Ahead, she could see the small clearing which surrounded the majestic old oak, her special tree, her sanctuary. As she neared the tree, she saw a figure lying on the ground, huddled close to the ma.s.sive trunk. She paused at the edge of the clearing. She felt no fear, but a small resentment was building in her mind that her special place had been intruded upon.

"Shoo." She stomped her feet and waved her arms, hoping to scare it away. But it did not budge. Tempest screwed up her courage and advanced toward the tree, ready to defend her property.

As she neared the oak tree, She could tell the figure was a man. He seemed to be curled up, asleep on the cold ground.

Her temper flared. This was her tree, her sacred place. No lazy man had a right to be taking a nap under her tree! She picked up a large branch which lay near the path and advanced, staff held high, ready to run off the intruder.

"Depart, Churl," she demanded, trying to make her voice low and menacing but, due to the fear beginning to overcome her courage, her voice came out in a squeak, which made her even more angry. "Shoo, I say. Go away. This is my father's

forest and that's my tree. Shoo, shoo, shoo." But still the man did not move. Boldly, she stepped forward.

In that moment Tempest realized the stranger was not wearing red clothing, nor was he sleeping as she had previously thought. He was covered with blood and was either unconscious-or dead.

Throwing caution and temper to the wind, she dropped the stick and ran to the wounded man. Kneeling on the hard-packed earth beside him, she turned him onto his back. With a sigh of relief, she noticed the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. She checked quickly for the source of all that dark red blood and found several deep gashes which, for some inexplicable reason, seemed to be healing themselves. She could detect no healer's work. There were no bandages or poultices on the wounds.

It suddenly dawned on Tempest that she had just discovered a very large, very badly hurt, very naked, man lying beneath her oak tree, and she had no idea what to do with him.

She had lived a protected life. When male visitors came to Castle Windhaven the job of helping them with their bath was usually left to Christiana, who thoroughly enjoyed the task- if they were n.o.bles-or to a serving maid if they were of lower rank. When she and Miriam had gone out to do their healing duties, Miriam had taken great care to keep the men's nakedness covered to maintain Tempest's innocence.

She had, of late, been curious to see what was being concealed, and here was her opportunity. The man was unconscious. No one would ever know. After all, as a proper healer, she needed to make sure there were no more serious wounds.

She sat back on her heels to enjoy her first sight of this forbidden fruit. The man's legs were long and muscular, his skin a deep golden brown. Her eyes traveled up those long legs to encounter one of the great mysteries of her life. His manhood lay in a nest of curly blond hair, and she blushed as she started to reach out, but she could not bring herself to touch a thing so private. She withdrew her hand and continued her examination His flat stomach was concave, well-toned, his chest muscular and tanned, with wisps of golden curls growing in

the center. Just over his heart was a tiny birthmark. Tempest looked closer. Yea, the birthmark resembled a tiny dragon. Her roving gaze wandered on. His arms looked long and well able to uphold a maiden's honor. Her stare traveled slowly to his face. He had a strong square jaw with no facial hair. His lips were full and sensuous and his eyes were...open, looking at her.

"Did you enjoy the view, little witch?" His misty blue eyes sparkled with golden flecks, and soft laughter rumbled deep in his chest. "I must admit, I have never had such a close examination before. I found it rather pleasant."

"I am not a witch." Tempest was mortified to the tips of her toes. "I am a healer, and I was checking you for wounds.

You are bleeding, you know."

"I seem to be cold, also," was his amused reply. "Would you happen to have a spare cloak with you?"

She quickly removed her cloak and covered him with it.

"Who are you?" she asked. "How came you to be here? Why have you been so wounded? Can you sit? We need to get you someplace warm or you will die. Can you..."

The stranger put his hand gently over her lips to silence her many questions. "I can answer only one question, little one."

He groaned softly as he tentatively sat up. "Yes, I can sit.

However, I do not know if I can stand without your a.s.sistance.

I feel a bit lightheaded at the moment."

"Lean against the tree and rest. You have been badly wounded, sir." Tempest helped him to a more comfortable position. "As to my other questions-may I know your name?"

"I would gladly give you my name if I could remember it,"

he answered, running his large hand through his long, wavy blond hair in agitation. "I do not remember anything before opening my eyes to see a beautiful little redheaded witch devouring me with hot green eyes."

"I did not devour you. I am not beautiful, and I am not a witch." She was embarra.s.sed and beginning to get angry. "If you were not wounded, I would slap you for your insolence."

"But I am wounded, little one, and I do not greatly enjoy pain." A moan escaped him as he leaned forward to gaze into

her eyes.

Instantly contrite at the look of pain deep in those beautiful blue eyes, she hurried to say, "Oh, please forgive me." The gold flecks seemed to disappear as his pain increased.

"We need to get you some place warm and take care of those wounds." Worry was setting in. He looked pale, and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow when he tried to move. "Do you think you could rise if I were to help you?"

"I will certainly try, little one. But are you strong enough to hold me? You are such a tiny thing and look too weak to help a great hulk such as myself."

Tempest did not notice that the golden sparkles had returned to his eyes. She was too concerned with the logistics of moving this huge man safely to Castle Windhaven so she could care for his wounds.

"My name is Tempest," she told him absently as she wrapped one well-muscled arm over her shoulder to lift him.

"I am neither tiny nor a thing. My mother tells me I am an ugly, fat female with a foul temper. She is probably right."

"Your mother is a fool," came the growl from deep within his chest as he drew his legs under himself in order to help her.

She strained as he gave a mighty shove with his long legs, then he was on his feet, swaying as though he were in a strong gale.

"Little Tempest," he said, between clenched teeth, "this is not going to work." And he tipped toward her like a mighty oak felled by the woodsman's ax. They tumbled in a heap to the forest floor, with her underneath.

Moments pa.s.sed as she tried to catch her breath. In another time and place the whole situation would have triggered her wry sense of humor. Here she was, a eighteen-year-old maiden, daughter of the castle, and she was lying in her father's vast forest with a very handsome, very naked, blond giant sprawled over her, quite unconscious. If her life kept going down this road, it would be interesting indeed.

"Sir?" She pushed at the man. "Do try to wake up now.

You are really quite heavy, you know. I am having trouble

breathing." But the man did not move. "Are you dead?" Her worry increased. "Please do not be dead." She felt the warmth of his blood soak through her gown to her skin.

"Tempest?" It was Tristan's voice, calling from down the path.

"Tris," Tempest called out frantically. "I am here. Help me."

The scene that met Tristan's eyes stopped him in his tracks.

He saw his beloved sister being ravished by a giant, under her sacred oak tree. He pulled his dagger and rushed to save her from a terrible fate.

She saw her brother rushing toward her with his dagger raised to kill the man lying atop her. She screamed.

The shrill sound in his ear woke the man, and he rolled from her body, only to lie staring at the youth rushing toward him with a lethal-looking dagger in his up raised hand. He tried to rise to defend himself but was too weak and fell back with a groan.

"Little Tempest," he whispered weakly. "Save yourself."

She valiantly threw herself across the man to protect him from her brother's blade, and knocked the breath from him.

He was again unconscious.

"Roll away, Tempest." Tristan's voice was filled with anger.

"I will kill him for what he has done to you."

"Tris, he has not harmed me," she cried, frantically. "He has been sorely injured. He needs help. Sheath your dagger."

"Must you help every stray you find?" he asked, staring at the man. "You know him not. He could be a dangerous bandit."

"Nay," she replied. "I would know if he were dangerous.

He needs our help."

Tristan sheathed the dagger and knelt beside the blond giant who was now bleeding profusely from the reopened gash in his side.

Tempest quickly tore strips from her undercoat to bind the man's wounds. "We have to get him to shelter, or he will surely die." She laid a thick wad of cloth on the seeping wound.

"Who is he?" Tristan asked as he applied pressure to the wound. "Why is he here? How did he get hurt?"

"You ask more questions than I do," Tempest replied tersely. "I know not who he is nor how he came here. He cannot remember anything."

"Well, he has to have a name," replied her brother. "I have never heard of anyone forgetting his own name before. I think this is just something he made up to avoid telling you the truth."

"Then call him Adrian," Tempest snapped impatiently.

"Adrian? Why Adrian?" Now Tristan was curious. "Why not Thomas...or Samuel? Why Adrian?"

"I like the name, 'tis why." She did not know why she had chosen the dragon's name for this stranger and it made her defensive with her brother. "He just looks like he should be called Adrian."

"'Tis a good name." The stranger's voice was a mere whisper. "Thank you little one. You have chosen well."

"Very good move, m' dear.' The blond-haired man patted her hand gently. "You slipped that one in rather cleverly. I am proud of you."

"Actually," replied the woman, frowning, "I did not cause that to happen. Are we losing control of this game?"

"Never," he replied with a smile. "They are mere p.a.w.ns in the grand scheme of things. You know that."

"Perhaps she is not the p.a.w.n, but the queen."

"And he is the king?" The man laughed heartily. "Not hardly, dear. Not hardly.

TEN.

The struggle to get Adrian back to the keep alive was a difficult one. He was a large man. Tempest and Tristan were hard-pressed to half carry, half drag him down the long, narrow, branch-strewn path. To make matters worse, it started to snow, and the temperature plummeted. Tempest had wrapped her cloak around Adrian to keep him warm and cover his nakedness, but even so, she felt the shivers rippling through his huge body.

She worried that he would develop a fever. This would further exacerbate his condition. He seemed to be growing weaker with each pa.s.sing moment.

"Tris," she urged through chattering teeth. "Can you not move any faster? 'Tis getting colder. If he loses consciousness again, we shall never get him home."

"He is heavy." Tristan clenched his teeth as he stepped over yet another fallen tree limb. "Or have you not noticed?

You are the witch. Why do you not just change the weather?"

he muttered under his breath.

"Tristan!" She was shocked at her brother's words. "We are not alone! You know such words will get me burned at the stake. Is that your intention?" She stopped to confront her brother, heedless of the cold, driving sleet.

"Hold back the storm, little witch," Adrian whispered weakly, "else I will not make it to safety." His misty-blue eyes turned dark with pain.

"I need to concentrate." She could not draw her gaze from his tormented eyes. As she spiraled into those lapis pools, she heard a soft whisper.

"I will help you, little one." Tranquil and sweet, warming her very soul, the words floated on a soft, warm breeze.

Tempest pulled the warmth deep into herself, then let it radiate peacefully outward to encompa.s.s her companions, enveloping them in a blanket of warm air. She withdrew her gaze slowly from Adrian to meet Tristan's startled look.

"You asked, Tris. Now hurry. I know not how long I can keep up this circle of warmth."

As the trio reached the edge of the forest, she could feel her circle weaken. She could feel a darkness probing the edges, pushing inward, trying to penetrate, a threatening, destructive force.

"Nay!" The word was torn from the lips of the injured man. He sagged in their arms, and the insidious blackness disappeared from Tempest's mind.

"Tris," Tempest panted as they gently lowered the unconscious Adrian to the ground. "Leave us. We will be all right while you get help. I can go no further." She sank to the ground beside Adrian and laid his head gently in her lap, brushing the golden curls tenderly from his icy forehead.

"Hurry, Tris! Please hurry! I think he is dying."

"What sort of stray has my daughter dragged home this time?" Christiana's voice was loud as she came down the hall and into the guest room. "Tempest, what are you up to now?"