Chapter 17

"YOUR PARDON, BOTH OF you," Robin said. "This train of riches will pass us right by if we do not make haste to join with the fellows."

"Indeed, yes!" the Silver Sword said, bowing low to Kat. "My Lady Montjoy. Go home."

"Sir, don't you ever think to command me," she retorted in a low voice of warning.

"Kat, please, I am grateful, as always, for the news you bring me," Robin said. "Now go home, out of harm's way."

But she wasn't listening to Robin. She was still staring angrily at the Silver Sword. The aquamarine color of her eyes had taken on the forest hues, and they seemed to burn a green fire as they touched upon the Silver Sword. "I shall be out of harm's way," she assured Robin.

She was defying them both, determined to stay until she knew the results of the intended assault upon the Prince's men.

Damian leaned low over his horse's neck. "Lady, what would your husband say, to know that you were here? Think of my command as his!"

Did she hesitate, for perhaps just a second? Her chin lifted. "My husband, sir, was not of my choosing, as you well know. No man commands me!"

"I imagine that he thinks he does."

"Then he should think again."

"If we could just discuss this all later—?" Robin suggested.

Indeed, it would have to be discussed later. One of Robin's followers—the giant bandit farmer, a man as big as an old bear, with grizzled whiskers and flashing quick dark eyes, who was curiously known as Little John—came upon them on foot. Despite his size and bulk, he could run like a deer, Damian knew. He'd seen the man in action. He could fight well with a sword and aim an arrow with precision. His greatest prowess, however, was with a staff. He could take on half a dozen men with that weapon, and best them while they still assumed that he was scarcely armed.

"They're coming down the north road!" he informed them quickly. "And wary they are! A guard of near fifty, and armed to the teeth. If we don't take them at the angle in the road, we might well be in difficulty."

"Aye!" Robin said. He looked hard to Damian. "Come, sir, let's ride!"

Damian watched in amazement as Kat spun her horse about, still determined to join in the action. Little John was already leading the way on foot like an ancient Grecian runner. Robin's horse cantered behind him, and Kat would have followed, too.

Damian rode his horse alongside hers, reaching over for her reins. She gazed at him in astonishment, trying to back her mount away from him. "If you don't let go—" she warned him.

"If I don't let go, what?" he demanded heatedly.

She leaned close to him. "I will give my husband your name! I'll let him skewer you right through, hang you by the neck—"

"And he'll hang me, knowing that you're the Lady Greensleeves?"

"Aye!"

"What if I were to slay him?"

Her eyes widened somewhat, and he was maddened to realize that he couldn't read the emotion within them. Would she care if Lord Damian Montjoy were to be slain?

"Let go! I swear, I'll see you hanged myself!"

"And if you don't stop here this instant, I'll tie you to yonder oak!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I would indeed!"

"Robin would have your throat!"

"I think not."

She quickly changed her tactics. "I have no intention of joining in the fray. I am good with a sword, as you know, yet I swear I will risk no swordplay. I just wish to climb high above in the trees with Robin's archers—"

"My lady, the Prince's men will have archers with them as well. And in a tree, you will sit as pretty as a bird to be plucked!"

"Then I will stay behind the rock—"

"You'll stay here."

He saw the sudden stubborn streak in her eyes. She brought a small riding crop down hard on his hand where he held her reins. Surprise caused him to release his hold, and she nearly bolted from him.

She would have made good her escape, had it not been for Lucifer. The well-trained mount stopped her mare from racing forward, blocking the animal's path. And in seconds Damian had dismounted from Lucifer and was dragging Kat down from the mare. She cursed him, trying to flay him anew with the whip, but he was quick and determined. In a matter of seconds, he had her seated before one of the oaks in the copse, and though she hissed and threatened and tried her best to kick and struggle, he bound to the oak with a strip of green cloth ripped from her cloak. He stood then, surveying his handiwork, trying to assure himself that she was securely tied, but not bound so tightly as to cause her pain.

"So this is it!" she hissed, staring at him in fury. Her cloak had fallen back. The heavy abundance of her hair had been braided and knotted at her nape, but dancing tendrils had escaped that severe confinement and now trailed about the delicate beauty of her face.

Delicate! Her eyes were definitely filled with all the fury of Satan. There was nothing delicate about this maid's temper!

"So you would tie me! It is your way, eh? When your commands are not obeyed, when people do not fall down to serve you, you simply use blunt force to tie them up! Fine! I'm here! Is this your only way? Is there anything else you want while I am left so helpless?"

"Lady, a tigress should be so helpless!" he retorted, then felt the impact of her words and didn't know if he wanted to laugh—or to strike her. He started to walk away, but swung back. "Madam, I do not recall propositioning you, while you did your damnedest to sway me from the course of honor that was mine!"

"Course of honor! Why you despicable—thief!" He could have sworn that a glaze of tears touched her eyes. "You took what was offered—and betrayed me!"

"I made no promises!" he assured her roughly. He didn't have time for this. Robin needed him against Prince John's fifty men.

He spent enough of his time as Lord Montjoy dealing with her!

But suddenly he was down upon one knee before her, staring into her eyes. "Was what I did so horrible to you, Katherine? Have you found yourself tormented, tortured, abused? Does he beat you? Abandon you? Is he truly so horrid a person? Are the nights hell on earth? Isn't there the least touch of heaven within any of it?"

Her eyes met his, flaming. Then her lashes fell in a honey-gold sweep over her cheeks. "You still do not understand."

"Does he have warts? Foul breath? What?"

"If anything, sir," she retorted, her eyes meeting his, "he is far too much like you! A Norman version of a Saxon knave!"

He rose then, angry with her, and with himself. What had he expected from her? He needed to take care. Perhaps she would begin to realize just how much they were alike, the Silver Sword and her husband, even if the languages they used were different.

"What do you want out of the man when he has a wife determined on a life of banditry?"

"He knows nothing of my life," she assured him airily.

"Perhaps he should."

Her eyes flew open wide upon him. "You jest! Perhaps he is Richard's man, but if he knew that I brought aid to the infamous Robin Hood …" Her voice trailed away. "If—if he knew who I was, he, too, might become determined that the forest must be cleared of the outlaws."

He felt his jaw tightening like steel. She still thought her husband to be an autocrat, with no sense!

And she was still willing to risk her life and limb out here in the forest! Well, this was her last excursion. He would see to that later.

He bowed to her. "I've no more time. I shall return shortly to free you."

He turned to leave her. She called after him in a fine temper. "And what if you are slain? What if that silver sword is sent flying, and that knave's throat is slashed? What then? Shall I rot here, sir! Damn you! Come back! Let me free!"

He felt a certain satisfaction, leaving her there. A smile curled his lip. He leaped upon Lucifer and nudged his flanks, racing after Robin and John.

He would have to take extra care not to be killed!

Kat listened as the sound of his horse's hooves faded into the sweet-scented air, unable to believe that she found herself in such a predicament. She hadn't meant to join in any fight, but she would have been there, just in case she could have saved some situation. She'd been very good since the day she had run into her husband in the woods. She'd never tried to attack any group of men, but she had stayed with Little John or Will upon occasion, and once she had managed to throw a rock at one of the Prince's men, distracting him long enough for Little John to find his staff, which he had lost.

But things were different now, so it seemed. The Silver Sword had returned.

She looked heavenward, struggling to free her wrists. "I am plagued! That Norman for a husband, this Saxon to wreck what private life remained to me!" There was no answer, and she gritted her teeth. The more she fought the tie he had created, the tighter it became. She felt her temper soar, and she studiously fought her anger. When she calmed it somewhat, she realized that she could fray the fabric by running it along the bark of the tree. Patiently, she began to do so.

Her patience ebbed. She began to curse the Silver Sword to no end. She rested, feeling a trickle of sweat slide along her face despite the chill of the day.

The air seemed very still here. Silent. The trees surrounded her like a green shroud. She could hear birds chirping. The earth beneath her was redolent, damp, soft. No leaves rustled in the stillness. There was a sense of waiting here.

It was a fine situation! What if a wild boar came along? Or a snake. Or worse …

What if her husband were to come riding in the forest with some men? She didn't know where he had gone. He had been quiet and moody and set on his course since he had heard that Richard had been taken prisoner. He had left this morning …

Would he come near here?

She began once again to work her wrists along the bark of the tree, her effort aided by her anger against herself. The fear of a snake or a boar hadn't done it. Thinking that Damian might find her here had sent her into very quick action. It had made her breathless, made her heart pound too quickly.

She was not afraid of him, she assured herself. What more could he do to her? He had taken over her life. He lived in her castle, in her room …

In her bed.

She trembled, and tried not to think of the man. If she was so sworn to despise him, why couldn't she do so with more purpose? Because he was so determined that hating him completely would be futile?

Or because …?

She was finding a greater and greater fascination with the man. He dealt very well with people. Her guard admired him. He had made it a point to meet with and know every man, know his weaknesses and his strengths. He had also gone out among the villeins, and he had seen their work, and even seen to his own satisfaction that the people worked their own small holdings as well as giving their allotted days to their work for the lord and lady of the castle. To Kat's irritation, she had seen a number of the women look to Damian with wonder—and more!—in their eyes. Perhaps he did look like a great lord, tall on his black stallion, regal in his cape, indomitable with his silver eyes and ebony hair. Perhaps …

Perhaps there were even things that were truly admirable about him. His was a good shoulder to rest upon.

Strong. Even when he had been stark naked, she had felt safe from both John and de la Ville behind his back. And then there was the way his lips could touch hers … and touch her flesh. And there was the hot, tensed feel of his muscled flesh beneath her fingertips, and there was the fusion of their bodies …

And there was his temper, and his raw determination, and the way that he saw fit to order her about. So he was a careful enough lover. Tender, nurturing. All to his own end, for he wanted her. Aye, wanted her enough …

Even if she was certain that he sought to make love to a ghost. Alyssa Albright had been the woman he had wanted. Perfect, beautiful, quiet—obedient!—Alyssa.

She bit her lip, sorry, for Alyssa had been a beautiful lady. Always kind. Always caring. And some women might well say that it was better to have a husband in love with a ghost than a husband who carried on numerous affairs.

She didn't know anything about her husband, she reminded herself. She just knew him. The bronze of his shoulders, the dark mat of hair on his chest, the whorl of it that led in a narrowing line to his waist and flared out again at his groin. The tension and ripple of his muscles when he made love to her.

She could care about the man, she thought. Perhaps she did care about him, whether she wished to do so or not. She might never have realized it, had not the Silver Sword warned that he might slay Montjoy. And then she had pictured him. Damian. That warrior's bronzed body, broken and bleeding. The silver eyes closed forever. The proud, handsome face still in death, the sensual lips silenced forever …

A ripple of heat cascaded through her, and her breath caught. In truth, he was not so terrible. In truth, she even looked forward to the nights, to the tempest that lay between them, to the hours held tight and secure while she slept.

Aye, she could easily come to care for him …

Fool! she chastised herself, then grit her teeth. He was the selfsame bastard who had brought his hand down upon her in the forest! But he hadn't known her, hadn't recognized her then. And he never would, never, if only—

If only he never caught her red-handed, tied here to a tree!

Ever more strenuously, she ripped her ties along the bark. Then, to her pleasure and amazement, the fabric ripped through at last. She leaped to her feet, dusting the dirt from her green tunic, cloak, and hose, and rubbing her wrists. She had chafed them in her efforts to free herself, but it had been a pain well worth it!

She hurried to her mare, mounted the animal quickly, and rode through the narrow trail as rapidly as she could. As she neared the main road, she slowed down, her heart quickening as she heard the sounds of a battle engaged. There was no chirping of birds here. The air was alive with the ringing of steel, with the cries of horses, with the shouts of men.

She dismounted from her mare and carefully made her way through the foliage to the side of the road, peering through the bushes and around a clump of rock there.

Robin had set archers in the trees, and those archers had done fair damage. Men-at-arms lay strewn across the road, arrow shafts protruding from their bodies. Some arrows had pierced armor, and some had found the weaknesses of it, catching men through their throats, finding a mark through an eye, or one here and one there at a man's nape.

No one had needed to die, Kat knew. Robin never assaulted a party without first offering men the choice of laying down their arms and departing the forest. He was fair, and yet …

This carnage today seemed awful, for there were so many men!

And so many still engaged in battle!

The wagonloads of goods stripped from the monastery remained in the center of the road, and it was from there that the remaining men formed something of a circle to fight the bandits. And there, hard within the fighting, she saw the Silver Sword, Robin, John, and many of the others.

Beneath golden rays of the sun, with the green of the forest and the beautiful cool cloak of the day, men fought and died. Kat caught her breath with horror as she saw one of Robin's men, little Nat of Huntingdon, fall down as he was struck from behind by one of Prince John's men. He fell forward, eyes opened and glazed, and died there.

That same fierce guard hurried onward, wielding his sword. Even as she watched, he neared Robin's back.

Her cousin did not see him. He was engaged with the two swordsmen who harried him from the front. "Robin!" she shouted, leaping to her feet. She raced forward, entirely forgetting herself and her own safely.

She drew the sword she had carried at her side—for defensive purposes only—and thrust her way between the mounted man and Robin. The Prince's guard raised his sword against her. She met it coolly with her own. The clash of the steel reverberated all the way down her arm. The man was mounted, which added weight and pressure to his strikes against her.

"Kat!" Robin dispatched one man battling him and tried to come to her aid, but the other rushed him. Kat's hood fell back from her face and the guard whistled, and laughed. "Have at it, friends! A woman! A woman fights for the bandits! What have we here? Come, help me!"

She was suddenly encircled. No one dared come too close at first, for she was amazingly talented with her father's light sword, and sliced many an arm that came too near. But the men were all mounted. They were pressing her down the road, away from Robin. Away from help.

And finally, a deft blow from a fresh opponent sent her weapon falling to the ground. She cried out as the first guard drove his horse closer against her, sweeping her up. "It's Lady Montjoy!" someone called out. "Take her, take her alive! What a reward from Montjoy there will be!"

"Ho, to find his lady, here in the forest? More like he'll be ready to slay the messenger of this bad news!" cried another.

Kat fought the gauntleted hands that held her. She leaned forward, biting hard at the fingers that laced around her. The man cried out, but shifted his hold.

"We'll not get her out of the forest for a reward or any other prize at all," a visored guard told her tormentor, "unless we can escape this forest!"

"She will be our passage from here," the one who held her claimed. He caused his horse to rear and spin back to the action. "Robin! Robin Hood! We have a woman here. One who cried your name. Let us pass through here freely, else I'll slit her throat this minute, I swear it!"

All the clanging of steel stopped.

There was a silence in the forest, like nothing that Kat had heard before. The air itself seemed still.

"Drop your sword, bandit!" the guard commanded again. He quickly drew a dagger from a sheath at his calf, and pressed the razor-sharp blade to Kat's throat. She scarcely dared to breathe.

Robin stepped from the midst of the melee, standing before them. He paused, looking at her, and looking at the man.

"Don't!" she gasped. "Don't throw your sword down, Robin! He won't do it! He dares not kill me. Montjoy will have his throat—"

"Montjoy will never know when I have slain you, my beauty!" the man claimed. "If I don't escape this forest to live, it will make little difference to me! Lay down your sword. I leave here—with her!"

Silence reigned again. Silence in which the cool air seemed to shiver.

Then suddenly, a voice rang out. "Halt!" It was the Silver Sword.

Mounted upon his black horse, he walked the beast up behind Robin. He had strung an arrow in a bow. With deadly intent, he aimed it at the guard.

"Like bloody hell, sir!" he called. "Free her this second, or you are a dead man!"

"My blade is at her throat—"

"And my arrow is aimed at your eye!"

"I'll kill her!"

"Last chance!"

And it was the man's last chance. Kat felt his fingers tremble, felt the blade move against her flesh. Felt a trickle of blood …

Then she heard a whizzing sound against the stillness of the air. Then a horrible impact.

And she screamed. The knife fell away from her throat. The fingers that had fastened upon her loosened.

The man fell from the horse, dragging her along with him. She fell upon his chest, and stared with mounting horror at the arrow that protruded from his eye. She started to scream again, to scream and scream, totally unaware that swords were clanging in the forest again.

She tried to free herself from the body of the dead guard. Her cloak was caught beneath him.

Strong arms suddenly plucked her up, wrenching her garment free. Her teeth chattering, she gazed at the mail-masked face of the Silver Sword.

"Jesu!" she whispered.

"Death is seldom pretty," he told her sternly, and whistled for his horse. The obedient black stallion trotted up, and the Silver Sword mounted the horse, then reached for her, lifting her up behind him.

The fighting was near finished, Kat saw. Two-thirds of the guard were dead. The few remaining men were throwing down their swords and pleading for mercy.

Robin would grant it, Kat knew. Yet a shivering was stealing over her. When they fled the forest, they would bring tales with them. Tales about her having been here. Prince John would know.

Her husband would know.

Yet no one but she seemed aware of her predicament at the moment. The survivors of the guard were being tied, their wrists together behind their backs, and then the lot of them bound in a row together. And Robin and his men were opening the goods in the wagons, dragging them out, and commenting on the treasures they discovered. "Ah, now look at this cross! Have you ever seen such shimmering gold? There'll be no King John while good Richard lives, even if he does abide in captivity!" Robin cried. "This cross will help pay that fee to bring him back, eh, my lads?"

There was suddenly a startled scream from deep within one of the wagons.

"What new prize is this?" Robin demanded.

Little John pulled on a slender, blue-linen-clad arm. A woman fell from the wagon, and into his arms.

She was dark-haired and very beautiful, with deep, haunting dark eyes.

And she spit at Little John, and then at Robin, who stood atop the second wagon, looking down at her.

Kat was startled to see that her cousin had gone very white.

"How dare she spit at Robin!" Kat exclaimed. But Robin didn't hear her, nor did the woman.

"Aye!" the Silver Sword commented. "How amazing for a woman to abuse the very man who would rescue her!"

She slammed her elbow back against him, then listened hard, for Robin was speaking to the dark-haired beauty.

"Well, mistress, how nice to see you again," Robin said.

"So you are the bandit," she replied.

"That I am," Robin said, and bowed stiffly.

"And these mongrels are your men."

"I do take exception!" Little John exclaimed.

"They are my men, and you, Marian, are their prisoner, just as you are mine," Robin said.

"You make war upon your own people!" Marian exclaimed.

"These ‘mongrels' are our people," Robin said flatly.

"We've work to do," another man reminded him softly.

"Oh, aye! Please pardon my distraction, my gentle friends!" Robin said. "Meet the Lady Marian, daughter of Sir Matthew Wheeler of Wiltshire—and, until she discovered that I was not popular among the court of Prince John, my betrothed!"

Kat gasped softly, having been unaware that Robin had ever been betrothed. But it had seemed years now that he had held this curious position as prince of the forest thieves. Surely it had been some time since this alliance had been broken.

But neither Marian nor Robin seemed to have forgotten anything that had passed between them. They watched each other now in a way that seemed to cause sparks to rise from the forest floor.

Suddenly the Silver Sword was twisting in his saddle to set Kat down upon the ground. She stared at him in astonishment and he explained quickly, "I think I had best step in here."

And he left her there, in the roadway, and urged his black stallion forward. "Robin!" he called, breaking something that had seemed to hold them all prisoner. "I will take Lady Marian to camp, and you may finish with this business here. Lady Marian, if you will come with me, you will be a guest here, never a prisoner."

And to Kat's wonder, the woman accepted the hand that the Silver Sword offered her. He lifted her up easily and sat her behind him. He raised a hand in salute to Robin, turned his mount, and began to ride.

He paused before Kat, staring down at her. The dark-haired girl, Marian, did likewise, watching her curiously.

"You, I will deal with later!" the Silver Sword warned her.

She gritted her teeth, watching the man go. A flurry of emotion was invoked within her. Anger, irritation …

Jealousy.

Nay …

She breathed deeply. Once again, the man had come to her rescue.

But then he had deposited her on the ground to sweep up another woman.

One whom Robin seemed to love, Kat speculated, studying her cousin. For Robin was watching the Silver Sword ride away with the dark-haired beauty, and it seemed that he wore his heart upon his sleeve. "See to these!" Robin said to Little John, and jumped down from the wagon. He called to a lean handsome man named Will to look after the prisoners, and started to walk down the road.

Kat hurried after him. She followed him for several minutes before he even realized that she was there. Then he turned to her in surprise. "Kat! My good Lord, Kat! You've got to get home." He hugged her suddenly. "Do you know how close you came to death today? What manner of man am I that I cannot control my own kinfolk? I've begged you—"

"Robin! That bastard would have slain you had I not been there!"

Robin inhaled sharply and paused. Then he exhaled slowly. "Aye, 'tis true. But I'd not have my life over yours, Katherine."

"Robin, in truth," she said ruefully, "your life is the more valuable of the two."

"Never. And you're married now, Kat. This has got to end. Can you imagine what might have happened if—if you had been killed?" He reached out and touched her throat, showing her the thin trickle of blood that touched his fingers.

Kat trembled. "Things worked out."

"But what of these men, Kat? Would you have me slay them all? When I release Prince John's men, they will carry back tales. And they recognized you."

"Perhaps I can speak with them. Perhaps—perhaps they can be persuaded to join you! Prince John will hardly be pleased if they return without his treasure!"

"Perhaps," Robin said. He was worried. He was trying to be attentive.

His mind was elsewhere.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about her?" Kat asked him softly.

He shook his head. "There was nothing to tell. Richard had just become King. We were in love. But then Richard rode to the Crusades, I was here when one of John's favorite noblemen nearly beheaded a peasant for taking a deer. I killed him, and the legend was born. And it was suspected that I was the bandit. Then John had more and more power …" He sighed. "Perhaps I'm not being fair. Marian's father died. He was a small land owner, a remnant of our own Saxon nobility. It probably had seemed a wise move to leave her under the protection of John Plantagenet." His voice hardened. "Or maybe she wanted his power herself, I don't know. She broke the betrothal when it was scarcely made. There was never anything to tell you."

"She spit at you," Kat said indignantly.

"I am outside the law, Kat." He paused, watching her. "As are you. Why didn't you go home, as I told you!"

She didn't reply. They both heard the sounds of horse's hooves coming along the dirt and stone road. They turned.

He was coming upon them. The Silver Sword.

The beautiful Marian no longer rode behind him.

"Robin!" the man called to him. "I have left Marian with your friend, the good friar. I believe she is somewhat reconciled to a lengthy stay in the forest. I will return, but I had thought perhaps I should take the Lady Greensleeves home."

"Home!" Kat exploded. "I cannot go home, Robin. Not now. What if these men talk—"

"They will not talk," the Silver Sword said softly.

"But—?"

"They are not leaving the forest. Twelve men lived—and twelve men wished to continue doing so," he said. "They have joined forces with you, Robin, and they are well aware that any betrayal of Katherine would be a betrayal of you. You will go home," he said firmly.

She turned to her cousin. "Robin, I—"

"You must do as he says, Kat."

She gritted her teeth and walked to stand by the flanks of the Silver Sword's ebony-dark horse. "A betrayal of me is a betrayal of Robin? My, I wonder if he is aware that his best friend, the noble Silver Sword, was more than willing to betray me!"

He reached down without a word, wrenching her up before him.

Surely Robin would protest!

But Robin's mind was not with them. He was staring in the direction of his base camp. He didn't say goodbye to her.

He didn't even realize that she was leaving as the Silver Sword nudged the huge black and moved them into one of the narrower forest trails.

"I have my own horse, you know," she said stiffly.

"I know. She's wandered off somewhere. We'll find her."

"I can make my own way home."

"I think that I will just see to that."

"Ah. Your mind is occupied now, too, I see," she said softly. He didn't respond. She added, "With the wondrous Lady Marian!"

The black stallion was abruptly reined in. "Why, my lady! It seems that you are jealous."

"It seems that seduction is part of your style."

He chuckled softly, and dismounted from the black, pulling her down and into his arms. Kat gasped, suddenly frightened. She had been jealous, she realized.

And how horrid. Just hours before she had been feeling curious twinges of jealousy where her husband was concerned …

She was legally wed to the man. And she slept nightly in his arms. She awakened to his touch.

She felt her flesh burning.

"My lady!" the Silver Sword said, "what would you think if you knew that I had been obsessed with you, day and night, night and day, ever since our meeting?"

She tried to draw back from him. "I would say that you were a liar. You are ever eager to see me made a prisoner—"

"Nay, lady. I wished only to see that you were safe."

"And to receive a reward from Montjoy? Tell me, did my husband ever reward you? After all, it was work well done!" There was sarcasm to her tone. She didn't wish to be this close to him. He and Damian were of a size. Both were reckless, demanding. She even imagined that they touched the air with the same subtle masculine scent.

"I had my reward that night," he said hoarsely.

"Let me go!" she whispered.

But he was suddenly very intense. "So, is there a glimmer of happiness in that wretched home of yours? Yet you are so willing to run away from it!"

"These are my people—"

"Your father was a Norman lord!"

"And a very special, unique man!"

"So you've no desire to go home—not to a Norman lord. But what of the man, my lady?"

"I don't—I don't know what you mean!" Perhaps she did. Perhaps she understood his persistence exactly. But there was nothing that she was willing to say to him. She couldn't begin to explain that she hated her husband less and less as the days went by. She couldn't explain that she even looked forward to the nights. That she felt safe in his arms. She couldn't explain that he was clever and fascinating, and that she just might be falling …

In love.

No. She could never explain that. She would never love a Norman baron, not really. And especially not the Norman baron who had caught and spanked her in the forest! The same one who had taken over her life.

The one who came to her at night with such passion, while loving the ghost of Alyssa Albright.

"He is my—"

"Your what?" To her amazement, the Silver Sword shook her shoulders. Hard. And she swallowed, alarmed at what she felt for him, too.

"He is my enemy."

"He is Richard's man, I swear it."

"He is—Norman."

Was there some curious disappointment in him? His next question was sharp. "Then what of me, my lady. I am not your enemy. And I swear to you, I have thought of nothing but you!"

What was this curious persuasion of his? She felt so tempted to touch him. The passion in his voice was real. Did he truly taunt her?

Or did he truly want her?

She shook her head. Her lashes fell.

"I thought that you hated him."

"I—I do," she said. But it was a weak whisper. There was no truth to the words.

"Then?"

She lifted her hands. "He—he is my husband," she said softly.

The Silver Sword was silent. Then he turned her around by her shoulders and she saw that her mare was grazing just feet away, beneath a large shade tree.

"Go home," he said softly. Then his voice hardened. "And stay there, my lady! For I promise you, the next time I tie you to a tree, it will be with rope, and you will be there—away from trouble!—when I return for you. And lady, trust me, it will not be with gentle words again!"