Chapter 3

Autumn 1192

In the Reign of King Richard, Coeur de Lion

Castle de Montrain

" RIDERS, MY LADY. COMING from the east."

From the herb cellar, in the deepest section of the castle keep, Lady Katherine de Montrain, Countess of Ure—Kat to her friends—looked up at the guard with wary curiosity. She was tempted to leap up and fly along the multitude of stairs to the parapets high above the enclosure of the handsome castle that was her birthright, but then again, she was determined that she would remain calm and serene. As the countess, she was trying very hard to nurture a reputation of being a poised and composed lady, the perfect chatelaine. In keeping with that calling, she had been spending the day in her larders and cellars, seeing to supplies for the coming winter.

Riders, of course, would change all the assessments she had just made. Courtesy demanded that she entertain any nobleman, priest, or pilgrim who came seeking hospitality—any man, or lady, and all of that person's retainers.

And these days, one just never knew who might ride in.

"What colors do they wear?" she inquired.

"It is the Prince who comes, my lady."

"God's blood!" she swore, then quickly gritted her teeth. She had been trying very hard to control her language lately. The Lady Katherine de Montrain should not swear so—not as a common bandit might do.

She glanced quickly to Marie Ostout, her maid and companion. Marie was ten years her senior, a round and determined woman with dark hair, clear blue eyes, and wonderful cherry-red cheeks to enhance them.

Marie never minded when her lady slipped into less than courtly language. She grinned now, wickedly pleased.

"Well, then, there goes the whole of the larder!" Marie commented flatly.

Kat stood quickly, wiping her hands nervously along the plain apron she had slipped over her good linen tunic to keep it clean. It was a beautiful garment, dyed a soft blue, a gown that was gracefully fitted to her breasts and torso, with a long skin that swept in heavier folds to the floor. The sleeves were wide from the elbow to the wrist, wide and sweeping, and fine embroidery decorated both the neckline and the hems of the sleeves.

In keeping with the fashionable dignity of her position, Kat had her hair neatly plaited, with the plaits drawn into coils at the back of her head. A veil that matched the color of her gown fell over the abundance of her hair, held to her crown within the delicate circle of a finely crafted gold band. All she had to do to greet her company was cast off her apron.

Yet even as she did so, she turned to Marie, the wildness in her eyes belying any pretense of the poised young noblewoman.

"You know the Prince," she said. "He will have friends with him. And they will want to hunt. And the King's forest lies just beyond our doors." She didn't need to say the words aloud. Both women knew that she was longing to find some excuse that could be given to the Prince for her absence. She was anxious to get into the forest.

"There is no choice. You will have to greet the Prince," Marie said simply.

Kat hesitated, then nodded. She doffed the apron at last, nodding to the young guard who had come to inform her of John's coming. "We are ready for the Prince. The bridge is lowered?"

"Aye, lady."

"Then we are ready. Marie, hurry to the kitchens, and see that they are prepared. The Prince and his retainers will surely want to hunt, but we'll greet them first with wine, and perhaps some of those pastries that young Howard makes so very well. Aye, those, and some of the salted fish, I think, and whatever fruit we've managed to obtain. Go on now, quickly. I will be waiting in the main hall."

Marie was clicking her teeth. "Winter comes," she stated flatly. "Give away our fruit now—"

"Marie, Prince John comes our way."

"Prince John the thief comes our way!" Marie snorted.

"All the more I need give him what he seeks before he takes it," Kat muttered. "And hold your tongue. I've heard that he does not deal lightly with those who condemn him."

"And to think England used to be a place where men obeyed the law!"

"Some men still do—"

"Nay, now there's a lie!" Marie stated. "Those who would follow the law have resorted to being against it, and that's a fact."

Kat gripped her by the shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. "Marie! Within these walls we do not say such things. You know that well! Now help me. Get on to the kitchen and see what aid you can give Howard."

Marie sniffed again, then walked on by, Kat, muttering beneath her breath despite any words from her mistress.

"'Tis bad enough when friends come to eat one out of house and home, I daresay. But when the larder must be emptied for the likes of the Prince, well then it is a sorry world."

Kat watched Marie with a mixture of amusement and worry. Then she followed her up the stairs that wound their way to the great hall.

Hers was truly a fine castle—Castle de Montrain, named for her great-grandfather who had come from Normandy with William the Conqueror to subjugate England. William had sent his own architects to help the baron he had chosen to reward for his fine services, and it was both a worthy defensive work, and a very livable one.

The castle was walled and sat within a moat. There were three main towers to the place, one holding armaments and armor and the men to use them, another being a storehouse and granary with guest apartments above them, and the third being the living quarters for the family in attendance, with a great hall on the ground level, just above the cellars for food storage for the family—and for the guests who sought shelter and nourishment on their travels to and fro, for the castle was located in the north of England, close to the old Roman roads travelers used frequently when visiting York or the vicinity.

It had been built at a time when Duke William had just become King William, when the new Norman aristocracy had lived with a certain fear that the old Anglo-Saxon aristocracy might well seek to oust them from their positions of grandeur.

Such an overthrow did not occur, perhaps because the English people lost heart, perhaps because of destiny.

Or perhaps because the Saxons did, in their way, encroach upon the Normans. Kat's great-grandfather had married a dispossessed Saxon's daughter, and their son had married a lady from Anjou. Kat's father had been the only male child of that marriage, and he had married the very beautiful Elysa of Sherwood, a Saxon girl left with no land and little dowry, but a woman still so renowned that many landed lords had vied for her hand.

Kat's father had told her that he had heard her mother singing in the forest. He had paused in his riding and followed the sound of her voice. He had seen her by a stream, stripped of hose and shoes, bathing her toes in the clear running waters. The sound of her voice had tied a silken cord about his heart, and no one could tell him that he could not have her.

Not even the damsel herself.

"It was rough going at first, for she was determined to have no Norman lord," Kat's father had said. And in the telling, Kat's mother had smiled, and added her own version of the story. "I pretended not to know a word of his Norman French. And I made him learn to speak our Saxon English so that he could ask for my hand in person. But then he did so with such great ardor, and so very well! And I was cleanly swept off my feet!"

When their eyes fell upon one another, their love was evident, and Kat had been delighted. She had spun her own fairy tales about singing in the forest while a knight in beautiful shining armor rode by, only to fall desperately in love with her.

But it seemed that a love like her parents' was doomed to be found only in heaven. She had barely reached her teens when the two had died nearly simultaneously, taken by the horror of the yellow fever that ravished the entire area. Kat herself caught the fever but survived it, only to discover that she had been left as the ward of Henry II. Then, within a few years, she found herself under the protection of the new king, Richard, Coeur de Lion. Either because Richard Plantagenet had always respected his mother, Eleanor, therefore believed that a woman could manage a castle just as well as any man, or because he hadn't had any need to bargain her away, Richard had left her in charge of Castle de Montrain, believing that he would make no moves regarding her or her properties without consulting her. And that, Kat knew well, was far more than any young noblewoman dared hope. From the stairway she hurried to the front door of the great hall, a door that opened to a small covered courtyard that faced the drawbridge to the moat. The Prince had already crossed over the bridge with his retainers and servants. He dismounted from his horse as she watched, and strode the rest of the way to the main door to the tower keep.

"Lady Katherine! I do hope that I have not come at an inconvenient time."

She forced a smile to her lips. "Why, Prince John! There is no inconvenient time to greet a royal guest, my lord."

"Well and beautifully spoken." John applauded, stripping off his riding gloves. Having reached her, he caught her hand and gallantly kissed it. She forced herself not to shudder.

There was nothing really evil about John, she reminded herself. He was just such a paler version of his brother! He was not so tall, or so golden. His height was medium, his hair was a dark sand to brown color, and his eyes were not as vividly blue as his brother's, rather a paler, watered-down version. But he was cunning and quick-witted.

"Well, so come in, Your Grace," Kat murmured, backing her way into the hall. She looked beyond his shoulders, trying to ascertain which of his followers had accompanied him.

First there came Father Donovan, a curious priest if ever there were one. He was a tall, lean, handsome man with a startling brightness to his eyes. Though he could rattle out a fiery sermon on the duty of man and how goodness and chastity must rule life, Kat found it difficult to believe that he adhered to any vows of celibacy himself. She did not like the way he watched her.

"My lady," he greeted her, seeming exceptionally amused and cheerful today.

Beyond the priest came Lord Gerald Mortimer, the son of the great Earl Latimer, a youth whose greatest sin seemed to be in his intense desire to have fun at all times and all costs. He had platinum-blond hair and twinkling hazel eyes. He, too, greeted Kat with a wolfish grin, and she became very uneasy, wondering at their true purpose in coming here.

Then the last of John's company left his horse to his squire, coming through the overpass to the keep doorway.

He was taller than the others, more striking than the others—more frightening than the others.

Raymond de la Ville. Evil. Like father, like son.

She hated the man with an intensity that had grown throughout the years. She could never look at him without remembering that long-ago time when she had ridden into the woods with her father.

She could not look at him without seeing the poor peasant lad screaming, falling to the ground. Without seeing blood.

De la Ville …

He had neatly clipped dark hair and a well-defined, clean-shaven, square-jawed face. It should have been an attractive face, except that the excesses he lived by already showed too clearly in it.

There was more to the evil about him than her remembrances. The sight of de la Ville could make many women shiver. No knight in the realm had so horrid a reputation.

It was said that he had already killed one wife, and no one knew just how many peasant maids he had ruined, tormented, or killed.

Like the excesses he lived by, his penchant for cruelty was very much alive in his face.

"My Lord de la Ville!" Kat forced herself to say. She was certainly safe enough for the moment. John couldn't let anything bad happen to her while he was a guest in her house. Richard might forgive much, but he would never forgive his brother for letting any harm come to her while he was present. Also, men who might side with Prince John would rise against him if he harmed one of the country's major heiresses, who was Richard's own ward.

But what was this visit then? She had never willingly entertained de la Ville. On the few occasions when he and his men had sought rest or hospitality here, she had defied all propriety, leaving some excuse for her absence and vacating her home while he and his men were present. "Lady Kat … ah, Kat is what your friends call you, is it not?" de la Ville said, catching her hand and placing a small kiss upon it.

She withdrew her hand as quickly as she could. "Aye, my lord. It is what my friends call me." She stressed the word friends.

De la Ville smiled slightly, pleased by the challenge.

"I intend, my lady, that we should be very good friends."

Her heart seemed to shudder violently as she realized with absolute horror what this visit was all about.

Dear God. She could have been ill right then and there. De la Ville had decided that he wanted her.

Could she ignore the reference? She intended to!

She turned from him without an answer, sweeping into the great hall where already wine had been poured in the appropriate number of goblets and where delicacies for the guests had begun to appear on the long table. "Wine, my lords?" Kat asked them. "Surely you are thirsty from your ride. Has it been a long one?" She offered John a charming smile, trying to remember that she had a role to play, no matter what.

"Not so long. We have been at de la Ville's, and came here hastily from there. But your wine cellar always seems stocked with the very finest, Katherine, and your cooks create the best tasting food. What is it that you have here, something magic?"

"Not at all magic. We're just always pleased to see you, Your Grace, and nothing more."

"Um," John murmured, his eyes on her. For a moment, they were marked with suspicion.

Gerald Mortimer pulled a chair from the banquet table, sat down, and stretched his legs out comfortably before him.

"There's the best hunting in the forest here, too, you know. And with Raymond's place so near … why, your properties nearly touch, did you know that, Kat?"

"Oh, aye, I was aware," she murmured. "So are you planning on some hunting?"

Mortimer began to chuckle, swallowing down a large portion of the wine that Kat had just given him. "Oh, aye, we're out for anything that moves, snarls, or runs!"

"Man or beast?" Kat said lightly.

"And woman, perhaps," Father Donovan remarked, every bit as lightly. "Of course, I shall not join the hunt, lady. I'll wait here with you."

"But we'll be back for supper this eve, my lady," John said, setting down his silver goblet. "Supper, and matters of importance. We thought we'd give fair warning."

"They shall be delighted in the kitchen to prepare for your coming," Kat murmured to the Prince, anxious for them to leave. So Donovan was staying. To keep an eye on her?

De la Ville was behind her. She felt his presence with a great unease.

"It will be a day for acquisitions."

"How glad I shall be for you!" Kat said, swirling around. "Something to cheer you. Why, my lord, 'tis what, now? Not a year since your lovely wife left this earth for the promise beyond?"

Anger flashed in his eyes. "Indeed, Isabel is gone now."

"No man should live alone," Father Donovan intoned gravely.

"Amen—and let's be on our way!" John said. He slapped his riding gloves against his thighs. "Tell your people to make pleasing desserts, Katherine, for the meat we will bring back fresh. That is, of course, if the local peasantry hasn't robbed the forest of all good kills!"

"I would imagine not," Kat murmured uneasily.

"I imagine it might well be so!" Gerald Mortimer exclaimed. "Lady Katherine, I cannot believe that you have not heard of all the activity hereabouts. Why, the forest here is alive with outlaws and bandits. Numerous parties traveling through well-known trails have been stopped and stripped of their belongings."

"The tales reach out to all of England," the Prince said irritably, "and I am sure that they are grossly exaggerated. You have heard something of them, have you not, Katherine?"

"I have heard stories, Your Grace."

John moved closer to her, watching her eyes. "These woods must actually breed bandits. There is some man they call Robin Hood. And another with the silly name of the Silver Sword, though perhaps he is dead, for he has not been heard of in some time. Have you heard anything of him?"

"The Silver Sword?" Kat repeated, relieved. She didn't need to lie. "I haven't the least idea of who it might be, Your Grace. I swear, before the Holy Father high above us!"

A fist suddenly swung hard upon the table. "Robin Hood, Silver Sword! They must be rooted out! Hanged before the people. Drawn and quartered."

"And the other. The one they call Greensleeves," Gerald Mortimer said glumly. "I have had my men robbed oft enough while trying to bring some of my tenants' taxes and goods through this forest! 'Tis said that this lad Greensleeves is the eyes and ears of the outlaw Robin Hood."

"Ah, I should like to discover this Greensleeves myself!" de la Ville said. "'Tis said that it is Lady Greensleeves, and no lad. If so, I imagine that I could deal with her well."

Chills shot along Kat's spine. "I can see that you quite imagine that you could," she said coolly. "Perhaps, Your Grace," she told the Prince, "you prefer not to hunt in the forest here. We've plenty of meat to entertain you, your party, and even your servants beyond the doors."

"Nonsense! I am the Prince! I will hunt!" John assured her, striding for the door, determined on his course of action.

"As you say, Your Grace," Kat returned.

Gerald Mortimer grinned at her, causing the chair to screech against the floor as he rose, quick to follow John.

Raymond de la Ville stared at her for a long moment, then reached out to touch her cheek.

"It will be a day for acquisitions," he repeated, as if reiterating a promise.

"Happy hunting, my Lord de la Ville," she said coolly, and stepped back.

When they were gone, having caused a mass of confusion as they shouted for their squires, pages, and horses, Kat turned back to Father Donovan.

"Please, make yourself at home. If the Prince is returning this evening, I think I'd like some time to bathe and rest and dress. Will you forgive me if I leave you alone?"

His lip curled. "My lady." He bowed to her. "I will be sitting in the hall, warmed by your fire, and by your mead. Watching and waiting for your return."

She smiled, dropped him a formal curtsy, and left him. She hurried up the spiraling stairway that led to her room high in the tower.

Marie had come there before her. "What are they up to now?" she asked anxiously.

"I have to move quickly, Marie. The Prince has already left with de la Ville and Mortimer. They plan on hunting. Anything that moves. They've left Donovan below in the hall. To see that I can't leave."

"Maybe you shouldn't leave," Marie warned her.

"Nonsense," Kat said. "Of all days, I have to leave! I have to make sure that no man is hunting in the forest, and no poor maid is walking somewhere alone." She paused, shivering fiercely. How odd that de la Ville was here now. De la Ville—he had helped shape her into all that she was.

Maybe it was dangerous to go out now. Had they been suspicious of her? she wondered. She tried to remember every word of the conversation. Nay … they did not suspect her. Father Donovan was staying below as a guard just because de la Ville wanted her there this time when he returned.

She had already stripped off her golden circlet and veil. The blue overgown came sliding over her head then, followed by her soft white undertunic. Seeing Kat's intent and that she was half-naked and shivering already, Marie muttered and dove beneath the down ticking of Kat's bed for a bundle tied in cloth. Therein lay a rough wool tunic in deep forest-green and a cape and cowl to match.

In a matter of seconds, Kat had redressed, the great cowl falling well over her face to hide her identity from any man or woman who might come upon her.

"This is awfully dangerous," Marie moaned.

"What will he do?" Kat said recklessly, referring to Prince John. "Hang me?"

"He might well," Marie muttered unhappily.

Kat shook her head. "For one, he will never catch me," she assured Marie.

"You were almost caught once," Marie reminded her warningly. "You told me so yourself."

Kat paused, startled as she felt a distant fear surge into her blood.

Damian Montjoy. Aye, he'd nearly had her! She'd love to give Montjoy one good punch. Right in the jaw. Just one. To pay him back for the awful humiliation in the forest. Nay, perhaps a sound slap to his cheek.

Robin, who had rescued her from the Knave, claimed that Montjoy hadn't recognized her, had, in fact, taken her for a peasant girl! The man infuriated her and frightened her, she had to admit as she recalled the strange way he had made her shiver and then burn when he touched her.

She reminded herself that Damian Montjoy was far, far away, fighting in the Holy Lands with the King. She had nothing to fear.

"I've got to go!" she said quickly to Marie. She kissed her impulsively on the cheek. "I won't be long."

"Will you take your sword?"

Kat shook her head, still remembering that long-ago encounter with Montjoy. Robin had been furious. She had played the" bandit in truth several times before, but successfully, all of them. But since her encounter with Montjoy, she knew that Robin would truly disavow any further relationship with her if he caught her carrying arms again. He'd made her promise that her only role in the affairs of the forest would be that of an informant.

"Nay, I'll give a quick warning and be back."

Marie, distressed, still walked with her across the tower bedroom, where they came to what appeared to be mortared stone. But Kat pressed against the third lowest stone to the ground, and the wall itself seemed to shift back, creating a door.

Kat entered into darkness, but she knew her way just as she knew the back of her hand.

The steps spiraled down, and then a tunnel ran through the width of the moat, and into the forest.

The tunnel let out where nature kept its secret, just at the overgrown falls to a wide, bubbling brook. Kat slipped from behind the wall of water and foliage to look back at her castle, smiling with a certain wicked pleasure.

Donovan would still be there, smugly waiting for her to try to pass him.

Her pleasure, however, was short-lived, for with de la Ville in the forest, anything could happen. She turned, and started running through the narrow paths between the trees, seeking the point where she knew she would find one of her cousin's lookouts posted.

She had not traveled far before she heard a heartrending and anguished cry tear through the forest. She paused and heard the cry again. Changing her course slightly, she started to run.

The villagers of Willow Wood were not far beyond. They owed homage to her. Farmers, they tilled the land, raised sheep and cattle, and lived a simple life, loving and fearing God, looking to her for justice.

"I shall skewer de la Ville myself!" she muttered, panting as she raced along. But what would happen if she did come upon some outrageous scene? The Prince would have her dragged away for aiding and abetting outlaws. He could imprison her, and perhaps convince a number of the Norman barons that he was entirely in the right.

She nearly burst out into a clearing but held back, biting her lower lip.

Just ahead were the men who had so recently sat in her hall.

Prince John and Mortimer were to one side.

De la Ville had found some prey. Feminine prey. A young girl.

She couldn't have been more than fifteen, pretty, dressed in rough wool, her face slightly smudged.

Her dark eyes were enormous, and her cheeks had gone pale white. She was as terrified as any young doe hunted down in the forest.

Only does were usually quickly slain. Their terror was brought to an end.

Not so with this girl.

Her hands were tied together. Now he had called to his squire and his page, and the two young men had caught hold of the girl and were wrestling her to the ground for de la Ville.

The girl tried to bite one of them.

De la Ville laughed. Then, when she would have screamed, he slapped her face, hard.

Kat nearly jumped up. She had to go out there! she thought desperately. She had to! The girl was dependent on her. She could stop this outrage.

Or could she? What would the men do if they realized that she had stumbled upon their play? Would they wrestle her to the ground, too? They dare not! She was a countess—

And an outlaw.

She couldn't suddenly jump in among them.

She would give herself away.

Even as she sat, desperately trying to drum up some strategy, the forest was suddenly rent with a bloodcurdling cry. She wasn't sure of the sound at first, only that it seemed like some battle cry.

Then a horseman bore down upon the Prince's party.

The coal-black steed raced with such speed and fury that he nearly seemed to be a blur. The rider was encased in a silver mesh mail that covered his face and head as protection, as well as his torso, neck, shoulders, and arms. A dark gray emblemless tunic lay over the mail. He wore a black cloak that swirled around him, seeming to ride the air like the smoke that followed fire and lightning, rippling in his wake.

His sword rose high toward the heavens, cutting a silver slash across the sky.

De la Ville turned around to meet the threat and saw the rider. Astonishment filled his face at first. Then he realized the deadly intent of the rider. And for once, naked fear burst starkly into his dark eyes.

The rider meant to ask no questions and give no quarter.

De la Ville thrust himself behind his young squire to allow the youth to take the sword blow intended for him.

The rider saw the change in time and seemed to choose not to slay the squire. Perhaps he had never intended to slay de la Ville, but rather to threaten him and demand the release of the girl.

It didn't matter. They would never know. The horseman suddenly sheathed his sword. An expert rider, he managed to maintain his saddle as he reached down to the ground and swept up the peasant girl, placing her before him on the saddle.

The horse reared high, then plunged downward, dust and dirt rising from beneath its hooves. The animal then burst into a gallop, and within seconds, horse, rider, and girl had disappeared into the forest.

For a moment, a stunned silence reigned in the clearing.

Then de la Ville, red-faced and furious, ran forward into the space the horse had just vacated and shouted, "After him!"

"You would have me pursue a bandit?" Prince John demanded coolly. "I think you forget yourself, de la Ville."

Kat could almost hear the grating of de la Ville's teeth.

"Nay, my Prince! I spoke to my squire, to Mortimer, to myself! Never to you, my lord!" De la Ville swept into a low and somewhat mocking bow. "Nay, my lord! I never forget what we are about! Or that I am one of your strongest sword arms!"

John was unperturbed by de la Ville's words. He sighed, leaning low against his saddle. "You'll never find strength, de la Ville, until you find patience—and a proper sense of priorities. So this land is filled with bandits! It can be cleaned out. The forest belongs to the King—to the Prince in his absence. The neighboring land, however—that land which helps these bandits!—can be yours. Think with your head instead of your loins for once, man! There is far greater hunting ahead tonight!"

Kat sat back, breathing hard. Ah, yes, new prey! Her!

And she had to go back, had to play the role.

De la Ville! The man was totally despicable! So cruel to the poor young maiden in the woods …

Had the girl really been so swiftly and miraculously rescued? It had not been Robin, Kat was certain, or any of his men. None that she knew.

But once …

Aye, once there had been another legend. The one they had asked her about today.

The Silver Sword.

She felt breathless suddenly. The Silver Sword. He had come to life soon after that day when the elder de la Ville had sought to murder her father here. When the hail of arrows had saved them, and sent the de la Villes and their party fleeing!

Who had come here today, then? A ghost? Ghosts did not save maidens in distress. Only flesh-and-blood men on flesh-and-blood horses could do so. Heroes who rode to save the poor and the weak.

A fierce shivering swept through her.

But what of her?

She was neither poor nor weak. What man would save her if the powerful Prince offered her in marriage to de la Ville?

What man would dare come for her?

A lump caught in her throat. Robin. Robin would try to save her … no matter what powers came against her.

And betray his cause, his people, himself.

She had to run. Now. Just run away. Give up the castle, give up her life. Hide deep within the forest, and be safe …

It was tempting. So tempting.

Nay. She had to beat de la Ville and the Prince at their own games. She was a countess, she couldn't forget that fact. They truly wouldn't dare treat her as they had treated the peasant girl.

She couldn't run. She had to remain the chatelaine. She had to listen and learn, and bring her information to the forest.

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, closed her eyes tightly, and prayed for courage.

Even now, she still had to reach Robin and tell him all that had occurred, and that Prince John, de la Ville, Mortimer, and Donovan would be dining at the castle tonight.

She squared her shoulders. She was Katherine, Countess of Ure.

I am ever determined! she vowed to herself. She would not be afraid of the Prince or de la Ville.

But her teeth were still chattering. Nonsense, she tried to assure herself. De la Ville couldn't touch her. Not tonight—not for days or weeks, even months! A betrothal could take a long, long time, if John was planning on giving her to de la Ville in marriage.

There would be plenty of time to run if and when a betrothal was brought about. She was safe, surely.

But de la Ville meant to have her, her castle, and her land. She was certain of it.

He must know that she would refuse him. That she despised him. Yet he seemed so sure of himself.

Aye …

He had something planned. "

What?

The question filled her with dread.

What indeed?