This earl of Hawkesmoor was Geoffrey's heir. Was he Geoffrey's son? Had Clara finally conceived? Would Geoffrey's son know anything of that other child?

She had never expected to learn anything of the child. She had given him up to a man who would care for him, would guarantee his future. A man who would ensure that he was never touched by the horror that had befallen his mother. And until this moment, when the name of Hawkesmoor was spoken under her roof, Sarah had buried all thought and all speculation so deep in her soul it had seemed impossible it would ever see the light of day.

And now a Hawkesmoor was coming here. Now, once again, there would be Hawkesmoors and Ravenspeares together a stone's throw from her door. Her hands trembled again and she clasped them both in her lap.

"What about your horses?" Jenny hung the kettle over the fire and pulled down a sheaf of dried chamomile. She didn't know much of the science of Ariel's breeding program, but she did know her friend's goal.

Ariel's lips set in a determined line. "Nothing's going to stop me, Jenny. If I can't set up my stud here, then I'll take it away. As soon as I can make a few sales and make enough money to set myself up, then I'll go somewhere, as far away as possible, from Ravenspeares and Hawkesmoors. And I'll be myself. Responsible to and for myself. They won't stop me."

Jenny was silent. Sarah looked at Ariel with her white set face and her fierce charcoal eyes, and pity washed over her. How could the poor child even begin to know what she was taking on? Hawkesmoors and Ravenspeares never let anything stand in their way.

Ariel's eyes met Sarah's steady gaze. She seemed to read the woman's mind. "Don't forget that I also am a Ravenspeare," she said softly.

Chapter Three

"I shall miss having you to myself, Simon." Helene moved lazily, stretching her naked body along the length of her lover's. The soles of her feet arched as she dug her toes into his calves, and her hands palmed his, pulling them above his head. She smiled down into his languid countenance. "You spend months at war, then you come back only to get married." She pouted in mock complaint, then nuzzled his cheek. "Why must you get married?"

He ran his hands down her back. It had been many months since he'd made love with Helene, but his fingers always held the memory of her body, so that even after prolonged absence it was as if it had been no more than a night. "A man of four and thirty, my love, has need of a wife." He spoke lightly. "And since the love of my life refuses to marry me, then I must look elsewhere."

Helene drew her tongue along the sharp lines of his cheekbones. "You know I cannot remarry, Simon. I would lose the children. Harold's will is as tightly sealed as his coffin. Not even for you will I give up my children." He said nothing, but his hands continued their reflective caresses.

"Once you could have married me, Simon. Ten years ago you could have married me," Helene continued.

"Soldiers make poor husbands," he responded, stroking over her buttocks. "John Marlborough loves his wife, but he leaves poor Sarah to pine for months, even years, at a time. I would not condemn a wife of my heart to months of lonely frustration."

"Because she would seek solace elsewhere?"

There was a short silence and she felt the sudden tension in his body. "Let us say that I would not put temptation in her way. No wife of mine will be unfaithful."

There was a chill to the flat statement with which Helene was familiar. She knew the dark side of Simon Hawkesmoor as she knew his laughter and his loving. From childhood, they had shared dreams. As eager, reckless youngsters, they had initiated each other into the mysteries of lovemaking. And then Simon had gone to be a soldier on the battlefields of Europe and Helene had married the elderly Viscount Kelburn. He had left her a widow with three children, and a will that stated all control of her children would pass into the hands of her husband's brother if she remarried.

"You would visit the sins of your own father onto some innocent woman," she said.

Gently he put her from him and sat up. His face was dark, his eyes now cool and distant. "No, that is not what I would do, Helene. I simply will not tolerate unfaithfulness in my marriage."

Helene drew the sheet over her. She stared up at the canopy overhead. "You will apply that to your own conduct?" "Aye," he said quietly.

"And when do you marry?" Her voice was flat.

"I go to my bride's house on the morrow." He swung his legs over the side of the bed. A raw, red scar twisted up his leg from ankle to groin, like a thin snake of fire.

"So soon!" She turned her head on the pillow, and her eyes were filled with anger. "We make love for the first time in a year, and now you're going!" She closed her eyes tightly, saying almost to herself, "So this is farewell… forever."

"Aye," he said as quietly as before. "To our loving, but I hope not to our friendship."

"Damn you, Simon Hawkesmoor." She opened her eyes and he saw the glitter of tears before she dashed them aside with the back of her hand. "Damn you! Why didn't you say so before?"

"I thought you understood." He grabbed the bedpost and hauled himself to his feet. "I thought you would know how it must be, Helene."

"You're no Puritan, Simon. You never have been for all four sober suits and your family's allegiances," she declared, miffing angrily.

"But you know the history of my family. You know I would not repeat it." He looked down at her with a mixture of regret and irritation. "Why else do you think I have arranged this marriage?"

Helene sat up, holding the sheet to her breast, an arrested expression in her eyes. "Whom do you marry, Simon?"

"You don't know?" He stared, incredulous.

"How could I know? I spend no time at court. I have no visitors but you," she exclaimed. "You said only that you were marrying. Nothing about how it would mean the end of us. Nothing about when or who."

He sighed. "I am marrying the Lady Ariel Ravenspeare, Helene."

"A Ravenspeare!" she breathed. "Dear God in heaven. They killed your father."

"I've seen enough blood spilled in the last years, Helene. I am awearied of blood and anger and war. My family has been locked in enmity with the Ravenspeares for so long, and each generation deepens the wound, whether with an illicit passion or an act of violence." He leaned over her, his eyes intense, his voice low. "A marriage made in good faith can only heal."

"But they killed your father."

"And I will meet them now in peace."

Helene turned from him. She knew that look, the sudden clenching of his jaw, the hardness of purpose in his eyes, the power of will behind the quiet words. When Simon Hawkesmoor was in this mood, he was unmovable. He was a man of such paradoxes. A man of war who loathed conflict in his private life. A man of massive strength whose loving touch was so tender and gentle it would not crush the petals of a rose. But above all, he was a man of powerful convictions and principles. He stood way above the petty disputes, the spite, the opportunistic betrayals of the political court. No party claimed his allegiance, and he lived in no one's pocket. For this he was both respected and feared. A man who could not be bought.

She lay silent, listening to him as he moved awkwardly around the chamber, dressing himself. She heard the clunk of his belt buckle as he put on his swordbelt, and knew that he was ready to leave her.

"What if the Ravenspeares will not meet you in peace?" She rolled onto her side so that she could see him. Her eyes were dark against the white pillow.

"Ranulf has agreed to the marriage… admittedly with a degree of- persuasion from the queen," he added. "Judging from the number of invitations that have gone out, he is preparing to marry off his sister in a lavish style."

He sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hand. "Helene, if anyone can understand what I'm doing, it must be you."

"For a man of war, you have a strange fondness for peace," she said, curling her fingers in his large palm. "But the Ravenspeares are known for their treachery. What makes you think you can trust them?"

"There can be no treachery if Ranulf wishes to keep his place at court. I told you, love, that the queen herself wants this marriage."

"Maybe so." Helene hitched herself onto one elbow. Her anger and bitterness were gone. They would do no good and she was too wise a woman to bid farewell to her friend and lover in resentment. "But Ranulf Ravenspeare would betray his dearest friend if it suited his purpose. And he's not known to be a forgiving man. It's said he'll carry a grudge to his grave… or to the grave of his enemy."

Simon smiled. "For one who never goes to court, you're remarkably informed of gossip, my love."

"Deny it."

He shook his head. "I cannot. But it's not as if we plan to embrace each other as beloved family. After the wedding, after this month of celebration, I will take Lady Ariel to

Hawkesmoor, and Ranulf and his brothers will never have to lay eyes upon me again. But the marriage will have put an end to the old enmity, once and for all."

"You are an extraordinary man, Simon Hawkesmoor." Helene touched his cheek with her free hand, tracing the path of the livid cicatrix.

He put up his hand to clasp her wrist. There was a look of uncertainty in his eye, a strange and unusual diffidence about him. "Do you think a young girl will find me repulsive, Helene?"

"How could you think such a thing?" she gasped, sitting up, clasping his face between both hands.