Chapter 17

The weather gave Avalene plenty of time to think the next day. The rain started again before dawn, an unpleasant but effective way to ensure they had an early start to the day. They quickly packed up the camp and then rode single file along the muddy road, which gave her little opportunity to speak with anyone. That suited her for a time. The tightness in her chest began to ease as the hours passed, and yet the unwelcome voice of reason refused to be swayed.

Dante's amazing declarations of the night before were too good to be true. She knew that. And yet she could not think of any reasons why he would tell such monstrous lies. Her thoughts grew more and more tangled, to the point that she would have preferred the distraction of conversation.

By midafternoon both the weather and Dante obliged her wishes when the sun reappeared and the road dried enough for them to ride side by side. At first she was apprehensive, almost shy in his company, but mostly they spoke of inconsequential things.

"Will you miss Coleway?"

She pursed her lips as she considered her answer. "I am not sorry to be away from John, but I will miss some of the people."

They had already talked about her childhood and his, and events that had occurred in their lives before they met. They also spoke about things that took place in the immediate present, such as speculation about a fortress they passed where the fieldstones were laid out on a hillside to form a gigantic cross, and then there was a thorough discussion of the weather. She could tell that he was deliberately avoiding anything that might lead to talk of his deception or speculation about their future. It was midafternoon and she was tired of avoiding the subjects.

"I'm not sorry to be away from the Segraves, either," she said, "but I am worried they will lay siege to my father's fortress. Faulke threatened as much, if I tried to cause trouble. I suppose he was hoping to ensure that I would be agreeable when we stood before a priest, but I do not think it is an idle threat. If he and I do not marry—"

"You will not marry him," Dante said in a clipped voice. "As for a siege, the Segraves would be fools to deplete their ranks when they may soon face the king's armies. Faulke Segrave does not strike me as a fool. 'Tis an unlikely outcome."

She wished she could be as certain.

"What are you thinking?"

She looked up at him, startled. "Pardon me?"

"I know that look." His gaze narrowed as he studied her face and she had to admit the effect was forbidding. "Do not ever think that marriage to Segrave would help your father in any way. Do not think that staying with me will be a betrayal to your family. The king placed you in my care, and your father and Segrave are both the king's vassals. You are exactly where you are supposed to be."

She blinked very slowly as his words struck home. He was right. Faulke Segrave's wishes no longer mattered, nor did those of her father. The king's word was law. She was exactly where she was supposed to be. If she were entirely honest with herself, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

"What now?" Dante asked. His stern expression had faded to a mixture of concern and exasperation.

She couldn't tell him. She wasn't certain how to put it into words. Instead she smiled and said, "Tell me more about Venice."

He looked at her for a long time, and then the corners of his mouth curved into an answering smile and he did as she asked.

He did not ask her to declare herself outright, but they both knew that she had decided to go with him to Italy, just as they both knew it had never really been much of a choice. She could not stay in England. No matter his reasons, he was offering her freedom; the sunlit delights of Venice versus the dark eternity of the Tower. The decision was a simple one.

This time she listened closely to his descriptions of Venice. There was a difference to hearing tales of a city when there was the possibility that you might actually see it someday soon. She asked endless questions about the city that suddenly loomed in her future. He patiently answered each one.

Eventually she suspected his endless stories were told to keep her mind from wandering toward other worries. Indeed, she found plenty of reasons to fret during their infrequent silences. Despite her decision, so much was still in turmoil: her life, her heart, her future. She had been raised to obey the wishes of her family without question, to expect marriage and a family of her own. Everything she contemplated with Dante went against those edicts. Could she really live in sin with a man for the rest of her life? What would happen when he tired of her?

Those were the questions that had occupied the majority of her thoughts until late afternoon when they rode single file up a steep embankment where rain had washed deep ruts into the hillside. He had told her to wait at the base of the hill until he made certain the footing was solid and she watched until he reined in his horse at the top of the rise. Eventually he turned to look down at her and flashed a smile that made her heart skip a beat, and then he beckoned her toward him with a crook of his finger.

The gesture shouldn't have been anything momentous. He was simply signaling to her that the footing was safe. But that was the moment she cut the last of her ties to her old life, the ties to all of the old rules that kept her from moving forward. He was calling her to a new life with new rules. She was ready to join him.

A life with Dante might last a day, or a month, or many years, but there was no longer any doubt that her future included him, no matter the circumstances, no matter the consequences. For the first time in her life she was going to do exactly as she pleased, consequences be damned. Even if they rode through the gates of London and he took her straight to the Tower, she would not regret the decision to let herself hope. He could be standing at the gates of Hell and beckoning her toward him, and she would willingly follow. She no longer had a choice. She had fallen in love with Sir Percival. She was still in love with Dante Chiavari.

Rather than dwell on all the things that could go wrong with her decision, she allowed herself to consider, just for a few moments, what their future together might be like if everything went right. London would be but one adventure. She could not imagine this experience with anyone else at her side. Once they reached Venice, he spoke as if he intended to live with her. She would stay by his side for as long as he wanted her.

She studied each individual feature of his face as he told her something about the docks in London, her gaze lingering, memorizing the arch of his brows, the straight line of his nose, the square line of his jaw. The way he smiled at her every so often made her certain her cow-eyed expression must look silly to him. She didn't care. She had this time with him, and, for the time being, he was hers.

"You will not see those parts of London." What was that? She had missed something. "What parts?"

"The docks and the stews. They are not safe places for gentlewomen." He pushed a lock of hair off his forehead and looked toward the horizon. "Unfortunately, I can say the same about most of London, where you are concerned. The fewer who know of your presence there, the better."

"Surely you will have to tell the king," she pointed out. It was a sobering thought. "Edward may well deny your request, and you will be obliged to surrender me to his custody. As my father's liege lord, he has the right to appoint himself my guardian."

"I will not surrender you to anyone."

The things he said never ceased to astonish her. She shook her head. "You would defy the king of England?"

"Aye." He easily read the disbelief on her face. "I will never again allow anyone to take you from me."

The look in his eyes was intense. He meant what he said. She smiled and attempted to lighten the mood. "If I should ever again be in need of rescue, I would request that you not use poison. My head and stomach ached all the next day."

"And I would request that you not do anything that would purposely put yourself in need of rescue." He searched her face for something, but there was nothing to find but agreement. She had no intention of doing anything stupid, but his next words managed to startle her yet again. "I will not always be…rational where your safety is concerned. I cannot guarantee that I will remain levelheaded if I discover you are in danger. When I found you with the Segraves, I very nearly made mistakes that would have gotten us both killed. My life now depends upon yours."

It took her a moment to realize what he was really saying, and even less time to dismiss it.

"I wish there were some way to make you believe me, to make you trust me again." Apparently he was becoming an expert at reading her expressions.

"I do believe you," she said. "I trust you to keep me safe."

"Aye," he agreed, "but you do not believe that I am in love with you."

Shock and astonishment were too tame. No, the things he said left her speechless.

"Surely you guessed," he said. His wry smile belied the careful look in his eyes. "Or are all men so besotted in your presence that you no longer recognize the ailment?"

"Men are never besotted in my presence," she muttered, retreating into disbelief while that fickle fellow, Hope, fluttered around her heart without permission, searching for a way in.

" Gesù , Avalene, you are dangerously unaware of your appeal to men. Has no one ever told you how beautiful you are?"

She rolled her eyes. Aside from her parents, who were expected to say such things, no one else had ever called her beautiful.

Still, there seemed to be little reason for him to lie at this point. She had admitted that he could seduce her, that he would not have to force her to his bed, and yet he continued to make these fantastical statements. What if he really was in love with her?

Once again he seemed to read her mind and provided the answer. "I have fallen under your spell, my lady. I cannot imagine living my life without you. Those would be the most obvious reasons why I want to take you with me to Venice."

Hope began to pound its fist against her chest. "What are the other reasons?"

"Will you believe me if I tell you?"

"I—" She decided on honesty. "I do not know."

"Fair enough," he reluctantly conceded, although he did not immediately continue. His hand swept out to indicate the hillsides that surrounded them. "This is not the setting I envisioned for this conversation. I had hoped for a candlelit chamber with a few goblets of wine at hand to fortify my courage."

He did not look particularly fearful. The lock of hair had fallen across his forehead again, framing his handsome face. A slight smile emphasized the strong line of his jaw and his expression would have reeked of self-confidence at any other time, but the smile did not warm his eyes; they were a piercing shade of green, alert and watchful. "I cannot imagine you afraid of anything."

He gave a mirthless laugh. "I have spent the whole of my life controlling my emotions and desires. They are potent weapons against a man in my profession. Now I must hand you these weapons and lay bare my neck, so to speak. I would rather face all of the Segraves unarmed. At least then I would know what I was about."

Her back stiffened. "You do not have to tell me anything against your will, but whatever you confide I will not repeat."

"I doubt anyone would believe you if you did," he murmured. "Which is yet another reason why I want you with me. I never speak this freely with anyone else. You have some mysterious power that puts me at ease."

"Is that why you were being so…talkative the past few days? Telling me about Venice and London?"

"Partly," he said, seeming to consider his words. "I wanted to tell you about my homeland, make it a real place to you. A place you would want to go. I also wanted to hear more about your life before I met you. My curiosity about you is insatiable, it seems."

"I feel the same," she admitted. She didn't know if it was the ease with which she had spoken to him all day, or the fact that her heart was once again ready to take up residence on her sleeve, but she actually wanted to reveal more of her feelings to him.

No, she just wanted to gauge his reactions, to find the lie. Didn't she?

She decided to tell him a little more of the truth to see where it led to. "I never spend this much time in idle conversation with anyone else. Not willingly. Definitely, I never tell them as much as I have already shared with you. Most people bore or annoy me with their chatter. I can never imagine being bored by you."

"You see how well matched we are?" He smiled at her, the smile that made her bones melt. "You are the only person I know who finds me so interesting."

He was beginning to make her believe and that frightened her almost as much as the Tower. "I wonder how you can find me interesting. Until you came into my life, my days were so normal they were dull. My whole existence was dull. No one found me the least bit out of the ordinary."

"I doubt that," he said. "I would have found you just as remarkable then as I do now. You will always be a source of fascination for me."

Always? She wondered if that word held the same meaning for him as it did for her. How could they be together "always"? "You realize that the king has most likely approved my betrothal to Faulke Segrave by this time?"

"Where did that come from?" he asked with a sudden scowl.

"You said ‘always' as if you plan to…be with me for quite a while." She lowered her gaze and brushed at a spot of dirt on her skirts. Good-bye, hope. "Segrave is convinced the king will approve the betrothal, in part as a means to keep me from marrying anyone else. I could never be more to you than…than…"

His grip on the reins tightened enough that his horse tossed its head. "You can be everything to me, Avalene. I do not need a priest's blessing to know that you are mine. I have never felt this way about another woman, and I know that I never will again. You are all that I need. Am I enough for you?"

She could not help but smile. "What a foolish question."

The intensity in his eyes did not lighten. "I have declared my love for you, declared my fondest hope that you will let me care for you for the rest of your life. All you have said is that you doubt the truth of my words. Where do I stand, Avalene? Am I like Segrave, simply a means to escape a less pleasant fate?"

"You are not," she retorted. Was it possible that he doubted her feelings as much as she doubted his? Didn't he understand the impossibility of what he was asking her to believe? She stared at the perfect lines of his face, bewildered that he could look at her and find something even a fraction as desirable. "You are the fate that I am afraid to let myself hope will be mine."

The stiff set of his shoulders relaxed. "When I heard Segrave reveal my deception and saw that you believed him, I was certain you would never again look at me the way you are looking at me right now. I should have known your reaction would be the exact opposite of what I expected." He reached out to brush the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "There really is something wrong with you, cara . Whatever it is, I pray that you are never cured."

"You truly do not care that I am legally bound to another man?"

"Words on paper mean nothing," he told her. "You will be mine in every other way."

Whatever he saw in her face made him release a sigh of resignation.

"I cannot promise that Segrave will break your betrothal," he said, "but I will do everything in my power to ensure he renounces you before we leave England. I want you for my wife, Avalene."

Hope and happiness bloomed inside her, even though the doubts were still there. She had never met another man who appealed to her in so many ways. Was it truly possible that he viewed her the same way? She bit her lower lip and tried to imagine a lifetime with Dante.

"Oh, you should not have done that."

Before she could think to ask what he meant, before she could think at all, he reached over and plucked her from her saddle. When she was settled on his lap, he turned her face to his and kissed her, not a gentle kiss this time, but one that spoke of possession. She gave herself over to the moment and this time her thoughts were silenced. There was nothing inside her that said this was wrong. Some elemental part of her knew it was right, that he was the right man for her. The only man for her.

She drew back just enough to look into his eyes. "Do you really think I will be allowed to go to Italy?"

"No matter what happens, I am not leaving England without you." Something dark flickered in his gaze. Determination. "This I promise."

He was telling her the truth. The longer she looked into his eyes, the more she could feel it in her very soul. No matter what else he had lied to her about in the past, this much was true. This amazing man loved her.

She leaned forward and touched her lips to his, surrendering at last without hesitation. His mouth slanted over hers with a fierceness that sent heat racing through her and she looped her arms around his neck to hold him closer. The kiss never seemed to end, but the edge of hunger gradually eased and his hold on her gentled. She didn't think it possible, but his slow, deep kisses turned more erotic. He did things to her mouth that made her whole body tremble.

Just when she began to wonder how far he intended to take their kisses, she felt his body go suddenly rigid and he lifted his head. She smiled up at him but the smile faded as she heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. The haze of lust disappeared entirely as Armand rode alongside them and then paced his horse to theirs.

"There is a rider on the ridge to our right, my lord. He has followed us for most of an hour."

She started to look toward the ridge but Dante placed his hand along the side of her face in what probably looked like a casual caress. He made certain she could not turn her head and neither man looked toward the potential danger.

"There were no reports of bandits in this area," Dante said to Armand, although his gaze remained on Avalene.

"He carries a shield with no markings and looks well armed." Armand shook his head. "'Tis near impossible the Segraves could have caught up with us this quickly. My guess is mercenaries, likely between postings and looking for opportunity. The valley narrows ahead and we will be forced to ride single file. The passage would be an ideal place for a larger force to lie in wait."

Tension radiated from Dante's body but he said nothing more. Armand continued to ride alongside them, also silent. She could almost hear the men thinking through plans and strategies.

"We will set camp beneath the trees ahead," Dante said at last. "Make certain Rami knows he must act as if nothing is amiss."

Armand spurred his horse forward to where Rami rode point and then slowed again to talk to the boy. She realized with a jolt of surprise that Rami led her horse by the reins and wondered when that had happened. She had been so lost in Dante's kisses that she'd forgotten all about her horse, and hadn't given a thought to the spectacle she made of herself. In different circumstances she would have been mortified. Now her embarrassment seemed irrelevant. Her gaze moved past Armand to the only trees of any size in the grassy valley, a clump of a half-dozen elm trees surrounded by smaller saplings. Rami was already turning his horse toward the elms.

"It appears my levelheadedness where your safety is concerned will be put to the test sooner rather than later." Dante did not sound happy.

She felt helpless. "What can I do?"

"You can do exactly as I tell you," he quipped. He even managed a crooked smile. "Armand could be mistaken about the man's intent. He could be alone, perhaps a knight or soldier from a nearby keep who simply happened upon us and is watching to make sure we pass through his lord's lands without incident."

"You do not really believe that is the case."

"I would rather prepare for the worst possibility and be relieved if it does not come to pass." He glanced at the sun, and then startled her by brushing his mouth across hers in another brief kiss. His lips moved in a purposeful line along her jaw to her ear and he spoke in a quiet tone. "We still have four or five more hours until dark. It will look unusual if we stop this early for no reason. The lie will be made more believable if I appear to be so overcome with lust that I ordered the camp set so I could be with you." His teeth nipped painlessly at her earlobe. "Indeed, it will not be much of a lie."

"How can you—"

"Shhh."

The hushing sound made her teeth clench together as his breath tickled her ear and scattered her thoughts. Oh, good Lord, that felt wicked, almost as if he were somehow inside her head.

"I will make certain you are safe," he murmured. "Their lookout will have to ride ahead to let the others know we have set camp. We will have plenty of time to prepare for them. If they do not appear by nightfall, I will send Armand to find their camp and learn more of their intentions. Now, remember to cling to me."

Before she could think to ask what he meant, he dismounted. She looked around, startled to realize they had reached the stand of elms. Dante put his hands on her waist and gave a small squeeze to remind her of her role, and then he lifted her to the ground. Well, eventually he let her feet touch the ground, but only after he deliberately slid most of her weight down the front of his chest as slowly as possible. He was right. If not for the way her pulse raced from panic, this pretense would not be much of a lie.

He took her hand and walked to where the brush around the trees thinned a little and then he led her to the base of the largest tree. It also happened to have the widest trunk and there were fewer saplings growing in its shade, just sparse grass and wildflowers. The saplings that surrounded them would slow down any attackers, but the horses would never fit within this confined space. That meant some or all of them would have to remain in the open to guard the horses.

"Stay here," Dante murmured, and then he wound his way back out of the saplings.

She could see the men and horses quite clearly through the leafy greenery and suspected her red cloak was just as visible from the road, but probably not from the ridge. The wide trunk sheltered her from that side.

Oliver, Armand, and Rami were already engaged in some of the usual activity associated with setting up camp for the night, unsaddling and hobbling the horses, unloading the packs. They began to haul the gear and saddles to where Avalene stood. Dante knelt down next to one of the packs and pulled out the chain mail he had worn as Sir Percival.

"Take off your cloak," he said, as he draped the chain mail over one arm.

She shed her cloak and then her eyes widened as he held out the chain mail and his intent became obvious. "I cannot wear that."

"You will not have to stand in it," he said, thinking she was worried about the weight of the garment. Thousands of intricate metal links formed the fabric, a sleeveless garment fashioned to cover a man from his neck to his knees. On her it would fall near her ankles. He nodded toward the growing mounds of saddles and packs that surrounded her. "I want you to lie on the ground behind the gear to stay out of sight, but they might have an archer or crossbows. The mail will protect you from any stray arrows or bolts."

"What will protect you?" That was her main concern with taking his armor. He would be left defenseless. Well, less defended. "You should wear the mail."

"I have no need of it." He shook his head at whatever he saw in her face. "Armor is for knightly combat, Avalene. I do not fight fair."

"Good. But I will be safe behind this pile of baggage while you will be an easy target for an arrow or bolt. Surely it could help protect you."

He actually smiled. "The garment would likely prove more hindrance than help, and knowing you wear it will help me stay focused. Now, lean forward so I can get this over your head."

She reluctantly obeyed. After endless days of wearing heavy, rain-drenched clothing the mail was not the burden she feared it would be, but she thought of another worry as Dante adjusted the mail to hang evenly. "Rami will stay here with me?"

"Rami's job is to help tend the horses."

"But he is just a boy!"

"Exactly. They will expect to see him tending the horses." He framed her face between his palms. "Calm down, Avalene. I will not let any harm come to Rami."

She took an unsteady breath, but his touch did calm her a little. "I do not like this."

"Nor do I."

"Perhaps if you gave me a weapon, I could—"

"No."

"What if we are outnumbered? What if—"

This time he silenced her with a kiss. He kept kissing her until she began to relax in his arms and somehow she ended up seated in his lap at the base of the elm. His hands gently rubbed her arms. "I know what I am doing, Avalene."

It took her a moment to gather her wits enough to realize he was talking about the preparations they were making for an attack, although he could have been talking about kissing and she would have agreed on that score as well.

"I will send Rami to you as soon as they begin to move in," he went on. "Oliver and Armand know what to do in this sort of situation. Rami will only be in the way, another distraction we cannot afford. 'Tis your job to make sure the boy stays with you once we send him in. I suspect he will feel as strongly as you do about the need to help us. Without question, you can help us best by making certain you both remain protected behind the baggage. Will you promise to obey me in this matter?"

She bit her lower lip as she considered the request. Once she had promised to obey Sir Percival without question. That seemed a lifetime ago. Could she cower in safety if Dante and his men were threatened, if there were something she might be able to do to swing a fight in their favor?

She couldn't think of anything she could do that would make a difference. Her experience with weapons came solely from watching Lord Brunor's knights on the practice fields. The odds seemed more favorable that she would distract Dante at a moment that could prove fatal. She looked into his eyes and saw the tension there. He was already distracted by the thought that she might do something foolish. She placed her palms on each side of his face, as he had done earlier to calm her. "I promise."

He breathed a deep sigh of relief. "The wait will be the hardest part. If they did, indeed, intend to attack us in the pass, it will take them time to discuss this change in circumstances and devise a new plan."

She wondered how many men were in the band of mercenaries. If they had a force even half as large as the Segraves, they would be in dire straits. If there even was a band. All of this alarm could be over nothing. "So they are probably discussing their plan as we speak?"

"Aye. Armand is keeping an eye out for their spy. He disappeared soon after it became obvious we were making camp here. He has not reappeared."

So there was ample cause for alarm.

"I must make preparations before they return," he said in a quiet voice. "Will you be all right by yourself?"

Translation: Can I trust you to stay put? She could read that worry easily enough in his eyes. "I will be fine. Please, do not worry that I will do something foolish. I trust you to do what is right."

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist. His mouth turned upward in a wry smile. "In this instance, your trust is exceptionally well placed."

Over the next quarter hour she tried to look satisfied with the arrangement as he helped pile more baggage around her until she felt cocooned against the tree. She made a few adjustments to the saddles to make sure there was enough room for Rami in their lair, but that was the extent of the help she could provide. Weighed down by the chain mail, there was no way she could lug saddlebags or gear from the horses. Besides which, she felt ridiculous in the garment. Women did not wear chain mail. She looked down at the gray metal links. Well, most women.

The limited view of the men frustrated her most. She could see them fairly well through the branches, but not when the wind stirred through the saplings. It was at a point when the breeze blew particularly hard that Dante disappeared entirely from the road. Oliver and Armand were still there, now pretending to play a game of dice. She caught an occasional glimpse of Rami as he moved from one horse to the next, brushing down each animal. She would like to be with them, even if it meant pretending to do something. Instead she sat alone in her armor, helpless to contribute anything useful, more of a liability. What had Dante said? Ah, yes, more hindrance than help.

It seemed like a whole day had passed by the time she stretched out on her cloak and stared up at the leaves, watching the play of sunlight and shadows, but the sun had not moved more than an hour or so across the sky. Bored and anxious, it was a strange combination of feelings that made her long to close her eyes for a nap that would make the time pass more quickly. That was out of the question, of course. She was so nervous that she was almost afraid to blink.

"They are coming, my lady," Oliver said, just loud enough for her to hear but not the approaching riders.

She bolted upright amidst the clinking of metal links and scanned the clearing near the road. Oliver and Armand were still playing dice. Rami had finished with the horses and had found a seat near the men. Had she imagined Oliver's warning? No, all three were looking toward the road to the east. Dante was still nowhere in sight.

A moment later she heard the sound of measured hoofbeats and then two of their own horses snorted and blew out their breath, likely in response to the scents of the new animals. At last she saw glimpses of the strangers, her view dappled by dozens of leafy branches. One, two, three…four, five, six… Oh, no. Seven, eight .

They were outnumbered. Badly. Her heart began to thunder inside her chest. Where was Dante?

"Greetings, travelers!" a man called out. He and his men positioned their horses in a semicircle around Oliver and Armand while Avalene studied the strangers from her hiding place. The nondescript clothing the men wore was likely chosen to help them blend in with the soldiers of the next lord who hired them; brown leather pants and vests with linen shirts that all looked in need of a good washing. The man who greeted them was dressed the same as the others, but he was obviously their leader. A breeze shifted the branches for a moment and she glimpsed a gray, grizzled jaw and a thick-lipped mouth drawn back in a smile that revealed rotted teeth. "Is something amiss that you have struck camp so early in the day? Can we be of any help to you, my friends?"

The sound of a thick Italian accent from Armand made her eyes widen. "No, kind men. We are good, thank you."

There was a moment of silence before the mercenary responded. "You are foreigners?"

"Aye, Italians," Armand answered in a friendly tone. She watched him gesture toward Oliver and Rami. "My compagni no speak your tongue. My pardon, I no speak so good either."

The accent was so close to those of the Italians she had encountered at Coleway that she would have sworn it was genuine. The mercenary believed it as well. "What are you doing in England?"

"My master married the English girl," Armand said. "The fathers both merchants, sì ? We go to the padrone in London."

"Dirty outlanders," one of the other mercenaries cut in, with a quiet curse.

"Where is your master and his English girl?" the first mercenary demanded. There was a new, dangerous edge to his voice. "We have business to discuss."

"My master is with his wife," Armand replied, with just the right note of uncertainty in his voice.

A sword appeared in the mercenary's hand and pointed in the general direction where Avalene cowered behind the pile of baggage. "Get them now."

Armand gestured toward her with one hand. "E 'tempo di andare, Rami."

She watched Rami pick his way through the saplings, his young face set in hard lines. He scrambled over the pile of baggage to crouch down next to her, and then drew the dagger he wore at his waist, his gaze locked on the mercenaries.

"We want no trouble," Armand said in a placating tone, his hands held up with the palms facing outward toward the mercenaries. "You can be on your way, good sirs."

"We will be on our way when we have what we came for," the mercenary said. "While we are waiting for your master to put his pants back on, start saddling your horses and be sure to load your baggage."

"You want us to go with you?" Armand asked innocently.

"You will not be going anywhere." The mercenary gave an unpleasant laugh. "Cooperate, and we may spare your lives. Definitely we will spare the life of your master's wife. For a while. My scout says she is a fair piece."

The man on the leader's left grunted once, and then slowly slumped forward in his saddle. The leader stared at the man in stunned silence, even as Avalene heard several more grunts and three more men fell from their horses. All of the mercenaries were confused by the sudden and unexpected thinning of their ranks, looking from their comrades to Oliver and Armand who had not moved, and then back to their comrades again. Their bewilderment provided enough distraction for Oliver and Armand to draw their swords. She watched Armand easily block the first blow from the mercenaries' leader.

Rami started forward from their hiding place, determined to join the fight, but Avalene gripped his arm and then shook her head when he turned toward her. Anger flared in his dark eyes, but immediately faded into frustrated acceptance. He moved closer to her, edging her away from the wall of baggage. She finally realized the boy was trying to place himself in front of her, a small, fierce tiger intent on protecting his mistress.

A man's strangled cry and the sounds of swords clanging together took her attention back to the road. The man making the awful sounds held his neck with both hands as blood poured from a wound, and then he fell backward from his horse and she could no longer see him. Oliver's sword slashed out and cut the throat of the horse nearest him, and the animal went down with a scream. Its rider was dead before the horse's head touched the ground.

At the same time, Armand still had his hands full blocking sword blows from the leader of the mercenaries, his own blade ringing out in a steady rhythm against the enemy's. Avalene had witnessed plenty of sword fights on the practice fields at Coleway over the years, and actual sword fights when arguments between soldiers or knights turned deadly. This match looked even at first, but then Armand did not take advantage of an opening so obvious that she had to bite her lip to keep from calling out to him. Was Armand overmatched? She studied his movements, the way he feinted when he should attack. It finally dawned on her that Armand was simply keeping his opponent occupied, wearing him down, inflicting a few small cuts but nothing that would prove fatal. Dante must have given orders to keep their leader alive.

And then she got her first glimpse of Dante just as another mercenary began to move in on Armand's unprotected side. He came from the tall grasses on the other side of the road, moving quickly as he approached one of the mercenaries on his blind side. Her breath caught in her throat when he gathered speed and then in a deft move, he leapt at his prey. Actually, he practically scaled the side of the man's horse in two agile steps, the momentum making him level with the mercenary just long enough to bury his sword in the man's chest, and then two more steps backward returned him to the ground, the movement helping pull his blade free of the mercenary who tumbled from his saddle. She did not have time to draw a startled breath before Dante was on the ground again. He made a quick assessment of Armand's fight, and then vaulted onto the leader's horse so he was seated behind the man. He clamped one arm in a vise around the leader's sword arm and then placed the blade of his own sword at the enemy's throat.

Dante's voice was deadly quiet. "I believe we have business to discuss."

The sword dropped from the leader's hand and fell harmlessly to the ground, then he lifted his other hand so both were raised in surrender. "We intended no harm!"

Oliver and Armand came to stand in front of the horse and she realized with a start that all of the other mercenaries were dead.

Dante made a sound of impatience. "Who sent you?"

"N-no one," the man stuttered, and then a torrent of words poured from him. "We are in the hire of Lord Althrop, on our way to Wiltshire to fulfill his forty days' service to his liege, the Earl of Hereford. We only stopped to see why you were camped so early in the day. We thought you needed our help."

The story was believable, to a point. Every nobleman and knight owed his liege lord forty days of military service. The wealthy lords who did not relish warfare hired mercenaries to serve in their stead. The higher the rank of the nobleman, the higher the number of mercenaries were owed to take his place. Apparently the earl had agreed that Althrop's service was worth that of eight mounted soldiers. There was nothing unusual about the number. Still, the story did not explain why they had intended to rob them.

"Althrop lacks the coin to send mercenaries to Hereford," Dante said, "and the earl and his army have been in Brecon for close to a year." The mercenary grimaced in pain when Dante wrenched his arm. "Tell me the truth this time."

"Althrop said he would hire us, but when we reached his manor he turned us away. 'Tis the truth!" the mercenary insisted. "The journey to Althrop took all our coin. We were making our way to Wiltshire, hoping to hire our swords along the way. We only stopped—"

"Most of these horses and their tack are not those of common soldiers," Dante broke in. "The saddles are trimmed with silver, the horses bred for hunting rather than war. Did you leave their owners alive, or did you murder them as you intended to murder us?"

Answering that question would implicate him in theft and murder, or another denial could further anger his captor. The mercenary wisely remained silent. Dante pushed the man sideways until he fell from his horse and landed in a heap on the ground. Armand's sword replaced Dante's at his throat.

"These saddles do not belong to mercenaries of your caliber, nor do these horses," Dante said. "If they were provided for you to complete this mission, then you were sent here by one of my enemies. If they were stolen, then you and your men simply had the misfortune to choose the wrong victims. Which is it?"

"I…" The mercenary's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "W-we stole the horses from Althrop three days ago. We waited in the forest until Althrop rode to the hunt with his men, and then we robbed them."

"Are they dead?" Dante asked, in a voice that was more curious than judgmental.

The mercenary looked from Dante to Armand, and then back again. He gave a slow nod.

Dante's answering nod was for Armand.

Before the mercenary knew what that signal meant, before he could draw a breath of protest, Armand's sword drew back and then swiftly returned to the mercenary's neck with deadly vengeance. As quickly as the fight had started, it was suddenly over. Avalene turned away from the sight and concentrated on taking deep breaths until she felt Rami stir in front of her.

"Wait," she called out, as she put her hand on his sleeve. "Help me out of this armor."

Rami cocked his head to one side, his brows drawn together.

She plucked at the chain mail, and then pantomimed pulling it over her head. "I cannot move in this thing. Help me out of it, please."

She doubted Rami understood her words, but he understood the request. He gathered handfuls of the chain mail at the shoulders and began to pull until she was freed. "Migliore?"

"Sì, grazie."

Rami nodded, then vaulted over the baggage while Avalene followed at a slower pace. Dante met her before she had worked her way through the saplings. He looped one arm around her waist and turned her back toward the elm.

"Why don't you wait here while we repack the horses," he said. "We shall be gone from here in little time."

"I can help load the horses," she protested. She needed to do something to keep her mind off the massacre she had just witnessed. She leaned down and picked up one of the smaller saddlebags. "We can be gone from here much quicker if I help."

He placed both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, then leaned down so they were looking eye to eye. "You do not want to see what is in the road."

"The dead mercenaries?" she asked. "I already saw everything that happened."

Dante turned his head to look toward the road. The gory body of the leader was clearly visible. He sighed. "I had hoped you would not watch."

"I had hoped to be of more help," she quipped, thankful beyond words that none of the mercenary's blood was on Dante. "Let me help now."

He studied her face for a long moment, and then nodded. "Take the bags to Oliver."

She tried not to gawk at the fallen men, but found it was impossible not to look at them. They were everywhere. The smell of blood and gore was nearly overwhelming. Breathing through her mouth helped a little, but her stomach made many frightening turns. Still, she returned for more baggage again and again, determined not to appear weak. Her stomach gave another queasy lurch and she covered her mouth with one hand until the spell passed.

After that close call she kept her eyes on the ground directly in front of her until the horses were ready and she was in her saddle. Rami hobbled the mercenaries' horses that had survived; someone would come along eventually and care for them. The men were left where they fell. It seemed wrong to leave the dead without even covering them or saying a prayer, but she did not bother to ask if they should tend to the bodies. She knew the answer before she asked the question. The Segraves were still in pursuit and they had already lost too much time. She said a silent prayer for the mercenaries' souls, but she could not find it in her heart to forgive them the greed that led to their deaths.

They rode through the pass as the afternoon shadows lengthened and she breathed a little easier when the road widened again. Everyone rode in silence, although she found Dante's brooding gaze upon her whenever she looked at him. She did not want to talk about the mercenaries or what had happened, so she quickly looked away each time their eyes met. He did not question her.

It was almost dark when Armand pointed toward a village nestled in a wooded valley. "Wycombe ahead, my lord."

She could see a mill and its waterwheel along the banks of a river, and could just make out the thatched roofs of the houses in the shadows of dusk. She had heard of this village from merchants and travelers who stopped at Coleway. Wycombe was a market town on the banks of the River Wye, less than a day's ride from London. The knowledge that they would be in the city by this time tomorrow cheered her considerably. She also knew there would be an inn at Wycombe, but there was no reason to hope they would make use of the inn. Still, her spirits fell when Armand rode past the lane that led to the village and they all continued forward.

About a half mile beyond Wycombe, they turned onto a narrow lane that led away from the road. Eventually a large structure loomed before them, a massive black square against the gray shadows. She felt tears come to her eyes when she realized it was a village tithing barn, likely empty and abandoned at this time of year. They would sleep indoors tonight after all.

Still, a roof over her head was hardly a reason for tears.

"Avalene?" Dante had already dismounted and stood next to her. Rami held both of their horses by the reins, ready to take charge of them for the night. She could barely see Dante's face in the moonlit shadow of the barn, but she heard the worry in his voice. "Do you mind if I help you from your horse?"

Why would she mind? "Of course not."

She let go of her reins as Dante's hands closed around her waist, but he released her as soon as her feet were on the ground, almost as if he were reluctant to touch her longer than was necessary. "Stay here. We have a few candles in one of the packs with the flint. I will return soon."

She nodded and then wondered if he could even see the gesture. "All right."

He hesitated for a moment, and then followed after Rami. She could hear water running in the distance and knew they were close to the river. Oliver was probably watering the horses while Armand and Rami unloaded the packs again for the night. She should be helping, but found herself grateful to be alone for a little while. The inexplicable tears were still clouding her eyes and her breathing felt unsteady. It was just a barn, for goodness' sake. There was no cause to become so emotional, but the tears continued to roll silently down her cheeks.

Dante returned before she could compose herself. She kept her head lowered so the moonlight would not reveal her state.

"There is a doorway on this side," he said, as he motioned her toward the door.

She followed him inside and was immediately swallowed up by the darkness. No dusky shadows or moonlight reached inside the barn. She was completely blind.

"I'll have a candle lit in a moment," he said, his voice very near her. "Just stand still for a few moments."

She heard a rustling sound and then saw the spark of flint and the glint of the dagger he drew along its edge. It occurred to her that there would soon be enough light to see the pesky tears, and she used the sleeve of her gown to wipe them away. The sparks from the flint stopped.

"Are you crying?"

"Of course not." She made a concerted effort to sound firm, in control. "Why should I be crying?"

The scrape of the flint started up again, and then a small flame caught in a kindling pile of hay. Dante lit two candles, and then stamped out the kindling fire with his boot. Candles were dangerous enough in a barn, but a hay fire, even on the earthen floor away from other hay, was madness. The candles would be their only source of light in the cavernous building. Dante handed her one of the candles, and then lifted his higher to explore their surroundings.

The tithing barn was similar to Coleway's; buttressed stone walls with a high pitched roof. At the far edges of the circle of light thrown from the candles she could see a ladder that led to lofts that were built into the rafters to store straw. There were wooden slatted walls on the ground floor, seemingly constructed at random places and in random sizes to hold sacks of grain or sheaves of wheat, each stall standing empty now. The whole place smelled of dried hay, old dust, and cats.

Dante drew his sword and ventured forward into one of the stalls. She followed in time to see him wedge his sword between the slats in one corner of the stall, and then he turned the candle sideways until a small puddle of wax accumulated on the blade. He then placed the bottom of the candle in the puddle and held it steady until the wax cooled enough to hold the candle upright.

"I have to check on the men and horses," he said. He motioned toward a pile of empty grain sacks that were neatly stacked along one side of the stall. "Why don't you make a bed for us from these sacks while I am gone."

She eyed the empty sacks. "What about a bed for Rami and the men?"

"They will sleep outside near the horses and take turns at watch," he said. "I do not want all of us trapped in here, should someone from the village stumble across us. 'Tis the same reason we will not have a fire tonight; we are too close to Wycombe."

She nodded. "I will prepare our bed."

A crease formed between Dante's brows as he studied her. "I will be back very soon."

She nodded again, and then watched him turn and melt into the darkness. The dark, musty air around her felt suddenly empty and she knew he was gone. She went to the sword and placed her candle next to his in its own wax, and then began to peel away the top grain sacks. They were dusty and made her sneeze, but the layers below were still relatively clean. She laid the sacks in neat piles at the center of the stall, away from the walls where spiders lurked, and kept stacking until she had created a pallet several inches thick.

She spread her cloak over the bed, removed her surcoat, and then folded it into a square to use as a pillow. Next she sat on the edge of the pallet and removed her boots. Dante still hadn't returned so she decided to stretch out on the bed for just a few minutes. She couldn't recall ever being so tired on this trip, even on the days when they had covered many more miles in much worse weather. The pace today was almost leisurely by comparison, but she was so exhausted that she could no longer keep her eyes open.

The first things she saw when she closed her eyes were the blood-soaked bodies of the mercenaries. Her eyes popped open again and she stared up at the darkness above her, trying to imagine the stars that were on the other side of the roof, anything to erase the images of the bodies.

The imagined stars were not much of a distraction, so she thought about a tapestry she had worked on before she left Coleway, the intricacies of the design, all of the frustrations she had endured to get the pattern just right before she even picked up a needle. Who would complete the tapestry in her absence? None of Lady Margaret's ladies had enough skill with a needle. It would likely remain unfinished. Perhaps she would redraw the design when they reached Italy. She concentrated on cataloging the colors of thread she would need for the tapestry and the dyes they would require, and closed her eyes again.

The bodies were still waiting for her.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and started naming off the colors of thread and their dyes, picturing the strands in her mind. "Blue woad. Yellow weld. Brown walnut. Red madder—"

"What are you doing?"

Her eyes popped open and she found Dante standing over her, a saddlebag and a linen sack in his hands. She sat up and pretended to busy herself by brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. "I was thinking about a tapestry project I would like to start when this journey ends. 'Tis a depiction of a unicorn hunt. The piece is—" She suddenly ran out of breath and had to take a quick gasp of air before she could continue. "The piece is quite—" And then another gasp. "The piece is quite complex!"

Dante dropped the sack and saddlebag to the ground, and then took a seat next to her. A moment later she was seated in his lap, cradled in his arms. He pressed her head to his shoulder.

"Go ahead and cry," he encouraged. "I have been waiting all afternoon for this dam to break."

Her spine stiffened but she did not lift her head from his shoulder. It felt too heavy to lift, her position far too comfortable to move. "I am per-perfectly fine!"

"Of course you are," he murmured, as he rubbed her back in small, soothing circles. "You are very brave, very fierce. I am so proud of how you handled yourself. Amazed, actually. But you do not have to hide what you are feeling from me."

"I am n-not huh-hiding anything," she insisted. Her arms tightened around him and it was the first she became aware that she was clinging to him as if she would take a great fall if she let go. Why were her teeth chattering? She wasn't cold. "I am s-simply tired, but I d-do not know why."

"I do." He laid her down on the pallet, still wrapped in his arms but with hers pinned against his chest now. His leg curved over her hips, wrapping his big body around hers, as if to protect her from herself. "We are alone now, cara . You do not have to hide from me. Tell me what you are feeling."

She kept her head buried against his chest, mortified to realize the dampness there was from her tears. "I see them. Whenever I close my eyes, I see them in the road."

"They cannot hurt you now." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Look at me, Avalene."

She lifted her head reluctantly, and then sniffed once when he used his thumb to brush the tears from her cheeks.

"They were brutal murderers and thieves," he told her. "'Tis the end they deserved, and the fate they intended for us and who knows how many others?"

"I have told myself much the same," she murmured. "You did what was fair and just, and y-yet they haunt me still. I do not know why. This is not the first time I have w-witnessed bloodshed. I have watched men die by the sword; I have tended serious injuries. There was just s-so much…blood."

He brushed a strand of hair from her temple and then cupped the side of her face with his hand. "I should have made certain you could not see any of what happened. I will never forgive myself for causing you this pain."

"I am not in any pain," she hastened to reassure him. She had been so caught up in her own weepy emotions that she had never considered how her reaction would affect him. Tears, of all things. She had long thought herself immune to them and did not care for their consequences. "Truly, I am just being childish. Everything you said about those men is true. Granted, their…executions were more violent than the hangings I have witnessed, but I have seen blood and gore before." She pushed against his shoulder to emphasize her point. "You will not feel guilty."

The corner of his mouth kicked up at one side. "Your wish is my command, my lady."

"I am serious," she insisted. "You saved my life. Again. I never intended to make you feel guilty about it."

"I never imagined that a woman could watch me kill so many men, and then calmly offer to help saddle my horses." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. "And yet your mouth was set in a hard line from the moment we left the mercenaries. You looked upset."

"I did?"

He nodded. "At first I thought you were angry with me for killing them, rather than just taking them prisoner and letting the local sheriff handle the matter. And then I began to imagine the other reasons you would be upset."

"I was not mad at you."

"I figured that out eventually, but I could have saved myself a great deal of worry if I had simply asked what you were thinking." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I cannot take away the images of what you witnessed, but the memories will fade in time."

There was little doubt that he spoke from experience. She placed her hand on the side of his face, and then rubbed her palm against the sandy roughness of his cheek. "Help me to forget them."

He took her face between his hands and she watched his eyes darken. As he spoke, one hand curved around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. "Your wish is my command."

He captured her lips in a demanding, scalding kiss that scattered her senses. Soon all she could think about was the way his mouth moved against hers with hungry yearning. His kisses were as powerful as his poison, drugging her with their potency, and yet imparting a power of her own when her tongue darted out to taste him and she heard him moan.

Liquid heat raced through her as his hands moved over her body, at once soothing and inflaming. The laces of her gown were soon undone and then he pushed her chemise off her shoulders and laid her gently on their bed, his lips never leaving hers. She gasped when he cupped one breast in his hand. His thumb stroked over her nipple and the gasp turned into a low moan. His kisses burned a path down her neck and soon his mouth replaced his hand, his tongue inflicting painless torture, then his lips closed over her breast and he began to suckle. Her back arched and she cried out in astonished pleasure. His hand moved lower as he continued the erotic onslaught on her senses, pushing up her skirts, his fingers trailing a ticklish path along the inside of her thigh. He pressed his palm to her mound and her cries turned into mindless whimpers. She quit breathing altogether when his finger slipped inside her.

He lifted his head to look down at her, his eyes blazing green fire, his breathing labored, and then he began to move his finger in a slow rhythmic motion while the palm of his hand pressed against a sensitive spot she hadn't known existed. The moment was intimate beyond anything she had ever experienced. His gaze held hers captive while he held her body open and vulnerable, his hand working a dark, sensual magic upon her.

"Put your hand next to mine," he ordered, in a voice roughened with desire.

She hesitated for a moment, and then did as he asked.

"Do you feel how slick and wet you are, how ready your body is for mine?" His hips pressed against hers, and then he shifted his hand over hers to make certain she knew exactly what he was talking about. "Now touch your fingers to my lips."

Her eyes widened and she could feel the fire ignite in her cheeks. She couldn't trust her voice, so she gave a small shake of her head.

"Offer yourself to me," he commanded. "Let me taste your desire. Give me the most secret part of yourself."

His hand stroked her with more pressure, encouraging her to do as he asked. Her hand trembled, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. He drew a deep breath through his nose, and then his tongue darted out to thoroughly lick each finger. Once that was done, he drew the tip of each finger into his mouth to gently suckle away all trace of her essence. At the same time, his hips began to move against her in the same rhythm as his hand.

His mouth returned to hers in an abrupt move and there was no longer any trace of gentleness in his kisses. His tongue thrust into her mouth in movements that matched those of his hand and hips, and her body answered his with the same rhythm and demand. And then his thumb began to rub against the sensitive spot between her legs and all sense of shyness fell away. Her body was his to do with as he pleased, her mind driven only by desire.

She cried out in protest against his mouth when his hand left her and she felt him turn slightly away, and then she felt him working at the laces at the front of his pants. A moment later she felt his hot, hard staff press against her bare hip and then his hand resumed the sweet torture. The fire continued to build inside her, centered where he impaled her over and over again with his fingers. Her head began to turn from side to side of its own accord and he dragged his lips down the column of her throat until his mouth closed over her breast again. The moment he drew her into his mouth there was an explosion inside of her. She fisted her hands in his hair, desperate to hold on to him as she fell apart. As the waves of passion crashed over her, she was dimly aware of him pressing his hips harder against hers and then a hot dampness between their skin as he threw his head back and spilled his seed with a growled shout of both frustration and completion.

She could feel the tremors in his body mix with her own, and then he collapsed next to her, his leg thrown over hers and his arm wrapped around her waist to hold her close, his face buried in the crook of her neck. The harsh sounds of his breathing and hers intermingled as she stared up at the inky darkness of the ceiling, stunned by the experience, her muscles trembling in new and previously unknown places. She'd had no idea that such pleasure was possible, although she knew there was more to the act of lovemaking than what they had done, and was intimately aware that their bodies had not joined. If this was the result of love play, she wondered how she would survive when the play turned serious. Her whole body felt contented beyond belief, and yet there was a lingering ache. No, more a sense of emptiness, her body's innate knowledge that what she experienced was very pleasurable, but not entirely fulfilling. She was ready to learn all of the mysteries of what happened between a man and woman. Well, perhaps she would be ready when her body recovered from that first, very satisfying taste.

Eventually their breathing returned to normal and he stirred from her side. He used one of the grain sacks to wipe away the evidence of their tryst, readjusted his clothing, and then gently rearranged her own until she was modestly covered.

"Are you all right?" he asked. He stretched out beside her again, but propped himself up on one elbow and studied her face. There was a worried look in his eyes as he tenderly brushed his hand over her cheek. "Tell me what you are thinking."

She looked up at his shadowed face and said the first thing that came into her mind. "I am in love with you."

He blinked once, and then continued to stare down at her as the silence stretched out between them. It was not the reaction she had expected. She pressed her lips together and turned her head to one side as rejection washed through her.

"Look at me, Avalene."

He had to take her chin in his hand before she reluctantly complied with the order. His severe expression had not changed.

She tried to dismiss her words. "I did not mean to—"

His fingers covered her lips and he made a hushing sound. "Let me savor this moment."

Her brows drew together in confusion.

"Tell me again," he commanded.

A wave of relief washed over her. He was not rejecting her declaration. He was amazed by it. This time the words came hesitantly and she felt suddenly shy. "I love you."

His eyes closed and his expression became almost reverent. When they opened again, raw emotion blazed in his eyes. His voice was hoarse and raw. "Thank you."

It was an odd thing to say, but she did not have long to think about it. His lips covered hers again, but this time his kisses were tender, gentle, no longer driven by physical needs, but the emotions behind them were just as powerful.

At least, the kisses started out short and sweet as they innocently explored each other with their lips. Then the kisses began to linger on places like the pulse point of a wrist, then the corner of a mouth, the curve of an ear, and the need gradually returned, rekindled in the embers of desire. Soon she felt the familiar yearning as her body strained toward the man who could fulfill her desires.

This time she wanted to explore his body as thoroughly as he had explored her own and she slipped her hands beneath his shirt to touch the warm stone wall of his chest. She soon discovered that she could make his breath catch when she pressed her hips against his, and drawing his tongue into her mouth produced a sound like a low growl in the back of his throat. She breathed his name into his ear and felt him shudder. He tilted his head back and she dragged her lips down the strong column of his throat. He shuddered again as her tongue darted out to take small tastes of his skin, and then he firmly but gently pushed her away from her feast.

"We must stop."

She looked up to see if he jested. There was a fierce look of determination in his eyes. "I do not want to stop."

"Nor do I," he admitted, "but you have no idea how tempting you are and my willpower is especially low right now. I do not want to do something I will regret."

Her eyes widened and uncertainty returned. "Do you regret what is already done?"

"How can you even ask?" He gave a frustrated, exasperated sigh, and then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Avalene, I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, even more so, now that I have sampled your delights. I do not regret our love play, but I would have it go no further."

"Then why—"

"We are only a day's ride from London where an exceedingly comfortable bed awaits us, where we need not worry about a villager stumbling across us, or an attack by mercenaries, or being captured by the Segraves. I want to devote my full attention to you. I want to pamper you with silk sheets and soft pillows." He released a deep sigh and kept a firm hold on her shoulders when she tried to move closer to him. "You need to lie down and go to sleep now. I will keep the candles burning until you are asleep."

She stared at him and tried to decipher his suddenly incomprehensible language. Lie down? Go to sleep? Her pulse still raced and her breath came in small, uneven puffs. "Uhm, sleep?"

"I know you have heard of the word." The trace of a smile curved his lips and he brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone. "You deserve more comforts than a bed of old grain sacks in a musty barn the first time we…" His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, and then his jaw tightened. "'Tis time to stop this love play while I still can."

"Just a few more kisses," she whispered. "Please?"

He groaned and lowered his mouth to hers again. Soon her thoughts focused entirely on the feel of their bodies where they touched and the way his mouth moved against hers. He was so much larger than she, but somehow he made her feel as if she could control all of the raw, male power beneath her hands. She smoothed her palms over his shoulders, then looped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.

In one skillful motion he turned her in his arms and pressed her down onto their bed. His hands kneaded her back as he pulled her closer, pressing her hips against his in a way that left no doubt that he wanted her. She made a small sound that was rewarded with the sharp bite of his teeth at the base of her neck, followed by the soft stroke of his tongue. She felt her heart turn over in her chest. His lips moved to her ear and she felt his words vibrate through her.

"This is not the right time or place," he murmured.

"You deserve a proper bed for what I have in mind. I can wait until we reach London."

She stroked his hair, sifting her hands through the soft strands. She wanted to be his in every possible way. "I only want a few small tastes of the feast to come."

His answer was another kiss. He kissed her neck and she remembered the way her skin had tingled just before the lightning had struck the tree above her. His mouth found hers again and she heard herself moan, startled that the sound had come from her, yet unable to make it stop. He deepened the kiss and hooked his leg over the back of hers to pull her even closer, fitting the soft curves of her body against the rigid planes of his own. She twined her arms around his neck and gradually realized that he had shifted her to lie on top of him. He held her so tightly that she could scarce breathe. Finally she had to lift her head to catch her breath.

"That look makes me nervous." His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking that I could make you forget about a warm bed." She wriggled a little within his hold to better balance her weight and felt him shudder. She did it again just to see if the response would be the same. Interesting.

"You can make me forget almost everything," he admitted. "And I do not think this bed could get any warmer unless we lit it on fire. Still, you are upset by what you witnessed today. I do not want those men to taint our first time together in any way. If you still feel this way tomorrow, I will be more than happy to comply, but there is no need to rush. I said I would court you. You deserve to be courted."

The reminder of the mercenaries made her hesitate, but only for a moment. He had banished the ghosts of the mercenaries from her mind and she would not allow them back in. Now when she closed her eyes, all she saw was Dante. How had she even for a moment thought him coldhearted? Instead, she almost smiled at his look of stubborn belligerence. He was still upset that she had never experienced a courtship and seemed determined to provide one for her, even if it meant his courting took place while he was bedding her. "Does anyone else realize what a kind and considerate man you are?"

"Oh, aye, ‘kind' and ‘considerate' are my middle names," he said, with a bark of laughter. Their bodies rubbed against each other in new and interesting ways, and his eyes turned serious. "If you could read my thoughts now, you would have to devise a whole new list of words to call me."

He wriggled his brows in a parody of a seductive glance and she gave him a delighted laugh.

"Ah, that every woman would find humor in my lovemaking." He rolled his eyes, still mocking himself. "You have pierced me to the quick, my lady."

The peculiar melting sensation rushed through her again. He was smiling. She had made him laugh. Not only on the outside, but inside, where she knew his spirits were lightened. For a man such as Dante, she felt she had accomplished something momentous.

He loosened his hold, then put his arms over his head and stretched his big body out. She clutched at his chest, but his arms went around her again before she could lose her balance. "This would be a good time to think again about sleep. I do not want you to make me forgetful to the point that I take you in a field like a common—"

She placed her fingers over his lips. "There is nothing common about what you do to me, or what you make me feel."

He released another long sigh, and then patted the pallet next to him. "Please, Avalene. Lie down and go to sleep. I have had little rest the last few nights, and we still have another day's ride ahead of us before we reach London."

She pressed her lips together to keep from arguing. He was annoyingly determined. She rolled into his side and nestled in the crook of his arm while he readjusted his cloak to cover them. The covers were of no concern to her. The heat coming from his body warmed her in a way that blankets never could. His tunic smelled of leather and wool, but it was his own indefinable scent that had the power to lull her mind. Still, her body was humming with dozens of emotions. After a few moments, she gave up.

"I cannot sleep."

"Neither can I."

She had expected a sigh of impatience and an argument, rather than ready agreement. "Now what do we do?"

"I brought us some food," he ventured. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. "What else could we do?"

"Tell me how you intended to escape from me." His suggestion made her frown, for it was definitely not what she had in mind. "I have tried to think of every possible scenario, but I can think of nothing that would have any possibility of being successful. What plan did you think would work?"

She bit her lower lip and debated what to tell him.

"The truth would be nice to hear."

How did he do that? She frowned at his chest. "I was going to slip away into the crowds when we reached London. I know, I know, it was a foolish plan," she hurried to add, when his arms tightened around her. His body was suddenly rigid with stress.

"Do you have any idea what would have happened to you on the streets?"

From the tone of his voice, apparently it was something very bad. "Rather than speak of what will not happen, I would rather hear about something that will. I would rather hear you tell me more about Venice."

He was silent for a time, and then he began to tell her about the rituals and celebrations of a carnival that took place in Venice, a fascinating tale that she wanted to hear, yet his low, soothing tones were hypnotic. His hand trailed a slow, soothing path up and down her spine that lulled her further toward sleep. The day had been long and trying, and soon she could no longer keep her eyes open.

Falling asleep in the arms of the man you loved was almost as enjoyable as waking up still cradled within his embrace. There was something sinfully delicious about the intimacy of shared warmth and being nestled together as tightly as stacked spoons. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and burrowed deeper under the cloak that covered them even as his arms tightened around her. Awareness came in slow degrees.

She really was in Dante's arms. The pleasures they shared the night before were real. All of the things he had said to her the past few nights…that was real, too. Amazing. Her lips curved into a secretive smile.

It already seemed a lifetime ago when she worried that he would hold her this close at night only to make certain she didn't try to escape while he slept. Instead he had declared his love for her. At least, he thought he was in love with her. She didn't know how it was possible. What did he see in her to love that everyone else had overlooked?

How many times over the years had she questioned what was wrong with her and tried to figure out the reasons why no one could love her as much as she loved them? Well, mostly she had wondered that about her father and her aunt. Now she was filled with doubts when someone said he did love her.

He has lied to you before and you believed him. These are more lies .

And there was the sour voice of reason, the voice that demanded to be heard after being silenced for so long. Actually, she had heard it loud and clear from the moment he declared himself but had chosen to ignore the warnings. No matter what happened when they reached London, did she want to live out her life without knowing what it would be like to be loved by this man? Or, at least, knowing a very believable pretense of love?

Last night she had given herself to him without hesitation and with little inhibition. She was not so na?ve as to think that was all he wanted from her, and yet it was the thought of her comfort and safety that made him deny them both. Everything he told her was so sincere that it was almost impossible not to believe him. And yet, she knew firsthand that he was an accomplished liar. Doubtless his life often depended upon his ability to make others believe his lies.

If she were being sensible, which seemed impossible at the moment, she would not allow herself to truly hope until they were on a ship bound for Italy. Until then she could live for the moment, just as he had once suggested. He was all she had, and he was all she wanted. As much as she had tried to deny what was happening, it was obvious now that her heart belonged to him. It was his to break.

She was still staring up at the rafters when she realized there actually were windows in the barn, narrow slits cut into the walls that allowed in enough light to know it would be dawn soon. They would be on the road again within an hour, perhaps two at the most. That meant they would soon leave their cozy lair for another day of hard riding. She almost groaned at the thought of getting back on her horse. Her makeshift bed felt like heaven in comparison.

For the moment her life and the morning itself remained locked in misty grays, still cloaked in the lingering night. The daytime creatures had yet to rise while the nighttime predators had found their burrows and roosts to hide away from the coming sun. She could hear distant whickers of their horses from beyond the barn doors, but the walls that surrounded them made her feel completely isolated from the others. This was the quietest and most peaceful time of day.

She snuggled closer to Dante's warmth and closed her eyes again, but sleep eluded her. There was no ignoring the fact that today everything would change. Today they would reach London and their journey would end. There was unease over the uncertainties ahead, but no longer dread. Whether it was truth or illusion, Dante made her feel safe. He would show her all of the wonders of London, and then he would take her far across the sea where she would no longer be in danger from anyone. He just had to convince the king that she would never again be a threat to him.

She released a small sigh.

"Are you pretending you are still asleep?" he murmured in her ear.

"I am still asleep," she lied. The fact that he was awake didn't surprise her. He was a light sleeper and always seemed to awaken when she did.

"I could be persuaded to rub your back," he said. "A kiss would seem a small payment."

"Let me sleep a little longer," she murmured, not trusting herself anywhere near his lips. Last night her dreams had been filled with hazy images of kissing him, of touching him, of his hands upon her body. There would be no more of that until they reached London. Why start something they would not finish?

As if he could read her thoughts, he shifted closer to her, adjusting the way she fit against him, back to front, holding her hips as he pressed his own against hers in a sensual movement. He made a low sound in the back of his throat. Her eyes widened. She could feel the stiff proof of his erection against her hips and her loins tightened in response.

"Do not worry," he said, mistaking her reaction. His warm breath fanned across her neck and she felt goose bumps raise along her arms. "I will not ravish you. 'Tis normal for a man's body to be aroused in the morning, especially when he awakens to find such a desirable woman in his arms."

"And if I wanted to be ravished?" she wondered aloud.

"London," he murmured. She felt his lips travel along the column of her neck, not really kissing her, but almost tasting her, breathing her in. His mouth opened and she felt his teeth nip painlessly at her neck, then his tongue laved the nonexistent damage he'd done. She shifted her weight to hide the way her body responded with a small shudder. "W-will we reach London today?"

"Aye, by midday," he replied, his voice just as quiet as hers. His hand skimmed a slow path along her side from her waist to her knee, and then back again. "We will have every comfort imaginable at our fingertips. My thoughts have been lewdly dwelling on one in particular. Would you like to share a bath with me?"

She glanced over her shoulder, certain he was teasing, but reassured by his grin all the same. "Are you so bold with all of the ladies you know?"

"You are the only lady I know, aside from my sister. So, as far as my lewd suggestions to ladies are concerned, you are the sole recipient." He rubbed his thumb across her lower lip and his touch sent a familiar shiver of sensual awareness coursing through her.

She bit her lip as his thumb moved across her face to stroke her cheek. "Surely you know some of the ladies at court."

"Some are acquaintances," he admitted, sounding distracted. His gaze was still focused on her mouth. "You are the only woman I would speak with about anything…personal. Anything of importance. You and my sister are the only two women who know my true identity, and only a handful of men can make the same claim. I have already shared more of myself with you than I have with any other woman."

She turned onto her back so she could better study his face without craning her neck, trying to decide if he was telling her the truth. It was those sorts of odd comments that kept her off balance and made it nearly impossible to doubt him. He held her gaze for a long moment, and then he lowered his head to kiss her. She unconsciously lifted her chin and closed her eyes, but she felt his lips touch her temple rather than her lips.

"You must ask me to kiss you," he reminded her. He dipped his head again to nuzzle her neck, sending fresh shivers down her spine. "My lips will not touch yours until I hear the words."

"Are you not worried that I will make you forget yourself?" she asked. "Last night you all but insisted that I stop kissing you."

"Last night I was more susceptible," he said. "Today my resolve is stronger. I fully intend to finish what we started, but not this morn. When I take you to my bed in London it will not be for a hurried coupling." His gaze moved lower and then slowly returned to her face. "I intend to linger over you for hours. Perhaps days."

Now it was her turn to feel uncertain over the sensual look in his eyes. He was very good at seducing her, good at kissing and caressing her. He had said she was also a good kisser, but this was all new to her. She had little doubt that he had plenty of practice, likely with some of his beautiful "acquaintances" at court. "What if I do not please you?"

"Impossible."

His immediate answer reassured her that he had no doubts. She suddenly had plenty. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth.

The expression in Dante's eyes was serious. "Are you certain this is what you want? That I am what you want?"

"Have I not said as much?" Her brows drew together. "Am I not willingly in your bed?"

He shook his head. "What I want to know is if you will come to my bed knowing it will go against your family's wishes, knowing I can never offer you the type of life that you were destined for in England. Will you give up your dreams of marriage to an Englishman to give yourself to me?"

"I am yours already," she answered simply.

She blinked at the speed with which he shifted her to lie beneath him, his gaze never leaving hers. He seemed to be waiting to hear what she would say next, somehow daring her to say or do…She was not sure what that look dared her to do or say. And then it finally dawned on her.

"Kiss me."

She had not intended her words to sound like an order, but they did and he obeyed. In one skillful motion he lowered his head and kissed her. This time his mouth was hard and demanding, opening over hers the same way he had just kissed and tasted the sensitive skin on her neck, but driven now with an urgency that was altogether new. Her eyes widened and then fluttered shut as she gave herself over to her feelings, the melting, the falling away of everything except the feel of his mouth over hers, the weight of his body, the restless longing that began to fill her body.

She sighed against his mouth and surrendered to her destiny. Something about this man had called to her soul from the moment she first laid eyes upon him, and now, at last, she was free to answer, to take what he offered and give back as much as she took. The fabric of his shirt felt smooth and warm beneath her hands, but she pulled handfuls of the fabric upward until she could reach beneath the shirt to touch his bare back. His skin felt hot and his muscles moved in constant waves.

The kiss became almost a battle, a contest to see who would dominate. In the end she lost when he dragged his mouth away from hers to press more violent kisses along the column of her neck, biting, sucking, and then once again tracing the damage with his tongue. This time he would leave marks, she was sure of it. They would be the same type of bruises she had noticed on some of the serving wenches' throats in the past. Those women had blushed over the bruises and dismissed them as love bites. At the time she had thought the women foolish. Now she understood. There was something primitive and erotic about being marked by a man, for her, being marked by this man in particular. She tilted her head back to bare more of her neck and heard herself moan.

"Shhh." His fingers covered her mouth, his voice little more than a whisper near her ear. "I will not share any part of you with another, not even the sounds of your pleasure."

Before she could think what he meant, his lips replaced his fingers and she was lost again in the heat of passion. Her hands found their way to his chest, learning and memorizing the contours beneath his shirt, pushing against him one moment, clinging to him the next. His hands were just as busy, touching and caressing her in ways that both soothed and excited her. Her back arched as she pressed herself into him and she heard his sound of pleasure.

It gave her a heady feeling to know she could affect him so easily and she rose up again to test her power. He pressed her back down and then her hips answered the movement until their bodies established a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. She had always thought of herself as somewhat modest, but now her gown felt like a barrier, as did his clothing. She began to tug on his shirt, driven by some unknown demon to feel his bare skin next to hers.

"Gesù," he whispered. "Tell me to stop."

Oh, that would never happen. Before she could say anything he dragged his mouth back to her lips for another searing kiss. The kiss ended abruptly when he rolled onto his back. She tried to follow him, but he laid his arm across her chest and pressed her shoulders to the ground, forcing her to lie still next to him. For a long time all she could hear was the labored sound of their breathing.

Gradually she became aware of her surroundings. Hints of red and gold colored the sky through the windows. Outside the horses sounded restless, doubtless in anticipation of the ration of oats they would soon receive. The woodland birds had arisen as well and were becoming noisier by the moment as they set off from their nests for the day. And then she heard someone cough.

Was it Oliver or Armand or Rami? The sound traveled clearly. Her eyes widened and her face began to feel hot with a blush. How much had the others heard of their trysts?

"We cannot do that again until we reach London," he said at last. His arm still lay across her chest and she felt his fingertips begin to trace a random pattern on her arm that stopped in midstroke. A moment later, he had his hands clasped behind his head as he stared up at the rafters. "Give me a few moments to calm down."

"All right," she said, still unsteady herself. She stared up at the rafters as well and listened as her breathing and heartbeat began to slow down. "Will you have many duties to attend to when we arrive in London?"

"A few," he said. "Why do you ask?"

She tried to keep her voice casual. "I am just wondering how much time we will have to spend…alone together." That sounded needy. She frowned at a cobweb that was still barely visible in the rapidly lightening barn. Would he think she was too clingy? Would he tire of—

He suddenly rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Avalene, for you, I have all the time in the world."