The raven-haired woman ran her hand gently over the man's thigh, a misty smile in her eyes. "They are so beautiful together. Their love is a wondrous thing to behold."

"He wants her," the man answered, trying to ignore her soft caress upon his leg. "'Tis pure animal instinct. Nothing more."

"Are you sure about that?" she asked softly, removing her hand from his leg and returning it primly to her lap. "Do

you not remember love?"

"Love," he scoffed. "We are far beyond that emotion."

"Are we?" she wondered. "I remember love...."

TWENTY-TWO.

Tempest hurried down the spiral staircase in search of Adrian. She carried Monster in her arms, absently stroking his silky head. He had grown in the week since her recovery, and his ribs were no longer visible; his black fur was long and soft.

She carried the kitten everywhere she went.

He had won a few minor skirmishes with the castle mastiffs, and they had soon learned to leave this particular cat alone.

Monster was well named. He had claws which could tear the flesh from tender noses and no fear of big teeth. The great hounds had-quickly and painfully-learned to respect the tiny terror.

Tempest had suffered almost as much as Monster. The servants were not unlike the great mastiffs of the castle. They too hated and feared the tiny black kitten. There were whispers of 'the devil's creature' and 'witch's familiar' around every corner, and she was concerned. She feared the gossip and superst.i.tion but loved her pet; he had been a gift from Adrian, and she was determined to protect him.

Most of the castle's cats had been destroyed years ago.

Christiana hated cats and fed the peasant's superst.i.tious fears of them. It had begun with the black cats and had gradually come to include every color. Tempest's childhood pet, Honey, had been the last. She had been devastated when Honey had been found dead in the courtyard, her neck broken. Tempest blamed her mother and had not spoken to her for months afterward. 'Twould not happen again, she vowed. Never again.

Not even if the whole castle became overrun with rats, which it had nearly been of late.

She found Christiana in the great hall, sitting on a corner

bench talking to Sardon. Tempest shuddered at the sight of him and walked reluctantly toward them. Monster growled softly, the fur on his neck raised.

"Mother," she began, ignoring Sardon as she spoke, "have you seen Adrian this morn?"

"Nay," Christiana answered. "I have not seen him. I prefer the company of refined gentlemen." She reached over and patted Sardon's hand, missing the look of repugnance that flitted across his face when her hand touched his.

Sardon hated being touched, particularly by Christiana.

His skin crawled every time it was necessary to be close to her.

But he needed her, needed her to see him as a friend, as a trusted priest. In the end, she would help him, help him to take the witchling's power.

"Why would I want to see your pet?" asked Christiana.

"This is my pet, Mother." Tempest held the loudly purring kitten up to Christiana's face and watched her recoil. "Adrian is my friend. There is a great difference between the two. Or have you not noticed?"

"Get that thing away from me!" Christiana drew back as though her daughter held a poisonous adder. "I simply cannot abide cats!" Her arm came in contact with Sardon, and he too recoiled.

He had to get away from this stupid woman. If she touched him again he would tear her to pieces. He would go to the stables and drag Marisa away from Wendall's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son. She had been spending too much time with the man lately. In his opinion, she looked far too happy.

"I must take your leave, milady." He rose quickly and nodded his head to Christiana. "I believe you will find your friend in the garden," he said, looking at Tempest. "If you will excuse me?"

"Why anyone would want to sit in a garden filled with snow is beyond me," said Christiana, watching Sardon hurry away.

"How can you stand being around that disgusting man?"

Tempest asked, noting Sardon's stiff, noiseless glide. He was positively reptilian in his movements.

"I find him very good company in this dreary old place."

Christiana glared at the kitten Tempest cradled so gently in her arms. Monster's green eyes returned the glare, and she shivered.

"'Tis a witch's familiar you carry, Tempest."

"Nay, 'tis only a wee, fluffy bundle of love," Tempest retorted as she turned to leave the room before her temper could erupt into another screaming match. There had been an uneasy truce between the two of them since her illness, and she was loathe to violate it.

"Heed my words, Tempest," Christiana called as Tempest walked from the room. "That animal is a dark omen. 'Twill bring trouble anon."

"Nonsense, Mother," she scoffed. "You feed upon superst.i.tion like a peasant." As she left the hall, she could hear Christiana raving. As she hurried back up the stairs to get her fur cape, pitying the next unfortunate who came in contact with her mother.

Opening the door to her room, she noticed the familiar odor of spice and decay lingering in the hall. "Sardon? What are you doing in my rooms?" It was not Sardon she met there, but Junia, her maid.

"Milady, do you wish to see Sardon di Mercia?" the girl asked as she spread the last fur coverlet over the bed.

"Junia? Where is he?" Tempest looked around the room.

"Ma'am?"

"Junia, come here to me, please." Sardon was not in the room, but she had unmasked him in other guises before, and she trusted no one in the castle until she could first check them for that sick odor of decay. As Junia neared, the overpowering odor of roses nearly took Tempest's breath away.

"Ye G.o.ds, woman," she exclaimed, "you wear too much scent." She covered her nose and waved the woman away.

"Forgive me, Milady," Junia said. "My friend, Samuel, gave me a vial of this wonderful scent, and I am afraid I used too much. 'Twill not happen again."

"See that it does not," Tempest replied, watching her closely. She recalled the night she drank the potion intended for Adrian. She remembered the cupbearer and the strong scent

of mint. Could Sardon have learned to mask his odor? She knew he had been in the hallway; she had smelled him there.

Mayhap...

"You may leave," she dismissed the woman. "I do not require your a.s.sistance today."

In her arms, Monster growled a tiny kitten growl of menace-or warning. He stared at Junia intently, not moving.

"Monster?" Tempest stroked his head gently. "Do you sense something which escapes me?"

Junia smiled, a sly smile, not her usual sweet friendliness as she reached for the kitten. "Perhaps the wee beastie wishes to go outdoors for nature's call." As her hand touched Monster's head, pandemonium reigned.

The kitten suddenly became an uncontrollable ball of claws and hisses as he launched himself at the woman. Junia screeched and threw up her hands to protect her face. His claws left long furrows on the back of one hand as she flung him to the floor.

"I despise cats," Junia spat as she kicked at Monster.

"Nay, do not hurt him," Tempest yelled. She tackled Junia, tumbling them both to the rush-covered floor.

"Remove yourself from me, woman." Sardon's voice was harsh. Tempest almost lost her morning meal, as the rose smell suddenly dissipated and the dank odor of decay a.s.sailed her.

"Your touch is nearly as foul as your mother's."

"And your stench is nearly as foul as your breath," Tempest responded in kind.

"Get...off...me!" His anger was palpable in the air about them, but Tempest did not release her hold. He struggled but could not dislodge her. She held his arms to the floor. He turned his head, blew the rushes from his face, and tried to rise, but she would not release him.

"'Tis strange, indeed, how the voice of the ugly Sardon di Mercia comes from the beautiful mouth of my sweet friend, Junia," she mocked. "How is it, I wonder, that you seem to have no strength in this body you use so poorly?"

"I will destroy you, witchling," he said, his voice filled with hatred.

"You tried that already." She was sweetly sarcastic.

"Remember? It seems even your poisons are not strong enough to defeat me."

Sardon struggled harder and managed to dislodge Tempest.

He reached for the opal ring on his finger, muttered strange incantations under his breath and disappeared, leaving his own particular smell of spicy decay in his wake.

Monster wailed an eerie cat's howl as he jumped into Tempest's arms, looking for protection from an evil beyond his ken. She shuddered as she sat 'midst the p.r.i.c.kly rushes, still panting from her struggle. Holding the kitten close, she crooned soft words of love.

"This is an abominable situation," she said, stroking the kitten slowly. "That...that thing can change his form at will. I can trust no one in this castle. Now he has even learned to mask his disgusting odor." She gazed thoughtfully at the purring kitten.

"I must have protection." She placed Monster gently on the floor and hurried to her wardrobe. "I know 'tis in here somewhere," she muttered as she searched the floor of the huge chiffarobe. Her hand finally found a carved wooden box and she pulled it out, opened it and began rummaging inside until she found what she sought.

It was a small silver dagger with faceted quartz crystals embedded in the hilt. On the blade was etched the form of a serpentine dragon. Tristan had given it to her on a long ago Yule celebration. Christiana had objected, saying it was not a fit gift for a young girl, but Wendall had just smiled and admired it. "Christiana," he had said calmly, "Tempest needs must carry protection. She spends most of her time in the woods and refuses a guard. I think this is a very thoughtful gift." He had handed the dagger back to his daughter, and the matter was closed.

Tempest smiled at the memory. When Wendall spoke, everyone heeded his words. Her mother was no exception.

She had kept the dagger, and Tristan had spent many hours teaching her how to use it to her best advantage. But she had not felt the need to carry it-until now.

She strapped the dagger's leather sheath to her thigh, wrapped her long fur cape around her slim shoulders and, once

again, went in search of Adrian, Monster close upon her heels.

Adrian sat on the stone bench 'midst the sleeping rosebushes, kicking idly at a clump of snow. In his hand he held a long sword which gleamed in the muted winter sunlight.

The blade was sharp, and he nicked his finger as he tested the edge. He popped the finger in his mouth to stop the small trickle of blood and thought back upon the morning's events.

Lord Wendall had presented the sword to him for saving Tempest when she had been poisoned. Adrian had taken it to the garden to familiarize himself with it.

"I did nothing to save my beloved," he mumbled. "I only called upon the powers of my mother. Even then I did not realize what I was doing. If I could change back to my natural form, I would not need this weapon in which humans seem to set such great store."

He closed his eyes, concentrating, willing himself to once again become the great beast-his natural form. His brow furrowed deeply and his face grew red from the effort, but the only change he noticed was a pounding headache which began behind his eyes.

He laid the sword on the bench and leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. His head drooped dejectedly. "Why can I not change? Why can I not remember how I got into this form? How can I truly be of help to Tempest or anyone else when I have this great, black hole in my memory?" A groan of anguish escaped him.

"Adrian?" Tempest's soft voice startled him. "Are you ill?"

"Tempest?" He looked up into her worried face. "Nay, 'tis more frustration at my helplessness. I feel so useless." He picked up the sword and held it out to her. "What good is this to me? I know not how to use the thing."

"Do you know that to be so, Adrian? Have you remembered something?"

"Nay," he answered, looking away. "I remember nothing."

He felt uneasy lying to her, but knew he must obey his mother's words. He lowered the sword point to the ground and began drawing idly in the hard-packed snow at his feet.

"G.o.d's teeth, Adrian," Tempest exclaimed. "Where are your boots? You will catch your death out here in this cold with your feet bare. Have you lost your senses completely?"

"I do not like those boots. They are too hard, and they hurt my feet," he complained, relieved to have her attention diverted to another subject. "Besides, the cold feels good. I like the way the snow crunches between my toes when I walk." He grinned, a look of pure devilment in his winter-sky eyes. "Try it." He tossed the sword into a nearby snow bank and dove for her feet.

She squealed, eluded his grasp and ran down the well- packed path toward the quadrangle door, intent on keeping her feet warm, dry, and well out of his reach.

As they slammed the heavy door behind them, a dark figure stepped silently out from behind a thick clump of holly bushes.

He stared at the door for a moment, then reached down and picked up the forgotten sword. A deep, menacing laugh emerged from the black hood which concealed his face.

"Fool," he snarled as he tucked the weapon under his black robe. "You are no challenge. 'Twill be easier than I expected to destroy the last of your kind. My revenge upon L'sira will be sweet indeed."