She lifted her hands to push him away, only to find his arms wrapping tightly around her. She saw his eyes, the flame of desire high and bright. His head lowered slowly. Startled by the touch of a man's lips against hers, she felt herself go slack in surprise.

His touch was not what she expected. Handsome as Roderick was, in some distant corner of her mind she had thought to be repulsed by such intimacy. But for all his fierce gaze, his kiss was gentle and sweet. Gradually her fingers uncurled against his leather gambeson. Indeed, the kiss was scarcely unpleasant. Was it possible, she thought in amazement, that there was pleasure to be found in a man's touch?

Her lips parted softly in surprise, and then suddenly everything changed. She felt his hands in her hair, tugging at her braid, his fingers loosening the silky ebony strands. Deftly he unfastened her cloak and pushed it from her shoulders. She moaned, a tiny sound of protest and distress, but it was smothered against a mouth gone hard and demanding. In rising panic, she struggled against his hold. But he crushed her against him and bore her back against the ground, his body completely covering hers.

Somehow she managed to tear her mouth free. "Roderick," she gasped out. "Roderick, please!"

But it wasn't her voice that stopped him cold. It was the unmistakable sound of steel whispering sleekly against a scabbard...

Roderick twisted and bounded to his feet. Kathryn jolted upright. Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest. It spun through her mind that if she were wise, she would leap up and run as if the yawning pits of hell gaped at her feet.

For if the devil were flesh and blood, it was surely Satan who stood before them now.



Chapter 2


In truth, Guy had no patience with these two young lovers. Soon darkness would cloak the earth in its murky shroud. Ashbury Keep lay but a short distance away. The groundwork for his siege was already in place on the far side of the keep. He had only to move his remaining troops into place under cover of night and await the dawn.

And soon .. . soon Richard's soul would rot in hell.

For now, it was necessary to make sure these two did not raise the alarm. He signaled to one of the foot soldiers to disarm the man.

When his sword and dagger had been stripped from him, Guy sat upon his destrier and surveyed the pair coolly. The man was tall and strong-looking, his body well conditioned; Guy would have been proud to number this man among his own. There was the unmistakable look of a warrior about him, sharp and alert. He stood poised and ready for any sign of provocation, yet he wasn't foolish enough to endanger either himself or the girl. As for the girl, she had yet to move. Indeed, Guy thought with cynical amusement, she looked utterly terrified.

It was the man who spoke first. "This land belongs to Richard of Ashbury. Who are you? Why are you here?”

Guy's lips smiled. His eyes did not. "I might ask the same of you, sir knight. But 'tis plain you seek the pursuit of love here, not war." The smile dallied about his lips. "But I fear our arrival came too soon for you to fully pluck the fruits of this comely wench."

Wench! Kathryn's fear vanished. She saw the mounted knight through a fiery mist of rage. The scornful tone of his voice was too much to bear. She scrambled to her feet and marched forward.

"You go too far, sir!" she hissed. "I am no serving maid that you may insult at your leisure. And I demand that you honor our request and make known your intentions! You and your men come here armed and ready to do battle. Is that the role you seek—that of conquering invader?"

Amazed at the girl's audacity, a low murmur went up among the men. Guy stared at her in silent speculation. Her woolen dress was worn and thin, little better than a servant’s, which he had assumed she was. But now that she was up and on her feet, he saw that she possessed pride and grace. He was both irritated and intrigued by her boldness.

And it seemed he had misjudged her. She had the courage of a man, but the recklessness of youth. He could let neither pass by unnoticed. There was too much challenge in her voice, in her entire stance. Girl, he thought, 'tis time you learned just how much you dare.

"My purpose," he said in a voice that was all the more chilling for its very softness, "remains my own, but I tell you this. I'll not let you or anyone else sway me from my goal."

He nodded again to several of his men, who grabbed her companion and pulled him aside.

He tossed his reins to his squire and dismounted, deliberately taking his time. He walked toward her, never taking his eyes from her. Her gaze faltered only once, but the next instant she confronted him just as boldly. She was nervous, he decided, but determined not to show it.

In truth, Kathryn was wholly unnerved. There was a bloodthirsty air to this entire group of knights—especially their leader. His pennon was altogether fitting—red silk emblazoned with a pair of combatant falcons. The knifelike edge in his voice must have made many a soul cringe in fear, and his features were just as frightening.

His eyes were pale and glittering. They burned with all the fires of hell as he approached. His hair was as black as her own, his skin as dark as a heathen's. Another might have thought him handsome, but Kathryn thought his sculpted features harsh and ruthless. His mouth was thin, almost cruel. His jaw was square and strong, his nose thin and straight and arrogant.

From his place next to Guy, Sir Hugh Bainbridge watched Guy's progress uneasily, unsure of his friend's next move. He has changed, Hugh thought. He was unpredictable—as now. He was as hard as steel, as unyielding as stone.

Guy stopped before her. His breadth totally eclipsed her view of his men-at-arms. Kathryn was stunned to see that his eyes were a pale translucent gray, in stark contrast to his swarthy skin. He towered over her, nearly two hands higher than she.

"Shall we settle the issue then?" His voice was soft, almost whimsical. To Kathryn, it was like steel tearing through silk. She shivered in spite of herself.

He placed his hands on his hips and walked round her. "You claim you are no servant," he

announced. "Mayhap that is true. But you have moss in your hair, lady." He plucked several fat tendrils from her hair and displayed them with a flourish.

Aware of her hair streaming wildly over her shoulders and down her back, Kathryn shot a fulminating look at Roderick. He looked ready to explode, the guard on each side of him the only thing holding him back. For an instant it was gratifying to see him thus bound.

"Or perhaps—" The dark knight’s voice dropped to a silken whisper meant for her ears alone. "—you are no lady at all."

Both his tone and his expression were ripe with taunting mockery. How Kathryn stopped herself from striking him, she didn't know. She sensed he was goading her, toying with her like a cat plays with a mouse before tearing the mouse apart. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower!

A sudden breeze molded her gown to her body, outlining her form in explicit detail. The dark knight' s eyes slid boldly over her. Too late Kathryn remembered her cloak upon the ground behind her. His gaze lingered for long uninterrupted moments on the firm upthrust of her breast. Kathryn flushed painfully, hating the betraying color which rushed to her cheeks.

His lips curved in a challenging smile. "Indeed," he said softly, "methinks it highly unlikely that you are even a maid."

Kathryn couldn't help it. She struck out blindly. Unthinkingly. If she had had a weapon, she would surely have slain him.

But his fingers closed around her wrist, like iron manacles, thwarting her. Those ice-fire eyes never strayed from her form.

"Ah, that was not wise," he murmured. "What if I should be tempted to retaliate?"

"You offend me most cruelly! And I am not afraid of you!"

No, Guy thought slowly, she was not. Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. He gazed down at her, and slowly—reluctantly—became aware of something else. Oh, the burning in his veins was still there, but it was not from anger at the girl's insolence.

It was desire, stark and strong and almost painful in its intensity.

"Damn you!" shouted a voice. "Let her go! She is no servant to be handled so roughly—she is Lady Kathryn of Ashbury!"

Kathryn stared helplessly into the hard-featured face above hers. His eyes were piercing and relentless as they stabbed into hers.

The pressure on her wrist tightened ever so slightly. His lips barely moved as he spoke. "Surely you are not Richard's wife? His daughter mayhap?"

“ "Nay! His wife died long ago. I am his niece!"

He released her so suddenly she almost stumbled. "Leave us," he said to his men. He stared at her harshly. Kathryn was only vaguely aware of his men dispersing. She didn't understand the silent accusation which smoldered in his eyes.

She regarded him warily, absently. Who was he, she wondered, this dark and fearsome knight? And why was he here? He was not on a mission of mercy, that much was clear. She had seen the way his troop of men was armored and mailed; nor had he come in friendship.

Comprehension dawned with shattering clarity.

"You are here for Richard," she whispered.

"And if I am?" His face was a mask of stone. She could read nothing of his thoughts.

Kathryn hesitated. With the way she hated her uncle, Richard's enemy should have been her staunchest ally. If only it were so simple! But alas, she knew of these male creatures and their will to quarrel. They dealt in lies, giving with one hand and snatching back with the other.

"You will do as you wish," she said quietly. 'There is naught I can do to stop you."