My Cherished Enemy

She was about to turn away when a tall figure intruded into her field of vision. She could have screamed when she recognized the earl. His graceful, long-legged stride carried him across the courtyard. He did not stop until he was almost directly below her window. The boy—Peter—suddenly appeared and darted toward his father.

Some inexplicable force beyond her control kept her rooted near the window. It was as if her entire being were riveted to the pair below as the earl awaited his son. She blinked as the hard edge fled his granite-hewn features. Was it a trick of her eyes? Peter raced toward his father as fast as his chubby legs would allow. With a squeal of excitement, the boy was snatched high into strong arms.

The unexpected sound of low male laughter reached her ears. The features she had thought so grim and ruthless were filled with warmth and love—the harsh, unyielding man she had come to know might never have existed. One dark hand gently cupped the back of Peter's head, a gesture that bespoke all that words could not.

Yet something must have alerted him to her, for at that moment he half-turned. His gaze climbed inevitably to the place where she peered out. And for the space of a heartbeat, the mask of icy coldness so familiar to her was back in place.

Back with a vengeance.

Kathryn recoiled as if she'd been struck with a fist. The breath left her lungs in a rush. She stumbled back, feeling oddly shaken. It occurred to her then. She was an outsider here at Sedgewick. She did not belong...

The warm soak in her bath did much to ease the soreness wrought in her aching muscles by the long journey, but it did nothing to boost her flagging spirits. She allowed Gerda to dress her hair, though it was a luxury she hadn't known at Ashbury. Again the girl displayed no sign of friendliness, no sign at all. When Gerda wordlessly began to unpack her chest, Kathryn looked away, biting back a swell of humiliation, unwilling to suffer the sight of the girl's hands on her meager belongings. She didn't see Gerda's smooth forehead crease in puzzlement, or the confused glance she directed at the newcomer. Kathryn ventured downstairs to the great hall for a hasty meal, but the suspicious glares she encountered there soon drove her back to her chamber.

A narrow shelf had been fashioned just below the window overlooking the courtyard. Kathryn discovered it was big enough that she could sit quite comfortably, her legs stretched out before her. She spent the remainder of the day cloistered there.

The evening's first star had just made its appearance when a knock sounded on the door. Thinking it was Gerda with the evening meal, she bade her come in. Feeling low and dispirited, she wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her cheek against her knees and watched a second twinkling star appear. She paid scant attention to the footsteps crossing the room.

By then it was too late. The hair on the back of her neck stood up in warning.

"So meek, Lady Kathryn. So humble. You surprise me, for I had thought you would have my household in a rampage by now."

She gritted her teeth against that velvet-honed voice of steel. "You know nothing of me." She delivered the words curtly, refusing to look at him.

"Indeed," he mocked. "A situation mayhap we should remedy."

"I think not."

"How quickly you forget, Kathryn! My will prevails, does it not?" Before she knew what he was about, a muscled arm shot out. He scooped her from her perch and deposited her before him. He then proceeded to inspect every detail of her appearance, from the glossy black hair concealed beneath her wimple to the much-mended seam in the shoulder of her woolen kirtle.

"You will do," he announced at last. He reached out to grasp her elbow.

She snatched it back. "Do for what?" she cried. "Where are you taking me?"

He merely sighed as if she were an unruly child. "Cease your prattle, Kathryn. I merely mean to feed you."

She spurned his touch when he would have reached for her again. Guy allowed it, though he clenched his fist at his side in order to do so. This was one wench who possessed pride aplenty. And if he were honest with himself, he would admit he found himself both intrigued and irritated by it.

In the hall, servants scurried to and from the kitchens, seizing empty platters and piling food onto trestle tables. Guy led her to the high table and saw her seated. Kathryn stole a quick glimpse in all directions from beneath her lashes, relieved to find that they attracted no more than a passing glance. When her gaze returned to the earl, she found it disconcerting to find herself the sole object of his scrutiny.

The way he arched a single black brow lent him a satanic look. "I trust your chamber is adequate."

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out that it was far more than adequate. She swiftly quelled the impulse. "Quite," she said shortly.

Neither spoke as his squire began to serve them. There was a mouth-watering stew, lamb and suckling pig, fruit and tempting cakes sweetened with honey. But Kathryn could scarcely eat more than a few bites. Her stomach felt as if it were tied up in knots. She couldn't relax. Why, she could scarcely think with the earl so close!

The earl paused, his goblet suspended halfway to his mouth as he frowned at her. "Is the food not to your liking, Kathryn?" A hint of scorn laced his voice.

"The food is excellent," she pronounced flatly.

"Eat, then, for I would fatten you up—you and your babe."

Her babe. The words hit her hard, for she'd forgotten he thought her with child.

"I must have a care," she murmured, "else my weight will be too much for my palfrey to carry me home."

His brittle laugh further set her on edge. "You wish to leave us so soon? Milady, you wound me sorely!"

For a moment Kathryn said nothing. A hot ache closed her throat as her mind turned fleetingly back. . .She had oft dreamed of the day she would finally be free of her uncle. But she had never dreamed it would be like this.

"God's blood, I—I wish I'd never come here!" Even if the longing in her eyes hadn't given her away, her fervent tone would have.

"But you are here and so I must insist you grace us with your presence." His taunt struck home. He brought the goblet to his lips. Above the dull beaten silver, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Rage began to simmer along her veins. Oh, he was so smug, so unutterably sure that he was lord and master of all he surveyed! More than anything, Kathryn longed to shove at his chest, topple his chair, and see him sprawled at her feet—ah, if only she dared!

Totally indifferent to her anger, Guy resumed his meal.

Something snapped inside Kathryn. Heedless of anyone who might be watching, she leaped to her feet, spun about, and stalked from the table.

He was right behind her. She could hear the determined echo of his footsteps. Her pace quickened. She silently gauged the distance to the top of the stairs. Her heart clamored like a drum, but she refused to flee like a trapped doe.

Alas, at the threshold of the dark corridor that led to her chamber, he loomed before her—thwarting her, stopping her cold.

"I did not grant you leave to depart, milady." He towered above her, his ominous presence surrounding her like a mantle of darkness. She tried to shake it off and could not.

"Oh, stop!" she cried. "I've no more wish for your company than you have for mine!"

A slow smile rimmed the hardness of his mouth.

"No?" he murmured, hiking a brow. "I'm not so sure, my lady Kathryn. I'm not so sure at all." His eyes boldly traveled the length of her body, lingering on breasts and belly and hips, taking liberties no other man had dared.

Anger brewed within her, like a storm gathering force and building to a tempest. Her teeth clenched anew. "Cease with this pretense, my lord earl! I know why you wanted me under your roof. The better to make me wait in dread while I wonder what you have in store for me—the better to toy with me the same way you would have toyed with Richard had you had the chance!"

'The better to watch you," he snapped. Her anger was vivid in her eyes, but Guy was annoyed she could think he would treat her so cruelly. Hadn't he shown her every care thus far?

"I do not trust you, Kathryn." His expression turned brooding. 'That is all there is to it. No more, no less. But if you behave, who knows? Mayhap we can strike a bargain."

"I'd as lief bargain with the devil."

His gaze flickered over her. With her chin angled haughtily, her shoulders straight, small hands fisted at her sides, she was the picture of defiance. Ever bold, ever sure of herself.. . ever beautiful.

"Mayhap you shall, Kathryn—" His smile was tight. "—and sooner than you think."

The light from the candle set high in the wall spilled down on him, outlining his arrogant profile, and the hardness of his mouth. He went on coolly, "And now I think 'tis time we returned to the hall."

Panic leaped within her. Though she was frustrated and infuriated, until that moment she had scarce given a thought to those who might have witnessed their departure from the hall—how humiliating it would be to return in his wake!

When she didn't move, Guy lost patience. He snared her about the waist, in the back of his mind marveling at how slight she was. He lifted her full off the floor and started toward the stairs. He had no qualms about carrying her kicking and screaming under his arm like a sack of grain, all the way back to the hall if need be.

But the tiny strangled sound he heard brought his eyes cleaving to hers in a flash.

Her palms opened on the soft wool of his tunic. "I cannot," she said, very low. In some distant part of her mind, she applauded the evenness of her voice. Pride alone kept her chin up.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, for inside Guy a violent tug-of-war was being waged. His jaw tense, he stared at her. The screen of her lashes shielded her eyes. If he were to raise her chin, he knew full well she could not hide her stricken entreaty. From the start, Guy knew he had been right about her. She was stubborn and strong-willed and defiant. Her willfulness could not be ignored, and he was just the man to bring her to heel. And yet, the feel of her body against his aroused a flurry of emotions.

She was so close he could feel the ragged tremor of her breath against the hollow of his throat. “Please," she whispered. "Do not make me." It was not her spoken plea, but the quiver of her lip that betrayed her tremulous emotions.

He lowered her to the floor but kept a steely arm tight about her waist. The grim tension had not left his features. If anything, his expression was even more implacable than before.

With his thumb and forefinger, he prodded her chin up. "Hear me, Kathryn," he said brusquely. "Hear me well, for I will say this only once. Do not expect leniency from me. Do not think to twist me round your finger! You have tested me once already and lost. Should you wish to ever have my trust, you will have to earn it."

With that he was gone, as swift and silent as the night. Kathryn fled to the sanctuary of her chamber, her dignity in tatters.

She threw herself across the bed, furious at the helplessness of her position... cursing the man who had brought it about. The earl controlled her every move, as surely as a falcon on a jess.

And she could do naught but endure the fate that awaited her.

Chapter 7

In the fortnight which followed, all that sustained Kathryn was a thin trickle of hope. She prayed nightly that the earl might soon grant her leave to return to Ashbury, but he showed no signs of relenting. He was often gone during the day, seeing to the spring plantings and other duties. During the evenings, he was ever aloof, ever icy, ever distant. Even the servants were wary of her. Gerda, who attended her closely, was stiff but polite, obliging but guarded. Indeed, the girl was almost as suspicious of her as was the earl! Oh, she knew why—because she was Richard's niece. Still, their flagrant distrust hurt, especially Gerda's.

Sedgewick itself was grand—built both as a defensive fortress and as a comfortable home. But Kathryn's soul was empty and lonely. She could not rid herself the nagging restlessness inside her. How she missed Elizabeth. How she missed Ashbury! She missed the mist-shrouded headlands of Cornwall, the keening wail of the incessant wind, the muted roar of the sea.

Her only redemption was Peter. His shyness with her lasted only a day or two. Only with the little boy did Kathryn feel she could be truly herself, for he was the only one here with no preconceived notions about her.

Even the weather was an ominous reflection of her mood. Throughout the day yesterday, dark clouds scuttled across the sky, while wind-driven sheets of rain lashed the ramparts. But this morning, bright golden sunlight bleached the sky. Between the rain and her enforced confinement, Kathryn longed to be free of the castle walls, if only for a while.

When Peter peeked into her chamber a while later, she crooked a finger at him. He ran to her and she scooped him up in her arms. "How would you like to go on an outing today, my little lord?" She whirled toward the window and Peter laughed delightedly.

"Look," she urged. Standing before the window, she pointed to where a strip of lush woodland ran back into the hills. Sunlight glinted off the stream that meandered through the trees. "You see the stream there? We could take a bit of food along with us, and eat there beside the water. And while we walk, we could pretend we're two soldiers marching off to slay a fierce, fire-breathing dragon."

"Dragons!" he cried, clapping his hands in approval. A secret smile tilted Kathryn's lips. The fire- breathing dragon conjured up in her mind had hair as black as midnight and glowing eyes of silver.

Gerda, who had been hovering behind them, said quickly, "I will go too, milady. Shall I ask the cook for some cheese and a loaf of bread?"

Kathryn glanced at her sharply. There was something about her tone. . . She lowered Peter to the floor, her smile rather stiff. "Peter and I will be fine, Gerda. You need not come with us."

A look of anxious distress widened Gerda's eyes.

"If you do not mind, milady, I—I think I shall."

It was on the tip of Kathryn's tongue to snap that she did mind. Still, she suspected Gerda was only doing as she'd been told. No doubt the earl had ordered that she was not to venture outside the castle walls alone.

"Very well," she said curtly. "If you'll fetch some food from the kitchens, Peter and I will meet you in the hall." Gerda fled the room, and Kathryn's lovely mouth turned down. Damn the earl to hell and back! she raged silently. He need not be present, and still the dratted man was able to make her utterly miserable!

But her mood lightened once they left the castle walls behind. The sun spilled down in radiant splendor, bathing her face and warming her limbs. She chuckled as Peter tramped along the narrow pathway, wielding a stick he'd found as if it were a mighty sword. She decided to stop near a spot where massive oaks arched over the shallow creek. Gerda laid out a blanket she'd brought so they could sit, and soon they were ready to eat. Peter sat between them, grinning up at Kathryn between bites of cheese. Once again, Kathryn was struck by the brilliant translucence of his eyes; surrounded by indecently long black lashes, they glowed like sapphires.

When he ran off to play at the bank, she shook her head. "I've never seen such beautiful eyes," she murmured. "Were his mother's so incredibly blue?"

Something flickered across the girl's face. "Lady Elaine," she said quietly. "Aye, milady. The boy has his mother's eyes."

Kathryn had decided that the earl would not ruin this day for her, but she was suddenly intently curious about the woman who had been his wife.

"Gerda." She twitched at a fold in the blanket. "Did you know her, the Lady Elaine? I know you must have been rather young when she was mistress here..." Kathryn broke off, feeling very awkward.

There was a prolonged silence. An odd expression crossed the girl's face. "I knew her," Gerda said finally. She paused for the space of a heartbeat. "I was the last one to see her alive."

Kathryn started. The remembrance glaringly vivid, all at once she recalled the earl's words that night in Richard's chamber. It was only by the mercy of God that my wife's maid escaped, along with my son... You gave orders that no one was to be spared— not women, not children—no one!

The maid who had escaped with Peter had been Gerda, she realized numbly. Gerda had been there during Richard's rampage, while he ravaged and murdered... There was a sharp, stabbing pain in Kathryn's chest. She couldn't tear her eyes from Gerda, who sat very still, her hands folded, her gaze lowered. She longed to reach out to the girl, to ease the torment hidden deep inside—it didn't matter that she was a servant—but she sensed Gerda did not want that from her.

She drew a deep, unsteady breath, unsure of what to say. "Gerda," she murmured, "I—I do not make excuses for myself, but it shames me greatly to know that I am kin to a man such as Richard. I mourn your lady's loss, but I cannot mourn his. Will you tell me about her, Gerda? What she was like? I know it may seem a strange request, but I would truly like to know."

Gerda's huge brown eyes were fixed on her face. "If it is your wish," she said slowly, "then I will tell you." Her bad leg lay twisted at an odd angle away from her body. She adjusted her skirt over her knees before she began to speak.

"Lady Elaine was very small and fragile. The first time I saw her, I thought she was a glorious angel sent from the heavens." She smiled slightly. "Her hair was like nothing I'd ever seen before, not like the gold of the wheat fields—but pale and flaxen, like—like moonbeams flowing down from the sky." As she spoke, Kathryn's hand slipped unknowingly to the shining sleekness of her own dark locks.

"I'd never known a lady as good and kind and sweet as the Lady Elaine. She took me from my father and brought me into the castle so that he could no longer beat me." She touched her misshapen leg lightly. "I loved her dearly, as everyone who knew her loved her."

"Including the earl?" Kathryn bit her lip. Where the question came from, she didn't know. But it had slipped out before she could stop it.

"Especially the earl," Gerda said softly.

"Their marriage—it was arranged?"

"From the cradle. But it didn't matter, for it was well known that the earl fairly worshiped Lady Elaine."

Kathryn gazed out where the water rippled over the rocky creek bed, aware of an odd tightness in the pit of her stomach... Distress? Surely not! It mattered little to her that the earl had been enamored— enamored?—of his wife. If Gerda was right, he'd been madly in love with her!

"He must have taken her death very hard," she murmured.

Gerda said nothing, but Kathryn could feel her staring at her and began to flush. Thankfully she was saved from further embarrassment, for Peter ran up then, his boots and tunic wet from splashing in the creek. Kathryn stood. "We'd better get back and get him out of these wet things."

Not long after they had set off toward Sedgewick, Peter pleaded tiredness and begged to be carried. Gerda swung him up onto her hip but it wasn't long before she began to lag behind. Kathryn turned, and it was then she noted a spasm of discomfort cross Gerda's rosy face. A pang of guilt shot through her, for until that instant she hadn't given a second thought to the difficulty the trek might pose for Gerda.

She extended her hands toward Peter. "Here, Peter. Let me carry you." The boy came willingly into her arms.

Gerda blinked. "Milady. . .?"

Kathryn arched her brows. "Your leg is paining you, is it not?"

It was Gerda's turn to flush. "Aye, milady, but you need not take the lad—"

"Oh, yes, but I do."

Gerda's jaw dropped. "But Lady Kathryn, why would you do such a thing? You are a lady and... and 'tis my duty to—"

"Gerda, I see no reason why you should suffer when I'm perfectly capable of carrying him instead." She tickled Peter under the chin. "Right, my little lord?" With that, she was off again.

Gerda stared after her, both troubled and bewildered. When Richard of Ashbury had slain the Lady Elaine, he had become the earl's enemy... and hers as well. She had thought to hate and despise any kin of Richard's, certain his family must be as evil, treacherous, and odious as Richard himself. But she had put aside her anger and resentment and served Lady Kathryn solely because of her loyalty to the earl.

But Lady Kathryn seemed neither evil nor treacherous nor odious...

And it was getting harder and harder to think of her as an enemy.

They had nearly reached the outer palisade when a strange feeling crawled up Kathryn's spine. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see a horseman not twenty paces behind them. He must have seen her turn her head for he quickly swerved behind a copse of trees. But Kathryn had already recognized him. It was Sir Michael, a handsome young knight who had been with Guy at Ashbury.

Every nerve in her body suddenly quivered with rage. The earl had had them followed!

Peter's body lay limply against her, his chubby cheek pressed against her shoulder. He had fallen asleep. She delivered him to his chamber, eased him onto his bed, and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

In the great hall, she stopped one of the maids and asked if she knew the whereabouts of the earl. The girl shrugged. "Try the counting room."

Guy was busy tallying rents from one of his manors—forty ambers of ale, ten vats of honey, ten withers . .. The door burst open. A small figure stormed inside and planted herself squarely before him.

"Is it necessary to post a guard to watch my every move?" she demanded.

Guy leaned back in his chair. She was in a temper, by the look of her. Two spots of color stood out on her cheekbones; her eyes were the deep green of a stormy sea. Well, that was fine with him. If nothing else, their altercations were never boring.

He dropped his quill, his smile tight. "Perhaps it is for your own protection."

Her mouth thinned with ill-concealed annoyance. She spoke but one word. "Bah!"

"If I say it is necessary, then it is." His voice carried as much warmth as a winter wind blowing from a mountaintop.

In her anger she jammed her hands flat on the planked tabletop. "Gerda was with me today. Was that not enough?"

His eyes were the color of stone—and just as unyielding. "But you wield a dagger so well, Kathryn. I fear the damage you might do to a poor girl like Gerda."

The glitter in his eyes caused a shiver of reaction in her. With an effort, Kathryn willed the tremor from her voice. "I would know my status here, milord. Am I your prisoner? Or am I a guest here?" Even as she spoke, her heart cried out in angry despair. Did it really matter? Either way, she couldn't leave.

His expression was cool and remote. She could read nothing of his thoughts. "Your actions will dictate the answer, Kathryn."

Kathryn wanted to scream in outrage, but inside her heart was breaking. He gave no quarter... and she would ask none of him. She snatched her hands away and whirled to leave. The sound of his voice stopped her. When she spun about, she saw that he had placed his elbows on the trestled tabletop so that his fingers rested tip to tip. He tapped them together lightly.

"It occurs to me, Kathryn, that there is a way to get what you want."

He had risen to his feet and was coming toward her. Kathryn eyed him, wary of the gleam in his eyes. "How?" she asked, uncaring that he heard the suspicion in her tone.

He stood before her, blocking her path to the door. Despite the tension—or perhaps because of it—she was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the power of his presence.

'Tell me," he said abruptly, "do you still pine for your Roderick? Do you love him still?"

She couldn't tear her eyes from the tanned hollow of his throat, where a wild tangle of curly dark hairs spilled over the neckline of his tunic. All at once she found it difficult to swallow. "I love no man," she stated unevenly.

A dark eyebrow arched high in amusement. So she scorned love, did she? Somehow Guy was not so inclined to believe it.

"Aha," he murmured. "So you love no man. . . or mayhap you love all men."

That drew her gaze up in a flash. She bristled when she discovered his mouth curled in a mocking smile.

He laughed softly. "In either case, a trifling kiss should be no hardship at all."

It was her turn to curl her lips. "A kiss, milord? Surely you jest."

"Nay, Kathryn. A kiss—and mayhap you'll gain what you wish. That's the way of it, I'm afraid."

God, how she hated his self-satisfied smirk. She wanted to scream that she'd sooner kiss a toad, a snake, the most wretched creature unimagined! Yet when at last she spoke, neither words nor action were what she intended.

She averted her face, her voice very low. "Why do you torment me so?"

Guy's mouth twisted. Perhaps a better question was why he tormented himself so. He hadn't wanted to examine his reasons for insisting she accompany him to Sedgewick. Yet for the first time Guy wondered if he hadn't made a grave mistake. So close at hand, he couldn't forget her. Pregnant or no, enemy or no, she provided a temptation that threatened his good judgment. If he were wise, he'd send her back to Ashbury and forget he'd ever laid eyes on this deceitful little wench.

Her head was lowered, the sweep of her lashes veiling the incredible jade of her eyes—the humble maiden again, he thought, aware of his emotions hardening. Why did she bother, when he knew she was little more than a strumpet? But she was a beautiful one, and there was the rub! With that black mane of silky hair, that lissome young body so enticingly curved to fit a man's hand, she radiated an earthy sensuality that brought his keenly honed senses primitively alive. Like a male animal who'd just caught the scent of female, his nostrils flared wide. An elemental heat welled up inside him.

His hands were on her shoulders, searing her with their warmth. 'Torment, you say? I ask you, what torment is there in this? I merely suggest that if you sheathed your claws, little cat, the lion in me would be less likely to pounce. Men, you see, for all that we claim to be so fierce and warlike, are not so very different than the fairer sex after all." The pitch of his voice lowered, as soft as fleece. "We, too, crave sanctuary, in the soothing touch of a gentle, feminine hand, in the softness of lips warm and willing."

Kathryn inhaled sharply. She went hot inside, then icy cold. Mother of Christ! Was he suggesting that she seduce him?

Her mind raced apace with her heart. He loomed above her—with the prominent angles of his cheekbones, the jutting forcefulness of his jaw, he exuded a ruthless and powerful vitality. And the flame in his eyes—was it desire? All at once she remembered what her uncle had told her—that a man need not feel love to desire a woman. Oh, she knew how thoroughly the earl despised her. Yet when her gaze locked helplessly onto that hard face, she saw no revulsion, no malice, only something heated and intense—something that frightened her.

His smile was wickedly seductive. "A kiss is all I ask, Kathryn. The merest touch of your lips upon mine."

"Ask?" she cried. "As you are so fond of reminding me, milord, your will prevails, does it not? Nay, you do not ask, you demand! Oh, it matters not that your words are sweetened with honey. I have no doubt the outcome will remain the same. You will have your way, whether I wish it or not!"

She did not trust this unexpected turnabout, not a whit! But if she thought to goad him into anger, she failed miserably. The pressure of his hands on her shoulders increased ever so slightly. She raised her hands to push him away, but he caught her wrists. "Methinks," he said softly, "that you are still afraid of me."

"I was never afraid of you!" she said without thinking.

"Then let it be done," he whispered.

She had no time to prepare, no time to even think, before his mouth closed over hers. Always before when he had kissed her, she sensed a seething undercurrent. His lips had been ruthlessly intent. Yet there was nothing hard or punishing in this kiss. Oh, the demand was still there—she could feel it in the gently coaxing pressure of his lips on hers. But the contact was subtle and persuasive, compellingly seductive.

In a battle of wit and words they were evenly matched. But in this, her inexperience failed her. Against all reason, against all instinct, she longed to succumb, to let this yearningly sweet kiss that promised so much lead where it would, forgetful of all else. But in her heart, she knew this was no sweet seduction. He merely sought but another means of dominion! And so she strained her every muscle against him and kept her lips tightly closed, desperately denying the treacherous warmth that threatened her tenuous control.

But Guy was aware of her resistance. He decided to intensify his assault, but first a change in tactic was needed. He raised his head to stare down at her.

"What!" he mocked softly. "Didn't your Roderick teach you how to kiss?" A hand came up to frame her face. With the pad of his thumb he tugged her bottom lip downward. "Open your mouth," he whispered.

She had no choice but to grant him entrance, and when she did his tongue dipped boldly within, swirling far and deep in a breath-stealing foray that robbed her of strength. Her thoughts scattered. The pressure on her cheeks eased. Hard arms came around her and he was dragging her close—closer!—so close she could feel the sinewed strength of his thighs welded against hers. She began to tremble. There was a peculiar tightness in her middle. Her skin felt hot and tingly all over, as if she were ill with fever, though she knew it was not so.

She gave a tiny little moan of distress, but not displeasure. God help her, not displeasure. The strangest sensation spilled through her, as if someone else had taken over her body—as if he had. She sought to pull away but he allowed no retreat. Caught fast within his binding embrace, he held her captive with the searing pressure of his mouth. Over and over he kissed her, deeper and deeper, until she was breathless and dazed.

The effect of finding her so willingly compliant was heady nectar indeed, Guy thought dimly.

His heart was pounding as if he'd been plunged into the thick of battle. His blood ran hot through his veins, spawning a heavy ache that swelled his loins... and this from a mere kiss yet! He was not a stripling lad whose staff leaped apulse at the mere thought of an easy tumble. He was a man who knew how to master his hunger; a man who had learned the pleasure to be gained from slowly savoring his passion. So why was it that Kathryn made him feel as if he were a forest gone aflame?

Never had he hated a woman as fiercely as this one. Never had he desired a woman as fiercely as he desired her. Yet desire was the one thing he did not want to feel for her, for he could never forget that Richard's blood flowed in her veins.

He released her. Dispassionately, he raised his head and stared down at her. Her eyes opened, heavy-lidded and dazed. The twinge of guilt which cut through him was banished as quickly as if it had never been.

"You must learn to try harder, Kathryn. Perhaps then the next time I'll be inclined to grant your wish."

His cool words seeped in slowly. He was smiling, that arrogant half-smile that never failed to prick her temper. Yet for a timeless instant, Kathryn stared at him, unable—or unwilling, mayhap?—to grapple with the lightning change in him. But then wave after wave of angry hurt swept over her. His rejection left her feeling filthy and ashamed, above all, humiliated. Not because he had kissed her, but because she had wanted it to go on and on.

"I pray with every breath in my body for the day I would be rid of you, milord." Her glare bespoke her hatred as keenly as her taunt. "But there is naught that could make me so desperate I would intentionally suffer your touch again."

She whirled and swept from the chamber, seething as his laughter followed her through the opening. Somehow, she vowed fiercely, he would pay. She knew not when. She knew not how.

But someday he would pay... and pay dearly.

Chapter 8

Kathryn took her meal in her room that evening. She half-expected the earl to demand her presence at the table, but he did not. Nor was he present when she and Gerda departed the bailey to take Peter down to the stream again the next afternoon.

Gerda was appalled when Kathryn insisted she and Peter ride her palfrey. "Lady Kathryn," she blurted, " 'tis not right that you should walk and I should ride." She quickly discovered that arguing with Kathryn was fruitless.

On their return, Gerda slipped down from the horse just outside the gates, but Peter balked. "Ride," he pleaded. "Ride!" Kathryn laughed and clasped his chubby fingers firmly around the pommel. "Hold tight!" she warned. "Do not let go!"

She led the palfrey toward the inner bailey, glancing back every so often to see how Peter fared. She smothered a chuckle, for Peter sat upon her palfrey as proudly as an armored knight. His eyes were shining, his little chest swelled with pride. When they stopped near the stable, Kathryn extended her arms. He looked so stricken she had to bite back a laugh.

"We will ride again tomorrow," she promised. "And mayhap we'll wade in the stream again, too." His face lit up as she lifted him down. He liked that almost as much as he liked riding. Gerda took his hand while Kathryn paused to speak to the groom who had taken Esmerelda's reins. Together the three of them started back toward the hall. But all at once, Peter jerked free of Gerda's hand.

A groom was leading the earl's destrier toward the stables. It all seemed to happen in slow motion—Peter darting back toward the stables, the squawking hen zigzagging across the bailey, crossing in front of the destrier... The huge horse tossed his head and snorted, wrenching the reins from the startled groom's hands. At all the commotion, Peter halted abruptly, perilously near the massive destrier. The hen lurched and charged again, and someone shouted. The destrier lunged and reared. Beside her, Kathryn heard Gerda gasp.

She had no recollection of moving. The next thing she knew she was hurtling through the air, arms outstretched like a madwoman, as if she sought to fly .. . She slammed onto her stomach and shoved Peter clear, the impact knocking the breath from her. She pushed herself up on her hands, gasping for air. The destrier's scream seemed to come from very far away... In the split second it took to recognize the danger, Kathryn flung her arms around herself and prepared to roll away. Above her, the muscles in the destrier's muscular chest rippled with power. Flailing hooves lashed the air.

She almost made it. The ground beneath her vibrated as those flashing hooves came crashing down—one glanced across her shoulder. A terrible, gouging pain ripped through her; earth and sky whirled around her, a sickening kaleidoscope of sound and color. The world receded into a gray mist.

She was only vaguely aware of someone shouting.

"Kathryn... Kathryn!" A strong arm slid beneath her. She felt herself lifted and cradled against a solid warmth. Her head was reeling. She struggled to focus on the lean face hovering just inches above her own. The earl, she realized, staring dumbly. Unbelievably, his features bore no trace of his familiar hard-featured reserve. His expression was so strange—almost frantic.

She felt suddenly weightless, her weight borne upward in a surge of power. She gave a muted sound of protest but the earl paid no heed, striding into the great hall and up the stairs. Kathryn's arms tightened around his neck. She buried her face into the curve of his neck. She was not herself, she decided fuzzily. Held so securely against his chest, she was aware of a strangely pleasurable feeling of contentment, despite the wrench in her shoulder at every jarring step.

When they reached her chamber, he shouldered the door open and kicked it shut with the heel of his boot. Crossing to the bed, he began to lower her. She bit back a tiny moan as her shoulder connected with the mattress. Then it dipped again as the earl sat beside her.

There was a glint of steel as he pulled his dagger from the sheath at his waist. Kathryn paled and instinctively flattened her back against the pillows propped behind her back. "Milord," she cried, "what do you—"

Guy's jaw clamped shut. For just an instant, his expression darkened. "Good God," he exploded. "My only intent is to see to your shoulder and this is the quickest way to do it. Had I sought to put an end to your existence, I'd have done so long before now!"

It was on the tip of her tongue to plead with him not to ruin her gown, but he looked so grim she decided against it. "Milord," she said faintly, "I am fine. Truly, I am. There is no need—"

He paid her no heed. The blade slipped beneath the neckline of her kirtle. A quick slicing sound drowned out her protest, then another as the same motion slashed through the strap of her thin linen chemise. Impatiently he flicked aside the material, baring her shoulder and the top half of her breast. Kathryn stared in mute horror at the gleaming mound of one breast. The sight of her own flesh, so pale and smooth, seemed to mock her. The heat of embarrassment rose within her like a flooding tide, but she held her breath, afraid to move, afraid even to breathe for fear of exposing herself further.

Guy scarcely noticed. His entire frame tense, he drew in a harsh breath, his gaze locked on the place where his destrier's hooves had landed. Already a series of angry bruises darkened and discolored the ivory skin of her shoulder. Blood oozed bright and crimson from half a dozen long ugly scratches that trailed across her collarbone. The sight of such pale, perfect flesh mottled with purple shadows made his stomach clench.

His insides twisting with sick dread, he laid a hand to her shoulder, anxious to assess the damage he could not see. Fingertips skimming lightly, he began to gently press and probe, feeling the delicate bone structure beneath her broken skin, watching her every reaction.

He cursed beneath his breath, for he could see how swollen and tender she was. This hurt him almost as much as it was bound to hurt her. Yet even as the realization tolled through his mind, he wondered why it was so. Gritting his teeth, he began anew. His fingers had scarcely moved before he felt her flinch, though she did not cry out.

"Damn! I'm sorry, lass, I know it must hurt like the very devil, but I do not mean to hurt you, I swear... I'm sorry... Just hold tight and it will soon be over."

Regret lay thick and heavy in his voice, but mingled within was an unexpected tenderness that caught her totally off guard. It was this which made Kathryn look helplessly to his face. She willed away the ache in her shoulder, unable to tear her gaze from his rugged features.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, his winged black brows drawn together over the jutting blade of his nose. His jaw was set as firmly as ever, yet for once, she could detect no coldness in his manner. The mouth she had always considered so cruel was set a bit sternly mayhap, but it was beautifully shaped nonetheless. And his eyes were as crystalline-clear and pure as the rushing waters of the nearby stream, his lashes as long as Peter's.

An odd little tremor shot through her. Why? she screamed inwardly. Why did she notice all these details about him? It was as if something inside her had hoarded all these subtle little nuances, only to spring them upon her now when she least expected it. What was it about him that affected her this way—and he a man she despised with all her heart! She had lived her life surrounded by men . .. and the earl was but one more man, much as any other man.

Nay, whispered a niggling little voice in her brain. He is not as any other man, for he has trapped your lips beneath his...

But Roderick has kissed me, too! she countered silently.

Aye. But you did not feel the same—as if a storm had seized you and swept you from the earth in a mighty tempest of sweet sensation—And the earl has touched you as no other has...

Guy felt her tremble beneath his hand. "There," he said softly. " 'Tis done. It appears nothing is broken but you'll bear those bruises for several days." He leaned back, worriedly scanning her face. Her lovely mouth, he noted, was pinched tight. With a frown he saw that her face was blanched of all color.

Kathryn felt the weight of his gaze as surely as she'd felt the weight of his hand on her body. She felt curiously awkward and exposed, only this time it had little to do with the torn remnants of her kirtle. Still, her hand fluttered protectively over her bare flesh. She knew he saw the reflexive movement but he said nothing. She tried to summon a smile, but discovered found her lips reluctant to do her bidding.

" 'Twasn't so bad," she murmured. "And 'tis just as I told you—I am fine, milord."

"Fine, is it?" He snorted. "Girl, you are luckier than you know. My destrier might have crushed those fragile bones of yours as easily as mush." The very thought made him want to break out in a cold sweat.

There was a knock at the door and he rose to answer it. It was Gerda. Kathryn couldn't hear their low-voiced conversation, but when he returned to her side, he carried a small basin of water. He pulled up a small bench and placed the basin atop it, then resumed his place beside her.

Kathryn bit her hp, her expression anxious. "How is Peter? He was not hurt, was he?"

"Peter is fine," he said briefly. He continued to regard her, his dark head tipped slightly to the side. "I must thank you for saving his life—" She was startled to see a slow smile creeping across his lips. "—indeed, I've noticed you do not seem averse after all to occasionally playing nursemaid to my brat."

Kathryn could take no offense, for the faint light in his eyes robbed the words of any sting. Aware of her pulse picking up speed, she could not help but retort in kind. 'Tour son," she replied, "is possessed of a sweet, gentle nature, milord."

"Ah. Unlike his father?"

Her tiny smile matched his. "Your words, my lord, not mine."

He stunned her further by throwing back his head and laughing. Kathryn watched as he dipped a cloth in the basin, then wrung the water from it. Her shoulder was throbbing, but she gasped when he laid the cloth on her. The cold stung her torn flesh so much that her eyes watered. She squeezed them shut, afraid the earl would see and mistake the moisture for tears.

It was impossible for Guy to ignore the tension constricting her muscles. "The cold will dull the hurt," he murmured. He lifted the cloth, dabbing gently to remove the blood from her flesh. He rinsed it, then wrung it out and replaced it on her shoulder, this time leaving it in place.

Eventually she leaned back against the pillow, let out a sigh, and opened her eyes. Her gaze, wide and unwavering, melded with his. Guy felt as if a fist had plowed into his stomach. He couldn't think when he'd seen anyone with eyes so pure and green, the color of lush spring grass. He could not stop himself from wondering what truly went on beneath the lure of those beautiful green eyes... what secrets she concealed from him. And yet, it appeared they held no secrets now, at this moment. . . Her expression was half-troubled, half-watchful, as if she trod an unfamiliar path with no clear destination.

He almost welcomed the mild irritation that flared as he rinsed and replaced the cloth again, for she kept her slender fingers doggedly clamped to her breast. Why she attempted to preserve her modesty, he had no idea—he'd already glimpsed every delectable inch of her the night she sought to flee to Ashbury. And well they both knew she was far from chaste and virtuous.

At last he laid the cloth aside. With his fingers he began smoothing a healing unguent into the curve of her shoulder, down to where the arcing top of her breast began its thrusting ascent. There was nothing sexual in his touch—his features bespoke a shuttered detachment—but Kathryn flushed from the intimacy of his ministrations.

He had scarcely finished when another knock sounded. Gerda passed a small tray into the earl's hands. A moment later he extended a small goblet toward her. Plumes of steam curled toward the ceiling. "Here," was all he said.

The delicate sweep of her brows rose a fraction as Kathryn eyed it askance. She sniffed, but she could detect no noxious odor. "Ha!" she muttered. "Methinks I want you to taste it first, lest it be riddled with poison."

"Poison, eh? Your opinion of me sinks ever lower, Kathryn. I must admit, the idea has never crossed my mind." Guy laughed, unwillingly amused. He could think of a great many things he would like to do to this bewitching little wench... poison was not among them.

The pitch of his laughter was low and deep. Her heart gave an odd little flutter as her eyes met his. Time spun out slowly while they stared at each other, as if neither were able to break the strange spell that had cropped up. Something passed between them, something that seemed to pain both of them. . . something neither could deny.

It was Guy who spoke first. "Drink," he ordered quietly. "Gerda has a way with herbs. It will do you good." His arm slid around her back, easing her forward. He pressed the goblet to her lips and held her so she could drink. The brew was warm and tasted faintly of mint. But she found his touch and their closeness both comforting and disturbing. She drank it quickly, willing her mind from the way she leaned against him, trying desperately not to think about how the tips of her breasts grazed his chest, kindling a tingly sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. Rather, it was highly pleasant indeed.

The throbbing in her shoulder diminished to a dull ache. Her lids began to droop. She was aware of the waning rays of sunlight seeping through the window. It was not yet dark, so why was she so tired? Her limbs felt as though they'd been weighted with lead. The edges of her vision were tinged with gray. The earl's dark visage shifted and swirled. Nor could she seem to think straight. She shook her head to clear it.

Her eyes flew wide. Her gaze sought the earl's, though all she saw was a looming shadow. "The drink," she muttered. "There was something in it. . . I knew it! You truly seek to poison me!."

Soft, mocking laughter reverberated in her brain.

"Milord?" Even her tongue felt thick and clumsy.

"Here, Kathryn."

There was a touch against her cheek, like the wispy trailing of a feather. . . or did she only imagine it? She flung out a hand, groping as if she were blind. The next instant warm fingers closed about her own. "Do not. . . leave me," she heard herself say. In some far distant corner of her mind, she knew it was totally illogical that she should so cling to this man whom she hated, yet she could not stop herself. That was the last thing she remembered as she drifted into oblivion.

Guy studied the small hand curled so trustingly within his own, listening as her breathing grew deep and even. He felt compelled to linger, though he didn't know quite why. Perhaps it had something— everything?—to do with Kathryn casting aside her own safety for the sake of his son.

With his free hand he trailed a fingertip along the downy curve of her cheek, the slender grace of her throat. He was reminded of what she had said that night in the forest. 'Tis not the first time I've felt the cuff of a man's hand... The remembrance made a muscle tighten in his jaw. The thought of that tender white skin marred and bruised filled him with rage. Who, he fumed angrily, had dared to strike her? Richard?

It was inevitable that his thoughts would turn to Elaine. . . Elaine. Even as a wrenching pain squeezed his heart, he could scarcely summon the vision of her face, her flaxen hair swirling about her like an angel. Instead, his mind was besieged by this witch—Kathryn—whose hair shone dark as the wings of a raven... and he bitterly resented her for it.

And yet she possessed an allure he could neither deny nor submit to. His gaze lingered on lips stained a deep, vibrant pink, so dewy and moist she looked as if she'd been well and thoroughly kissed. Her cheeks were pink and flushed from sleep, her hair streaming wildly over the pillow. Seized by a sudden greed for the feel of it, he reached out and lifted a silky black strand. It curled around his fingers, sleek and vibrant, as if it possessed a will of its own.

As always, he could not look upon her without remembering that her flesh was the fairest of ivory; that her legs were supple and long and made to entwine with a man's. He longed to test for himself the cushioned softness of breasts ripe and firm, like the sweetest of fruit; he ached to sample the honeyed sweetness of rose-hued nipples against the twine of lips and tongue. He wanted to slide his fingers through the springy thatch that guarded her womanhood; settle himself between her slender thighs and seat the burning shaft of himself deep inside her. . . deeper still. . . while passion slaked its relentless thirst.

Too late he realized his mistake. His temples began to pound. A ravenous hunger surged inside him, so heady and strong he felt engulfed in a raging heat. Disgusted with himself, he crushed the lock of hair in his fist and dropped her hand, then prowled restlessly around the room.

What was he to do with her? In all truth, he didn't know. She was too much a lady to turn into a servant. At Ashbury, it had been in the back of his mind to make her his mistress—the obvious solution, for that would satisfy this accursed craving he had for her! But that was before he had discovered she was with child—and he couldn't make a woman who was with child his mistress... or could he?

The rational part of him rebelled at taking another man's leavings—for wasn't that what she was? But the physical part of him, the part that ruled his senses, was something else entirely. And it was this part of him that argued it would be some months before the child hindered his use of her. Surely by then—why, long before then!—this ludicrous longing for her would be extinguished.

He was standing at the bedside before he knew it. Desire tightened his expression as he stared down at her with undisguised yearning. The blood pooled thickly in his loins, swelling him until he was rigid as stone. As he'd longed to do almost from the instant they'd entered this chamber, he bent and pushed aside that vexing swath of cloth from her shoulder, exposing one perfect breast to his avid gaze.

Her chest rose and fell with every breath, offering up the exquisitely rounded flesh like a tempting sacrifice, causing his own breath to dam in his throat. That swelling mound was softened now, but still enticingly full and sweetly curved. Her skin was pale and finely textured, almost translucent, that single breast tipped by a delicate rosebud nipple the color of coral. Guy swallowed, beating down the rush of desire that threatened to overcome his good judgment. But he could not help himself. He knew he had to touch her or die...

With lean, tapering fingers he staked his claim. For an instant he stared at his outspread hand, the contrast between his bronzed fingers and her pale flesh striking. He filled his palm with her softness, caressing ever so slightly, gently kneading, seeking—sweet Jesus, she felt like velvet and silk! Clamping his jaw tight, he fought a violent battle with white-hot desire. The urge to bend over, to close his lips around that tantalizing pink nipple and feel it quiver to erectness against his tongue, was almost overpowering. But he knew that if she woke, words would fly like clanging swords. And so instead, he raked his thumb across the crest, the merest butterfly caress, while Kathryn slept on, as trusting and innocent as a child.

But a child she was not, and the ripeness of the flesh beneath his hand was a silent testimony. Nor was she innocent, and well he knew. He went very still inside, aware of some inexplicably dark emotion slipping over him, like a murky veil. The heat within him began to cool.

Unbidden, unwanted, an image in his mind began to swirl, slowly taking shape. He saw Kathryn and Roderick as they had been that first night at Ashbury, his hands twisted in her luscious black mane, their lips fused in fevered splendor, their bodies clinging recklessly in the wanton way of lovers.

His lips grew ominously thin. His face settled into a cold hard mask. Disgusted with himself, Guy snatched his hand away, scorning the passion he felt for this tempting little sorceress. It was lust, he told himself, purely carnal, purely erotic. He dismissed her scathingly. Kathryn meant nothing to him—nothing at all.

And because he willed it, it would be so.

Chapter 9

Matters were just a little different with Sir Hugh. While his dilemma, too, concerned the fairer sex, his problem was that his chosen lady scarcely knew he existed.

He likened her to a tiny, rare flower, the kind that appeared only once in a lifetime, so breath-takingly lovely one could not look upon her without coveting such beauty for his own, yet so fragile and frail that but a single fleeting touch would make her vanish and disappear, forever beyond his reach.

He knew she feared him. He knew because Kathryn had told him why. But he hadn't realized how very delicate she really was. This he had learned in a way that was no less than painful.

Their walks around the grounds had become a habit. Her sweet shyness tugged at his heart. It was eminently clear that the only person Elizabeth truly trusted was Kathryn. She trembled when he touched her, even the most casual touch. But, miracle of miracles, he felt he'd finally begun to draw her out.

Twilight veiled the land one evening as they left the keep behind. Hugh's aimless steps soon carried them to the crest of a craggy bluff. High above, gulls soared against the wind-whipped current, while far below, a huge pile of granite seemed to have tumbled into the churning waters of the sea. He filled his vision with the wild and rugged landscape before returning his attention to Elizabeth.

He knew instantly that something was wrong. He could see the way she huddled beneath her cloak. She clutched her hands about her body as if she were frozen to the bone.

"Elizabeth?" He touched her shoulder, a silent gesture of reassurance. She made no sign she heard him. Her eyes were dilated and glassy, fixed on a point just beyond his shoulder. Seeing her thus, Hugh felt a curious chill run up his spine. It was as if she had retreated to another place, another time.

"Elizabeth." His tone was sharp. "What is it? Tell me what's wrong."

She stood frozen. "This place," she said jerkily. He saw the tremendous effort it took for her to swallow and focus on him. "Why?" she whispered. "Why did you bring me here? What have I done that—that you would hurt me so!"

"Elizabeth, how can you say that?" Hugh was utterly perplexed. "I have no wish to hurt you. Tell me what I have done that distresses you so—"

He broke off as she suddenly whitened, every vestige of color stripped from her face. Her eyes swept frantically all around then, as if she sought to find something elusive and hidden, something beyond this world. "I cannot stay here," she cried, panting raggedly. "Oh, God, I. . . I cannot!" With a panicked cry she whirled, running as fast as her legs would carry her. Hugh attempted to follow, only to wrench his knee as he stepped on a rock. He shouted after her, but she refused to stop.

After that she neither spoke nor looked at him. It didn't take Hugh long before he realized he must have led her very near the spot where her mother was raped. He knew he had made a mistake... one that would cost him dearly.

For the third night in a row, Hugh's mind refused the balm of sleep. In abject frustration, he moved to his chamber window, watching as the moon traversed the leaden sky. Hours passed before he finally stepped toward his bed. He had just stripped off his tunic when the sound of a muffled cry reached his ears... Elizabeth! He tore down the passage and burst into her chamber. Hand on his dagger, legs spread apart, he strained to see, searching the shadows for a hidden assailant. It took but an instant to realize there was none. Elizabeth was tossing and turning on the bed, moaning and sobbing, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. All at once she bolted upright, her breathing jagged and rasping.

Hurriedly he lit the taper in the wall sconce, then dropped down beside her. Her eyes were open, filled with terror as if she confronted all the demons in hell. Then something inside seemed to collapse. "Mama," she whispered brokenly. "They're gone now... I'll not let them touch you or—or hurt you anymore." She whimpered. "Oh, God, you're all bloody. . . Mama, please, get up... Mama!"

Her shrill, desperate scream rent the air. There was such anguish in the sound that his throat closed with a hot, unfamiliar ache. Compassion and rage warred within him, compassion because the terror of her mother's death had remained locked in her mind throughout the years—rage because he knew instinctively that Elizabeth relived the heartbreak of that loss in each and every nightmare.

He shook her, not ungently. "Elizabeth!" he said harshly. "Wake up. Wake up, love, please!"

Her eyes were still half-wild, but he knew the instant awareness returned. Her gaze dropped to his naked chest and she stared as if in shock. Until that moment Hugh had completely forgotten his state of undress. "It's all right," he said before she could say anything. "I heard you screaming, Elizabeth. But it's just a dream, love, just a dream."

"Just a dream," she repeated, and then her face seemed to crumple. "Oh, God—" She gave a half- sob. "—why isn't Kathryn here? It never seemed so awful when I woke up and she was here. Lord, I'm afraid to close my eyes again..."

Hugh didn't give her time to reject him. He simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "There's no need to be afraid," he whispered, lips against her temple. "Kathryn's not here, love, but I am. And I'll hold you the night through if it will make you feel safe."

Safe, Elizabeth echoed silently with a little shiver. Hugh was so tall and lean. Sometimes just looking at him made her stomach knot with a feeling that she had always assumed was fear. For so long now she had associated male brawn and strength and muscle with hurt and fear and pain; she had never once dreamed of associating the latent power of a man with shelter and security and safety.

She did so now. And it was with a dawning wonder that Elizabeth realized that was exactly how she felt—safe and warm, as if she'd crawled deep into a haven where nothing or no one could hurt her. She let her fingers slowly uncurl against his muscular bare chest. It was strange to feel his hard arms about her back, almost as strange as the firm resilience of his flesh beneath her fingertips . .. strange, but wonderful.

'This dream, Elizabeth... it comes to you often?"

Her head tucked beneath his chin, she paused. "Sometimes," she whispered hesitantly.

'Tell me about it."

She stiffened and would have pushed away, but he wouldn't let her. His arms tightened. 'This dream," he whispered. "It has to do with your mother, does it not? I know you were there when she was attacked, Elizabeth, that you hid so the men would not find you. Is that why you ran from me that day on the bluff—is that where it happened, love?"

Shock held her motionless, but only for an instant. She twisted around to stare at him numbly. "How can you know this?"

Hugh prayed he hadn't made another fatal blunder. "Kathryn told me the day she and Guy left for Sedgewick."

"Kathryn," she moaned, her expression stricken. "Oh, how could she do this to me?”

"She told me because she trusted me to look after you." With his fingers he tipped her chin to his, searching her face. "Can't you do the same?" he asked gently. "I know the memory still haunts you. But sometimes the pain and fear are not so great when shared with another."

She closed her eyes in shame. "You want me to tell you what—what I saw," she stammered.

"Aye, love, I think 'tis just the medicine you need."

Her eyes opened, huge and pleading. "I cannot," she choked out miserably. "Sir Hugh, what I saw... why, I've not told even Kathryn."

"Then tell me as little or as much as you want. Elizabeth, if it proves too painful, you can stop whenever you want, I promise I'll not press you. But I honestly think 'twill do you good."

As he spoke, with his hand he brushed wisps of hair from her temple. How, Elizabeth wondered was it possible that a man's hands could be so achingly gentle? She didn't know why, but she sensed that this moment was of grave importance to both herself and Hugh. She bit her lip, searching her heart and mind, praying that she made the right choice.

Her voice, when at last she began to speak, was very low. Hugh listened quietly, sick at heart as she related the atrocities done to her mother. Christ, it was no wonder Elizabeth was so frightened of men—any man! When she had finished, a convulsive shudder shook her body. Hugh pulled her down beside him on the bed, arranging her body against his, tucking her hand in his, feeling her heart beating like a trapped bird. Shiver after shiver shook her body, but surprisingly, there were no tears. After a long while, he felt her body melt into his and knew she slept.

Instead it was Hugh who lay awake until dawn streaked the eastern sky. His eyes were bleak, his chest hollow, his mind filled with but one thought. . . He would gladly lay down his life before he'd let any harm befall this beautiful creature in his arms.

He would protect her from anything .. . even himself.

Amidst the dark, tangled woodland, streamers of sunshine flitted through the treetops, lighting the clearing a glorious shade of sun-dappled gold. The gurgling rush of the stream blended with the sound of high-pitched giggles and soft, husky laughter.

"More!" came the childish demand.

"All right, my little lord," a feminine voice replied with a chuckle. "But once more and that is all. I am so dizzy I can hardly stand!"

Just beyond the glade, a dark figure sat upon his horse. For the fourth day in a row, Guy surveyed the scene played out before him, his features drawn into sharp lines.

He watched broodingly as Kathryn bent with grace, leaning and then straightening to swing his son in a wide circle, around and around. He had yet to tear his gaze from the enchanting picture she presented. She wore no wimple. Her hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in an artless profusion of silken waves well past her hips. The old and worn material of her gown did little to detract from her appeal. Indeed, it only emphasized her enticing slenderness, the supple fullness of breasts and hips.

His hands tightened on the reins. A pulse ticked hard at the base of his throat. What madness was this that he was so entranced with her . .. and she a woman who carried another man's brat? And yet, he had never seen her more lovely... or more desirable. The notion spun through his mind that if he were not careful, she might well become an obsession . .. Christ, she was already! jeered an inner voice. He woke in the morning with the image of her face before him. In the heat of the night he imagined her slim young body beneath him, arching and twisting.

But Guy was ever aware that he'd best be wary of this dangerous attraction between them. He dared not touch her again, for he knew not what would happen. He wanted her, aye, in the age-old way where male dominates female. But he also wanted her in passion and tenderness, to touch her with caresses that flamed as well as soothed. It was as if a simmering heat had been lit between them, and it would take but a spark to set the flames raging. And Guy possessed experience enough to know that—whether wanted or unwanted—Kathryn felt it, too.

His hand lifted. He nudged his horse further into the clearing. He knew the exact moment she took note of his presence. Her laughter faded. Her smile withered. The spark was extinguished from her eyes as if it had been doused by a wall of water.

Guy was abruptly furious, with himself and with her. With Peter, she was ever vibrant, ever gay and laughing. But those wide green eyes were never tender, never laughing or indulgent when they chanced to meet his... and why the hell did he wish it were so?

Kathryn lowered Peter slowly to his feet, fighting an inexplicable sense of betrayal when the boy's chubby legs took him toward his father, his arms outstretched. The earl swiftly dismounted and caught the boy high in his arms. His hard expression softened as he whispered something in Peter's ear. Kathryn had gone very still. At the sight of those two dark heads bent together, there was an unexpected catch in the region of her heart.

The earl turned slightly and beckoned. Another mounted rider came into view, and Kathryn's mouth tightened. She should have known, she thought bitingly. It was Sir Michael, her ever- present shadow. She said nothing as the earl handed Peter to the younger knight. Sir Michael settled the boy before him on his saddle, wheeled his mount, and galloped away.

Kathryn had no chance to speculate why the earl sought her out. His attention had returned to her, his features as distant and remote as ever. "Your shoulder," he inquired coolly. "It pains you no more?"

She drew a sharp breath, dismayed by the thought which leaped into her mind. Her shoulder, no... But her heart. . . ah, her heart was another matter. Exactly why she didn't know. But somehow it was all twisted up inside with the confusing blend of enmity and fascination that so dominated her feelings for this man.

"No," she said faintly. " 'Tis healed completely. I feel no pain at all."

She waited nervously as he came within inches of her. As always, her body displayed an alarming reaction to his nearness. An odd restlessness burned fitfully inside her. He touched her nowhere, but she felt as if he did.

"I've yet to hear what you thought of my gifts."

The change in subject caught her off guard. It took an instant before she gleaned his meaning.

Yesterday the earl had taken her, Gerda, and Peter to the weekly village market. While the earl took his business elsewhere, they were left to themselves. After Peter tired of watching the jugglers and a dancing bear, they browsed among the merchants' stalls. Kathryn lingered at one displaying numerous fabrics. A bolt of velvet snagged her attention and she couldn't help running a caressing hand over the supple folds. The color was a vivid midnight-blue, shot through with threads of silver.

The merchant stepped up eagerly, looking her up and down. "A fine choice, mum. With such dark hair and a fair complexion like yours, I vow it's just the thing. And I've the entire bolt. Why, there's enough for both a gown and a cloak, too." The price he named was outrageous.

" 'Tis beautiful," she said, smiling slightly. "But I think not." She couldn't resist smoothing it once more with the back of her knuckles, unaware of her wistful expression. It was only when she turned to leave that she discovered the earl had been watching, standing but a few paces distant. The urge to hang her head was overwhelming. The earl's garments were fine. Next to him she felt almost poor and ragged.

Today, just after the morning meal, Gerda had bid her return to her room. There, spread upon the bed, were a dozen or more bolts of cloth— including the midnight-blue velvet—and all finer than anything Kathryn had ever seen in her entire life. She stared, dumbfounded when Gerda told her they were from the earl. Then, as now, she was at a loss for words.

She regarded him uncertainly. "Milord," she murmured, "your generosity overwhelms me." And confounds me as well, she added silently. "But truly, there was no need for you to do such a thing."

Think again, sweet wench, Guy thought grimly. He was tired of seeing her garbed in such worn, threadbare attire and longed to pitch her entire wardrobe, what little there was, into the nearest fire!

He sighed. "If the cloth is not to your liking, you can choose something else—"

" 'Tis not that," she interjected quickly. " 'Tis beautiful, all of it, exactly what I'd have chosen myself." The confession slipped out before she could stop it. She understood the reason for such a lavish endowment—oh, only too well! She had saved his son from being trampled by his destrier. And a man such as he would not like being beholden to another, especially her! No doubt this was his way of discharging what he felt was his obligation to her!

If only he had done it—not because of Peter—but out of the goodness of his heart. How much more it would have meant if he had! She did not understand why she was so hurt. She knew only that she was. Nor could she find it in her to be angry.

But it would be just like him to make her explain, and that was the one thing she did not want to do. She lowered her lashes, but not before he glimpsed her distress.

His hands came down on her shoulders, stopping her when she would have eased away. "Kathryn," he murmured. "What is it? I thought you would be well pleased."

"Pleased! I know why you did this. 'Tis only because I saved Peter from your destrier. Mayhap you feel obliged to make some form of recompense! But I asked no repayment of you and I want none either! And 'twould be just like you to think that I. . . I did what I did... not for Peter... but for what reward it might bring! And you offend me sorely if that is what you think!"

Guy stared at her, aware of a twinge of admiration for such outraged pride. "Disabuse yourself of that notion," he growled. "I am grateful for my son's life, aye! But the cloth is a gift, Kathryn, not a reward! I did it because it pleased me to do so. Because it will please me even more to see you garbed in such cloth."

Both his words and his vehemence matched hers, making her breath catch. She didn't dare put an interpretation to it. . . or did she? She could feel the warmth of his fingers searing through her kirtle, and an unwelcome shiver of desire played upon her skin.

"I still cannot accept a gift of such extravagance," she said stiffly.

"And why not?"

All at once the dignity that had served her so well was in short supply. She struggled for a reply, her voice very low. "Because you know that I cannot repay you."

"And I repeat, Kathryn, the cloth is my gift to you—and a gift requires no remuneration. I would also add that 'tis you who now offend me by implying that I would expect such!"

Kathryn swallowed. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I find, however, that I am not averse to a small token of thanks."

His voice had deepened to huskiness—it was not at all what she expected.

Her gaze flew questioningly to his. She was expecting his usual mockery—what she got was something else entirely. A tiny smile lurked on his lips, aye, but with none of his usual vindictiveness. And his eyes were almost. . . tender.

A fleeting panic touched her spine. No, she thought helplessly. Oh, lord, what is happening to me? She was shaken and confused, yet again! His mouth hovered just above hers—and she remembered with scorching intensity exactly what it was like to have that hard mouth trapped against her own. She fell prey to a perilous curl of heat in her midsection, but when he tapped a finger to the tanned hollow of his cheek in silent indication of his wish, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

Summoning all her courage, she levered herself up on tiptoe, prepared to deliver a brief, hasty peck on the cheek. But just as her mouth grazed his cheek, he turned his head.

Their lips met. The contact went through her like an arrow of fire. It was her intent to draw back quickly, for she feared what his touch did to her. But she did not and it proved to be her downfall, for he was ever quick to press home the advantage.

Nor was this the chaste contact she intended; indeed, the kiss was no longer hers to control, had it ever been so. With a gasp her lips parted beneath the sweeping entrance of his tongue. He explored the silken interior of her mouth with such breath-stealing thoroughness that her taste was no longer hers, but his. It spun through her mind that she should wrench away—run while she had the chance. Her hands came up in a quick, reflexive movement, as if to suit the deed, then all at once her fingers twisted helplessly in the front of his tunic.

His arms were like iron bands around her back. His mouth possessed hers, stark and blatantly sensual. His head angled first one way, and then the other. With the pressure of his lips he coerced, then seduced; demanded, then persuaded. A dark, forbidden thrill ran through her. It was as if his kiss were no longer confined to her mouth, but blazed all through her. The sound of her breath, quick and ragged, filled her ears.

His mouth slid with slow heat to the tender place where her shoulder met her neck. Her head fell back with a delicious shiver. She felt his burning touch on her throat, even as his hand stole around her waist, then upward...

Kathryn's heart tumbled to a standstill as those treacherous fingers paused, hovering directly over the pouting peak of her right breast. She was shocked to realize that beneath her kirtle, her nipples were hard and pointing—they tingled, nay throbbed! From some little known place inside her, there came the urge to crush that lean, dark hand down upon the aching swell of her breast.

She began to tremble, shaken and confused by the yearning inside her, a yearning she did not understand. Through a haze she felt his head come up. He released her slowly. It took every ounce of courage she possessed to meet his gaze, for she knew well and true the gleam of triumph would be high and bright in his eyes. But his scrutiny hinted more of puzzlement than victory.

His fingers were beneath her chin. The back of his knuckles grazed her cheek. "What is it?" he murmured. The caress was but fleeting, yet Kathryn felt she would break from the tenderness of that touch, and it was suddenly more than she could stand.

She turned her head aside. "I believe you have your thanks now, milord." Eyes downcast, she was only barely able to keep the quaver from her voice.

For one horrible moment there was naught but silence. She feared yet another battle between them, but then he merely cupped her elbow and began to lead her back to the castle. She was glad he did not insist they ride. Instead he led his horse and walked beside her.

Guy could not help but notice her change in mood. She was subdued and quiet and totally unlike herself. He pulled her around to face him. "Why this melancholy mood, milady? Are you sulking?"

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. "I do not sulk, my lord!"

He merely raised his brows in that sardonic way that never failed to rouse her dander, staring at her as though he would seize her thoughts for his very own. "What then?" he demanded. "You hide something from me, Kathryn. I know it." Before she could respond, he frowned and asked. "Has someone treated you ill?"

"Aye," she flared. "You have!"

His expression hardened. "Indeed, my dear Kathryn. 'Tis food from my table that fills your belly—and your babe's. My roof that keeps the cold and wind from that delectable little backside of yours during the long hours of the night." His gaze swept her from head to toe, as frigid as his voice. “I've seen to your every need!"

It was on the tip of her tongue to scream that there was no babe in her belly, but as always, his cold demeanor fired her temper. What difference did it make anyway? Men dealt in lies... and this wasn't even her lie!

"Aye," she said bitterly. "You've seen to my every need—all but the one that matters most to me."

His eyes were like twin chips of ice. "And what would that be?"

"The truth, milord?"

The truth, he echoed silently. His mouth twisted. Aye, the truth, he affirmed silently... such as it was.

She tossed her head and faced him boldly, uncaring that a sudden breeze whipped her hair and molded her gown to her body. "You wrenched me from Ashbury—from my home—from the arms of my only sister! And now you refuse to let me return!"

Ashbury. . . Ashbury! Guy wanted to grind his teeth in impotent fury. The chit thought of little else, save her own selfish wants!

"The truth, eh? I see the truth a little differently, for I've had it from your lips once already, Kathryn. Do you forget so soon how you planned to wrest Ashbury from your uncle, how you planned to use your lover Roderick to that end?" He gave a harsh laugh. "You covet Ashbury for your own, Kathryn. That is the only truth I see."

"I've made no secret of that!" she replied with a toss of her head. "Ashbury belonged to my father, and his father before him! It should have been mine—mine and Elizabeth's upon his death. But Richard stole Ashbury from us as surely as you have stolen it from us yet again!" Thinking of Ashbury and Elizabeth made her chest hurt. But her anger at this—this arrogant interloper overrode all else. "You killed Richard. You have your revenge! Isn't that enough? I've seen enough to know that you have no need of more lands. Why must you claim Ashbury as well?"

"So instead you would have me cede Ashbury to you?"

"Aye!"

He laughed outright. "You cling to Ashbury like a mother to a suckling babe, but you forget that you are but a woman, Kathryn. Or is it your intention to scurry back and marry your precious Roderick?" He smiled cruelly when she said nothing. "No? It seems I was right after all, Kathryn. You sought not the restrictions of marriage but the pleasures. How long, then, before your knights deserted you? And what of your tenants? They look to their lord for guidance and protection in time of siege. How would you defend your precious Ashbury from attackers with no knights to rally to your defense— with no husband to command your army?"

He was cruel to taunt her so. He ridiculed her helplessness, yet it was he and others like him who thrust it upon her! His speech infuriated Kathryn, yet she could find no answer to refute him.

Guy met her stare mercilessly, yet as time spun out, he found himself torn between the urge to shake her senseless and cradle her tenderly to his chest. "That is the way of the world, Kathryn. I suggest you accept it, since you cannot change it."

The ache of tears in her throat was nearly unbearable. "And so Ashbury is your prize? And I am your possession?"

She glared at him, yet her eyes betrayed a suspicious glitter. Tears? Guy scoffed. Surely not, for she was a shrew whose heart lay cold as death.

He smiled sardonically. "I see we understand each other, Kathryn."

Kathryn gave a choked little cry. She should have known better than to expect lenience and understanding from him. He was a man with a heart of stone!

"You keep Ashbury only to spite me," she cried. "And you keep me here only to spite me. Damn you, why can't you let me go?"

His jaw tensed as he watched her flee. He'd been right about her after all. She would not bend, he thought furiously. And if she would not bend, then she must break. . . Christ, the wench was more trouble than she was worth!

If he were wise, he'd do exactly what she wanted and send her back to Ashbury. Yet even as the thought burned through his mind, he knew he would not.

Would not, or could not. . . ?

Chapter 10

It was late that night when Guy entered Peter's chamber. He paused by the side of Peter's bed to let his knuckles drift back and forth across the downy curve of his son's cheek, his features incredibly tender. Gerda looked on from the foot of the bed, aware of a painful heaviness in her chest. It had been a long, long time since she'd seen that expression on his face. . . He had been through so much heartache, she thought. She prayed nightly that at least some small measure of happiness would come to him.

He looked pensive when he straightened. Gerda summoned a smile. "He is never still, my lord. He plays so hard, he is worn out by nightfall."

His nod was rather absentminded. "Gerda," he murmured, "someone mentioned that you've assisted with a number of births these last few years."

Gerda frowned, unsure what he was after. "Aye, my lord."

"You have more experience than I in these matters then. When would you guess that the lady Kathryn's babe is due?"

The girl's jaw sagged. She gaped disbelievingly. "Her babe? My lord, I. . ." A fleeting puzzlement crossed her features. "How can this be when she..." She broke off, blushing hotly.

"What?" Guy demanded. "Gerda, if there is something I should know, spit it out, girl."

Utterly mortified, Gerda stared at the floor, then finally decided there was nothing for it but to blurt it out. "My lord, she had her monthly flux just a few days after you brought her here! I—I do not see how she can be with child."

Guy's whole body went rigid. How, indeed, he echoed silently. Aloud he said, "Gerda, are you certain you are not mistaken? You're positive this was her monthly flux?"

"I am not mistaken," she said faintly. "My lord—" She got no further. Stunned, she watched him whirl and stalk from the chamber. There was an air of leashed savagery about him that she feared did not bode well for the lady...

Snug in her chamber, Kathryn held luxuriant blue velvet. She rubbed the swath across her cheek, still rather stunned by the earl's unexpected kindness, her own response to it. She had no desire to be beholden to him. She wanted nothing from him, save that he remove himself from her life! It was inevitable, perhaps, that she should be reminded of what had passed between them in the forest. His ardent kiss had shaken her sorely. But in truth, it was his achingly tender caress of her cheek that sent a tremor through her anew. She had not realized that a mere touch could be so painfully sweet, so gentle... that he could be so gentle. A bittersweet pang pierced her breast.

He had threatened her, brought her to Sedgewick against her will. Ah, but she preferred that he rant and rave, strike her, even beat her, for she could rally her defenses against his anger.. . Twice now, she had glimpsed a side of him she had never dreamed might exist in this iron-hearted knave. For all that he was fierce and warlike, he had shown her he could be gentle—

She feared his gentleness far more.

The heavy footfall of steps in the passage outside jarred her from her musings. Her door crashed open. Kathryn drew no more than a quick startled breath than the earl stepped within, his powerful frame filling the doorway. His dark head nearly touched the cross timber; his shoulders eclipsed her view of the passage.

His presence was dark and menacing. Kathryn stared as if she'd come face to face with her executioner. And indeed, she thought faintly, perhaps she had, for was it not true that her very life was subject to his every whim and will?

The moment of weakness passed, mercifully quick. She squared her shoulders and fixed him with a blistering glare. "Do you not knock, my lord? It occurs to me that for one so nobly born, your manners are no better than the lowliest villein's."

Guy was in no mood for the tartness of her tongue. He was furious with himself for feeling any softness toward her—for feeling anything at all! He need not think long and hard on her trickery to be filled with a rage darker than any he had known. She had deceived him, made a fool of him!

He jeered openly. "I am lord here, Kathryn. I go where I please. I ask what I please. I do what I please. And it occurs to me that a reckoning of accounts is due—from you, my lady, you who profess to be such a great seeker of truth."

Two steps brought him before her. Her hands still clutched the blue velvet. He snatched it from her grasp and flung it across the room. Shaken by the venom in his eyes, Kathryn dared not move as he walked in a slow circle around her. When at last he spoke his tone was feathery-soft, belying the ruthless tension constricting his features.

"Your child, Kathryn. When do you expect it?"

Kathryn blanched. Surely he did not know, she thought in panic. Yet something deep inside her cried out a warning. . . A strangled exclamation broke from her lips. "You know, don't you? Oh, God... you know..."

"What, Kathryn? What do I know?"

He stopped before her. His hands lifted, circling her neck. With his thumbs he traced a path up and down the slender column of her throat. Suddenly she felt fearful. She pictured his fingers, tanned and powerful, against her skin. Ah, he played the game so well. He toyed with her as a lion toyed with his prey before pouncing for the kill. He had only to tighten his grip and the life would be crushed from her. Her presence on this earth would be no more . .. She closed her eyes and wrenched her face away. 'There is no child," she choked out.

His thumbs ceased their caressing motion. She heard his voice, caustic and grating, above her head. "There never was, was there?"

She tensed, afraid of the moment she would breathe her last, even as his accusation splintered through her like the tip of a lance. She shook her head mutely, then opened her eyes.

The cold condemnation on his face stabbed at her. "It was a plot, then, conjured up by you and your sister—"

"Nay," she cried. "Not in the way that you think! I admit I planned to tell Uncle I was with child so that he would allow Roderick and me to marry. But then there was no need to go through with it—" She floundered helplessly. " 'Twas Elizabeth who told you, not I, my lord! Why she did so I—I do not know!"

Oh, she lied so prettily. But Guy would never again be so gullible. His lip curled in disdain. "No doubt your sister sought to save you from my evil clutches. Perhaps she feared that I would ravish and defile you—take you unto me and use you... like the whore we both know you are!"

She flinched, stung bitterly by his contempt. His quiet rage was worse than if he'd bellowed with fury. His hands fell away from her, as if he found her revolting. He stalked away to survey her coldly from across the room. Deep within her, a reckless courage surged to the fore.

Her chin angled high, she matched his stare as boldly as a warrior with sword at his side and shield at his breast. "You've found me out, my lord earl. So punish me," she challenged clearly. "Aye, do your worst to me. Beat me, whip me, thrash me, I care not. Indeed, I welcome it, for it will kindle my hatred for you. But know that someday I will be free of you and your hold over me. And then vengeance will be mine."

Guy sucked in a harsh breath. He wondered if this rebellious chit truly realized how very much she risked, that she dared to threaten and defy him now, when he was so close—so very close— to venting all his pent-up wrath.

He stared into those flashing sea-green eyes, eyes that had scarce given him a moment's peace since the day they'd met. And then every thought in his mind blurred beneath the onslaught of just one.

He did not welcome the seething pulse of desire that leaped within him, but the burning in his soul would not be silent. It struck him then— this was something he could control, something easily quenched... And now there was no reason not to.

His time of waiting had come to an end.

"That would please you, would it not? For me to lay my hand on you in anger. But you may rest easy, lass, for 'twould give me no satisfaction to see that lovely skin bruised." An ugly smile distorted the chiseled beauty of his hard mouth. "But I promise you, sweet, you will feel the touch of my hand this night."

Her breath tumbled to a standstill. She had to struggle to find voice. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember Ashbury, Kathryn? The eve you came to my chamber?" he asked, striding toward her.

She blanched. Dear God, she thought numbly, how could she forget? Through a haze she heard him continue. "How shall I put this... You sought to ease the loneliness of my solitary bed." Eyes starkly brazen, his gaze raked over her from head to toe.

Kathryn went rigid. Icy fingers of dread crept up her spine. She read his intent in the flaming glitter of his eyes—he meant to bed her! "Nay," she cried. She flung out a hand as if to ward him off. He caught both her wrists and dragged her up against him.

"Yes," he mocked. "Oh, yes."

She struggled against him, but his hands curled around her wrists like manacles of iron. "You detest me," she reminded him desperately. "And you denied me that night, milord. You did not want me!”

"Oh, but I did, sweet witch. It's true I am an unwilling victim of desire. I swore that night that you would be mine, Kathryn, but the time would be of my choosing. Then I learned of the child you were to bear. I told myself I could not take a woman with child. But now that obstacle is no more, and tonight, sweet witch, tonight we shall finish that which you started so long ago."

Her heart lurched sickeningly. Too late Kathryn realized her position. His time of waiting had come to an end. And there was naught she could do to stop him.

There was no gentleness in him now. There was nothing but cold, implacable purpose that sent terror coursing through her body. He towered over her, big and powerful, and suddenly she was frightened of what she sensed in him. She feared the fury leashed so tightly inside him, as if a tempest raged deep within.

She wanted to twist away, to flee as far and fast as her legs would carry her. But she couldn't move. She was held chained by the realization that it was too late—that there was nowhere she could go where he would not find her.

"I will not lie with you. Do you hear? I will not!"

It only frustrated her further that he found her outrage so amusing. "Come, Kathryn, I'm but a man, much the same as any other. Why should you withhold from me that which you gave so eagerly to your lover, Roderick? Besides, there are many who feel I am quite skilled in the arts of bringing a woman pleasure."

"Pleasure!" she flared. "I'll derive no pleasure from your touch, you conceited lout! You tout yourself and your manhood like a merchant selling his wares, but you are as repulsive as a toad. You disgust me!"

Her taunts hit home. Guy swore softly under his breath. Never before had he taken his hand to a woman but she tried him sorely. An arrogant smile crept across his lips. "We shall see," was all he said. "We shall see."

The next instant his smile was gone. He crossed his arms over his tunic and arched a heavy brow. "Strip," he ordered curtly.

Kathryn gaped at him. She felt as if the ground were falling away beneath her feet. "You are mad," she gasped.

"Aye," he agreed coolly. "Mad with lust for you. Now strip, Kathryn, else I shall do it for you." His half-smile was frigidly brutal. "The choice is yours, milady."

The choice was hers? He offered no choice but submission! Oh, God, she should have known he would dare anything... he would do anything! Her composure badly shaken, her pride sorely bruised, she gave a strangled cry of ire and presented him with her back. Even as she berated herself for her weakness, her fingers fumbled clumsily with the sash at her waist.

His voice drifted to her. "I still await, Kathryn. And I grow ever more impatient."

Prolonging her fate though she knew she risked much, she scorned him silently. Bending slightly, she tugged at the garter below one knee and pulled off her hose. The other followed suit. She slowly pushed her gown from her shoulders where it fell to the floor. She did the same with her linen chemise, letting it drop in a heap about her ankles.

Eyes downcast, she was quiveringly aware of the earl's approach. In a hurried bid to retain some semblance of modesty, she sought to tug her hip-length hair across her shoulders. But she had scarce lifted her hands than she found them jammed back to her sides.

Kathryn stood mutely. The humiliation that gripped her was scalding. Eyes the color of storm clouds pored over her nakedness in a leisurely, deliberate examination, leaving no part of her untouched. Never before had she been so despairingly aware of her vulnerability as a woman. Her throat closed with the aching threat of tears. She willed them away, resolving that no man would ever see her cry, oh, most especially not this one!

The breath left Guy's lungs in a rush. The candlelight from the wall sconces flickered over her, bathing the whole of her in ivory and gold. He'd thought her beautiful before, but she was truly exquisite, slight but long of limb, slender but with enticingly full breasts, tipped with dusky-rose nipples. His blood began to heat, exciting him to a fine frenzy. It was all he could do not to pull her against him, tug those deliriously long legs around his waist and plunge hot and deep inside her then and there.

A lean hand clamped her bare shoulder. Kathryn had thought herself well steeled for his touch, but her entire body jerked. In all truth, her nerves were scraped raw. Oh, she knew why he did this! He longed only to assert his dominion over her! To squelch her rebellious pride and prove that his will would ever triumph over hers. He had never seemed more dangerous than he was at this moment. The thought of him possessing her body was terrifying. For the first time she regretted that he despised her so, for his desire was spawned of anger. He would channel all his pent-up fury into this single act. His pleasure, she thought wildly, would be gained from her pain.

She bit back an anguished sob. Panic gripped her mind. Her only thought was to escape this madman's vengeance. She spun about and lunged wildly for the door but he was too quick for her. His arms snaked out and caught her, pinning her back against him.

He laughed huskily. "You think to flee so late in the game? And where would you go undressed as you are? You'd surely give my knights an unexpected treat. Why, they'd be lined up clear beyond the outer walls to taste your bounteous charms. But alas, 'tis their loss and my gain, for I shall be the one to claim the honeyed treasure between your thighs this night."

"You braying jackass!" she raged in impotent fury, but her arms were useless, trapped against her body by the muscled forearm banding her waist. She twisted and kicked backward with her bare feet but the effort was futile. "You—you are crude!"

That iron-thewed arm tightened further. "Whatever," he muttered, and his voice had gone low and deep. "But I've waited a long time for this night and I'll not be cheated of it." He lifted her clear from the floor.

The next thing she knew she lay sprawled on the bed. His big body followed hers down. She lay stunned, unable to move for an instant, her breath slammed from her lungs by the weight of his body atop hers. Then she came alive, trying to jerk her arms and legs free. In desperation she sank her teeth into his shoulder. She heard a satisfying grunt of pain before he pulled back slightly, and then victory was but a fleeting memory. With a fierce oath he curled his foot around both her legs and dragged her arms beneath her, holding her wrists captive above her head. Kathryn soon discovered that the slightest movement made her body aware of the entire length of his, oh, especially the iron-hard length of his thighs—and what lay between them. Her struggles subsided, but she stiffened every muscle in her body against him until her arms went numb and her mind was spinning from lack of air. She turned her head aside with a half-sob.

Feeling her body go limp beneath him, Guy waited tensely, gauging her for further trickery. A pang of remorse shot through him as he loosened her wrists and raised himself slightly. He crouched above her, ripped off his leather jerkin, and flung it aside. His knee pressed between her slender thighs. Not once did he take his eyes from her as he stripped. She lay before him, spent, trembling, her eyes wide and dark. Not for the first time, Guy was struck by the air of innocence which clung to her. Some strange twisting emotion unfurled inside him, fazing his certainty. He could almost believe that she was frightened. She appeared defenseless and helpless. . . A niggling little voice in his mind taunted that he'd been well misled before by her trickery. Nor was she innocent in the ways of men, and the knowledge served to harden Guy's heart.

Of a certainty it did naught to cool his ardor.

"Kathryn." There was that in his tone which commanded she heed him. With pained reluctance, she moved her head and encountered the enigmatic attraction of his sheer masculine presence.

He loomed above her. Dark and strong. Fiercely compelling. Kathryn's heart began to pound. Naked, he was an awesome sight, more powerful than ever. His shoulders gleamed smooth and hard, like oiled walnut. A dense layer of dark curly hair matted the whole of his chest and abdomen. Swallowing, her gaze touched the corded swelling of his arms, then strayed helplessly downward... the rigid thickness of his manhood was starkly, daringly explicit. One terrified glimpse was enough to send her eyes flying back to his face. Oh, God, she thought. He would hurt her. Impale her like a fish on a hook and tear her asunder.

His lips twisted into something that bore little resemblance to a smile.

He stretched out beside her. Kathryn shrank away instinctively, but he would have none of it. His hands closed around the soft flesh of her upper arms; he dragged her against him. She gasped as her naked breasts encountered the furry roughness of his chest.

Their eyes locked. There was a taut silence as they stared at each other.

It was Kathryn who broke free from the hold of his gaze. "Damn you," she cried. "Just do it! Do what you will and be done with it!"

His head descended. All at once he was so close it was as if they shared the same breath. He nuzzled the delicate skin of her temple. "But there is so much that we would miss," he whispered, and she thought she felt him smile against her cheek. "And I'd not deprive you of your pleasure."

I'll feel no pleasure, she longed to screech. Her eyes blazed. She opened her mouth to curse him at the same instant he sealed her lips with a binding kiss.

She fought him. Oh, she was well aware she could not overcome his physical strength. But she fought him in the only way she knew how. She emptied her mind and concentrated instead on Ashbury, recalling how dreadfully she missed Elizabeth, how she longed to walk along the cliffs with the sea wind whipping her skirts and hair.

With the pressure of his chest, he urged her onto her back. She lay stiffly as his fingers slid into the unbound glory of her hair. His tongue flicked across her lips, insistently seeking. With his thighs he urged hers knees apart. As best she could, she tried to clamp her legs together and barred him entrance.

He raised his head to stare at her. Though his features were dark and shadowed, the jutting clench of his jaw bespoke his displeasure. His fingers tightened on her scalp. "Yield to me, Kathryn." There was no softness in his voice, none at all. "Yield..."

"Never," she vowed. "You are crude. A vulgar oaf—" Her imprecation was smothered by the hot brand of his mouth on hers. But this time he did not seek, he demanded... ah, but with such seductive persuasion! With an ease that proclaimed the experience he had boasted of, he set about rousing forbidden fires. His mouth was wildly consuming, devouring and fierce, hard but not hurtful. He kissed her endlessly, deep, drugging kisses that seemed to go on forever and melted her resistance like tallow beneath a flame.

Somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of her being, a stranger fluttered to life, a stranger she scarcely recognized as herself. A curling ribbon of sensation unfurled like the buds of a flower beneath a warm summer sun. It was but a kiss, she tried telling herself. But no longer did she merely endure the browsing glide of his tongue. She could feel her senses widening, expanding, opening to absorb the heat and essence of the man himself. With a low moan her arms crept around his neck. Helplessly she surrendered all that he sought, for she could summon no more strength to resist his will and her own traitorous need.

With a groan Guy crushed her to him. The sweet clinging of her mouth against his was almost more than he could bear. Her breasts burned like twin peaks of fire into his chest. He could feel the tender press of her thighs against the part of him that needed her most—he was so achingly full he thought he might explode. It was both heaven and hell to hold her thus and not give in to the need clamoring wildly in his veins, but all at once he did not want this passionate encounter to end so speedily.

He brought his hand to her breast, slowly rotating his palm around the swelling peak, cupping the cushioned fullness in his hands—Christ, her skin was like warm velvet. He had a sudden, consuming urge to taste such tempting fruit.

Kathryn's eyes flew open. The touch of his hand there sent a jolt of lightning streaking through her. She had not dreamed that he would touch her there... She emitted a startled gasp of bewildered shock when he abruptly lowered his head, his target her left breast. What madness was this, that he would suckle her like a babe... ?

Her fingers curled against the sleek flesh of his shoulders, but she did not stop him. His breath caressed her first, wafting across the aching tip like the first faint whispery wings of night. A quivering excitement shot through her. She was stunned to discover her breasts seemed to swell, her nipples tight and aching and tingly. By the time his mouth fully encompassed the straining peak, she was so acutely sensitized there she nearly cried out.

He laved her nipple to quivering erectness with the lashing stroke of his tongue, all the while taunting the other with his fingertips, circling and teasing it. The dual assault left her gasping. She inhaled sharply, the flood of sensations inside threatening to choke her.

A restless longing began building inside her, an acute yearning she did not fully understand. She forgot that he was her enemy. She forgot that she hated him. She told herself that she shuddered in loathing, but she knew that she trembled with a perilous excitement that far surpassed anything she had ever known.

He lured her into a realm from which there was no escape. His hands roamed at will—stroking, soothing, coaxing, and caressing. Kathryn did not stop him. To her horror, she found she did not want to. At times his hand was a fiery brand, claiming her for his own. Then suddenly his touch was tantalizing and tormenting, maddening and elusive, drifting like smoke and making her shiver inside and out. He seemed to know exactly where to touch—when to tease—it was as if he knew her own body better than she herself. . . She was no match against such an unfaltering, practiced lover. When his mouth recaptured hers, he drew from her an unbearably sweet response she was incapable of withholding.

Lean fingers traced a nerve-shattering path across the concave hollow between her hips. Then, as bold and brazen as he himself was, those daring fingers trespassed through the downy thatch below. Kathryn's heart slammed to a halt. Such intimacy was unbearable! She tried to close her thighs against his encroaching hand, but he would have none of it. Soft triumphant laughter rumbled against her lips. A lone finger dipped and swirled, intent on a mind-stealing rhythm that robbed her of breath. Waves of scorching heat coursed through her. The rampant thunder of her heart echoed in her ears. She began to tremble. Sweet Jesus, what was he doing to her?

Her fingers curled against the hard flesh of his shoulders. She uttered a choked plea. "Do not, milord. Oh, please—"

His head lifted. "I have a name, Kathryn." His voice sounded odd and strained. "Why do you never use it?" Oh, he knew why. It was but one more barrier that she threw up against him, yet another way to defy him. But until that moment Guy did not realize how he longed to hear it spring forth from those sweet lips. . . nay, not in anger, but in whispered passion. . . in the heat of slumberous desire.

Kathryn stared up at him, taken aback by the urgency she sensed in him. It seemed such a small thing... 'This would... please you?" In some far distant corner of her mind, she marveled that she could speak at all.

His eyes darkened. "Aye." He bent and kissed the wildly thrumming pulse at the base of her throat. "Say it, Kathryn," he muttered hoarsely. "Say my name."

Guy . .. His name trembled on her lips. Her teeth dug into her lower hp to keep it from spilling out. His eyes looked down on her, fiery and glittering—she saw in them all that she feared. He had ruthlessly set about the task of setting her blood afire, not because he harbored any tender emotion toward her, nay, but because he sought only to tame her to his hand! Pain sliced her chest, as if a knife had passed through it. She could not— would not!—allow her to lead him along the path to triumph so easily.

His head lowered. A flurry of panic traced through her—he meant to kiss her into weak, willing submission! "Nay," she heard herself say. For all that it was but a whisper, she denied him fiercely . .. and then again. "Nay!" And she wrenched her head away, spurning him outright.

A veil of red-hot mist swam before Guy. A bitter fury erupted inside him. If she would not allow him to give her pleasure, then so be it, he decided harshly. He shifted his weight atop her. With his knee he splayed her wide open... he shifted again, the searing tip of his shaft poised at the very heart of her. . .

A mighty thrust buried him deep inside her.

Blinded as he was by rage and passion, his tardy mind was slow to register her body's fragile resistance to his invasion.

Kathryn never heard the bitter oath that stung her ear. She strained away instinctively, but he was like a rock above her, a white-hot lance inside her. With a strangled cry she jammed her palms frantically against his shoulders and chest, desperate to dislodge the throbbing shaft that burned and stung like fire, clear to her womb.

Above her, Guy had gone rigid, his features dark and hard, twisted into a grimace that closely resembled pain. His breath was harsh and scraping, the cords in his neck starkly visible. The roped sinews of his arms stood out as he braced himself above her.

"Kathryn—" He reached up and clamped his fingers around her wrists, pinning them to the mattress. A convulsive shudder racked his form. He gritted his teeth and tried not to think how small she was, how tightly embedded was his swollen length in the hot silken prison of her flesh.

It was no use. The thundering pulse within him governed all else. "I cannot stop," he muttered thickly. "God help me, I cannot!" With a frenzy he could not leash, he drove mindlessly into her. Once. Twice. Again. For once he had no control over the dictates of his body. He came to his climax quickly, like a stripling youth, drenching her with the wet heat of his seed even as he collapsed against her.

His grip on her wrists relaxed by subtle degrees. Sanity returned much more quickly—and with a vengeance. The magnitude of what he had done washed over him like a thundercloud. He withdrew from her abruptly and rolled away, rising to his feet. He had to force himself to look at her. She lay stiff and passive, her eyes squeezed shut, her lashes fanned out like thick black fans against skin that was almost colorless. Revulsion twisted his insides as he spied the blood smeared on her pale thighs.

Self-loathing poured through him like boiling oil. He relived the agonizing remorse of that split second when she shed her maidenhead—Christ, he had taken her with all the finesse of a battering ram slamming through the gates! Bitterly he wondered if she knew the act had brought him little satisfaction.

He moved away, only to return a moment later, a wet cloth in his hand. Her entire body jerked as he pressed the cloth between her thighs and began to wipe away the traces of his possession. From the corner of his eye he saw her fingers wind into the sheet. With a convulsive swallow she turned her face aside.

Something twisted inside him. Where was that haughty spirit that so drove him to insanity? Right now she looked like a frail spring blossom he'd crushed with his heel!

Never had she been more exposed and powerless than she was at this moment, and he almost hated her for it, and for the foolish uncertainty which suddenly plagued him. She had led him to believe that she and Roderick were lovers... or had she? Had he believed it simply because he was convinced it was so? Yet she'd made no effort to set him aright!

"A virgin," he muttered furiously. "Damn it, a virgin!" The words tumbled forth in a rush of frustrated, bewildered anger.

Kathryn's eyes opened, huge and wounded. She was shattered to find his expression taut and inscrutable. It conveyed no tenderness, no remorse. As always, he condemned and accused... A stab of anger pierced through the hurt and humiliation. She lurched to a sitting position, snatching a fur to her breast to shield her nakedness.

His jaw clenched. "You should have told me," he began.

He got no further. "Why? Would that have stopped you?" She was suddenly shaking in her anger. "You meant to punish me—to hurt me. You wanted to hurt me... and you did!"

Guy went numb with shock. Mother of Christ, did she truly think him so vile? If he had but known... "I wanted you, aye! But I never meant to cause you pain." He stretched a hand toward her but she scrambled back, as far away as she could.

"Who lies now, milord?" she flung at him scathingly. "Get out. . . get out!"

His expression went rigid. The air seethed as their eyes locked in furious combat. With a violent curse, Guy flung the bloodied cloth to the floor, grabbed his clothing, and stormed from the chamber.

The cloth landed atop the rumpled heap of midnight velvet. Kathryn saw it there an instant later. She kicked it aside with a muffled cry, snatched up the velvet, and held it fast to her breast. She slumped to the floor amidst its folds, the taste of bitter tears upon her tongue.

And when she spoke his name, it was not a whispered lover's plea, but a blistering curse. "Damn you, Guy," she choked. "Damn you to hell!"

Chapter 11

Kathryn struggled to wakefulness the next morning, her mind befuddled with sleep. Dust motes fluttered within the pale shaft of sunlight that found its way between the wooden shutters. Some elusive memory tugged at her but she fought to keep it at bay, sensing that if she did not, something awful would happen.

Dear God. It already had. Last night's humiliation came back in scorching remembrance. Guy had taken everything from her—her home, her family— and now her body. She willed away the scalding rush of tears—she had cried throughout the night. In the wee hours before dawn streaked the eastern sky, she vowed that never again would Guy de Marche bring her to tears. In some strange indefinable way, it was but one more way she bowed to his will, and she would not let him force her to such weakness. And yet, she felt changed somehow. As if by that single invasion of her body, he had laid claim to some secret part of her. She had the strangest sensation she would never again be herself.

There was a tap on the door. Kathryn froze, the covers clutched beneath her chin, half-afraid it was Guy. But it was only Gerda.

" 'Tis late," Kathryn murmured with a faint smile, pushing her heavy hair from her face. "You should have woke me earlier."

"My lord said to let you sleep," Gerda told her.

Kathryn's smile faded. She made as if to leave the bed, then realized her chemise was in a heap across the room where Guy had made her disrobe. Gerda went to fetch it, her smooth brow creased in a slight frown. Kathryn bit her Up. Such untidiness was so unlike her that she could almost see the thought running through Gerda's mind. But if Gerda thought it unusual, she said nothing. Kathryn accepted it, thanking her, and pulled it over her head. Pushing aside the covers, she rose, wincing a little at the slight twinge between her thighs.

Behind her, there was a quick indrawn breath. Kathryn turned abruptly... They both stared in horror at the pale-red stain upon the sheets. A crimson tide of embarrassment stung her cheeks. It shouldn't have mattered what Gerda thought, but it did. Since the day she had saved Peter from being trampled, there had been a change in the servant⁷s manner toward her. Gerda's softening had been more subtle. But Kathryn did not delude herself that, in a test of Gerda's loyalties, she would ever win out over the earl.

She sensed Gerda's gaze returning to her, but she could not face the girl, for suddenly she knew not what to expect from Gerda. Pity? Or condemnation? She could stand to see neither right now.

She started when a gentle hand touched her arm. "Milady," Gerda said softly, "mayhap you'd like a warm bath this morning." Kathryn dredged up the courage to glance at her. Gerda was gazing at her with something akin to concern. More than ever, Kathryn longed to cry.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'd like that very much."

The steaming waters of the bath soothed the ache in the tender petals of her womanhood. The feel of the earl was still about her body and the scent of him still clung to her. She scrubbed herself furiously, anxious to rid herself of every trace of him. But to her horror, she found she could not blot out the memory of the night so easily. She shut her eyes but it was no use. She could still recall the shape of him—so tall, his body pared of all fat, all sleek, hard muscle densely covered in hair. . .

Her hand stilled, unknowingly coming to rest directly over her heart. Deep inside her, a squall of emotion blustered and raged. She felt. . . oh, so many things! She had expected to feel only revulsion and disgust for what he had done. Her throat tightened oddly. Now, she only felt. . . cheated somehow. As if there were something more... She cried out silently. What magic did he possess that he so addled her brain? She had sworn she would partake of no pleasure at his hand—and yet she had, a pleasure so pure and sweet it made a quickening heat storm through her all over again. With stark, vivid clarity, she remembered the daring foray of lean dark hands that roamed her flesh—how they first explored with flaming caresses and breath- stealing discovery—then later, how he bound his hips to hers while he thrust inside her. . .

The heat inside her grew cold. His touch had promised so much... but in the end, it delivered only pain.

When Gerda returned, Kathryn was standing at the window gazing out upon the bailey. "I've not seen the earl this morning," she remarked. She strived for an even tone and somehow managed to achieve it. "Do you know where he is, Gerda?"

"He is gone, milady."

"Gone! Where, Gerda?"

'To visit several of his manors to the north, milady. He expects to be gone a fortnight, maybe a little less."

"A fortnight," Kathryn repeated numbly. "But he said nothing—" She broke off abruptly. Fool! A voice inside her fiercely berated her foolishness. Why should he apprise her of his plans? She meant nothing to him—nothing! Hadn't his abrupt withdrawal last night proved that? Once again his face loomed above her, his expression frigidly angry as he pulled away from her body. The remembrance slipped beneath her skin like a needle. If only he had displayed some small scrap of tenderness, she might have forgiven him... She hardened her heart against him. Aye, she was glad he was gone and heartily so. He could leave for a twelvemonth and she cared not a whit!

She was stunned to learn that Guy had relaxed his restrictions before he left. Sir Michael no longer followed when she left the castle walls. It bruised her pride to admit that perhaps he knew her better than she thought. Had he tightened the noose around her neck, her first reaction would have been to bolt at the first opportunity that presented itself.

She had to force herself to begin fashioning the cloth he'd given her into gowns for herself. She and Gerda spent most mornings sewing, while Peter played at their feet. But she went for a ride nearly every afternoon, sometimes alone, sometimes with Gerda and Peter.

One warm, sunny afternoon after she and Peter had finished playing at the stream, she impulsively decided to do a little exploring. When Sir Michael had been in attendance, she had always refrained. Oh, he was always impeccably polite and obliging, but she'd been unable to quell her resentment at being shadowed.

Now, standing beside Esmerelda with Peter, she paused and sent a sweeping gaze around the tree- studded landscape. Beyond the treetops, lush green hills stretched as far as the eye could see, fold upon fold.

"What do you think, Peter? Shall we stay out a while longer? We could ride there to the top of that hill—" Her arm stretched out. "—while you pretend that you're lord of the manor out surveying his demesne." She crouched down before him and tickled him beneath the chin. "Because when you're a man full grown, you will be, you know."

The boy gazed up at her eagerly. "Will I be a brave knight like my papa?"

Kathryn didn't understand the pang that shot through her. "Aye," she murmured, ruffling his black curls. "Just like your papa."

"Will you be here when I am lord?"

His question startled her. But it disturbed her far more, for until that moment she had staunchly refused to consider her future.

She did so now.

Despite the warmth of the sun beating down on her head, she felt as if a cold wind swept across her heart. She did not belong here at Sedgewick, she thought despairingly. And the earl had seen to it that she no longer belonged at Ashbury. Her future loomed before her, empty and barren. Never had she felt so lost and alone!

But Peter still awaited her answer. "Peter—" She strived for a jesting tone, and miraculously achieved it. "—when you are a lord, I shall be old and ugly and wrinkled—"

She broke off in amazement when he shook his head. "Not ugly!" he said with surprising forcefulness. "You are boo. . . booty. . ." His little brow furrowed as he struggled to find the right word.

"Peter," she said chuckling, "are you trying to say 'beautiful'?"

His eyes lit up. "Aye!" he exclaimed. "You are beautiful! Papa said so!" He grinned from ear to ear, threw his arms around her neck, and laid his cheek against hers.

Kathryn hugged him back, aware of a funny feeling constricting her chest. All at once her heart was thudding. Guy had said she was beautiful? Nay, she thought dazedly, surely not. Yet Peter was so adamant she was sorely tempted to believe him.

They never completed their journey, however. They hadn't gone far when Kathryn spotted the road through the spindly branches of a half-rotted tree. She had barely nosed Esmerelda in that direction when all at once the forest woodland became eerily quiet—insects ceased their hum; the trilling notes of a bird warbled to a close. Kathryn's only thought was that it was like the ominous calm before a storm.

It was then that she heard the thump of hooves, the raucous sound of voices and grating male laughter. Acting on instinct alone, she hurtled from Esmerelda's back and reached for Peter. Clutching him tight, she tugged on Esmerelda's reins and huddled behind a dense thicket, praying it was tall enough to shield the palfrey. Young as he was, Peter sensed that something was wrong. He stared at her with wide, frightened eyes.

"Peter." She spoke in low, hushed tones. "You must listen to me and do exactly as I say. I thought I heard someone but I don't know who, so I must check and see. I want you to stay here with Esmerelda. Go nowhere else and do not say a word, do you understand? Can you be a brave lad and do this for me?"

He nodded. Kathryn pressed a hasty kiss on his forehead and crept away. The men had stopped in a clearing a short distance away. She concealed herself in the waist-high underbrush and peered through the endless tangle of vines. Her heart drummed so loudly in her ears that she could scarcely hear, but she went very still and concentrated on calming herself. No less than six of them clustered in a circle, mean and evil-looking. Their tunics were torn and dirty, but for all their ragtag appearance, they were heavily armed.

'There's a village just up the road a ways," one of them said. His laugh was chilling. "I say we torch it and have done with it."

"Aye," chimed in another. "Let's roust the place now!"

"Are ye daft, man? You'd have the Earl of Sedgewick down on your head before you could lay your first maid!"

"So let him come! I'm a match for any man," boasted another. With an ugly smile he ran his fingers over the handle of his sword.

"I'd rather have the king himself on me arse!" proclaimed the dissenter. "I say we do as we planned— ride through to the north."

Kathryn inhaled sharply. She'd been right to be so leery. These men were raiders, unsavory wretches who preyed on the unwary and the helpless, those weaker than they and unable to defend themselves. An icy knot of dread coiled in her stomach. If they discovered her and Peter, they would likely as not slay them both!

Though she strained to hear, she could not make out their decision. She stayed in her hiding place until they mounted up and rode off—in the direction of Sedgewick! Then she crawled back to Peter and Esmerelda.

Thank heaven Peter had not moved! His lower lip had begun to quiver, though, so Kathryn pulled him close and whispered reassuringly as she placed him on Esmerelda. "Guess what, Peter? We are going to play a game, you and I, and Esmerelda, too! We are going to pretend that we are hiding from all the world, so you must be very, very quiet again and not say a word."

As soon as she was mounted behind him, she urged the palfrey into a gallop, heading in the opposite direction from the one the raiders had taken. Such a course would take them further from Sedgewick, but she dare not take any chances that she would run into them. She would double back to Sedgewick shortly.

She rode Esmerelda hard, deeper into the encroaching forest where the dense crisscross of tree boughs overhead masked the waning of the sun. It wasn't until she stopped Esmerelda for a rest that she realized the lateness of the hour. Shadows leaped and twisted everywhere. Towering trees crowded menacingly all around, seeming to close in on them. With every moment, the veil of gloom settled deeper over the earth. Soon it would be dark.

She stuffed a fist into her mouth to keep from crying out. She was certain she could find her way back to Sedgewick, but not in the dark! With a sinking feeling in her breast, she dismounted. They had no choice but to spend the night here and begin the journey back to Sedgewick in the morning.

She had taken but three steps forward when she spied a tiny hut a short distance away. Outside the hut, she tethered Esmerelda to a tree. Moments later, she and Peter were standing in the doorway. The hut was old and shabbily constructed, scarcely higher than her head and no more than eight feet across, but at least it offered shelter for the night.

Peter tugged at her skirt. "I want to go home," he whispered pitifully.

Looking down into his forlorn little face, Kathryn felt her heart melt. He had been so good, doing all that she asked with nary a peep. "I know you do, love," she said, kneeling before him. "But I'm afraid we must wait till morning and it's light. Esmerelda can't see very well in the dark, you know, and I'm afraid I can't either." She smiled ruefully and smoothed his hair. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded eagerly. Kathryn fished for the hunk of bread she'd thrust in her pocket just before they left. She watched him gnaw it hungrily, grateful that it satisfied him. When he'd finished, she propped her back against the wall and held out her arms. Within minutes he was asleep, his cheek resting against her shoulder, one small hand curled on her breast.

The night's chill crept into the hut; Peter shivered against her. She wrapped her skirt about him as best she could, wishing wistfully for the warmth of a fire. She stroked his back and stared into the darkness, uncomfortably aware of a sliver digging into her spine. She did not move for fear of waking Peter. Amazingly, her lashes soon drooped. Her mind spun adrift, snatches of reflection floating in and out of her consciousness... The raiders— at least some of them—had no wish to confront Guy. Perchance it was true that his was a name to be reckoned with. She prayed they would not loot and plunder the village, but ride on and leave it untouched.

Guy .. . His name whispered through her mind, again and again, like a silent litany. Had he really said she was beautiful?

That was her last thought before slipping into the arms of Morpheus.

A mighty crash sent the door careening wildly from side to wide. Kathryn's eyes popped open. She flung up an arm to shield against the glaring sunlight pouring through the opening. It was then that she spotted the imposing male form looming in the doorway. Had the raiders found them? With the sun at his back, his face in shadow, the form appeared dark and featureless and wholly menacing.

The scream that crowded her throat never made it to fruition. Before she could draw breath, Peter was snatched from her arms and handed to someone behind him. Kathryn found herself plucked from the floor like a hen from its nest. It was a rude awakening, in the truest sense...

Pale silver eyes impaled her with their fierceness. "You," she gasped. "I did not know you were back."

"Obviously I came too soon for you to make good your escape." There was no mistaking the anger that fed his accusations. "God's blood, woman, you have the gall of no other! Did you really think you could do it—did you think I'd let you fly like a thief in the night. . . and take my son with you?"

His eyes tore into her, like the slash of a sword point. She gaped at him, stunned. "What— what are you saying? Surely you cannot think that I—"

He seized her arm in a bruising grip. "Say no more, lady! By God, I'll not vouch for my temper right now!" He hauled her outside where a small party of his men awaited, then proceeded to set her on Esmerelda's back so jarringly her teeth came together with a snap.

It took more than an hour and a half to reach Sedgewick. Kathryn rode with her head held regally high, her spine so rigid she felt it might crack.

Not one word was said to her the entire time.

A small cluster of servants waited in the bailey, Gerda among them. The earl handed Peter into her waiting arms. Kathryn could not bear to look at her, certain she would be as silently condemning as the earl. She slid down from Esmerelda unassisted. The next instant a hand touched her shoulder. She started as she saw that it was Gerda, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you all right, milady?"

"I'm fine," she choked out. She could say no more, for suddenly her throat was clogged tight. She pressed the reins into the hands of a waiting groom, whirled around, and rushed for the stairs.

A voice like a whip halted her dead in her tracks. "Where do you think you are going, milady?"

A feeling of sick dread knotted her stomach. She wasn't ready for this, she thought numbly. She was exhausted and cold and hungry. Instinct urged her to run like a hunted animal. Oh, but the better side of reason dictated otherwise. She awaited his approach, still as a statue, not daring to look around. With nary a pause in his stride, he hooked steely fingers into her elbow and pulled her forward.

Kathryn wrenched her arm from his grasp. 'I’m certainly capable of walking on my own," she hissed.

He glared at her but freed her arm. Nonetheless, his pace was so rapid she had a hard time keeping up with him. By the time he slammed the door of the counting room, there was a painful stitch in her side. She stopped in front of the long wide table, while he crossed to the other side.

He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, never relieving her of that unnerving silvery stare. "Well, madam," he said harshly, "what have you to say for yourself?"

Kathryn pressed her lips together. He seemed to have all the answers. Let him supply it!

"What! Does your memory escape you so soon? Or do you need more time to concoct your story?"

Kathryn gritted her teeth. Her stinging resentment increased by leaps and bounds. Always he mocked her. Always he judged her. What point was there in trying to explain?

"Well, milady, what was your plan?"

If he sought to prick her defenses, he succeeded well. She found she could not back down from the challenge inherent in that diamond-hard gaze.

'There was no plan," she said curtly. "Peter and I were at the stream. We decided to ride to the nearest hilltop but we did not get that far. We nearly ran into some men, a band of raiders—"

"Raiders!" A lazy smile of amusement curled his lips. "My lands are safeguarded well, Kathryn. I pride myself upon that. If there were raiders near here, my men would have seen to their demise."

His arrogance never ceased to amaze her. "You think you know so much but you know nothing! I rode deeper into the forest so they wouldn't discover us. But darkness fell and I realized I couldn't find my way back to Sedgewick at night. We found the hut and so I thought it best to spend the night there and return to Sedgewick this morning." When he said nothing, she smothered a cry of indignant outrage. "I heard them, I tell you! There were six of them. They were divided as to whether or not to raid the village here or ride north!"

"As you saw, Kathryn, the village is unharmed and secure."

"Then clearly they decided to head north instead!"

The smile continued to dally about his lips.

Tears rose in her eyes but she clenched her fists and blinked them back. "You—you wrong me grievously," she said, her voice low and intense. "Peter is just a child. To think that I would hurt him—"

His smile withered. The ice in his gaze chilled her to the bone. "I do not believe you would intentionally do him harm," he said coldly. "But he is my son, and I believe you would do anything you could to seek retribution against me."

"Including running off with Peter? Think, my lord! You've been gone a fortnight. If that was my intention, I'd have done it the moment I discovered you gone!"

He made no reply. Kathryn found his silence brutal. She did not know that, unbidden, the memory of their last encounter had soared aloft in his mind. Guy damned himself for tormenting himself these past days—for wondering if she were all right—for fleeing like a coward, loath to face her after what he had done. A hundred times he'd heard her stricken cry as he tore through her maidenhead. And now, seeing her in the flesh once again... Despite her militant stance, he was reminded how fragile and delicate she had felt in his arms, how small and tight was her woman's sheath as he drove inside her—

He thought of his tender, loving initiation of Elaine. Elaine, his wife, his beloved. A clawing pain ripped at his insides. He was not sure who he despised more, himself or Kathryn. He had lain with her, she who was kin to his wife's murderer.

And not once had he thought of his wife.

Yet Kathryn was so convincing, he could almost believe her. Yet doubt had clouded his mind for so long it was difficult to see the truth. Ah, but what was the truth? With her, he never knew. Nay, he decided harshly, he dared not trust her. He dared not believe her, for she had already proved that she was as cunning and treacherous as her uncle.

"I do not pretend to know what is in your mind," he told her. "Indeed, not until I returned to find you gone did I realize I might have given you cause for your hatred of me to run deeper than ever." His brows rose when she frowned at him blankly. "I'd rather thought of it as unforgettable," he went on smoothly. "Am I wrong then, in assuming you remember our coupling with fondness?"

His indifference sent hot shame coursing through her. Oh, he was a callous beast to remind her so cruelly!

"Unforgettable, aye, that it was!" she said fiercely. "But I do not recall that night with fondness. Nay, I think of it with naught but loathing and disgust!"

He smiled grimly. "So I thought, which is why I sought to appease you by removing your guard while I was gone." His tone turned as cutting as his eyes. "And how did you repay me? I returned to find you gone—and my son along with you! Now tell me, Kathryn, which of us has been wronged here?" He slammed his palms down on the table so hard she jumped. "Christ, I should never have brought you here!"

She closed her eyes as if she were praying. 'Then send me back to Ashbury," she whispered. The plea slipped out before she could stop it, and then she didn't want to. She opened her eyes to stare at him mutely. She went on, unaware of the naked longing that dwelled in her expression. "I've been here more than a month. I've obeyed your rules and done your bidding. And yet you continue to keep me prisoner!"

He scorned the leap of hope in her eyes. Ashbury, he thought savagely. It is always Ashbury with her. She would not cast aside this foolish notion that she could hold title to it!

"Prisoner, is it?" His laugh was grating. "The term intrigues me, Kathryn, especially since I've shown you every kindness."

Her tone was stiff. "Oh, you do not stoop to physical harm. But you keep me here against my will. What kindness is there in that?"

"Egad, woman, you have abused my trust! Yet you expect to be rewarded?"

She stamped her foot. "I've abused nothing! After all that has happened between us, you cannot expect me to remain here."

"You're wrong, Kathryn." His mouth twisted. "I can and I do."

She stared at him with eyes both accusing and pleading. Her anguished cry seemed to echo from the furthest depths of her soul. "Why? Tell me why!"

He ignored her completely, moving to sit at the chair on the opposite side.

She slapped her palms before him on the table. "I'll not be your mistress," she burst out. "Your prowess as a lover was much overrated, my lord. Indeed, I found it sorely lacking!"

Slowly his gaze lifted, tangling with hers. His features were set in a cold hard mask, but within those silver depths a molten fire burned hot and searing. "Do not seek to test me, Kathryn—" His lips curved into a wicked smile. "—for you would give me no choice but to prove the falsehood you speak, which I would do, I'm sure, with a great deal of pleasure indeed."

Oh, how her fingers itched to slap that insolent smirk from his mouth. "You bastard." She glared at him, her lips barely moving as she went on. "How long do you intend to keep me here?"

Her eyes were the dark green of a stormy sea. Her stance was defiant, small fists jammed at her sides. For the first time he noted the exhaustion that rimmed her eyes. He ignored it, driven by fury and some nameless emotion he refused to recognize as disappointment. He'd far rather meet her on these terms, for this was the woman he knew—coldly enraged and icily distant.

"Who knows?" He gave an offhand shrug. "A week. A month. However long it may or may not be, know that it will be my choice, Kathryn—" His smile grew brittle. "—mine and no one else's."

"I see," she said tightly. "Your will again, I take it." Her breath came fast and shallow. She was suddenly so angry she was shaking. "Well, your will be damned, my lord earl—you be damned."

To her shock, he rose and handed her a tiny dagger. He spread his hands, leaving his chest wide open and exposed. "Go ahead," he invited in a silky tone that was all the more deadly for its very softness. "Shall we place a wager on the victor?"

Green eyes clashed with eyes as cold and gray as a wintry sky. The tension that pulsed between them was like thunder in the air. Though his posture was relaxed, Kathryn knew that if she made one false move, those powerful muscles would quiver to life—he would not hesitate to subdue her. Kathryn's fingers tightened around the handle of the dagger—she was stunned and then sickened at the violence that surged like a tide inside her.

She stabbed the blade into the table. God! she thought brokenly. What was the use? She couldn't wound this iron hearted knight physically or otherwise. She spun around with a jagged cry.

"Kathryn!"

She half-turned.

His expression was stony, the fiery probe of his eyes unendurable. "Do not run from me again," he warned. "Next time I will lock you in your chamber." He took his time perusing the slender curves of breasts and hips outlined beneath her kirtle. "Better still, I'll lock you in mine."

She choked back an impotent cry of rage. "I've heard tell that King Henry travels far and wide across the land," she flung at him. "I will pray nightly that he calls you to his side."

Chapter 12

The battle lines had been drawn once again.

Guy went his way. And Kathryn went hers. She saw little of him in the days that followed, except occasionally during the evening meal, which was always a strained affair. She was bitterly stung that she was no longer allowed to be alone with Peter. No longer was she allowed outside the walls without Sir Michael trailing along behind her.

It was but more fuel to fire her smoldering resentment of the earl. And for that, and for so many other things, she could summon no forgiveness.

There was nowhere she could escape his presence, whether he was present in the flesh or no. His will bound her to him as surely as chains of steel. She had even lost the peaceful sanctuary she'd once found at the stream, for he had invaded this domain as well, often riding there with Peter.

She watched him from afar one day, tossing Peter high in the air while the boy squealed with delight. Seeing him thus, laughing with his son, she could almost imagine how he might have been with his pretty young wife... Elaine. Gallant and teasing, those pale silver eyes alight with laughter and love and adoration.

A tight hollow band seemed to creep around her chest. She had never seen that side of him, she realized. She would never see that side of him.

And why. . . oh, why. . . was the certainty like a knife plunged deep in her breast? She could not forget what Gerda had told her—how Guy had loved Elaine dearly, loved her with a tender regard that was rare and precious and attained by so very few. Always, always, it was in the back of her mind, like a sliver beneath her skin. Every time she thought of Guy—and Elaine—there was an odd little catch in her heart. She did not understand it.

As the days became weeks, the tension became almost more than she could bear. Sometimes there was a strange restlessness inside her that would not be denied. She told herself it stemmed from being torn from her home. How she ached to see Elizabeth once again! She missed Ashbury. But when she mentioned her longing once in all innocence, Guy became enraged and walked out on her. Nay, she would not cry, or plead, or beg for mercy, for he had none. Still, she began to fear he meant to keep her at Sedgewick forever—his purpose eluded her. But being on guard so often was taking its toll on her nerves—they were scraped thin. To make matters worse, she, who was sick but rarely, had been feeling poorly of late.

She was combing her hair, preparing for bed one night in early August, when a knock sounded on her door. It was unusual for her to be disturbed at this hour. "Who is it?" she called.

"Sir Michael," came a voice from the other side.

Finely arched brows shot up. What! she thought testily. Had Guy decided to post a guard outside her door at night, too? She opened the door a crack and peered warily at the young knight.

"Forgive the lateness of the hour," he said with an apologetic smile, "my lord wishes to see you in his chamber."

Visit the beast in his chamber? She could think of one reason and one reason only why he would make such a request. His arrogance knew no bounds! Kathryn opened her mouth, prepared to deliver a biting refusal, when Sir Michael caught sight of her flushed cheeks.

"There's been a slight accident, milady," he said quickly. "He has need of your assistance."

The earl had not been at dinner, but Kathryn wasn't sure she liked the sound of this any better. But if she refused, she had no doubts whatsoever that he would come and fetch her. She inclined her head slightly and joined Sir Michael in the passage. The young knight escorted her to the earl's chamber, closed the door, and withdrew.

She did not see him at first. The candles in the iron-spiked wall bracket cast flickering spears of light into the room. He sat on a chair before the fire, long legs thrust out before him.

"My lord—" She sought to adopt a formal tone and failed miserably. "—you wished to see me?"

"Aye, Kathryn." There was a slight pause. "Come here."

She shuffled forward, feeling as if her legs were made of wax. She stopped what she considered a safe distance away. It was disconcerting to discover him regarding her rather quizzically.

"Kindly refrain from looking like a lamb on its way to be slaughtered," he said with sour humor. "I admit I'm in dire need of a woman's tender hand, but it’s your skill with the needle I've need of right now." He turned slightly and inclined his head toward his right shoulder, where the flesh had been sliced wide open. The gash was easily the length of his hand. Though he had recently cleansed it, blood continued to well from the shredded edges of the wound.

"The damn thing won't stop bleeding. I don't think it will unless it's closed up."

Kathryn's eyes were wide. "You want me to stitch it closed?"

Her tone reflected the horror she felt at the prospect but he paid scant heed. "Aye," he murmured.

"But I've never done anything like this before," she blurted.

"Gerda tells me you're quite skilled with the needle. Lord knows you probably sew a cleaner seam than my squire, and if you'll not do it, I'm afraid I'll have to submit to him." He offered a crooked smile. 'Think of it as a chance to torture me, Kathryn. You'll get to poke and prod as you please and I dare not summon a word against you."

"I'll hold you to it," she murmured. She fetched needle and thread from her room, then hurried back to his chamber. He had not moved while she was gone; he still sat before the fire.

His tunic lay across his lap; he wore naught but braies and chausses. His chest was bare, all solid muscle and dense dark fur. Kathryn tried not to notice as she knelt down, anxious to be done with the task and safely back within her own chamber. "How did this happen?" she murmured.

"We ran into several poachers in the forest. One of them decided he'd like to relieve me of my sword arm."

Poachers. Not raiders. Kathryn could not help but feel a twinge of resentment. It was still a sore spot that there had been no trace of the raiders she had seen that long-ago day. She did not inquire as to the fate of the poachers he'd encountered today. She had no doubts his prowess as a warrior was well earned; nor was he a man to let another get the best of him. Despite his relaxed posture, he radiated an aura of power and pure strength. His shoulders looked impossibly wide, his biceps sculpted and keenly defined. A quiver shot through her at the prospect of running her fingers over his muscular arms. Tentatively, she extended her fingers, pressing gently to gauge the depth of the wound.

A bowl of water and a linen cloth lay on a narrow bench near his elbow. Kathryn dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out, then blotted the blood away. When the wound was cleaned to her satisfaction, she picked up her needle and threaded it, marveling that her hands were so steady. She bent slightly. Guy didn't make a move when the point of her needle punctured his skin. Instead it was Kathryn who winced, wanting nothing more than to jump up and abandon him. Willpower alone fixed her there at his side.

It occurred to her that she was finding this more painful than he. She glanced at his unyielding profile. He remained as still as a statue. If the dip and pull of needle and thread caused him any pain, his features bore no trace of it. She tied and cut the last thread, then sighed. "There," she murmured. " 'Tis done."

He flexed his shoulder. An involuntary shiver shook her body as she watched. Candlelight from the wall sconce flickered over his shoulders, outlining sleek muscle and sinew. Her gaze strayed helplessly to his chest; he had bathed recently. The scent of soap still clung to him. Water glistened in the dark hair on his chest, glittering like tiny jewels. Kathryn swallowed, her mouth dry as parchment.

His hands had come out to steady her waist as she worked. She could feel their warmth burning through her kirtle. Guy was caught up in that very same current of awareness, aware of a brooding ache inside him. For weeks now he'd run the gamut between rage and confusion. He had possessed her, as he had sworn he would do. But it had not banished the longing inside him. Her aloofness and distance only made him want her all the more.

Her lips were dewy and damp, the downy curve of her cheeks as petal-soft as roses. The tip of her delicate pink tongue darted out, betraying her nervousness. A shaft of longing, desire like a sword of molten steel, cut through him. He longed to touch her, to hold her, to mold her sweetly curvaceous body naked and tight against his own, as he had once before.

She made as if to straighten. His fingers tightened around her waist, just enough to remind her she wasn't free. Kathryn froze, torn in two very different—and conflicting—directions. She wanted to run and hide, to seek refuge in her chamber. Yet another part of her bade her stay and wait—wait for what the moment would bring—

The air was suddenly close and heated. His eyes did not free her. Nay, he watched her with an intensity that made her tremble. His mouth was unsmiling, yet was not so very grimly forbidding. A frisson of panic raced through her. Kathryn was not sure if she was relieved or not. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and unfathomable. With him seated, her looking down at him, she should have felt she had the advantage. Alas, that was certainly not the case! Never had she felt so exposed and vulnerable.

"What do you wish of me, milord?" Her voice was no more than a tremulous wisp of air.

He tipped his head to regard her more fully. The silence heightened to a screaming pitch

before he finally spoke. "Methinks you already know, Kathryn." For all the softness of his voice, his eyes seemed to delve even further into hers, as if he sought to reach inside her, clear to her soul. And she could not stand it. She could not! She gave a muffled sound and tried to step backward.

His uninjured arm caught at her waist. He checked her movement and brought her down onto his lap in one fluid move. Her hands came up instinctively. One arm slid around his neck for balance. The other caught at his shoulder. Beneath her fingertips, she registered the feel of firm resilient flesh, the shape and feel of him. She drew a deep, startled breath and sought his eyes. To her dismay, he turned his head and her lips brushed the raspy hardness of his cheek. The contact was fleeting, but all at once her senses were thrumming.

He stared at her mouth.

She stared at his.

His head began to lower. Closer. . . so close it seemed they shared the same breath. "No," she whispered, as if to deny it, as if to deny him. "Oh, no. . .

Like a thief in the night, his fingers plied their way across her nape, then came up to weave in her hair. As if he sought to stop himself, he pulled her head back slowly. Riveted by the undisguised hunger on his face, she could not tear her eyes from his.

A quickening heat stormed through her. Kathryn could not fight it—she could not fight him. His mouth trapped hers, both hungry and tender all at once, eroding any notion she might have had of resistance. The intimate glide of his tongue against hers set her heart to pounding. Her lips parted to allow him access to the honeyed interior of her mouth.

With a surge of power he was on his feet. Kathryn's head was whirling, along with her senses. She clutched at him as the only solid object in a wildly spinning world. Without breaking the searing fusion of their mouths, he crossed to the bed.

The mattress was soft beneath her back. Above her, his body was hard and heavy against hers, silent testimony that spoke of years of swordplay and hours at the tiltyard. With an ease that robbed her of breath, he tugged her kirtle to her waist and freed the naked bounty of her breasts. Inexperienced as she was, he had taught her well the pleasures he could heap upon her body. Even before his hand encompassed the weight of one breast, it was taut and tingly and aching; he kissed her endlessly, all the while his fingertips toying and skimming first one nipple and then the other into tight little buds. It shocked her to realize that she wanted not only his hands on her breasts, but the play of tongue and lips, tugging and laving and teasing.

She broke free of his mouth with a low moan— a sound of frustration? Protest? Or surrender? Her mind was churning so that she could scarcely think. God help her, she didn't know!

He raised his head. She tried desperately to drag her scattered wits about her, but for a timeless moment all she could do was stare in vague fascination at the dark hand that lay claim to the burgeoning softness of her breast—as if it had a right to be there—as if he had a right to her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight. She did not want this. She dare not want this.

"Let me go." She despised the pleading in her voice, yet within was a fervent demand.

The silence was overwhelming. He did not move. Indeed, he did not even appear to hear.

Kathryn's eyes flicked open. She had expected anger. At the very least, his familiar, cutting sarcasm. In truth, she expected anything but the hint of defeated resignation that flitted across his features.

"You are a witch," he said slowly. "A sorceress who seeks to work her spell of enchantment over me." He searched her face as if convinced some damning evidence could be found there. "You tempt me, Kathryn, though you scorn me outright and pretend I do not exist. You tempt me when I am miles away and—"

Disbelief shot through her. "I tempt you! Oh, I think not, my lord, for I have done naught but try to stay clear of you!" Her cry verged on anger. "You blame me, milord, but 'tis you who seek me out— always! 'Tis you who bind me to you, you who refuse to let me return to Ashbury!"

Something dangerous flickered in those strange silvery eyes. His fingertips moved ever so slightly on her breast, warm and tormenting, even as his gaze grew cold. "And that is still your wish? To return to Ashbury?"

Kathryn was beyond heeding any warning, verbal or otherwise. "Aye!" The sound tore out of her throat. "How can you believe I would wish to stay here?"

His mouth twisted. How indeed, he thought. But even as the dark shadow of some nameless emotion gripped his soul, his body throbbed with desire. She stared up at him, her features delicately exquisite. His avid gaze swept over her, lingering on her breasts. Her skin was smooth and creamy, her nipples pure enticement, a deeper darker rose than he recalled. With his eyes he traced a path over her swelling softness. His memory failed him again, for though she was still small, she was fuller than he remembered.

Never had he felt a passion so deeply, so intensely that it robbed him of sanity, stripped him of pride and reason and controlled his every thought. . . as she controlled his every thought.

Let her go? he thought in amazement. He was awash in indignant outrage... and a despairing bleakness. Did she really believe that he would willingly send her back to Ashbury?

Not now. Not yet. And maybe never—

Though her chest ached with the force of her scrambled emotions, Kathryn swallowed and lifted glistening eyes to his.

"Please." Her voice was very low. There was a faint catch in her voice. "Please do not do this. You do not want this any more than I—I see it in your face!"

Tension gripped his features. He closed his eyes, as if he fought some gut-wrenching inner pain. When they opened, his expression was curiously hollow.

He bent and brushed her lips with his, a touch so achingly gentle she nearly cried out. "This thing between us," he whispered, "'tis more powerful than both of us. I cannot stop it, Kathryn." He nuzzled the baby-soft skin behind her ear. "Nor can you."

His lips returned to capture hers, and this time the contact was firmer. Deeper. Intimately knowing. . .

"I want you," he said into her mouth. And then again, "I want you..."

Her lips fluttered against his; her tongue shyly touched his. It was all the invitation Guy needed. His mouth opened wide, his tongue dueling with hers in an unbridled skirmish that made his heart leap anew. She could deny him with mind and heart and soul, but she could not deny her physical need for him. His arms came around her. Tightly he pulled her against him, suppressing a groan at the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest.

Kathryn yielded with a low sobbing moan. Her feeble resistance could not rival his strength. Her feeble resistance could not rival or her own forbidden yearning. She forgot everything but the hungry heat that raged between them. She caught his head and guided his mouth to hers, her kiss tinged with a dark desperation.

Her clothing was a barrier neither could tolerate. He stripped her kirtle from her hips and cast it aside. She quivered as he traced a flaming line from her hip to the pouting crest of her breast. Her body arched. Her fingers dug into the binding hardness of his arms, communicating a wordless plea. His laugh was low and throaty, for he well knew exactly what she craved.

His thumbs raked across her nipples; they felt swollen and engorged. Her breath spilled out in a rush. It was an exquisite torture to wait while his mouth slid with slow heat down her throat. He blew gently on the sensitized peak. Kathryn thought she would drown in sheer sensation at the slightly abrasive texture of his tongue curling around the pebbled nub.

A whimper rose in her throat. Her legs shifted restlessly. He inhaled sharply as her untutored movements brought her slender thigh flush against his straining fullness. Christ, she was driving him mad! He levered himself away and raised his head to stare at her, silver eyes aglow, aflame with wanting.

His shoulders loomed above her, wide and sleek and golden. He possessed a dark magnificence which should have frightened her, yet did not. Indeed, it robbed her of breath. He was so tall, so powerful, she thought wonderingly. With the candlelight flickering over his bronzed skin, he seemed more god than mortal. She knew a shocking urge to weave her fingers in the curling mat of hair on his chest and abdomen. He set her on her feet. Her gaze slid helplessly lower, just as he stripped off his chausses.

His manhood sprang free of its confinement, stiff and rigid and swollen.

Her eyes widened. Her golden haze of pleasure evaporated, like mist on a blazing morn. To her horrified eyes, he was shockingly—brazenly—aroused. She shuddered as the memory of their first time together came crashing down around her. She'd not soon forget the fiery prelude that promised so much, but delivered only pain. He would invade her body with his mighty weapon, a thrusting blade that split and tore. Too late she realized where her passion had led her.

He caught her by the waist. With a gasp her hands came up against his shoulders, thwarting his forward movement. "Nay," she said faintly. "Oh, please, I cannot—"

His lips swallowed her breathless little cry. "Hush," he murmured. "I'll not hurt you, Kathryn."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Her heart beat furiously. "I fear you cannot help it!" she cried wildly. Just thinking of his size made her tremble. "You are so..." She could say no more. With a ragged moan of distress she turned her head aside.

Regret seized him, even as her innocent words sent his ardor spiraling. A finger beneath her jaw dictated that she meet his eyes; hers were huge and frightened. Beneath him, Guy could feel her shaking.

His hand slid down her throat. "That pain you felt, Kathryn. . . it was naught but the pain of first love."

The timbre of his voice sent a shiver through her. Love? she thought wildly, vaguely alarmed. It spun through her mind that she felt many things for this man who so dominated her life... but love? Nay, not that. . . never love...

"Please—" Her fingers curled and uncurled in the springy dark hair on his chest. What she pleaded for, she did not know.

"I thought I could forget that night, sweet witch. But a thousand times I've heard that tiny little cry you gave." His whisper was low and vibrating; it swirled all around her, reaching clear inside her. "And a hundred times I've wished it could have been different." He raised his head to stare down at her with burning eyes. "I don't want you to remember that night as it was. I want you to remember this night instead. I want you to know the way it can be between us. I want you to know the way it will be."

She was trembling, every muscle in her body tensed against him as his mouth slowly descended to hers. Yet his kiss was so tender, so achingly sweet it brought tears to her eyes. With a choked sob, she turned into his chest and locked traitorous arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were all she'd ever wanted in this world.

His tongue flicked at her lips, demanding entrance, stealing deep within her mouth with a ravaging rhythm that made her go weak inside. Once again she fell victim to the same driving need she sensed inside him. His hand slid down her body, shaping and molding, reawakening dormant pangs of desire, trailing fire wherever he touched. She felt as if he led her through a vague dark mist where she could not find her way alone; 'twas his hand, his binding touch that guided her, and only through him could she find the path she sought.

Sensations hitherto unknown to her clamored through her. When his lips at last closed over her straining nipple, she bit back a cry of sweet bliss. Her fingers threading through the midnight darkness of his hair, she clamped him to her breast.

He laved her breast with his tongue, while his knuckles grazed the flatness of her belly, over and over before tangling in the downy fleece guarding her womanhood. Her heart tripped over itself when a bold and daring finger slid inside her furrowed cleft, his thumb circling a place that seemed to seek tight against his touch. She sought tried to clamp her thighs closed.

"Don't fight it, sweet." His hot breath feathered across the delicate sweep of her cheek. "Don't fight me." Guy clenched his teeth. The dewy warmth his hand encompassed nearly shredded his control. His manhood was full to the point of bursting; he was near-crazed with the need to bury himself to the hilt inside her. But he held off, wanting to make certain her desire echoed his.

He sealed his lips with hers, devouring her mouth with fierce possessiveness. Her breath caught when that shamefully invading finger delved deep within her furrowed warmth, sweeping her away with bold, torrid strokes that turned her limbs to water. It was an exquisite torture. She began to writhe and twist, searching for something tantalizing and elusive—exactly what she did not know. He raised his head to drink in her response, reveling in her softly panting cries, the way her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. A thrill of purely male triumph shot through him as she convulsed around his fingers.

Weak and dazed by what had happened, Kathryn opened her eyes. His dark features hovered above her, taut with strain. She felt him nudge her thighs apart, felt his manhood like a searing brand against her thigh, and inwardly braced herself for the pain she knew would follow.

The scorching heat of him sank slowly within moist, feminine petals. She gasped, certain she could not take all of him. Indeed, she felt her body stretch to the limit to accommodate his velvet-and-steel hardness, but there was no pain. . . She sensed his restraint as he slowly withdrew, then eased inside again. Within her belly, a heavy warmth unfurled. With each carefully measured plunge of his body into hers, heat shimmered along her veins. She caught her breath at the silken friction, until at last her hips arched in involuntary response, instinctively seeking his.

Above her, he went very still, so still she feared she had done something terribly wrong. His breath was harsh and rasping in her ear. She could feel the frantic thunder of his heart against her own. Her fingers curled helplessly in the hair that grew low on his nape, an involuntary caress.

"Guy?" She waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

At the sound of his name, something seemed to give way deep inside him. With a groan his mouth sought hers, not rough, just. . . urgent. He drove into her with a force that resounded in the chambers of her heart. Again and again, his thrusts wild and almost frenzied, as if he'd lost all control. She clutched at the hardness of his arms and buried her face against his shoulder, and she no longer cared that he was not gentle. Because she was suddenly out of control, too, clinging to him in wanton splendor. The flames inside her blazed high— sparks showered through her, inside and out. She spun away in mindless wonder, even as he gave one final shattering plunge. The spewing heat of his seed bathed her womb with honeyed fire.

Time ceased to exist. The heavy weight of his body eased. Kathryn was only vaguely aware when he moved to his back, pulling her up against his side. She lay curled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

An hour earlier she'd have deemed it nigh impossible... She fell asleep to the lulling drumbeat of his heart beneath her ear, the soothing caress of his fingers trailing her spine.

She woke alone.

Last night's events flooded her mind in vivid detail. She shut her eyes. Her heart cried out. How was it possible to despise and hate a man so, and yet experience such wondrous elation at his hand? When he made love to her, she could hold back nothing—nothing!—and it was frightening. In the cold light of day, she could not condone what she had done. Never had a battle been so easily won! she conceded bitterly. Ah, there had been no need for force, or even subtle coercion. He need not even ask and she willingly surrendered all that he sought. Clutching her pillow to her breast, she rolled to her side and stared at the tepid sunshine creeping through the shutters.

He called her witch. He branded her sorceress. Ah, but he was the sorcerer, for something happened the instant he touched her. He leeched her will from her with but the touch of his lips, the seductive stroke of his hand.

It was in the midst of this disturbing frame of mind that the door opened. Kathryn knew instinctively it was Guy. Along with his entrance came a seething tension. The heavy footfall of steps preceded his appearance at the bedside.

An icy dread clutched at her. She smothered the urge to throw the covers around her head and huddle like a child, for she knew not what to expect from him! Instead she curled her fingers over the edge of the furs to shield her nakedness and forced herself to look at him.

In some distant corner of her mind, she was surprised to see that he wore his hauberk, as if he prepared to do battle. In the next instant, all her attention was focused on the rigid cast of his jaw, the taut constriction of his body as he towered over her. Nothing in his expression gave any indication of what had passed between them only hours earlier.

The passionate lover of the night before had vanished. Before her was the cold, merciless knight she hated and despised. Her heart plunged to the floor. She quickly pushed away her weakness, berating herself furiously. It was foolish to expect any tenderness from him—foolish to expect anything at all!

He stared down at her, his tone as chilly as his regard. "A messenger arrived early this morn."

Kathryn frowned, raising herself up on an elbow, careful to keep the fur around her naked breasts. She could not think why he would tell her unless... Her eyes widened. "Oh, no! Has something happened to Elizabeth?" She bounded to a sitting position and clutched at his arm. 'Tell me, my lord! Is she hurt?"

Guy's lip curled. He swore viciously. Did she think of nothing else but Ashbury? "Set your mind at ease," he said harshly. "This has naught to do with Elizabeth... or Ashbury!" This last was fairly flung at her.

Stunned, Kathryn stared at him numbly. He was angry with her, she realized. She did not understand it. She he did not understand him!

She moistened her lips and eyed him warily. 'This message," she said stiffly. "If it does not concern me, why are you here?"

His laughter held no mirth. "Ah, but it does concern you, milady, for it seems the king himself has granted your fondest wish." His lips twisted. "Henry has summoned me to his side."

Kathryn blinked. "What! You mean you .. . you must leave Sedgewick?"

"Aye." He uttered the word like a condemnation, not an affirmation. Ruthlessly he searched her face for the triumph he was certain he would find there. But those rose-hued lips were slack in surprise. Those lovely green eyes reflected just the right amount of bewildered astonishment. . . ah, but she played her role of innocent with consummate ease!

With brutal fury he wondered if she knew this cost him dearly. He had no wish to leave Sedgewick, yet he could hardly ignore his king. Damn! If only Henry's summons had come on the morrow, or the day after. Better still, not at all.

Yet what did it matter? he asked himself bitterly. Last night she lay pliant and weak in his arms. Last night she had abandoned herself to him ever so willingly—aye, even eagerly! But when dawn streaked the eastern sky, there was naught of victory in his heart, no deliverance from this hell into which she'd cast him.

In his arrogance he had convinced himself that he alone commanded her body. Even now he wanted to tear the covers from those bare, silken limbs, plunge his fingers into her black mane and smother her lips with his. He longed to explore the sleep-scented hollows of her body and forget his king existed—forget everything but the driving need to bury himself in her honeyed cave of velvet heat. . .

And he knew he could do it—oh, she might pretend resistance again, but she would melt soon enough.

Only one thing stopped him, and he found himself tormented by the thought which had plagued him the night through. Mayhap she yielded her body only to gain what she wanted. Mayhap this was her way of molding him to her will, for wasn't that what she had planned with Roderick? She had sought to lure and entice Roderick into her web of enchantment, then turn around and play him against her uncle, like a puppet on a string!

He pulled the furs from her clenched hands. "Get dressed!" he commanded curtly. "I want you in the bailey as soon as you're ready. And do not think to delay me by dallying, or I'll be forced to bring you down as you are." The glint in his eyes warned her he would tolerate no defiance. He raked her with a glance that left her feeling stripped to the bone, then strode from the chamber.

Though it cost her no small amount of pride, Kathryn was up and dressed in less than ten minutes. She spied Guy alongside his destrier as soon as she entered the bailey. She did not go to him. She remained near the outside stair that led to the great hall.

He did not leave her waiting long. He stopped directly before her, his countenance grim. He spoke without preamble. "Promise me you'll be here when I return."

There was no tenderness, no hint of softness in his manner, nothing but implacable demand. She felt the pain of betrayal as keenly as a knife in her breast. Clearly last night meant nothing to him! His hands, his caresses, were naught but a weapon to impose his mastery over her.

She could not hide her bitterness. "Why? My word means little to you."

His hands came out to grip hers. 'Tell me you won't run off to Ashbury. I want you here when I return, however long I am gone."

Never had she been so torn, divided in two, sliced cleanly in half. She hated him and yearned desperately to be free of him, yet denial was the furthest thing from her mind! Swamped with confusion, she shook her head. "Ask me anything," she pleaded. "Anything but that!"

She swallowed convulsively, imprisoned in his gaze. Unbelievably his eyes reflected no coldness, no hint of mockery. They held some urgent, nameless appeal she was afraid to acknowledge yet could not ignore.

"Promise me, Kathryn."

His voice was low. To her horror, her throat grew achingly tight. "Aye," she said on a strangled half- sob. "I promise."

Something flickered across his face. Triumph? Her heart cried out in despair even as an arm slid about her waist, dragging her close.

She surprised them both by twining her arms around his neck. She could deny him nothing, for at that moment, his will mirrored her own. He took her lips in plain view of any onlooker, endlessly long and deep, and she cared not who saw, nor that it was less a kiss than a proclamation of raw male ownership.

She stood rooted to the spot, long after he'd ridden through the gatehouse. Finally, she whirled and ran to her chamber, throwing herself upon the bed where she cried herself to sleep.

It was hours later before she awoke again. She lay very quietly for a moment, feeling dull and lethargic and wanting nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. Why was she so exhausted? she wondered. It was probably the strain of the last day, she decided tiredly. There had been so many emotions... in so little time.

Gerda entered, offering her a tentative smile. "You missed both the morning and the midday meal, milady. Would you like something to eat?"

Just the thought of food made Kathryn's stomach lurch, though not in hunger. "Not just yet, Gerda." She pressed the back of her hand against her cheeks. She felt strangely hot, but her skin was cool, almost clammy. She pushed aside the furs and rose to her feet, feeling shaky and fluttery inside.

"What is wrong with me?" She put a hand to her forehead. "My stomach heaves, no matter what I do or do not eat. I am constantly weary, no matter how long I sleep. No one else has sickened," she moaned. "Why does this ailment persist?"

Gerda's smile disappeared. She peered at her oddly. "Milady, forgive me for my boldness, but surely you know that 'tis not so much a sickness as. . ." A blush stole into her cheeks as Kathryn stared at her blankly. She bit her lip, "You've had only one course since you've been here, haven't you?"

"Aye." She nodded, beginning to feel dizzy and lightheaded. "But what has that to do with—" She stopped short. Gerda was right—her last monthly flux had come nearly three months ago. With all the turmoil in her life of late, she'd scarcely given it a thought.. . Her eyes grew stricken as a horrible assumption formed in her mind. "No," she whispered tremulously. "Oh, no .. ."

Her heart was pounding heavily. Black specks began to dance before her eyes. Somehow Gerda's voice penetrated the dull buzzing in her ears.

"Milady, 'tis my guess that you're with child."

Kathryn slumped to the floor.

Chapter 13

Stalemate.

Hugh had long since decided he and Elizabeth were at a stalemate. They could go neither forward nor backward. Though she did not cower away, her reserve was like a wall of stone. Oh, they talked, they chatted, they laughed. But whether she knew it or not, she had set boundaries around her, boundaries he dared not cross for fear of shattering what little they had gained.

They did not speak of that night in her room when he had soothed and held her close. Indeed, it might never have happened, but it was that which stood between them like a towering wall of granite. Hugh sought to gently broach the subject once but she ran off in tears. If Elizabeth had her way, he suspected that they would go on as they were until the end of time.

Hugh could think of only one solution. He prayed it was the right one. Indeed, he thought bitterly, he had nothing to lose by putting it to the test. Whether she knew it or not, his heart was already hers.

He approached her one sunny afternoon when she sat in the solar with her sewing. "If it pleases you," he said pleasantly, "I thought we might walk outside the walls while it's still warm."

It was on the tip of Elizabeth's tongue to blurt that it did not please her. While a part of her longed for just such an opportunity to be with Hugh, another part feared what might happen if they were alone. For all that he was charming and remarkably easy to talk to, at times his eyes were so piercingly intent she felt he saw clear inside her.

She gestured at the cloth in her lap. "Mayhap another time—" she began.

His hands were on the cloth, lifting it aside. To her horror, in the next instant his hands folded around hers and he was lifting her to her feet as well. "You abuse me sorely, Elizabeth. Take pity on my poor soul and oblige me in this." As he spoke, he offered a ready smile. Elizabeth thought frantically that she was wrong—that Hugh was dangerous indeed. Yet her protest could find no voice as he led her outside.

Silence prevailed as they began to walk, leaving the keep behind. While it was not a particularly comfortable silence, neither was it uncomfortable. The sun beat warmly on Elizabeth's cheeks; the scent of tangy salt air teased her nostrils. She had just begun to relax when it struck her that the rocky, winding path they trod was vaguely familiar... She inhaled sharply, for there, just over the next rise, was the place where.. . Alarm skittered through her and she spun abruptly, determined to flee.

Hugh caught her by the waist and held her fast. "Let me pass!" she screamed. "Hugh, you must let me pass!" He glimpsed panic in her eyes and his resolve nearly waned. He hated himself as never before. When Elizabeth began to pound his chest he wrapped his arms around her and subdued her with gentle strength.

He gave a shake of his head, steeling himself and standing firm. "We are almost there, Elizabeth. We cannot stop now."

She railed wildly. "Why are you doing this? My mother died there. You know that, Hugh! Why would you take me back? How can you be so cruel?"

Hugh felt as though she had landed a blow at the center of his heart. "Believe me when I say this pains me as much as it pains you." The edge in his voice lent truth to the words. "Elizabeth, you are a warm, beautiful woman who deserves to be happy. But I fear this cannot be until you have purged yourself of this horrible memory. There is a place in your mind that only you can set free. Only then will you be free. May God strike me from this earth if I am wrong, but I can think of no other way to help you, save this."

Elizabeth began to shake uncontrollably.

He smoothed the flaxen hair from her cheek. "I'd not belittle what happened to your mother." He attempted to explain. "It was tragic, a terrible thing for a child to witness. But you must put it behind you now or it will forever haunt you. I will help you, Elizabeth, if only you'll let me."

"I will have nightmares again if you take me there," she cried piteously. "Hugh, I know I will!"

Nightmares? If she must dream, then let her dreams be of him . .. Even as the fervent prayer echoed through his brain, he bracketed her face with his hands. "Do you trust me, Elizabeth?"

She floundered helplessly. "I did... I—I mean I do, only. . . oh, Hugh, must we do this?"

"No harm will come to you, Elizabeth. If you will only come with me, I promise we won't stay long. We will leave whenever you like."

Elizabeth's mind was whirling. She could not summon the will to argue, not could she couldn't find the strength to fight him. When he took her by the hand and led her up the path once more, she clung to the soothing tenor of his voice and to him. She kept her eyes downcast, her heart pounding so she feared it would crash through her chest at any moment. At last she stumbled to a halt beside Hugh.

A hard lump of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. She nearly cried out when he dropped her hand and walked away. It took every ounce of courage she possessed to raise her head and watch him. He stopped some twenty paces distant.

"Elizabeth," he said calmly, "look around you. Look well and listen. Then tell me—" He paused. "—if what you see is truly so frightening that you must forever shun this place."

She wrapped her arms about herself as if to ward off a chill, but she did as he asked. Her gaze moved slowly. High above, the sky was a deep, breathtaking blue. Clumps of bracken clustered around an outcropping of boulders near the edge of the bluff. Scraggly blades of grass lay close against the rocky ground, whipped there by the ever-present wind, which rose in a keening wail then fell eerily silent. A nearby shriek gave her a jolt, but it was only the screech of a sea gull. But for the brilliance of the sky, the landscape was stark and barren. And in the midst of it all was Hugh, the wind blowing thick russet-brown hair from his forehead, his shoulders so wide and strong they looked as if they could easily bear the weight of the world.

The terror began to seep from her limbs. She started to smile. Then her gaze chanced to rest on the jutting rock to his left. A shudder racked her body. "It happened there," she whispered brokenly. "It was there. . . Oh, God, Hugh, it was awful. . . those men! They hit my mother over and over again. And then they. . ." She broke off, swallowing the bile that burned her throat.

Hugh was at her side in an instant, clasping her icy-cold hand in his. "Bloodlust," he said grimly. "I make no excuse. Those men deserve to rot in hell for what they did! What you saw was an act of brutality. But not all men are like those bastards—I swear to you by all that is holy. And I swear to you that what happens between a man and a woman is not always ugly. Elizabeth, when a man comes to care about a woman—" He nearly said when a man loves a woman. "—there is tenderness and affection. He longs to cherish and protect her. Never—never!— would he hurt or dishonor her."

He paused, his eyes sweeping around them as hers had done. "Evil was done here, aye. But is this place still so evil? I do not ask you to forget what happened here, but mayhap 'tis time to replace that memory with another."

Elizabeth trembled. She longed to believe him. She longed for it with every fiber of her being! "How?" she whispered.

His eyes darkened. "Let me show you," he said softly. He moved close, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath strike her cheek. Oh, she knew what he was about. Mayhap she had known all along. But now that the moment was upon her, she was plagued with uncertainty. Her hands came up against his chest, not resisting, but not welcoming either. She ducked her head and closed her eyes in mortal shame.

A strangled cry broke from her lips. "Hugh, I— I'm afraid."

His knuckles slipped beneath her chin. "Nay," he whispered. "Not of me, you're not. And I only mean to kiss you, Elizabeth, the merest touch of your lips against mine."

And before she could draw breath, he was there, his mouth on hers, gentle and wooing and far softer than it looked. Elizabeth's eyes flew open in stunned surprise only to drift shut just as quickly.

Her head began to swim. This was more than just the touching of lips, she thought fuzzily. Her pulse clamored wildly. A bone-deep warmth and sweetness swept through her—it seemed to seep from his body into hers—or was it the other way around? Her hands slowly uncurled against the soft wool covering his chest but she made no effort to break off the kiss. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the steady throb of his heart. The pressure of his mouth deepened ever so slightly, and then time ceased to exist.

Long moments later, Hugh released her lips reluctantly. The feel of her body soft and plaint against his unraveled a storm of emotion. Her eyes opened slowly, bemused and smoky and dazed. He wanted to shout with triumph but suspected he did not dare.

He nuzzled the velvet skin at her temple. "We should get back to the keep," he murmured.

It pleased him mightily when the slender arms looped around his neck tightened ever so slightly. "Aye," she agreed, her voice very small. She risked a peek at him from beneath her lashes. "But do you think you might kiss me... just once more?"

His laugh was shaky. Already his head had begun yet another descent. " 'Twould be no hardship, no hardship at all."

And indeed it was not.

Kathryn tried desperately not to dwell on her pregnancy.

Considering how coldly enraged Guy had been when he discovered she was not with child, there was a twinge of dark irony in suddenly finding that she was.

Kathryn was not, however, inclined to laugh about it. Indeed, it was something she tried desperately not to dwell on. She wanted to deny what had happened. She wanted to cry and rage that it was not so. Alas, once again, her body betrayed her. Her breasts grew full and heavy. Her waist thickened, her belly began to round and swell. It would not be long before her condition was blatantly obvious.

The days began to blur, one into another. For the first time in her life, Kathryn found herself floundering, terrified of the future. Guy had warned her not to try to return to Ashbury—the thought of his retribution if she did so made her shiver. Yet he had no feelings for her other than desire. No doubt that would change once he discovered she was with child!

Even Gerda seemed to share her melancholy mood. From her window one day, Kathryn saw Gerda and Sir Michael in the outer bailey—they spoke in low-voiced whispers. Sir Michael laid a hand on her shoulder, while Gerda shook her head over and over, then suddenly broke away. She hurried away as quickly as her hitched gait allowed. Kathryn could not clearly make out Sir Michael's expression but she sensed he was angry.

It was concern for the girl that made Kathryn tentatively broach the subject a short time later. To her surprise, the mere mention of Sir Michael's name was all it took for Gerda to burst into tears.

Kathryn hurried to her side and slipped her arm around Gerda's shoulders. She gave not a thought to the difference in their stations. This was merely one woman reaching out to comfort another.

"Gerda, tell me what’s wrong," she urged. "Has Sir Michael wronged you somehow? Spoken to you harshly perchance?" Secretly Kathryn thought it difficult to picture Sir Michael hurting anyone. For all that he was a knight well versed in the arts of war, Kathryn had come to know him as amicable and seldom without a winsome smile.

Gerda made a choked sound and cried the harder.

Kathryn's mind searched fleetingly backward. She thought of all the days the three of them—and Peter as well—had spent at the stream, and pictured Gerda handing Sir Michael a slice of cheese, a hunk of bread. Sometimes their hands had brushed—or they had shared a fledgling smile. A numbing realization washed over her. How could she have been so blind?

"You're in love with him," she whispered incredulously. "Gerda, you love him!"

"Aye, milady." Gerda sat up with a sniff, wiping away her tears with her fingertips.

Kathryn pressed a dainty lace handkerchief into her hands. "Does Sir Michael know?" she asked quietly. Gerda nodded. Kathryn bit her hp. "And how does he feel about it?"

"He—he says he loves me, too." The girl stared at the handkerchief crushed in her hand. "My lady," she whispered, "he—he says he would marry me."

Kathryn blinked. "But that’s wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Gerda, you should be ecstatic, not sitting here in tears!" She frowned suddenly. "He's not a bounder, is he? He certainly doesn't seem that sort."

Gerda shook her head. "Nay, mistress. He is good and kind and honorable. Indeed," she whispered, "no woman could ask for a better man."

Kathryn was utterly bewildered. "So why aren't you dancing for joy?"

" 'Tis not so simple. ‘Tis not simple at all! I love him, but I—I'll not sully myself by being his mistress." She looked ready to cry again. "And I cannot be his wife."

"But why not, Gerda? I'll admit such a marriage is the exception rather than the rule, but marriage between you and Sir Michael would be recognized by the church."

Gerda swallowed. "The Lady Elaine taught me to hold my head high, to be proud of what I am, lame though I am—" She touched her misshapen leg gently. "—and I fear she taught me far too well, for I, too, have my pride and I'll not let Michael discard his so easily."

When Kathryn frowned, she summoned a watery smile. "He comes from good family. He is not the heir, but his father is still a lord." She shook her head and said sadly, "I cannot erase my humble beginnings. I am the daughter of a villein, and will ever be so. Like my father, I am bound to the earl. Michael's family would never accept me as his wife—never! If he were to marry me, he would be an outcast." She paused, her tone very quiet. "I'll not let him stoop so low, milady. That is why I will not marry him."

And there was no dissuading her, though Kathryn tried her best. In the meantime, summer slipped gently into autumn. Fields ripened to harvest and the household set to work filling the granary and replenishing the larder and cellars with food and drink for the long winter. Plowing began in fallow fields in preparation for the next harvest. The sunlit days grew shorter. They blurred, one into the other.

Never had Kathryn been so utterly miserable.

Nor did she understand why. Hadn't she prayed for the day she would be free of the earl? She had what she wanted. She was rid of his hateful presence! Yet no matter whether she hated him or longed for him, he was always on her mind.

One afternoon in late October found the household much more frantic and busy than usual. In the great hall, Kathryn waylaid one of the maids who had just scurried in from the kitchen. "Everyone is rushing about so," she commented. "What is going on?"

The girl's eyes were wide and shining. "A messenger arrived not an hour ago. The earl will be home on the morrow," she announced.

Not until she was alone in her chamber did Kathryn give in to the turmoil inside her. She sank down upon the bed, beset by a flurry of panic. The moment she had dreaded all these weeks— months!—was nearly upon her. Soon Guy would be home.

A helpless despair descended upon her. Like a clamp it squeezed the very breath from her chest. She moaned, remembering that last night when she had lain in Guy's arms—his tenderness, the storm of passion he ignited in her. His desire had known no bounds that night. He had taken her with a yearning hunger that even now stole her breath. Her hand crept to the gentle mound of her belly. Ah, but would he desire her now? He was strong, virile, and handsome. Undoubtedly he had only to crook his finger to have any number of women falling at his feet. Would such a man want a woman who was no longer slim and desirable? Her heart cried out. Perhaps he had already taken another to his bed!

Her nails dug into her palms but she did not feel the discomfort. How would Guy react when he saw that she was with child? Would he be angry? Indifferent? Would he even care? A wrenching pain ripped through her, even as a horrible notion uncurled in her brain.

What if Guy cast her aside? Where would she go? Ashbury immediately loomed in her mind. Yet how could she face Elizabeth and all those she had known all her life, knowing she carried their conqueror's bastard child? The thought was unbearable.

An icy shroud of despair encircled her heart. She could not return to Ashbury. She could not remain here at Sedgewick. She was the very thing Gerda feared for Sir Michael.

An outcast.

Her eyes squeezed shut in misery. She feared having Guy discover she had fled. But here she was, grown heavy with his child, and she feared facing him in her present condition far more. There was only one way out. She must escape. Flee. Better to do it now, with some small shred of dignity intact, than to have Guy turn her out later.

She left at dawn's first light.

For Guy, every day away from Sedgewick was one too many.

But he was not a man to shirk his duty to his king. Like his grandfather, Henry was determined to bring those lawless barons to heel. One way of doing so was by demolishing their fortresses and restricting the building of new ones. Those that escaped the demolition were dependent upon Henry's goodwill to renew the charter—in some cases Henry added to the royal coffers by levying a fee to the holder.

Guy was one of the more fortunate ones. In return for his loyalty Henry had chosen to retain his earldom and had regranted title to all his holdings. Guy had already ascertained the wisdom to be had in backing the new king.

But there were several Welsh marcher lords and a powerful baron in the Midlands who resisted the order of the new government. Guy was among those involved in Henry's effort to deal with the insurgence.

But at last the threat of rebellion had been squelched. Henry had released him since they were so near Sedgewick, but he was to join his king at Ashbury several days hence.

Now, nearly three months later, Guy reined his destrier to a halt, high atop a hill. A feeling of pride welled up in him as he beheld the mammoth walls surrounding Sedgewick. He regretted that he had so little time at home before he must leave again, but he let himself linger a moment, for the noonday sun was brilliant, the endless stretch of the sky above more brilliant still. A fragrant breeze whispered over the hills and fields and meadows, stirring leaves which had deepened to russet and gold. It was very near here, he mused thoughtfully, on that long-ago spring day that he'd given Kathryn her first glimpse of Sedgewick.

Kathryn.

A black scowl darkened his features. He had hoped that these months away from her would resolve his obsession with her. He chafed inside, knowing that time had not erased his need for her. Indeed, it had only sharpened it.

He had sworn she would be his—and the deed had been well and truly done. He had claimed her, willing and eager for the touch of his hand. Yet he had somehow thought that once she was his, once he'd sampled the mystery and delights her lithe young body had to offer, the allure that held him enthralled would be no more.

But that was not to be, and everything inside him cried out against it.

A brooding mask slipped over his features. Not a single night had passed that he had not fallen asleep thinking of her, dreaming of her. He had tasted those sweet lips bedewed with the wet heat of his; felt the budding crests of her breasts nestled in the crisp furring of his chest as he explored that luscious, satin-and-cream body until he knew it as well as he knew his own. And then he awoke in the morning with her name on his lips, his manhood hard as stone, throbbing like a drum.

His mouth twisted. She was like slow poison, seeping through his blood, clear to his soul. She was a sorceress spawned in hell, with the seductive charms of an angel. If only he could cast off this spell of fever and lust she roused in him—if only he possessed some weapon, some shield against it.

It was a pity he had so little time, he thought again, only now there was a wicked glint in his eye. He was going to satisfy this unbridled craving for Kathryn even if it meant the two of them did not leave his chamber—most assuredly his bed!— the entire length of his stay.

He spurred his destrier and set off again. Aye, he decided with a satisfied smile, he would certainly make the most of what little time he had.

Shouts went up when several of his men spotted him. A small crowd gathered to await him as his destrier pranced beneath the gatehouse and into the bailey. A young groom grinning from ear to ear ran up as Guy dismounted. He flashed a brief grin in return and tossed the reins to the boy.

Sir Edward clapped him heartily on the back. "We had little news of King Henry's campaign. It went well?"

"Well enough." Guy smiled dryly. "But I'm not here for long, I'm afraid. I'm to meet up with Henry and his advisors again in a few days' time. There's talk of invading Ireland." They spoke for several minutes more before Guy entered the great hall.

Gerda, who had just descended the last step, stopped short. A fleeting panic chased across her face. Some innate sense warned him that all was not well. Gerda rushed over and bobbed a curtsy.

"Welcome home, milord," she said breathlessly. " 'Tis glad we are that you are home safely."