Chapter 8

A full moon turned the forest into a strange world of stark light and impenetrable shadows, a world that seemed to reflect Sir Percival's grim mood. He had scarcely spoken since they made their way onto the Roman road, and they rode hard throughout the day and well into the night. All of her questions about her feelings and his had long since faded from her mind beneath a haze of exhaustion.

At last Percival paused at the crest of a hill where a flat outcropping of rock offered a moonlit view of the valley they had just crossed. The two men studied the terrain. Avalene looked out over the valley and wondered what they hoped to see in the darkness across so vast a distance. Up close her two companions were almost as plainly visible as if it were daytime, although it was eerie the way the moonlight leached all color from their faces. Their skin glowed chalky white while their eyes were coal black. She shivered and returned her attention to the valley that was cloaked in the shadows of countless trees. This was a foolish waste of time.

"No one would dare follow us through the forest at night," she told them, as she drew her cloak tighter against the damp chill in the air. Somewhere in the distance came the lonesome hoot of an owl. "That is, no one will follow us on this night."

Sir Percival turned toward her, his face stern yet starkly handsome in the moonlight. "Is there something special about this night, my lady?"

She gestured toward the sky. "'Tis the Witches' Sabbath."

"The Witches' Sabbath?" Oliver echoed. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"'Tis peasant folklore," Percival told him. "Some say that witches gather in their covens when the full moon rises on the eve before the true Sabbath."

"Witches are not the only creatures who gather under the full moon," she said in a hushed voice. "'Tis a night when evil spirits of all sort roam the countryside; demons who search out the souls of hapless innocents and cavort with the Devil's brides in unspeakable rituals."

"Saints preserve us," Oliver whispered, as he crossed himself against evil.

Percival's mouth curved into a smile and he began to chuckle. "Who filled your head with such nonsense?"

"My aunt," she answered primly, hurt that he would laugh at her. "I wondered why you insisted that we continue to ride rather than seek shelter in the village we passed at dusk. I know we are supposed to avoid villages, but surely this night could be an exception? Lord Brunor says the only men who venture abroad on a Witches' Sabbath have the heart of a lion or the head of a fool."

Percival rubbed his chin. "I take it you have cast me into the role of the fool?" She bit her lower lip, wishing she'd said nothing at all about fools and lions. Sir Percival saw nothing amiss with his plan to continue their journey. The two men seemed accustomed to traveling at night and Percival thought the Witches' Sabbath was just a silly old superstition. More complaints would only make her look hopelessly na?ve in his eyes. Perhaps it was best to extend an olive branch.

"Forgive me, Sir Percival. I gave my word that I would not question your actions or comment upon them. I spoke rashly to defend what my family believes to be truth, and I was wrong to insult you."

The reassuring smile disappeared. "Never apologize for defending your family, Avalene."

He turned his horse abruptly and made his way back to the road, obviously expecting her to fall into line behind him. Somehow she had managed to insult him twice. No wonder he was growing tired of her. She looked at Oliver, but he simply nodded toward the road and indicated that she should follow Percival. She gave a frustrated sigh and fell into line.

They rode single file again. The sting of rejection occupied her thoughts for a time, but gradually the stillness of the forest began to press in on her. She knew she should feel safe with two strong, capable men to guard her, but swords offered little protection against the dangers that lurked in the darkness. Not that she gave complete credence to witches and spirits, but bears, lynx, wolves, badgers, and boars were much more genuine threats to their safety, along with the dangers from two-legged predators who might be hiding in the woods. Every small sound in the forest became a portent of approaching evil; the unnerving howl of a wolf, the rustle of a small animal in the underbrush, a sudden flapping sound in a tree.

'Tis nothing more sinister than a bat or an owl, she told herself, even as she clutched one hand over her racing heart. And that was likely a hedgehog, she decided, when something stirred the branches of a large bush. A cowardly voice in her head argued that it was something much more sinister. Any number of sly creatures could follow them through the forest, watching, waiting to leap upon their prey without warning.

Sir Percival reined in his horse so abruptly that she nearly leaped from fright when her own mount brushed up against his. The knight gave her no more than a cursory glance as she gathered her wits along with her reins and pulled her horse to a stop. He motioned Oliver to his side.

"What is it, my lord?"

Percival pointed toward a long-dead tree that stood at a fork in the road. Its bark and most of the branches had been stripped away by weather and time, leaving a silvered trunk that gleamed like a skeleton in the moonlight. The two remaining branches resembled pale arms stretching toward the moon that hung directly above the tree; a grim, headless specter reaching for a cold orb of light. Avalene shuddered in fear even as she saw a glint of metal near the "chest" of the ghostly tree. A dagger, she realized, embedded into the heart of the dead wood.

"Stay with her," Percival told Oliver, as he gathered his reins. When she realized his intent, she placed her hand on his arm and he stilled immediately.

"'Tis something evil," she whispered. "A warning to turn back, or a lure to coax you into a trap."

Her concern seemed to startle him. His hand came to rest on hers, separated by the leather of their gloves, but his warmth still seeped into her. "'Tis nothing more than a dagger stuck into a dead tree, my lady. There is nothing to fear."

She studied his face and tried to decide what made her so certain that he was lying. There was nothing in his expression or the soothing tone of his voice to betray him, but she watched as he looked at their hands touching, then at her shoulders, then a spot above her head. It finally dawned on her that he wouldn't look her in the eye and tell a lie. At any other time, she would have smiled over the revelation. But not now. Now she almost wished for ignorance, for blind faith in his word.

"'Tis evil," she insisted, tightening her grip on his arm.

He reached out and stroked her cheek with one gloved finger, and then his thumb brushed across her lower lip as if he could somehow mark her with his touch. The caress was so tender and unexpected that she drew a startled breath.

"I can hold my own against any evil," he said softly. "'Tis innocence and beauty that hold the power to ruin me."

His gaze lowered to her mouth, lingering there for a heartbeat, then his hand abruptly fell away and he loosened her hold on his arm. She was dazed, unable to move, unable to make even the smallest sound. What had just happened? He turned to speak over his shoulder even as he urged his horse forward. "Guard her, Oliver."

So many thoughts buzzed through her head that she could scarce concentrate on any one of them. Had he been talking about her? Did he truly think her beautiful? How could she ruin him? Was it possible he wanted to kiss her?

She watched in silence as he rode forward, certain she should do or say something to keep him away from that forbidding tree. Instead she touched the tips of her fingers to her lower lip, feeling for all the world as if he had just kissed her. Why had he touched her that way?

Sanity kicked in…a little reason, in small degrees. Perhaps he touched all women that way. Perhaps he knew his effect on them and used it to silence every woman who tried to argue with him. She should be angry that he dared take such liberties. Something inside her insisted that he had every right to touch her however he wanted, the same part of her that longed for him to touch her again.

The questions were forgotten when he reached out with both hands to remove the dagger and she realized that the knife held something pinned to the tree, which turned out to be a flat scrap of parchment. He stared at the parchment longer than she thought necessary, tilting it toward the moonlight several times to study both sides. She wondered what could possibly be so interesting on so small a page. Finally he slipped the dagger and the parchment into a leather sack that was tied to his saddle. When he rode back to rejoin them, his mouth was set in a grim line.

"'Tis an edict from the local sheriff," he said, "offering a reward for the capture of poachers in the area."

Another lie, she decided, and this one more obvious than the last. The moonlight was bright, but surely not enough to reveal writing on so small a surface. She looked at Oliver and saw him nod an acceptance, but she again had the impression that some silent message passed between the two men in that brief exchange. What were they hiding?

Sir Percival dismounted and handed his reins to Oliver. He said something beneath his breath that she doubted even Oliver could hear, and then he was gone. She saw him move away from the horses toward the brush, and then suddenly he disappeared into the shadows. She rubbed her eyes and told herself it was just a trick of moonlight that had made him appear to melt into the night.

She turned toward Oliver. "Where did he go?"

Oliver answered in a low voice. "To make certain we are alone, my lady."

She looked into the shadows and impenetrable darkness of the forest and decided she was very thankful to have two such brave men to accompany her. There was no way she would venture into those woods alone before daybreak.

Oliver moved his horse closer to hers and long, tense moments passed. Just then, Sir Percival appeared again in the clearing. It was the color of his clothes that made him seemingly appear before her eyes, she decided, marveling again at his talent for blending into the darkness. He was still hard to see in the shadows but his movements were unhurried, so she assumed there was no immediate danger.

"There are no signs that anyone else is in the area," he told Oliver, as he took his reins and remounted. He brought his horse next to Avalene's, and then held out his hand. "You will ride with me for the rest of the night. Oliver, take her reins and the lead."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the only sound that came out was an unladylike "umph," when his arm slid around her waist. She clung to his arm for dear life, even though she was reluctantly impressed at how easily he removed her from the saddle. Rather than position her behind him on the horse, he lifted her onto his lap. It didn't take long to regain her wits, if not her dignity.

"Sir Percival! What are you doing?"

"I should think it obvious," he said, as he ignored her frantic efforts to rearrange her cloak and skirts. With a slight nod, he gave Oliver a silent order to ride ahead of them, and then he glanced down at her. "Put your head on my shoulder and rest while you can, my lady."

"I cannot."

"Why not?"

"The reasons should be obvious." They were to her. His arms encircled her on every side, and their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to thigh. No man had ever held her in such an intimate embrace, and this man made her realize why maidens were trained to discourage this sort of impropriety. It was entirely too appealing. Rather than admit as much, she tried her best to appear scandalized. "'Tis indecent!"

"'Tis necessary," he countered, as he turned his horse toward the road. "We cannot stop to rest until we reach Beversham, and you cannot stay awake that long."

"I can," she insisted, without any real conviction.

In truth, fear was all that had kept her awake for much of the night. Now the forbidden feel of his hard, male body was fast affecting her senses. His heat warmed her as no fire ever could, but she still shivered as they rode past the dead tree.

After the initial shock wore off, her heartbeat began to slow down and her breathing evened out. Really, there was nothing to complain about except propriety, and who but them would ever know? She wanted nothing more than to do as he ordered, to curl up in his arms and allow the slow, rocking movement of the horse to lull her to sleep. There was just one question that bothered her. "What was on that parchment?"

"Go to sleep, Avalene."

She frowned and folded her arms together at her waist. "If I had a suspicious mind, I might think you were trying to distract me. There isn't a sheriff in England who would post an edict with a costly dagger. A nail or peg, perhaps, but never a dagger. And why in a place where so few would be able to decipher the message? 'Tis a rare man who can read, and most rely upon their priest to decipher any writing. 'Tis the reason notices are always posted near the village church at Coleway, where the priest—"

"Do you ever have a private thought?" he demanded, clearly exasperated.

"Oh, I have private thoughts aplenty," she assured him, "but sometimes I find it easier to reason through a problem aloud. By telling what little I know of sheriffs and their warrants, I hoped you would explain the flaw in my reasoning, or be persuaded to tell the truth about that scrap of parchment."

A muscle in his jaw tightened. "First I am a fool for laughing at a silly superstition, and now I am a liar? One can only wonder how low I will sink in your regard when you have known me an entire fortnight."

"I do not think you a fool," she said quietly, even though Oliver was too far ahead to overhear their conversation. This was the reason men disliked her. Somehow she always managed to insult them. She should be grateful that Sir Percival was too polite to yell at her. "And I think the only reason you would lie to me is to spare my feelings."

He narrowed his eyes. "If you truly believe that I would lie to spare your feelings, then why press for a truth that might frighten or hurt you?"

"You need not lie to protect me," she told him in her firmest voice. "I am in the midst of the wilderness on a night when all God-fearing souls should be close to hearth and home, and yet I would know the dangers I face rather than travel in ignorance. I am a woman full-grown, not a child to be cosseted, Sir Percival."

"On that score, we agree. You are most definitely a woman."

The look in his eyes made her suddenly aware of every inch of where their bodies touched. She lowered her gaze, knowing she wouldn't be able to hold a thought in her head if he continued to look at her that way. "Will you tell me what was on that parchment?"

"'Tis a message from…one of my men," he said. "One who awaits us in Beversham. He knew we would ride this way and wanted to warn me that there are, indeed, bandits about in the forests. So, it seems you were right in that regard. We should remain silent for the remainder of the night so we do not alert them to our presence."

She considered his words, then shook her head. "You are keeping something from me."

A stillness came over him, even though they continued to ride at the same pace. "Why are you so certain that I am not telling you the truth?"

"There is something in your tone, in the way you look at me," she said, as she lifted her shoulders. "I cannot explain it very well. You will laugh if I try."

"Oh, I will not laugh," he promised.

It didn't seem possible, but the moonlight made his eyes even more potent. He looked at her as if he could see every secret in her eyes. She spoke without thinking. "I feel as if we are somehow connected when we speak about almost anything, but I feel that connection break when you lie. 'Tis almost as if…" She shook her head again. "Nay, I cannot explain it. I just know when you are being less than truthful."

His eyes closed for a few moments, as if he were processing that information. When he opened them again the look he gave her was remote, guarded. "Those are frightening words to any man, my lady, but I am afraid they do not ring true. What I have told you is the truth."

He was still lying, she was certain of it. Except that now he looked at her as if he found something unusual in his arms, something he found a bit alarming.

As neither of them looked away, his expression began to change. He looked at her in a way that was bolder and more intimate than any other man had ever dared. The intensity of his gaze both unnerved and excited her and the threads of their conversation began to slip from her fingers. The way he stared at her, the way his gaze lingered so often on her mouth…Was it possible her feelings were not so one-sided after all? That would be bad. No, that would be impossible.

They had been talking about something important, but she could recall none of it. The horse continued to move forward but it could have walked off a cliff and she wouldn't have known or cared much. He hadn't taken his eyes off her, their gazes still locked in their silent exchange. In that timeless moment she saw every reflection of her own feelings in his eyes: uncertainty, resistance, and an inexplicable, irresistible pull. The impossible. He wanted her. At long last, he had recognized her attraction to him and it had triggered a response.

A response that could prove dangerous.

The sensible side of her knew it was folly to consider any sort of dalliance with her father's knight. Staid, sensible Avalene de Forshay was a woman who held her honor sacred. She was immune to the illicit lures of carnal sin. She had never willingly allowed a man to hold her this close. Her pulse never fluttered over the way a man looked at her. She never stared into a man's eyes and wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Until Sir Percival. Every thought in her head strayed into dangerous territory whenever she was near him, and now her girlish daydreams were about to stray into reality. It was time to turn away and put an end to this foolishness.

Instead some strange new beast inside of her took hold and lifted her chin, offering herself to him. The way he took the bait so easily sent a thrill of shock and feminine power through her. He lowered his head until their lips were only a breath apart and then he halted. She knew he was trying to defy the invisible force that drew them together, but she was already secure within its grasp. His breath felt warm against her mouth, small puffs of air that made her aware of how sensitive her lips were to his touch. The reasons for resisting what felt so right began to fade away.

The restraint she sensed in him would soon break, of that she was certain. She wondered if he would be gentle, or if he would claim her lips with all the rough, urgent passion that she had sometimes glimpsed between lovers. One could stumble upon couples engaged in illicit trysts in almost every corner of Coleway, and she had sometimes laughed at the way they seemed oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Now she was beginning to understand that madness.

"Avalene," he whispered, and her name sounded like a benediction. Their lips touched a moment later as his mouth brushed across hers in a caress that put scarcely more pressure on her parted lips than his breath. Once, twice, then again he stroked her lips, as if he could learn the shape of her mouth by touch alone.

Finally he fitted his lips to hers in a kiss so gentle, so filled with reverence that she felt tears come to her eyes. Like everything else about Sir Percival, his kiss was perfect. It was a kiss that a knight bestowed upon his ladylove, a kiss that spoke of the yearning he suffered for a lady who was forever beyond his reach. It was a kiss that sealed fates.

She kept her eyes closed; and something inside her changed in that moment. Something that had slumbered deep within her awakened and rose toward the light. If she had known that kissing could be this pleasurable she would have tried it long before now, but some instinct told her it would not be the same with any other man, the same instinct that told her she had just met her fate. "Avalene?"

"Percival," she breathed, delighting in the taste of his name on her tongue. Her lashes fluttered open and she smiled.

He spoke a low yet fluent curse. "Do not look at me that way."

The quiet voice that knew this was madness became quieter. She tilted her head back, offering herself to him again, craving a deeper taste of desire. She watched him hesitate, but at last he lowered his head once more to kiss her.

The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips before she shuddered and opened up to him, reveling in both her surrender and his, secure in the knowledge that he was caught in the same sensual spell. His taste was intoxicating, an elixir that became suddenly vital while his kisses commanded her surrender. Gentleness gave way to need as his hand moved to the back of her neck and then to her head as he held her in place, her head tilted back, his mouth feeding upon hers. She pressed herself closer to his chest and at the same moment felt something in him change. He was suddenly very still.

"Gesù," he groaned, as he tore his mouth away from hers. His voice took on the hard edge of anger. "You must stop tempting me this way."

His gaze scarcely touched her face as he lifted his head, and his hands quickly returned to the reins. He stared straight ahead at the road. The haze of desire drifted into confusion as she realized that he was ignoring her. Indeed, he acted as if nothing momentous had just happened. His jaw was set but otherwise he looked unaffected, while her whole world had just come undone.

Or maybe it hadn't.

"You are…" She shook her head, certain she had to be mistaken in what she'd heard, yet just as certain that she was not. "You are blaming me for that kiss?"

"I must stay alert to any signs of trouble and be able to act upon a moment's notice," he said in a rough voice. He leaned away from her. "I cannot do that if you are intent upon seducing me at every turn."

"I am seducing you?" she sputtered. Was it possible? She had no experience in seduction, had no idea that she would have any talent at it. Apparently she did.

"Protest your innocence all you want," he said, "but you know exactly what I am talking about. You are a lady, Avalene. You had best remember how to act like one."

Her hand flashed out to slap him before the thought fully formed in her mind. At least, she tried to slap him. He caught her wrist before it came anywhere near his cheek, and forced it back to her side.

"You cannot tell me that I am the first victim of your charms," he said, a clear note of anger in his voice. "I suppose there was little harm in teasing and tempting the men at Coleway, but we are no longer safe within the walls of a castle and this is not a game. Our very survival could depend upon my ability to stay on guard, to sense danger around us."

She felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. Oh, how she longed to say something clever and biting. Unfortunately, humiliation robbed her wit. "Put me down."

"Stop squirming ," he bit out. "You will stay exactly where you are. This is not the first or the last time we will be in close quarters on this journey. We must both accustom ourselves to the…inconvenience."

Oh, this was much worse than the other rejections. He had just reduced the most wonderful moments of her life to an inconvenience .

"I warned you at Coleway that you must be ready to follow my orders without question," he said. "You cannot ply me with kisses and then expect to control me with a crook of your finger. I am not some callow boy you can bend to your will. Nor am I a man as spineless as the steward, whose fixation with you will be the death of him yet. Whatever love games you played in the past to get your way with men will not work with me. And I said to cease that squirming!"

You deserve this , her staid, sensible voice said. The kisses that had meant everything to her meant nothing to him. Worse, they had made him angry. The pain of rejection washed through her along with irrational anger. She kept her tone as level as she could manage. "Put me down or I swear I will scream. I will kick your horse, I will—"

Percival reined in his horse, but he would not let her slide to the ground. His chest rose and fell as he took deep breaths, as if he had just exerted himself at some difficult task or was about to face one. That left little doubt in her mind that she was the difficult task.

"This is not the time to act like a child, Avalene. You have my apology if I hurt your feelings, but—"

"Enough!" she snapped. "I agreed to obey you without question, but I did not agree to sit silent while you all but accuse me of being the village whore. I am not some Delilah bent on seducing every male in my path. I have never played ‘love games' in my life, and I do not bend men to my will by promising—" She took a cleansing breath, unwilling to even speak the foul words. "If you must know, you are the only man I have ever kissed. Now, you will unhand me at once, you odious man!"

He simply stared at her until she began to wriggle around again, trying to free herself from his grasp. His hold on her tightened. "You acted as if…That is, you seemed very knowledgeable. I am hard pressed to believe you are a complete innocent."

"Is that supposed to be an apology?"

"That was supposed to be an observation." He rubbed a hand across his face. "However, it seems I do owe you an apology."

"Fine," she snapped. "I will hear your apology when I am mounted again on my own horse."

He shook his head, even as he spurred his horse forward. "You must ride with me. This is one of the orders I would expect you to follow without question under different circumstances, but I have insulted you and I suppose you deserve an explanation."

"I deserve an apology and to be allowed on my own horse again."

He looked down at her and seemed to lose his train of thought. "Truly, you have never been kissed before?"

Should she be flattered that he thought her an experienced kisser, or insulted? Her thoughts felt as if they were drenched in syrup, struggling to make connections that should be obvious. Rather than stare at him in befuddled silence, she folded her arms across her chest and looked away. "I want my horse back."

He shook his head. "You are not hardened for a long ride the way Oliver and I are. You are angry now, but that will fade and you will start to lag behind. We need to keep moving, and we need to move as quickly as possible."

"We should have stopped in the last village," she said. "If we had stopped, I would not have had to ride with you and there would be no reason to blame me for anything."

He made a sound of impatience. "Your uncle's steward is so infatuated with you that I would not be surprised if he is searching for you even now."

"He is not infatuated with me," she argued, struggling to keep up with this turn in the conversation. Why was he so focused on Coleway's steward? John took delight in tormenting everyone, and cared for no one so much as himself. Infatuation was hardly the word she would use to describe their relationship. "The only reason he wants to marry me is to strengthen his ties to my aunt and uncle, and to gain my dowry. John's feelings for me do not extend beyond his ambitions."

"I know an obsessed man when I see one," he retorted. "He will not easily let go of all his schemes to win you. He will pursue us until there is no hope of recovering you, and a full moon will only aid their search. Eventually someone will find our trail, or someone who noticed that we took the path to the London road will give our direction to the search parties. We must plan for the worst case, that a search party is no more than an hour or two behind us. That means we keep riding."

She tightened her arms across her chest and looked away from him. He truly intended to ignore what had happened between them.

"When you are finished being stubborn you should try to rest," he said in a softer voice. "We will ride as hard the next four or five days as we rode today. My men will have extra horses so we can have fresh mounts and change horses as they tire, but we will not rest long in any one place."

"I am still waiting for your apology," she said. He had already dismissed their kisses as inconsequential and seemed content to pretend they hadn't happened. Her wisest course was to seal up the shame and anger in a distant part of her mind, and pretend the same. Why couldn't she let it go? "You have admitted that I am due an apology, but I have yet to hear it."

"Ah, yes," he said slowly. He pursed his lips. "I was wrong to think you were purposely trying to seduce me, or that you were a practiced seductress. Apparently I was also mistaken in my belief that you wanted me to kiss you. I do humbly apologize for taking any unwelcome liberties."

She had wanted him to kiss her. She had kissed him back. He was letting her know that he was well aware of those facts, which was almost as insulting as being accused of seducing him in the first place. It was one of the worst apologies she had ever heard.

"I agree that this is the wrong place and time for such indulgences," she said. "Indeed, there is no place or time that would be right for us to…to have any type of…romantic relationship. You are my father's knight. I am promised to another. We must not allow this to happen again."

He made a noncommittal sound and they rode on in silence. Well, that was that. Reason prevailed. She should not find it depressing that he found her logic so easy to follow.

"I suppose you are right," he said at last, sounding in better humor than she could muster. "These are unusual circumstances. We were both carried away. You have my word that I will do my best to resist such temptation in the future."

She studied his face, suspicious that he was making fun of her, but his expression remained stoic. Still, the humiliation of his rejection would not fade. "The task would be made much easier if you would allow me to keep my horse."

"I already answered that particular request several times," he said. "Accept the fact that you will never be beyond my sight before we reach London. Even then we will be in close quarters in the city and later on the ship. However, I feel certain we can control our baser urges if we put our minds to it."

Was he mocking her? She could not entirely dismiss the notion. Perhaps a dose of guilt would make him understand the seriousness of the situation. "My honor is as important to me as yours is to you, Sir Percival. 'Tis acceptable for a lady to give her favor to a knight, or even reward her knight with a chaste kiss for some heroic deed, but what we did was wrong. My father entrusted you with my care and I would not…I would not want to tempt you into breaking that trust. We both have our reputations to consider."

He gave her a pointed look. "Have you not yet realized that your honor is already lost?"

She blinked once, very slowly, stunned by the unexpected cruelty. Why would he say such a horrible thing? She shook her head, as much to deny the words as to stem a rising tide of dread. Unfortunately, he kept talking.

"You will be in my company for many weeks without the benefit of a chaperone. Most will assume we exchanged much more than a chaste kiss or two. We left your innocence at the gates of Coleway."

"We must hire a companion for me immediately!" How could she have overlooked such an obvious flaw in her plan? She had been so focused on escape that she hadn't thought about a chaperone, not once during their long ride. Instead her head had been filled with daydreams about the man who had ruined her. Now, when it was too late, she realized the full, awful truth of his words. The honor of any unmarried noblewoman who traveled in the company of men without a family member or respectable female companion would be questioned, no matter her protestations of innocence. Worse, the damage could never be completely undone. Innocent or not, she would be considered a fallen woman. "You must find someone and explain what has happened—and what has not happened, and then she can vouchsafe my reputation for the remainder of this journey."

"And where do you propose I find such a woman?" he asked. "What you are asking for is a woman who is willing to leave her home to go with strangers at a moment's notice, a woman who herself has a spotless reputation, a woman who knows how to handle a horse, which means she must be more than a mere servant. Even if we stumbled across such a paragon tomorrow, I doubt she would be willing to travel all the way to London at our pace, and then on to Wales. If two men and a woman rode up to Coleway as strangers and told our same story, would you allow any of the gentlewomen at Coleway to leave with us?"

"I would send a company of men with her," she said.

"Would you really?" he drawled. "You would donate a company of armed men and a gentlewoman of good repute to three strangers to make a journey that would last at least a month, by the time your people return from London? That would also assume that you believed the story being told by the three strangers." He shook his head. "'Tis much more likely your uncle would have all three thrown into the dungeon until he could send a messenger to wherever they came from to verify their story. What do you think would happen to us if we found ourselves in such a situation and a message were sent to Coleway?"

They both knew the answer. She would be returned to Coleway, and Sir Percival would be hung.

"You could remain as chaste as the most pious nun in England on this journey, and it will not matter. There will still be those who doubt your innocence." The certainty of his words made it clear that he had already thought through the problem and saw no solution. "You are ruined as completely as if your aunt's scheme had worked and we were found abed together at Coleway."

She had to remind herself that he was not trying to be cruel. He was simply stating facts. No matter how she tried to deny the truth, he was right. She was ruined, her honor destroyed. No one would look at her the same way ever again. And all she had to show for her disgrace were a handful of kisses. Kisses that he regretted.

It did not ease her guilt to know that she was the one who had taken the first steps toward sin, that she had somehow seduced him. Her behavior would justify anyone's doubts about her honor. Just two short days together and already she had kissed him. Two days! What would happen over the course of the many long weeks they would spend together?

The coming weeks stretched out in her mind, an agony of shameful longing and guilt. How long could she resist?

When they finally reached Wales, her father would have every right to doubt her honor. It was a fleeting thing.

"I had not thought this through," she admitted, feeling dazed. "I thought of the servants who would accompany us in the baggage train, but I did not think of what would happen when we left without chaperones. You are right. We will not find a suitable chaperone before we reach London. My honor has already been compromised." Another realization made her eyes widen with dread. "The Segraves! They can break the betrothal contract once this becomes known. My father will be furious."

"Your father knew your reputation would be ruined the moment you left Coleway without a chaperone."

Of course he knew. And he had sent Sir Percival on this mission anyway.

There were growing rumors of rebellion in Wales, and other men with ambitions who would overlook any stain on her honor. Ruined or not, the Segraves would be foolish to release their claim and risk her falling into the hands of their rivals. Between an alliance with her father and her Welsh heritage, Faulke had sufficient motivation to accept her as soiled goods despite the insult to his own honor. From what she had learned of him, Faulke's ambition far outweighed his ego. No, the marriage would go forward as intended, she decided.

And then what would happen to Sir Percival?

Regardless of his noble intent, regardless that he was here by his liege lord's order, Sir Percival would be held responsible for her ruined reputation even if he never touched her again.

"Faulke Segrave will challenge you," she whispered. A woman's husband or betrothed was obligated to challenge the man responsible for her ruin, and such challenges almost always resulted in a death. Given Segrave's ruthless reputation, she doubted it would be a fair fight. "My father must have known this when he sent you to Coleway."

"Aye, he was aware of the consequences," he said, "but once you are safe, I intend to leave Britain before Segrave can issue a challenge. I will not return."

The news shouldn't have come as a surprise, or cause an almost physical pain at her core. She had known since they met that it was unlikely she would ever see him again after her marriage. But there had always been that slim possibility. She hadn't realized how much she had clung to that faint thread of hope. A thread that had, in fact, never existed.

Once she was safely delivered to Weston, Percival would leave her. He would start a new life somewhere, likely with a large reward from her father, and she doubted he would ever think of her again. Rather than mourn his loss, she should be grateful that he would be safe from Faulke's challenge. Perhaps in time…At the moment, she felt only pain. "Where will you go?"

"'Tis best if you do not know."

Was it? She could not imagine living the rest of her life without knowing where he was, without knowing if he was safe. But what point would it serve to satisfy her curiosity? What point would there be to allow her heart to yearn for him more than it already did? No, he was right again. It would be best if he made a clean break from her life when the time came.

"We will have many weeks together before we part ways," he said, as if he knew her thoughts. "You must learn to live for the moment, Avalene. These next few weeks could be the greatest adventure of your life. You will see much of the English countryside, visit the great city of London, and take your first journey by ship. You must follow my orders to help us make a safe journey, but otherwise you are bound by few rules. Certainly fewer rules than you have been bound by in the past or will be in the future."

"There are always rules," she said, although her voice sounded uncertain.

He shook his head. "That is one of the few benefits of a ruined reputation. The worst has already happened. You can do as you please."

She studied the shadowed planes of his face in the moonlight. "What, exactly, are you suggesting, Sir Percival?"

"Is it really so hard to guess?" he asked. "You must realize by now there is a certain…attraction between us. Once we are safe in London, what harm could there be in enjoying a few kisses on occasion?"

"They were wrong," she breathed. Did he think she needed any encouragement to contemplate sin? She tried to remind herself that the attraction he felt for her was nothing more than lust, a surprising turn of events to be sure, but she must stop deluding herself into thinking his feelings ran as deep as hers. He had already made it clear that the kisses they shared meant far less to him than they did to her. How much deeper would her feelings run if they shared more kisses? "We were wrong."

"Do you really think so?" he mused. He lifted one hand to indicate the darkened forest all around them. "As I said, this is not the time or place for a dalliance, but other opportunities will arise. We are already breaking most of the rules. What harm could there be in breaking a few more?"

What harm, indeed? Those were likely the words used on countless women as men led them to the edge of their downfall. She could almost see the vast emptiness below her, feel its pull. This is how women effected their own fall from grace; willingly, eagerly…stupidly.

"You know there is something between us," he said in a low voice, in that tone she found most irresistible. "Do you have no wish to indulge yourself just a little, to know what it is like to be kissed by a man who wants you regardless of your dowry, or family connections, or your marriage prospects? A man who wants you and nothing else?"

Oh, he was good. She pressed her lips together before she could say something stupid. Her sluggish voice of reason finally stirred to life.

"I do not think any more kisses would be a good idea." Her voice held none of his smooth cadences. She sounded as if she had swallowed a frog. "In fact, I think it would be a good idea if I closed my eyes now and tried to get some sleep as you suggested."

His lips curved upward. "As you wish, my lady."

She pulled her hood up to give herself the illusion of privacy, even as she tried her best to think through everything he had said, everything he had implied, and everything he had proposed. It was almost too much to take in.

She was ruined. And all she could concentrate on was the fact that he had kissed her, and wanted to kiss her again. Amazing.

How different this journey would be if she had left Coleway with a full baggage train and a cadre of servants. It was unlikely they would have had occasion to speak more than once or twice a day, and the opportunity to kiss him never would have arisen. Their arrival at Weston would also be a far different homecoming than the one she had envisioned. What was her father thinking? Did he hope the Segraves would break the betrothal? Despite her conjecture, Faulke Segrave might not want her after he learned that she was traveling alone with a knight and his men for more than a month. If that happened…would her father allow her to wed the knight he had sent to ruin her?

The idea was as appealing as it was absurd. She quickly pushed it away. The impossible had already happened. Percival had admitted that he was attracted to her. He had kissed her. Lightning would not strike twice. Even with her ruined reputation, her father would never allow her to marry a poor, landless knight. If the thought of a marriage beneath her rank had ever crossed his mind, he would have left her at Coleway to marry the steward.

It was Percival's intent that confused her the most. He was perfect in so many ways, and yet there were things about him that she found surprising and a little disturbing. She had never expected him to speak to her so boldly, to suggest that there could be more between them than what had already happened. How easily he had set aside his honor. She had thought him so chivalrous. Even when he put an end to their kisses, she was certain he was trying to do the honorable thing, to follow his knight's code even as he accused her of seducing him. But then he suggested they break even more of the rules. Why would he suggest such a thing?

The answer came to her in a flash. His honor was ruined as surely as her own. He would be forced to leave England when this journey ended. Until then, he was as free of the rules of propriety as she was, and they would both exist in this strange, lawless world until they reached her father's fortress. She could kiss him as often as she wanted and it would make no difference to her reputation, or his. He could hold her as close as he wished, and everyone would assume he had done much worse. The price he would pay was exile.

She had been so caught up in trying to grasp the damage done to her reputation that she had not considered the damage done to his. His life would change even more than her own.

He had volunteered to rescue her, knowing the price to them both. She could not think of any other man who would have made such a sacrifice for a woman he had never met. He truly was the noblest man she had ever known.

Perhaps living in the moment was not such an outlandish idea after all. As he said, the damage was already done. If he wanted to kiss her again…she would let him.

Her head jerked up and she realized that she had nearly fallen asleep. There was so much to think over, so much to consider, but her thoughts kept scattering. Already his warmth was seeping into her, chasing off the dampness of the night air. As he predicted, the lack of sleep had caught up with her and she felt herself drift again toward slumber.