"Besides, I was thinking of you while she rubbed."

"You were thinking of me?" Tempest was so incredulous she could hardly speak. "You were thinking of me?"

"I always think of you, little one."

"Well, think of someone else from now on," she spat, plopping the tray on the bed, spilling hot broth on the blankets.

A hurt look crossed her face. "I hate you," she yelled as she turned and fled, slamming the door behind her.

"Nay, sweet Tempest," he whispered softly. "You love me as I love you."

"Well, I see you finally have the good sense to cover yourself." Miriam's voice startled Adrian from his reverie.

"Although that wool blanket must itch like the very devil."

"That it does," he agreed, as he turned to look at her. "I guess there is no extra clothing in this place to spare for a poor wounded man?"

"'Tis why I am here."

"You brought me something to wear?" Adrian eyed the bundle she carried. "Am I going to be released from this room at last?"

"Aye to both questions," she answered with a smile. "You need to move around more to regain your strength, and Tempest needs her room."

"This is where Tempest sleeps? She never told me."

"Lord Wendall is not a terribly wealthy man, Adrian. This keep is large enough for the family members to sleep in separate rooms, but there are few rooms to spare for guests. Sardon di Mercia is staying in the guest tower, and Lord William's daughter, Marisa, is in the only other available room, so there was nowhere else for you to stay but here. We could not put an injured man in the great hall where additional guests usually sleep." She tossed the bundle to him. "This was all I could find that would fit you. It may be somewhat tight, but you are a large man, so they will have to do until we can get something made for you."

Adrian dropped his blanket and began to spread the clothing out on the bed, humming softly to himself.

Miriam watched him for a moment, a small smile on her face. "I will leave you to dress yourself. When you are ready you can come to the hall for evening meal."

"Miriam?" Adrian's voice stopped her, and she turned to him.

"Where is Tempest? I have not seen her for two whole days."

"She has been busy." Miriam paused, looking at him for a long moment. "I think she is rather angry with you."

"But why?" he asked. "I have done nothing to make her angry. I am too sore to do anything."

"What about Mary?" asked Miriam.

"Mary?"

"The serving girl Tempest caught rubbing oil where 'twas not needed."

"Oh." Adrian's face lit. "She is nice. I liked the way she rubbed my belly. But why is Tempest angry? I did nothing wrong. Does she not want me to feel good? I thought she was

angry because I was thinking of her. I have tried my best not to think about Tempest, Miriam, but 'tis hard not to. She is beautiful and sweet and I love her," he said, a stricken look upon his face.

Miriam walked around the bed and laid her hand gently on Adrian's cheek. "Do you know nothing about the ways of women, Adrian? Tempest is to wed William in the spring. She cannot return your feelings. What you desire is impossible, my dear."

Just for a moment, Miriam remembered her meeting with the golden dragon the night she buried Tempest's caul under the sacred oak. She knew, deep in her heart, that Tempest should not wed William, but she could not go against Wendall's wishes.

She had never told him of the secret betrothal she carried in her heart. Wendall would not have believed her; in fact, he would have done everything in his power to make sure his beloved daughter would not have to wed a dragon. 'Twould have been unthinkable to him. She would wait and see how events unfolded. Dragons were powerful creatures. If a betrothal was what they desired, then 'twould happen whether Wendall wished it or not.

"Nay," Adrian growled. "She will not wed that man in the spring nor any time. Tempest is destined to be my mate and 'twill be so!"

"She is promised to him." Miriam watched his reaction.

He frowned and golden flecks floated in the blue of his eyes like tiny golden stars in a daylight sky. Could it be..? Nay, Adrian was only a human male, destined to love and lose, for no human could go against the dictates of dragondom.

"I will kill him." His anger made his eyes glow brighter.

"Nay. If you kill William there will be war and many lives will be lost-including yours and Tempest's. Do you wish to be the cause of her death?"

"Nay. Never will I be the cause of my beloved's death. I would give my life for her!"

"Then you must forget this idea of killing William. He is a nice man, Adrian. I believe you will quite like him when you meet." Miriam smiled gently at him. "Now, I brought you all

these clothes, and I would like to see you wearing them soon.

Your nakedness does not bother me, but you have seen how the young women react."

"Aye," Adrian said obediently as he picked up the snowy white shirt. "But I will not like him at all!" he added emphatically.

"The young man does look rather splendid when he is unclothed," the woman mused.

"Hrumph," the man huffed, disgust evident in his voice.

"He looks like any other mortal male, clothed or unclothed."

"Somewhat more generously endowed than most mortal males," the woman amended, her smile almost reaching the two tiny dimples on either cheek.

"Cover that cursed crystal, woman." His face was red from anger-or embarra.s.sment. "We needs must plan for coming events."

Silvery, feminine laughter tinkled lightly across the heavens as the glowing blue crystal grew dim.

SEVENTEEN.

Adrian felt uncomfortable descending the narrow spiral staircase. His new boots were tight and felt unnatural, as though he had not been born to wear anything on his feet.

He kept to the outer, wider steps. Glancing at the inner wall, he wondered briefly if anyone could use those steps without falling-they were so narrow.

As he entered the great hall, he was surprised to see so many people occupying the long trestle tables. Seated on benches were the squires and pages, the lowliest and youngest being at the very end nearest the entrance. The guards were next, closer to the center of the long tables, with the knights of the castle being closest to the dais where Lord Wendall sat with his family and guests.

Adrian's eyes were drawn immediately to Tempest. Before fully entering the huge room, he paused to admire her. He had never seen her looking lovelier. She wore a soft green velvet tunic, the color of spring gra.s.s, over an underdress of deep forest green. Both garments were embroidered with tiny silver leaves. Her auburn tresses were piled upon her head in ringlets, with tiny curls escaping their confines to caress and frame her heart-shaped face. She hesitated midst lifting her silver wine goblet to her lips, drawn by Adrian's hungry stare.

The shock of seeing him standing in the great hall nearly caused her to drop her goblet. He looked so different. His boots were made of soft leather and fitted to mid-calf. The straining black breeches, obviously made for a much smaller man, clung to him like a second skin, revealing every curve of his muscular legs. His cobalt blue tunic, almost too short, barely concealed his bulging manhood. A broad leather belt was cinched tightly

at his slim waist, the bra.s.s buckle shining brightly in the candlelight. A cream-colored linen shirt peeked from beneath his tunic and flowed down his long arms to gather tightly around his strong wrists, the ruffles brushing his long, powerful fingers.

His golden blond hair had been brushed until it glowed in the light from the candles overhead and was drawn back and tied with a black ribbon.

Azure eyes met jade eyes and locked. Adrian and Tempest were unable to tear their gaze from one another. The room and its occupants faded into obscurity. Unspoken promises charged the air between them, and the heavy silver goblet finally fell from Tempest's nerveless fingers to crash loudly upon the table.

"Tempest!" Christiana's voice broke the spell. "How can you be so clumsy?" Her eyes followed the path of her daughter's gaze and she saw what held her attention as Adrian walked confidently to the dais where the family sat.

"I see you have recovered from your wounds, young man."

Christiana looked Adrian over from head to foot, her gaze lingering on the too-tight breeches. Then she noticed Sardon lingering in the shadows of the entryway. He nodded to her, and she smiled brightly at him, but turned back to Adrian.

She ran her tongue over her lips as she glanced again at his trim figure.

"Come, sit next to me," she said, with a coy smile. "Adrian is what you are called, I believe? I would learn all about our newest guest."

Adrian wanted to sit next to Tempest, but the lady of the castle had commanded his presence, and protocol would not let him refuse her. As he walked by Tempest's chair to join Christiana, his fingers brushed fleetingly across her graceful neck. She reached out to touch his hand, but he was gone too quickly. Tempest felt like a child who had been offered a sweet and then denied even a small taste. She glared at her mother but was ignored.

Sardon slipped silently into the empty seat next to Tempest.

"And how are you this evening, my dear?" Sardon's voice startled her, and she almost dropped her goblet again but managed to control it.

"Could you not find another seat, sirrah?" She threw him a venomous look. "Preferably in another kingdom?"

"But I have news of your intended, Tempest." A sly smile spread across his gaunt face as he pointedly ignored her derogatory 'sirrah'. "You do not wish to hear about the man you are soon to wed?"

"Tell me your news quickly. Then leave." Tempest turned away. She was uncomfortable being so near the man. A strange odor of decay combined with some sweeter, spicy essence surrounded him, making her queasy.

"It seems there has been another witch found at Far Reaches," he said, closely watching her reaction.

Tempest said nothing, yet her whitened fingers clenched the goblet, betraying her feelings.

"He may be gone for quite some time," he continued, staring at her intently. "He hates these trials and tries to drag them on for as long as possible, always looking for some way to free the accused witch. But if his people are very angry...Well, I am sure you are aware of the outcome of most witch trials."

"Have there been many accused witches brought before him?"

"Aye, but William always fails in his efforts to save them.

I...our people always enjoy a good burning."

"They were burned?" Tempest paled at his words. "But why does he always fail? He is the lord of the manor. Surely his word is law."

"William may be lord of his manor, but 'tis I who run his small kingdom." His saturnine features reflected his satisfaction. He would enjoy baiting this witchling. "The first witch we burned shortly after I became his priest. She caused the death of his first wife and made his only son a monstrously deformed child." He leaned back in his chair, relishing the story he was about to tell. Watching. Antic.i.p.ating.

"William has a son?" Tempest asked, shocked. "I did not realize that. Where is he? Does he still live?"

"Aye, unfortunately. But no one ever sees him. 'Tis said he is too horrible to behold. His head is larger than that of a normal man. His body is small and weak. His eyes are a strange shape,

round, yet slanted, and his mind is that of a child. He speaks slowly and simply, and his words are often slurred and difficult to understand. William has secluded him in a distant monastery.

He never visits him or speaks of him."

"But why did he send the child away?" Tempest asked. "I have seen others born like him, and they are always sweet, loving children."

"Would you want your only son and heir to be known as the village idiot?"

Tempest shook her head, unable reply.

"But I digress, witchling. You must hear the rest of the story." He stared at her over the rim of his goblet as he sipped his wine. "Many years ago, while William was away negotiating a treaty between two warring lords, Marisa's mother was brought to childbed for the birth of William's son. He returned home to find his hall filled with an angry mob. He had not even had time to hear the news of his demesne, when a witch was brought to him for judgment. The woman looked much like you, Tempest. She had flame-red hair and green eyes. She was William's mistress."

Tempest did not comment. Most marriages were loveless, arranged for political reasons. A man often had a mistress hidden away somewhere. Her own father had fathered Tristan from his mistress during his first marriage. She knew, however, that Wendall was faithful to Christiana.

"When the professed witch, Clairesse, stood before William, he refused to make a judgment, for he loved her,"

Sardon continued.

"What is the accusation against this woman?" William had asked when she was brought before him.

"She bewitched your lady wife, Milord," the midwife answered.

"How so?" he asked her.

"She was in Milady's chamber while she was birthing. This witch, Clairesse, cursed her, saying Milady would die of childbed fever," the woman answered, wringing her hands.

"I am a healer," Clairesse explained. "The midwife is a filthy creature. Her hands and body are covered with dirt, and

she smells of the pigs she keeps. A new babe must come into the world in cleanliness else the mother will become feverish and die."