The woman raised her eyebrows, and her smile grew.

"Large, aye," she said softly, remembering times past. "But never boorish. There has always been a tenderness deep within the man. It took Lysira to tame the Devil Knight."

"Tame him?" the man snorted as he raised his goblet for a sip of sweet red wine. "The only time he has ever resembled 'tame' is in her presence."

"He has been compa.s.sionate with Tempest."

"Our Queen is a true witch," he said solemnly. "He would do well to be gentle with her. 'Tis within her power to destroy him."

"Is it?" The woman's dark eyes gazed into the distance.

"I wonder..."

THIRTY-FIVE.

Handsome was not a word one would use to describe Damien Westbrooke. Rugged? Mayhap. Ferocious? Definitely.

But he did not have the chiseled, golden features of his son.

Tempest wondered fleetingly what had drawn Lysira to him.

Damien was extraordinarily tall; he bent his head as he entered the cottage so he would not hit the door frame. Dressed in black, from his starkly black tunic to his shiny leather boots, Damien looked every inch the Devil Knight. Black hair, grown well past his shoulders, and ebony eyes completed the picture.

She had grown up hearing stories of the Devil Knight but they had simply been stories to scare children-until the moment she met Damien. She also remembered a dragon in those tales. A golden dragon.

"May I go to my wife now, little tiger?" Damien interrupted her reveries. His eyes filled with pain as he stared at the still form lying on the bed.

"Of course." She stepped aside. "I did not mean to keep you from her."

His dark eyes flickered to her momentarily. "You could not have stopped me had I not been willing," he stated firmly as he brushed past her and knelt by the bed.

"'Sira," he said softly, taking her limp hand in his. "Wake, my love. 'Tis Damien." He gently brushed a lock of flaxen hair from her forehead.

Lysira's head turned toward his deep, gravelly voice. Her eyes opened, and her hand fluttered to caress his jaw.

"Damien," she breathed.

"Aye, my love. I am here." Tenderly, he kissed the palm of her hand. Lysira smiled softly and closed her eyes, her breathing

easier than it had been in days.

Tempest's eyes clouded as she stumbled from the cottage.

Such love was a private thing and not for her to witness. She needed to find Adrian and tell him his mother had finally come out of her deep sleep, thanks to the arrival of her mate. Love was a powerful medicine. She just hoped it would be powerful enough to heal Lysira.

'Twas an idyllic day. His mother was on the mend and his father was...well, Damien still wore his mantle of Devil Knight proudly. He had not changed in the years since Adrian had seen him. Nor had the deep love his mother and father held for each other. It had been almost miraculous how Lysira had rallied after Damien's arrival. True love was surely a magical thing.

His father had always been a harsh and demanding man who had earned the respect of everyone with whom he came in contact. Adrian was no exception. Damien only gave an order once and he a.s.sumed unquestioning obedience. Adrian had learned that lesson early in life.

Memories of childhood flooded back. His father had been a hard taskmaster. Damien had taught him to respect and value others. Sometimes the lessons had come at the end of a fist, sometimes with a quiet explanation, sometimes with a heart- wrenching look of disappointment or exasperation. Adrian had learned, and learned well, to respect his father.

But he also had learned how much Damien loved him. Damien had been livid with anger after that first dragon- battle. Adrian remembered how badly he had been hurt and how upset and worried Lysira had been. But he would never forget his father's rage at the black that had wounded him.

Damien had gone hunting. He had killed every black dragon- except one. He had not been able to defeat S'rdonne; as a matter of fact, he had almost lost his life in the process. 'Twas then that Adrian had realized just how much his father loved him.

Damien's gentle manner with his wife had a magnetic effect on Tempest and that bothered Adrian. There was no reason for him to be jealous. But he was. There was no getting around the fact. Every day for the past week, when Adrian looked for

her, he found her at Damien's feet, listening to some tale of old. 'Twas beginning to bother him more than he cared to admit. Marisa was not so fascinated by Damien, why was Tempest?

This day was no different. Her happy laughter rang out as he rounded the corner of the cottage. Adrian dropped the freshly killed buck by the step.

"I killed it," he grumped, looking at his father. "You and Tristan can dress it out." He turned and stalked off, his back stiff and unyielding.

No one offered any comment or followed him as he headed to the pond to bathe. Mayhap the water would cool his temper.

The icy water felt good, and soon he was splashing and humming tunelessly to himself. His ablutions finally finished, he climbed to a large flat rock and lay down to let the warm spring sun dry him. The air smelled fresh, the scent of pine, fir and wildflowers flowed around him, and birds sang in the treetops high overhead. He closed his eyes. Tempest's face swam before him, her unruly red locks, her sweet smile, the sparkle of mischief that came so rarely to her emerald eyes.

G.o.ds how he loved her. His heart felt as though it would burst.

Soon she would belong to him. In his mind, everything was prepared. All he needed to do now was ask her to become his mate. It made him nervous, but he had rehea.r.s.ed his proposal many times. He only hoped he would not become tongue-tied and embarra.s.s himself. He should go through it again-just to make sure...

"Adrian?" At the sound of her voice his eyes flew open.

She stood about ten feet away, gazing up at him, that rare twinkle in her eyes. "The sun will burn you if you lie there much longer. What are you daydreaming about? You look awfully smug. I do believe your skin is beginning to turn a nice shade of rose-all over." She giggled.

"Tempest!" He felt his face burn with a newfound embarra.s.sment. "I have no clothes on. You should not be standing there staring at me, much less making comments upon my state of undress." He had finally become reaccustomed to wearing clothes and, for some strange reason, felt

uncomfortable having her look at his naked body. Am I becoming too human? he wondered.

"Turn around so I can dress." He moved his hands to cover himself.

"Why?" A small smile played at the edges of her inviting lips.

He imagination took flight as he remembered the silky feel of those sweet lips. He remembered his tongue meeting hers.

As he remembered his body began to respond. It was becoming very difficult to keep the lower portion of his anatomy concealed behind his hand. He grimaced.

"Are you in pain, my love?" Tempest asked sweetly, running that tormenting pink tongue over her dusky lips.

He could not take his eyes from her tongue as it glided slower and slower. He felt an ache deep within and groaned softly.

"Tempest," he said between clenched teeth. "You are torturing me. I beg you, please stop."

"Stop?" she asked with feigned innocence. "I am but standing here conversing with you. Do you wish me to leave?"

"Nay. Leave me not, little demon. 'Tis sweet torture, but I can relieve it if you but say the word." Using one free hand, Adrian slid awkwardly from the rock. He also sc.r.a.ped about two inches of flesh from his tender b.u.t.tocks.

He yelped and reached for his bottom. The pain accomplished two things--it took his mind completely from her delectable lips and solved his problem of trying to cover his erect manhood, for it no longer stood proud and ready but seemed to be trying to shrivel up into his body.

All levity ceased as Tempest hurried to him. "Are you hurt?" she asked, concern filling her eyes. "Let me see."

"Nay!" He backed away from her, too humiliated to let her tend to the inconsequential sc.r.a.pe. "'Tis nothing."

"You are hurt," she insisted with a frown. "I must see how badly. Are you bleeding? I see blood. Let me see to your wound."

"Just...leave...me...alone!" he rasped. "I do not need you to look at anything. I am just fine."

"I just wanted to help." Her lower lip trembled. "You do not have to yell at me."

"I did not yell."

"You did so!"

"Tempest. My dearest love," he pleaded, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I but sc.r.a.ped my backside on the rock. I am fine. Really."

"You are certain?" She grew calmer.

"Aye," he said, smiling. "Now will you please turn your back so I can dress?"

"Adrian," her tinkling laughter warmed his heart. "I have seen you without your clothes before. You are being foolish about this." She reached for his tunic and handed it to him. "You have even seen me unclad. Why this modesty of a sudden?"

"I just...Tempest will you marry me?" Oh G.o.ds above, that came out all wrong. I did not plan it this way. What an idiot I am! he thought with disgust. Well, no matter how poorly I did it, the words have been spoken. He waited expectantly for her reply.

A raucous birdcall caught their attention. A lone crow flew high over head.

"One crow for sorrow..." Tempest began. Two others joined it in its circle dance. Tempest smiled.

"Aye, my love, I will wed you, for the crows are never wrong."

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused. "What have crows to do with our being wed?"

"'Tis an old saying," she recalled, "handed down from mother to child."

"But I have never known you to be superst.i.tious before. Why now?"

"'Tis not superst.i.tion. 'Tis a truth, handed down from mother to daughter from times long ago. Miriam taught it to me when I was but a babe.

One crow for sorrow, Two for mirth, Three for a wedding,

Four for a birth."

She caught her breath as four more crows joined the group, circling lazily overhead.

"Is there more?" asked Adrian. He watched the circling crows. Their raucous cries invaded his senses.

"Aye," she answered softly. She watched him intently as she quoted the rest of the childhood verse.

"Five for silver, Six for gold...

Seven's a secret that's never been told."

He swallowed, looking into her eyes. They drew him deeper into a sea-green pool of love and trust. His secret...'twas not yet time...

"What secret, Adrian?" she whispered. "What secret do you withhold from the one you would wed?"

"Secret?" He swallowed again. "I...what do you mean?"

"'Tis a sign," she explained. "The crow sign never lies. I shall wed you, for 'tis what the G.o.ds wish, and what I wish also. But the crows tell me you have a secret. I would know this secret, Adrian. I cannot be your wife unless you tell me your secret. 'Tis as simple as that."

"I cannot." He bowed his head in dejection.

She walked away without another word, leaving him standing alone and miserable. "What am I to do?" He shook his fist angrily at the sky. "Tell me what to do. I cannot live without her."

They watched the anger drain from his handsome face. They watched dejection set it. They could feel his misery like a physical force.

"We must help him," whispered the woman. Her raven tresses curtained her eyes as she bent toward the softly glowing orb. She pushed them back impatiently.

In the crystal, the figure of the young man lay back upon the stone, his arm flung over his eyes. She realized he had made his plea and was waiting for an answer-a sign.

"Tell him he may speak the truth to her," she pleaded. "'Tis cruel to let him suffer so."

The golden-haired man reached out and, without a word, moved his hand gently over the crystal ball and disappeared.

A shadow pa.s.sed over the young man in the crystal.