"Cherie, you are starting a flood." He took a moment to turn off the taps before he went to her. She did not move or blink.

"Alexandra? What is it? Answer me."

She didn't react to his voice or his touch for a long moment, and then she came out of the trance as if it had never been.

"Why do you love me?" she asked. When Michael tried to embrace her, she stepped back out of his reach. "No. Don't touch me. Just tell me."

He tried to think of something gallant and romantic to say. "I love you because you are the other part of my soul."

"Don't give me pretty poetry." Her face set in remote, chilling lines. "Tell me, Michael."

"I am trying," he said slowly, his mind racing. "I love you because you are always in my head. I cannot go an hour without thinking of you. You have taken the place of my loneliness. I feel at peace only when you are with me." Her expression didn't change, and his uneasiness plummeted into fear. "Mon Dieu, Alexandra, why do you ask me this? You know my feelings for you. After all we have endured and fought through together, you cannot distrust me."

"I trust you," she said. "But why do you love me?"

She was toying with him now. "I have just told you."

"No, you didn't," she argued. "Why am I always in your head and your heart? Why can't you go an hour without thinking of me?

Why don't you feel lonely anymore? Why does being with me give you peace?"

"There is no reason to it. Such things are beyond definition or explanation. There is only you, and me, and our love." He felt appalled. "You do not believe me. I can see it in your eyes."

"No. It's not that." She moved to sit on the edge of the tub and trailed her hand through the steaming water. "It's not you." She let out a long, shuddering breath, and raw emotion quickly filled the terrible blankness in her eyes. "I believe you. I love you.

But something..." She looked up at him, bewildered now. "Why am I trying to pick a fight with you?" Her breath caught on a sob. "What's wrong with me?"

"It must be an effect of the separation. It will pass." Michael tucked his hand under her hair to cup her neck. "All we need is time together, cherie."

She jolted to her feet and hugged him. Against his chest she said, "If being away from you messes me up this bad, you'd better never let anyone kidnap me again."

Chapter 3.

"Do you have to leave so soon?"

Robin of Locksley fastened the front of his doublet as he walked to the bed. The human female-what was her name?-lay still tucked between his sheets, her rumpled golden-brown locks forming a soft cloud around her drowsy face. As he stood over her, she breathed in and licked her lips. She had a mouth as full and soft as ripe fruit, and she smelled of the chocolate-covered strawberries he had fed to her.

She was as enchanting as her name... which was...

Amanda, Rob thought, groping for the memory of it. Or Miranda.

To hide his confusion, he bent to put his mouth to hers and kissed her sweet lips with leisurely enjoyment before he lifted his head. "I must, my lady." Out of habit he checked the spot under her ear where he had bitten her, but the small punctures had already begun to scab over. Tresori always seemed to heal more quickly than most humans. "Will you be here when I return?"

"I'd love to, but I'm starting my vacation tonight." She checked the slim gold watch still on her wrist and groaned. "My sister's flying in from California, and I've got to pick her up at the airport. She's here for the holidays."

He ran his knuckles along the gentle line of her jaw. "Her gain is my loss."

"Mine, too." She sat up, revealing the tattoo of a black cameo over her left breast. The cameo marked her as a tresora, a human trained from birth to serve the Kyn. Details of the cameo's center silhouette would be inked in once she made her oath of service to one Kyn lord; until then she was free to serve whom she pleased. "But who knows, maybe I can convince her to sleep off the jet lag."

It gratified him to see that, unlike other tresori, she was not completely resistant to his Kyn talent, which, along with l'attrait, allowed him to charm most humans in a matter of seconds.

"Until we meet again, then, my lovely one." Rob pressed his lips to the back of her hand before he picked up his cloak and left the chamber.

Vague guilt walked with him. He enjoyed human females, delighting in their smell and taste and relishing their response to him.

He had certainly enjoyed the tresora he had just left. Taking her warm, willing body had not done much to exhaust him, but her presence next to him had allowed him a few precious hours of mindlessness. The small taste he had taken of her blood had been sweet and delicious. She had come as close to perfection as a human bed companion could be.

In light of all that, he should have at least remembered her name.

As Rob traveled down the corridor, he exchanged greetings with a few other early risers, all warriors dressed and outfitted for the last battle performance they would give before the Realm closed to human visitors for a month. The spacious rooms Byrne provided for visiting Kyn, located on the opposite side of the castle, provided more luxuries and comforts, but Rob felt more at ease among the men of the jardin. Unlike some of the Kyn nobility, the former Templars accepted his presence and treated him as one of their own. They also could not be charmed, as humans were, by his scent.

In truth, Robin of Locksley belonged to neither world. Long ago he had violated his Templar vows to save the human woman he had loved. Before it was over, that one choice had also cost him his family, titles, and lands, and had forced him to become a thief. The outrageous bounty put on his head had done the rest.

Robin had survived, gathering up human criminals and creating an outlaw kingdom in the forests. He trained his men in the ways of stealth and subterfuge, until they became such an accomplished band of thieves that no one and nothing had been safe from them. So his legend had grown over the centuries, until an exasperated Richard had sent an emissary to Sherwood. Not to offer amnesty-the high lord never forgave any crime unless he personally profited from it-but to inform Rob that he was being exiled yet again.

"High Lord Richard Tremayne orders you to leave England this day and never return," the courier had read from the scroll. "If you are ever found on English soil again, you and every human who serves you shall be executed."

Rob did not fear the prospect of his own death-he had been daring it to take him ever since he had lost everything he had ever loved-but he refused to permit his human followers to pay for his sins. His decision had been made for him, however, when Byrne sent a letter informing him that that he and his entire household were leaving Scotland for America. That had decided everything.

So Robin of Locksley had become Robin of America.

There had been Kyn aplenty in the colonies, but no formal jardin, and no lords to rule over them. Byrne had somehow intervened with the high lord on his behalf, for less than a month after his arrival Robin of Locksley was elevated from the shame of thieving outcast to the rank of suzerain over the Darkyn in Atlanta.

He would have made his oath to Byrne in Scotland, Rob thought as he walked out to the archer's range, had he not been considered less than vermin by Richard and his cronies. Now all was forgiven, or perhaps Richard had gotten a better understanding of what it was like to be treated like a leper.

He went to the deserted center range, which had been prepared for target practice with earthen butts adorned with circlets of various sizes and colors. Planks for wand shoots lined the edge of the south range, while hanging marks swayed over the north, which was used for clout shooting.

"Lord Locksley." Jayr came to stand beside him, her shadow stretching to match his. "Do you mean to shoot tonight?"

Byrne's seneschal had no idea how much pleasure the sight of her brought to him. He dared not look at her too long, for fear of showing it.

He lived for moments like this with her.

"Not for long," he promised as he tied his mane of black hair back with a lace. "Why are you dressed like that?"

The seneschal looked down at the immaculate white velvet doublet and matching breeches adorning her long body. Her nose wrinkled for a second before she said, "Terence, the boy who usually plays squire for the court processions, telephoned. He has the plague."

"The plague, or the plague?"

"Not the plague. Something called bronchitis. From the sound of his hacking and wheezing, a very serious case." She eyed her finery again, this time with some resignation. "He offered to come in, but I would rather he not infect the other humans. I will take his place tonight."

Guilt returned, this time a barrel of it.

"Indeed. But squires never wore white to court." Rob glanced down. "Or white with black work boots. Don't you remember the old fashions?" He wagged a finger at her. "And you claim your performances are so historically accurate. That is false advertising and misrepresentation."

She leaned forward and whispered, "If you say nothing, my lord, I daresay the humans will never know the difference."

How easily she made him laugh. "Speaking of our mortal friends, would you tell me the name of that very generous and lovely female who entertained me last night?"

"Cassandra Cooper."

"Damn me." He ran his thumb across his fingertips. "I could not recall it when I left her, and came very near to calling her Miranda."

Jayr shrugged. "She would not have taken offense. She comes from an old tresoran family, and understands how we are.""How I am, you mean." He went to the equipment locker where he had stowed his equipment. "You, at least, remember their names."

From the locker Rob took out the carryall bag he had brought from Atlanta and opened it. He strapped his quiver to his belt in Norman fashion and buckled a bracer to his forearm before taking out his longbow.

Made by his own hands from a single length of Spanish yew, the stave stretched six feet from end to end, exactly the same height as Robin of Locksley himself. Reviled for centuries as an ignoble and un-Christian device, the longbow had been the decisive weapon that had turned the tide of many great battles during Robin's human life. William the Conqueror may have brought every bastard son of France with him when he invaded England, but it had taken only a single arrow from an anonymous archer's bow to slay King Harold at Hastings.

Not that he had stayed dead for long.

"We installed new lighting since your last visit." She gestured toward the metal poles, topped with oval-shaped bulbs, which had been placed at regular intervals on the edge of the range. "They operate on photocells that cause the light to come on as soon as night falls."

He scoffed. "Kyn eyes need no such thing. A proper archer should be able to shoot anything with his eyes shut."

"It is for our visitors. Many watching the archery contests wished to try their hand at it, so we make it part of the midday performance." She followed him back to the shooting line. "It always surprises them to learn that they have not the muscle to use our weapons."

He eyed the small, rectangular bows segregated to the wall nearest the entry. "I had wondered why you had collected so many plastic toys. I began to think you were running some manner of archer's nursery here."

Rob never trifled with imitations or modern versions of his weapon of choice, but made his own arrows from billets of sound English poplar, planed by hand until they became the proper thirty-two-sided rods ready to be nocked and barbed. During the jardin wars he had been obliged to use arrowheads made of copper-coated steel; now he favored solid copper. The days of piercing the impossibly tough hides of Kyn enemies were over, but he didn't believe in using a weapon that could not harm its target. He would stop someday, when he regained his trust in the Kyn, which was to say that he would always carry them.

"You still use robins' feathers," Jayr murmured as he placed a dozen arrows into his quiver. "Harlech will only have goose pinion for his."

"Harlech should use goose wings, for he makes his arrows too heavy. That is why they constantly fall short of his mark." Rob took pride in the lightness and balance of his own. He held out a leather brace. "Take down a bow and shoot with me."

"So that you may shame me more than you did the last time I shot targets with you?" She released a short chuckle. "I thank you, my lord, no."

"You know you are a natural with the bow, and one of the few here who can give me any sport," he said, trying to persuade her. "Come, twelve arrows. I will spot you six, if you like."

"I regret that I cannot. I must go now to see to the performance, else the visitors may sack the castle." She aimed as if to go, and then reached out and touched his arm. "I am glad you are here, Lord Locksley. So is my master." She gave him one of her rare half smiles and walked back into the castle.

Glad she was. Glad of his presence. Smiling and laughing with him as a friend. Never knowing, never to know.

Rob turned to raise his bow, pulling the silk string back to his ear and taking aim. He released quickly, maximizing the energy being built up in the still-bending stave, and watching his arrow fly silent and true to bury itself dead center in the smallest of the target circlets. At the same time he plucked another arrow from the quiver and set its nock to the bowstring, drawing and releasing so quickly that the first had not stopped bobbing when the second split it in half.

"Fifty pounds says you cannae do that with your eyes closed," Byrne said from behind him.

Rob had the third arrow already set to his string, and turned to face his friend as he skillfully flipped his longbow and took the shot backward. He didn't have to look to see the result; the sound of the wooden shaft splitting was confirmation enough.

"Fifty pounds, was it?" he inquired politely. "I hope your pockets are deep."

"They will be when you pay me." Byrne pointed at his face. "For you didnae close your eyes."

Rob laughed. "Now who is the thief?"

After he had emptied his quiver and secured his bow and bag, Rob left the archer's range with Byrne and walked down a stone-set path into the castle's formal gardens. A prodigious amount of flowers still bloomed, thanks to the warmth of central Florida's climate, and the pathways were lined with potted poinsettias in honor of the season.

"Cyprien called. He attends this year," Byrne said in his usual abrupt fashion.

"I would have thought Michael still billing and cooing with his sygkenis." Rob halted to pluck a rambling white rose from a cluster at the end of a long, thorny cane nodding in the breeze. It reminded him of Jayr's ridiculous costume. "'Twas said that she suffered some injuries at Richard's hand. She is well enough to make the journey?"

"Apparently so." Byrne looked out at the setting sun. "I had words with Korvel after the thing was done. From his account the lass had a difficult time of it, but kept her head. Even when his scent bespelled her."

"She resisted Korvel's scent? She must be the only woman on earth who has." Impressed, Rob tucked the rose's stem in his pocket. "Cyprien is to be envied." He saw Byrne's expression tighten with distaste. "What is it? Have you some grievance with the seigneur?"

"I'm giving up the Realm, Rob," Byrne said. "I've asked Cyprien to choose my successor during his visit."

Rob stared at his friend. "You have perhaps lost your mind since this morning?"

"More that I seek to preserve my sanity." Garnet-bright hair turned to blood in the last glitter of sunlight as Byrne faced him.

"You saw with your own eyes last night. Had you not dragged me back, I would have gone over. I wanted to rip out their young throats and bathe myself in their blood."

"Truly?" Rob folded his arms. He knew how paranoid Byrne was about his affliction, but he saw no reason to coddle him. "You suppose I would have stood aside and allowed it?"

"Their throats, and yours," Byrne continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "And Jayr's."

The Darkyn never made casual threats. Silence filled the air with undreamed nightmares, all of them carved by a flesh-hungry battle-ax. But Locksley knew Byrne's heart, and his strength of conviction. It had not been a simple thing to stand by and watch his friend battle his unseen enemy, but Rob had never once doubted who would come out the victor.

"You were not on your guard," Rob argued, "and you did not lose control of yourself."

"This time. What of the next? What if there is no one to pull me back?" He rubbed a hand over his face. "What if there is no one who can stop me?"

Rob had intimate knowledge of Byrne that few Kyn possessed, and understood the strength it took to carry his terrible burden. "How often are you attacked by stupidly ambitious humans? The Realm protects you." Something occurred to him. "This is why you're giving up the Realm? Because of last night?"

"Centuries it has been locked inside me, seething and waiting," Byrne said flatly. "I live with it. I accept it. But I cannae defeat it, and it will never leave me. For some time I have felt my grip on it slipping. Alone, away from humans and Kyn, I wouldnae fear it as I do now."

"So you would give up your home and your people?" Rob flung out his arm. "This place, these men mean everything to you, Aedan, and you to them. They have served you well-by God, they would go to the cross for you-and now you mean to abandon them? To become a hermit? No, you cannot do it. We shall find another way to deal with this."

The Scot's voice became a growl. "D'ya think I havenae tried? There is nothing more I can do."

"Cyprien's leech found a cure for Richard," Rob pointed out. "You are not so different."

"Richard wasnae an animal in his human life." Twilight made Byrne's tattoos look black. "I was."

"You were a man of our time. Times have changed, and so have you." When Byrne didn't reply, Rob drew back and saw the absolute misery on his friend's face. Friendship and something less noble snarled inside him. "Very well. Whom have you put forth as prospects for your replacement?"

"I will ask Cyprien to select the next lord from those who prevail during the tournament," Byrne said. "My men wouldnae respect anyone less."

"Not even me?" Rob returned his startled look with a placid smile. "I have great fondness for your domain, your possessions, and your people. If you mean to toss them all away, I would have them for myself."