He wrenched out of her, sliding down her body, and brought her, sopping wet and swollen, to his mouth. A single stroke of his tongue over her jewel and she came, her body locked, her hands twisted in his hair, words of love mixed with sobs pouring from her.

Byrne came up beside her, turning her to him, holding her as he slid into her. He pressed her face against his chest, and groaned as she tightened over him, milking the pleasure and the seed from him in long, slow pulls.

He kept her there, joined to him, and held her until sleep claimed them both, unaware of the door opening, or the man who came to stand over them.

Robin of Locksley looked down at the lovers in silence, his hands becoming fists and then hands again.

"So be it."

He reached down, pulled the coverlet over them, and left as silently as he had entered.

The sign that dangled from the doorknob of room 413 of the EconoMotel in Dothan, Alabama, read, DO NOT DISTURB. It had hung there ever since the couple staying in the room had checked in.

The floor maid saw it when she pushed her heavy cart down from room 412, and considered reporting the problem to the desk manager. She hadn't been able to get into the room to clean or change the linens for days. She put an ear to the door, heard voices and the television, and sighed. If they wanted to use old towels and sleep on old sheets over and over, that was their business.

Inside room 413, Viviana put down the telephone and spoke to the man reclined on one of the twin beds. "Beaumaris says that Nottingham is to fight Jayr. Lord Byrne ordered her to refuse his challenge, and when she did not, he discharged her from his service. She is sworn to Lord Halkirk now so that she may fight."

"You see? The minute you and I leave the Realm, the place falls to pieces." Rain muted the television set, but watched as the latest episode of Top Design continued. "We could wait to see if she kills him. That would be rather convenient."

"We could." She sat down on the bed next to him. "I do not wish to. Jayr is my friend. I miss Harlech." She took the remote from his hand and switched off the set. "You know that you miss Farlae more than you lust after Todd Oldham."

"I am only infatuated with Todd's overbite." He regarded her gravely. "Vivi, if we return Guy could very well expose us both.

The seigneur would be within his rights to demand our heads."

She nodded and stared at the hands she held folded tightly in her lap. "I miss Harlech," she said, unable to offer any other reasonable argument.

"Farlae will have moved into my rooms," Rain said, fiddling with the remote. "By now he's probably contemplating painting the walls black and covering my furnishings with navy linen." He gave her an indignant look. "He would do it, too, just to spite me."

"Some things are worth risking a beheading," she said softly. "Should I call the lobby, then, and tell them we will need a cab?"

"Immediately."Jayr checked her mount before strapping cushioning pads to the horse's front and hindquarters. For this final practice she decided to use the leather trappers, which were lighter than the heavy metal peytral, flanchards, and cruppers she would use to protect her mount during the joust.

Her movements echoed in the barn, which, aside from the stabled horses, was deserted. Harlech likely had ordered the men to clear out to give her time alone to prepare and think. Lord Halkirk had already told her he did not expect her to begin her duties until after the tournament. Somehow she would have to explain her change of circumstances to him. He would understand. He had probably accepted her as his seneschal only out of pity, or only because he thought she would not live long enough to serve him.

She had everything to live for now. Aedan loved her.

Aedan had also discharged her over the challenge, and had kept from her his plans to give up the Realm. She still felt the sting of betrayal over his actions, but she would not allow herself to regret giving her heart and body to him. He had done what he had out of love for her, to protect her.

She shouldn't have left him alone in her bed, but she had needed time to think. Being with him had been lusty and primitive and shocking; it had also been tender and powerful and comforting. Through every moment, every touch, every whisper, she had felt the strength of their bond. Not as master and seneschal, but as man and woman, key and lock, seed and field.

Loved and beloved.

"How fares the arm?" Robin of Locksley asked as he came into the barn.

"It is not as loose as I would like," Jayr said, fitting the horse's head with a brown leather shaffron and buckling it to the crinet covering the mane. "But I can hold my shield and the reins, and that is enough."

Locksley picked up her practice shield, a rectangular square of metal save for the bouche, the channel on the top right side where her lance would rest. He traced some of the scars in its surface.

"You are almost as tall as I am, and we have a similar build," he said casually. "In the saddle, with helm and armor, no one could tell the difference between us."

"Probably not," she agreed, tightening a strap.

"I can ride against Nottingham in your place."

Jayr's fingers stilled as she stared at the fringe of black mane under the edge of the crinet. "You think I will lose, too?"

"I think he will cheat." He turned her to face him. "Let me do this-No," he said, pressing his finger to her mouth when she would have spoken. "I was there. I listened to all the arguments, all the proud words being tossed back and forth. They mean nothing when you ride onto that field. There, the only thing that counts is ability. He has deceit and cunning, and two good arms."

"I have truth and honor," Jayr said. "And one good arm. Although I am in need of a practice opponent." She checked the sky, now purple with twilight, and took down one of the wooden lances from the practice racks. "Will you ride against me, my lord?" She tossed the lance to him.

Locksley caught it. "I should knock you over the head, lock you up, and take your place anyway."

"You could try." She took down another lance and flashed across the barn to stand behind him. "But you will have to catch me first."He looked over his shoulder, his exasperation plain. "You cannot do that on a horse."

She tapped his lance with her own. "Let me show you what I can do."

The sound of voices shouting in Arabic woke Harlech, who stumbled out of bed and pulled on his trousers before staggering out into the hall to see the source of the commotion.

Three of Nottingham's Saracens ran past him, followed by Farlae and Beaumaris. He trotted after them, catching up with his men outside the hall to the guests' quarters, where a crowd of drowsy Kyn milled about in confusion.

"What the devil is happening?" Harlech demanded.

"Someone has done us a favor," Farlae told him, "and cut off Nottingham's head."

"They've killed the seigneur and his lady, too," someone called out.

Harlech waded through the guests to Nottingham's quarters. There he saw Skald and the Saracen guards standing in a circle around three bodies. The seneschal pried a bloodied sword out of his master's throat and examined it.

"I have seen someone using this," Skald said, turning it over and wiping the blood from the hilt. "'Twas in the lists, I think." He frowned and thought for a moment before turning and seeing Harlech. "You, there." He held up the blade. "Whose sword is this?"

Harlech recognized it at once, but he had no intentions of telling the little man that. "I cannot say."

"The lord's girl bested me two days ago with that blade," one of the guests' men said.

"Does this weapon belong to Jayr?" Skald asked Harlech politely.

"It does, but obviously it was stolen by another," Harlech said quickly. "Jayr would never do this."

"Just as her arrows were stolen and used to shoot Lord Byrne," Skald said. "What an unfortunate coincidence. I will relate this to my men." He rattled off something to the guards in rapid Italian.

The Saracens muttered among themselves, and their captain gave Harlech an ugly look.

"We will find Lord Byrne and get to the bottom of this." He waved Beaumaris and Farlae inside. "Take the bodies to the infirmary and store them in the chill room."

Skald looked at the crowd of Kyn outside. "My lords and ladies, did any of you see someone enter my master's chambers earlier?"

No one said anything, and then one of the women spoke. "I saw Lord Byrne's seneschal leave this hall as I came back to my rooms this morning. She looked... well, angry."

"Thank you, my lady," Skald said. "Was anyone else seen near these chambers?"

No one replied.

Skald turned to Harlech. "Where is Jayr?"

"You cannot condemn her for walking down a hall," Harlech protested. "It proves nothing.""My master was murdered in his sleep, with a sword that belongs to her," the seneschal said calmly. "She was the only one seen near here at the time. She lost her place in this household over my master's challenge. Who else had more cause to hate him or wish him dead?"

"This is wrong," Harlech said. "I know Jayr. I know she would not do this. She is being framed."

"By whom? Who would do such a terrible thing to her?" When Harlech didn't answer, Skald nodded. "I ask you again, where is Jayr?"

"'I saw her walk out to the stables, but half an hour ago," one of the guests said.

Skald issued orders in Italian to the guard and pushed past Harlech. The Saracens followed.

"Wait. Wait." When they ignored him, Harlech swore. "Beaumaris, assemble the men. Farlae, find Lord Byrne."

Chapter 20.

Alexandra woke up with a dry mouth, a throbbing head, and a sheet covering her face. She shoved it away and sat up to find herself on a gurney next to a shelf unit stacked with bagged blood. Next to her were two other bodies draped with sheets: one white, the other soaked on one end with dark red blood.

The memory of Skald shooting her came rushing back, and she rolled to her feet, hurrying over to yank back the bloodstained sheet. Nottingham, his decapitated head placed neatly on his severed neck, stared up at the ceiling.

"Cherie."

She turned and gaped at Michael as he pulled the sheet away and sat up. "Are you hurt?" She went to him and looked all over for wounds.

"No, I am well. Skald shot me with one of your darts when I came to find you; I think that is all." He looked over her shoulder.

"Where are we?"

"In the refrigerated room. He must have killed Nottingham and brought us all in here." She strode over to the door, saw there was no inside handle, and pushed at it. It didn't move. "We're locked in. Why would they lock us in? Didn't anyone bother to check for a pulse?"

"I cannot say, cherie." Michael came and tried the door, and then looked around the room. "There must be something we can use to force it open."

Alex went over to cover Nottingham's body. Whoever had decapitated it had done it with one blow. She closed his eyes, and felt something touch her arm. When she saw it was a hand trying to grab her, and Nottingham's eyes opened, she screamed.

"Alexandra?"

"Jesus, Michael, he's not dead." She slid her hand under Nottingham's neck. "Skald didn't cut all the way through his neck. His spinal cord is intact. I can't believe it. He's still alive."

Michael came to stand beside her. "His head is almost completely severed from his body. He cannot live like this."

"With a little luck he won't have to." She scanned the room. "Get me five of those suture kits over there while I look for a knife."

Michael gave Nottingham a doubtful look. "Even you cannot repair such a wound."

"I can try. He's lost so much blood that nothing has healed over." She ripped open a cardboard box, looked inside, and dropped it before reaching for another. "Hurry up, and put on some gloves from that box over there."

He brought the kits over and set them on the gurney he had vacated. "Why do I need gloves?"

"Because they help you grip better." She found a small box of copper-coated scalpels and an intravenous kit. "You're going to be my nurse."

Alexandra gloved, took out her penlight, and carefully probed the massive neck wound to assess the damage.

"Point of impact was the larynx, part of which is gone, and the rest is smashed all to hell. The sword severed the neck muscles, the trachea, the esophagus, and all the major blood vessels." She shifted the light and peered. "Skald doesn't have much of a swing. The blade bounced off one of the cervical vertebra. The axis, I bet. That's the one that forms the pivot so the head can turn." She straightened and saw that Nottingham's eyes had shifted. "Oh, God, Michael. He's staring at me."

"He can still see and hear you."

"Did they bring my case in here?" She looked around. "I've got to knock him out for this."

Michael searched through the room. "I do not see it." He went to the gurney. "Lord Nottingham, my sygkenis will operate on you to try to repair the wound in your neck. You must go into the dreamlands. I will call you back when it is done."

Nottingham closed his eyes and didn't reopen them.

"He's doing that trance thing you did when I operated on you," Alex said. "You call it going to dreamland?"

"Dreamlands," he corrected. He watched her rig the IV and prepare an impromptu instrument tray. "How will you do this?"

"I'll start with repairing the blood vessels, and then the trachea and the esophagus," she said, tugging off her jacket. "I'll work my way out from there, and once I get to the muscles we'll start the IV. You're going to assist me."

He eyed the horrific wound. "Alexandra, I do not know the first thing about surgery."

"Think of this as a crash course. Now listen." As she rolled up her sleeves she went through the instrument tray with him, naming everything on it. "When I ask for something, put it in the hand I hold out. If I tell you to do something, no matter what it is, do it." She glanced at him. "This is going to be ugly, messy, and fast. You ready?"

He nodded.

She held out her hand. "Clamp."

If anyone in medical school had ever suggested to Alex that she might someday attempt to reattach someone's head to his body, she would have laughed herself into an appendectomy. A wound as ghastly as Nottingham's would have killed any human being instantly.

But as she reconnected the severed ends of the blood vessels, Alex realized that the Kyn pathogen did more than mutate human beings; it preserved them under the worst possible circumstances. Kyn could live without oxygen, nourishment, or comfort for months, even years. No microorganism, bacteria, or virus could survive in their bloodstream; the pathogen killed everything foreign to the body. All it wanted was human blood, which passed undigested through the Kyn's drastically altered digestive systems and sustained it.Vampirism for virtual immortality.

Alex couldn't follow a single procedure to repair Nottingham's neck wound; she had to lump together ten different and separate reconstructive surgeries. She was working with the barest, most basic supplies, which didn't help. But as she slowly progressed outward her work held, giving her more confidence. By the time she reached the neck muscles, she felt sure Nottingham had a fighting chance of recovery.

"Start the IV," she told Michael, "and keep your fingers crossed."

"I cannot start the IV if my fingers are crossed," he said, offering her a charming smile when she glared. "You did say to do whatever you told me to, no matter what it was."

"I can still kick you while I'm operating," she told him. "Remember that."