations. “Of course I was right. Now come along with me. Did you know Diana has invited several people over for the afternoon? Quite a number have already arrived. They’re all very anxious to meet you, Christina.”

The door clicked shut on Aunt Harriett’s enthusiastic remarks.

Lyon walked back over to the windows. He saw the gathering in the garden below, then dismissed the guests from his mind.

The puzzle was taking shape. Lyon concentrated on the new item he believed to be true. Christina did think her father was going to come back to England.

To kill her.

The frightened look in her eyes, the way her voice had trembled, told him she was, for once, giving him the truth. She knew far more than she was telling, however. Lyon guessed the only reason she’d admitted that much to him was to put him on his guard.

She was trying to protect him. He didn’t know if he should feel insulted or happy. She had taken on his duty. But she was right. He was possessive. Christina belonged to him, and he wasn’t about to let anyone harm her. They’d have to kill him first in order to get to her.

How had she ever come by such conclusions about her father? Lyon remembered how emphatic Sir Reynolds had been when he told him Christina had never even met her father.

None of it made sense, unless Christina’s mother had lived longer than anyone believed and had handed down her fears to her daughter … or possibly left the fears with someone else.

Who had raised Christina? It surely wasn’t the Summertons, Lyon thought with a smile. What a little liar she was. Though he should have been furious with her for deceiving him, he was actually amused. He sensed she’d fabricated the story just to placate him.

How simple it would be if only she’d tell him the whole truth. Christina wouldn’t, of course, but at least now he understood her reason. She didn’t trust him.

No, he corrected himself, she didn’t trust white men.

She’d meant to say Englishmen … or had she?

The key to the riddle rested in the missionary’s hands. Lyon knew he’d have to be patient. Bryan had sent him a note telling him that Mick had remembered the man’s name. He was called Claude Deavenrue.

Lyon had immediately dispatched two of his loyal men in search of Deavenrue. Although he knew the missionary had told Mick he was going to stop in England on his way back from France to pay Christina a visit, Lyon wasn’t about to put his faith in that possibility. There was always the chance Deavenrue might change his mind, or that Mick had been wrong in what he’d heard.

No, Lyon wasn’t taking any risks. It had suddenly become imperative that he speak to the missionary as soon as possible. His reasons for finding out about Christina’s past had changed, however. A feeling of unease had settled in his mind. She was in danger. He wasn’t certain if her father was the true threat, but all his instincts were telling him to beware. The urge to protect Christina fairly overwhelmed him. Lyon had learned long ago to trust his instincts. The scar on his forehead had been the result of one of those foolish instances when he hadn’t heeded their warning.

Lyon hoped the missionary would be able to shed some light on the mystery, to tell him enough about Christina’s past to help him protect her. Lyon had already drawn his own conclusions. From all her comments, he decided she was probably raised by one of those courageous frontier families he’d heard about. He even pictured Christina inside a small log cabin somewhere in the wilderness beyond the colonies. That would explain the facts that she liked to go barefooted, loved the outdoors, had heard the sounds of mountain lions, and had possibly seen a buffalo or two.

Yes, that explanation made good sense to Lyon, but he wasn’t going to hold firm to that easy conclusion until he had confirmation from Deavenrue.

Lyon let out a long, weary sigh. He was satisfied that he was doing all he could for the moment. Then his mind turned to another troubling thought. Christina kept insisting she was going to go home.

Lyon vowed to find a reason to make her want to stay.

A loud knock on the door interrupted Lyon’s thoughts. “Have time for us, Lyon?” Rhone asked from the doorway. “Lord, you’re scowling like a devil,” he remarked in a cheerful voice. “Don’t let it put you off, Andrew,” he told the young man standing beside him. “Lyon is always in a foul mood. Had another recent conversation with Christina, perchance?” he asked, his voice as bland as the color of his beige jacket. When Lyon nodded, Rhone started chuckling. “Andrew has yet to meet your intended, Lyon. I thought you would like to do the introductions.”

“Good to see you again, Andrew,” Lyon said, trying to sound as if he meant it. He hadn’t wanted to be interrupted; he didn’t want to be civil, and he glared just that message to Rhone.

His friend was tugging on the sleeve of his jacket, probably trying to keep his bandage concealed, Lyon thought. The man had no business being out and about yet. Lyon would have pointed out that fact if they’d been alone. Then he decided Rhone had deliberately dragged Andrew with him up to the library to avoid an argument.

“The ladies are outside in the garden,” Rhone said, ignoring the black look his friend was giving him. He strolled over to the windows where Lyon stood, then motioned for Andrew to follow.

Rhone’s companion made a wide berth around Lyon to stand beside Rhone. His face was red, his manner timid. “Perhaps I should wait downstairs,” Andrew remarked with a noticeable stammer. “We have intruded upon the Marquess,” he ended in a whisper to Rhone.

“There’s Christina, Andrew,” Rhone announced, pretending he hadn’t heard his complaint. “She’s standing between two other ladies, in front of the hedges. I don’t recognize the pretty one speaking to her now,” Rhone continued. “Do you know who the other blonde is, Lyon?”

Lyon looked down at the flutter of activity below. His sister had obviously invited half the ton to her afternoon party, he decided.

He found Christina almost immediately. He thought she looked confused by all the attention she was getting. The women all appeared to be talking to her at the same time.

Then one of the gentlemen began to sing a ballad. Everyone immediately turned toward the sound. The doors to the music room had been opened, and someone was playing the spinet in the background.

Christina liked music. The fact was obvious to Lyon. The way her gown floated around her ankles indicated she was enjoying the song. Her hips were keeping gentle rhythm.

She was so enchanting. Her smile of pleasure made Lyon feel at peace again. Christina looked quite mesmerized. Lyon watched as she reached out and tore a leaf from the hedge, then began to twirl it between her fingers as she continued to sway to the music.

He thought she didn’t even realize what she was doing. Her gaze was directed on the gentleman singing the song, her manner relaxed, unguarded.

Lyon knew she wasn’t aware she was being watched, either. She wouldn’t have eaten the leaf otherwise, or reached for another.

“Sir, which one is Princess Christina?” Andrew asked Lyon, just as Rhone started in choking on his laughter.

Rhone had obviously been watching Christina, too.

“Sir?”

“The blond-headed one,” Lyon muttered, shaking his head. He watched in growing disbelief as Christina daintily popped another leaf into her mouth.

“Which blond-headed one?” Andrew persisted.

“The one eating the shrubs.”

Chapter Ten

Father was overjoyed to see me. He thought Edward had approved of my visit, and I didn’t tell him the truth for several days. I was too exhausted from my journey, and knew I had to regain my strength before explaining all that had happened to me.

Father was driving me mad. He’d come into my room, sit on the side of my bed, and talk of nothing but Edward. He seemed convinced that I didn’t yet realize how fortunate I was to have married such a fine man.

When I could listen no more, I began to sob. The story poured out of me in incoherent snatches. I remember I screamed at my father, too. He thought I’d lost my mind to make up such lies about my husband.

I did try to speak to him again. But his mind was set in Edward’s favor. Then I heard from one of the servants that he’d sent a message to my husband to come and fetch me home.

In desperation, I wrote the full story down on paper, including the fact that I was carrying his grandchild. I hid the letter in my father’s winter chest, hoping he wouldn’t find it until long months had passed.

Christina, he would have believed my delicate condition was the reason for what he referred to as my nervous disposition.

I began to make my plans to go to my sister, Patricia. She was living with her husband in the colonies. I didn’t dare take the gems with me. Patricia was like a hound; she’d find them. She had such an inquisitive nature. For as long as I could remember, she’d read all my letters. No, I couldn’t risk taking the jewels with me. They were too important. I’d taken them with the sole intent of seeing them returned to the poor in Edward’s kingdom. He’d robbed them, and I was going to see justice done.

I hid the jewels in a box, then waited until the dead of night to go into the back garden. I buried the box in the flower bed, Christina.

Look for the blood roses. You’ll find the box there.

Journal entry

October 1, 1795

The bride was nervous throughout the long wedding ceremony. Lyon stood by her side, holding her hand in a grip that didn’t allow for any movement—or escape.

He was smiling enough to make her think he’d lost his mind. Yes, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. If Christina had been gifted with a suspicious nature, she might have concluded that her frightened state was the true reason for his happiness.

His mood did darken when she refused to repeat the vow “until death do we part,” however. When she realized the holy man with the pointed velvet cap on his head wasn’t going to continue along until he’d had his way, and Lyon started squeezing her hand until she thought the bones were going to snap, she finally whispered the required words.

She let Lyon see her displeasure for having to lie to a holy man, but he didn’t appear to be bothered by her frown. He gave her a slow wink and a lazy grin. No, he hadn’t been bothered much at all.

The man was simply too busy gloating.

Warriors did like to get their way, Christina knew. This one more than most, of course. He was a lion, after all, and he had just captured his lioness.

When they left the church, Christina clung to his arm for support. She was worried about her wedding gown, concerned that any abrupt movement would tear the delicate lace sewn into the neckline and the sleeves. Aunt Harriett had supervised the making of the gown, standing over three maids to see the task done to her satisfaction.

It was a beautiful dress, yet impractical. Lady Diana had told Christina she would only wear the garment once and must then put it aside.

It seemed such a waste. When she remarked on that fact to her new husband, he laughed, gave her another good squeeze, and told her not to be concerned. He had enough coins to keep her in new dresses every day for the rest of her life.

“Why is everyone shouting at us?” Christina asked. She stood next to Lyon on the top step outside the chapel. They faced a large crowd of people she’d never seen before, and they were making such a commotion she could barely hear Lyon’s answer.

“They’re cheering, love, not shouting.” He leaned down and kissed her on her forehead. The cheers immediately intensified. “They’re happy for us.”

Christina looked up at him, thinking to tell him that it made little sense to her that complete strangers would be happy for them, but the tender expression in his eyes made her forget all about her protest, the crowd, the noise. She instinctively leaned into his side. Lyon put his arm around her waist. He seemed to know how much she needed his touch at that moment.

She quit trembling.

“My, it was a splendid ceremony.” Aunt Harriett made her announcement from directly behind Christina. “Lyon, get her into the carriage. Christina, do be sure to wave to all the well-wishers. Your wedding is going to be the talk of the season. Smile, Christina. You’re the new Marchioness of Lyonwood.”

Lyon reluctantly let go of his bride. Aunt Harriett had taken hold of Christina’s arm and was trying to direct her down the steps. Lyon knew his aunt would have her way, even if it meant a tug of war.

Christina was looking bewildered again. Little wonder, Lyon thought. His aunt was fluttering around them like a rather large bird of prey. She was dressed like one, too, in bright canary yellow, and kept flapping her lemon-colored fan in Christina’s face while she barked her orders.

Diana stood behind Christina trying to undo the long folds in the wedding gown. Christina glanced behind her, smiled at Lyon’s little sister, and then turned back to the crowd.

Lyon took hold of her hand and led her to the open carriage. Christina remembered to do what Aunt Harriett had instructed. She waved at all the strangers lining the streets.

“It’s a pity your mama couldn’t attend the ceremony,” she whispered to Lyon when they were on their way. “And my Aunt Patricia is going to be angry,” she added. “We really should have waited for her return from the country, Lyon.”

“Angry because she missed the wedding or angry because you married me?” Lyon asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“Both, I fear,” Christina answered. “Lyon, I do hope you’ll get along with her when she comes to live with us.”

“Are you out of your mind? The Countess will not be living with us, Christina,” he said. His tone had taken on a hard edge. He took a deep breath, then started again. “We’ll discuss your aunt later. All right?”

“As you wish,” Christina answered. She was confused by his abrupt change in disposition, yet didn’t question him. Later would be soon enough.

The reception had been hastily planned, but the result was more than satisfactory. Candles blazed throughout the rooms, flowers lined the tables, and servants dressed in formal black scooted through the large crowd with silver trays laden with drinks. The guests spilled out into the gardens behind Lyon’s mother’s home, and the crush, as Aunt Harriett called it, proved that the party was a success.

Lyon took Christina upstairs to meet his mother. It wasn’t a very pleasing first meeting. Lyon’s mother didn’t even look at her. She gave Lyon her blessing, then began to talk about her other son, James. Lyon dragged Christina out of the dark room during the middle of one of his mother’s reminiscences. He was frowning, but once the door was shut behind them the smile slowly returned to his face.

Christina decided to speak to Lyon about his mama at the first possible opportunity. He’d been remiss in his duty, she thought, and then excused his conduct by telling herself he simply didn’t understand what his duty was. Yes, she’d speak to him and set him straight.

“Don’t frown so, Christina,” Lyon said as they walked down the stairs again. “My mother is content.”

“She’ll be more content when she comes to live with us,” Christina remarked. “I shall see to it.”

“What?”

His incredulous shout drew several stares. Christina smiled up at her husband. “We shall speak of this matter later, Lyon,” she instructed. “It is our wedding day, after all, and we really must be getting along. Oh, see how Rhone stands next to your sister? Do you notice the way he glares at the young men trying to get her attention?”

“You see only what you want to see,” Lyon said. He pulled her up against his side when they reached the entrance, guarding her just like a warrior when they were once again surrounded by their guests.

“No, Lyon,” Christina argued between introductions. “You’re the one who sees only what you want to see,” she explained. “You wanted to marry a princess, didn’t you?”

Now what in heaven’s name did she mean by that remark? Lyon thought to query her when her next question turned his attention. “Who is that shy man hovering in the doorway, Lyon? He can’t seem to make up his mind if he should come inside or not.”

Lyon turned to see Bryan, his friend. He caught his attention and motioned him over. “Bryan, I’m pleased you could make it. This is my wife, Christina,” he added. “My dear, I’d like you to meet Bryan. He owns the Bleak Bryan tavern in another part of town.”

Christina bowed, then reached out to take the timid man’s hand. He offered her his left hand, thinking to save her embarrassment when she noticed his right hand was missing, but Christina clasped her hands around his scarred wrist and smiled so enchantingly that Bryan could barely get his breath. “I am honored to meet you, Bleak Bryan,” she announced. “I’ve heard so much about you, sir. The tales of your boldness are quite wonderful.”

Lyon was immediately puzzled. “My dear, I didn’t speak of Bryan to you,” he commented.

Bryan was blushing. He’d never had a lady of such quality pay him so much attention. He tugged his cravat, making a mess of the knot he had spent hours trying to perfect.

“I would certainly like to know where you’ve heard my name,” he said.

“Oh, Rhone told me all about you,” she answered with a smile. “He also said you would be giving your back room to Lyon next Friday eve for a game of chance.”

Bryan nodded. Lyon frowned. “Rhone talks too much,” he muttered.

“Is this the lady Mick told the story about, Lyon?” Bryan asked his friend. “No, she cannot be the same. Why, she doesn’t look like she’d have the strength to throw a man …”

Bryan finally noticed Lyon was shaking his head.

“Who is Mick?” Christina asked.

“A shipmate who frequents my establishment,” Bryan answered. His leathery face wrinkled into another smile. “He told the most remarkable story about—”

“Bryan, go and get something to eat,” Lyon interjected. “Ah, here comes Rhone now. Rhone? Take Bryan into the dining room.”

Christina waited until she was once again alone with Lyon, then asked him why he’d suddenly become irritated. “Did I say something to upset you?”

Lyon shook his head. “I can’t take much more of this crowd. Let’s leave. I want to be alone with you.”

“Now?”

“Now,” he announced. To show her he meant exactly what he’d said, he took hold of her hand and started pulling her out the front doorway.

Aunt Harriett cut them off at the bottom step.

Christina had the good grace to look contrite. Lyon looked exasperated.

Aunt Harriett didn’t budge from her position. She reminded Lyon of a centurion, for her hands were settled on her hips and her bosom was heaving forward like a solid plate of armor.

A smile suddenly softened her rigid stance. “I’ve put Christina’s satchel inside your carriage, Lyon. You’ve lasted a good hour longer than I imagined you would.”

Aunt Harriett wrapped Christina in a suffocatingly affectionate hug, then released her.

“Be gentle this night,” she instructed Lyon.

“I shall.”

It was Christina who gave the promise. Both Lyon and his aunt looked at her. “She means me, Christina,” Lyon said dryly.

“You have only to remember that Lyon is your husband now, my dear,” Aunt Harriett announced with a true blush. “Then all your fears will be put to rest.”

Christina didn’t have any idea what the woman was trying to tell her. She kept giving Christina knowing nods, and an intense hawklike stare as well.

Lyon suddenly swept her up into his arms and settled her on his lap inside the carriage. Christina wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, rested the side of her face against his shoulder, and sighed with pleasure.

He smiled against the top of her head.

Neither said a word for quite a while, content to hold each other and enjoy the blissful solitude.

Christina didn’t know where he was taking her, and she didn’t particularly care. They were finally alone, and that was all that mattered to her.

“Christina, you don’t seem frightened of the closed quarters today,” Lyon remarked. He trailed his chin across the top of her forehead in an affectionate caress. “Have you conquered this dislike?”

“I don’t think I have,” Christina answered. “But when you’re holding me so close to you, and when I close my eyes, I do forget my worry.”

It was because she trusted him, Lyon told himself. “I like it when you’re honest with me, Christina,” Lyon said. “And now that we’re married, you must always tell me the truth,” he added, thinking to ease into the topics of love and trust.

“Haven’t I always told you the truth?” Christina asked. She leaned away from him to look up at his face. “Why are you looking so out of sorts? When have I ever lied to you?”

“The Summertons for one,” Lyon drawled.

“Who?”

“Exactly,” Lyon answered. “You told me the Summertons raised you, and we both know that was a lie.”

“A fabrication,” Christina corrected.

“There’s a difference?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s not an answer, Christina,” Lyon said. “It’s an evasion.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Christina asked. She tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips, trying to turn his attention. It was their wedding night, and she really didn’t want to have to lie to him again.

“Are you going to tell me the truth about your past now? Since the Summertons don’t exist …”

“You really are persistent,” Christina muttered. She softened her rebuke with a quick smile. “Very well, Lyon. Since I am your wife, I do suppose I should tell you the full truth.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lyon.”

She settled herself against his shoulder again and closed her eyes. Lyon waited several long minutes before he realized she thought the discussion was over.

“Christina?” he asked, letting his exasperation show. “Who took care of you when you were a little girl?”

“The sisters.”

“What sisters?”

Christina ignored the impatience in his voice. Her mind raced for a new fabrication. “Sister Vivien and Sister Jennifer mostly,” she said. “I lived in a convent, you see, in France. It was a very secluded area. I don’t remember who took me there. I was very young. The sisters were like mothers to me, Lyon. Each night they’d tell me wonderful stories about the places they’d seen.”

“Buffalo stories?” Lyon asked, smiling over the sincerity in her voice.

“Why, as a matter of fact, yes,” Christina answered, warming to her story. She made the decision not to feel guilty about deceiving her husband. Her motives were pure enough. Lyon would only be upset by the truth.

He was English, after all.

“Sister Frances drew a picture of a buffalo for me. Have you ever seen one, Lyon?”

“No,” he answered. “Now tell me more about this convent,” Lyon persisted. His hands caressed her back in a soothing motion.

“Well, as I said, it was in a very isolated spot. A giant wall surrounded the buildings. I was allowed to run barefoot most of the time, for we never had visitors. I was terribly spoiled, but I was still a sweet-tempered child. Sister Mary told me she knew my mother, and that is why they took me in. I was the only child there, of course.”

“How did you learn to defend yourself?” he asked, his voice mild.

“Sister Vivien believed that a woman should know how to protect herself. There weren’t any men around to protect us. It was a reasonable decision.”

Christina’s explanation made good sense. She’d answered his question about her confusion with the English laws, the reason she preferred to go shoeless, and where she’d seen a buffalo. Oh, yes, the explanation tied up some of the dangling strings all right. It was convincing and logical.

He wasn’t buying it for a minute.

Lyon leaned back against the upholstery and smiled. He accepted the fact that time was needed for Christina to learn to trust him with the truth. He’d probably know all there was to know about her before she finally got around to telling him, of course.

Lyon realized the irony. He was determined that Christina would never find out about his past activities. He meant to keep his sins from her, yet he persisted, like a hound after a meaty rabbit, in prodding her into telling him all about herself.

He wasn’t, however, the one insisting he was going home. She was. And Lyon knew full well the mythical convent wasn’t her real destination.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

“Lyon, you’re squeezing the breath right out of me,” Christina protested.

He immediately softened his hold.

They arrived at their destination. Lyon carried her up the steps to his townhouse, through the empty foyer, and up the winding staircase. Christina barely opened her eyes to look around.

His bedroom had been made ready for them. Several candles burned with soft light on the bedside tables. The covers had been drawn back on the huge bed. A fire blazed in the hearth across the room, taking the chill out of the night air.

Lyon placed her on the bed and stood there smiling at her for the longest time. “I’ve sent my staff on ahead to open the country home, Christina. We’re all alone,” he explained as he knelt down and reached for her shoes.

“It’s our wedding night,” Christina said. “I must undress you first. It is the way it should be done, Lyon.”

She flipped her shoes off, then stood beside her husband. After she’d untied the knot of his cravat, she stood back to help him with his jacket.

When his shirt had been removed and her fingers slipped into the waistband of his pants, Lyon couldn’t stand still any longer. Christina smiled when she noticed how his stomach muscles reacted to her touch. She would have continued undressing him, but Lyon wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her up against his chest, and claimed her mouth in a hot, sensual kiss.

For long sweet minutes they teased each other with their hands, their tongues, their whispered words of pleasure.

Lyon had vowed to go slowly this night, to give Christina pleasure first, and he knew that if he didn’t pull away and help her get undressed soon he’d end up ripping another gown off her.

She was trembling when he dragged his mouth away from hers. Her voice had deserted her, and she had to nudge him toward the side of the bed. When he sat down, she pulled off his shoes and socks.

She stood on the platform between Lyon’s legs and slowly worked the fastenings free on her sleeves. It was an awkward task because she couldn’t seem to take her gaze away from Lyon to watch what she was doing.

“You’ll have to help me with the back of my gown,” she said, smiling because her voice sounded so strained to her.

When she turned around, Lyon pulled her down onto his lap. She fought the urge to lean against him, impatient now to get her scratchy gown out of the way. Her hands reached to her coronet, but she’d only pulled one pin free before Lyon pushed her hands away and took over the task. “Let me,” he said, his voice husky.

The heavy curls unwound until the rich, sun-kissed locks fell to her waist. Christina sighed with pleasure. Lyon’s fingers were making her shiver. He slowly lifted the mass to drape it over her shoulder, paused to kiss the back of her neck, and then began the arduous task of unhooking the tiny fastenings.

His heart was slamming against his chest. The scent of her was so appealing, so wonderfully feminine. He wanted to bury his face in her golden curls; he would have given in to his urge if she hadn’t moved against his arousal so impatiently, so enticingly.

Lyon was finally able to get her gown open to her waist. She was wearing a white chemise, but the silk material easily tore free when he slipped his hands inside. He found her breasts and cupped their fullness as he pulled her forcefully back against his chest.

Christina arched against him. His thumbs slid over her nipples, making her breath catch in her throat. Her skin tingled when she rubbed her back against the warm pelt of hair on his chest.

“You feel so good, my love,” Lyon whispered into her ear. He nuzzled her earlobe as he tugged on her gown, lifting her away from him only long enough to push the garment down over her hips.

Christina was too weak to help. Her hips moved against him. Lyon thought her motions were excruciatingly blissful. He kissed the side of her neck, then her shoulder. “Your skin is so smooth, so soft,” he told her.

Christina tried to speak to him, to tell him how very much he pleased her, but his hand slid between her thighs, making her forget her own thoughts. His thumb teased her sensitive nub again and again until the sweet torture threatened to consume her. She called his name with a ragged moan when his fingers penetrated her, then tried to push his hand away. Lyon wouldn’t cease his torment, and she was soon lost to the sensations coursing through her, unable to think much at all. She could only react to the incredible heat. “Lyon, I can’t stop.”

“Don’t fight it, Christina,” Lyon whispered. He increased his pressure until she found her release. Christina arched against him, called his name again.

He could feel the tremors flowing through her. Lyon didn’t remember taking the rest of his clothes off, didn’t know if he’d been gentle or rough when he moved her from his lap to the center of the bed.

Her hair fanned out on top of the pillows, shining almost silver in the candlelight. She was so beautiful. She was still wearing her white stockings. He might have smiled, but the surge of white-hot desire consumed him and he couldn’t be sure.

He came to her then, settling himself between her thighs, wrapping his arms around her. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss and thrust into her tight, moist heat just as his tongue thrust inside her mouth to mate with hers.

Christina put her legs around him, pulling him deeper inside. She met each thrust completely, forcefully, arching with demand when he withdrew.

They both found their release at the same moment.

“I love you, Christina.”

Christina couldn’t answer him. The sweet ecstasy overwhelmed her. She felt like liquid in his strong arms, could only hold onto him until the storm had passed.

Reality was slow to return to Lyon. He wanted never to move. His breathing was harsh, erratic. “Am I crushing you, love?” he asked when she tried to move.

“No,” Christina answered. “But the bed seems to be swallowing me up.”

Lyon leaned up on his elbows to take most of his weight off her. His legs were tangled with hers, and he shifted his thighs to ease the pressure.

His gaze was tender. “Say the words, Christina. I want to hear them.”

Because he fully expected to hear her tell him that she loved him, he wasn’t at all prepared for her tears. “My sweet?” he asked, catching the first drops that fell from her thick lashes with his fingertips. “Are you going to cry every time we make love?”

“I cannot seem to help myself,” Christina whispered between sobs. “You make me feel so wonderful.”

Lyon kissed her again. “You sound like you’re confessing a grave sin,” he said. “Is it so terrible to feel wonderful?”

“No.”

“I love you. In time you’ll give me the words I want. You’re very stubborn, do you know that?”

“You don’t love me,” Christina whispered. “You love—”

His hand covered her mouth. “If you tell me I love a princess, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Christina asked when he moved his hand away from her mouth.

“Be displeased,” Lyon announced, giving her a lopsided grin.

Christina smiled at her husband. Lyon rolled to his side, then pulled her up against him. “Lyon?”

“Yes?”

“Will I always feel as though my soul has merged with yours?”

“I hope so,” Lyon answered. “Very few people are able to share what we’ve—”

“It’s destiny,” Christina said. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “You may laugh at me if you want, but it was our destiny to be with each other. Besides, no other woman would have you.”

Lyon chuckled. “Is that so?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. You’re a scoundrel. Why, you ruined my reputation just to get your way.”

“But you don’t care what others say about you, do you, Christina?”

“Sometimes I do,” she confessed. “It’s a sorry trait, isn’t it? I care what you think of me.”

“I’m glad,” Lyon answered.

Christina closed her eyes with a sigh. The last thing she remembered was Lyon pulling the covers up over them.

Lyon thought she looked like a contented kitten, curled up against him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for very long, and the familiar tension settled in the pit of his stomach. The nightmares would certainly visit him again. He hadn’t missed a night in over two years. His worry was for Christina, of course. He didn’t want to frighten her. No, he knew he’d have to go downstairs and meet his past there, in the privacy of his library.

He closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to savor her warmth just a little longer.

It was his last thought until morning light.

Chapter Eleven

The voyage to the colonies was very difficult. The ocean in winter was angry with giant swells. The bitterness of the frigid air kept me inside my cabin most of the time. I tied myself to my bed with rope the captain had supplied, for I would have been tossed around the room if I hadn’t taken that precaution.

I wasn’t sick in the mornings any longer, and my heart had softened toward you, Christina. I actually thought I’d be able to make a new beginning in the colonies.

I felt so free, so safe. Another ocean would soon separate me from Edward. You see, I didn’t realize he’d come after me.

Journal entry

October 3, 1795

Morning sun flooded the bedroom before Lyon awakened. His first thought was an astonishing one. For the first time in over two years, he’d actually slept through the night. The pleasant realization didn’t last long, however. Lyon rolled to his side to take his wife into his arms, and only then he realized she wasn’t there.

He bolted out of the bed, then thanked God and his quick reflexes, for he’d just missed stepping on her.

She’d obviously fallen out of bed, and in her sound sleep she hadn’t awakened enough to climb back in.

Lyon knelt down next to Christina. He must have slept like an innocent, too, he decided, because he hadn’t heard her fall. She’d dragged one of the blankets with her, and she did look comfortable. Her breathing was deep, even. No, he didn’t think the fall had harmed her.

He gently eased her into his arms. When he stood up, she instinctively cuddled against his chest.

You trust me when you’re sleeping, he thought with a grin as her hands slipped around his waist and he caught her contented sigh.

Lyon stood there holding her for long, peaceful minutes, then placed her in the center of his bed. Her breathing hadn’t changed, and he really didn’t think he’d awakened her, but when he tried to move her hands away from his waist her grip increased.

Christina suddenly opened her eyes and smiled at him.

He smiled back a bit sheepishly, for the way she was watching him made him feel as though he’d just been caught in the act of doing something forbidden.

“You fell out of bed, sweetheart,” he told her.

She thought his comment was vastly amusing. When he questioned her about her laughter, she shook her head, told him he probably wouldn’t understand, and asked why he didn’t just make love to her again and quit frowning so ferociously.

Lyon fell into her arms, and into her plan wholeheartedly.

Christina proved to be just as uninhibited in the morning light as she was during the dark hours of the night. And he was just as satisfied.

He stayed in bed with his hands behind his head, watching his wife as she straightened the room and got dressed. He was amazed by her lack of shyness. She didn’t seem to be the least embarrassed by her nudity. She was dressed all too soon for his liking, in a pretty violet-colored walking gown, and when she began to brush the tangles from her hair, Lyon noticed the length didn’t reach her hips now. No, her hair was waist-length.

“Christina, did you cut your hair?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I like it long,” Lyon said.

“You do?”

She turned from the mirror to smile at him. “Don’t pin it up on top of your head, either,” Lyon ordered. “I like it down.”

“It isn’t fashionable,” Christina quoted. “But I shall bend to my husband’s dictates,” she added with a mock curtsy. “Lyon, are we leaving for your country home today?”

“Yes.”

Christina tied a ribbon around her hair at the back of her neck, a frown of concentration on her face. “How long will it take us?” she asked.

“About three hours, a little longer perhaps,” Lyon answered.

Then came a sound of someone banging on the front door. “Now who do you suppose that could be?” Christina asked.

“Someone with bad manners,” Lyon muttered. He reluctantly got out of bed, reached for his clothing, then quickened his actions when his wife hurried out of the room. “Christina, don’t you open that door until you know who it is,” he bellowed after her.

He stumbled on a piece of sharp metal, let out a curse over his awkwardness, then glanced down to see the handle of Christina’s knife protruding from the edge of the blanket she’d pulled to the floor with her. Now what in heaven’s name was her knife doing there? Lyon shook his head. He determined to question her just as soon as he got rid of their unwanted visitors.

Christina had requested names as Lyon instructed before she unlocked the chains and opened the door.

Misters Borton and Henderson, her grandfather’s solicitors, stood on the front stoop. They both looked terribly uncomfortable. Aunt Patricia was standing between the two men. She looked furious.

Christina wasn’t given time to greet her guests properly or to get out of her aunt’s way. The Countess slapped Christina across her face so forcefully that Christina stumbled backwards.

She would have fallen if Mr. Borton hadn’t grabbed hold of her arm to steady her. Both solicitors were shouting at the Countess, and Henderson endeavored to restrain the wily old woman when she tried to strike Christina again.

“You filthy whore,” the Countess screeched. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear the stories of the vile things you did while I was away? And now you’ve gone and married the bastard!”

“Silence!”

Lyon’s roar shook the walls. Borton and Henderson both took hesitant steps back. The Countess was too angry to show similar caution, however. She turned to glare up at the man who had ruined all her plans.

Christina also turned to look at her husband. The left side of her face was throbbing with pain, but she tried to smile at her husband, to tell him it was really all right.

Lyon was down the stairs and pulling Christina into his arms before she could begin her explanation. He tilted her face up for his scrutiny, then asked her in a voice chilled with his rage, “Who did this to you?”

She didn’t have to answer. The solicitors interrupted each other as they hastened to explain that the Countess had struck her niece.

Lyon turned to Christina’s aunt. “If you ever touch her again, you won’t live to boast of it. Do you understand me?”

The aunt’s eyes turned to slits, and her voice was filled with venom when she answered Lyon. “I know all about you. Yes, you would kill a defenseless woman, wouldn’t you? Christina’s going home with me now. This marriage will be annulled.”

“It will not,” Lyon answered.

“I’ll go to the authorities,” the Countess shouted, so forcefully that the veins stood out in the sides of her neck.

“Do that,” Lyon answered, his voice soft. “And after you’ve spoken to them, I’ll send your friend Splickler to tell them the rest of the story.”

The Countess let out a shrill gasp. “You cannot prove—”

“Oh, but I already have,” Lyon interjected. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes changed his expression. “Splickler has conveniently written everything down on paper, Countess. If you want to make trouble, go right ahead.”

“You can’t believe I had anything to do with Splickler,” the Countess said to Christina. “Why, I was visiting my friend in the country.”

“You were staying all by yourself at the Platte Inn,” Lyon answered.

“You had me followed?”

“I knew you’d lied to Christina,” Lyon announced. “It’s a fact you don’t have any friends, Countess. I was immediately suspicious.”

“Then you’re the one who caused all the mishaps when I tried to return to London before the wedding. I would have stopped it. You knew that, didn’t you, you—”

“Get out of here,” Lyon commanded. “Say goodbye to your niece, Countess. You’re never going to see her again. I’ll see to it.”

“Lyon,” Christina whispered. She was about to soothe his anger. He gave her a gentle squeeze, however, and she assumed he didn’t want her interference.

Christina wished he wouldn’t get so upset on her behalf. It really wasn’t necessary. She understood her aunt far better than Lyon did. She knew how greed motivated her aunt’s every action.

“Christina, do you know you’ve married a cold-blooded murderer? Oh, yes,” the Countess sneered. “England knighted him for his cold-blooded—”

“Madam, hold your tongue,” Mr. Henderson said in a harsh whisper. “It was wartime,” he added, with a sympathetic look at Christina.

Christina could feel the rage in her husband. His hold on her was rigid. She tried to think of a way to calm him and rid them of their uninvited guests. She slipped her hand under his jacket and began to stroke his back, trying to tell him without words that the angry comments didn’t matter to her.

“Mr. Borton? Have you carried along the papers for me to sign?” she asked in a whisper.

“It is your husband who must sign the papers, my dear,” Mr. Henderson answered. “My lord? If you would only give us a few minutes of your time, the funds will be handed over to you without further delay.”

“Funds? What funds?” Lyon asked, shaking his head.

The Countess stomped on the floor. “Christina, if he doesn’t give me my money, I’ll make certain he never wants to touch you again. Yes, I’ll tell him everything. Do you understand me?”

Christina’s soothing strokes on Lyon’s back weren’t helping. She could feel his new fury. She gave him a squeeze.

Lyon had never harmed a woman, but he didn’t think it was an odious thought to murder the evil woman defaming his wife. He was aching to throw her out the door.

“Did this woman come with you or does she have her own carriage?” Lyon asked the two gentlemen.

“Her conveyance is out front,” Henderson answered with a nod.

Lyon turned back to the Countess. “If you aren’t out of here in exactly thirty seconds, I’m going to throw you out.”

“This isn’t over,” the Countess shouted at the Marquess. She glared at Christina. “No, this isn’t over,” she muttered again as she strode out the doorway.

Mr. Borton shut the door and sagged against the frame. Henderson poked at his collar. He held a satchel in his other hand. Suddenly he seemed to remember what his duty was, and he said, “Sir, I do apologize for rushing in on you this way, but the Countess was set on disrupting you.”

“Who in God’s name are you, man?” Lyon asked, his patience at an end.

“He is Mr. Henderson, Lyon, and the man holding up the door is Mr. Borton. They are my grandfather’s solicitors. Let us get this over and done with, please, Lyon? If you’ll take the gentlemen into the library, I shall fetch some soothing tea. My, it has been quite a morning, hasn’t it, husband?”

Lyon stared down at his wife with an incredulous look on his face. She acted as though nothing upsetting had taken place. Then he decided her calm manner was deliberate. “Are you trying to placate me?” he asked.

“Soothing your temper,” Christina corrected. She smiled at her husband, then grimaced against the sting of her swelling skin.

Lyon noticed her discomfort. His grip tightened around her waist. She felt his anger again, had to sigh over it. “I shall go and make the tea now.”

It wasn’t as easy for Lyon to let go of his anger. He was abrupt when he motioned the men into his study, then took great pleasure in slamming the door shut behind him. “This had better be worth the interruption,” he told the men.

Christina deliberately took her time so that Lyon would hear the facts of her grandfather’s will before she interrupted.

She could tell, when Mr. Borton opened the door to her knock and took the tray from her, that the meeting hadn’t gone well. No, he was looking very nervous. Christina glanced over to look at her husband and immediately understood Borton’s worry. Lyon was scowling.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Christina? Damn, you have more money than I do.”

“And that displeases you?” she asked. She poured the tea, handed him the first cup, then continued her task until the solicitors had both been served.

“I don’t believe your wife understood the exact amount left to her by her grandfather,” Mr. Henderson said.

“Is it important, Lyon? It all belongs to you now, doesn’t it? That is what you said earlier, Mr. Borton,” Christina said. “Of course, we must make an allowance for Aunt Patricia. It must be substantial, too.”

Lyon leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Do you really think I’m going to provide for that … that …”

“She cannot help what she is,” Christina interjected. “She’s old, Lyon, and for that reason alone we must provide for her. It isn’t necessary that you like her.”

Christina smiled at their visitors. “At first I believed that my aunt could come and live with us, but I see that wouldn’t work. No, she would never get along with Lyon. Of course, if my husband doesn’t agree to finance her, then I suppose she’ll have to stay with us.”

He knew exactly what she was doing. A slow smile pushed his frown away. His gentle little wife had a pure heart, and a mind worthy of a diplomat. She was manipulating him now, hinting at the ridiculous possibility that the Countess would have to live with them if he didn’t provide for her.

At that moment though, with her smiling so innocently at him, he decided he didn’t want to deny her anything.

“Henderson, if you’ve the stomach for it, I would like to put you and Borton in charge of the Countess’s account. Let me know what is needed to keep Christina’s aunt content enough to leave us alone.”

While Christina patiently waited, the details were worked out. She then saw the gentlemen out the door and hurried back into the library.

“Thank you, husband, for being so understanding,” she said as she walked over to stand beside him.

Lyon pulled her down into his lap. “You knew damn well I’d do anything to keep that old bat away from you. God’s truth, I’d even quit the country if I had to.”

“Thank you for not calling my aunt an old bat in front of our guests,” Christina said.

“I was about to,” Lyon answered, grinning. “You knew that, of course. It’s the reason you interrupted me, wasn’t it?”

Christina wrapped her arms around Lyon’s neck. “Yes,” she whispered. She leaned forward to nuzzle the base of his throat. “You are such a shrewd man.”

Lyon’s hand rested on her thigh. His other hand was busy pulling the ribbon out of her hair. “Christina, what weapon does the Countess hold over you?”

The softly spoken question caught her unprepared. “I don’t understand your meaning, Lyon. My aunt doesn’t have any weapons.”

“Christina, I saw the fear in your eyes when the Countess said she’d tell me everything. What did she mean?”

He felt the sudden tension in her, knew then she understood exactly what the threat was. “You’re going to have to tell me the truth, Christina. I can’t protect you unless I know whatever secrets there are.”

“I don’t want to talk about it now, Lyon,” she announced. She started to nibble on her husband’s ear, hoping to distract him. “We are newly married, after all, and I’d rather be kissing you.”

He told himself he wouldn’t let her waylay his topic, tried to ignore the surge of desire hardening his loins when Christina moved against his arousal, but when she boldly whispered into his ear how much she wanted him to touch her he decided to give in to her demand before asking her any more questions.

His mouth had never felt as wonderful to Christina. The fear of his rejection when he learned all her secrets made her feel almost desperate to take and to give as much as she could now, before the truth was turned against her.

His kiss was magical, soon robbing her of all her frightening thoughts. Yes, it was magic, for Lyon made her feel so desirable, so loved.

The kiss exploded into raw passion. His breathing was harsh when he pulled away from her. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he rasped.

“Why?”

“Because I want to make love to you,” Lyon answered, trying to smile over her innocent question. He was literally shaking with his need for her.

“I want to make love to you, too,” Christina whispered between fervent kisses along his jaw. “Do we have to go back upstairs? I don’t want to wait that long.”

His laughter confused her until he lifted her off his lap and started undressing her. Then she decided he was pleased by her idea.

They came together in wild abandon, fell to the floor in one fluid motion.

Christina was stretched out on top of Lyon, her legs tangled with his. Her hair fell to the floor, on the sides of Lyon’s profile, acting as a shield against the outside world.

She was content to stare into her husband’s eyes for a long moment, to savor the anticipation of the splendor only he could give her. Lyon’s hands stroked shivers down her spine. The heat of his arousal warmed her belly, and the hairs on his chest tickled her nipples into hardening.

“I’m shameless, for I can’t seem to get enough of you,” she whispered.

Lyon cupped her soft, rounded bottom in his hands. “I wouldn’t want you any other way,” he told her. “Kiss me, wife. Christina, all you have to do is look at me and I start throbbing.”

Christina kissed his chin while she slowly, deliberately rubbed her breasts and her thighs against him.

He groaned with pleasure. His hands moved to the back of her head. He forced her mouth upward to seal it with his own. His tongue plunged hungrily inside to taste again the intoxicating sweetness she offered him.

Christina was more impatient than he was. She moved to straddle him, then slowly lowered herself until he was completely inside her. She leaned back, tossing her hair over her shoulder in an utterly wanton motion. Lyon pulled his legs up until his knees pressed against her smooth back. His hands fell to cup the sides of her hips. “Don’t let me hurt you,” he ground out. “Slow down, love. I won’t be able to stop.”

He quit his protests when he felt her tighten around him, knew she was about to find her own release. His hand slid into the silky triangle of curls nestled against him. His fingers stroked her there until the fire consumed her and she turned into liquid gold in his arms.

He spilled his seed into her with a harsh groan of blissful surrender, then pulled her down to cover his chest, to hold her close, to share the rapture.

It had never been this good. It kept getting better, too, Lyon realized when his mind could form a logical thought again. “You’re a wild tigress,” he whispered to Christina in a voice that sounded thoroughly satisfied.

Christina propped her chin on her hands and stared down at her husband. “No, I am your lioness,” she whispered.

He didn’t dare laugh. Christina had sounded so terribly serious, as if what she’d just told him was of high importance. He nodded, giving her his agreement while his fingers combed through the tumble of luxuriant curls covering her back. He lifted and then rearranged the strands in an absentminded fashion as he stared into his wife’s magnificent blue eyes.

“Do you know, when you look at me like that I immediately lose my concentration,” he told her.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Christina announced. She leaned down to kiss him again. “You feel so good inside me,” she whispered against his mouth. “And now you must give me the soft words, Lyon.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by soft words, but she looked serious again. She’d stacked her hands under her chin and was staring down at him with an expectant look on her face.

“What are soft words, Christina? Tell me and I’ll give them to you.”

“You must tell me what is inside your heart,” she instructed.

“Ah,” Lyon drawled. His eyes took on a tender look when he added, “I love you, Christina.”

“And?”

“And what?” Lyon asked, exasperated. “Christina, I never thought I’d be able to love again. And to actually get married … you’ve made me change all my old ways. I do not tell you I love you on a whim, Christina.”

“But I already know you love me,” Christina answered. “I didn’t want you to, but I do admit it still pleases me. Now you must praise me, Lyon. It’s the way it’s done.”

“I don’t understand,” Lyon said. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he added with a wink. He looked around the room and saw the chaos their hastily discarded clothing had made. The fact that he was stretched out on the carpet in his library with his uninhibited wife draped over him, trying to have a logical conversation, vastly amused him. “Do you think you’re always going to be so shameless, my sweet?”

“Do not change this topic, Lyon. You must tell me I’m as beautiful as a flower in spring, as soft and delicate as a flower’s petal. And why is that amusing to you? A woman must feel as desirable after loving as before, Lyon.”

He quit smiling when he realized she was about to cry.

Lyon understood what she needed now. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes. He cupped the sides of her face and leaned up to kiss her. It was a soft, tender caress meant to remove her worry, her tears.

And then he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her all the soft words she longed to hear.

Chapter Twelve

It wasn’t a very joyful reunion with my sister. Patricia acted just like Father. She was happy to see me until she realized Edward wasn’t with me. Patricia’s husband, Alfred, was as kind as I remembered, and he made my stay as pleasant as he could. Patricia told me they’d broken all their engagements to stay home with me, but after a while I realized they didn’t have any friends at all. Patricia hated the people of Boston, and I believed the feeling was reciprocated.

My sister longed to go back to England. She fashioned a ridiculous plan. Once she was convinced I meant to stay in the colonies and never return to my husband, she announced that I must give her my baby. She would pass the child off as her own.

She tried to make me believe she wanted to be a mother, that her life wouldn’t be filled until she had a child to call her own. I knew the truth, of course. Patricia hadn’t changed over the time we’d been separated. No, she wanted a grandchild to give our father. An heir. Father would forgive her transgressions; he’d want to provide well for his only grandchild.

I was vehemently against this deception, Christina. I knew greed was my sister’s only reason. I told her I’d never give my child away. Patricia ignored my protests. I saw her destroy a letter I’d given her husband to post to London for me. I was able to get one letter past her scrutiny, though, and I was also secure in the knowledge that my father would find the missive I’d left behind in his winter chest.

Albert kept me supplied with the daily papers to keep my mind occupied while I awaited your birth, and it was quite by chance that I came upon an article about the frontier people.

Journal entry

October 5, 1795

Lyon and Christina set out for his country manor shortly after a picnic luncheon Christina had insisted upon. They ate crusty bread, cheese, sliced mutton, and plump apple tarts. The fare was spread out on a soft blanket Christina had dragged down from upstairs. Lyon had instinctively reached for his pants, thinking to get dressed first, but his wife had laughed at his modesty, and he’d been easily convinced there really wasn’t any need to be in such a hurry.

They were both covered with a layer of dust by the time they arrived at their destination, thanks to Christina’s plea to ride in an open carriage and Lyon’s agreement to let her have her way.

During the journey he tried to bring up the subject of her father several times, but Christina easily evaded his questions. And once they’d put the city behind them, the beauty of the surrounding wilderness kept Christina fully occupied. Her amazement was obvious. It didn’t take Lyon long to realize she had believed all of England was like London.

“Why would you ever want to go into the city when you could stay in such splendor?” Christina asked him.

Splendor? Lyon hadn’t thought of the countryside in such a way. Yet the pleasure he could see in his wife’s expression made him open his mind to the raw beauty around him.

“We take for granted what is familiar to us,” Lyon excused.

“Look around you, Lyon. See God’s gifts,” Christina instructed.

“Will you promise me something, Christina?” Lyon asked.

“If I am able,” she answered.

“Never change,” he whispered.

He’d meant it as a compliment and was therefore confused by her reaction. Christina clasped her hands in her lap and bowed her head for a long minute. When she finally looked up at him again, she was frowning.

“My dear, I haven’t asked you how to settle England’s debts,” Lyon remarked. “And my question was irrelevant anyway. I’ll make certain you don’t change.”

“How will you do that?” Christina asked.

“Remove all temptations,” Lyon announced with a nod.

“Temptations?”

“Never mind, my sweet. Quit frowning. It will be all right.”

“Did Lettie change?”

She knew he didn’t like her question. That irritated her, of course, for it was the very first question about his past she’d ever put to him. “Did you love your wife very much, Lyon?” she asked.

“Lettie’s dead, Christina. You’re all that matters to me now.”

“Why is it quite all right for you to prod me about my past and not acceptable for me to ask you questions? Your scowl won’t work with me, Lyon. Please answer me. Did you love Lettie?”

“It was a long time ago,” Lyon said. “I thought I did … in the beginning …”

“Before she changed,” Christina whispered. “She wasn’t what you thought she should be, isn’t that the way of it?”

“No, she wasn’t.” His voice had taken on the familiar chill.

“You still haven’t forgiven her, have you, Lyon? Whatever did she do to hurt you so?”

“You’re being fanciful,” Lyon announced. “How in God’s name did we get on this topic?”

“I’m trying to understand,” Christina answered. “Your sister told me you loved Lettie. Is it so painful you cannot even speak her name?”

“Christina, would you prefer that I act like my mother? All she’ll talk of is James,” he added.

“Lyon, I’d like our time together to be filled with joy. If I knew how Lettie changed, perhaps I wouldn’t make the same mistakes.”

“I love you just the way you are. And I’m damned tired of hearing our marriage is only for a short duration. Get this through your head, woman. We’re married until death separates us.”

“Or until I change like Lettie did,” Christina answered. Her voice was just as loud, just as angry as his had been.

“You aren’t going to change.”

Lyon suddenly realized he was shouting at her. “This is a ridiculous conversation. I love you.”

“You love a princess.”

“I don’t give a damn if you’re a princess or not. I love you.”

“Ha.”

“What in God’s name is that supposed to mean?” Lyon reached out to pull her into his arms. “I cannot believe we’re yelling at each other like this.”

“Lyon, I’m not a princess.”

She’d whispered the confession against his shoulder. Lord, she sounded so forlorn. Lyon’s anger evaporated. “Good,” he whispered.

“Why is it good?” Christina asked.

“Because now you can’t tell me I love a princess,” he reasoned with a smile in his voice. “I didn’t marry you because of your title.”

“Then why? You’ve told me I’m not at all sensible, that I try to make you daft—”

“Your money.”

“What?” Christina pulled out of his arms to look into his face. There was a definite sparkle in his eyes. “You’re jesting with me. You didn’t know I had any money until after we’d wed.”

“How astute of you to remember,” Lyon said. He kissed the frown away from her face, then draped his arm around her shoulder.

Christina rested against his shoulder. The continuous clip of the horses and the rocking motion of the carriage made her sleepy and content.

“Lyon? You haven’t asked me why I married you,” she whispered several minutes later.

“I already know why you married me, love.”

She smiled over his arrogant comment. “Then explain it to me, please. I still haven’t come to understand it.”

He gave her a squeeze to let her know he wasn’t amused by her announcement. “First, there are the scars. You happen to love my flawed body.”

“And how would you know that?” she asked, pretending outrage.

“You can’t keep your hands off me,” he told her. “Second, I remind you of a warrior.”

Christina shook her head. “You haven’t any humility,” she told him. “And you are a warrior, Lyon. A vain one, yes, but a warrior all the same.”

“Ah, vanity,” Lyon drawled. “Does that mean you might have to use your knife on me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lady Cecille. You did threaten to—”

“So you were listening to our conversation in the library.” Christina sounded stunned. “You lied to me. That is shameful.”

“I lied to you?” Lyon’s voice was incredulous. “You, of course, have always been honest with me.”

“You will have to cast Lady Cecille aside,” Christina announced, flipping the subject to avoid another argument. “I won’t be wed to a roamer.”

“A what?”

“A man who chases other women,” Christina explained. “I shall be true to you, and you must be true to me. Even though it is fashionable in England to take a lover, you aren’t going to have one. And that’s that.”

He was surprised by the vehemence in her tone. He hadn’t known she had such an assertive manner. In truth, her demand pleased him immensely. “You’re a bossy bit of goods, do you know that?” he whispered. He kissed her again in a leisurely fashion.

Christina realized he hadn’t given her his promise, but she decided not to press the issue. Later would be soon enough.

She was about to fall asleep when they reached Lyonwood. Lyon nudged her out of her sleepy state. “We’re home, Christina.”

The carriage rounded the curve in the road. The wilderness suddenly disappeared.

The land had been transformed into a lush, well-manicured lawn. There were sculptured bushes lining the circle drive of gravel, with wildflowers of bold colors woven between the trees. At the top of the gently sloping hill stood Lyon’s magnificent home.

Christina thought it looked like a palace. The house was made of gray and brown stone, double storied, with windows one above the other all across the front of the house. Bright green ivy splattered the stones.

“Lyonwood is as handsome as its master,” Christina whispered. “I shall never remember how to get around.”

“You get around me well enough,” Lyon remarked. “I’m sure you’ll conquer your new home just as swiftly.”

Christina smiled at his teasing manner. “How many of your family members live here with you? Will I meet all of your relatives today, do you suppose?”

“I suppose not,” Lyon answered. “I live by myself.” He laughed when he saw her astonished reaction. “Now, of course, my gentle little wife will live with me.”

“How many bedchambers are there?”

“Just twelve,” Lyon answered with a shrug. The carriage stopped in the center of the circle just as the front door opened. Lyon’s butler, a stout, dark-haired young man by the name of Brown, led the parade of servants down the four steps. The staff lined up behind their leader. Their uniforms were starched, as well as their stance, and though they kept their expressions contained, every gaze was directed upon their new mistress.

Lyon refused assistance in helping his wife out of the carriage. Her hands were cold and her nose pink from the brisk, windy ride. He thought she might be a bit nervous meeting his servants for the first time, and so he kept her hand clasped in his.

It didn’t take him long to realize she wasn’t the least bit nervous. Her manner was worthy of a queen … or a princess, Lyon thought with a grin. There was an air of quiet dignity in her bearing. She was gracious as she greeted each one, attentive when she listened to their explanations of what their duties were.

She captivated them, of course, just as she’d captivated him. Even Brown, his dour-faced butler, was affected. When Christina took hold of his hand and announced that it was obvious to her he’d done his duty well, the man’s face broke into a spontaneous smile.

“I shall not give you interference, Mr. Brown,” she explained.

Brown looked relieved at that announcement. He turned then to address his employer. “My lord, we have prepared both your chamber and the adjoining one for the Marchioness.”

Christina looked up at her husband, fully expecting him to set the man straight. When Lyon simply nodded and took hold of her elbow to walk up the steps, she forced a smile for the watching servants while she whispered her displeasure to her husband.

“I shall not have my own room, Lyon. I am your wife now. I must share your blankets. And I really don’t want a lady’s maid.” Looking around, she added, “Heavens, Lyon, this entryway is larger than your whole townhouse.”

Christina wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d heard an echo. The entrance was gigantic. The floors were polished to a gleam. There was a large sitting room on the left, another of equal proportions on the right. A hallway began to the left of the circular staircase. Lyon explained that the dining room was adjacent to the sitting room, with the gardens behind. The kitchens, he added, were on the opposite side.

Their bedrooms were linked by a door. “I’ll have your clothes moved in here,” Lyon told Christina when she gave him a good frown. He motioned to his bed with a raised eyebrow and asked her if she’d like to see if it was comfortable enough.

“You look just like a rascal,” Christina laughed. “I should like a bath, Lyon, and then I would like to see your stables. You do keep horses here, don’t you?”

“But you don’t like to ride,” Lyon reminded her.

“Never mind that,” Christina answered.

“Christina, if you don’t think you’ll be happy with Kathleen, I will assign the task of lady’s maid to another.”

“Oh, Kathleen seems very capable,” Christina answered. “I just don’t want any maids.”

“Well, you’re having one,” Lyon announced. “I won’t always be here to fasten your gowns, love, so quit scowling at me.

Christina sauntered over to the windows. “You’re a bossy bit of goods, do you know that, Lyon?” she announced.

Lyon grabbed her from behind. He placed a wet kiss on the column of her throat. “I really insist that you try the bed.”

“Now?”

Christina turned to watch Lyon walk over to the door. When he turned the lock and faced her again she could see he wasn’t jesting. He gave her his most intimidating look, then motioned her over with an arrogant nod of his head.

“I’m covered with dust.”

“So am I.”

She was already breathless, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

Christina kicked off her shoes and walked over to the bed. “Will you always be this demanding with your wife?” she asked him.

“Yes,” Lyon answered. He discarded his jacket and his shoes, then went to Christina. “Will my wife always be this submissive?” he asked as he pulled her into his arms.

“It’s the wife’s duty, isn’t it, to be submissive to her husband?” Christina asked.

“It is,” Lyon answered. His hands moved to the fastenings on her dress. “Oh, yes, it definitely is.”

“Then I shall be submissive, Lyon,” Christina announced. “When it suits me.”

“A man can’t ask for more than that,” Lyon said with a grin.

Christina threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. She wasn’t submissive now. Her tongue darted inside his mouth to rub against his. She knew he liked her aggressiveness. His hold tightened around her waist and he growled his pleasure.

“My love, I think I’m going to tear another gown,” he whispered.

He didn’t sound overly contrite. And his wife’s soft laughter told him it really didn’t matter to her.

The following two weeks were as wonderful and magical to Christina as the early pages of Sir Thomas Mallory’s story of Camelot. The weather accommodated her fantasy, for it only rained during the black night hours.

Christina and Lyon spent most of the sun-filled days exploring the vast wilderness surrounding his home.

She was amazed that one man could own so much land.

He was astonished that one woman could know so much about it.

Christina gave him the gift of awareness and a new appreciation for the wonders of nature.

Lyon began to realize how important her freedom was to her. She was happiest when they were outside. Her joy was contagious. Lyon found himself laughing with just as much joy as he tramped through the jungle of bushes in pursuit of his wife.

They always ended their days in front of a peaceful stream they’d chanced upon quite by accident their first day out, and usually soaked their feet in the cool water while they ate the meal the cook had thoughtfully prepared for them.

On one such afternoon, Lyon decided to tease his wife. He plucked a leaf from the nearest shrub and pretended that he was going to eat it. Christina wasn’t amused. She slapped the leaf out of his hand, admonished him for his ignorance, and then explained that the leaf was poisonous and that he shouldn’t be putting plants in his mouth anyway. If he was that hungry, she’d be more than happy to give him her portion of their meal.

Friday morning arrived too soon for Lyon’s liking. He had to return to London to meet with Rhone and their unknowing victims for a game of cards.

Lyon was extremely reluctant to leave his gentle little wife even for one evening.

Lyon awakened early to find his wife sound asleep on the floor again. He immediately lifted her into his arms and put her back in his bed. Her skin felt cold to him, and he used his hands and his mouth to warm her.

He was hard and throbbing when Christina finally opened her eyes. His mouth was fastened on her breast, his tongue like rough velvet as it brushed against her nipple. He began to suckle while his hands stoked the growing fire inside her.

He knew just where to touch, just how to drive her wild. His fingers slipped inside her, drawing a breathless moan from her, then withdrew to tease and torment, and then thrust inside again.

Christina wanted to touch him. “Lyon.” She could barely get his name out. His mouth had moved to her stomach to place wet, hot kisses there while his fingers continued their magic.

She couldn’t catch her breath. “Tell me you want this,” Lyon demanded, his voice hoarse now. His head was slowly moving toward the junction of her legs. “Tell me, Christina,” he whispered. His breath was warm against her sensitive skin. His fingers plunged deep and then withdrew to be replaced by his mouth, his tongue.

What he was doing to her made her forget to breathe. Her eyes were tightly closed and her hands clutched the sheets. The pressure grew inside her until it consumed her. Emotion swept through her like a blaze out of control.

“Lyon!”

“Do you like this, love?”

“Yes. Oh, God, yes … Lyon, I’m going to—”

“Let it happen, Christina,” he demanded in a rough, husky voice.

He wouldn’t let her hold on to her control. The tension was unbearable as the fire rushed through her body.

Christina arched against him, cried out his name in a soft gasp. The splendor still captivated her when Lyon plunged inside her.

He was too greedy to hold back. His breathing was ragged against her ear.

“You like this, don’t you, love?” he demanded.

“Yes, Lyon,” she whispered.

“Put your legs around me, take me …” The order ended on an intense groan. Christina had wrapped her arms and her legs around him, pulling him high inside her. Her nails raked his shoulders, her grip tight and sweet, as tight and sweet and hot as her sheath.

He grunted his satisfaction. Christina slowly moved her hips. “Do you like that, Lyon?” she whispered as she pushed up against him again.

He couldn’t answer her. But his body showed her how very much he did like it. And when he spilled his seed into her, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

An hour later, Lyon walked with Christina down the steps, his arm draped around her shoulders possessively.

Brown was waiting at the bottom of the steps. After announcing that the stablemaster had Lyon’s mount ready and waiting out front, the butler discreetly withdrew so that the Marquess could have another minute alone with his wife to give her a proper farewell.

“Christina, when you get over your fear of horses we’ll go riding every—”

“I’m not afraid of horses,” Christina interrupted. Her voice sounded outraged. “We’ve had this discussion before, Lyon. I fear the saddles, not the animals. There is a difference.”

“You’re not going to ride without a saddle,” Lyon announced. “And that’s that.”

“You’re too stubborn for my own good,” she muttered. “I don’t want you to fall and break your pretty little neck.”

Lyon opened the front door, grabbed hold of Christina’s hand, and dragged her outside.

Christina was frowning. She thought he might have insulted her again. Then she reasoned he couldn’t know how skilled she was with a good mount. Perhaps he hadn’t slandered her after all but was truly concerned for her safety or, as he’d just put it, her pretty little neck.

She wondered what he’d think if he found out she went out riding most mornings. He’d be upset with her, she supposed. She had to sigh over that little deception, then cast her guilt aside. She was always back in his bed before he awakened and really wasn’t worried he’d find out. Wendell, the stablemaster, wouldn’t say anything to Lyon. No, Wendell was a man of few words. Besides, he thought she’d gained Lyon’s permission.

“Christina, I’ll be back home by noon tomorrow,” Lyon said, interrupting her thoughts. He tilted her chin up and kissed her soundly.

When he started down the steps, Christina hurried after him. “I still don’t understand why I can’t go with you. I would like to see your sister, and your mama, too, Lyon.”

“Next time, sweetheart. Diana will be going to Martin’s party tonight.”

“Will Aunt Harriett also be going?”

“Probably,” Lyon answered.

“I could go with them,” Christina suggested.

“I thought you liked it here in the country,” Lyon returned. “You do, don’t you?”

“Yes, very much. But I’m your wife, Lyon. I should do my duty with your relatives. Do you know, it’s rather odd of me to admit, but I did enjoy some of the parties. There were some very nice people I would like to see again.”

“No.”

His voice was so firm, Christina was immediately perplexed. “Why don’t you want me to go with you? Have I done something to displease you?”

Lyon reacted to the worry in her voice. He paused to look down at her, then gave in to his sudden urge to kiss her again. “Nothing you could ever do would displease me. If you want to attend some of the parties, you’ll wait until I can go with you.”

“May I play cards with you and the mischief makers?” she asked. “I’ve never played before, but I’m certain it wouldn’t be too difficult to master.”

Lyon hid his amusement. His wife was obviously serious in her request. The sincerity in her voice said as much. “I’ll teach you another time, Christina. If you wish, I’ll wait while you write a note to Diana and Aunt Harriett.”

Christina could tell by his manner that he wasn’t going to give in to her plea to go along. “I’ve already written to everyone, even Elbert and my Aunt Patricia,” she informed him. “Brown sent a messenger with my letters yesterday.”

They walked on, hand in hand. When they reached his mount, he turned. “I have to leave now, my sweet.”

“I know.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so pitiful. The fact that Lyon was leaving was distressing, yes, but not nearly as much as his casual, dismissive attitude. She didn’t think he was going to mind the separation at all. She, on the other hand, minded very much.

It wasn’t like her to be so clinging. She couldn’t seem to let go of his hand. What in heaven’s name was the matter with her? Lord, she felt like crying. He was only going to be away for one night, she told herself, not an eternity.

Lyon kissed her on her forehead. “Do you have anything you wish to say to me before I leave, Christina?”

His voice coaxed a response. Christina dropped his hand. “No.”

Lyon let out a long sigh. He took hold of her hand again and dragged her off to the side of the path so that the stablemaster wouldn’t overhear him. “I’ll miss you,” he said.

His voice wasn’t coaxing now, but brisk.

Christina smiled.

“Damn it, wife, I want the soft words,” he muttered. He immediately felt like a fool for making such a ridiculous confession.

“Damn it, Lyon, I want to go to London with you.”

“Christina, you’re staying here,” Lyon bellowed. He drew a deep breath, then added in a furious whisper, “I love you, Christina. Now tell me you love me. I’ve waited all week to hear you admit it.”

She gave him a disgruntled look. Lyon wasn’t waylaid. “I’m waiting, Christina.”

“Have a safe journey, Lyon.”

Lyon hadn’t realized how important it was for him to hear her tell him she loved him until his demand was so thoroughly ignored. He stood there feeling angry and defeated, his gaze brooding as he watched Christina walk away from him.

“Hell,” he muttered to himself. He mounted his steed, accepted the reins from Wendell, yet seemed incapable of nudging his stallion into moving. He couldn’t even tear his gaze off the stubborn woman strolling to the front door.

Christina couldn’t dismiss him this time. Her hand shook when she took hold of the brass door handle. He was so horribly stubborn. He constantly prodded and nagged. He wouldn’t let her shield her feelings from him. But he didn’t understand the significance of what he was asking of her. Once she’d given him the words, there could be no going back.

No, she’d never be able to go home.

A half smile changed her expression. The truth was both painful and joyful. She’d never really been given a choice in the matter, had she? From the moment she’d met Lyon, her heart had known the truth. Why had it taken her mind so long to accept?

Christina looked over her shoulder. Tears clouded her vision. “Hurry home, Lyon. I will be waiting for you.”

“Say the words, Christina.” He’d shouted this time, and the look on his face showed his anger.

“I love you.”

Several heartbeats passed before he acknowledged her admission. And then he gave her a curt nod. Oh, he was arrogant. But his expression was tender, caring, so very loving.

It was quite enough. Christina hid her smile. A feeling of contentment and joy filled her. She suddenly felt as light as the wind.

The truth had set her free.

Christina opened the door and started to walk inside when her husband’s bellow stopped her. “Wife?”

“Yes, husband?”

“Tell me you trust me as well.”

She turned around again. Her hands settled on her hips. She hoped he could see her exasperation. “Don’t push me, Lyon. Savor one victory at a time, like any noble warrior would.”

Lyon shouted with laughter. “Yes, Christina, one victory at a time. I’ve got you now, haven’t I?” he asked, his voice and his eyes filled with merriment.

The man was gloating again.

Christina strolled over to the top step. “Yes, Lyon, you’ve got me. And when you come home from London, you’re going to find out just exactly what you’ve gotten. No more pretenses, husband. No more lies.”

“I couldn’t be happier,” Lyon remarked.

“Enjoy the feeling, Lyon. I fear it will not last long.”

She’d called the warning over her shoulder. The front door slammed shut before Lyon could question her further.

Lyon felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders—and from his heart. She loved him. “The rest will come, wife,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll see to it.”

He’d never felt so confident, so very, very peaceful.

The feeling wasn’t going to last long.

Chapter Thirteen

You were only three months old when I bundled you up and set out on another adventure. I left in the dead of night so that Patricia wouldn’t be able to stop me. I didn’t leave a note for her, for I believed she’d send men after me.

You were such a precious infant. Upon reflection, I think the journey was far more difficult for me than for you. You’d just begun to smile, and you were such a sweet-tempered little one.

I had made arrangements to travel with Jacob and Emily Jackson. I’d met them through Sunday church, you see, and took to them at once. They were a newly wedded couple who had sold their wedding gifts so that they’d have enough coins to go in search of a new life. They were very appreciative of my contributions. Emily took to you, too, Christina. She’d sing to you and rock you to sleep while I saw to the night meals.

Jacob was a man bitten by wanderlust. Every evening he’d tell us the most wonderful stories about the courageous people living in the Black Hills. His brother had already taken his family there and had sent Jacob word that he was prospering as a gentleman farmer.

Jacob’s fever was contagious. I soon became as excited as he was. Emily told me there were many unattached men working the raw land, that I would surely find a good man to marry. I led them to believe my husband had recently died, I admit to you, and I felt great shame for lying to them.

I told myself over and over that the lie didn’t count. Edward would never find me in this vast wilderness.

We joined another wagon train when we reached what I believed was the end of the earth. I fought my exhaustion. Emily was always so cheerful. And then, on a bleak, rainy afternoon, we finally reached the valley below the most magnificent mountains I’d ever seen.

I remember that it was a bitterly cold day. It didn’t matter, though. We were free, Christina. Free. No one could hurt us now.

Journal entry

October 11, 1795

Lyon had been gone for over an hour when two letters arrived. Both were addressed to Christina, and both required her immediate attention.

After instructing Kathleen to take the messenger into the kitchens for refreshments, Christina took her letters into Lyon’s study.

The first missive came from her Aunt Patricia. It was a hateful note, filled with defaming remarks about Lyon. The Countess told Christina she’d learned the truth about the Marquess and felt it was her duty to warn her niece that she was married to a murderer.

The Countess then demanded that Christina return to London immediately so that she could accompany her aunt to the various functions of the ton. She whined about the disgraceful fact that she hadn’t received a single invitation since Christina’s outrageous marriage.

Christina shook her head. It had been less than a month since the wedding, but her aunt was carrying on as though a full year had passed.

The Countess ended her list of complaints with the statement that she was sending along a letter she’d received from the missionary Deavenrue.

She hoped Christina didn’t find ill news.

Christina was immediately suspicious. It wasn’t like her aunt to offer such a good-hearted remark. She thought the Countess might be up to her usual tricks. She was familiar with her former teacher’s handwriting, however, and the flourishing style of his script on the envelope indicated that he had in fact written the letter. The seal on the back of the envelope hadn’t been tampered with, either.

Convinced that the letter was really from her dear friend, Christina finally opened it.

Brown was the first to react to the heart-wrenching scream coming from the library. He rushed into the room and nearly lost his composure altogether when he saw his mistress had collapsed on the floor.

He shouted orders over his shoulder as he knelt down beside the Marchioness. Kathleen, Christina’s maid, came running next. When she saw her mistress, she gave a yell. “Did she swoon? What made her cry out, Brown? Is she hurt?”

“Cease your questions, woman,” Brown snapped. He carefully lifted his mistress into his arms, then noticed that she clutched a letter in her hands. He decided that whatever news she’d just received had caused her to faint. “Go and prepare your lady’s bed, Kathleen,” he whispered. “She doesn’t weigh more than a feather. God help us all if she’s ill.”

Most of the staff had assembled, and they trailed silently behind Brown as he carried Christina up the winding staircase. Kathleen had hurried on ahead to turn down the bed, but Brown walked right past Christina’s bedroom and continued on into his master’s quarters.

“She’ll find comfort here when she wakes up,” he whispered to the cook. “They are a very close couple. She sleeps in here every night.”

“Do we send for the Marquess?” Kathleen asked between sobs.

“Get Sophie,” Brown ordered. “She’ll know what to do about the swoon. Is the messenger still here?”

When Kathleen nodded, Brown said, “I shall send a message to the Marquess with him. Lewis,” he commanded the gardener, “go and delay him.”

Christina opened her eyes just as Brown was awkwardly pulling the covers over her. “Do not make a fuss over me, Brown.”

“Are you in pain, milady?” Brown asked, his voice ragged with worry. “I’ve sent for Sophie. She’ll know what to do,” he added, trying to force the tremor out of his voice.

Christina struggled to sit up just as a large gray-headed woman came rushing into the room. She grabbed two pillows and tucked them behind Christina’s back.

“What do you think it is, Sophie?” Kathleen asked. “She let out a horrible scream and then fainted dead away.”

“I heard her,” Sophie announced. She slapped the back of her hand against Christina’s forehead. Her manner was brisk, her frown intense. “Best send for Winters, Brown. She feels fevered to me. Winters is your husband’s physician,” Sophie explained to Christina.

“I’m not ill,” Christina protested. She was surprised her voice sounded so weak to her. “Brown, do not send for a physician. I’m quite all right now. But I must go to London immediately. Please bring the carriage around front for me. Kathleen, would you see to packing a few of my gowns for me?”

“Milady, you cannot leave this bed. You are ill whether you know it or not,” Sophie exclaimed. “You’re as pale as a cloud. Yes, you are.”

“I must go to my husband,” Christina argued. “He will know what to do.”

“It was the letter that caused your swoon, wasn’t it?” Kathleen asked, wringing her hands.

Brown turned to glare at the maid. Kathleen was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry for prying, milady, but we are all so concerned. You gave us all a scare, and we’ve come to care about you.”

Christina tried to smile. “And I care about all of you,” she said. “Yes, Kathleen, it was the letter.”

“Was it bad news?” Kathleen asked.

“Of course it was bad news, you silly chit,” Brown muttered. “Anyone with half a mind can see that it was,” he added. “Milady, is there anything I can do to ease your distress?”

“Yes, Brown,” Christina answered. “Don’t fight me when I tell you I must leave for London at once. Please help me, Brown. I beg of you.”

“I would do anything for you,” Brown blurted out in a fervent voice. He blushed and added, “The Marquess will be upset by this change in orders, but if you are truly set on going, I shall send four strong men to accompany you. Kathleen, hurry and do your lady’s bidding.”

“Will I be going with you?” Kathleen asked her mistress.

“You will,” Brown announced before Christina could dissuade her eager maid.

“I would like a few minutes alone,” Christina whispered. “I must grieve in privacy.”

They understood then. Someone close to their mistress had passed away.

Brown immediately ushered the servants out of the bedroom. He hesitated after closing the door behind him, then stood there, feeling impotent and unworthy, as he listened to his mistress’s tormented sobs.

He didn’t know how to help her. Brown straightened his shoulders and hurried down the hall. The welfare of his mistress rested on his shoulders now. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He decided to send six men along instead of four to protect the Marchioness.

And though it was highly unusual for a butler to leave his post as guardian of the household, Brown didn’t care. He wasn’t going to leave his mistress’s side until she was safely in her husband’s arms. Yes, he would go along with the assembly. And if he could remember how to hang onto a mount, he just might lead them.

Christina had no idea of the worry she was causing her staff. She huddled under the covers, hugging Lyon’s pillow to her bosom, weeping softly.

When her tears were spent, she slowly climbed out of the bed and went in search of her scissors. She would cut her hair and begin the mourning ritual.

As of this moment, her Aunt Patricia was dead. Christina would never again acknowledge her existence.

The task of cutting several inches off the length of curls took little time. Kathleen rushed into the room with a pale green gown draped over her arm. Her eyes widened when she saw what her mistress had done to her hair, but she held her silence and assisted her mistress in changing her clothing.

“We will be ready to leave in ten minutes’ time,” Kathleen whispered to Christina before leaving her alone again.

Christina walked over to the windows to stare out at the land. She thought about her family. How Merry would love this country. Black Wolf would be impressed, too, though he’d never acknowledge it, of course. He was too arrogant to make such an admission. He’d be perplexed, too, if he knew that Lyon owned so much land.

White Eagle would be more impressed with Lyon’s stables. The horses had been bred for strength and endurance, and the new foals, so feisty, so magnificent, were proof of Lyon’s careful selection.

“They are not dead.” Christina’s voice was filled with anger.

She started to cry again. No, they weren’t dead. The letter was a lie. She would have known, in her heart, if anything had harmed her family.

“I would have known,” she whispered.

Yes, it was trickery. Christina didn’t know how her aunt had accomplished the foul deed, but she was behind the deception. The evil woman wanted Christina to believe that her Indian family was dead.

Christina didn’t understand the Countess’s reasons.

Lyon would be able to explain. He was a cunning warrior who knew all the ways of the jackals in this world.

She felt a desperate need to get to her husband.

Christina would demand that he take her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her. And then she would make him kiss her. His touch would take the pain and the sorrow away.

She would demand and Lyon would give. It was his duty.

When Lyon arrived at his townhouse in London proper, Sir Fenton Richards was waiting on his doorstoop.

Richards wasn’t smiling.

Lyon was immediately on his guard. “You’ve put on weight,” he announced in lieu of a greeting.

“I have put on weight,” Richards admitted with a grin. He patted his belly to emphasize just where the extra pounds had settled.

Lyon began to relax. His friend’s manner told him all he needed to know. There had to be a problem, for Richards wouldn’t have waited for him just to pay a social call. Yet his casual manner indicated it wasn’t a terribly important problem.

Richards turned to bang on the door. It was immediately opened by a servant. Lyon motioned to his man to take the reins and see to his mount, then led his friend inside to the library.

Richards lumbered in behind him. He was a large man with a bushy beard and silver-tipped hair. He was softspoken, stoop-shouldered, and usually guarded in his expressions. Except when he was in Lyon’s company. The older man could relax then, because his trust in his young friend was absolute.

“All hell has broken loose, and with a vengeance.”

Lyon raised an eyebrow over the mildly given remark.

“Rhone is under house arrest,” Richards announced. He settled himself in one of the two leather-backed chairs in front of Lyon’s desk before adding, “I tried to intervene, but the charges had already been filed by Wellingham. It’s up to you to take care of the matter now.”

“How was he found out?” Lyon asked. He sat down behind his desk and began to sift through the stack of letters and invitations piled in the center.

Richards chuckled. “You’re taking our friend’s demise well,” he remarked.

“As you said, it’s up to me now. I’ll take care of the matter. Tell me what happened. How—”

“Wellingham noticed the bandage on Rhone’s wrist. One guess led to another after that. Rhone takes too many chances,” Richards announced. “It seems he ran into Wellingham on his way home from your wedding. I was sorry I missed the celebration, by the way,” he added. “Couldn’t be helped. I just got back to London the day before yesterday.”

“It was a small affair,” Lyon said. “You’ll have to come to Lyonwood to meet my Christina,” he added. “How’s Rhone taking the situation?” he asked, turning the subject back to the immediate problem.

“With his usual flair for nonsense,” Richards commented dryly. “Since he can’t get out, he’s had a party at his townhouse every night. There’s another one scheduled for this eve, as a matter of fact. I thought I’d drop in.”

Richards paused to give Lyon a long, meaningful look.

Lyon grinned. “I’ll be there,” he told his friend. “Don’t bring any valuables with you, Richards. You wouldn’t want to be robbed by Jack, would you?”

“Ah, then Jack will be making an appearance?”

“You may wager on it.”

“Won’t Rhone be amused?” Richards commented. He straightened in his chair, his manner suddenly brisk. “Now that Rhone’s problem is taken care of, I’ll move on to my other reason for coming to see you. Your wife’s father, to be exact.”

Richards had just captured Lyon’s full attention. He pushed the letters aside and leaned forward.

“Did you know your wife’s father is on his way to London?”

Lyon shook his head. “How would you know him?” he asked.

“His name is Edward Stalinsky, but of course you would know that,” Richards said.

Lyon nodded. He did know his father-in-law’s full name, but only because he’d watched Christina sign the marriage certificate. “Yes, Baron Stalinsky,” he said, urging Richards along.

“He did a favor for us a very long time ago. The Brisbane affair. Do you remember hearing about that mishap?”

Mishap? Lyon shook his head. “I remember you called the Battle of Waterloo Napoleon’s mishap,” he said. “Tell me about this Brisbane business. I have no memory of it in my mind.”

“You were a young lad. Still, I thought you might have heard of the matter sooner or later,” Richards said, his voice whisper-soft. “I forget I’m a good twenty years your senior. I suppose I should let the younger ones take charge,” he added with a sigh.

“You’ve tried to resign several times since I’ve worked for you,” Lyon answered.

He was eager to hear Richards recount the happening to him and learn all he could about Christina’s father, but he knew his friend well enough to understand he would take his usual slow time getting to it.

“I’m like an old hound,” Richards said. “The scent of trouble still captures my mind. Brisbane was an Englishman,” he continued, finally getting to the heart of the matter. “You might say he was our Benedict Arnold. He turned traitor, sold a few secrets, then his family began to worry his conscience. He had a wife and four little girls. He came to us and confessed his transgressions. We, or rather my predecessors, worked a promise with the man. We were after bigger fish, you see. With Brisbane’s full cooperation, we set a trap to catch his superiors. Baron Stalinsky acted as our intermediary. I don’t remember how he got involved,” he added with a shrug. “The baron did all he could—took every precaution, I’m told—but the plan failed miserably all the same.”

“How?” Lyon asked.

“Brisbane’s wife and children were murdered. Their throats were cut. The atrocity was made to look as if Brisbane had killed them and then turned the blade on himself.”

“You don’t believe that’s what really happened, do you?” Lyon asked.

“No, of course not. I think one of Brisbane’s superiors found out about the trap,” Richards answered. “Either by chance or by payment.”

“What about Baron Stalinsky? Did he continue to work with the government?”

“No. He married shortly after the Brisbane business and returned to his home. He was outraged by the horror he’d witnessed. He was the first to find the bodies, you see, and he refused to lend England a hand after that. Can’t fault the man. I wasn’t there, but I can imagine the nightmare Stalinsky walked into.”

“Have you kept in touch with the Baron since that time?”

“None of us have,” Richards said. “But several of his old friends have received notice from him that he’ll be arriving in England soon.”

“I wonder if he knows he has a daughter now.”

“Good God. You mean to tell me he didn’t know?” Richards asked.

“Father and daughter have never met. I believe the baron thought his wife and child had died years ago. For that matter, everyone I talked to thought the Baron had passed away, too. Sir Reynolds was one to make that speculation.”

“Yes, there was surprise when the letters arrived,” Richards said.

“I wonder what the baron has been up to all these years.”

“I heard that a year or so later Stalinsky lost his kingdom. Then he vanished. We never had reason to keep track of the man,” Richards added. A frown marred his expression. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

“Do you have any reason at all to distrust the baron?”

“Ah, so that’s the itch, is it?”

“Tell me everything you know about the man,” Lyon ordered. “Everything you can remember. I realize it was a long time ago,” he added.

“There’s very little to tell. I was young and impressionable back then, but I do remember being in awe of the man. He wasn’t much older than I was. He had a commanding presence. I envied him. Lyon, damn it all, you’ve got my guts churning. Now you tell me what you know about the baron,” he ordered.

“I don’t have any information to give you. I’ve never met him. Christina hasn’t either, but she’s afraid of him. When you meet my wife, you’ll understand the full force of that comment. Christina isn’t a woman who frightens easily.”

“I already know that much about her,” Richards said.

“How?”

“She married you, didn’t she?”

Lyon grinned. “Yes, she did,” he said. “Not very willingly, but …”

Richards snorted with laughter. “Perhaps she’s afraid of her father because of the unusual circumstances,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Not to know one’s father and then finally to meet him …”

“No,” Lyon said, shaking his head. “Her fear is based on something else. She called him a jackal. Keep your guard up when you’re with the baron, Richards. My instincts and Christina’s fears are enough to sway my mind.”

“You’re that uneasy?”

“I am.”

“Why hasn’t Christina explained the real reasons for her fears, then?”

“She’s very stubborn,” Lyon announced with a smile that told Richards he thought that was a noble quality. “And she is just beginning to trust me. It’s a fragile bond, Richards. For that reason, I’m not going to prod her. Christina will tell me when she’s ready, and not a minute before.”

“But you trust her judgment?” Richards asked. “You trust her?”

“I do.” His answer was given without hesitation, his voice emphatic.

And then the full realization settled in his mind … and in his heart. He did trust her. Completely. “In all matters,” Lyon acknowledged in a soft voice. “God only knows why, but I do,” he told his friend before he started to laugh.

“And that’s amusing?”

“Oh, yes. My little wife and I have been playing a game with each other,” Lyon confessed. “It’s amusing, you see, because neither one of us has realized it.”

“I don’t understand,” Richards confessed.

“I’m only just beginning to understand,” Lyon said. “Christina hides her past from me … just as I’ve been hiding my past from her. I think she believes I’ll find her inferior in some way,” he added. “I wouldn’t, of course, but she needs to learn to trust me enough to believe it in her heart.”

“I would be happy to investigate your wife’s past for you,” Richards volunteered.

“No. I sent men to France to make inquiries, but I’m going to call them home. I will not look into her past, and I don’t want you to either, Richards. In time she’ll tell me what she wants me to know.”

“And will you tell her your secrets?” Richards asked. His voice was whisper-soft. “You have no cause to worry, Lyon. I’ve never been able to trust a man the way I trust you. Your loyalty to your country has always been absolute. That is why you were always given the most difficult assignments.”

Lyon was surprised by the vehemence in his friend’s voice. Richards wasn’t a man given to compliments. In all their years working together, Lyon had never heard such praise.

“Now you’ve got me worried about Stalinsky,” Richards continued. “I’ll start looking into his affairs immediately. There’s another problem, however,” he added. He scratched his beard in an absentminded fashion. “The department had hopes that you’d give a reception honoring your father-in-law when he arrives. Heaven help us, there’s already talk of knighthood. Some of the older gentlemen remember with exaggerated recall the noble deeds Baron Stalinsky accomplished for the good of England. I’m going to look into those deeds as well,” he added with a brisk nod.

“A reception isn’t going to sit well with Christina,” Lyon said.

Richards gave a discreet cough, then said, “Lyon, I certainly don’t want to be the one to tell you how to manage your marriage, but it would seem to me that you must simply question your wife about her father at the first opportunity. Order her to explain her fears to you. Make her answer your questions, son.”

Question her? Lyon felt like laughing. Since the minute he’d met Christina he’d done nothing but question her. “There will be no questions. She’ll tell me—”

“I know, I know,” Richards interrupted with a long sigh. “In her own time.”

“That’s about it,” Lyon answered. “Until then, it’s my duty to keep her safe.”

“Safe?”

“Christina believes her father will try to kill her.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“Exactly. And you can see how offended we both would be if the baron is knighted.”

“Lyon, I insist that you question your wife. If there is danger—”

“I will deal with it. I will not question her again.”

Richards ignored the irritation in his friend’s tone. “I’m not one to judge, but I believe you have a very unusual marriage.”

“I have a very unusual wife. You’ll like her, Richards.”

A sudden noise coming from the foyer interrupted the conversation. Lyon glanced up just as the library doors were thrown open.

Brown, his loyal butler, came rushing into the room.

Lyon bounded out of his chair. His heart started slamming against his chest and he felt as though the breath was being squeezed out of him.

Something had happened to Christina. She’d been hurt … taken …

The feeling of panic slowly dissipated. When Christina came flying into the room, her golden hair floating around her shoulders, Lyon literally fell back into his chair.

She was all right. Oh, her eyes were clouded with unshed tears, and her expression showed how troubled she was. She was upset, yes, but she hadn’t been injured.

He started breathing again.

“Lyon, you just tell me how it was done,” Christina demanded. She rushed right past Richards, didn’t even seem to notice that anyone else was in the room, reached her husband’s side, and thrust two envelopes into his hands. “I recognized his handwriting, and at first I thought it might be true. But in my heart I didn’t feel it was so. I would have known if something had happened to them. I would have known.”

Lyon grabbed hold of Christina’s hands. “Sweetheart, calm down and start at the beginning.”

“Read this letter first,” Christina said. She pulled her hand away and motioned to the Countess’s envelope. “Then you’ll understand why I know it’s trickery.”

“The Marchioness fainted dead away, my lord,” Brown called out.

Lyon turned his attention to his butler. Brown was still standing in the doorway.

“She what?” Lyon roared.

“She swooned,” Brown said, nodding vigorously.

“Then why did you bring her to London?”

Lyon was suddenly infuriated. He glared at his butler, then turned to Christina. “You should be home in bed,” he shouted.

“Don’t yell at me,” Christina ordered. Her voice was every bit as loud as Lyon’s had been. “Brown knew better than to argue with me. I was determined to come to you, Lyon. Please read the letters. I know it is all a lie.”

Lyon forced himself to calm down. Christina had started crying. He decided to get to the matter of her health after he’d dealt with her problem.

Lyon read the Countess’s letter first. By the time he was finished with it his hands were shaking.

God help him, she’d learned the truth about him. The Countess had found out about his past and had recounted several damning details in her letter to her niece.

Now Christina wanted his denial. She’d come all the way to London to confront him, to hear him tell her that they were lies.

He wasn’t going to lie to her. But the truth could destroy her.

No more lies, no more pretenses … hadn’t she given him that promise just this morning?

She deserved equal measure. “Christina,” Lyon began. He slowly lifted his gaze to hers, “We do what we must do when there is a threat, and I …”

He couldn’t seem to finish his explanation.

Christina could see his pain, his anguish. The need to comfort him overrode all other considerations. She instinctively reached out to him.

And then the confusion of it all hit her. Her hand stilled in the air between them. “What are you talking about?”

“What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m trying to explain,” Lyon muttered. He turned to glare at Brown. The butler caught the message and immediately closed the door.

Lyon’s gaze then settled on Richards. His friend rudely ignored the silent order and stayed right where he was.

“Lyon, answer me,” Christina demanded.

“Christina, it’s very difficult to explain with an audience listening,” he said. He took a deep breath. “It’s true. All of it. I did exactly what your aunt has told you. My motives were a hell of a lot cleaner, however, and I would …”

She finally understood. Christina closed her eyes and prayed for guidance. She knew she probably wasn’t being a good wife now, that Lyon obviously felt the need to unburden himself of his secrets. He’d picked a strange time to share his worries with her, she thought. Although it was selfish of her to feel this way, she really wished he’d help her with her problem first.

When Christina closed her eyes, Lyon felt as though a knife had just been plunged into his heart. “My dear, I was a soldier. I did what I had to …”

She finally looked at him. Her gaze was direct and filled with tenderness.

He was too stunned to say another word.

“You are a warrior, Lyon. But you are also a gentle, loving man. You wouldn’t have killed anyone who hadn’t challenged you. No, you hunt only jackals.”

He seemed to have trouble taking it all in. “Then why did you come to London to—”

“I knew you’d help me find the truth,” Christina said.

“I’m trying to tell you the truth.”

He was shouting again. Christina shook her head. “How can you tell me that when you haven’t even read the other letter?”

“If you two will forgive an old man’s interference,” Richards interjected.

“What is it?” Lyon snapped.

“Who is that man?” Christina asked Lyon.

“Fenton Richards,” Lyon said.

Christina recognized the name. She frowned at Lyon’s guest and then said, “Lyon cannot come back to work for you. His leg still has not healed to my satisfaction. It may be long years before he mends completely,” she added.

“Christina, how do you know about Richards?”

“Rhone,” she answered. “And you do talk in your sleep some nights,” she added. “I hadn’t thought to mention that flaw to you in front of an outsider, but …”

“Oh, hell,” Lyon muttered.

“Oh, my God,” Richards whispered.

“Don’t be concerned, sir,” Christina told Richards. “I will keep his secrets safe.”

Richards stared at her a long minute and then slowly nodded. “I believe you will,” he acknowledged.

“How did you know about my leg?” Lyon asked, drawing Christina’s attention again. “I haven’t complained. It has healed, damn it. Did Rhone—”

“The first night I met you I could tell you were in pain. I could see it in your eyes. You kept leaning against the mantel, too. That was another sign. Later I did question Rhone, and he confessed that you’d injured your knee. And it hasn’t healed,” she added with a hasty glance in Richards’s direction.

Richards hid his smile. Lyon’s wife was a charmer. “The two of you seem to be at cross purposes,” he remarked. “Lyon, I don’t think your wife is upset about the news in her aunt’s letter. It’s something else, isn’t it, my dear?”

“Yes,” Christina answered. “The Countess enclosed a letter from my good friend. The writing on his envelope is by his hand, I’m certain of it, and the writing on the paper looks the same, but—”

“You don’t think it is. That’s the trickery you’re referring to?” Lyon asked.

She nodded. “See how the Countess ends her letter, Lyon? She tells me she hopes my friend hasn’t sent ill news.”

Her eyes filled with tears again. Lyon quickly read the letter from Deavenrue. He then held the envelope up next to the paper to compare the writing style. Christina held her breath and waited.

It didn’t take him long to see the differences. “It’s similar, but it isn’t the same. Richards, you want to have a look at this?” Lyon asked. “Another opinion would make Christina rest easy.”

Richards leapt out of his chair, his curiosity nearly out of control, and snatched the envelope and the letter. He soon saw the discrepancies. “Oh, yes. The letter was written by another hand. It is a deception.”

He then read the contents. His gaze was sympathetic when he looked at Christina again. “These people in the wilderness … they were like family to you?”

Christina nodded. “What is spotted fever?” she asked, frowning. “The letter says they died of—”

“God only knows,” Lyon said.

“Who is responsible for this?” Richards asked. “What kind of monster would do such a thing?”

“Christina’s aunt.” Lyon’s voice sounded his anger.

Richards dropped the letter on the desk. “Forgive me for saying this, Christina, but I believe your aunt is a—”

“Think it but don’t say it,” Lyon interrupted before Richards could finish his sentence.

Christina sagged against Lyon’s chair. Lyon put his arm around her waist. “I still don’t understand how it was done. The seal wasn’t disturbed.”

Richards was the one who explained how easy it was to use steam to open an envelope. “An expert would have been able to tell, my dear,” he said.

Richards left minutes later. As soon as the door closed behind him, Christina burst into tears. Lyon pulled her onto his lap. He hugged her close to him.

He didn’t try to quiet her. She had a good store of tears, and it was quite a while before her racking sobs slowed down.

“I’ve gotten your shirt all wet,” Christina whispered between hiccups.

She obviously wasn’t ready to do anything about it. Christina cuddled up against his chest, tucked her head under his chin, and let out a weary sigh.

She didn’t move again for a long time. Lyon thought she might have fallen asleep. He didn’t mind. He’d hold her close for the rest of the afternoon, if that was what she needed. In truth, he thought it might take him that long to rid himself of his anger.

Richards had meant to call the Countess a bitch, Lyon decided. The old bat was that, all right, and more.

Christina’s mind must have been following the same path, for she suddenly whispered, “Do you know that I used to believe all the English were like my aunt?”

He didn’t answer her. But his breath caught in his throat, and he prayed his silence would encourage her to tell him more.

His patience was rewarded minutes later.

“My father hated the whites. And when I lived with the Countess in Boston, my only friend was Mr. Deavenrue. He is the one who took me to my aunt, and he would come every day to tutor me. I wasn’t permitted to go outdoors. The Countess kept telling me she was ashamed of me. I was very confused. I didn’t understand why she believed I was so unworthy.”

“You aren’t, my love,” Lyon said emphatically. “You are very, very worthy.”

Christina nodded. “It is good of you to notice,” she said.

He smiled over the sincerity in her voice.

And then he waited for her to tell him more.

It seemed an eternity had passed before she spoke again. “She used to lock me in my room at night. I tried not to hate her for that.”

Lyon closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. He could feel her anguish. It washed over him like hot lava until his eyes smarted with tears.

“I couldn’t stand being locked in like that. I finally put a stop to it.”

“How, sweetheart?”

“I took the hinges off the door,” Christina confessed. “The Countess started bolting her bedroom door then. She was afraid of me. I didn’t mind that. She’s old, Lyon, and for that reason I tried to respect her. It is what my mother would have wanted.”

“Jessica?”

“No, I never knew Jessica.”

“Then who?”

“Merry.”

Lyon couldn’t stop himself from asking her another question. “And does she also hate the whites?”

“Oh, no, Merry doesn’t hate anyone.”

“But the man you call Father does?”

He didn’t think she was going to answer him. The silence stretched between them for long minutes.

He shouldn’t have prodded her, he told himself. Damn, he’d only just vowed never to ask her any more questions.

“Yes, he does,” Christina whispered. “But not me, of course. My father loves me with all his heart.”

Christina waited for his reaction. Her heart pounded furiously.

Lyon didn’t say a word. Christina decided then that he hadn’t understood.

“I have a brother.”

Nothing. Not a word, not a sigh, not even a mutter. “His name is White Eagle.”

A slow smile settled on Lyon’s face.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Lyon?” she asked.

He kissed the top of her head. “I understand,” he whispered. He cupped the sides of her face and gently forced her mouth upward. He kissed her tenderly.

And then he soothed her fears away. “I understand that I am the most fortunate man in all the world. I never believed I’d find anyone I could love the way I love you, Christina. I owe your family a great debt, sweetheart. They kept you safe for me.”

“You don’t know them, and yet you sound as if you care about them,” Christina whispered. Her voice shook with emotion.

“Of course I care,” Lyon said. “Your mother must be a gentle, loving woman, and your father …”

“A proud warrior,” Christina supplied. “As proud as you, Lyon.”

“I love you, Christina. Did you really believe that your background would make me think you were less than—”

“I have never felt unworthy. Never. I am a lioness. In truth, I thought the English were unworthy … until I met you.”

Lyon smiled. “You have gained some of your father’s arrogance,” he noted. “That pleases me.”

“It isn’t going to be easy for you, Lyon. I have different habits. I don’t want to have to pretend any longer. At least not when we are alone …”

“Good. I don’t want you to pretend whatever it is you pretend either,” Lyon announced. He laughed then, for he didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d just said.

“I love you, Lyon,” Christina whispered. Her fingers caressed the nape of his neck. “Lyon? I want …”

“I do too,” Lyon growled. He kissed her again, hungrily this time. His tongue plunged inside to taste, to stroke. Christina curled her arms around his neck. She’d meant to tell him she wanted to go home to Lyonwood, but his kiss soon pushed that thought aside. His mouth slanted over hers, again and again, until her breath was little more that a soft pant.

“Let’s go upstairs, Lyon,” she whispered between passionate kisses.

“There isn’t time, Christina.”

“Lyon!”

He tried to smile over the demand in her voice, but he was too occupied trying to hold onto his control. Christina was rubbing against his arousal, nipping his earlobe with her teeth, and stroking him wild with her hands.

He couldn’t have made it up the stairs if his life had depended upon it.

Chapter Fourteen

He came during the night, while everyone was sleeping. The Jacksons had made their beds outside. It was bitterly cold, but Jacob wanted privacy, and for that reason he’d made a small tent.

I heard a strange sound, and when I looked outside the wagon I saw a man bent over Emily and Jacob. I called out to the man, still not realizing the danger. In my mind I thought it was Jacob’s turn to take the watch.

The man stood and turned into the moonlight. The scream was trapped in my throat. Edward had come after me. He held a bloody knife in his hand.

I was so stunned and so terrified I could barely move. You were the one who forced me into action, Christina. Yes, for when you awakened and started to whimper, I came out of my stupor. I wasn’t going to let Edward kill you.

I grabbed Jacob’s hunting knife just as Edward climbed into the wagon. I screamed and thrust the blade in his face. Edward snarled in pain. The tip of the knife cut the edge of his eye. “Give me the jewels,” he demanded as he knocked the weapon out of my hands.

The camp awakened to my screams. Edward heard the shouts of confusion behind him. He told me he’d come back to kill me. He looked over at the basket you slept in, Christina, then turned back to me. “I’ll kill her first. You should have let Patricia have her,” he added with a sneer before he slithered out of the wagon.

The Jacksons were dead. Their throats had been slashed. I told the wagonmaster I’d heard a sound and had seen a man leaning over Jacob and Emily.

A search was made of the camp. The light was poor, and Edward wasn’t found.

Several hours later the camp again settled down. Three times the number of guards were posted as a precaution, and it had been decided that the burial for the Jacksons would take place at daybreak.

I waited, then bundled you up and calmly rode out of the camp. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t care.

I had failed you, Christina. It was over. It was only a matter of time before Edward hunted us down.

Journal entry

October 20, 1795

It was early afternoon when Lyon kissed Christina goodbye. She assumed he was going to meet Rhone for their scheduled card game. Lyon, in his haste to make the necessary arrangements for Jack’s arrival at Rhone’s house, didn’t take the time to set his wife straight. He told her only that the card game had been delayed and that he had important business to see to.

Christina had just changed into a deep blue dress when Kathleen announced that Lady Diana was downstairs waiting to see her.

“She’s terribly upset about something,” Kathleen told her mistress. “The poor dear is crying.”

Christina hurried down the winding staircase. When Diana saw her, she blurted out the news about Rhone.

Christina led her sister-in-law into the drawing room, then sat down beside her and patted her hand while she poured out the full story.

“The poor man is innocent,” Diana sobbed. “He’s trying to be so noble, too. Did you know he is even having parties every night? Oh, if only Lyon will come home soon so that I can tell him what has happened. He will know what to do.”

“I’m sure he’ll find out very soon,” Christina said. “This is all my fault,” she added.

“How can it be your fault?” Diana asked.

Christina didn’t answer her. She felt responsible for Rhone’s problem. She was the one who’d wounded him, after all, and the guilt belonged on her shoulders.

“I must think of a way to … Diana, did you say Rhone is having a party tonight?”

“Yes. Aunt Harriett won’t let me attend,” Diana said. “We are already promised to another affair, but I would much rather go to Rhone’s.”

Christina hid her smile. “Of course you would,” she said, patting Diana’s hand again. “It’s all going to be over by tomorrow,” she added in a mock whisper.

“How could that be?” Diana whispered back. “Do you know something you aren’t telling me?” she asked.

“Yes,” Christina answered. She deliberately paused, then cast a glance over her shoulder. When she turned back to Diana, she said, “I have it on good authority that the real Jack is going out hunting tonight.”

Diana’s gasp told Christina she believed her. “You mustn’t say a word to anyone, Diana, else Jack might find out and decide against going out.”

Diana clasped her hands together. “I won’t tell, I promise you,” she said. “But how did you learn—”

“There isn’t time to go into the details,” Christina announced. “And I have an important errand to see to. May I ride with you back to your home and then borrow your carriage for a short spell?”

“Yes, of course,” Diana responded. “I could go with you on your errand,” she volunteered.

Christina shook her head. “Hurry, Diana. There’s much to be done.”

“There is?”

“Never mind. Now dry your eyes and come along.”

Christina pulled Lyon’s sister behind her. She turned Diana’s attention away from the matter of Jack by asking several questions about her family.

“Was Lyon close to his brother James?” she asked.

“For a time. They were very competitive,” Diana said. “Lyon would always best James—in riding, sword fighting, and … well, even with women,” she added with a shrug. “James seemed obsessed with winning. He took chances.”

“How did he die?”

“Fell from his mount. He didn’t linger. His death was quick. Baron Winters, our family physician, said it was painless. I think he might have said that to ease Mama’s mind.”

“About your mother,” Christina began, her voice hesitant. “Diana, I know you must be very close to her, but I hope you won’t argue with my plan.”

“What plan?” Diana asked, frowning.

“I would like to take your mother with me tomorrow when I return to Lyonwood.”

“Are you serious? Does Lyon know of this intention?”

“Quit looking so suspicious,” Christina admonished with a small smile. “I do have your mama’s best interests at heart. You have a season to see to, or I’d ask you to come along. I know the separation will be difficult for you. She is your mama, after all,” she told her as she continued on.

Diana lowered her gaze to stare at her hands. She was ashamed of the acute relief she was feeling. Someone was finally going to take charge of her mama. “It is dreadful for me to admit this to you, but you are my sister now, and so I will confess I will not miss Mama at all.”

Christina didn’t know what to say. She opened the door of the carriage for her sister-in-law, then said, “Your mother has been a bit … difficult, then?”

“You’ve met her,” Diana whispered. “All she wants to talk about is James. She doesn’t care about me or Lyon. James was her firstborn. Oh, I know you think less of me now. I shouldn’t have told you that I—”

Christina reached out to take Diana’s hands in hers. “You must always tell me the truth. It’s the only way to go along, you see. Diana, I know you love your mama. You wouldn’t be so angry with her if you didn’t.”

Diana’s eyes widened. “I am angry,” she announced.

“You must go inside now. I have to see to my errand,” Christina said, changing the subject. “Please have the servants pack up your mother’s things. I shall come and fetch her tomorrow morning.”

Diana suddenly lunged at Christina, capturing her in an awkward hug. “I am so happy Lyon married you.”

“I’m also happy that I married him,” Christina told her.

Diana let go of Christina. She climbed out of the carriage, then turned to plead once more to go along on the mysterious errand. Christina again denied her request, then waited until she’d gone inside the townhouse before turning to the driver and giving him her destination.

“Do you know where the Bleak Bryan is located?” the driver responded. His eyes were bulging out of his face, and he swallowed several times.

“No, I don’t know exactly where it’s located. Do you, sir?”

“Well, yes, madam, I do,” the driver stammered.

“Then that is all that matters, isn’t it? Please take me there at once.”

Christina got back inside the carriage and shut the door. The driver’s pale face suddenly appeared at the open window. “You cannot be serious, madam. The Bleak Bryan is in the most unsavory part of London. Cutthroats and—”

“Bryan is a special friend of mine. I must go to him now, sir. What is your name?” she asked.

“Everet,” the driver announced.

“Everet,” Christina repeated. She gave him a smile meant to dazzle him, then said, “It is a very good name. Now then, Everet, I must tell you that I will be very unhappy if you don’t do as I’ve requested. Yes, I will,” she added in a firm voice.

Everet paused to scratch the bald spot on the top of his head before answering. “That’s the rub of it, madam. You’ll be unhappy if I don’t take you to the Bleak Bryan tavern, but your husband, when he hears of it, will kill me. I’ll be getting it no matter what I do. That’s the rub, all right.”

“Oh, I understand your hesitation now. You don’t realize my husband has specifically requested that I make this visitation to Mr. Bryan. Put your fears aside, my good man. Lyon knows all about this.”

Everet did look relieved. The Marchioness’s sincerity was apparent to him. She was such an innocent little thing, Everet thought. Why, she wouldn’t even know how to be devious.

The driver stammered out his apology, requested that Christina bolt her doors from the inside, and then hastened back up on his perch.

He drove the carriage at breakneck pace. Christina thought the man might be a little frightened.

Her conclusions were proven correct when they finally arrived at the tavern. When Everet helped her from the carriage, his hands were shaking. He kept glancing over his shoulder. “Please, madam, be quick with your business in there. I’ll be waiting inside your carriage, if you don’t mind,” he whispered.

“Oh, you don’t have to wait for me. I don’t know how long my business will take. Go along home now, Everet. Mr. Bryan will see that I get home.”

“But madam,” Everet stammered out. “What if he ain’t inside? What if he went on an errand of his own?”

“Then I shall have to wait for him,” Christina announced. She started toward the door, calling her gratitude over her shoulder, and before Everet could get his wits about him to think what to do the Marchioness had disappeared inside the tavern.

She hadn’t come unprepared. No, she wasn’t as foolish as Everet’s look suggested. Christina hid a small knife in her hand; her regular one was strapped above her ankle. She was far more comfortable with the larger knife, but she couldn’t very well carry it in her hand. Why, she’d be giving the impression she wanted a confrontation.

From past experience, Christina had learned that most mischief makers were an ignorant breed. One had to be firm from the outset.

She stood inside the doorway for a long minute as she looked around the crowded area in search of the owner. There were at least twenty men sitting at the wooden tables and another few leaning against the warped bar that ran the length of the right side of the large room.

A man was standing behind the bar, staring gape-mouthed at her. Christina assumed the gentleman worked for the owner and immediately started over to him.

She didn’t get more than halfway there before the first oaf tried to deter her. The man was rank with the smell of ale, his motion awkward when he tried to grab her.

Christina slapped his hand away with her blade. The man immediately let out a howl of pain. Everyone inside the tavern watched the big man lift his hand and stare at it in astonishment.

“You cut me!”

His bellow shook the rafters. “You cut me,” he roared again as he started to lunge toward Christina.

Christina hadn’t moved. She flashed the knife in front of his eyes. “Sit down or I shall have to hurt you again.”

She really didn’t have time for this, she told herself. There was so much to be seen to before Rhone’s party. “You cut me, you—”

“You tried to touch me,” Christina answered. The tip of her knife rested against the befuddled man’s throat. “And if you try again, you’ll be drinking your ale from the hole I shall fashion in your neck.”

She heard the snickers and turned her gaze to find the offender. “I have business to attend to with Mr. Bleak Bryan.”

“Are you his lovey, then?” someone shouted out.

Christina let out a sigh of frustration. The mischief maker sitting next to her immediately thought to attack again.

She never even looked down at him as she pricked a narrow, shallow cut in his neck.

He howled again. Christina turned her gaze to the ceiling, praying for patience.

Yes, the mischief makers of the world were all the same. Ignorant.

“I’m the Marquess of Lyonwood’s lovey,” she told the group of men. “My husband’s friend is the owner of this tavern. I have immediate business with the man, and my patience is wearing thin.” She paused to scowl at the man holding his neck. “It is a paltry cut, sir, but if you do not cease this foolishness, I promise the next will be more painful.”

Though Christina didn’t realize it, the news that she was Lyon’s wife had changed every man’s opinion. “Leave her be, Arthur, if you want to live. She’s the mistress of Lyonwood.”

“Your name is Arthur?” Christina asked.

The man she’d just questioned was too terrified to answer her.

“Arthur is an appealing name, sir. Do you know the story of Camelot? No?” she asked when the man continued to stare at her stupidly. “Your mama must have read the tale then and named you after King Arthur,” she decided for him.

Arthur wasn’t listening to her. His mind was far away, captured by the nightmare of what the Marquess of Lyonwood was going to do to him when he heard of this foul incident. “I didn’t mean nothing by trying to snatch you. I’m good as dead,” he whined. “I didn’t know—”

“That I was a married lady?” Christina asked. She let out a sigh. “Well, I suppose you couldn’t have known I wasn’t available, but it was rude of you to try to snatch a lady without gaining her permission first,” she instructed. “But you’re not going to die because of your ill manners, Arthur,” she added in a gentle voice.

She turned to address her audience. “Does anyone else want to try to snatch me?”

Every single man inside the tavern shouted his denial. And they kept shaking their heads in unison.

It was an amusing sight, but Christina hid her smile. She didn’t want them to think she was laughing at them.

“Is your promise true?” she demanded, just to make certain it was safe to put her knife away.

Christina did smile then. She couldn’t help herself. The men’s vigorous nods were too amusing a sight.

“Arthur, go and wash your cuts now,” Christina instructed over her shoulder as she walked over to the bar to wait for the attendant. “I shall send medicine to soothe the sting just as soon as I’m finished here. Does anyone happen to know where Mr. Bleak Bryan is?” she asked the silent men.

“Connor went to fetch him, miss,” a man called out.

Christina smiled at the thin little man. She noticed then that he was holding cards in his hand. “Are you having a game of chance?” she called out, biding her time until Bryan arrived and trying at the same time to ease the tension in the room. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you, sir.”

“No, no,” the man replied. “I couldn’t get no one to play.”

“Why is that?”

“Nitty is too lucky, miss,” another shouted out.

“Are you a patient man, Nitty?” Christina asked.

“Don’t rightly know, your grace,” Nitty answered.

Christina decided against explaining that she shouldn’t be addressed as “your grace.” The man looked very nervous to her.

“Shall we find out?” Christina asked. Her husky laughter warmed smiles onto the men’s faces. “I would like to learn to play cards, sir, and if you have the time and the inclination, now would be fine with me. I must wait to speak to the owner …”

“I would be honored to teach you the ways,” Nitty announced. His shoulders straightened. “Poppy, clear a space for the lady,” he ordered. “Get her a clean seat, Preston. What game were you wanting to learn, miss?” he asked.

“What game do men like to play?”

“Well now, your husband’s game is poker, miss, but of course you wouldn’t be wanting to learn—”

“Oh, but I would,” Christina announced.

“Here, miss,” another shouted. “I’ll stake you to a few coins when you’ve caught on.”

“Coins?”

“To bet with,” another eager man said.

Christina couldn’t believe how helpful the men were. The man named Poppy made a dramatic flourish with his arm as he bowed. “Your chair awaits, my lady,” he announced. “Spit’s dry now. It’s clean as can be.”

After taking her seat at the round table, Christina nodded to Nitty. “Do you know my husband, then?” she asked as she watched him flip the cards together. “You said poker was his game,” she added as explanation for her question.

“We all know of him, miss,” Poppy announced over her shoulder.

“Oh, that is nice,” Christina said. “Now then, Nitty. Explain this game to me. Thank you for your coins, sir, and you as well, and … oh, I don’t believe I need this much money, gentlemen,” she added when the coins mounted into a heap in front of her. “You are all so very generous. My husband is fortunate to have such good friends.”

Christina’s husband was thinking much the same thought as he finished giving his orders to five seedy-looking but very loyal men behind the tavern. Bryan stood by his side, wishing with all his heart he could take part in the charade.

“Damn it all, Lyon, I wish I could be there to see Rhone’s expression. Remember, lad,” he told the man who was going to imitate Jack, “to stay in the background. Your eyes aren’t as green as Rhone’s are. Someone might notice.”

“Bryan, you got to come back inside,” the bartender nagged for the third time. “I’m telling you a fight is brewing. Didn’t you hear the screams?”

“I only hear men having a good time, Connor. Whoever sparked the fight must have changed his mind. Now get back inside before I’m robbed blind.”

Bryan scowled Connor inside, then stayed beside Lyon, listening to him advise the men.

A sudden roar of laughter caught his attention. Bryan nodded to Lyon and then strolled back inside the tavern to see what everyone was cheering about. He immediately noticed the crowd had gathered around the corner table, and he started forward just as several men shifted their positions. He was able to see the occupants of the table then. After a long disbelieving minute, Bryan turned tail and ran out the back door.

“Lyon, are you finished yet?”

“I was just leaving,” Lyon answered. “Why? Do you have a problem?” he asked. The tone in Bryan’s voice had put him on his guard. His friend sounded like he was strangling.

“It isn’t my problem, it’s yours,” Bryan answered.

When Lyon tried to walk inside, Bryan blocked the entrance with his arm. “Are you still a betting man, Lyon?”

Lyon let Bryan see his exasperation. “I am.”

“Then I’ll wager you’re about to get the surprise of your life,” Bryan said. He moved to the side, then crooked his thumb. “Your surprise is waiting inside.”

Lyon didn’t have time for foolishness. He hurried inside, believing Bryan wanted him to disarm a man or two.

The crowd of men blocked his view of the table. “There’s no danger here,” he told Bryan. “What’s the attraction, I wonder,” he added. “Does Nitty have a new victim for his card tricks?”

“Oh, it’s a card game all right,” Bryan drawled out. “Frankie, how’s the game going?”

“The little miss just bested Nitty with a paltry pair of tens,” someone called out from the crowd.

“Ain’t my fault,” Nitty bellowed goodnaturedly. “She’s got a quick mind. Why, she took to the game the way crabs takes—”

“Watch your mouth, Nitty,” another man shouted. “The Marquess of Lyonwood’s woman is respectable, you stupid little sod. Talk clean in front of her.”

The Marquess of Lyonwood’s woman.

He couldn’t have heard what he thought he’d just heard. No, it couldn’t be …

Lyon turned to Bryan. His friend was slowly nodding. Lyon still had trouble believing. He walked over to the crowd. Some of the more anxious men moved out of his way.

The cheering abruptly stopped. Christina wasn’t aware of the tension in the atmosphere, or the fact that her husband was standing directly behind Nitty, staring at her.

She was concentrating on her hand, her frown intense. Nitty, on the other hand, was afraid to look behind him. He could see the expressions on the faces of the men who stood behind Christina. None of them looked too happy. “I believe I’ll fold, miss.”

Christina didn’t look up, but she drummed her fingertips on the tabletop and stared at the five cards she held in her other hand. “No, Nitty, you can’t fold now. You told me I had to put up or fold.” She pushed the pile of coins into the center, then glanced up to smile at her new friend. “I shall see you.”

Nitty dropped his cards on the table. “Uh, miss, you didn’t have to put all the coins in the pot. I’ve got you beat with my three kings, you see, but you can have the coins back. It’s only a teaching game.”

The men nodded. Some grumbled their approval while others cast fearful glances in Lyon’s direction.

Christina didn’t dare look up from her hand. Nitty had warned her that the expressions on players’ faces often revealed what they held in their hands. Since Nitty had already shown her his cards, she wasn’t sure if that law still applied, but she wasn’t about to take any chances … not with the wonderful cards she’d been dealt.

“Fair is fair, Nitty. Winner takes all. Didn’t you say that?”

“I did, miss,” Nitty stammered out.

Christina placed two sevens down on the table. She’d deliberately withheld the other three cards. “Gentlemen,” she told the men hovering around her, “Prepare to collect your winnings.”

“But miss, you’ve got to best my …”

Nitty stopped his explanation when Christina flipped over the other cards.

“Good God, she’s got three aces,” Nitty whispered. His voice was filled with relief. Lyon’s woman had won the hand.

Christina’s husky laughter wasn’t echoed by her audience. They all watched the Marquess of Lyonwood, awaiting his judgment. He didn’t look too happy. If the powerful Marquess wasn’t amused, then neither were they.

Christina was busy stacking the coins in several piles. “Nitty? While we continue to wait for Mr. Bleak’s return, I would like you to show me how to cheat. Then, you see, I’ll know how it’s done and won’t be easily tricked.”

Nitty didn’t answer her request. Christina glanced up at her teacher.

The man looked terrified. The silence finally registered in her mind. She didn’t understand until she looked up and found her husband staring down at her.

Her reaction was immediate, her surprise obvious. “Lyon, what are you doing here?”

Her sweet, welcoming smile infuriated him beyond measure. The woman appeared to be pleased to see him.

Christina’s smile did falter as her husband continued to stand there staring at her without giving her a greeting.

A tremor of apprehension slowly straightened her shoulders. The truth finally settled in her mind. Lyon was furious. Christina frowned in confusion. “Lyon?” she asked, her voice hesitant. “Is something the matter?”

Lyon ignored her question. His cold gaze swept over the crowd of men.

“Out.”

He cleared the tavern with one word. His voice had cracked like a whip. While Christina watched, the men rushed to do his bidding. Nitty tripped over his chair in his hurry to leave the tavern.

“You’ve forgotten your coins,” Christina called after the men.

“Do not say another word.”

Lyon had roared his command to her. Christina’s eyes widened in disbelief. She stood up to face her husband. “You dare to raise your voice to me in front of strangers? In front of our friend, Bleak Bryan?”

“I damn well do dare,” Lyon bellowed.

The chilling rebuke stunned her. She turned to look at his friend, caught his sympathetic expression, and was suddenly so ashamed she wanted to weep.

“You are humiliating me in front of another warrior.” Her voice trembled and she clasped her hands together.

He believed she was afraid of him. Her forlorn expression cut through his haze of anger. Lyon’s expression slowly changed until he looked almost in control.

“Tell me what you’re doing here,” Lyon demanded. His voice was still harsh with his suppressed anger. Lyon considered that a victory of sorts over his temper, for he still felt the need to shout.

She hadn’t understood the danger. Lyon kept repeating that statement inside his head until it became a litany. No, she hadn’t realized what could have happened to her …

He was all too aware of the horrors awaiting a gentle lady in this part of London. Lyon forced himself to block the black possibilities from his thoughts, knowing he’d never regain control if he didn’t.

Christina couldn’t look at her husband. She stood with her head bowed, staring at the tabletop.

“Lyon, your wife must have had a terribly important reason for coming here,” Bryan stated, trying to ease the tension between husband and wife.

Christina’s head jerked up to look at Bryan. “My husband is angry because I came here?” she asked, her voice incredulous.

Bryan didn’t know what to say to that absurd question. He decided to ask one of his own. “You didn’t know what a sorry area this is?”

She had to take a deep breath before she spoke again. Her hands were fisted at her sides. “I will go wherever I wish to go … whenever I want.”

Oh, hell, Bryan thought to himself, she’s done it now. He gave Lyon a quick glance before looking back at Christina. The sweet innocent didn’t know her husband very well yet. Why, she’d just waved a red flag in front of his face.

Lyon wasn’t over his initial anger. It helped little to prod him the way Christina was doing. Bryan rushed to intervene before Lyon had time to react to his wife’s ill-chosen remark. “Why don’t you both sit down? I’ll leave you to your privacy …”

“Why? He already humiliated me in front of you,” Christina whispered.

“Christina, we’re going home. Now.”

Lyon’s voice had turned into a soft whisper. Bryan hoped Christina would realize that wasn’t a good sign.

No, she hadn’t realized. She turned to glare at her husband. Bryan had to shake his head over her indiscretion.

Lyon moved with the speed of lightning. Christina suddenly found herself pinned up against the back wall, her sides blocked by his hands. His face was only inches away from hers, and the heat of his anger was hot enough to burn.

“This is how it works in England, Christina. The wife does as her husband orders. She goes only where the husband allows her to go, only when he allows it. Got that?”

Bryan was pacing behind Lyon’s back. His heart went out to the delicate flower Lyon had wed. The poor dear had to be terrified. Why, even he was a bit nervous. Lyon’s temper still had the power to frighten him.

When Christina answered her husband, Bryan realized she wasn’t frightened at all. “You have shamed me. Where I come from, that is sufficient reason for a wife to cut her hair, Lyon.”

He was trying to calm down, but her absurd remark made him crazy. “What the hell does that mean?”

She didn’t want to take the time to explain. No, Christina could feel her anger burning inside her. She wanted to scream at him. But she wanted to weep, too. That made little sense to her, but she was too upset to reason the contrary emotions clear. “When a woman cuts her hair, it is because she has lost someone. A wife cuts her hair when her husband dies … or when she casts him aside.”

“That is the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever heard of,” Lyon muttered. “Do you realize what you’re implying? You’re speaking of divorce.”

The enormity of her folly and her outrageous remarks suddenly hit him full force. Lyon dropped his forehead on top of hers, closed his eyes, and started to laugh. Her blessed arrogance had pushed his anger away.

“I knew you’d change when you knew my past, you inferior Englishman,” she raged against him. “You’re nothing but a … stupid little sod,” she announced, remembering one of the men’s earlier comments to another.

“You and I are going to have a long talk,” Lyon drawled. “Come along,” he ordered as he grabbed hold of her hand and started to pull her after him.

“I have still to speak to Mr. Bleak,” Christina said. “Unhand me, Lyon,” she added, trying to jerk her hand away.

“Perhaps you didn’t get it after all,” Lyon remarked over his shoulder. “I just told you that a wife goes where her husband—”

“Lyon? I’m ready to kill with curiosity,” Bryan interposed. He’d caught the irritation in his friend’s voice and was trying to intervene before another conflict started. “I would like to know why your wife came here,” he added with an embarrassed stammer.

Lyon paused at the door. “Tell him,” he ordered Christina.

She wished she could deny his command so that he would realize she’d meant every word of what she’d said to him, but Rhone’s well-being was at issue, so she put her pride aside. “Rhone is having a party tonight,” she began. “I wanted to ask you if you could find some good men to act as mischief makers and—”

Christina never finished her explanation. Lyon dragged her out the door in the middle of her sentence. They walked halfway around the block before his carriage came into view. No wonder she hadn’t known he was visiting Bryan, she thought to herself. The man had hidden his vehicle a good distance away.

She didn’t understand his reason, yet she wasn’t about to question him. Her voice might betray her. Christina knew she was close to weeping. She didn’t think she’d ever been this angry in all her life.

Neither said a word to the other until they were home. Lyon used the time to try to calm down. It was a difficult endeavor. He couldn’t quit thinking about what could have happened to Christina. The unwanted images fueled his temper. God help him, his knees had nearly buckled under him when he’d first spotted Christina in the tavern.

She was playing cards with the worst thugs in London. She hadn’t realized her jeopardy, of course; she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have looked so pleased with herself if she had. And she had smiled at him. Lyon didn’t think he’d ever been so furious … or so frightened.

“You’re too damned innocent for your own good,” he muttered after he’d jerked the door to the carriage open.

Christina wouldn’t look at him. She kept her gaze directed on her lap, and when he made his unkind remark she merely shrugged her shoulders in indifference.

He offered her his hand when she climbed out of the vehicle. She ignored it.

It wasn’t until she’d raced on ahead of him that he realized she’d cut a portion of her hair. The curls ended in the middle of her back now.

Brown met them at the door. After giving his butler instructions to watch over his wife, he chased after Christina. She was halfway up the staircase when he stopped her. “When I’m not too angry to speak of this matter, I will explain to you why—”

“I don’t wish to hear your reasons,” Christina interrupted.

Lyon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t you dare venture out again until tomorrow morning,” he told her. “I have to go to Rhone’s now.”

“I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do see,” Lyon muttered. “Christina, you went to Bryan to ask his help in finding men to masquerade as Jack and his friends, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Wife, you have little faith in me,” Lyon whispered, shaking his head.

Christina believed his comment was ridiculous. “Faith has nothing to do with my errand. I didn’t know you’d been informed of Rhone’s terror.”

“Terror?”

“He’s been barred inside his house,” Christina explained. “Since he is your friend, I thought of a most cunning plan. You ruined it,” she added.

“No, you would have ruined it,” Lyon announced. “I’ve already taken care of the problem, Christina. Now give me your word that you’ll stay inside.”

“I have no other errands to take care of,” Christina answered.

When he let go of her arm, Christina turned and rushed up the rest of the steps. Lyon was just walking out the front door when she called out to him.

“Lyon?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to have to apologize. Will you do it now or when you return from Rhone’s house?”

“Apologize?”

He’d shouted the word at her. Christina concluded he wasn’t contrite. “Then you’re going to have to start all over,” she shouted back.

“What are you talking about? I don’t have time for riddles,” Lyon announced. “If anyone’s going to apologize …”

He didn’t bother to finish his demand, for his wife had turned her back on him and disappeared down the hallway.

She’d just dismissed him again. Lyon didn’t think he was ever going to get used to that action.

He wasn’t ever going to understand her, either. She had a devious mind. She’d come up with the same plan he had to help Rhone. He couldn’t help being impressed.

Lord, the task ahead of him would certainly prove exhausting. He was going to have to go to great lengths to keep Christina safe. She’d get into quick trouble if he wasn’t always by her side, watching over her. Christina didn’t seem to understand caution. Hell, she didn’t even know enough to be afraid of him when his temper exploded.

No woman had ever raised her voice to him … nor had many men, Lyon realized. Yet Christina certainly had. When he shouted at her, he got equal measure in return.

She was his equal in all things. Her passion matched his own, and in his heart, he knew she loved him just as much.

Yes, the next twenty years, God willing, were going to be exhausting.

And very, very satisfying.

Chapter Fifteen

I didn’t want any more innocent people to die because of me. Edward would come after us. I knew I’d only been given a temporary stay of execution.

When dawn arrived, I’d only made it to the first peak. The wagon train was waking up. Would they send searchers out to find me?

I saw the Indians pouring down the hill then and thought to scream a warning, but I knew they wouldn’t be able to hear me. Then another scream came from behind me. It was a woman’s voice. Edward! He was there, I believed. Another innocent would die because of me. I grabbed the knife Jacob kept in his saddle pocket and ran toward the sound.

The sight that met me when I rushed through the trees broke through my cowardice, my fear. I saw a little boy, so battered, so bloody, crumbled like a fallen leaf on the ground. The woman who’d screamed was silent now. Her hands and feet had been bound.

Mother and child … like you and me, Christina … the attacker became Edward in my mind. I don’t remember putting

you down on the ground, don’t know if I made a sound as I ran forward and plunged my knife into his back.

The knife must have pierced his heart, for the attacker didn’t struggle.

I made certain he was dead, then turned to help the little boy. His whimpers of agony tore at me. I gently lifted the child into my arms to give him what little comfort I could. When I began to croon to him, his breathing deepened.

I suddenly felt someone watching me. I turned and saw that the Indian woman was staring at me.

Her name was Merry.

Journal entry

November 1, 1795

Lyon didn’t return to his townhouse until the early hours of the morning. It had been a thoroughly satisfying evening all around. The look on Rhone’s face when he was being robbed by the man pretending to be Jack would live in Lyon’s memory a good long while.

Yes, it had all been worth his efforts. The charges against Rhone would be dropped by tomorrow at the latest. Everyone now believed Rhone’s story that he’d injured his wrist by accident when he’d fallen on a piece of jagged glass.

Wellingham had been made to look like a fool. That thought pleased Lyon. He wasn’t through with that bastard—or the other three, for that matter—but Lyon knew he’d have to wait before making their lives as miserable as he had planned. Rhone’s father would be avenged. The four thieves were going to regret the day they’d decided to make Rhone’s family their target. Lyon would see to it.

Christina was sound asleep on the floor next to his side of the bed. Lyon undressed quickly, then lifted his wife into his arms, careful to avoid being pricked by the knife under her blanket. Put her where she belonged—in his bed. He wrapped his arms around her until she was snuggled against his chest.

He’d have to do something about the soft mattresses, he supposed. He smiled as he remembered Christina telling him on their wedding night that the bed was trying to swallow her up.

She hadn’t fallen out of bed. No wonder she’d laughed when he’d announced that she had. Lyon fervently hoped she’d get used to the bed. He didn’t relish the idea of bedding down on the ground, but he would do it, he realized with a sigh, if it was the only way he could hold her.

Compromise. The word whispered through his mind. It was a foreign concept to him. Until Christina. Perhaps now, he decided, it was time to practice it.

Lyon was eager for morning to come. After explaining his reason for being so angry with her when he’d found her at Bryan’s tavern, he’d ease into the issue of her safety. He’d make her understand he only had her best interests at heart, and that she couldn’t go flitting about town without proper escort.

And she would learn to compromise.

Lyon wasn’t able to lecture his wife the following morning. She wasn’t there to listen to him.

He didn’t wake up until noon—an amazing fact, for he rarely slept more than three hours at a stretch. He felt rested, ready to take on the world. More exactly, he was ready to take on his wife, and he hurried in his dress so that he could go downstairs to begin her instruction.

Lyon had jumped to the erroneous conclusion that Christina would actually be waiting for him.

“What do you mean? She can’t be gone!”

His bellow frightened the timid servant. “The Marchioness left several hours ago, my lord,” he stammered out. “With Brown and the other men. Have you forgotten your orders to your wife? I heard the Marchioness tell Brown you had insisted she return to Lyonwood immediately.”

“Yes, I did forget,” Lyon muttered. He lied to his servant, of course. He hadn’t given any such instructions. Yet he wasn’t about to let a member of his staff know Christina wasn’t telling the truth. It wasn’t her character he was protecting but his own. Lyon didn’t want anyone to know the lack of control he had over her.

It was humiliating. Lyon grumbled about that sorry fact until a sudden thought made him cheer up a bit. Christina must have been nervous to leave so quickly. Perhaps she’d realized the significance of her actions yesterday.

Lyon at first thought to go to Lyonwood immediately, then decided to let Christina stew in her own worries for most of the day. By the time he arrived home she might even be contrite.

Yes, time and silence were his allies. He hoped he’d have her apology by nightfall.

Lyon spent an hour going over estate details, then decided to stop by his mother’s townhouse to tell Diana about Rhone.

He was given a surprise when he barged into the drawing room and found Rhone sitting on the settee with his arm draped around Diana.

“Am I interrupting?” he drawled.

His entrance didn’t seem to bother either one of them. Diana’s head continued to rest on Rhone’s shoulder, and his friend didn’t even glance up.

“Here’s Lyon now, sweetling. Quit crying. He’ll know what’s to be done.”

Lyon barked orders as he strode over to the fireplace. “Rhone, get your arm off my sister. Diana, sit up and behave with a little decorum, for God’s sake. What are you crying about?”

His sister tried to comply with his command, but as soon as she straightened up Rhone pulled her back, forcing the side of her cheek onto his shoulder again.

“You stay right there. I’m comforting her, damn it, Lyon, and that’s that.”

Lyon decided he’d have to deal with his friend later. “Tell me why you’re crying, Diana. Now. I’m in a hurry,” he added.

“You don’t need to raise your voice to her, Lyon.” Rhone glared at his friend. “She’s had an upset.”

“Will one of you please tell me what the hell the upset was?”

“Mama.” Diana wailed. She pulled away from Rhone to dab at her eyes with her lace handkerchief. “Christina took her.”

“She what?” Lyon asked, shaking his head in confusion.

“Your wife took your mother to Lyonwood with her,” Rhone said.

“And that’s why Diana’s crying?” Lyon asked, trying to get to the bottom of the matter.

Rhone was trying not to laugh. His eyes sparkled with merriment. “It is,” he said as he patted Diana’s shoulder.

Lyon sat down across from his sister and waited for her to get hold of herself. She looked like a butterfly, he thought, dressed in a yellow gown with brown trim. Her tears were making a mess of the gown.

“Diana,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice, “You needn’t be afraid that I’m angry because my wife took our mother with her. That’s why you’re crying, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“You wanted Mother to stay here?”

When she shook her head and continued to sob, Lyon’s patience wore out. “Well?”

“Mama didn’t want to go,” Diana cried. “Rhone, you tell him. You saw what happened. I just don’t know what to think. And Aunt Harriett laughing like a loon the whole time. Oh, I didn’t know what—”

“Rhone, do you care about Diana?”

“I do. Very much.”

“Then I suggest you quiet her down before I strangle her. Diana, stop that snorting.”

“I’ll explain, my sweet,” Rhone told Diana in a tender, soothing voice.

Lyon hid his exasperation. Rhone was acting like a lovesick puppy.

“Your mama denied Christina’s request to go along with her to Lyonwood, you see. And that’s when the fireworks began.”

Rhone couldn’t control his smile. Diana was weeping into his jacket now, so he felt safe grinning. “Your wife was very determined to take your mother with her. So determined, in fact, that she … well, she dragged your mother out of bed.”

“You’re jesting.”

“Mama didn’t want to go.”

“Obviously,” Lyon drawled. “Did Christina explain her reasons for being so forceful?”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, but his sister was watching him intently, and he didn’t want to upset her further by letting her see his amusement.

Rhone didn’t help his determination to shield his sister’s feelings. “You should have seen it, Lyon. Your mother is a strong woman. I never realized that fact. I thought she’d been languishing these past years, but she did put up quite a fight. Of course, that was only after …”

“After what?” Lyon asked, thoroughly puzzled by his wife’s conduct.

“Mama told Christina she wanted to stay where she was. She had people coming to call, and she wanted to talk to them about James, of course,” Diana said to Lyon.

“Yes, well, that’s when Christina asked your mother if her heart had died.”

“I don’t understand,” Lyon announced, shaking his head.

“I didn’t either,” Rhone answered. “Anyway, your mother said that since James had died, her heart was also dead … whatever in God’s name that means.”

Lyon smiled then. He couldn’t help himself. “My mother is a professional mourner, Rhone. You know that well enough.”

“Was,” Rhone drawled out. “Christina had gotten your mother down into the entryway by this time. Your aunt, Diana, and I were standing there, watching the two ladies, wondering what was going on. Then Christina explained it all to us.”

“She’s going to kill Mama.”

“Now, Diana, that isn’t what she said,” Rhone said. He patted her shoulder, then turned to grin at Lyon again.

“Rhone, will you get on with it?”

“Christina told your mother that where she came from—and God only knows where that is—an old warrior who was broken in spirit and in heart would go into the wilderness.”

“What for?” Lyon asked.

“Why, to find a nice, secluded spot in which to die, of course. Needless to say, your mother didn’t take kindly to being called an old warrior.”

Lyon stared at the ceiling a long minute before daring to look at his friend again. He was dangerously close to laughing. “No, I don’t suppose she would,” he whispered.

“Well, part of it is Mama’s own fault,” Diana interjected. “If she hadn’t agreed that her heart was broken, Christina wouldn’t have insisted on taking her with her. She told Mama she’d help her find a lovely spot.”

“That was good of her,” Lyon said.

“Lyon, Mama hadn’t had her chocolate yet. She hadn’t had her maids pack any of her possessions, either. Christina told her it didn’t matter. One didn’t have to pack when one was going to die. Those were her very words.”

“Your mother started shouting then,” Rhone announced.

“Rhone wouldn’t let me interfere,” Diana whispered, “and Aunt Harriett was laughing.”

“Not until your mother was inside the carriage,” Rhone commented.

“Was she shouting James’s name?” Lyon asked.

“Well … no, of course not,” Diana muttered. “What has that got to do with anything?”

Neither Rhone nor Lyon could answer her. They were too busy laughing.

It took Lyon several minutes before he could speak again. “I guess I’d better get back to Lyonwood.”

“What if Christina hides Mama somewhere in the countryside and won’t tell you where?”

“Do you really believe Christina would harm your mama?” Rhone asked.

“No,” Diana whispered. “But she sounded as though it was the most natural thing for … an old warrior to do.” Diana let out a loud sigh. “Christina has some unusual notions, doesn’t she?”

“She’s bluffing, Diana. She’s pretending to give our mother what she wants.”

“Lyon, would you like me to ride along with you to Lyonwood?” Rhone asked.

Lyon could tell by the gleam in his friend’s green eyes that he was up to mischief. “Why do you offer?” he asked.

“I could help you search the estate,” Rhone drawled.

“Very amusing,” Lyon snapped. “Now see what you’ve done? Diana’s crying again. You deal with it, Rhone. I don’t have time. Come down to Lyonwood this weekend with Aunt Harriett and Diana.”

Lyon strolled over to the doorway, then called over his shoulder, “If I haven’t found your mother by then, Diana, you can help search.”

Rhone contained his smile. “He’s only jesting, sweetheart. Now, now, let me hold you, love. You can cry on my shoulder.”

Lyon closed the door on Rhone’s soothing voice. He shook his head in vexation. He’d been so wrapped up in his own life, he hadn’t realized Rhone was falling in love with Diana.

Rhone was a good friend … but a brother-in-law … Lyon would have to adjust to that possibility.

Christina wouldn’t be surprised by the attraction. No, she’d been the one to instruct Rhone on his destiny, Lyon recalled with a smile.

Ah, destiny. He decided it was now his destiny to go home and kiss his wife.

The desire to take Christina into his arms, to make slow, sweet love to her, made the journey back to Lyonwood seem much longer than usual.

The sun was just setting when Lyon rode toward the circle drive in front of his house. He squinted against the sunlight, trying to make out the sight he thought he was seeing.

As he rode closer, he recognized the man dragging his shoes down the steps. It was Elbert. What was he doing there? And what in God’s name was he doing with Lyon’s boots? Lyon was close enough to see his dozens of shoes and boots lined up on the steps, the walkway.

Lyon dismounted, slapped his horse on the hindquarters as a signal to take to the stables, then called out to Christina’s former butler. “Elbert? What are you doing with my shoes?”

“The madam’s orders, my lord,” Elbert answered. “Didn’t know a man could own so many boots,” he added. “Been at this task near an hour now. Up the stairs and down the stairs, then up—”

“Elbert? Give me the reason why,” Lyon interrupted, his voice irritated. “And what are you doing at Lyonwood? Did Christina invite you to visit?”

“Hired me, sir,” Elbert announced. “I’m to be Brown’s assistant. Did you know how worried she was about me? She knew I wouldn’t last with the old bat. Your misses has a good heart. I’ll do my part, my lord. I won’t be shirking me responsibilities to you.”

Christina did have a good heart. His gentle wife knew Elbert wouldn’t be able to find work with anyone else. He was simply too old, too feeble. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Elbert,” Lyon said. “Glad to have you on staff.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Elbert returned.

Lyon noticed Brown standing in the open doorway then. His butler looked upset. “Good afternoon, my lord,” Brown called out. “It is so very good to have you back,” he added. His voice sounded strained to Lyon, relieved as well. “Did you see your shoes, sir?”

“I’m not blind, man. Of course I saw them. Would you care to explain what in thunderation is going on?”

“Your wife’s orders,” Brown announced.

“Past wife,” Elbert interjected with a cackle.

Lyon took a deep breath. “What are you talking about?” He addressed his question to Brown, believing his young butler would make more sense than the old man snickering with laughter behind him.

“You’re being divorced, my lord.”

“I’m what?”

Brown’s shoulders sagged. He knew his lord wasn’t going to take the news well. “Divorced.”

“Cast out, my lord, pushed aside, forgotten, dead in her heart—”

“I get your meaning, Elbert,” Lyon muttered in exasperation. “I’m aware of what the word divorce means.” Lyon continued into the house. The old servant shuffled after him. “Those were her very words. My mistress is divorcing you the way her people do. She said it was quite all right to get rid of a husband. You have to find someplace else to live.”

“I what?” Lyon asked, certain he hadn’t heard correctly.

Brown’s insistent nod indicated he had.

“You’re cast out, pushed aside—”

“For God’s sake, Elbert, cease your litany,” Lyon demanded. He turned back to Brown. “What is the significance of the shoes?”

“They signify your departure, my lord,” Brown said.

The butler tried not to stare at the incredulous look on his master’s face. He was in jeopardy of losing his control. He stared at the floor instead.

“Let me get this straight in my mind,” Lyon muttered. “My wife believes the house belongs to her?”

“And your mother, of course,” Brown blurted out. “She’s keeping her.”

Brown was biting his lower lip. Lyon thought he might be trying not to laugh.

“Of course,” Lyon drawled.

Elbert tried to be helpful once again. “It’s the way her people do,” he interjected, his voice gratingly cheerful.

“Where is my wife?” Lyon asked, ignoring Elbert’s comments.

He didn’t wait for his servants to answer him but took the steps two at a time to reach the bedrooms. A sudden thought made him pause. “Did she cut her hair?” he called out.

“She did,” Elbert shouted before Brown could open his mouth. “It’s the way of it,” Elbert insisted. “Once the hair’s cut—well, then you’re as good as dead to her. You’re set aside, cast—”

“I’ve gotten her message,” Lyon shouted. “Brown, bring my shoes inside. Elbert, go sit somewhere.”

“My lord?” Brown called out.

“Yes?”

“Do the French really follow these laws?”

Lyon contained his smile. “Did my wife say it was the law?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And she told you she was from France?” he asked his butler.

Brown nodded.

“Then it must be true,” Lyon announced. “I would like a bath, Brown. Leave the shoes until later,” he added before turning back to his destination.

Lyon smiled. There were times when he forgot just how young and inexperienced Brown was. Of course, he’d been lied to by someone who radiated innocence and sincerity. Christina.

His wife wasn’t waiting for him in their bedroom. He really hadn’t expected her to be there. The sun still gave sufficient light for her to stay outdoors. Lyon doubted she’d return to the house until darkness forced her to do so.

Lyon walked over to the windows to look out at the setting sun. It was a magnificent sight, and one he’d never taken the time to notice until he’d married Christina. She had opened his eyes to the wonders of life.

And the wonder of love. Yes, he did love her, so ferociously it almost frightened him. If anything happened to her, Lyon didn’t know how he’d be able to go on.

That odious thought wouldn’t have intruded on his peace of mind if he hadn’t been so concerned about Christina’s reunion with her father. Lyon was more than uneasy.

She believed he’d try to kill her. Richards hadn’t been able to tell Lyon much about Christina’s father, but the fact that Stalinsky had been involved in the Brisbane affair, with such shameful results, worried Lyon.

How simple it would be if Christina would trust him, confide in him. Lord, he felt as if he was being asked to fence with an enemy with a blindfold tied around his eyes.

Equal measure. Wasn’t that what he wanted from Christina?

The truth hit him like a blow. He’d demanded from his wife what he’d been unwilling to give her. Trust. Yes, he wanted her absolute trust, yet he hadn’t let her know how much he trusted her. No, he told himself with a shake of his head, his sin was worse. He hadn’t opened his heart to her.

Christina had only questioned him once about his past. When they were on their way to Lyonwood, she’d asked him to tell her about his first wife, Lettie.

His answers had been abrupt. He’d let her know the subject wasn’t one he would discuss.

She hadn’t asked him again.

Yes, he was getting equal measure.

The door opened behind him. Lyon glanced over his shoulder and saw the servants carrying the tub and pails of steaming water into the room.

He turned back to the landscape and was in the process of drawing off his jacket when he saw Christina.

His breath caught in his throat. The sight was more magnificent than the sunset. Christina was riding bareback. The gray stallion she’d chosen was racing across the grounds with such speed his legs were a blur.

She rode like the wind. Her golden hair flew out behind her. Her back was as straight as a lance, and when she directed her mount over the hedge that separated the wilderness from the immediate grounds, Lyon started breathing again.

Christina was far more skilled than he was. That fact became obvious as he continued to watch her. He was arrogantly pleased, as if her skill somehow reflected on him. “She’s my lioness,” he whispered, excusing his reaction.

She was so incredibly graceful … and he had offered to teach her how to ride.

Another incorrect assumption, Lyon realized. As incorrect as believing he would actually gain an apology from her for yesterday’s folly.

Lyon was chuckling to himself as he stripped off his clothes. He ignored his servants’ worried glances. He knew they weren’t used to hearing him laugh. Then he stretched out in the long tub, his shoulders propped against the back. Brown was occupied getting fresh clothing ready for him.

“I’ll take care of that,” Lyon told his butler. “You may leave now.”

Brown started for the door, then hesitated. When he turned around to look at his employer, his expression showed his concern.

“What is it?” Lyon asked.

“My lord, I would never presume to intrude upon your private affairs, but I was wondering if you’ll be honoring your wife’s decision.”

Lyon had to remind himself that Brown was very young and hadn’t been in his household long enough to know his lord’s ways well. He’d never have asked such a ridiculous question otherwise. “Why, of course, Brown,” Lyon drawled out.

“Then you’ll let her divorce you?” Brown blurted out, clearly stunned.

“I believe she already did divorce me,” Lyon answered with a grin.

The butler wasn’t at all happy with that announcement. “I shall miss you, my lord.”

“She’s keeping you, too?” Lyon asked.

Brown nodded. He looked miserable. “My lady explained that we are part of her family now.”

“We?”

“She’s keeping the full staff, my lord.”

Lyon started laughing. “I really wish you’d stay,” Brown blurted out.

“Quit worrying, Brown. I’m not going anywhere,” Lyon announced. “As soon as my wife walks into the house, send her to me. If she can divorce me so easily, then there must be a quick way to remarry again. This little problem will be resolved by nightfall, I promise you.”

“Thank God,” Brown whispered. He hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Brown could hear his lord’s laughter all the way down the hall.

Christina met the butler at the bottom of the steps. When he informed her that the Marquess was upstairs and wished an audience with her, she gave him a disgruntled look before giving in to his request.

When she walked into the bedroom, she came to a sudden stop.

“Close the door, sweetheart.”

Christina did as he asked, but only because she wished privacy for their confrontation.

“Did you enjoy your ride?” Lyon asked.

The mildness in his tone confused her. Christina was ready for a fight. Lyon didn’t seem to be in an accommodating mood. “Lyon,” she began, deliberately avoiding his gaze, “I don’t think you realize what I’ve done.”

“Of course I do, my dear,” Lyon answered, in such a cheerful voice that Christina was more confused than ever.

“You’re going to have to start all over. You’ll have to court me, though now that you are aware of my … unusual upbringing, I doubt you’ll—”

“All right.”

Christina looked at him. “All right? That is all you have to say to me?” She shook her head, let out a long sigh, and then whispered, “You don’t understand.”

“Yes, I do. You’ve just cast me aside. Elbert explained.”

“You aren’t upset?”

“No.”

“Well, why not? You told me you loved me,” Christina said. She moved a step closer to Lyon. “Your words were false, weren’t they? Now that you know—”

“They weren’t false,” Lyon answered. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “God, this feels good. I tell you, Christina, the ride from London gets longer every time.”

She couldn’t believe his casual attitude. Christina felt like weeping. “You cannot humiliate me and then act as though nothing has happened. A warrior would kill another for such an offense,” she told him.

“Ah, but you aren’t a warrior, Christina. You’re my wife.”

“Was.”

He didn’t even open his eyes to look at her when he asked, “Exactly what did I do?”

“You don’t know?” She had to take a deep breath before she could go on. “You shouted at me in front of a witness. You shamed me. You disgraced me.”

“Who was the witness?” Lyon asked, in such a soft voice that she had to move a bit closer to hear him.

“Bryan,” Christina announced.

“Didn’t I yell at you in front of Richards, too? I seem to remember—”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“You were shouting because I fainted. You weren’t angry with me. Surely you can see the difference.”

“I do now,” Lyon admitted. “Do you wonder why I shouted at you in front of Bryan?”

“No.”

Lyon opened his eyes. His irritation was obvious. “You scared the hell out of me,” he announced. Each word was clipped, hard.

“I what?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Christina. When I walked inside that tavern and found you sitting so peacefully in the midst of the worse scum in England, my mind could barely take it in. Then you had the gall to smile at me, as if you were happy to see me.”

He had to stop talking. The memory was making him angry again.

“I was happy to see you. Did you doubt that I was?” she asked.

Her hands rested on her hips. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and continued to frown at him. “Well?” she demanded.

“Did you cut your hair again?”

“I did. It is all part of the ritual of mourning,” Christina announced.

“Christina, if you cut your hair every time you’re unhappy with me, you’ll be bald in a month’s time. I promise you.”

Lyon drew a long breath, then said, “Let me get this straight inside my mind. I’m never to raise my voice to you in future? Christina, it won’t work. There will be times when I shout at you.”

“I don’t care if you raise your voice to me,” Christina muttered. “I shall also let my temper show on occasion,” she admitted. “But I would never, ever let an outsider see my displeasure. That was the humiliation, Lyon.”

“Oh? Then I should have dragged you into the back room to shout at you in privacy?” he asked.

“Yes, you should have,” Christina agreed.

“You took a foolish risk, Christina. You were in danger, whether you realized it or not. I want your apology and your promise never to take such a risk again.”

“I shall have to think about it,” she said. Now that she was forced to consider what he was saying to her, she realized she had been in a bit of danger. There were too many men in Bryan’s tavern for her to subdue … if they’d all decided to challenge her at the same time. She’d thought she’d gained the upper hand, though, after the single challenger had backed down … and after she’d mentioned her husband was the Marquess of Lyonwood. “Yes,” she repeated, “I shall have to think about these promises you want from me.”

She could tell from Lyon’s ferocious expression that he didn’t care for her honest answer. “I warned you that it wouldn’t be easy for you,” she whispered.

“That’s what this is really all about, isn’t it?”

“I’ve just said—”

“You’re testing me, aren’t you, Christina?”

She made the mistake of getting too close to the tub, realizing her error a second too late. Lyon grabbed her and pulled her down into his lap. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub.

“You’ve ruined my gown,” Christina gasped.

“I’ve ruined others,” Lyon told her when she quit struggling. He cupped the sides of her face and made her look at him. “I love you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You humiliated me.”

“I love you,” Lyon repeated in a harsh whisper. “I’m sorry you felt humiliated,” he added.

“You’re sorry?”

A single tear slid down her cheek. Lyon wiped it away with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she whispered. “I shall try not to do it again.”

“Tell me you love me,” Lyon demanded.

“I love you.”

“Should I believe you?” he asked. His voice was husky, coaxing.

“Yes,” Christina answered. She tried to push his hands away when she realized he was actually insulting her. “Of course you should believe me.”

“But you don’t believe me when I tell you I love you,” Lyon said. “You have it in your head that it’s only a temporary condition, don’t you?” He kissed her slowly, tenderly, hoping to take the sting out of his gentle rebuke. “When you learn to trust me completely, you’ll know I won’t change my mind. My love is forever, Christina.”

Lyon didn’t give her time to argue over that fact. He kissed her again. His tongue flicked over her soft lips until they parted for him.

And then he began to ravage her mouth.

Christina tried to protest. “Lyon, I must—”

“Get your clothes off,” Lyon interrupted. He was already pulling apart the fastenings on the back of her gown.

No, she hadn’t meant to say that. But her thoughts got confused inside her mind. Lyon had pulled her gown down to her waist. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbed her nipples, forced her response. His mouth had never seemed so warm, so inviting.

There was more water on the floor than in the tub. Lyon didn’t seem to mind. He was determined, and he had Christina stripped out of her soggy clothes in little time.

Christina didn’t want to struggle. She put her arms around his neck and let out a soft sigh. “The water isn’t very hot,” she whispered against his ear.

“I am.”

“What?”

“Hot.”

“Lyon? I want—”

“Me, inside you,” Lyon whispered. His mouth feasted on the side of her neck. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine. “You want to feel me inside you,” he rasped out. “Hard. Hot. I’ll try to go slow, but you’ll want me harder, faster, until I’m touching your womb and you’re begging me for release.”

Christina’s head fell back so that Lyon could kiss more of her throat. His dark promise of what was to come made her throat tighten and her heartbeat quicken. “I’ll stay inside you until I’m hard again, won’t I, Christina? And then I’ll pleasure you again.”

His mouth settled on hers for another long, drugging kiss.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it, my sweet?”

“Yes,” Christina answered. She sighed against his mouth. “It’s what I want.”

“Then marry me. Now,” Lyon demanded. He kissed her again as a precaution against any protest. “Hurry, Christina. I want to … Christina, don’t move like that,” Lyon ground out. “It’s torture.”

“You like it.”

She whispered the truth against his shoulder, then nipped his skin with her teeth, her nails. She moved again to straddle his hips, rubbing her breasts against his chest.

Yet when she tried to take Lyon inside her, he wouldn’t allow it. His hands settled on the sides of her hips, holding her away from his arousal.

“Not yet, Christina,” he groaned. “Are we still divorced inside your head?”

“Lyon, please,” Christina begged.

He drew her up against him until her heat rested on the flat of his stomach. His fingers found her, slowly penetrated her. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked with a growl.

“No, don’t stop.”

“Are we married?”

Christina gave in. “Yes, Lyon. You were supposed to court me first.” She moaned when he increased the pressure. She bit his bottom lip, then opened her mouth for him again.

“Compromise,” Lyon whispered as he slowly pushed her downward and began to penetrate her.

She didn’t understand what he was saying to her, thought to at least try to question him, but Lyon suddenly shifted. His movement was forceful, deliberate. Christina couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Lyon was pulling her into the sun. Soon, when she could bear the scorching heat no longer, he would give her sweet release.

Christina clung to her warrior in blissful surrender.

“We should have gone downstairs for dinner. I don’t want your mother to think she can hide in her bedroom. She must eat all her meals with us in future, husband.”

Lyon ignored his wife’s comments. He pulled her up against his side, draped the bed covers over her legs when he noticed she was trembling, then began to tickle her shoulder with his fingers.

“Christina? Didn’t your father ever yell at you when you were a little girl?”

She turned and rested her chin on his chest before she answered him. “That’s an odd question to put to me. Yes, Father did yell.”

“But never in front of others?” Lyon asked.

“Well, there was one time when he lost his temper,” she admitted. “I was too little to remember the incident, but my mother and the shaman liked to tell the story.”

“Shaman?”

“Our holy man,” Christina explained. “Like the one who married us. My shaman doesn’t ever wear a cone on his head, though.” She ended her comment with a dainty shrug.

“What was the reason for your father to lose his temper?” Lyon asked.

“You’ll not laugh?”

“I won’t laugh.”

Christina turned her gaze to stare at his chest so that his golden eyes wouldn’t break her concentration. “My brother carried home a beautiful snake. Father was very pleased.”

“He was?”

“It was a fine snake, Lyon.”

“I see.”

She could hear the smile in his voice but didn’t take exception. “Mother was also pleased. I must have watched the way my brother held his prize, and the shaman said I was envious of the attention given my brother, too, for I went out to capture a snake of my own. No one could find me for several hours. I was very little and in constant mischief.”

“Ah, so that is why your father lost his temper,” Lyon announced. “Your disappearance must have—”

“No, that isn’t the reason,” Christina interjected. “Though of course he was unhappy that I’d left the safety of the village.”

“Well, then?” Lyon prodded when she didn’t immediately continue with her story.

“Everyone was frantically searching for me when I strutted back into the village. Mama said I always strutted because I tried to imitate my brother’s swagger. White Eagle walked like a proud warrior, you see.”

The memory of the story she’d heard so many times during her growing years made her smile. “And did you have a snake with you when you strutted back into the village?” Lyon asked.

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “The shaman recounted that I held it just as my brother had held his snake. Father was standing on the far side of the fires. Mother stood beside him. Neither showed any outward reaction to my prize. They didn’t want to frighten me into dropping the snake, I was told later. Anyway,” she added with a sigh, “Father walked over to me. He took the snake out of my hand, killed it, and then began to shout at me. Mother knew I didn’t understand. Father had praised my brother, you see, yet he was yelling at me.”

“Why do you think that was?” Lyon asked, already dreading her answer.

“My brother’s snake wasn’t poisonous.”

“Oh, God.”

The tremble in her husband’s voice made her laugh. “Father was soon over his anger. The shaman announced that the spirits had protected me. I was their lioness, you see. Mama said Father was also sorry for making me cry. He took me riding with him that afternoon and let me sit on his lap during the evening meal.”

The parallel was too good to pass up. “Your father was frightened,” Lyon announced. “He loved you, Christina—so much so that when he saw the danger you were in, his discipline deserted him. Just like my discipline deserted me when I saw the danger you were in yesterday.”

He dragged her up on top of him so he could look into her eyes. “It was his duty to keep my lioness safe for me.”

Christina slowly nodded. “I think you would like my father. You’re very like him in many ways. You’re just as arrogant. Oh, don’t frown, Lyon. I give you a compliment when I say you’re arrogant. You’re full of bluster, too.”

She sounded too sincere for Lyon to take insult. “What is your father’s name?” he asked.

“Black Wolf.”

“Will he like me?”

“No.”

He wasn’t insulted by her abrupt answer. In truth, he was close to laughing. “Care to tell me why not?”

“He hates the whites. Doesn’t trust them.”

“That’s why you have such a suspicious nature, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

She rested the side of her face against Lyon’s shoulder.

“You’re still a little suspicious of me, too, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a sigh.

“I trust you, my sweet. Completely.”

She didn’t show any reaction.

“Christina, I want equal measure. I will have your trust. And not just for a day or two. Those are my terms.”

She slowly lifted her head to stare at Lyon. “And if I’m unable to meet your terms?” she asked.

He saw the worry in her eyes. “You tell me,” he whispered.

“You’ll set me aside,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “No.”

“No? Then what?”

He wanted to kiss her frown away. “I’ll wait. I’ll still love you. In your heart you really don’t believe me, do you? You think you’ll do something to displease me and I’ll quit loving you. It won’t happen, Christina.”

She was humbled by his fervent words. “I worry.” Her confession was whispered in a forlorn voice. “There are times when I don’t think I shall ever fit in. I’m like a circle trying to squeeze into a square.”

“Everyone feels like that at times,” Lyon told her, smiling over her absurd analogy. “You’re vulnerable. Are there times when you still want to go home?”

His hands caressed her shoulders while he waited for her answer. “I couldn’t leave you,” she answered. “And I couldn’t take you back with me. You’re my family now, Lyon.” Her frown intensified. “It really isn’t going to be easy for you, living with me.”

“Marriage is never easy in the beginning,” he answered. “We both have to learn to compromise. In time we’ll understand each other’s needs.”

“Your family and your staff will think me odd.”

“They already do.”

Her frown was forced now, and a sparkle appeared in her eyes. “That was unkind of you to say,” she told him.

“No, it was an honest admission. They think I’m odd, too. Do you care so much what others think of you, Christina?”

She shook her head. “Only you, Lyon. I care what you think.”

He showed her how pleased he was to hear her admission by kissing her.

“I also care what you think,” Lyon whispered. “Will my shoes be lining the steps outside again?”

“The old ways are familiar to me,” Christina explained. “I was so angry with you. It was all I could think to do to make you realize how unhappy you’d made me.”

“Thank God you didn’t try to leave me.”

“Try?”

“You know I’d chase you down and drag you back where you belong.”

“Yes, I knew you would. You are a warrior, after all.”

Lyon moved Christina to his side, determined to finish their conversation before making love to her again. Her hand moved to his thigh. It was a distraction. Lyon captured both her hands and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Christina? Did you ever love another man? Was there someone back home who captured your heart?”

Her head was tucked under his chin. Christina smiled, knowing Lyon couldn’t see her reaction. He’d tensed against her after he’d asked the question. He hadn’t been able to keep the worry out of his voice.

He was letting her see his vulnerability. “When I was very young, I thought I’d grow up and marry White Eagle. Then, when I was seven summers or so, I put those silly thoughts aside. He was my brother, after all.”

“Was there anyone else?”

“No. Father wouldn’t let any of the warriors walk with me. He knew I had to return to the whites. My destiny had already been decided.”

“Who decided your destiny?” Lyon asked.

“The dream.”

Christina waited for his next question, but after a minute or two, when she realized he wasn’t going to ask her to explain, she decided to tell him anyway.

She wanted him to understand.

The story of the shaman’s journey to the top of the mountain to seek his vision captured Lyon’s full attention.

The dream made him smile. “If your mother hadn’t called you a lioness, would the shaman ever have—”

“He would have sorted it all out,” Christina interrupted. “I had white-blond hair and blue eyes, just like the lion in his dream. Yes, he would have sorted it out. Do you understand now how confused I was when Sir Reynolds called you Lyon? I knew in that moment that I had found my mate.”

The logical part of Lyon’s mind saw all the flaws in the dream, the superstitions of the rituals. Yet he easily pushed reason aside. He didn’t care if it didn’t make sense. “I knew in that moment, too, that you’d belong to me.”

“Both of us fought it, didn’t we, Lyon?”

“That we did, love.”

Christina laughed. “You never stood a fair chance, husband. Your fate had already been decided.”

Lyon nodded. “Now it’s your turn to ask me questions. Would you like me to tell you about Lettie?”

Christina tried to look up at Lyon, but he wouldn’t let her move. “Do you want to tell me about her?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

“Yes, I do. Now ask me your questions,” he commanded, his voice soft.

“Did you love her?”

“Not in the same way I love you. I was never … content. I was too young for marriage. I realize that now.”

“What was she like?”

“The complete opposite of you,” Lyon answered. “Lettie enjoyed the social whirl of the ton. She hated this house, the countryside. Lettie loved intrigue. I was working with Richards then. The war was coming, and I was away from home quite a lot. My brother, James, escorted Lettie to various events. While I was away, he took her to his bed.”

Her indrawn breath told him she understood. Lyon had wanted to tell Christina about his first wife so that she would see how much he trusted her. Yet now that the telling had begun, the anger he’d held inside him for so long began to fade. That realization surprised him. His explanation wasn’t hesitant now. “Lettie died in childbirth. The babe also. It wasn’t my child, Christina. James was the father. I remember how I sat next to my wife, trying to give her comfort. God, she was in terrible pain. I pray you’ll never have to endure it. Lettie wasn’t aware that I was there. She kept screaming for her lover.”

Christina felt like weeping. The pain of his brother’s betrayal must have been unbearable. She didn’t understand. How could a wife shame her husband in such a way?

She hugged Lyon but decided against offering him additional sympathy. He was a proud man. “Were you and your brother close to each other before his betrayal?” she asked.

“No.”

Christina scooted away from Lyon so she could see his expression. His gaze showed only his puzzlement over her question. Lettie’s sin no longer affected him, she decided.

“You never gave Lettie your heart,” she announced. “It’s your brother you’ve yet to forgive, isn’t it, Lyon?”

He was amazed by her perception. “Were you close to James?” she asked again.

“No. We were very competitive when we were younger. I grew out of that nonsense, but my brother obviously didn’t.”

“I wonder if James wasn’t like Lancelot,” she whispered, “from the story of Camelot.”

“And Lettie was my Guinevere?” he asked, his smile gentle.

“Perhaps,” Christina answered. “Would it make his deception easier to bear if you believed it wasn’t a deliberate sin?”

“It wouldn’t be the truth. James wasn’t Lancelot. My brother took what he wanted, when he wanted it, regardless of the consequences. He never really grew up,” Lyon ended.

She ignored the harshness in his voice. “Perhaps your mama wouldn’t let him,” she said.

“Speaking of my mother,” Lyon began with a sigh, “you have a plan to keep her here?”

“I do.”

“Hell. How long?”

“Quit frowning. She’ll stay with us until she wishes to leave. Of course, we have to make her want to stay first,” she qualified. “I have a plan to help her, Lyon. Together we’ll draw her back into the family. Your mama feels responsible for your brother’s death.”

“Why do you say that?” Lyon asked.

“She kept him tied to her skirts,” Christina answered. “Diana said your mother protected both of you from your father’s cruel temper.”

“How could Diana know? She was only a baby when Father died.”

“Aunt Harriett told her,” Christina explained. “I questioned both your sister and your aunt, Lyon. I wanted to know all about your mama so that I could help her.”

“How long will this take? I don’t have the patience to sit through meals listening to her talk of James.”

“We aren’t going to let her speak of James,” Christina said. “Your mama’s very determined.” She kissed Lyon on his chin, then said, “But I’m far more determined. Do I have your complete support in this undertaking?”

“Will you be taking her out into the wilderness to find a place for her to die?” he asked. He chuckled over the picture of Christina dragging his mother outdoors before adding, “Diana’s worried you really will do just that.”

Christina sighed in exasperation. “Your sister is very naive. I was only bluffing. Would you like for me to explain my plans for your mama?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather be surprised,” Lyon answered. “I just thought of another question to ask you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re full of questions.”

He ignored her rebuke and her disgruntled expression. “Do you realize you sometimes lapse into speaking French? Especially when you’re upset. Is that the language your family spoke?”

Twin dimples appeared in her cheeks. Lyon thought she looked like an angel. She wasn’t acting much like one, however, for her hand suddenly reached down to capture his arousal.

Lyon groaned, then pulled her hand away. “Answer me first,” he commanded in a husky voice.

She let him see her disappointment before she answered him. “Father captured Mr. Deavenrue to teach me the language of the whites. If Mother had been allowed to speak to the man, she would have told him that I was going to return to England. Father didn’t think that was significant. He didn’t understand that there were different white languages. Deavenrue told me later, when we became friends, that he was very frightened of my father. I remember being amused by that fact,” she added. “It was an unkind reaction, but I was only ten or eleven then, so I can excuse my attitude. Deavenrue was very young, too. He taught me the language of the whites … his whites.”

Lyon’s laughter interrupted her story. She waited until he’d calmed down before continuing. “For two long years I suffered through that language. Day in and day out. Mother was never allowed near Deavenrue. He was a handsome man, for a white,” she qualified. “In fact, everyone stayed away from him. He was there to complete a task, not to befriend.”

“Then it was only the two of you working together?” Lyon asked.

“Of course not. I wasn’t allowed to be alone with him either. There were always at least two old women with me. In time, however, I really came to like Deavenrue, and I was able to persuade my father into being a little friendlier to him.”

“When did Deavenrue realize he wasn’t teaching you the correct language? And how did he converse with your father?”

“Deavenrue spoke our language,” Christina answered. “When my mother was finally allowed to visit Deavenrue’s tipi, and she heard me reciting my lessons, she knew immediately that it wasn’t the same language she’d been taught when she was a little girl.”

“Was there an uproar?” Lyon asked, trying not to laugh again.

“Oh, yes. Mother caught Father alone and let him see her displeasure. If he hadn’t been so stubborn in keeping her away from the missionary, two years wouldn’t have been wasted. Father was just as angry. He wanted to kill Deavenrue, but Mother wouldn’t let him.”

Lyon laughed. “Why didn’t your mother teach you?”

“Her English wasn’t very good. She decided Deavenrue’s English was better.”

“Why do you prefer to speak French?”

“It’s easier at times.”

“Tell me you love me in your family’s language.”

“I love you.”

“That’s English.”

“The language of my family now,” Christina said. She then repeated her vow of love in the language of the Dakota.

Lyon thought the sound was lyrical.

“Now I will show you how much I love you,” Christina whispered. Her hands slid down his chest. She thought to stroke him into wanting her but found that he was already throbbing with desire.

“No, I’m going to show you first,” Lyon commanded.

He rolled his wife onto her back and proceeded to do just that.

A long while later husband and wife fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. They were both exhausted, and both thoroughly content.

Lyon awakened during the night. He immediately reached for his wife. As soon as he realized she wasn’t in bed with him, he rolled to his side and looked on the floor.

Christina wasn’t there either. Lyon’s mind immediately cleared of sleep. He started to get out of bed to go in search of his wife when he realized the candles were burning on the bedside table. He remembered quite specifically that he’d put out all three flames.

It didn’t make sense until he saw the black book in the center of the light.

The leather binding was scarred with age. When Lyon picked up the book and opened it, a musty smell permeated the air around him. The pages were brittle. He used infinite care as he slowly lifted the first pages of the gift Christina had given him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, his head bent to the light as he read Jessica’s diary. An hour might have passed, perhaps two. When he finished the account of Jessica’s nightmare, his hands shook.

Lyon stood up, stretched his muscles awake, then walked over to the hearth. He was chilled but didn’t know if it was the temperature in the room or Jessica’s diary that was the cause.

He was adding a second log to the fire he’d just started when he heard the door open behind him. Lyon finished his task before he turned around. He knelt on one knee, his arms braced on the other, and stared at his lovely wife a long minute.

She was dressed in a long white robe. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed. He could tell she was nervous. Christina held a tray in her hands. The glasses were clattering.

“I thought you might be hungry. I went—”

“Come here, Christina.”

His voice was whisper-soft. Christina hurried to do his bidding. She put the tray down on the bed, then rushed over to stand in front of her husband.

“Did you read it?” she asked.

Lyon stood up before he answered her. His hands settled on her shoulders. “You wanted me to, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me why you wanted me to read it.”

“Equal measure, Lyon. Your words, husband. You opened your heart to me when you told me about James and Lettie. I could do no less.”

“Thank you, Christina.” His voice shook with emotion.

Christina’s eyes widened. “Why do you thank me?”

“For trusting me,” Lyon answered. He kissed the wrinkle in her brow. “When you gave me your mother’s diary, you were also giving me your trust.”

“I was?”

Lyon smiled. “You were,” he announced. He kissed her again, tenderly, then suggested that they share their midnight meal in front of the fire.

“And we will talk?” Christina asked. “I want to tell you so many things. There’s so much we must decide upon, Lyon.”

“Yes, love, we’ll talk,” Lyon promised.

As soon as she turned to fetch the tray, Lyon grabbed one of the blankets draped over the chair and unfolded it on the floor.

Christina knelt down and placed the tray in the center of the blanket. “Do you want me to get your robe for you?” she asked.

“No,” Lyon answered, grinning. “Do you want me to take yours off?”

Lyon stretched out on his side, leaned up on one elbow, and reached for a piece of cheese. He tore off a portion and handed it to Christina.

“Do you think Jessica was crazy?” she asked.

“No.”

“I don’t either,” Christina said. “Some of her entries are very confusing, aren’t they? Could you feel her agony, Lyon, the way I did when I read her journal?”

“She was terrified,” Lyon said. “And yes, I could feel her pain.”

“I didn’t want to read her thoughts at first. Merry made me take the book with me. She told me that in time I’d change my heart. She was right.”

“She kept her promise to your mother,” Lyon interjected. “She raised you, loved you as her own, and made you strong. Those were Jessica’s wishes, weren’t they?”

Christina nodded. “I’m not always strong, Lyon. Until tonight I was afraid of him.”

“Your father?”

“I don’t like to call him my father,” Christina whispered. “It makes me ill to think his blood is part of mine.”

“Why aren’t you afraid now?” He asked.

“Because now you know. I worried you’d think Jessica’s mind was … weak.”

“Christina, when you walked into the library and I was talking to Richards, we had just finished a discussion about your father. Richards told me about an incident called the Brisbane affair. Did you hear any of it?”

“No. I would never overlisten,” Christina answered.

Lyon nodded. He quickly told her the sequence of events leading up to the murders of the Brisbane family.

“Those poor children,” Christina whispered. “Who would kill innocent little ones?”

“You won’t like the answer,” Lyon said. “I wouldn’t have related this story to you if it wasn’t important. Brisbane’s wife and children were all killed in the same way.”

“How?”

“Their throats were slashed.”

“I don’t want to picture it,” Christina whispered.

“In Jessica’s diary she talks about a couple she traveled with to the Black Hills. Do you remember?”

“Yes. Their names were Emily and Jacob. The jackal killed them.”

“How?”

“Their throats … oh, Lyon, their throats were slashed. Do you mean to say—”

“The same method,” Lyon answered. “A coincidence, perhaps, but my instincts tell me the baron murdered the Brisbane family.”

“Can’t you challenge him?”

“Not in the way you’d like me to,” Lyon answered. “We will force his hand, Christina. I give you my word. Will you leave the method to me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” she hedged.

She was deliberately staring at the floor now, avoiding his gaze. Lyon reached over and tugged a strand of her hair. “I want to hear you say the words, wife.”

Christina moved over to Lyon’s side. Her hand slowly reached out to his. When her fingers were entwined with his, she answered his demand.

“I trust you, Lyon, with all my heart.”

Chapter Sixteen

Merry and I made a promise to each other. She gave me her pledge to take care of you if anything happened to me, and I gave my word to find a way to get White Eagle back to his family if anything happened to her.

From that moment on, my fears were gone. Her promise gave me peace. She would keep you safe. You already had her love, Christina. I could see the way she’d hold you, cuddled up tenderly against her chest until you fell asleep.

She would be a better mother to you.

Journal entry

November 3, 1795

Lyon was trying to keep his temper under control. He kept telling himself that breakfast would be over soon, that Richards should be arriving at any moment, and that he was pleasing his wife by being patient with his mother. The effort cost him his appetite, however, a fact everyone at the table seemed compelled to comment upon.

He was surrounded by family and considered that a most unfortunate circumstance. His Aunt Harriett had arrived the previous afternoon with Diana. The Earl of Rhone had just happened to show up an hour later.

The coincidence was forced, of course. Diana had pretended surprise when Rhone strolled into the house. His sister was as transparent as water. Lyon wasn’t fooled for a minute. He had had the necessary talk with his friend last evening. Rhone had asked for Diana’s hand. Lyon was happy to give him all of her. He kept that thought to himself, for Rhone was in the middle of his obviously prepared dissertation on the seriousness of his pledge to love and protect Diana. When Rhone finally slowed down, Lyon gave him his blessing. He didn’t bother to advise his friend on the merits of fidelity, knowing that Rhone would honor his commitment once he’d spoken the vows.

Lyon was seated at the head of the table, with Rhone on his left and Christina on his right. His mother faced him from her position at the opposite end of the table. Aunt Harriett and Diana took turns trying to draw the elderly Marchioness into conversation. Their efforts were wasted, though. The only time Lyon’s mother glanced up from her plate was when she wanted to make a comment about her James.

Lyon was soon clenching his jaw.

“For heaven’s sake, Diana, unhand Rhone,” Aunt Harriett blurted out. “The boy will starve to death if you don’t let him at his food, child.”

“James always had a very healthy appetite,” Lyon’s mother interjected.

“I’m certain he did, Mother,” Christina said. “Do you like your room?” she asked, changing the topic.

“I do not like it at all. It’s too bright. And while we’re on the subject of my dislikes, please tell me why you insist that I not wear black. James preferred that color, you know.”

“Mama, will you please stop talking about James?” Diana begged.

Christina shook her head at Diana. “Lyon?” she asked, turning to smile at him. “When do you think Richards will arrive? I’m eager to get started.”

Lyon frowned at his wife. “You aren’t going anywhere. We discussed this, Christina,” he reminded her.

“James was always on the go,” his mother commented.

Everyone but Christina turned to frown at the gray-haired woman.

“When are we going to discuss the marriage arrangements?” Aunt Harriett asked, trying to cover the awkward silence.

“I really don’t wish to wait a long time,” Diana said. She blushed before adding, “I want to be married right away, like Lyon and Christina.”

“Our circumstances were different,” Lyon said. He winked at Christina. “You aren’t going to be as fortunate as I was. You’ll wait and have a proper wedding.”

“James wanted to marry. He simply couldn’t find anyone worthy enough,” Mama interjected.

Lyon scowled. Christina placed her hand on top of his fisted one. “You look very handsome this morning,” she told him. “You must always wear blue.”

Lyon looked into his wife’s eyes and saw the sparkle there. He knew what she was doing. Yes, she was trying to take his mind off his mother. And even though he understood her intent, it still worked. He was suddenly smiling. “You always look beautiful,” he told her. He leaned down to whisper, “I still prefer you without any clothes on, however.”

Christina blushed with pleasure.

Rhone smiled at the happy couple, then turned to speak to Lyon’s aunt. “Do you still believe Diana and I are mismatched? I would like your approval,” he added.

Aunt Harriett picked up her fan. She waved it in front of her face while she considered her answer. “I will give you my approval, but I don’t believe the two of you will be as compatible as Lyon and Christina. You can see how well they get along.”

“Oh, we are also mismatched,” Christina interjected. “Rhone and Diana are really much more suited to each other. They were raised in the same fashion,” she explained.

Aunt Harriett gave Christina a piercing look. “Now that you’re part of this family, would you mind telling me just where you were raised, child?”

“In the Black Hills,” Christina answered. She turned to Lyon then. “The Countess will certainly tell, and I really should prepare your family, don’t you think?”

“The Countess wouldn’t say a word,” Lyon answered. “As long as the money keeps pouring in, she’ll keep your secrets safe until you’re ready to tell them.”

“Tell what secrets?” Diana asked, frowning.

“She’s entitled to her privacy,” Rhone interjected, winking at Christina.

Aunt Harriett let out an inelegant snort. “Nonsense. We’re family. There shouldn’t be any secrets, unless you’ve done something you’re ashamed of, Christina, and I’m certain that isn’t the case. You’re a good-hearted child,” she added. She paused to prove her point by tilting her head toward the elderly Marchioness.

“James was such a good-hearted man,” she blurted out.

Everyone ignored that comment.

“Well?” Diana prodded Christina.

“I was raised by the Dakotas.”

Christina really believed her statement would gain an immediate reaction. Everyone just stared at her with expectant looks on their faces. She turned to Lyon.

“I don’t believe they understand, my sweet,” he whispered.

“Who are the Dakotas?” Aunt Harriett asked. “I don’t remember meeting anyone by that name. They must not be English,” she concluded with another wave of her fan.

“No, they aren’t English,” Lyon said, smiling.

“A large family?” Aunt Harriett asked, trying to understand why Lyon was smiling and Christina was blushing.

“Very large,” Lyon drawled.

“Well, why haven’t I heard of them?” his aunt demanded.

“They’re Indians.” Christina made the announcement, then waited for a true reaction.

It wasn’t long in coming. “No wonder I haven’t heard … good Lord, do you mean savages?” she gasped.

Christina was about to explain that she didn’t care for the word savages—the Countess had often preferred that description—and that the Dakotas were gentle, caring people, but Aunt Harriett’s and Diana’s bold laughter interrupted her bid to defend.

Aunt Harriett was the first to regain control. She’d noticed that Rhone, Lyon, and Christina hadn’t joined in. “You aren’t jesting with us, are you, Christina?” she asked. She felt lightheaded but kept her voice soft.

“No, I’m not jesting,” Christina answered. “Rhone? You don’t seem too surprised.”

“I was better prepared for such news,” Rhone explained.

“Are the Black Hills in France, then?” Diana asked, trying to sort it out in her mind.

Lyon chuckled over that question.

“James loved to go to France,” the mother announced. “He had many friends there.”

Aunt Harriett reached over to take hold of Christina’s hand. “My dear, I’m so sorry I laughed. You must think me terribly undisciplined. It was such a surprise. I pray you do not believe I now think you inferior in any way.”

Christina hadn’t been upset with their reaction, but she assumed Aunt Harriett thought she had. She smiled at the dear woman, then said, “I pray you do not believe I think you are inferior in any way, Aunt Harriett. In truth, I have come to realize that my people are far more civilized than the English. It is a confession I’m very proud to make.”

“James was always civil to everyone he met,” the mother announced.

Aunt Harriett patted Christina’s hand, then turned to glare at her relative.

“Millicent,” she muttered, using the elderly Marchioness’s given name, “will you let up, for God’s sake? I’m trying to have a serious conversation with Christina here.”

Aunt Harriett turned to smile at Christina again. “I eagerly await your stories about your childhood, Christina. Will you share them with me?”

“I would be happy to,” Christina answered.

“Now, I would advise you not to tell anyone outside this family. Outsiders wouldn’t understand. The ton is a shallow group of twits,” she added with a vigorous nod. “And I’ll not have you subjected to malicious gossip.”

“Did you have strange habits when you lived with—”

“For God’s sake, Diana,” Lyon roared.

“It’s all right,” Christina interjected. “She is only curious.”

“Let’s change the topic for now,” Rhone advised. He frowned at Diana, then contradicted his displeasure by taking hold of her hand.

Aunt Harriett didn’t like the peculiar way Diana was staring at Christina. Her mouth was hanging open. The silly girl was looking quite fascinated.

Concerned about Christina’s feelings, the aunt hastened to turn Diana’s attention. “Lyon? Diana insisted on bringing that ill-disciplined pup Rhone gave her. She’s tied up in the back,” Aunt Harriett explained. “Diana was hoping you’d keep the dog while we’re in London. Isn’t that right, Diana?”

Rhone had to nudge Diana before she answered. “Oh, yes. It would be cruel to keep her tied up in the townhouse. Christina, did you have a puppy when you were a little girl? Were their dogs in your … town?”

“It was called a village, not a town,” Christina answered, wishing Diana would stop staring at her so intently.

“But were there dogs there?” Diana persisted.

“Yes, there were dogs,” Christina answered. She turned to wink at her husband when she felt his hand tense under hers, then turned back to look at her sister-in-law. “They weren’t considered pets, though,” she lied. “And, of course, they never stayed long.”

“James always loved animals. He had a beautiful speckled dog he named Faithful.”

“An inappropriate name, if you ask me,” Lyon commented. “Wouldn’t you agree, Christina?” he asked, duplicating her wink.

Brown appeared in the doorway at that moment and announced that Sir Fenton Richards had just arrived. Both Christina and Lyon stood up to take their leave.

“I’d like to ride along with you and Richards,” Rhone called out.

Lyon glanced down at Christina, received her nod, then told Rhone he’d be glad for his help.

Christina was halfway across the dining room when Diana called out to her.

“Christina? Why didn’t the dogs stay long?”

She was going to ignore that question until she realized Diana was still gaping at her. Lyon’s sister was looking at her as though she’d just grown another head or two. “What happened to the dogs?”

“We ate them,” Christina called out, trying to tell her lie without laughing.

Aunt Harriett dropped her fan. Diana let out a gasp. Lyon never even blinked until his mother’s determined voice called out, “James never ate his dog. He … oh, God, what have I just said?”

Everyone joined in laughing. The elderly Marchioness even cracked a smile. It was a small one, but a smile all the same.

Christina thought it was a nice beginning. Lyon’s hug told her he thought so, too.

“Diana, I was only jesting with you. We didn’t eat our pets. You needn’t worry about your pup. I won’t have her for dinner. You have my word.”

“She never breaks her word,” Lyon advised his sister. “Unless, of course, she gets very hungry,” he added before he pulled his wife out of the room.

Richards was highly puzzled when Lyon and Christina came strolling into the library, smiling as though neither had a care in the world. Their manner was certainly at odds with the mysterious note he’d received the day before.

“Has your problem been resolved, then?” Richards asked Lyon in lieu of greeting.

“No, we still need your help,” Lyon announced. He sobered quickly. “How tired are you, Richards? Feel up to taking another ride?”

“Where?”

“The Earl of Acton’s former estate,” Lyon answered.

“That’s a good four hours’ ride, isn’t it?”

“From London,” Lyon reminded him. “Only two from here.”

“Who’s living there now?”

“No one. My inquiries tell me the house is boarded up.”

Richards turned to Christina. “I could use a spot of tea, my dear. I’m rather parched,” he added. “I set out at dawn and didn’t take time to breakfast.”

“I shall see to serving you a full meal at once,” Christina said. “You’ll need your strength for the task ahead of you,” she added before she hurried out of the library.

Richards shut the door, then turned to Lyon. “I sent your wife on a false errand so I could speak to you in private.”

“I don’t have any secrets from Christina,” Lyon returned.

“You misunderstand,” Richards said. “It isn’t a secret I’m about to tell you. But your wife will become upset. You might wish to wait until our return from this mysterious journey before telling her. Baron Stalinsky is back. He arrived yesterday. He wanted to come to meet his daughter immediately. When I heard his intent, I waylaid his plan with the lie that you and Christina were off visiting distant relatives in the North. I told him you would both be returning to London day after tomorrow. I hope that was the right thing to do, Lyon. It was a spur-of-the-moment fabrication.”

“It was good thinking,” Lyon answered. “Where is the Baron staying?”

“With the Porters. They are hosting a party for him Wednesday evening. The Baron expects to see his daughter there.”

Lyon let out a long sigh. “It can’t be put off,” he muttered. “Does Christina still believe her father will try to kill her?”

“She planned to bait him into trying,” Lyon said.

“When are you going to explain it all to me?” Richards demanded.

“On the way to Acton’s place,” Lyon promised. “Rhone’s coming with us. It should be quick work with the three of us at it,” he added.

“What is this mission?” Richards asked.

“We’re going to dig up the roses.”

Lyon, Richards, and Rhone didn’t return to Lyonwood until late afternoon. Their moods were as foul as the weather.

Christina had just walked inside the back of the house when the trio of soggy men rushed inside the front door.

They met in the hallway. Lyon was drenched to the skin. When he saw Christina in the same condition, he shook his head with displeasure. Droplets of rain flew from his hair.

“You look like a drowned cat,” Lyon muttered to Christina. He was struggling to get out of his sodden jacket, glaring at his wife all the while. Her burgundy-colored gown was indecently molded to her body. Clumps of hair hung over her eyes.

Richards and Rhone were being ushered up the steps by Brown. Lyon blocked their view of his wife.

When his friends had disappeared upstairs, Lyon confronted his wife. “What in God’s name were you doing outside?”

“You needn’t yell at me,” Christina shouted. “Did you find—”

“Do you have any idea how many damn rosebushes there were? No?” he bellowed when she shook her head. “Your grandfather must have had an obsession for the things. There were hundreds of them.”

“Oh, dear,” Christina cried. “Then you weren’t successful? I told you I should have gone with you. I could have helped.”

“Christina, you’re shouting at me,” Lyon announced. “I found the box. You can calm down.”

“I’m not shouting at you,” Christina said. She lifted her wet locks and threw them over her shoulder. “I can’t be very sympathetic over the difficulty you had. I’ve lost the damned dog.”

“What?”

“I’ve lost the damned dog,” Christina repeated. She forced herself to calm down. “It appears that both of us have had a pitiful day. Give me a kiss, Lyon. Then please put your jacket back on. You must help me look for Diana’s puppy.”

“Are you crazy? You’re not going back outside in this downpour, and that’s that.”

Christina grabbed hold of Lyon’s soggy shirt, kissed him on his hard mouth, then turned around and started walking toward the back of the house. “I have to find the dog. Diana’s upstairs trying desperately to believe I didn’t eat the stupid animal,” she muttered.

Lyon’s laughter stopped her. She turned around to glare at him.

“Sweetheart, she can’t really believe you’d do such a thing.”

“I never should have made that jest,” Christina admitted. “I told her I was only teasing. I don’t think she believes me, though. I was the last person seen with the pup. I heard her mention that sorry fact to Aunt Harriett several times. Lyon, I only wanted to let the puppy run for a while. The poor little thing looked miserable all tied up. Then she took off after a rabbit, and I’ve spent the rest of the day looking for her.”

Rhone came sloshing down the stairs. His soft curses caught Christina’s attention. Without pausing to speak to either Lyon or Christina, Rhone opened the front door and went outside.

They could hear him whistling for the dog through the door. “See? Rhone’s helping to look for the pup,” Christina stated.

“He has to,” Lyon told his wife. “He wants to make Diana happy. And the only reason I’m going to give into your request is because I want to make you happy. Got that?” he muttered before slamming out the front door.

Christina didn’t laugh until he’d left, knowing that if he heard her, his bluster would turn into real anger.

Her husband found the undisciplined puppy about an hour later. The dog was curled up under the overhang behind the stables.

Once Lyon was warm and dry again, his mood improved. After a pleasant dinner he, Rhone, and Richards all retired to the library to share a bottle of brandy. Christina was thankful for the privacy. She wasn’t feeling well. She’d been unable to keep down the rich meal she’d just eaten, and her stomach was still upset.

Lyon came upstairs around midnight. Christina was curled up in the center of their bed, waiting for him.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Lyon said. He began to strip out of his clothes.

Christina smiled at him. “And miss the chance to see my handsome husband disrobe? Never. Lyon, I don’t think I shall ever get used to looking at you.”

She could tell by his arrogant grin that he liked her praise. “I shall show you something even more handsome,” Lyon teased. He walked over to the mantel, lifted a black lacquered box from the center, and carried it over to the bed. “I transferred the jewels from the old box to this one. It’s more sound,” he added.

Christina waited until Lyon was settled in bed beside her before she opened the box. A small square cloth covered the gems. She seemed hesitant to remove the covering and look at the jewels.

Lyon didn’t understand her reticence. He took the cloth, unfolded it, and poured the assortment of precious jewels in the middle.

They were the colors of the rainbow, the sapphires and rubies and diamonds. They numbered twenty, and their value by anyone’s standards would have kept a gluttonous man well fed for a very long while.

Lyon was puzzled, for Christina continued to show no outward reaction.

“Sweetheart, do you have any idea of the price these gems will bring?”

“Oh, yes, I understand, Lyon,” Christina whispered. “The price was my mother’s life. Please put them away now. I don’t want to look at them. I think they’re very ugly.”

Lyon kissed her before he complied with her wish. When he got back into their bed he pulled her into his arms. He briefly considered telling her that Baron Stalinsky was in London, then decided that tomorrow would be soon enough to give her that ill news.

He knew Christina thought they had more time before setting their plan into motion. Her birthday had passed two weeks before, and she’d made up her mind that her father must have had other business to keep him away from England.

Lyon blew out the candles and closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember when last he’d been this tired. He was just about to drift off to sleep when Christina nudged him.

“Lyon? Will you promise me something?”

“Anything, love.”

“Never give me jewels.”

He sighed over the vehemence in her voice. “I promise.”

“Thank you, Lyon.”

“Christina?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me you’ll love me forever.”

“I promise.”

He caught the smile in her voice and suddenly realized he wasn’t nearly as tired as he thought he was. “Tell me you love me,” he commanded.

“My Lyon, I love you, and I shall continue to love you forever.”

“A man can’t ask for more than that,” Lyon drawled as he nudged her around to face him.

He thought he’d make slow, sweet love to his wife, but in the end it was a wild, undisciplined mating, and thoroughly satisfying.

The blankets and pillows were on the floor. Christina fell asleep with Lyon as her cover. He was so content he didn’t want to sleep just yet. He wanted to savor the moment, for in the back of his mind was the thought that this night could well be the calm before the storm.

Chapter Seventeen

Forgive me for not writing in this journal for such a length of time. I have been content and haven’t wanted to remember the past. But we are now preparing to leave our safe haven. I shall not be able to speak to you again through this journal for long months, until we are both settled. My plan is to catch up with another wagon train. The way west is crowded with newcomers. The valley below is the only way the wagons can go to get into the mountains. Surely someone will take pity on us and offer us assistance.

Is it a fantasy for me to think that you and I might survive?

I will finish this entry with one request, Christina. I would beg a promise from you, dear child. If you do survive and one day chance upon this diary, have a kind thought for me.

And remember, Christina, always remember how very much I loved you.

Journal entry

May 20, 1796

The time had come to face the jackal.

Christina was nervous, though not nearly as nervous as her husband. Lyon’s expression was grim. The ride from their London townhouse to Porter’s home was silent. Yet once they’d reached their destination, Lyon seemed disinclined to let Christina out of the carriage.

“Sweetheart, you’re sure you’re all right?”

Christina smiled up at her husband. “I’m fine, really.”

“God, I wish there had been a way to keep you out of this,” he whispered. “You look pale to me.”

“You should be complimenting me on my new gown, Lyon. You chose the fabric, remember?” she asked. Christina pushed open the door of the carriage.

“I’ve already told you how beautiful you look,” Lyon murmured.

He finally got out of the carriage and turned to help his wife. He thought she looked quite beautiful. The royal blue velvet gown was modestly scoop-necked. Her hair was curled into a cluster with a thin blue velvet ribbon threaded through the silky mass.

Christina reached up to brush a speck of link off Lyon’s black jacket. “You also look beautiful,” she told him.

Lyon shook his head. He pulled her matched blue cloak over her shoulders. “You’re doing this deliberately. Quit trying to ease my worry. It won’t work.”

“You like to worry, husband?” she asked.

Lyon didn’t bother to answer her. “Give me your promise again,” he demanded.

“I’ll not leave your side.” She repeated the vow she’d already given him at least a dozen times. “No matter what, I’ll stand next to you.”

Lyon nodded. He took her hand and started up the steps. “You really aren’t frightened, are you, love?”

“A little,” Christina whispered. “Richards has given me his assurance that justice in England is equal to that of the Dakotas. He’d better be right, Lyon, or we shall have to take matters into our own hands.” Her voice had turned hard. “Strike the door, husband. Let’s get this pretense of joyful reunion over and done with.”

Richards was waiting for them in the foyer. Christina was surprised by his enthusiastic reception. Lyon had lost his grim expression, too. He acted as though he hadn’t seen his friend in a long while, which was exactly what they wanted everyone to believe.

After greeting their host, a dour-faced man with a portly figure, Christina asked if Baron Stalinsky was in the receiving room.

“I can imagine how eager you must be to meet your father,” Porter announced, his voice filled with excitement. “He’s still upstairs, but he will certainly be joining us in a moment or two. I’ve kept the list of guests to a minimum, my dear, so that you may have time for a lengthy visit with your father. You must certainly have a book’s worth of news to exchange.”

Lyon removed Christina’s wrap, handed it to the butler waiting beside them, then told Porter he’d take his wife into the drawing room to await the Baron.

Her hand was cold when he clasped it in his own. He could feel her trembling. The smile never left his face, but the urge to take Christina back home and return to face her father alone nearly overwhelmed him.

The Dakotas had the right idea, Lyon decided. According to Christina, verbal slander was all that was needed for an open challenge. What followed next was a battle to the death. Justice was swift. The system might have been a bit barbaric, yet Lyon liked its simplicity.

There were only eighteen guests in the drawing room. Lyon counted them while Christina had a long conversation with their hostess. Although his wife stood next to him, he paid little attention to what the two women were discussing. Richards had walked over to join him, and he was trying to listen to his friend advise him on the merits of the changing weather.

When their hostess left, Christina turned to Richards. “Are you aware that our host previously worked for your government in the same manner as you?”

“I am.”

She waited for him to say more, then let him see her displeasure when he failed to comment further. “Lyon, Mrs. Porter surely exaggerated her mate’s position, but she did mention a fact I found most enlightening.”

“What was that, love?” Lyon asked. He draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.

“She’s a gossip,” Christina began. “When she saw the way Richards greeted you, she boasted that her husband held the same favor when he was a younger man. I asked her why he’d retired, and she told me she didn’t know all the facts but that his last assignment had soured him. It seemed he handled a project that caused a good friend of his some discomfort. Yes, she actually used that word. Discomfort.”

“Discomfort? I don’t understand. Do you, Richards?” Lyon asked.

Richards was staring at Christina. “You would do well to work for us, Christina. You have ferreted out what took me hours of research to ascertain.”

“Lyon, can you guess the name of Porter’s good friend?”

“Stalinsky,” Lyon said in answer to Christina’s question.

“Porter wasn’t guilty of error, Christina. His only mistake was in befriending the Baron. He trusted him—still does, for that matter. The baron is a guest in his home, remember. God’s truth, I think you’ll understand what an easy man the Baron is to trust when you finally meet him.”

“By England’s standards, perhaps,” Christian replied. “Not by mine. Appearances and manners often cloak a black soul. Are you still unconvinced that Lyon and I are right about the Baron, then?”

“I’m convinced. The court might not see it our way, however, and for that reason we’re bypassing our own legal system. There are those who believe Jessica had lost her mind. The argument that your mother had imagined—”

“Did she imagine the mark she gave the baron in his right eye when he tried to kill her? Did she imagine that her friends’ throats were slashed? Did she imagine she stole the jewels and hid them under the roses? You’ve seen the gems, Richards. Did you only imagine you saw them?”

Richards smiled at Christina. “You really should work for me,” he said in answer to her challenges. “Now, to refute your arguments. One, the baron could have others testify for him, telling a different story of how he came by the scar. Two, Jessica was the only one who saw the baron kill the husband and wife on that wagon train. No one else saw anyone, according to the writing in her journal. It would be next to impossible to track any of those people down to determine how the couple was killed. We have only Jessica’s diary to tell us what happened. In a court of law that wouldn’t be enough. Three, there wouldn’t be any argument about the jewels. But,” he added in a whisper, “we have only Jessica’s account to say that her husband had acquired the gems by foul means. He was a king, remember, and the jewels were but a part of his treasury. The fact that he was a ruthless dictator is the last of the rebuttals I will give you. If that is dragged out in court, it will mean little. The Baron would simply retaliate by bringing witness after witness who would testify to his kindness toward his subjects.”

“He will admit his sins to me,” Christina whispered.

“And your husband and I will gain justice for you with or without your father’s admission.”

“Christina, your father has just walked into the room.” Lyon made the announcement with a wide smile, but his hold on his wife tightened.

The moment had arrived. With it came a fresh surge of anger. Christina forced a smile onto her face, turned from her husband, and began to walk toward the man waiting for her just inside the entrance.

She understood his physical appeal as soon as she looked at him. Baron Stalinsky was a man who commanded attention. He’d aged well. His hair wasn’t white, but silver-tipped. The years hadn’t made him stoop-shouldered or pot-bellied, either. No, he was still tall, lance-thin, regal in his bearing. It was the color of his eyes that attracted attention, though. They were a piercing blue. Christina was sorry they shared so many physical attributes.

The Baron was smiling at her. His eyes were filled with unshed tears, and surely everyone in the room could see the dimple in his left cheek.

Christina concentrated on the scar beneath his right eye.

She stopped when she was just a foot away, then made a formal curtsy. And all the while she prayed her voice wouldn’t betray her.

She knew she’d have to let him embrace her. The thought made her skin crawl. All the guests in the room had focused their attention on this reunion. She never took her gaze off the jackal and was sickened by the fact that everyone was probably smiling over the sweetly emotional reunion.

It seemed to Christina that they stared at each other for a long while before either spoke a word. She could feel Lyon by her side, and when he suddenly took hold of her hand, she recovered her composure.

Lyon was trying to give her his strength, she thought. “Good evening, Father. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Baron Stalinsky seemed to come out of his stupor then. He reached out to clasp Christina’s shoulders. “I’m overjoyed to meet you, Christina. I can barely think what to say to you. All these precious years wasted,” he whispered. A tear escaped from his thick lashes. Christina pulled her hand away from Lyon’s grasp and reached up to brush the tear from her father’s cheek. The touch was witnessed by the guests, and Christina could hear their sighs of pleasure.

She let him embrace her. “I thought you were dead, daughter,” he admitted. “Do you know how happy I am to have you back, child?”

Christina kept smiling. The effort made her stomach hurt. She slowly pulled away from her father and moved next to Lyon again. “I’m a married woman now, Father,” she announced. She quickly introduced Lyon, then prayed he’d take up the conversation for a minute or two. She needed to catch her breath.

“You cannot imagine our surprise to learn you were still alive, Baron,” Lyon interjected. His voice was as enthusiastic as a schoolboy’s. He kept up the idle chatter until the other guests, led by the Porters, rushed over to express their congratulations.

Christina played the pretense well. She smiled and laughed whenever it was appropriate.

It was bearable only because Lyon stood by her side. An hour passed and then another before Christina and her husband were given a few moments’ privacy with Stalinsky.

“Father, how did you come by that scar below your eye?” Christina asked, pretending only mild interest.

“A boyhood accident,” the Baron replied, smiling. “I fell from my mount.”

“You were lucky,” Lyon interjected. “You could have lost your eye.”

The baron nodded. “I was thinking quite the same thing about your scar, Lyon. How did that happen?”

“A fight in a tavern,” Lyon said. “My first outing as a man,” he added with a grin.

One lie for another, Christina thought.

Lyon gave Christina’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. She recognized the signal. “Father, I have so many questions to ask you, and I’m certain you have as many to ask me. Does your schedule permit you to lunch with us tomorrow?”

“I would love to, daughter,” the Baron replied. “Daughter! It’s a joyful word to me now.”

“Will you be staying in London long, Baron?” Lyon asked.

“I have no other plans,” the Baron answered.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Christina interjected. She prayed her voice sounded enthusiastic. “I’ve already sent word to my stepfather. When he receives my message and returns from Scotland, you must sit down with him and put his fears to rest.”

“Stepfather?” the Baron asked. “The Countess didn’t mention a stepfather, Christina. She led me to believe …” The Baron cleared his throat before continuing. “It was a bizarre story, and one look at you would certainly make a mockery out of what she actually suggested … tell me about this stepfather. What fears does the man harbor, and why?”

“Father, first you must appease my curiosity,” Christina said. There was laughter in her voice. “Whatever did the horrid old woman tell you?”

“Yes,” the Baron sighed, “she is a horrid woman.” He made the remark almost absentmindedly.

“Do I detect a blush?” Christina asked.

“I fear you do, daughter. You see, I have only just realized how gullible I was. Why, I did believe her story to be true.”

“You’ve pricked my curiosity as well,” Lyon said. “The Countess is very upset with Christina. She was against our marriage because of the matter of my wife’s inheritance. The Countess seemed to think she’d control the money,” Lyon explained. “Now tell us what fabrication she gave you.”

“I’ve been played for a fool,” the Baron returned, shaking his head. “She told me Christina was raised by savages.”

“Savages?” Christina asked, trying to look perplexed.

“Indians of the Americas,” the Baron qualified.

Christina and Lyon looked at each other. They turned in unison to stare at the Baron. Then they both burst into laughter.

The Baron joined in. “I really was naive to believe her fool’s story,” he said between chuckles. “But I had heard from the Countess—years ago, you understand—that Jessica had left with a newborn baby girl to join a wagon train headed through the wilderness.”

“She did do that,” Christina acknowledged. “And it was on the way that she met Terrance MacFinley. He became her protector. Terrance,” she added with a soft smile, “didn’t know my mother was still married. She told him you’d died. My mother’s mind wasn’t very … strong.” Christina paused after making that comment, furious inside when the Baron nodded agreement. “Terrance was a good man. He told me about my mother.”

“But what did you mean when you said I could put your stepfather’s fears to rest?”

“Oh, it’s a small matter,” Christina stalled. “Jessica died when I was just a baby,” she continued. “Terrance kept me with him. In one of my mother’s sane moments, she made him promise to take care of me until I was old enough to be returned to England.”

“How did she die?” the Baron asked. His voice was low and filled with emotion. Tears had gathered in his eyes again. “I loved your mother. I blame myself for her death. I should have recognized the signs of her condition.”

“Signs?” Christina asked.

“Of her mind’s deterioration,” he explained. “She was frightened of everything. When she realized she was going to have a child, I think it was all that was needed to push her completely over the edge. She ran away from me.”

“Did you go after her, Father?”

“Not right away,” the Baron admitted. “There were business matters to attend to. I had a kingdom to run, you see. I abdicated three weeks later, then went back to England. I fully expected to find my wife with her father. Yet when I reached the Earl of Acton’s home, I found out Jessica had fled again. She was headed for the colonies. I, of course, made the assumption she was going to her sister’s home in Boston and posted passage on a ship to follow her.”

“Mother died of the fever,” Christina said.

“I hope she didn’t have too much pain,” the Baron commented.

“It must have been terrible for you, searching in vain for the woman you loved,” Lyon stated.

“Yes, it was a bad time,” the Baron acknowledged. “The past is behind us, Christina. I look forward to speaking to this Terrance. How long did he stay with your mother before she died?” he asked.

“I’m not certain of the exact length of time,” Christina said. “One night, when the wagon train rested in the valley below the Black Hills, Jessica was awakened by a thief,” Christina said. “The couple she was sharing her quarters with were both killed by the villain. Jessica got it into her head that it was you, Father, chasing after her.”

Christina paused to shake her head. “She packed me up and ran into the hills. MacFinley saw her leave. He went after her, of course, for he loved her fiercely. I’ll be completely honest with you, Father. I don’t understand how Terrance could have loved my mother. From what he told me about her, I would think he should have pitied her.”

“MacFinley sounds like an honorable man,” the Baron said. “I’m eager to meet him to give him my thanks. At least he made Jessica’s last hours more comfortable. He did, didn’t he?”

Christina nodded. “Yes, but I don’t think she really knew he was there with her. Terrance told me he actually spent most of his time protecting me from her. She was so crazed she didn’t even remember she had a child. All she talked about was the sin she’d snatched out of some wall.”

She paused again, watching for a reaction. The Baron only looked perplexed.

After a long minute he said, “That certainly doesn’t make sense. A sin out of a wall?”

“It didn’t make any sense to Terrance either. He told me he kept trying to get through to my mother, but all she would talk about was taking the sin and burying it. A tragic ending, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Let’s not talk about this any longer,” Lyon interjected. “Tonight should be a happy reunion,” he added.

“Yes, husband, you’re right. Father, you must tell me all about the past years and what you’ve been—”

“Wait!” The Baron’s voice had a sharp edge to it. He immediately softened his tone and gave Christina a wide smile. “My curiosity is still to be appeased,” he explained. “Did your mother happen to tell Terrance where she buried this sin?”

“Under the blood roses of her father’s country home,” Christina answered with a deliberate shrug. “Blood roses, indeed. Poor woman. I pray for her soul every night, and I do hope she has found peace.”

“I also pray for my Jessica,” the Baron said.

“Terrance happened to see the man sneaking toward Jessica’s wagon.”

Lyon let the lie settle and waited for a reaction. It wasn’t long in coming. “You mean the thief?” the Baron asked.

He hadn’t blinked an eye. Christina was a little disappointed not to have rattled him. “Yes,” she said. “He blames himself for thinking it was only one of the night watchmen. Terrance was late in joining the wagon and didn’t know all the people yet. He vows he’ll never forget the man’s face.” Christina quickly described the clothing the thief was wearing from the description in Jessica’s diary.

And still there was no outward reaction from the Baron. “Even though he knows my mother was crazed, there’s always been a quiet fear in the back of his mind that it might have been you. And so you see what I mean when I tell you that once he has met you, his fears will be put to rest.”

“Tomorrow you both can catch up on all of the past,” Lyon said. He could feel Christina trembling and knew he had to get her away from the Baron soon.

Lord, he was proud of her. She had played her part well this night. She had faced the jackal without showing the least amount of fear.

“Shall we go and find some refreshments?” Lyon suggested.

“Yes,” the Baron agreed.

Christina, flanked by her husband and her father, walked into the dining room. She sat between them at the long table, sipping from her glass of punch. She didn’t want to eat anything, but her father was watching her closely, so she forced herself to swallow the food Lyon placed before her.

“Where did you receive your schooling, Christina? Your manners are impeccable,” the Baron announced. “I cannot believe this Terrance MacFinley was responsible,” he added with a teasing smile.

“Thank you for your compliment,” Christina returned. She was smiling at her father, but her left hand was squeezing Lyon’s thigh under the table.

“MacFinley and his close friend, Deavenrue, kept me until I was seven years of age. Then I was placed in a convent in the south of France. The sisters taught me my manners,” she added.

“So there was a Deavenrue after all,” the Baron said. “The Countess said he was a missionary who’d stayed with you in the village of the Indians.”

“He was a missionary for a short while, and an excellent teacher as well. While I was in Boston Deavenrue came to my aunt’s house quite often to see me. The Countess didn’t like Deavenrue. Perhaps the rascal told my aunt I’d been with the savages just to provoke her,” Christina added. She laughed. “It would be just like Deavenrue. He has the most bizarre sense of humor.”

Lyon put his hand on top of Christina’s. Her nails were digging into his thigh. His fingers laced with hers, and he gave her a squeeze of encouragement. He was anxious to get Christina out of Porter’s house, yet he knew he had to wait until the last lie had been given.

Christina couldn’t stand the pretense any longer. “Father, the excitement of the evening has exhausted me. I hope you won’t be too disappointed if I go home now. Tomorrow I’ll have Cook prepare a special meal just for the three of us. We’ll have all afternoon to visit with each other. And, of course, MacFinley will be here in two, three days’ time at the most. Then we must have another get-together.”

“As soon as two days?” the Baron asked. He looked pleased with that possibility.

“Yes,” Lyon answered for Christina. “Terrance lives just beyond the border,” he explained. “He surely has Christina’s request by now. Why, he is probably on his way to London even as we speak.”

“Lyon, Terrance can’t travel by night,” Christina said. “Are you ready to take me home, husband? I’m terribly fatigued,” she added with a flutter of her lashes.

They said their farewells moments later. Christina suffered through another embrace by the Baron.

Lyon pulled her onto his lap when they were once again inside his carriage. He was going to tell her how much he loved her, how very courageous she had been, but the carriage had barely rounded the corner when Christina bolted out of his lap and begged him to have the vehicle stopped.

Lyon didn’t understand until Christina started to gag. He shouted to the driver, then got the door open just in the nick of time. He felt completely helpless as he held his wife by her shoulders. She threw up her meal, sobbing without control between her soul-wrenching heaves.

And when she had finished he wrapped her in his arms again. He held her close to him and tried to soothe her with soft words of love.

Lyon didn’t speak of her father. Christina had been through enough torment for one evening.

God help her, there was still more to come.

Baron Stalinsky left the Porter residence a few minutes before dawn. Lyon was informed of his departure less than fifteen minutes later. Richards had placed a watch on Porter’s house, for he was just as convinced as Lyon was that the Baron wouldn’t waste any time running to the Earl of Acton’s country home to dig up his treasure.

Christina had told her lies well. Lyon was proud of her, though he laced his praise with the fervent hope that once this deception was over, she’d never have to lie again.

Baron Stalinsky was very good at his deadly game. Neither Christina nor Lyon had noticed any visible change in his expression when MacFinley was mentioned. And when Christina said that MacFinley had seen the man who’d killed Jessica’s friends, the Baron hadn’t even blinked.

There wasn’t any MacFinley, of course, but the smooth way Christina had told the story, added to the sincerity in her voice, must have convinced the Baron. He believed the story all right, to the point of rushing out at dawn to regain the jewels.

The morning after the reception Lyon had sent a note to the Baron pleading to reschedule their luncheon for three days hence, explaining that Christina was indisposed. The Baron had sent his note back with Lyon’s messenger, stating that he hoped his daughter would soon recover, and that he would be pleased to honor the later date.

That evening Richards called on Lyon to tell him that the Baron had booked passage on a seafaring vessel bound for the West Indies. His departure was in two days.

He had no intention of ever seeing his daughter again. So much for fatherly love, Lyon thought.

Lyon hurriedly dressed in the dark. He waited until the last possible minute before waking Christina.

When his leaving couldn’t be put off any longer, he leaned over the side of the bed, let out a reluctant sigh, and then nudged his wife awake.

“Sweetheart, wake up and kiss me goodbye. I’m leaving now,” he whispered between quick kisses on her brow.

Christina came awake with a start. “You must wait for me,” she demanded, her voice husky with sleep.

She bolted up in bed, then fell back with a groan of distress. Nausea swept over her like a thick wave. She could feel the bile rising from her stomach. “Oh, God, I’m going to be sick again, Lyon.”

“Roll over on your side, sweetheart. It helped last night,” Lyon reminded her. His voice was filled with sympathy. “Take deep breaths,” he instructed while he rubbed her shoulders.

“It’s better now,” Christina whispered a minute or two later.

Lyon sat down on the edge of the bed. “Exactly.”

“Exactly what?” Christina asked. She didn’t dare raise her voice above a whisper, fearing the effort would bring back her nausea.

“Exactly why you’re staying here, Christina,” Lyon announced. “Seeing your father has made you ill. You’ve been sick twice a day since the reception.”

“It’s this stupid bed that makes me sick,” she lied.

Lyon stared at the ceiling in exasperation. “You told me the wooden slats made the mattress more accommodating,” he reminded her. “You aren’t going anywhere, my love, except back to sleep.”

“You promised I could go with you,” she cried.

“I lied.”

“Lyon, I trusted you.”

Lyon smiled over the way his wife wailed her confession. She sounded quite pitiful. “You still do trust me, wife. I’ll get his confession, I promise you.”

“My sore stomach is just an excuse you’re using, isn’t it, Lyon? You never meant for me to go along. Isn’t that the truth of it?”

“Yes,” he confessed. “I was never going to let you go along.” His voice turned gruff when he added, “Do you think I would ever put you in such jeopardy? Christina, if anything every happened to you, my life would be over. You’re the better half of me, sweetheart.”

Christina turned her head so that he could see her frown. Lyon realized then that his soft words hadn’t swayed her, knew he was going to have to take another tack. “Does a Dakota warrior take his mate along to help him fight his battles? Did Black Wolf take Merry with him?”

“Yes.”

“Now you’re lying,” Lyon stated. He frowned to let her see his displeasure.

Christina smiled. “If the injury had been done to Merry’s family, Black Wolf would have taken her with him to see justice done, husband. Lyon, I made a promise to my father and my mother.”

“To Black Wolf and Merry?”

Christina nodded. She slowly sat up in bed and was pleased to find that her stomach was cooperating with the movement. Ignoring Lyon’s protest, she swung her legs to the side and stood up.

“Damn it, Christina, you’re my mate now. Your promises became mine the moment we were wed. You do belong to me, don’t you?”

The challenge in his voice couldn’t be ignored. Christina nodded. “You’re beginning to sound a bit too much like a warrior for my liking,” she muttered. “I would like you to bring me a cup of tea before you leave. It is the least you could do for me,” she added.

Lyon smiled, believing he’d won. “I shall fix it myself,” he announced.

Christina waited until he’d left the room. She dressed in record time, taking deep, gulping breaths to keep her stomach controlled.

When Lyon returned to their bedroom, he found his wife dressed in a black riding outfit. He let out a soft curse, then sighed with acceptance.

“I must do this for Jessica, Lyon. Please understand.”

Lyon nodded. His expression was grim. “Will you do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it?” he barked.

“I will.”

“Promise!”

“I promise.”

“Damn!”

She ignored his muttering. “I’m taking my knife with me. It’s under the pillow,” she said as she walked back over to the bed.

“I know where it is,” Lyon said with another drawn-out sigh. “I really wish you wouldn’t insist on sleeping with it. The table’s close enough.”

“I’ll think about your suggestion,” Christina answered. “Now you must give me your word, Lyon. You won’t take any chances, will you? Don’t turn your back on him, not even for a second. Don’t leave your fate in Richards’s hands, either. I trust him, but I have far more faith in your instincts.”

She would have continued her litany of demands if Lyon hadn’t stopped her by pulling her into his arms and kissing her. “I love you, Christina.”

“I love you, too, Lyon. Here, you carry this. It’s fitting that you have it, for it was fashioned by a warrior whom I also love. My brother would want you to have it.”

Lyon took the weapon and slipped it inside his right boot. Christina nodded with satisfaction, then started out the door. “Lyon?” she called over her shoulder.

“What now?” he grumbled.

“We must make him say the words.”

“We will, Christina. We will.”

Richards was waiting outside the front door for him. Lyon’s friend was already mounted and holding the reins of Lyon’s stallion. A few minutes were spent waiting for Christina’s horse to be readied.

Lyon paced the walkway while he waited. “We have plenty of time,” Richards announced when he took in Lyon’s grim expression. “Remember, even if he took men along to help, there are still over a hundred of those prickly rose bushes to be dug up again.”

Lyon forced a smile. “I don’t think Stalinsky took anyone with him,” he remarked as he helped Christina mount her steed. He then climbed atop his own horse with one fluid motion. “How many men do you have posted there?”

“Four of my best,” Richards answered. “Benson is in charge. The Baron won’t know they’re there, and they won’t interfere unless he tries to leave,” he added. “My dear, are you sure you’re up to this outing?”

“I’m sure.”

Richards gave Christina a long look, then nodded. “Come along, children. Let’s get this done. The captain of Percy’s ship is waiting for his passengers.”

“Passengers?”

“I’ve decided to go along. I promised your wife justice would be served. Though we’re gaining it through the back door, so to speak, I’m going to be there to make certain. Do you understand my meaning?”

Lyon gave a brisk nod. “I do.”

“I don’t,” Christina admitted.

“I’ll explain it later, sweet.”

They were the last words spoken until they reached their destination some four hours later. After they dismounted, Richards handed Lyon the moldy box they’d retrieved from the ground on their last visit to Acton’s estate.

“I’ve replaced the real gems with glass replicas. Wait until I get into position before you confront him.”

Lyon shook his head. He handed the box to Christina. “She’s going to confront him,” he told Richards.

One of Richards’s men came over to lead their horses away. He spoke to his superior before pulling the mounts into the forest surrounding them. “You were right, Lyon. Stalinsky came alone.”

They separated then. Richards went up the front path and turned to circle the right side of the house. Lyon and Christina moved to the left. He paused before rounding the corner, opened the box his wife held in her hands, and lifted two pieces of cut glass. At first glance they did look like the real thing. They were good enough to fool the Baron, Lyon decided, for the brief minute he wanted him fooled.

He then explained what Christina was going to do.

Baron Stalinsky was kneeling on the ground, his shoulders bent to his task. He was muttering obscenities as he struggled to pull the stem of one fat bush out of the ground. He wore black gloves to protect his hands and worked with determined speed. A narrow shovel rested on the ground beside him.

“Looking for something, Father?”

The Baron whirled around on his knees to confront Christina. Dirt streaked his sweaty forehead and angular cheeks.

He didn’t look very commanding now. No, he was a jackal to be sure. The sneer on his face reminded Christina of an angry animal baring his teeth. The look sickened her, and she thought she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d started growling.

Christina faced her father alone. She stood a good twenty feet away from him. She had his full attention, of course, and when she thought he was just about to spring forward, she lifted the box and took out a handful of the fake gems. She casually tossed some of the jewels into the air. “Are these what you’re looking for, Father?”

Baron Stalinsky slowly came to his feet. His eyes darted to the left and then to the right. She decided to answer his unspoken thought. “Lyon? I believe my father is looking for you.”

Lyon walked over to stand next to Christina. He took the box from her, then motioned her to move away. Christina backed up several paces immediately.

“This fight is between the two of us, Baron.”

“Fight? I’m an old man, Lyon. The odds wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I have no quarrel with you or my daughter. Those jewels belong to me,” he added with a wave of his hand toward the box. “Jessica stole them. In court I’ll be able to prove they’re mine.”

Lyon didn’t take his gaze off the Baron. “There isn’t going to be a day in an English court, Baron. In fact, as soon as you’ve answered a single question for Christina and a few more for me, you can be on your way. It’s going to be simple for you. I won’t have my wife involved in a scandal,” he lied.

“Scandal? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Baron replied. His voice reeked with authority.

“The murder trial would be upsetting for Christina. I won’t have her humiliated.” Lyon paused in his explanation to throw a bright red ruby over his shoulder. “It will take you days to find all of these. I’ll toss the rest into the creek behind the bluff, Baron, if you don’t agree to answer my questions. The current’s swift.”

“No!” the Baron shouted. “Don’t you realize what they’re worth? You’re holding a fortune in your hands!” His voice had turned coaxing, eager.

Lyon noticed that the Baron’s right hand was slowly moving to his back. Reacting with incredible speed, he drew a pistol from his waistcoat, took aim, and fired just as Stalinsky was bringing the hidden pistol around to the front.

The shot lodged in the Baron’s hand. His pistol fell to the ground. Lyon threw the box on the ground, retrieved Christina’s knife from his boot, and had the Baron by his throat before he’d finished his first howl of pain.

“Christina wants you to speak the truth. She knows Jessica wasn’t crazy and wants to hear you say it.” Lyon increased his pressure around the Baron’s neck as he threatened, then suddenly threw the Baron backwards. He stood over his prey and waited for him to look up. “After you’ve answered my questions you can pick up your precious gems and leave. You’ve booked passage for the West Indies, but I’ve convinced the captain to leave today. He’s waiting for you and the next tide, Baron.”

The Baron’s eyes narrowed. He stared at the box for a long minute, then turned to Lyon. The tip of his tongue ran over his lower lip. “I don’t have to answer your questions. Everyone knows Jessica was out of her mind. When I go to the authorities—”

“Lyon,” Christina called out. “I don’t think he quite grasps the situation.”

“Then let me make it simple for him,” Lyon said. “Baron, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you won’t be going anywhere. I’ll slit your throat. A fitting end, wouldn’t you agree, after all the throats you’ve cut?”

“What are you talking about?” the Baron asked, feigning confusion. He clasped his injured hand to his chest.

“Come now, Baron. You know what I’m talking about,” Lyon answered. “You’ve gotten away with your murders all these years. Haven’t you ever wanted to boast of your skill? You couldn’t, of course, until now. Is your ego so inflated you haven’t any need to admit something you know you’ll never be hanged for?”

Stalinsky pretended to struggle to his feet. Lyon saw him reach into his boot and extract a small pistol of the sort a woman would carry. He lunged at Lyon as he pulled the pistol forward. Lyon kicked the weapon out of his hand, then lashed out again with the side of his boot to hit the Baron’s injured hand.

The screech of pain echoed throughout the countryside. “This is your last chance, Baron. My patience has run out.” He flipped the knife from one hand to the other. “Was Jessica crazy?”

“Christina,” the Baron shouted. “How can you let him terrorize me this way? I’m your father, for God’s sake. Have you no mercy? Do you really want him to slit my throat?”

“No, Father,” Christina denied. “I don’t want him to slit your throat. I’d rather he cut your heart out, but Lyon does have his preferences, and I must let him have his way.”

The Baron glared at his daughter. He stood up. A gleam appeared in his eyes, and he actually started to laugh. “No, Jessica wasn’t crazy.” He laughed again, a grating sound that chilled Christina. “But it’s too late to do anything now, Lyon.”

“Terrance MacFinley would have recognized that it was you sneaking around the wagon train. Isn’t that right?” Lyon challenged.

“Your deductions are most amazing,” the Baron said with a chuckle. “Yes, Terrance would have noticed me.”

Lyon pushed the box towards Stalinsky with the tip of his boot. “One last question and then you may leave. Were you behind the Brisbane murders?”

The Baron’s eyes widened. “How did you—”

“You outsmarted our War Department, didn’t you?” Lyon asked, trying to sound impressed and not sickened. He was deliberately playing upon the Baron’s vanity, hoping the bastard would feel safe enough to admit the truth.

“I did outsmart them, didn’t I? I lived off the money Brisbane had received for the secrets he’d sold, too. Oh, yes, Lyon, I was smarter than all of them.”

“Was Porter involved in your scheme, or did you act alone?” Lyon asked.

“Porter? He was as stupid as the rest of them. I always acted alone, Lyon. It’s the reason I’ve survived these many years, the reason I’ve been such a wealthy man.”

Lyon didn’t think he could stand to look at the man much longer. He motioned to the box, the backed up several paces. “Pick it up and get out of here. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”

The baron scurried over to the box. He flipped it open, barely glanced at the contents, then slammed it shut with a snort of pleasure.

“Are you finished, Lyon?”

Richards, surrounded by his men, strolled out from their hiding places.

“Did you hear?”

“All of it,” Richards announced. He touched Lyon’s shoulder before walking over to the Baron.

“Damn your …” the Baron shouted. He stopped himself, then glared at Lyon. “I’ll make certain your wife’s humiliation is complete. I promise I’ll say things in court about her mother that will—”

“Close your mouth,” Richards bellowed. “We’re taking you to the harbor, Baron. In fact, Benson and I shall be your travel companions on your trip back to your homeland. I believe you’ll get a nice reception. The new government will undoubtedly be happy to let you stand trial.”

Lyon didn’t stay to listen to the Baron’s demands to be given a trial in England. He took hold of Christina’s hand without saying a word and started walking toward their mounts.

Richards was right. They were using the back door to gain justice. Baron Stalinsky would be returned to his homeland, where he would be judged by his former subjects. It would mean a death sentence. And if, by some chance, the new government proved to be just as corrupt, then Richards and Benson were prepared to take care of the Baron.

By the time he and Christina returned to their London townhouse, she was looking terribly pale.

He ignored her protests and carried her up to their bedroom. “You’re going back to bed now,” he told her as he helped her get out of her clothes.

“I will be better now,” Christina told him. “It is finished.”

“Yes, love. It is finished.”

“I never believed Jessica was crazy,” Christina told Lyon. She put on her silk robe, then wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist. “I never believed that.”

The sadness in her voice pulled at his heart. “I know you didn’t,” Lyon soothed. “Jessica can rest in peace now.”

“Yes. In peace. I like to believe that her soul lingers with the Dakotas now. Maybe she waits for Merry to come and join her.”

“I don’t think Black Wolf would care for that hope of yours,” Lyon said.

“Oh, he would join them, too, of course,” Christina replied.

She sighed into his jacket, then kissed him on the base of his throat. “It’s his destiny to meet Jessica in the Afterlife,” she announced.

“Yes, destiny,” Lyon said. “Now it’s your destiny to quit being sick every morning and night, my love. You’ve kept your promise to your mother. The treasure is being returned to the rightful owners. Richards is going to see to the sale of the gems and the distribution of the money. We’re going home to Lyonwood, and you’ll get fat and sassy. I command it.”

Christina really did try to comply with her husband’s commands. The sickness eventually left her. She gained weight, too—so much, in fact, that she thought she waddled like a duck. She wasn’t very sassy, however, for she spent most of her confinement trying to soothe her husband’s worries.

She denied being with child until it became ludicrous. Poor Lyon was terrified of the birthing. Christina understood his fear. He’d watched Lettie go through terrible pain. She’d died a horrible death, with the babe trapped inside her.

Christina used denial and then reason. She told Lyon she was strong, that it was a very natural condition for a woman to be in, and that she was Dakota in her heart and knew exactly what to do to make the birthing easier. Dakota women rarely died in childbirth.

Lyon had a rebuttal for each of her arguments. He told her she was too small for such a mighty task, that it wasn’t at all natural for such a gentle woman to have to go through such terrible agony, and that she was English, not Dakota, where it most counted—in her womb, for God’s sake, not her heart.

Ironically, it was Lyon’s mother who softened Lyon’s fears somewhat. The elderly woman was slowly returning to her family. She reminded her son that she was just as small in stature as Christina was, and that she had given her husband three fine babies without making a single whimper.

Christina was thankful for her mother-in-law’s help. She didn’t have to threaten to drag her new confidante outside into the forest to choose a burial site any longer. Lyon’s mother finally admitted she wasn’t quite ready to die yet. The woman still liked to talk about James, but she interlaced her remarks with stories about Lyon and Diana, too.

Deavenrue came to visit Christina. He stayed a month’s time, then left with six fine horses Lyon had chosen as gifts for the Dakotas. Three men eager for the adventure went along to help Deavenrue.

The missionary helped to ease Lyon’s mind about Christina, but once he’d left, Lyon was back to scowling and snapping at everyone.

Baron Winters, the family’s physician, moved into their house two weeks before Christina went into labor. She had no intention of letting the physician help her, of course, yet she had the good sense to keep that determination to herself. His presence calmed Lyon, and Christina was thankful for that.

The pains began after dinner, then continued into the night. Christina didn’t wake her husband until the last possible minute. Lyon had time only to wake up and do as Christina instructed. He was holding his infant son in his arms minutes later.

Christina was too exhausted to weep, so Lyon wept for both of them while their magnificent little warrior bellowed his indignation.

He wanted to name his son Alexander Daniel.

She was having none of that. She wanted to name him Screaming Black Eagle.

Lyon was having none of that.

In the end, they compromised. The future Marquess of Lyonwood was christened Dakota Alexander.

Pockets Books

proudly presents

HEARTBREAKER

Julie Garwood

Now available in paperback

from Pockets Books

The following is a preview of Heartbreaker…

It was hotter than hell inside the confessional. A thick black curtain, dusty with age and neglect, covered the narrow opening from the ceiling of the box to the scarred hardwood floor, blocking out both the daylight and the air.

It was like being inside a coffin someone had absent-mindedly left propped up against the wall, and Father Thomas Madden thanked God he wasn’t claustrophobic. He was rapidly becoming miserable though. The air was heavy and ripe with mildew, making his breathing as labored as when he was back at Penn State running that last yard to the goalposts with the football tucked neatly in his arm. He hadn’t minded the pain in his lungs then, and he certainly didn’t mind it now. It was all simply part of the job.

The old priests would tell him to offer his discomfort up to God for the poor souls in purgatory. Tom didn’t see any harm in doing that, even though he wondered how his own misery was going to relieve anyone else’s.

He shifted position on the hard oak chair, fidgeting like a choirboy at Sunday practice. He could feel the sweat dripping down the sides of his face and neck into his cassock. The long black robe was soaked through with perspiration, and he sincerely doubted he smelled at all like the hint of Irish Spring soap he’d used in the shower this morning.

The temperature outside hovered between ninety-four and ninety-five in the shade of the rectory porch where the thermostat was nailed to the whitewashed stone wall. The humidity made the heat so oppressive, those unfortunate souls who were forced to leave their air-conditioned homes and venture outside did so with a slow shuffle and a quick temper.

It was a lousy day for the compressor to bite the dust. There were windows in the church, of course, but the ones that could have been opened had been sealed shut long ago in a futile attempt to keep vandals out. The two others were high up in the gold, domed ceiling. They were stained glass depictions of the archangels Gabriel and Michael holding gleaming swords in their fists. Gabriel was looking up toward heaven, a beatified expression on his face, while Michael scowled at the snakes he held pinned down at his bare feet. The colored windows were considered priceless, prayer-inspiring works of art by the congregation, but they were useless in combating the heat. They had been added for decoration, not ventilation.

Tom was a big, strapping man with a seventeen-and-a-half-inch neck left over from his glory days, but he was cursed with baby sensitive skin. The heat was giving him a prickly rash. He hiked the cassock up to his thighs, revealing the yellow and black happy-face boxer shorts his sister, Laurant, had given him, kicked off his paint-splattered Wal-Mart rubber thongs, and popped a piece of Dubble Bubble into his mouth.

An act of kindness had landed him in the sweatbox. While waiting for the test results that would determine if he needed another round of chemotherapy at Kansas University Medical Center, he was a guest of Monsignor McKindry, pastor of Our Lady of Mercy Church. The parish was located in the forgotten sector of Kansas City, several hundred miles south of Holy Oaks, Iowa, where Tom was stationed. The neighborhood had been officially designated by a former mayor’s task force as the gang zone. Monsignor always took Saturday afternoon confession, but because of the blistering heat, his advanced age, the broken air conditioner, and a conflict in his schedule—the pastor was busy preparing for his reunion with two friends from his seminary days at Assumption Abbey—Tom had volunteered for the duty. He had assumed he’d sit face-to-face with his penitent in a room with a couple of windows open for fresh air. McKindry, however, bowed to the preferences of his faithful parishioners, who stubbornly clung to the old-fashioned way of hearing confessions, a fact Tom learned only after he’d offered his services, and Lewis, the parish handyman, had directed him to the oven he would sit in for the next ninety minutes.

In appreciation Monsignor had loaned him a thoroughly inadequate, battery-operated fan that one of his flock had put in the collection basket. The thing was no bigger than the size of a man’s hand. Tom adjusted the angle of the fan so that the air would blow directly on his face, leaned back against the wall, and began to read the Holy Oaks Gazette he’d brought along to Kansas City with him.

He turned to the society page on the back first, because he got such a kick out of it. He glanced over the usual club news and the smattering of announcements—two births, three engagements, and a wedding—and then he found his favorite column, called “About Town.” The headline was always the same: the bingo game. The number of people who attended the community center bingo night was reported along with the names of the winners of the twenty-five-dollar jackpots. Interviews with the lucky recipients followed, telling what each of them planned to do with his or her windfall. And there was always a comment from Rabbi David Spears, who organized the weekly event, about what a good time everyone had. Tom was suspicious that the society editor, Lorna Hamburg, secretly had a crush on Rabbi Dave, a widower, and that was why the bingo game was so prominently featured in the paper. The rabbi said the same thing every week, and Tom invariably ribbed him about that when they played golf together on Wednesday afternoons. Since Dave usually beat the socks off him, he didn’t mind the teasing, but he did accuse Tom of trying to divert attention from his appalling game.

The rest of the column was dedicated to letting everyone in town know who was entertaining company and what they were feeding them. If the news that week was hard to come by, Lorna filled in the space with popular recipes.

There weren’t any secrets in Holy Oaks. The front page was full of news about the proposed town square development and the upcoming one-hundred-year celebration at Assumption Abbey. And there was a nice mention about his sister helping out at the abbey. The reporter called her a tireless and cheerful volunteer and went into some detail describing all the projects she had taken on. Not only was she going to organize all the clutter in the attic for a garage sale, but she was also going to transfer all the information from the old dusty files onto the newly donated computer, and when she had a few minutes to spare, she would be translating the French journals of Father Henri VanKirk, a priest who had died recently. Tom chuckled to himself as he finished reading the glowing testimonial to his sister. Laurant hadn’t actually volunteered for any of the jobs. She just happened to be walking past the abbot at the moment he came up with the ideas, and gracious to a fault, she hadn’t refused.

By the time Tom finished reading the rest of the Gazette, his soaked collar was sticking to his neck. He put the paper on the seat next to him, mopped his brow again, and contemplated closing shop fifteen minutes early.

He gave up the idea almost as soon as it entered his mind. He knew that if he left the confessional early, he’d catch hell from Monsignor, and after the hard day of manual labor he’d put in, he simply wasn’t up to a lecture. On the first Wednesday of every third month—Ash Wednesday he silently called it—Tom moved in with Monsignor McKindry, an old, broken-nosed, crackled-skinned Irishman who never missed an opportunity to get as much physical labor as he could possibly squeeze out of his houseguest in seven days. McKindry was crusty and gruff, but he had a heart of gold and a compassionate nature that wasn’t compromised by sentimentality. He firmly believed that idle hands were the devil’s workshop, especially when the rectory was in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. Hard work, he pontificated, would cure anything, even cancer.

Some days Tom had a hard time remembering why he liked the monsignor so much or felt a kinship with him. Maybe it was because they both had a bit of Irish in them. Or maybe it was because the old man’s philosophy, that only a fool cried over spilled milk, had sustained him through more hardships than Job. Tom’s battle was child’s play compared to McKindry’s life.

He would do whatever he could to help lighten McKindry’s burdens. Monsignor was looking forward to visiting with his old friends again. One of them was Abbot James Rockhill, Tom’s superior at Assumption Abbey, and the other, Vincent Moreno, was a priest Tom had never met. Neither Rockhill nor Moreno would be staying at Mercy house with McKindry and Tom, for they much preferred the luxuries provided by the staff at Holy Trinity parish, luxuries like hot water that lasted longer than five minutes and central air-conditioning. Trinity was located in the heart of a bedroom community on the other side of the state line separating Missouri from Kansas. McKindry jokingly referred to it as “Our Lady of the Lexus,” and from the number of designer cars parked in the church’s lot on Sunday mornings, the label was right on the mark. Most of the parishioners at Mercy didn’t own cars. They walked to church.

Tom’s stomach began to rumble. He was hot and sticky and thirsty. He needed another shower, and he wanted a cold Bud Light. There hadn’t been a single taker in all the while he’d been sitting there roasting like a turkey. He didn’t think anyone else was even inside the church now, except maybe Lewis, who liked to hide in the cloakroom behind the vestibule and sneak sips of rot whiskey from the bottle in his toolbox. Tom checked his watch, saw he only had a couple of minutes left, and decided he’d had enough. He switched off the light above the confessional and was reaching for the curtain when he heard the swoosh of air the leather kneeler expelled when weight was placed upon it. The sound was followed by a discreet cough from the confessor’s cell next to him.

Tom immediately straightened in his chair, took the gum out of his mouth and put it back in the wrapper, then bowed his head in prayer and slid the wooden panel up.

“In the name of the Father and of the Son …,” he began in a low voice as he made the sign of the cross.

Several seconds passed in silence. The penitent was either gathering his thoughts or his courage before he confessed his transgressions. Tom adjusted the stole around his neck and patiently continued to wait.

The scent of Calvin Klein’s Obsession came floating through the grille that separated them. It was a distinct, heavy, sweet fragrance Tom recognized because his housekeeper in Rome had given him a bottle of the cologne on his last birthday. A little of the stuff went a long way, and the penitent had gone overboard. The confessional reeked. The scent, combined with the smell of mildew and sweat, made Tom feel as though he were trying to breathe through a plastic bag. His stomach lurched and he forced himself not to gag.

“Are you there, Father?”

“I’m here,” Tom whispered. “When you’re ready to confess your sins, you may begin.”

“This is … difficult for me. My last confession was a year ago. I wasn’t given absolution then. Will you absolve me now?”

There was an odd, singsong quality to the voice and a mocking tone that put Tom on his guard. Was the stranger simply nervous because it had been such a long time since his last confession, or was he being deliberately irreverent?

“You weren’t given absolution?”

“No, I wasn’t, Father. I angered the priest. I’ll make you angry too. What I have to confess will… shock you. Then you’ll become angry like the other priest.”

“Nothing you say will shock or anger me,” Tom assured him.

“You’ve heard it all before? Is that it, Father?”

Before Tom could answer, the penitent whispered, “Hate the sin, not the sinner.”

The mocking had intensified. Tom stiffened. “Would you like to begin?”

“Yes,” the stranger replied. “Bless me, Father, for I will sin.”

Confused by what he’d heard, Tom leaned closer to the grille and asked the man to start over.

“Bless me, Father, for I will sin.”

“You want to confess a sin you’re going to commit?”

“I do.”

“Is this some sort of a game or a—”

“No, no, not a game,” the man said. “I’m deadly serious. Are you getting angry yet?”

A burst of laughter, as jarring as the sound of gunfire in the middle of the night, shot through the grille.

Tom was careful to keep his voice neutral when he answered. “No, I’m not angry, but I am confused. Surely you realize you can’t be given absolution for sins you’re contemplating. Forgiveness is for those who have realized their mistakes and are truly contrite. They’re willing to make restitution for their sins.”

“Ah, but Father, you don’t know what the sins are yet. How can you deny me absolution?”

“Naming the sins doesn’t change anything.”

“Oh, but it does. A year ago I told another priest exactly what I was going to do, but he didn’t believe me until it was too late. Don’t make the same mistake.”

“How do you know the priest didn’t believe you?”

“He didn’t try to stop me. That’s how I know.”

“How long have you been a Catholic?”

“All my life.”

“Then you know that a priest cannot acknowledge the sin or the sinner outside of the confessional. The seal of silence is sacred. Exactly how could this other priest have stopped you?”

“He could have found a way. I was … practicing then, and I was cautious. It would have been very easy for him to stop me, so it’s his fault, not mine. It won’t be easy now.”

Tom was desperately trying to make sense out of what the man was saying. Practice? Practice what? And what was the sin the priest could have prevented?

“I thought I could control it,” the man said.

“Control what?”

“The craving.”

“What was the sin you confessed?”

“Her name was Millicent. A nice, old-fashioned name, don’t you think? Her friends called her Millie, but I didn’t. I much preferred Millicent. Of course, I wasn’t what you would call a friend.”

Another burst of laughter pierced the dead air. Tom’s forehead was beaded with perspiration, but he suddenly felt cold. This wasn’t a prankster. He dreaded what he was going to hear, yet he was compelled to ask.

“What happened to Millicent?”

“I broke her heart.”

“I don’t understand …”

“What do you think happened to her?” the man demanded, his impatience clear now. “I killed her. It was messy; there was blood everywhere, all over me. I was terribly inexperienced back then. I hadn’t perfected my technique. When I went to confession, I hadn’t killed her yet. I was still in the planning stage and the priest could have stopped me, but he didn’t. I told him what I was going to do.”

“Tell me, how could he have stopped you?”

“Prayer,” he answered, a shrug in his voice. “I told him to pray for me, but he didn’t pray hard enough, now did he? I still killed her. It’s a pity, really. She was such a pretty little thing … much prettier than the others.”

Dear God, there were other women? How many others?

“How many crimes have you—”

The stranger interrupted him. “Sins, Father,” he said. “I committed sins, but I might have been able to resist if the priest had helped me. He wouldn’t give me what I needed.”

“What did you need?”

“Absolution and acceptance. I was denied both.”

The stranger suddenly slammed his fist into the grille. Rage that must have been simmering just below the surface erupted full force as he spewed out in grotesque detail exactly what he had done to the poor innocent Millicent.

Tom was overwhelmed and sickened by the horror of it all. Dear God, what should he do?

“Well, Father, aren’t you going to ask me if I’m sorry for my sins?” he taunted.

“No, you aren’t contrite.”

A suffocating silence filled the confessional. And then, in a serpent’s hiss, the voice returned.

“The craving’s come back.”

JULIE GARWOOD is one of the best-loved authors of our time; there are more than thirty million copies of her books in print. Her most recent titles include Slow Burn, Murder List, Mercy, Heartbreaker, For the Roses, the #1 bestselling Clayborne Brides trilogy (One Pink Rose, One White Rose, and One Red Rose), Come the Spring, Ransom, and The Secret.

For more information, visit Ms. Garwood’s site at www.juliegarwood.com.

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ONE

The first time she slit a man’s throat she felt sick to her stomach. The second time? Not so much.

After she cut five or six more, the blade in her left hand began to feel like an extension of her body, and she started to take it all in stride. The exhilaration subsided, and so did the nausea. There was no longer a rush of anxiety, no longer a racing heartbeat. Blood didn’t faze her. The thrill was gone, and that, in her line of work, was a very good thing.

Dr. Eleanor Kathleen Sullivan, or Ellie as she was called by her family and friends, was just four days shy of completing a grueling surgical fellowship in one of the busiest trauma centers in the Midwest. Since trauma was her specialty, she had certainly seen her share of mangled and brutalized bodies. It was her responsibility to put them back together, and as a senior fellow, she had the added duty of training the first- and second- year residents.

St. Vincent’s emergency room had been full since 4:00 a.m. that morning, and Ellie was finishing what she hoped was her last surgery of the day, a repair of a splenic rupture. A teenager, barely old enough to have a driver’s license, had decided to test the limits of the speedometer in his parents’ Camry and had lost control, rolling the car over an embankment and landing upside down in an open field. Lucky for him, he had been wearing a seat belt, and luckier still, a man following some distance behind him had seen the whole thing and was able to call for an ambulance immediately. The boy made it to the emergency room just in time.

Ellie was observed by three second- year surgical residents, who hung on her every word. She was a natural teacher and, unlike 90 percent of the surgeons on staff at St. Vincent’s Hospital, didn’t have much of an ego. She was amazingly patient with the medical students and residents. While she worked, she explained—and explained again—until they finally understood what she was doing and why. No question was deemed too insignificant or foolish, which was one of the many reasons they idolized her, and for the male residents, the fact that she was drop- dead gorgeous didn’t hurt. Because she was such a talented surgeon and supportive teacher, all these fledgling doctors fought to sign up for her rotation. Ironically, what they didn’t know was that she was younger than most of them.

“You’re off duty this weekend, aren’t you, Ellie?”

Ellie glanced over at Dr. Kevin Andrews, the anesthesiologist, who had asked the question. He had joined the staff six months before and, since the day he’d met Ellie, had been hounding her to go out with him. He was an outrageous flirt and yet very sweet. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall and well built with an adorable smile, he could turn the head of almost every woman in the hospital, but for Ellie there just wasn’t any spark.

“Yes, I am. I have the whole weekend off,” she answered. “Charlie, would you like to close up for me?” she asked one of the hovering residents.

“Absolutely, Dr. Sullivan.”

“You better hurry,” Andrews said. “I’m waking him up.”

The resident looked panic-stricken.

“Take your time, Charlie. He’s just messing with you,” she said, a smile in her voice.

“Tuesday’s your last day at St. Vincent’s, isn’t it?” Andrews asked.

“That’s right. Tuesday’s my last official day. I might help out on a temporary basis later on, but I’m not promising anything yet.”

“Then you could decide to come back permanently.”

She didn’t reply.

He persisted. “They’ll give you anything you want. You could name your price, your hours . . . you should stay here, Ellie. You belong here.”

She didn’t agree or disagree. In truth, she didn’t know where she belonged. It had been such a hard road to get this far, she hadn’t had time to think about the future. At least that was the excuse she used for her indecision.

“Maybe,” she finally conceded. “I just don’t know yet.”

She stood over Charlie, watching like a mother hen. “I want those stitches tight.”

“Yes, Dr. Sullivan.”

“So Monday night is my last chance to take you to heaven?” Andrews asked in a teasing drawl.

She laughed. “Heaven? Last week you were going to rock my world. Now you’re going to take me to heaven?”

“I guarantee it. I’ve got testimonials if you want to see them.”

“It’s not going to happen, Kevin.”

“I’m not giving up.”

She sighed. “I know.”

As she checked the last suture, she rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck to one side then the other to get the kinks out. She’d been in the OR since 5:00 a.m., which meant she had been bent over patients for eleven hours. Sad to say, that wasn’t a record for her.

She felt wrung out and stiff and sore. A good run around the park would get those muscles moving, she decided, maybe even rev up her energy.

“You know what would help you get rid of a stiff neck?” Andrews said.

“Let me guess. A trip to heaven?”

One of the nurses snorted with laughter. “He’s awfully persistent, Dr. Sullivan. Maybe you should give in.”

Ellie removed her gloves and dropped them in the trash bag by the OR doors. “Thanks, Megan, but I think I’ll just go for a run instead.” As she pushed the doors wide, she untied her surgical mask and pulled off her cap, shaking her blond hair loose to fall to her shoulders.

Twenty minutes later she was officially off duty. She changed into her workout clothes, a pair of faded red shorts and a white tank top. She double-tied her beat- up running shoes, grabbed a rubber band and swept her hair up in a ponytail, slipped her iPod into one pocket and her cell phone into the other, and she was ready. Walking a maze of corridors to get outside, she avoided the direct route through the ER for fear she’d get waylaid with another case.

There was never a lack of patients rolling through the doors. Along with the usual emergencies—the car accidents, the heart attacks, the work injuries—the ER saw a steady stream of victims of violent crimes. The vast majority were young men. Gangs roamed the area east of the highway, and shooting one another seemed to be a nightly sport. Since St. Vincent’s was the largest trauma center in St. Louis, all the serious cases came to them. Weekends were a nightmare for the staff. There were times, especially during the hot summer months, when gurneys lined the halls of the ER with patients handcuffed to the railings while they waited to go into surgery. Additional police had to be routinely called in to monitor them to make certain one gang member hadn’t been placed too close to a rival.

Ellie became a member of the One Hundred Club when she removed her one hundredth bullet. It wasn’t a club she wanted to join, but she would always remember the case. The young man was only twenty years old, and it was the third time he’d been shot. She couldn’t forget his insolence and his cold, empty eyes. They were almost as lifeless as the cadavers down in the morgue. Patching up these boys so that they could return to the streets and the same violence was heart wrenching, and she prayed, with every surgery, that this time they would learn something, that this time they would find a new life. It was a naive hope, but she clung to it anyway.

Like the other overworked and underpaid residents and fellows, Ellie operated on broken bodies, the consequence of violence. But she had never actually witnessed a crime . . . until today.

It was a hot and humid late afternoon. Two medical students had caught up with Ellie just as she began her run on the one-mile track in Cambridge Park, a vast area that sat adjacent to the hospital. Heavy rain clouds hung over them, and all three panted for air. After the first mile, both students dropped out, but Ellie was determined to get in at least one more mile before calling it quits. She made mental lists as she ran. She had a million things to do before heading home to Winston Falls.

Dear God, it was muggy. The humidity was so thick, she felt as though she were running through a sauna. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, and her drenched clothes clung to her body. Her friend Jennifer, a nurse in pediatrics, who was taking a shortcut across the track to get to the ER entrance, shouted to Ellie that she was crazy to run in this heat. Ellie waved and continued on. She probably was crazy, but getting any time to work out was such a luxury, she couldn’t afford to be choosy about the weather.

Ellie could hear faint cheering coming from the new soccer field across the street to the north, and as she rounded the curve, she saw the players—high school—age girls—sprinting across the field. From the large number of fans in the bleachers, she guessed it was an important game.

The administrator of the hospital, the board, and a plethora of attorneys had fought the soccer field. They wanted to purchase the land to build another huge parking garage, and Ellie was happy they had lost their bid. Like the track and small playground to the south, the soccer field was far enough away from the hospital that, no matter how much noise the teams and fans made, the patients weren’t disturbed.

Ellie was a football, basketball, and soccer fan, in that order. She loved to watch most sporting events. She admired the grace, skill, and finesse of the players, probably because she didn’t possess any of those attributes herself. She had been such an awkward child, her mother had enrolled her in ballet classes, and she never got to play a sport. When she wasn’t tripping over her own feet trying to do a plié, she was reading. She was much more comfortable with her books. Her aunt Vivien liked to call her a bookworm.

No time to watch any games today, she thought. She had way too much to do. She returned to her mental list of things to be accomplished before she could head home to her sister’s wedding. Oh God, how she dreaded that. She wished she had another week to get ready for the ordeal; then admitted to herself that no amount of time would prepare her for the whispers and the sympathetic smiles from her friends and family. Who could blame them? After all, her sister Ava was marrying Ellie’s ex-fiancé. It was going to be a week of mortification, she decided. But, hey, she was tough. She could handle it.

“Yeah, right,” she whispered.

And then there was Evan Patterson. Just thinking about him made her stomach hurt. Would he dare show up in Winston Falls? God, she hoped not. But if he did, would she need to get another restraining order, even if she was going to be home for only a few days? She could feel herself getting worked up and had to force herself to calm down. She was an adult now, and she could handle anything that came her way. Even a maniac, she told herself. Besides, she was sure Evan wasn’t back in Winston Falls. If he had returned, her father would have alerted her.

Ellie didn’t want to worry about Patterson now or think about the wedding. Instead, she chose to focus on the task at hand. Just a little more than a half mile to go, then a lovely cold shower. She took her earphones from her pocket and was about to turn on her iPod to listen to a lecture on new thoracotomy procedures when she heard a loud pop.

Ellie stopped running. Lightning? She looked up at the ominous sky just as another pop echoed, then a third and a fourth in rapid succession. Had lightning hit a transformer? That would explain the bursts . . . except there hadn’t been any lightning.

Gunshots? Had to be. As many bullets as Ellie had removed from gunshot victims, she’d never actually heard the sound of a gun firing. The noise came from somewhere up ahead. She glanced to the right toward the soccer field. No panic there. The game was still going on, so she had to be wrong. If not gunshots . . . then what?

Five or six seconds had passed since the first popping sound. Ellie reached for her earphones again. Okay, she’d been mistaken.

Then the screaming started.

Everything happened so fast. In the span of just a few more seconds, Ellie observed the chaotic scene unfold in front of her as though it were happening in slow motion.

In the distance, several men, wearing navy blue T- shirts and vests with FBI in bold yellow letters printed on the back, appeared almost out of nowhere and fanned out as they raced toward the trees in the center of the park. People were scattering every which way. Screams mingled with the cheers from the soccer field, the fans and players apparently oblivious to what was happening. A father ran from the playground toward the street with two little boys. The children weren’t able to keep up, so the father scooped them into his arms and kept running. Several people who had been strolling through the park also scrambled to get away, as did three boys who had been tossing a Frisbee. One of the boys ran into the street, directly in front of an ambulance returning to the hospital. The vehicle came to a screeching halt, and the boy rushed around to the open window shouting something to the paramedic as he pointed toward the trees.

Suddenly, a man and a woman, linked arm in arm, drew her attention. They walked briskly toward her on the running path. There was something off about both of them. The man had a thick mustache. He wore dark glasses, a baseball cap pulled down over his forehead, and a brown, hooded windbreaker zipped up to his neck, a peculiar choice in the 90- degree weather. Was he all bundled up to keep his clothes dry when the storm broke? The man looked over his shoulder, his neck glistening with sweat. The woman looked directly at Ellie. Her bizarre appearance was startling. A short black wig sat slightly askew on her head with a few long hairs hanging down the side of her neck. Her eyes were such an intense, unnatural shade of green, she looked as though she were wearing novelty contacts, the ones you’d buy for a Halloween party. When the couple was about thirty feet away from Ellie, they veered toward the street.

Someone shouted a command. Then one of the FBI agents who had run into the trees appeared and headed straight for the pair. The woman let go of the man and began to run as he slowed and pulled something from his coat pocket. When he whirled around to face the agent shouting at him, Ellie saw the gun. Before she could react, he’d fired two shots. The first bullet struck the man in pursuit, the force so great it knocked him back before he crashed to the ground. The second bullet went wild. As Ellie dived to the grass, the shooter spun around and pointed the gun toward her. He didn’t pull the trigger but instead ran to the street and jumped into a car that sped away.

The ambulance had just turned around to go in the direction the boys were pointing, but when the gunshots were fired, it changed course. Sirens on, the ambulance crossed over the curb and swerved to miss the hospital emergency entrance sign. It bounded across the park toward the gunshot victim, weaving in and out of the crowd that was scrambling toward the boulevard.

Ellie jumped to her feet and ran after it. Her mind was racing. Who were the surgeons on call tonight? Edmonds and Walmer, she remembered, and she’d seen both of them in the hospital. Good.

The target had been a good distance away from the shooter, but he’d taken a direct hit to the torso. Ellie had no idea how bad the wound was, but she thought, if she could stabilize him, he’d make it to the OR.

The ambulance crossed the grassy area of the park in no time and stopped a few feet away from the downed man. Two paramedics leapt to the ground. Ellie recognized them: Mary Lynn Scott and Russell Probst. Russell opened the back doors and pulled out the gurney while Mary Lynn reached for the large orange trauma bag and rushed forward, sliding to her knees beside the victim. By the time Ellie reached the scene, four armed agents had surrounded him. One knelt on the ground talking to the man, trying to keep him calm, while three others stood over him.

The tallest of the three agents who were standing blocked her view. He barely glanced at her as he brusquely ordered, “You don’t need to see this. Go back to your soccer game.”

Go back to your game? Was he serious? Ellie was about to protest when one of the paramedics looked up, spotted her, and shouted, “Oh thank God. Dr. Sullivan.”

The agents looked at her skeptically and then slowly moved out of her way so that she could get past. Mary Lynn tossed her a pair of gloves, and Ellie pulled them on as she knelt down beside the man to assess the injury. Blood saturated the man’s shirt. She gently lifted the compress Mary Lynn had pressed to his shoulder, saw the damage, and immediately sought to stem the bleeding. While she gave orders to Russell and Mary Lynn, she kept her voice steady. The patient was conscious, and she didn’t want him to panic.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

She made it a point never to lie to a patient. That didn’t mean she had to be brutally honest, however. “It’s bad, but I’ve seen worse, much worse.”

Russell handed her a clamp, and she found the source of the bleeding. The bullet hadn’t gone through but had made quite an entrance.

Once Mary Lynn had gotten the IV line in, Ellie nodded to her to begin the drip.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she began packing the wound.

“Sean . . . Sean . . . ah, hell, I can’t remember my last name.” His eyelids began to flutter as he struggled to stay conscious.

The agent kneeling beside him said, “Goodman.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sean said, his voice growing weaker.

“Can you remember if you’re allergic to anything?” Mary Lynn asked.

“Just bullets.” Sean stared at Ellie through half- closed eyes. “Are you a doctor?”

“Yes,” she said, flashing a reassuring smile. She finished packing the wound and leaned back on her heels.

“Dr. Sullivan’s a trauma surgeon,” Russell explained. “If you had to get shot, she’s the one you want operating on you. She’s the best there is.”

“Okay, he’s stable. You can take him,” Ellie said as she peeled off her gloves and dropped them in the plastic container Mary Lynn opened for her.

Sean suddenly grabbed her arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “Wait . . .”

“Yes?”

“I want to marry Sara. Am I going to see her again?”

She leaned over him. “Yes, you will,” she said. “But first you’re going into the OR to get that bullet out. Now sleep. It’s all good. The surgeon will take care of you.”

“Who’s on tonight?” Russell asked.

“Edmonds and Walmer,” Mary Lynn answered.

Sean tightened his hold on Ellie’s arm. “I want you.” He didn’t give her time to respond but held tight and forced himself to stay awake as he repeated, “He said you’re the best. I want you to operate.”

She put her hand on top of his and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

She stood and stepped back to get out of the way so that the paramedics could put Sean into the ambulance but was stopped by something solid. It felt as though she’d just backed into a slab of granite. The agent who had told her to go back to her soccer game was blocking her exit with his warm, hard chest. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her, then let go. When he still didn’t get out of her way, she stood her ground pressed against him.

“Dr. Sullivan, do you want to ride with us?” Russell called out.

“No, go ahead. He’s stable now.”

Russell swung the doors shut, jumped into the driver’s seat, and the ambulance was on its way.

Ellie turned to the agent who had been kneeling with Sean. “Was anyone else hurt?”

The granite wall behind her answered. “Not hurt, dead.” He was very matter- of- fact.

“They weren’t ours,” another agent explained. “They were wanted men.”

She turned around and came face to shoulders with the most intimidating man she’d ever seen, and that was saying something considering the monster chief of surgery she worked under. This man didn’t look anything like him, though. The agent was tall, dark, and scary, with thick black hair and penetrating, steely gray eyes. His firm, square jaw was covered with at least one day’s growth of beard, maybe two. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in at least twenty- four hours, a look she knew all too well.

Ellie’s heart skipped a beat. The man could scare the quills off a porcupine. But, oh God, was he sexy! Ellie gave herself a mental slap. An intimidating man who was built like a monument and could melt iron with his menacing glare—this was what she was attracted to?

The agent who had been kneeling stepped forward and put out his hand. “I’m Agent Tom Bradley. Sean Goodman’s my partner.” He introduced her to the two agents on his left and then to the man in front of her. “Agent Max Daniels.”

She nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the OR.” She didn’t wait for permission, but turned and ran back to the hospital.

Thirty minutes later she was dropping the bullet she’d retrieved from Sean’s shoulder into a small metal pan. “Bag it and get it to one of the agents waiting outside. You know the drill.”

Then the real work of repairing the damage began. Ellie had learned over the years that there was no such thing as a simple bullet wound. Bullets had a way of doing considerable damage before settling, but Agent Goodman was lucky. His bullet hadn’t penetrated any major organs or nerves.

Once she’d closed, she followed the patient to recovery, wrote orders, and went to talk to the crowd gathered in the surgical waiting room. A dozen people with worried faces sat waiting for the news. Agent Daniels was standing, leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest. His gaze followed her as she entered the room, and her heart began to race. She knew she looked a mess. She pulled off her cap and threaded her fingers through her hair. Why in heaven’s name she wanted to look good for him was beyond her comprehension, and yet she did.

“The surgeon’s here,” Daniels announced.

A petite young woman jumped up and rushed forward, followed by Agent Bradley and a crowd of worried relatives.

“The surgery went well,” she began and then explained some of what she had repaired, trying not to be too technical. “I expect him to make a full recovery.”

Sara, his fiancée, was crying as she stammered her thank-you. She shook Ellie’s hand and held on to it.

“You can see him in about an hour,” Ellie told her. “He’s heavily sedated and he’s not going to know you’re there,” she warned. “He’ll be in recovery for a while, then they’ll take him to ICU. Once the nurses in ICU have him settled, they’ll send someone to get you. Any questions?”

A frazzled-looking nurse appeared in the doorway. “Dr. Sullivan?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind looking at Mrs. Klein for us? She’s Edmonds’s patient, but he’s in surgery.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She patted Sara’s hand and pulled free. “All right then. It’s all good.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Agent Daniels smile as she turned to leave. She walked down the corridor and had just turned the corner when he caught up with her.

“Hey, Doctor.”

She turned around. Her stupid heart went into overdrive again. “Yes?”

“We’re going to need to talk to you about the shooting. You’ll have to give a statement.”

“When?”

“How about after you check on that patient?”

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