Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

D enys' solar always smelled like cloves and cinnamon.

That was because he was very fond of candies made by the cooks, who made the treats from honey and cinnamon and cloves, boiled and cooled until they were hard and sweet. He sucked on them constantly and his solar smelled of them. As Brend entered the dim and cool solar, with only the windows out onto the bailey as the sole source of light, he inhaled the familiar spicy fragrance.

"My lord?" he said. "You wanted to see me?"

Denys was sitting behind his big table. There were books piled upon it so high that they nearly blocked him out when he sat behind them, but his head came up and he focused on Brend.

"Ah," he said. "Come in, Brend. I have a need to speak to you."

Brend entered willingly and came to stand in front of Denys' table. He had no reason to believe that anything was out of the ordinary. As he faced Denys expectantly, he didn't see Cort slip in behind him and silently shut the door. As Cort settled back into the shadows to listen, Denys set down the quill in his hand and leaned back in his chair as he looked at Brend.

For a moment, he simply stared at the man.

"This may be a long conversation," he finally said. "Sit down, if you will."

Brend promptly deposited himself into the nearest chair. All the while, he was looking at Denys without a hint of apprehension.

"This sounds serious," he said. "What is amiss, my lord?"

Denys pondered what he was going to say for a moment before proceeding. "Brend," he began slowly, "I have a few questions for you and I want you to answer them with complete and utter honesty. Will you do this?"

Brend nodded smartly. "Of course, my lord. I always do."

Denys held up a hand to soothe the man in case he'd upset him. "I did not mean to imply that you did not," he said. "But the questions I have are serious in nature. I must have completely truthful answers."

"Please ask, my lord."

Denys eyed him a moment before continuing. "My first question is this, Brend," he said. "If given a choice, who are you more loyal to– the House of de Winter or Clan MacRohan? Quickly, now; do not think about it. Give me your honest answer immediately."

"De Winter, my lord."

Denys nodded faintly. "You are certain of this?"

"Aye, my lord," Brend said without hesitation. "I am a legacy knight and my oath is to de Winter above all."

"Even your own family?"

"Even my own family."

Denys scratched his head as he pondered his next move. "My next question is more difficult, Brend," he said. "I will ask it simply and I expect a simple and honest answer."

"Ask, my lord."

"Is your sister actively involved in the Irish rebellion?"

The question caught Brend completely off-guard. His eyes widened, just for a moment, indicative of his level of surprise. Brend was usually quite emotionless under stressful situations, so just by that reaction, Denys suspected he already had his answer.

Brend had the look of an animal in a trap.

"Has… has Dera done something that would lead you to believe this, my lord?" Brend finally stammered.

"I am the one asking questions," Denys reminded him. "Do you know if your sister is actively involved in the rebellion? Actively involved with the men who have captured my garrison at Black Cove?"

Brend was struggling to keep his emotions off his face. "I… I am not sure I can…"

Denys cut him off. "Let me make this plain to you," he said. "I have reason to believe that Dera is not only part of the rebellion, but more than likely very active in her participation. Now, I do not hold you to blame for her actions. She is your younger sister and you were not raised with her. You were raised here, at Narborough, in an English setting with English values. Is that a fair statement?"

"It is, my lord."

"Then everything you know is English," Denys continued. "Narborough is your home more than Ireland is, and it was here at Narborough that you fell in love with Bella. Am I incorrect?"

Brend looked as if he'd been punched in the gut. In fact, he exhaled sharply, his face taking on a pale cast. His mouth worked for a moment as if he wanted to reply, but the words wouldn't come. He swallowed hard and averted his gaze for the first time since entering the solar.

He simply couldn't look at Denys.

"Nay, my lord," he said so quietly that he could hardly be heard. "It is not incorrect."

Denys knew how hard it was to admit the truth, but he had promised to be honest. Given that truth and honor meant everything to Brend, he'd had little choice.

But it had been extremely difficult.

"I have known for some time, Brend," he said, more gently. "I've known you since you were very small and I've known my daughter her entire life, and I have known since you two were young that you were fond of one another. I have seen your love for each other grow."

Brend look him, then. He was a man torn. "It should not have happened, my lord," he said miserably. "I do not know how it did, but it did. Forgive me my weakness, my lord. It was… wrong of me."

"Wrong or not, sometimes we cannot choose who we love. Do you want to marry her?"

Brend's misery grew tenfold. "It does not matter if I do or not."

"But what if there was a way that you could?"

Brend looked at the man as if he'd lost his mind. "Secretly? Because that is the only way we could marry in England. And what if she conceived a child? If our marriage was secret, everyone would believe her to be a woman of poor morals." He shook his head firmly. "My lord, Bella and I have discussed every option open to us. There is nothing you can tell me that we have not already thought of. Marriage is impossible."

Denys watched him over the top of his books, his eyes glittering. "Chateau da Garosse in Bordeaux is in need of a garrison commander," he said. "The one I had, Etienne Marmande, died of a fever two months ago, so my largest property in France has been without a commander. Do you recall that, Brend?"

Brend had an edgy look about him now, as if uncertain where all of this was going. He was confused, but he nodded to Denys' question. "I do," he said. "We received the missive only a few weeks ago."

"It would not be illegal for you and my daughter to be married in France," Denys said. "I could appoint you garrison commander at Chateau da Garosse and you would have control of my Bordeaux properties."

Brend's eyes widened. "I… what ?" he gasped. "You would… we would have permission to…"

He couldn't even finish, so outlandish the idea, so Denys finished for him. "Marry, indeed you would," he said. "You are a legacy knight, my knight, and I will send you where I need you. To France with my daughter, who will become your wife."

The color returned to Brend's cheeks. In fact, they turned rather red as realization dawned. "My lord," he murmured. "My God… I do not even know what to say."

Denys held up a finger. "Say nothing until I tell you the conditions under which I would grant you this post and my permission to marry."

Brend was clearly overwhelmed. "Anything, my lord. All you need do is name it."

Denys suddenly sat forward in his chair. "Then tell me the truth about your sister," he said. "Tell me the truth about her involvement as a rebel and my daughter is yours, as is Chateau da Garosse. You can have everything you want if you tell me the truth about Dera, Brend. Considering the information she holds could be key to saving the lives of hundreds of men, I do not think you would want to withhold such information. Tell me the truth."

Brend stared at him. In fact, he sat back in his chair, heavily, and simply stared at Denys as he realized what he'd set himself up for. Denys was using Arabella as a bargaining chip.

It was smart.

But it was ruthless.

After a moment, he stood up and turned away from Denys, pacing his way slowly and thoughtfully, but it was clear that he was heading for the door.

Cort came out of the shadows.

He put himself between Brend and the door, and the message was obvious. When Brend saw him, his jaw dropped.

" You ," he hissed. "I should have known you would be involved in this. All of that espionage and service you perform for Henry has something to do with this, doesn't it?"

Cort held his ground. He didn't want to agree with Brend, but he also couldn't lie to the man. Brend was his friend. He loved him.

But he loved England more.

"It is my belief that your sister is a rebel, Brend," he said. "I do not intend to act against her, nor does Denys, but we want to know the truth and I believe you know."

Brend was starting to turn red in the face again. "Know what ?" he spat. "Know of her loyalties? She is loyal to Ireland, Cort. Is that what you wanted to hear? All you had to do was ask me. You did not have to talk Denys into using Bella as leverage. That is heartless, even from you."

For some reason, that didn't sit well with Cort. He'd been calm and in control up until this very moment, but somehow, hearing the hurt in Brend's voice stirred something in him. Perhaps it was because he'd spent two days brooding over Dera, attracted to the woman even though he knew what she was. Passionate, humorous, fearless… that's exactly what she was.

And a rebel.

Nay, he wasn't heartless at all.

And that was the problem.

"I will remind you how heartless I am when my father loses hundreds of men to the Irish rebels because he was fighting for de Winter to regain his properties," he fired back. "When I have to look into those dead faces and tell my father that this could have all been prevented had you told us the truth about Dera, I will remind you just how damned heartless I really am. In case you do not realize it, Brend, we are at war with all of Ireland. Being that you're Irish, perhaps there is some sympathy there, eh? Perhaps you want to see hundreds of English killed by Irish rebels because you're Irish at heart?"

Denys bolted up from his chair, making his way to the knights just as Brend balled up a fist and advance on Cort. He put himself in between the pair, pushing Brend back.

"There will be no brawling in my solar," Denys said to Brend, fixing the man in the eyes. "You deserved what he said to you, calling the man heartless. You know better than that, Brend."

Brend was flushed and angry, working his fists as he stared down Cort, who had both a height and weight advantage on him. Brend was a very big man, but Cort had his father's size and strength, which made him taller and more muscular than almost any man in England.

It would have been a devasting fight between them.

"This offer smacks of politics," Brend said, looking at Denys. "We all know that Cort serves Henry, which is why I am led to believe this deal with Bella comes from Cort. He knows how to manipulate."

Denys let go of him but he didn't move away, afraid that Brend might charge if the conversation grew heated again.

"Mayhap he does, but that is why he serves Henry," he said. "Cort de Russe is an elite knight, the best of the best, and you know that. But I cannot help but notice that through all of this posturing, you have yet to answer my question about your sister. Could it be because you do not want to tell me the answer? If she was innocent, you would have told me right away. Your refusal to answer is damning."

Brend took a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. "I told you that she is loyal to Ireland, my lord."

"You did not tell me if she is part of the rebellion."

"And if she is?"

"If she is, I will interrogate her. I am to go to Ireland later this month to reclaim Black Cove and I want to know what she knows of the rebels."

Brend look at him, then. "Then she is a hostage. I suspected as much."

Denys grunted. "And do you know why she is a hostage?"

"Why?"

"Because your father asked me to hold her."

"Did he tell you why?"

"He did not. But between his request and your silence on the matter, I believe I have my answer. He wants that woman caged so she cannot cause trouble."

Brend was beside himself. He didn't want to incriminate his sister, but he didn't want Denys to interrogate her, either. Damn the mess that Dera had gotten him in to! He glanced at Cort, who was gazing back at him emotionlessly, and it gave him an idea.

"Very well, my lord," he said to Denys. "I will tell you what you want to know on one condition."

"What is that?"

"I will only tell you if you swear to me that you will not interrogate Dera or mistreat her in any way."

Denys' gaze lingered on him before he turned back to his table. "If those are your terms, then I withdraw my offer of marriage to Bella and the garrison at Chateau da Garosse because it is clear your loyalties are not what you tell me they are. When you walked into this room, you told me that you were loyal to de Winter above all. Your terms tell me that your statement was false."

Brend stiffened. "My loyalty has always been to the House of de Winter, but you are asking me to betray my sister. She is my family."

"And I am asking you to help me prevent the deaths of English soldiers who will go to Ireland, not knowing the strength of the men they will be fighting. You can help me prevent those deaths, Brend, and one of those deaths may be yours. But for some reason, you will not help me."

Brend was so edgy that he was beginning to tremble. All he could see was everything he worked so hard for crumbling right before his eyes. If he didn't help Denys, his loyalty would be in doubt, and he couldn't stomach that. He'd spoken to Arabella about not wanting to be the MacRohan who destroyed two hundred years of a legacy. As he could see, he was verging on that very thing.

He couldn't risk what he'd worked for his entire life.

Not even for his sister.

But his betrayal of her would be on his terms.

"Very well," he finally said, his voice sounding oddly hollow. "I will help you, my lord. But I will not accept your terms of marriage to Bella. I will not take a bribe. I will do this of my own free will because it seems that I must prove my loyalty to the House of de Winter. I have worked too hard and have been too proud of my position as your legacy knight to ruin it. I swear upon my oath that I am loyal to you and only you, so ask me your questions about Dera and I will tell you what I know."

Denys felt a good deal of pity for the man. He knew that he was in a difficult position, but he respected him for doing what was right. For adhering to his oath. Making his way back over to Brend, he stood in front of him and fixed him in the eyes.

"I am sorry it has come to this," he said quietly. "But you must understand that, above all, I must protect my men and my properties."

"I understand, my lord."

"And you must swear upon your oath that you will not tell your sister of this conversation."

"I swear."

"Is Dera part of the rebellion?"

"She is."

"Then tell me everything you know."

Brend did.

And he hated himself for it.

*

"My father told me."

Cort was in the knights' quarters, washing his face before supper at the end of a most eventful day, when Dillon entered the cramped room and shut the door. Cort looked at him, water dripping from his face.

"About Dera?"

"Aye."

"He offered Brend marriage to Bella and a garrison in France if he would tell him everything," Cort said, reaching for a linen towel to dry his face with. "Brend turned down the offer but told him, anyway."

Dillon sighed heavily. "My God," he muttered, slumping against the wall. "We have a rebel right in our midst. After what we saw at Lynn, I can believe it."

Cort dried off his face and set the towel aside. "What concerns me more is that Brend was unwilling to cooperate at first," he said. "Your father asked him direct questions and Brend would not give him direct answers, all the while declaring his loyalty to the House of de Winter. Even when your father brought Bella into the conversation, Brend was still unwilling until your father intimated that he couldn't trust Brend or his loyalties. Only then did Brend cooperate."

Dillon simply shook his head, baffled by the entire circumstance. "I have known Brend most of my life," he said. "I would stake my life on his loyalty to de Winter. It wasn't his loyalties that were wavering."

"Then what?"

Dillon looked up at him. "He's the big brother," he said simply. "He is supposed to protect his sister."

"Even from us?"

"Especially from us."

"So his sister causes the deaths of hundreds of English soldiers, and then what? Where do his loyalties lie then?"

Dillon shrugged. "Still with de Winter," he said. "He's in a difficult position, Cort. Surely you can see that."

Cort nodded. "Of course I see it, but I also see the situation without emotion. Dera is dangerous to every Englishman who steps foot in Ireland."

"It sounds as if Brend did not tell my father very much about her," Dillon said, watching Cort pull off his dirty tunic in favor of a clean one. "He says he still wants to interrogate her."

Cort pulled the new tunic over his head, smoothing it over his broad chest. "He is trying to determine how to do that and not offend Brend," he said. "Both Brend and your father are walking the razor's edge right now. Denys wants to be careful and I understand that."

Dillon didn't seem too sympathetic. "I do not think Dera realizes that her rebel allies jeopardize the life of her brother," he said. "Does she even understand that as soon as he sets foot on Irish soil, he will be as vulnerable as any Englishman?"

"I think she views him as being English."

"That is probably true," Dillon said. Then, he pushed himself up from the wall. "All that aside, I have come here with a message from my mother. She expects you to be at the feast tonight. She will not allow you to stay away one more night."

Cort smiled weakly. "I plan on being there," he said. "Assure Lady Alais that I shall be present so she does not drag me into the hall by my ear."

Dillon snorted. "She used to do that to us when we were younger."

Cort laughed softly. "Dillon, I outweighed your mother when I was eight years of age," he said. "That did not seem to matter to her. I was twice her size as a youth and, still, she would grab my ear and drag me wherever it suited her. The woman fears nothing. Not even me."

Dillon chuckled, moving to the door and opening it. "Then be in the hall when the feast starts or suffer her wrath," he said. "I will see you there."

"Where are you going?"

Dillon winked at him. "I've not seen the fishmonger's daughter in a couple of days. I can make it to Swaffham and back before sup."

Cort wriggled his eyebrows. "Then I shall come with you," he said, shoving Dillon from the door and following him into the small foyer of the knights' quarters. "I've yet to see this fish daughter who turns your head."

Dillon put his hands on Cort's chest, giving him a shove back. "I told you that you are not allowed to see her," he said. "You would charm her away from me and I would have to kill you for it."

Cort gave him his best smile. "Me? My friend, I would never do anything so dastardly."

Dillon wasn't having any of it. "Aye, you would, and then you would laugh at me and kiss me and celebrate your victory. Therefore, you cannot go. Find Bella instead and comfort her."

Cort's smile faded. "Comfort her? Why?"

Dillon reached the door, yanking it open. "I'm not sure," he said. "I think something is wrong between her and Brend. Mayhap she heard that he turned down the offer to marry her."

"You didn't ask her?"

"It is none of my affair."

Cort shook his head. "Nor is it any of mine," he said. "I am not getting in the middle of the situation between your sister and Brend. Mayhap I'll go and visit Vulcan instead."

"Damien is convinced you are trying to steal his horse."

"I am ."

Dillon shook his head at his bold friend, turning to leave the knights' quarters when he came to an abrupt halt. Cort ran into the back of him, looking at him curiously until he saw where Dillon attention was.

Dera was heading in their direction.

"I wonder what she wants," Dillon muttered. "I am going to the stable to get my horse. If you are wise, you will make yourself scarce."

Cort didn't reply. Dillon headed off in the direction of the stable, completely avoiding speaking with, or looking at, Dera as she came near to the knights' quarters. Cort simply stood in the doorway, watching her approach. He didn't say a word, nor did he change expression. He simply watched her. She was looking at him, however, and as she drew close, she smiled timidly.

"Greetings, Cort," she said, sounding very hesitant. "Are… are you feeling better?"

"What do you mean?"

She gestured in the direction of the great hall. "You have missed sup the past two days," she said. "I thought you might have been ill."

"I was not ill."

"I see," she said, her smile fading. She averted her gaze, looking to her hands. "I… I was hoping for a moment of your time."

"You can always have a moment of my time."

She looked up at him as if surprised by the answer. "Truly?" she said. "Thank you. I just wanted to say that I realize what I did in Lynn was wrong. When I tried to help you in your fight, I mean. I should not have done it and I did not mean to suggest you were not capable of taking care of yourself. And also… also, I should not have argued with you about England's occupation of Ireland when we were by the lake. I know you are not responsible for it. I was very rude when I left you and I do not blame you for being angry with me."

She seemed terribly ill at ease, but she also seemed sincere. Cort was, frankly, shocked to hear an apology come out of her mouth. The last time he'd seen her, she'd staunchly defended her actions and Ireland's right to be free to the point of becoming belligerent. But apparently no longer. He couldn't fathom this change of position.

His curiosity had the better of him.

"Come in here," he said, reaching out and grasping her by the wrist. "Come in here and speak with me."

He pulled her into the tiny foyer, hardly big enough for two or three men to stand in, but it was quiet and private. Cort shut the door and faced her.

"Now, what's this about?" he asked. "Why should you apologize to me over something that only two days ago, you were quite certain was the right thing?"

Dera looked more unsure than he'd ever seen her. "Because I realized that my actions had offended you," she said. "It never occurred to me that you would be insulted and I am very sorry. I killed the English knight to help you, not strip you of your manhood. I did not mean to embarrass you."

He was trying to figure out where her change of heart was coming from. "Is that what you thought you did?"

"Isn't it?"

After a moment, he nodded. "In a way," he said. "It was my fight. You had no right to enter it."

"I see that now. I am sorry."

"Promise me you will never do anything so foolish again and I will forgive you."

"I promise."

He smiled at her. "Then am I to assume you have forgiven me from the other day at the lake? You stormed off before we had the chance to smooth things over."

She lowered her gaze. "You may as well know that I have a bit of a temper," she said. "'Tis the Irish blood in me. When I am speaking of things I believe in, I am always quick to anger."

"Then mayhap we should not speak of such things," he said. "I do not want to anger you and I do not want you stomping off in a rage again."

She eyed him. "I suppose the rage was mostly at myself," she said. "I said things I should not have. I called the English Béarla dogs and I regret saying that."

She appeared genuinely contrite. Cort was a good judge of character because his life often depended on it, and he could see that she was truly sorry for her behavior. At least, she wanted him to think she was. But the truth was that he would never believe that she'd had a complete change of heart in any of her views. She'd spoken very strongly of something that couldn't be destroyed in only a couple of days.

Deep down, that conviction was still there even though she was apologizing for it.

But that really didn't seem to matter. All Cort knew was that he was glad to see her again, and quite glad that whatever tension had come between them was gone. Perhaps it was stupid of him, but that was the way he felt.

Reaching out, he took her hand gently.

"Some men are dogs," he said, lifting her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. "Your assessment was probably fair of some. But you needn't curse yourself over it. It is forgotten."

Dera looked at him as he held her hand to his mouth, her eyes wide with the boldness of his actions. The heart that had leapt at the sight of him was now pounding firmly against her rib cage and the confusion and sorrow she'd been feeling suddenly vanished.

Dera couldn't even stop to think that her attraction to Cort was dangerous. Deep down, she knew that it was, but as she gazed into his glorious face, she didn't much care. English, Irish, French, or Spanish… it didn't matter what Cort was. All that mattered was that he was the kindest, most handsome man she'd ever met and he'd shown her an inordinate amount of attention.

That baffled her.

"Why?" she suddenly whispered.

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

She looked at her hand, tucked in his. "That," she blurted. "Why should you kiss my hand? Why should you want to… Cort, I have been nothing but trouble to you. Why should you show me such regard?"

He grinned. "Do you want me to stop?"

She shook her head before she could even stop herself. "Nay," she said. Then, mortified as she realized how terribly bold she was, her eyes widened. "But you should. You know you should. I am not something to be toyed with."

His grin turned lazy. "Who said I was toying with you?" he said. He kissed the back of her hand again before flipping it over and depositing a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist. "I wanted to kiss your hand to prove there is forgiveness between us and I did."

"Is that the only reason?"

"What else could there be?"

That wasn't what Dera wanted to hear. Her emotions had the better of her, emotions she usually kept quite guarded. She'd had more than one Irish lad declare his undying devotion to her and she'd deftly discouraged them, but not Cort. He had her emotions running rampant and she didn't even know why. He seemed to destroy every ounce of control she ever had.

Yanking her hand away, she turned for the door.

"Nothing," she said. "I did not mean that the way it sounded. I will see you at…"

She was cut off as he slapped a big hand against the door, right over her head, preventing her from leaving. As Dera stood there, hand on the latch, she could feel his enormous body behind her.

Her thumping heart was close to bursting from her chest.

"Aye, you meant it exactly the way it sounded," he growled. "Shall I tell you what you meant?"

She shook her head, her breath coming in little pants. "You do not know what I meant."

"I do," he said, bending over to smell the top of her head; she could feel him inhaling. "I know exactly what you meant. You meant to know if I was kissing your hand because I found you beautiful. The answer is that I do."

Dera had her hand on the door and now it was supporting her. She had never been so close to swooning in her life.

"You… you do?" she whispered.

"I do," he said, his mouth practically on the top of her head. "You are beautiful and headstrong, fearless and stubborn. And I love to hear you sing. I find you beautiful in many ways, Dera."

She could feel his hot breath on the top of her head and it turned her limbs to jelly. She looked over her shoulder to tell him so but his mouth was there and, somehow, it slanted over her lips. Her head was twisted back, upturned, and Cort's arms went around her, holding her tightly as he kissed her deeply.

She'd never been kissed like that in her entire life.

Cort was strong, so strong that rather than feel intimidated by it, she melted into it. She was melting into him, her boneless body being supported only by him as his lips overwhelmed her. All she could do was let him take liberties that she'd never let anyone else take, succumbing to passion she had never known to exist. Somehow, she managed to turn around and her arms found their way around his neck.

The spark of attraction had turned into a raging fire.

Cort lifted her up so she was pressed against his body, her feet dangling off the floor. His kisses were forceful yet tender, and when he gently pried her lips apart with his tongue, she was a willing participant. He tasted deeply of her, feeling her tremble in his arms. Truthfully, he hadn't meant to kiss her like this, but the urge to taste her had overwhelmed him. Once he kissed her hand, all he could think about was kissing her lips. He wouldn't deny himself.

And he wasn't disappointed.

He lost track of all space and time as he held Dera in his arms, feasting on her flesh. But that moment of brilliance was disrupted when the door to the knights' quarters suddenly opened up right into the back of Dera. Because Cort has his arms around her, the panel mostly hit his arms and they stumbled back with Dera ending up on her feet. Cort held her arm to steady her so she wouldn't fall over as Dillon suddenly appeared in the half-open doorway.

He looked straight at Cort.

"My father needs to see you in his solar immediately," he said. Then, his gaze moved to Dera. "And bring her with you."

With that, he was gone. No mention of what the two of them had obviously been doing, even if he realized it. No shock, no teasing, only brusque businesslike manners. Puzzled, Cort opened the door wide to watch Dillon as he practically ran back towards the keep. He scratched his head.

"I wonder what that was about," he muttered.

Dera stood there, trying to catch her breath after Cort's steamy kiss. "Why… why should Lord Denys want to see me?"

Cort shook his head until he realized there was a man on horseback near the gatehouse, being watched by three soldiers. The horse was soaked with sweat and foaming, indicative of a long and fast run.

A messenger.

Cort's curiosity grew. Reaching out, he grasped Dera by the wrist. "Come along," he said quietly. "Let us see what Denys has to say."

Dera let him pull her along, wiping at her mouth, which still had his saliva on it. She smoothed at her hair, feeling she was disheveled somehow. Surely Denys would see her state and known she'd let Cort take advantage of her. Truth be told, she didn't care.

She'd let him do it again if he wanted to.

The thought didn't distress her one bit.