Alex fired. The tranquilizer dart sank into the base of Nottingham's skull. He stopped, reached back to claw at it, and then gave her an incredulous look.

"What is this?"

"Time for you to take a nap," she said, watching as he fell sideways over a chair, crushing it as he went down.

Skald pushed himself up on his hands and knees and vomited blood all over the frozen floor before collapsing on it and going still.

"Terrific." Alex put the gun back in her case and went to the seneschal, rolling him over, "Skald, can you hear me? Look at me."

He could only open one eye. "My thanks, my lady." He turned his head and coughed to clear the blood from his mouth.

Alex wiped his face clean and quickly realigned his nose before the cartilage healed crooked. He gasped.

"Sorry, I know that hurt. I've got to check you for internal injuries." She opened his tunic and gently palpated his neck, chest, and belly. Other than extensive bruising, which was already beginning to fade, she found no broken bones. "He didn't mess you up too much. You're going to be okay."

"What did you do to my lord?" Skald asked, eyeing Nottingham's motionless body."I shot him with a tranquilizer dart. He'll be asleep for a couple of hours." She stood up. "Let's get you over to the infirmary.

Can you walk?"

"I cannot leave my lord like this," Skald said. "Someone might harm him. I must stay with him until he wakes. My lady, please, could you bring me a wet cloth for my face?"

Alex went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth before bringing it out to him. "You sure you don't want to come with me?

He might decide to give you another beating when he wakes up."

"No, thank you, my lady." Skald scrubbed his face with the cloth. "I am certain that when my lord wakes he will regret taking out his temper on me. His rage came from being unable to avenge himself on Lord Locksley."

"What's his deal with Robin?" Alex asked. When Skald hesitated to reply, she added, "You can tell me. I'm probably the only unbiased person here, and I might be able to help straighten things out."

"I begged my lord to let the truth be known." Skald looked miserable. "'Tis why he was beating me." He swallowed. "My lord is English, not Italian. Before he took the name of Ganelon of Florence, he was known as Guy of Guisbourne."

Alex's jaw dropped. "Maybe you got hit in the head harder than I thought."

"'Tis true, my lady, although as Lord Guisbourne he never committed the crimes attributed to him. His half brother, a nameless bastard, replaced him as the master of Sherwood after the Lady Marian died."

Skald told her a different version of the story of Guy, Marian, and Robin, explaining how learning of Marian's death in childbirth had driven Guy out of his head with grief.

"My lord's mother long wished to take control of Sherwood. She seized the chance brought on by my lord's derangement and had him locked in the dungeons. From that day his bastard half brother Ganelon, who was much beloved by his mother, became Lord Sherwood."

Alex looked at Nottingham. "If he's really Guy of Guisbourne, why didn't anyone-why didn't Robin-recognize him?"

"During his human life my lord feared assassination, and so always used his half brother to take his place in public," Skald admitted. "In fact, my master and Lord Locksley never actually met in person. My lord's mother dared not kill him, lest his men find out and expose her bastard son as an impostor, but she intended to keep him imprisoned for the rest of his life."

"Like The Man in the Iron Mask." When Skald gave her a blank look, she shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Go on."

"There is not much more to tell," the seneschal admitted. "When my lord escaped the dungeons, the hateful crimes his brother had committed in his name forced him to flee England and never return."

"'So it was this half brother, the real Ganelon, who started the jardin wars, and killed all the women and old folks, and got himself and everyone in Sherwood executed?" Skald nodded, and Alex rubbed her head. "This is giving me a migraine. Okay.

If all this is true, then why didn't your master come clean after his brother was killed?"

"I cannot say, my lady. I think my lord felt partially responsible for his half brother's evil. It is why we lived such a reclusive life in Florence. When we were forced to flee he chose America because he hoped few here would know of or remember his family." Skald's expression tightened. "So many things we did not know before we came. Had I known he still lived..."

"Who lived?"

He blinked. "Lord Locksley, of course. My master was enraged to discover that he was given a jardin here. He will never know peace until he avenges Lady Marian's death.""Robin didn't kill her," Alex stated. "Guy raping her and getting pregnant did. Or did his brother do that, too?"

"My lord worshiped Lady Marian. He would never have forced himself on her." Skald met her gaze. "'Twas Lord Locksley who got her with child."

Alex started to argue with him, but stopped as she remembered how Nottingham had looked at Locksley in the hall. "So that's why he challenged Jayr. He thinks Locksley's in love with her, and killing her would be the perfect payback for Marian. Boy, does he need an update." She gave Skald a wry look and added, "Byrne and Jayr are the ones who are in love. Locksley is just a friend."

"I see." The seneschal frowned. "That does change things."

"What's Guy the Disguised going to say when he finds out you told me all this stuff?" Alex asked.

"I think it will take a great burden off his shoulders, my lady," Skald replied absently.

"Michael does need to know about this before these guys kill each other." She picked up her medical case. "I'll tell him exactly what you told me."

"You cannot go yet, my lady." Skald took something out of his tunic and pointed it at her. "For I need more time now. This land is my bloodright, and I will have it."

Alex's eyes widened. "Hey, that's not a toy-" The gun fired, and she looked down at the dart in her chest. "You little bastard."

As she fell, Alex heard him say, "Not after tonight, my lady."

Michael discovered that he was too late to stop Halkirk from interfering.

"Of course I took Jayr as my seneschal the moment she offered to pledge herself to me," the suzerain said lazily. "She's tireless, faithful, and damned handy with a blade. She's kept the Realm running smoothly for centuries. She gets along with the men.

She'll be a great asset to my household."

Michael held on to his patience. "She is interested in reacquiring rank only so she can accept Nottingham's challenge."

"I gave her leave to accept it," Halkirk said, shrugging. "I've seen her ride before, and she's never been beaten. You needn't worry, seigneur. After tonight that cold bastard can spend eternity making blizzards for Beelzebub."

Michael left Halkirk and met Phillipe in the corridor.

"Jayr has gone to rest in her chambers," Phillipe said. "She intends to ride against Nottingham tonight."

"Where is Byrne?"

"I could not find him." His seneschal looked as frustrated and tired as Michael felt. "Alexandra has not returned from the infirmary. Should I fetch her?"

"No, she is probably caught up in something. I will go and pry her away from her instruments." Michael looked at the sunshine pouring through the windows. "You should rest, my friend. We have a few hours before the joust. I will think of something."

Michael walked down to the infirmary, which he found empty. He tracked Alexandra's scent out of the room and followed it to the guest quarters. It ended at Nottingham's chamber door, which had not been secured.

"Alexandra?"The scent of aniseed flooded his nose as soon as he entered the dark room. Beneath it he smelled lavender, blood, and death.

A man lay on the floor, a sword buried in his neck.

"Nottingham?" Michael went to kneel beside him. A pool of blood surrounded the Italian, whose head had been severed from his neck by the blade. Propped up against the wall near him sat Alexandra, unconscious, a tranquilizer dart in her chest.

"She is very kind, your lady," a voice said from behind him. "I will remember that."

Michael drew his dagger and turned, but not in time to avoid the dart that pierced his side. He fell on top of Nottingham's body.

"Rest now, my lord," Skald said, smiling as he took hold of Michael's limp arm. "All will be well."

Chapter 19.

Byrne locked himself in the Realm's business office, the last place anyone would think to look for him, and spent most of the morning making the necessary arrangements. As soon as the sun set he would collect Jayr and leave the Realm in Cyprien's capable hands. Once they arrived at the remote cabin he had purchased for himself in the Carolina mountains, Byrne would settle things between them.

Jayr knew him better than anyone; she would understand.

He completed his work and left the office, but felt no desire to seek his empty bed. After what he had said to Jayr he doubted that she would be sleeping either. No, her wounded pride would probably have her clearing out her chamber and packing up her belongings. He would go to her and explain so that she would not be tempted to do something foolish, like leave the Realm on her own.

Byrne found her door locked against him this time, but he had expected that. He opened it with the key he had found in the office and let himself inside.

The curtains blocked the sun from the room, but Jayr had left her computer monitor on, and its glow shed thin light over her desk. Byrne could see her curled up in her narrow bed in the corner and went to switch off the machine. She had left something written on the screen, and out of idle curiosity he read it.

How truthful may I write of this, The want of love, the love I hide?

My passion drowned by cowardice Yet evermore by hope revived.

You do not want me However much I need.

You will not see me However much I bleed.

Thus I dwell in silence, for I have made well my prison loving you, evermore.

The poem continued, and as Byrne read on he felt his chest grow hollow. She wrote of longing as if it tormented her, an agony she believed she had inflicted on herself as punishment for daring to love. The last verse seemed to shriek her despair: How are we to live, my lord ever together, forever apart?

The night between us poised, a sword, forged and edged in my cinder heart.

I cannot have you, however much I long.

I cannot leave you, this bond too strong.

Thus I go on as I have before, burning in Eden, with you, evermore.

A bound journal lay next to the computer, and Byrne opened it, knowing he was likely intruding on her most private thoughts but hoping to find some happier sentiment. Inside he found it dated by the year, and filled with a series of sketches. Jayr had drawn him again and again, and had rendered his face from every angle, detailed with startling accuracy. Somehow she had transformed his barbaric visage into the face of a proud, handsome warrior. This was how she saw him, this noble savage.

He flipped through the pages, and where there were not sketches his name appeared repeatedly written with flourishes and scrolls, as if it were precious to her. He looked up on the shelf above the computer, where a long row of other journals stood.

He took one down at random and found more sketches, all of him. Aedan mac Byrne sitting before a fire. In the guards' hall.

Standing on the battlements. He took down another, and then another. His face and form filled every page, his name the only words recorded. The journals spanned the last twenty-five years.

Slowly he put back everything as she had left it. She loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had loved him for far longer than he had ever suspected. No one could pay such a tribute out of liking or admiration. No, Jayr had suffered with her love, had endured it in silence, aching and burning with it, hiding all when she was with him, then returning to her lonely chamber to draw his face over and over, year after year, as if he were the only thing of importance in her world.

How could he ever be worthy of her? Love her as she deserved to be loved?Byrne went to stand over her bed. The long, loose tunic in which she slept looked worn. It had been made for a man much larger than her, and that puzzled him until he recognized it as one of his own that he had discarded.

Even in her sleep she wrapped herself up in him. Bitterly he regretted that he had no poetry, no soft words to give to her. All he knew was the need to be one with her, to fill her as she filled his heart.

As he watched her he began absently unfastening his own tunic. The soft sounds of his clothes dropping to the floor stirred her to turn over.

"Aedan," she murmured, still asleep.

Byrne knew he should wake her, talk to her, explain what he had done and ask why she had never told him. Instead he pulled back the covers and slipped into her bed, taking her into his arms. His old tunic slid up, baring her from the waist down, and the need to be inside her surged through him, trampling his guilt and turning his cock into a rigid spike. Before he could think he had eased her left thigh over his right leg. His hand cupped her, and some part of him felt with wonder the soft, downy new hair that abraded his palm. He stroked her, coaxing silky fluid from her tight slit.

"Aedan," she murmured again, pushing against his hand, seeking relief.

Byrne felt an unfamiliar weight against his chest and tugged up his old tunic. Two small, full breasts pushed out from Jayr's body, begging for his mouth.

The skin of his cock's head stretched, tight and painful, as blood and need engorged him. He guided it to her with a shaking hand, hissing as they touched and her cool, sweet honey spread over him.

Jayr's eyes opened, first to slits, then wide. "Aedan." She braced her hands against his chest as if to push him away, and then as her breasts jiggled she looked down, aghast. "What has happened to me?"

"I cannae say, lass." He bent and brushed his mouth over her nipple. "But 'tis beautiful."

"Alexandra's potion worked. She's made me into a woman." Jayr met his gaze. "Why are you here? You don't want me."

Suddenly, inexplicably, rage boiled inside him. All of the lonely years. All of the women, meaningless, pointless. All of the longing and denying and watching and wishing and never knowing, never suspecting for a moment that she loved him, and had kept that love from him.

"I dinnae want you?" Byrne shoved himself into her, forcing her to take every inch in that single stroke. "I dinnae love you? You meant nothing to me? This is what you thought all this time?"

Her nails sank into his flesh. "My lord-"

He clamped his hand over her mouth. "I read your sweet words. I know what you have done. You say you are mine but you have kept yourself from me." He drew back and forced himself into her again. "I wanted you. I love you. By God, I could kill you."

Tears spilled over his fingers, scalding him like liquid copper. He slid his hand to twine in her hair, and touched his forehead to hers.

"Lass." What was he doing to her?

"Kill me, then," she whispered. "It would be a mercy, for I cannot leave you."

"Never." He looked into her wet eyes. "I will never let you go."Her sorrow dissolved his rage, gentling his hands and melting their bodies together. He pushed past her resistance and into her, taking her mouth with his tongue as he worked his penis inside her, possessing all of her spaces, filling her with the dance of flesh to the symphony of hunger. She wept and struck at him and buried her fangs in his shoulder and pleaded for her release.

He forced her to his will, punishing her and wooing her with his body, keeping her from coming until she was mindless and thrashing beneath him.