"You are terribly flushed." He pressed the back of his hand against her cheek and pulled it away to rest his palm against her brow. "God's bones, girl, you're burning hot." He checked her other cheek and the side of her throat. "What has done this to you? Are you ill?"

What would he believe? "Feeding," she blurted. "It always makes me grow very warm. It will soon subside."

"Chilled blood cannot warm you like this," he said, looking suspicious, "and there are no humans here to heat your veins."

"I went to town earlier," she lied. "I tire of bagged blood sometimes. Who do you favor to win at the ranges this season?"

Locksley seemed satisfied with her excuse, and began talking about the strengths and weaknesses of the different archers in the competition. Jayr listened and made the appropriate comments along the way, but found that most of her brain was preoccupied with tracking her master's scent. The closer they drew to the ball the more it thinned, until it seemed to vanish completely.

At the same time, the strangeness that had racked her also disappeared, leaving her as calm and collected as ever.

Before they entered the hall, Jayr saw Will Scarlet waiting, and drew her arm from Locksley's. "This is where we must part ways, my lord. Expect to hear my applause above that of your many admirers." She bowed and went through the doors before he could respond.

"Jayr." Harlech came to her side. "You are later than I expected. Have you seen Viviana?"

"Not yet." She scanned the crowd, looking for Byrne, and taking a sharp breath as the bizarre, heated ache returned and simmered just under her skin. "Where is our lord?"

"I had thought he would be with you. Excuse me; I must find my wife." Harlech turned and hurried after one of Viviana's maids.

Jayr wandered among the guests, nodding to those who greeted her but feeling too distracted to converse. Suzerain von Lichtenstein, a strapping Prussian in a red tunic embroidered with the figure of Aphrodite, asked her if she would deliver a note to the Lady Alexandra for him. Jayr accepted it, knowing the letter would contain a badly written poem, and that the suzerain would later call her and request she destroy it. They had played this game of unrequited courtly love and courier with other females many times over the years.

She found an empty table on the other side of the room and sat down to watch the dancers.

Dressed in their finest, the Kyn filled the large dance floor with the men in elegant black tie and the women in Garden of Eden of gowns. The first of the dances had begun, with the lively music for it provided by an ensemble of Kyn musicians playing in the balcony above the floor.

Nowhere, however, could she see Byrne.

Chapter 13.

Harlech had never hunted his own wife, but exasperation and her continued absence left him no alternative. He searched the ballroom until he picked up her scent and then followed its trail through the halls and into the guest wing. From there he used his talent for sound to search for her voice.

She did not often come here, but likely she had accompanied one of her friends to mend a torn hem or sleeve. Women always viewed such things as disasters during a dance.

The trail of her scent ended at the door of Nottingham's chambers, but even that did not alarm Harlech. The dark lord's manner and dress marked him as a fop; he must have drafted poor Vivi into refitting something of his. He lifted his hand to knock, then stopped as he heard the Italian's voice.

"It is not enough, Ana. I will have my due."

Ana? Harlech had never heard anyone call her by that name.

His wife replied in a voice so bitter and cold Harlech almost thought it was another woman speaking. "Who do you think I am here? The lady? I am but a seamstress. I have told you what I know. I have done what I can do. Release me."

Nottingham made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Your prison is of your own forging."

"As is yours. Forget him and this thing before you destroy yourself."

The despair in her voice made Harlech step back. He moved around the wall and into the alcove beneath a window where he could not be seen. Soon afterward Viviana came into the hall, her skirts flaring as she was caught from behind and spun.

Nottingham laughed as Viviana struck at his chest with her small fist.

Harlech pulled the dagger from his belt and took a step out, intending to gut the Italian where he stood, only to freeze as Nottingham spoke.

"My blood runs through your veins, Ana. My mother may have been your mistress, but I created you as surely as God did Eve." He caught her fist before it connected with his face, and took her into his arms. The hot licorice smell of aniseed, dark and pervasive, spread throughout the hall. "You owe me your life."

"My debt to you was paid the night I helped you leave England, my lord. You have no claim on me."

"Do I not?" Nottingham touched her mouth with one gloved fingertip. "Have you forgotten all the nights we shared? How sweetly you gave yourself to me? How I made you scream with pleasure?"

"I was a maiden." She slapped him. "I will never forget how you used me."

"Not even for Harlech's sake?"

Viviana sagged, her breath catching on a sob. "Please, for the love of God, release me. I honor my husband. I am faithful to him. I love-"

Nottingham stopped her words with his mouth.

Harlech watched with a distant, icy wonder as his wife withstood the kiss, and then slid her hands around the Italian's waist.

"You see, Ana," Nottingham whispered as he kissed a path down the side of her neck. "You do remember." He lifted his head and set her back at arm's length. "We will finish this later. Come to me when he sleeps."

Viviana wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "If I come to you again, it will be when you sleep, and the next caress I give you will be with my blade."

Nottingham smiled. "I am all anticipation."

Harlech watched his wife stalk away, as did Nottingham. The only thing that kept him from stabbing the Italian in the back was the pain Harlech saw on his face when he turned back to walk into his rooms. Pain not unlike a man who had been thrown from his horse or kicked in the groin.

Harlech left the guest wing and returned to the ball. He said nothing to Viviana when she came to him, and accepted her excuse of being delayed by a guest in need of her services.

"All these last-minute alterations are a bother," Viviana said as he led her out onto the floor and took her into his arms. "I am sorry to make you wait, but Farlae has no patience for the fine work."

"I would forgive you anything," he told her, seeing her differently. How many times had she gone to Nottingham and done his bidding to protect him? "You are my wife."

"That I am." Her complacent smile faltered as she looked up into his eyes. "Harlech? What is the matter?"

"He will never leave you alone," he heard himself say. "You must know that."

She stumbled over her feet, but he lifted and turned her, smoothly covering the mistake.

"I beg your pardon." She tried to smile up at him. "Never worry about Farlae. I will tell him that Helvise can see to the guests."

"What of Nottingham?" he asked politely. "Will she go to him tonight in your place?"

She paled. "Harlech, what are you saying? Who has told you these lies?"

He spun her to the edge of the dance floor, where he kissed her brow and then looked into her fearful face. "I saw you tonight, outside his rooms, in his arms. I saw how he looked at you. You are in his heart."

"You are wrong." She shook her head. "He never loved me. He only took my life and made me Kyn."

That explained the hold Nottingham had over her. Viviana never spoke of her past, and Harlech had always assumed that, like so many Kyn females, the curse had been passed onto her from a member of her family who had served as a Templar.Instead, Nottingham had forced immortal life upon her by draining the blood from her body and compelling her to drink his own. Changing humans to Darkyn in such fashion had been possible during the hundred years after the first Kyn had risen to walk the night. Kyn lords created entire households of warriors, servants, and leman to serve them for eternity. Then God had punished the vrykolakas for their arrogance by striking down any human who drank Kyn blood. Before the process of the change could even begin, they all died.

Few things were more durable than the bond between a Darkyn and a human he had turned. Then there was the possibility that a deeper bond had formed between Nottingham and Viviana: that of a lord and his sygkenis. It happened when the change created an emotional and physical dependence between the two. Often only death could sever the ties shared between a Kyn male and his life companion.

Either bond would still affect Viviana, but if she had once been Nottingham's sygkenis, and the Italian had somehow reawakened those feelings, she would be unable to deny him anything.

"Have you given yourself to him since he came here?" When she opened her mouth, he shook her once. "Tell me the truth."

"No." She swallowed and looked down at the floor. "Not yet."

"Then I cannot kill him." He dropped his arms. "Not yet."

"Harlech." Her hands seized his. "We will go away. Somewhere he cannot find us. We will go away and be happy together, as we have always been. Tonight." She gave him a brilliant smile and tugged at his hands. "Come; I will pack our things. We can be gone before the moon rises."

"This is my home. I am not leaving." He took his hands from hers. "You must decide between us now, Vivi. Stay with me, and I will protect you from him. But if you go to him tonight you need not bother returning to me."

She flinched. "You do not know what you ask."

"I ask that you choose to be my wife," he said gently. "Not his lover."

Tears streaked down her face as she gathered up her skirts and fled.

"I take back all the stuff I've said about the Kyn being dull," Alexandra said as Michael led her from the dance floor. The skirts of her ivory gown brushed against his trousers as she twisted, making them whirl. "You guys really know how to party."

"We should." He rested his hand against the small of her back. "We invented the party."

She laughed. "Is there anything the Darkyn haven't done?"

He gave the question serious thought. "Mastering the Macarena. It does not strike us as a particularly attractive dance." After nodding to Lord de Troyes, whose face fell as he saw that they weren't returning to the floor, he sat down with Alexandra at their table and asked, "Were you working in the infirmary all afternoon?"

"Only a couple of hours. I couldn't sleep." She picked up one of the place cards and used it to fan herself. "Jayr let me set up a minilab so I could update the database and take a peek at her blood."

Michael recalled how interested Alexandra had been in testing the seneschal's blood. "Have you come to any conclusions about her?"

"Working on it." She smothered a yawn. "Thanks for talking Byrne into giving me that sample. It'll help with identifying the shared pathogen factors in Jayr's blood."He smiled. "Every female here delights in jewels and gowns and attention, and devote themselves to acquiring more. Yet all it takes to give you equal pleasure are vials and microscopes."

"Costs about the same." Alexandra glanced up as the musicians ended the set. "Is that Scarlet up there? What does he play?"

"Will favors the lute, and plays it very well, but I think he means to sing."

Locksley's seneschal stood at the balcony railing and propped his foot up, placing one hand against his chest. "When I see Kyn appear beside each other unarmed, exchanging the kiss of peace and being gentle with one another, I know no finer joy." He cast a jaundiced eye down on the crowd. "I also know that, like the chastity of a rich merchant's daughter, it cannot last."

Laughter swept around the room, and the dancers left the floor to refresh themselves and listen.

Scarlet nodded to the musicians, who began to play a soft, sweet tune to accompany his song.

"Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere, Kynd is come of love, love to crave Blythful biryd, on me thu rewe Or greyth, lef, greith thu me my grave.

Hie am so blithe, so bryhit, brid on brere, Quan I se that hende in halle: Yhe is whit of lime, loveli, trewe Yhe is fayr and flur of alle.

Mikte ic hire at wille haven, Stedefast of love, loveli, trewe, Of mi sorwe yhe may me saven Ioye and blisse were me newe."

Scarlet bowed to the applause, and then sang the song again in English.

"Bird on a briar, bird on a briar, mankind is come of love, love thus craves.

Blissful bird, have pity on me, Or dig, love, dig thou for me my grave."From the garland around the railing, Scarlet plucked a flower and tossed it down to Alexandra, who caught it with a look of shocked pleasure.

"I am so blithe, so bright, bird on a briar, When I see that handmaid in the hall: She is white of limb, lovely, true, She is fair and flower of all.

Might I her at my will have, Steadfast of love, lovely, true, From my sorrow she may me save Joy and bliss would wear me new."

Scarlet bowed to Alexandra and Michael, then picked up a lute, strumming it before he joined the ensemble in playing a quick, lighthearted tune.

"That is a planxty," Michael told her. "They rarely have lyrics set to them, but were written by jongleurs for traveling minstrels, or to honor their patrons."

Alexandra twirled Scarlet's flower between her fingers. "I get the feeling you put him up to this."

She never accepted anything at face value, Michael thought, and then wondered why that bothered him so much. "That song was written and performed long before America was even discovered."

She reached over and hooked her hand around his neck. "Thank you," she said, and kissed him.

"Enough of that." Locksley stood over them, grinning. "When my seneschal stops playing the fool, will you dance with me, my lady?"

Alexandra glanced at Michael. "Am I allowed to, or are predance diplomatic talks required?"

Before he could answer, a squabble broke out between two Kyn women at the next table. Michael had seen them at various assemblies but didn't recall their names. A furious brunette in a red-and-blue gown hissed an old curse in Anglo-Saxon, reached over, and slapped a sneering blonde in a glittering black sheath. The blonde answered with a vile threat in archaic French.

Jewel-encrusted copper daggers appeared and the Norman struck first, stabbing the brunette in the upper arm. The brunette snapped her wrist and slashed the blonde's right cheek. Alexandra saw the blood and started to rise, but sat down as the wounds healed over and the brunette hit the blonde again, this time in the nose with her fist. They lunged at each other and toppled to the floor.

Michael signaled two guards, who separated the writhing women and marched them out of the hall. Low laughter from the guests followed them.

Alexandra watched them go. "What was that all about?""A recent feud, I imagine," Michael said.

"Rather an old one," Robin corrected. "Lady Helvise, the brunette, is Saxon. Lady Desora, the blonde, is Norman."

Michael shook his head. "They should not have been seated together."

"Why not?" Alexandra asked.

"Normans are conceited and obsessed with courtly behavior," Robin said. "They believe in using utensils, napkins, and having their meals served in separate courses. Saxons are aggressive and boisterous. Their manner of dining is to get drunk, gather around a spit, and rip half-cooked chunks from whatever is roasting. Oftimes, after William the Bastard invaded England, it was a stray Norman. That is why one never sits a Saxon next to a Norman."

"I didn't think nationalities mattered to you guys," Alexandra said. "Who cares what you were during the Middle Ages?"