"Then you too will rue this day," Tristan said between clenched teeth. He carried Tempest carefully to his horse.

"Let me carry her, Tristan," said William. "I am stronger.

'Twill be easier for me to ride with her."

"The devil take you!" Tristan yelled. "'Tis your fault she was hurt. I will not have you touch her." He recruited one of Wendall's guard to hold her while he mounted, then cradled her gently in his arms as they rode slowly back to Castle Windhaven.

"She has learned much from L'sira," the man said thoughtfully. "Why did she not use her powers to escape?"

"She was frightened," answered the woman softly. "She is young and easily distracted."

"Young, aye." The man rose and began to pace the floor.

"But she is a witch with great powers-a dragon witch."

"She will use them. Just be patient. She does not yet know her true power." The woman sat quietly in her huge carved chair, watching the man's agitated pacing. "You seem overly worried, my dear. Are you, by chance, becoming involved with

your game pieces?"

"They are living people," he growled. "Or have you not noticed?"

"I have long since noticed." Her smile was wide. "I just wondered when you would."

TWENTY-NINE.

The pain was atrocious. Her head felt like an anvil suffering the blacksmith's hammer. Lights pulsed behind her closed eyelids. Her body was being jounced, and water was dripping on her face. In all, it was a terrible way to wake up. She tried to retreat back into another, more comfortable place and groaned with the effort.

"Tempest?" Tristan's voice sounded worried, but she did not care. The pain in her head was more than she could bear, and she sought oblivion once again.

"Tempest, wake up. Open your eyes. Please."

More pain. Pulsing lights. Tempest tried to brush the water from her face but could not move her arm; it was too heavy.

She had to escape the pain, the pain that radiated from the back of her head to join with the pulsing lights behind her eyes. Darkness. The darkness would take her away. It had before. The darkness was her friend. It enveloped her in its loving arms.

"Tempest? Little sister?"

Again Tristan's voice disturbed her, but she could not answer. Her head hurt abominably and the darkness was so soothing. For the third time she eluded her brother's intruding voice. But this time the darkness held no peace. This time there was danger-menacing, threatening-looming over her. A distant red light grew in the blackness. It came closer. A shape formed in the light, a familiar, deadly figure. Sardon! She could feel his presence, smell the musty odor.

But it was not Sardon di Mercia who stood before her in the velvet blackness. It was a dragon, black as a midnight sky, magnetic red eyes pulling her toward death, or something worse.

Red eyes impaling her with their hatred. Red eyes draining her soul, her power...

Her power! With great effort, Tempest lifted her arm and pointed at the beast. White flames shot from her fingertips, enveloping the evil before her. There was a scream of rage...and pain. Thick gray smoke emerged from the dragon. Its form faded, red eyes growing dim. A voice whispered from the darkness.

"You have learned much, witch. You shall be a fitting mate."

"Never," she screamed at the horror.

"Tempest? Wake. Please." The voice pulled her. Strong arms cradled her gently. She opened her eyes to see Tristan's worried face.

"Tris," she whispered. "What happened?"

He gently wiped her face with a soft cloth. She felt wet and looked to the gray skies above. A soft, gentle rain misted everything. She closed her eyes, relishing the soothing coolness, enjoying the gentle, rocking movements of the horse.

"You stumbled and hit your head on a rock. We have been riding for two days and are almost home."

"Home?"

"Aye. Home."

"But where is Adrian...and Lysira?" She was confused.

"Why are we going home? I do not wish to go back to Windhaven, Tris. I want to stay with Adrian."

"You cannot. You are to wed William in a fortnight.

Remember?"

"Nay, I do not love him." She struggled to be free of his encompa.s.sing arms, but he held her tightly. "LET ME GO!"

"Stop it." Tristan was having a hard time holding her still.

"You will make the horse bolt."

Tempest quieted immediately, realizing the danger.

William, hearing her angry voice, reined in his mount and waited for them to draw alongside him.

"Tempest," he said, looking at her pale features. "You are awake. It has been two days, and we have been quite worried about you, my dear."

"William," she acknowledged. She did not want to talk to the man. She wanted to be with Adrian. She needed to tell

him... No, she could not tell him... G.o.ddess, how her head hurt...

Gingerly she touched the bandage.

"We will soon reach Castle Windhaven and have you safe in the loving arms of your family. You need to be well for our nuptials."

"I am very tired, William," she murmured. Closing her eyes, she laid her head against Tristan's strong chest.

William watched her for a long time, then spurred his horse to the head of his entourage.

Actually, it felt good to sleep in her own bed. Her father had been so worried, and Tempest regretted the heartache she had caused him. Just the same, she knew she would have helped Adrian to escape again, even though it had put a severe strain on her relationship with Wendall. Adrian had been imprisoned unjustly. There had been no other alternative. What she had done was right; she knew it in her heart.

Christiana had not even deigned to make an appearance to inquire after her only daughter. Tempest dreaded her mother's visit when the time finally came, but no more than William's.

Thus far she had been able to forestall any visits from him.

How could she explain why she had helped Adrian? Would he simply accept the truth? He had not appeared to be angry when they brought her in. But she had been injured then...

"Tempest?" William's head peeked around the door. "May I speak with you?"

"Of course, my lord." She watched him enter the room, drag the heavy wooden chair to her bedside and then sit in it.

She dreaded his first words. But he did not look angry. He looked sad, somehow.

As usual, he wore brown. William's nervous movements reminded her of a large brown squirrel. As he fussed with his clothing and looked around the room, he looked unsure of himself. Always before he had been a.s.sured and self-confident.

Tempest wondered if he might possibly call off the wedding.

Mayhap he would free her, and she could declare her love for Adrian.

"I love you, you know," he began, not looking at her.

She was confused. This was an arranged marriage, not one of love. How could the man love her? He had encountered her rarely, and they had not been alone during those short meetings.

Usually Sardon was somewhere, listening, watching. She shivered as she glanced at the open door, fully expecting to see Sardon lurking in the shadows, but they seemed to be alone.

"William, I..." she began, trying to find the right words.

"Please, my dear, let me speak for a moment," he implored.

"I need to tell you...To explain my heart and my life."

Tempest was quiet, waiting.

Nervously, William cleared his throat. "I know not where to begin."

"Tell me of Clairesse du Monterre," she prompted helpfully.

She needed to know in order to understand this man. She needed to understand why the man she was to wed had had his lover- pregnant with his child-burned as a witch.

"Clairesse?" He paused, looking surprised. Then his eyes grew sad with remembered pain, "I was wed to Marissa's mother, Gwendolyn, when I met Clairesse," he began. "It was an arranged marriage and, although Gwendolyn was a sweet child, I could not find love in my heart for her.

"Clairesse was..." He cleared his throat nervously and continued. "She was the most beautiful, the sweetest, the wildest woman I had ever met. She was a healer, and she wandered from demesne to demesne, wherever her services were needed.

Gwendolyn had been ill, and I asked Clairesse to stay to help, as our healer had died earlier that spring. Marisa was but two years, and I still had no son to be my heir. I needed Gwendolyn to be well, to be able to bear me the son I so desperately wanted.

"Clairesse drew me as no other woman had. Her saucy smile, her sharp wit and even sharper tongue made my heart sing. I loved her, and I believe she also grew to love me." He closed his eyes, rested his head against the high back of the chair and let the memories of Clairesse wash over him in sweet agony. He remembered making wild, yet gentle love to her. He remembered the softness of her body, the pa.s.sion, the look in her green eyes when he entered her to spill his seed in a moment of pure rapture. He remembered how her hair had spread across

the pillow in glorious abandon, like red flames, consuming his very soul.

He remembered her death, how he had tried in vain to reach her. The locked door. William absently rubbed his hand as he remembered how he had pounded on that door until his hands bled, his throat raw from his anguished screams. He remembered her shrieks of agony as the fire surrounded her.

He remembered the dying wail of her babe as it briefly entered a cruel world of pain and immediate death. He remembered...

"William?"

Tempest's voice drew him back to the present. "You remind me of her," he said sadly.

"You say you loved her, yet you let them burn her as a witch," she said harshly, unforgiving.

"I had no choice." His words came out flat and dull. "I could not stop them. Someone had locked the tower door. I could not save her."

"But I was told you had locked yourself in the tower."

"Nay," he whispered. "I did not. I tried to get out of the tower. I tried to stop the burning."

"'Twould have done him no good." Sardon's words flew between them like a wall. "I wanted her dead, and the people were mine to control."

"You wanted her dead? 'Twas you who locked that door?"

William rose to face his advisor, his face pale and angry. "Why?

She harmed no one. She was not even a true witch, only a simple healer. You took her from me. Why?"

"She was a witch," Sardon said, "a real witch, albeit a second-rate one, at best. She would not give me what I wanted, so I sent her to her death. Besides, she did not fit into my plans." He scrutinized William, waiting, enjoying the anger he could see in his eyes.

Now, he thought, now I can destroy this pitiful creature and take his intended. I have suffered with his weakness for too many years. Finally I shall add a true witch's power to my own. Nothing will defeat me now.

This witchling will give me her power. She will not be able to stop me. The hatchling is not here to protect her this

time. She cannot escape the destiny I have chosen for her.

"I will kill you for what you have done," raged William, drawing his sword. "You took Clairesse from me. You murderer! You caused the death of an innocent babe. My child!"