Old fears wriggled to the surface, telling me there was something wrong deep inside me.

"If not for Mabon," Matthew continued, "powerful witches would have been in the Bodleian, witches who knew the ma.n.u.script's importance. But they were busy with the festival and let their guard down. They left the task to that young witch, and she let you-and the ma.n.u.script-slip through her fingers."

"Poor Gillian," I whispered. Peter Knox must be furious with her.

"Indeed." Matthew's mouth tightened. "But the Congregation has been watching you, too-for reasons that go well beyond the book and have to do with your power."

"How long?" I wasn't able to finish my sentence.

"Probably your whole life."

"Since my parents died." Unsettling memories from childhood floated back to me, of feeling the tingles of a witch's attention while on the swings at school and a vampire's cold stare at a friend's birthday party. "They've been watching me since my parents died."

Ysabeau opened her mouth to speak, saw her son's face, and thought better of it.

"If they have you, they'll have the book, too, or so they think. You're connected to Ashmole 782 in some powerful way I don't yet understand. I don't believe they do either."

"Not even Peter Knox?"

"Marcus asked around. He's good at wheedling information out of people. As far as we can tell, Knox is still mystified."

"I don't want Marcus to put himself at risk-not for me. He needs to stay out of this, Matthew."

"Marcus knows how to take care of himself."

"I have things to tell you, too." I'd lose my nerve entirely if given a chance to reconsider.

Matthew took both my hands, and his nostrils flared slightly. "You're tired," he said, "and hungry. Maybe we should wait until after lunch."

"You can smell when I'm hungry hungry?" I asked incredulously. "That's not fair."

Matthew's head tipped back, and he laughed. He kept my hands in his, pulling them behind me so that my arms were shaped like wings.

"This from a witch, who could, if she felt like it, read my thoughts as if they were written on ticker tape. Diana, my darling, I know when you change your mind. I know when you're thinking bad thoughts, like how much fun it would be to jump the paddock fence. And I most definitely know when you're hungry," he said, kissing me to make his point clear.

"Speaking of my being a witch," I said, slightly breathless when he was finished, "we've confirmed witchwater on the list of genetic possibilities."

"What?" Matthew looked at me with concern. "When did that happen?"

"The moment you pulled away from Sept-Tours. I wouldn't let myself cry while you were here. Once you were gone, I cried-a lot."

"You've cried before," he said thoughtfully, bringing my hands forward again. He turned them over and examined my palms and fingers. "The water came out of your hands?"

"It came out of everywhere." I said. His eyebrows rose in alarm. "My hands, my hair, my eyes, my feet-even my mouth. It was like there was no me left, or if there was, I was nothing but water. I thought I'd never taste anything except salt again."

"Were you alone?" Matthew's voice turned sharp.

"No, no, of course not," I said hurriedly. "Marthe and your mother were there. They just couldn't get near me. There was a lot of water, Matthew. Wind, too."

"What made it stop?" he asked.

"Ysabeau."

Matthew gave his mother a long look.

"She sang to me."

The vampire's heavy lids dropped, shielding his eyes. "Once she sang all the time. Thank you, Maman. Maman."

I waited for him to tell me that she used to sing to him and that Ysabeau hadn't been the same since Philippe died. But he told me none of those things. Instead he wrapped me up in a fierce hug, and I tried not to mind that he wouldn't trust me with these parts of himself.

As the day unfolded, Matthew's happiness at being home was infectious. We moved from lunch to his study. On the floor in front of the fireplace, he discovered most of the places that I was ticklish. Throughout, he never let me behind the walls he'd so carefully constructed to keep creatures away from his secrets.

Once I reached out with invisible fingers to locate a c.h.i.n.k in Matthew's defenses. He looked up at me in surprise.

"Did you say something?" he asked.

"No," I said, drawing hastily away.

We enjoyed a quiet dinner with Ysabeau, who followed along in Matthew's lighthearted wake. But she watched him closely, a look of sadness on her face.

Putting on my sorry excuse for pajamas after dinner, I worried about the desk drawer and whether my scent would be on the velvet that cushioned the seals, and I steeled myself to say good night before Matthew retreated, alone, to his study.

He appeared shortly afterward wearing a pair of loose, striped pajama bottoms and a faded black T-shirt, with no shoes on his long, slender feet. "Do you want the left side or the right?" he asked casually, waiting by the bedpost with his arms crossed.

I wasn't a vampire, but I could turn my head fast enough when it was warranted.

"If it doesn't matter to you, I'd prefer the left," he said gravely. "It will be easier for me to relax if I'm between you and the door."

"I . . . I don't care," I stammered.

"Then get in and slide over." Matthew took the bedding out of my hand, and I did as he asked. He slid under the sheets behind me with a groan of satisfaction.

"This is the most comfortable bed in the house. My mother doesn't believe we need to bother with good mattresses since we spend so little time sleeping. Her beds are purgatorial."

"Are you going to sleep with me?" I squeaked, trying and failing to sound as nonchalant as he did.

Matthew put his right arm out and hooked me into it until my head was resting on his shoulder. "I thought I might," he said. "I won't actually sleep, though."

Snuggled against him, I placed my palm flat on his heart so that I would know every time it beat. "What will you do?"

"Watch you, of course." His eyes were bright. "And when I get tired of doing that-if I get tired of doing that"-he dropped a kiss on each eyelid-"I'll read. Will the candles bother you?" I get tired of doing that"-he dropped a kiss on each eyelid-"I'll read. Will the candles bother you?"

"No," I responded. "I'm a sound sleeper. Nothing wakes me up."

"I like a challenge," he said softly. "If I'm bored, I'll figure out something that will wake you up."

"Do you bore easily?" I teased, reaching up and threading my fingers through the hair at the base of his skull.

"You'll have to wait and see," he said with a wicked grin.

His arms were cool and soothing, and the feeling of safety in his presence was more restful than any lullaby.

"Will this ever stop?" I asked quietly.

"The Congregation?" Matthew's voice was worried. "I don't know."

"No." My head rose in surprise. "I don't care about that."

"What do you mean, then?"

I kissed him on his quizzical mouth. "This feeling when I'm with you-as if I'm fully alive for the first time."

Matthew smiled, his expression uncharacteristically sweet and shy. "I hope not."

Sighing with contentment, I lowered my head onto his chest and fell into dreamless sleep.

Chapter 27.

It occurred to me the next morning that my days with Matthew, thus far, had fallen into one of two categories. Either he steered the day along, keeping me safe and making sure nothing upset his careful arrangements, or the day unfolded without rhyme or reason. Not long ago what happened in my day had been determined by carefully drawn-up lists and schedules.

Today I was going to take charge. Today Matthew was going to let me into his life as a vampire.

Unfortunately my decision was bound to ruin what promised to be a wonderful day.

It started at dawn with Matthew's physical proximity, which sent the same shock of desire through me that I'd felt yesterday in the courtyard. It was more effective than any alarm clock. His response was gratifyingly immediate as well, and he kissed me with enthusiasm.

"I thought you'd never wake up," he grumbled between kisses. "I feared I would have to send to the village for the town band, and the only trumpeter who knew how to sound reveille died last year."

Lying at his side, I noticed he was not wearing the ampulla from Bethany.

"Where did your pilgrim's badge go?" It was the perfect opportunity for him to tell me about the Knights of Lazarus, but he didn't take it.

"I don't need it anymore," he'd said, distracting me by winding a lock of my hair around his finger and then pulling it to the side so he could kiss the sensitive flesh behind my ear. "Tell me," I'd insisted, squirming away slightly.

"Later," he said, lips drifting down to the place where neck met shoulder.

My body foiled any further attempts at rational conversation. We both behaved instinctually, touching through the barriers of thin clothing and noting the small changes-a shiver, an eruption of gooseflesh, a soft moan-that promised greater pleasure to come. When I became insistent, reaching to seize bare flesh, Matthew stopped me.

"No rushing. We have time."

"Vampires," was all I managed to say before he stopped my words with his mouth.

We were still behind the bed curtains when Marthe entered the room. She left the breakfast tray on the table with an officious clatter and threw two logs on the fire with the enthusiasm of a Scot tossing the caber. Matthew peered out, proclaimed it a perfect morning, and declared that I was ravenous.

Marthe erupted into a string of Occitan and departed, humming a song under her breath. He refused to translate on the grounds that the lyrics were too bawdy for my delicate ears.

This morning, instead of quietly watching me eat, Matthew complained that he was bored. He did it with a wicked gleam in his eyes, his fingers restless on his thighs.

"We'll go riding after breakfast," I promised, forking some eggs into my mouth and taking a scalding sip of tea. "My work can wait until later."

"Riding won't fix it," Matthew purred.

Kissing worked to drive away his ennui. My lips felt bruised, and I had a much finer understanding of the interconnectedness of my own nervous system when Matthew finally conceded it was time to go riding.

He went downstairs to change while I showered. Marthe came upstairs to retrieve the tray, and I told her my plans while braiding my hair into a thick rope. Her eyes widened at the important part, but she agreed to send a small pack of sandwiches and a bottle of water out to Georges for Rakasa's saddlebag.

After that, there was nothing left but to inform Matthew.

He was humming and sitting at his desk, clattering on his computer and occasionally reaching over to thumb through messages on his phone. He looked up and grinned.

"There you are," he said. "I thought I was going to have to fish you out of the water."

Desire shot through me, and my knees went weak. The feelings were exacerbated by the knowledge that what I was about to say would wipe the smile clean off his face.

Please let this be right, I whispered to myself, resting my hands on his shoulders. Matthew tilted his head back against my chest and smiled up at me. I whispered to myself, resting my hands on his shoulders. Matthew tilted his head back against my chest and smiled up at me.

"Kiss me," he commanded.

I complied without a second thought, amazed at the comfort between us. This was so different from books and movies, where love was made into something tense and difficult. Loving Matthew was much more like coming into port than heading out into a storm.

"How do you manage it?" I asked him, holding his face in my hands. "I feel like I've known you forever."

Matthew smiled happily and returned his attention to his computer, shutting down his various programs. While he did, I drank in his spicy scent and smoothed his hair along the curve of his skull.

"That feels wonderful," he said, leaning back into my hand.

It was time to ruin his day. Crouching down, I rested my chin on his shoulder.

"Take me hunting."

Every muscle in his body stiffened.

"That's not funny, Diana," he said icily.

"I'm not trying to be." My chin and hands remained where they were. He tried to shrug me off, but I wouldn't let him. Though I didn't have the courage to face him, he wasn't going to escape. "You need to do this, Matthew. You need to know that you can trust me."

He stood up explosively, leaving me no choice but to step back and let him go. Matthew strode away, and one hand strayed to the spot where his Bethany ampulla used to rest. Not a good sign.

"Vampires don't take warmbloods hunting, Diana."

This was not a good sign either. He was lying to me.