Elinor handed her daughter to Bayard as he rose, then gave Ciara a quick hug. "Thank you again. I hope we will have time to get to know one another better on the morrow. And in the years to come."

Ciara looked startled by the display of affection, as if no one had ever dared hug her before. Then she set her instrument aside and returned the gesture, a tremulous smile on her lips. "I ... hope so, Lady Elinor."

Royce lowered his gaze, busied himself by refilling his trencher with food he had no appetite for. His gut wrenched into a knot. Ciara would never have the chance to get to know Elinor better. They would be leaving in the morn. He would be taking her on toward Mount Ravensbruk. To her new home. To her betrothed.

And when she grew heavy with child one day, it would be Daemon's seed that made her so.

The possessive fury that shot through him made him drop the platter he had just picked up. For a moment, he was blinded by the red haze that gripped him. The feeling was savage, primitive. Utterly beyond the realm of his experience.

"Royce?" Ciara's voice was full of concern.

He shook his head to clear it. His friends had left. Ciara had taken Bayard's place across from him.

"I am merely tired," he bit out. "It has been a long day."

"Aye, that it has."

They said naught more for a moment, gazing at each other across the table, listening to the laughter and conversations that filled the great hall. The gray-and-brown puppy that had munched on Ciara before danced around her feet, yapping for attention, but she did not seem to hear.

Royce broke the stare, wanting anything but to spend the rest of the evening sitting here, alone with her.

However, his only other choice was to spend the rest of the evening alone with her in the bedchamber upstairs.

He glanced down at his full trencher and pushed it aside, reaching for the jug of wine on his left-at the same instant Ciara reached for it.

Their fingers met and heat sizzled through him. They each flinched as if burned. After a moment, he started to reach for it again, then hesitated as she did the same. They both thrust forward and their fingers collided once more.

Ciara withdrew, dropping her hands to her lap with a sound of unease. They avoided meeting each other's gaze. He realized she was breathing fast and shallow, as he was.

He muttered an oath. How were they to endure the rest of the journey if they could not even bear to have their fingers brush in the most innocent way? This was intolerable.

And entirely his fault, he thought angrily. He was the one who had overstepped his bounds this morn, created this constant tension between them. But he could control himself. He would control himself. The responsibility was his.

He picked up the accursed jug of wine and filled her cup for her.

"Thank you," she said softly, still not looking at him.

He grabbed an almond tart, ate it though he was not hungry. "The music was nice."

"It is kind of you to say so."

Silence descended.

"Your friends seem ... nice," Ciara ventured.

"They are good people."

"And their children are very sweet."

"Aye."

That seemed to exhaust their supply of safe, polite conversation.

Which left Royce's thoughts free to dwell upon subjects that were not safe or polite. Such as her scent. That dangerous perfume drifted across the table to tantalize him. Why, in the name of all that was holy, was she wearing such a fragrance in the first place? 'Twas not at all suitable for a scholarly, innocent princess. It was much too vivid, too dramatic.

Too sensual.

He turned to look at her, found her regarding him with that curious, slightly bewildered expression. As if she could not understand what was happening between them.

But he understood it. God help him, he understood.

Even as their gazes met and held, her face flushed with color and her lips-those luscious, garnet-dark lips-parted slightly. All he had to do was lean across the table, close the scant space between them ...

He wrenched his gaze from hers, in the grip of a hunger he could not vanquish. He could hear his heart beating too fast, wondered if she could hear it as well. Wanted naught more in that moment than to thrust himself from the table and walk away.

But he could not leave her alone. Not for an hour, not even for a minute. He was her guardian. Sworn to protect her.

Condemned to serve his duty in Hell-always in her company yet forbidden to touch her. Satan himself could not have designed a more painful torture for him. He gulped for air, only to inhale more of her scent. More of her.

He glanced around the room, seeking some focus for his wayward thoughts, some topic they might discuss, some ...

His gaze landed on one of Bayard's refugees, a buxom brunette who had been smiling at him frequently through the evening. He had not given her any attention before, but now he offered her a wide grin, grateful for whatever distraction he could get. She responded with an openly hungry expression and a seductive toss of her long hair.

"Can we take her with us?"

"What?" Royce's gaze snapped to Ciara.

She was looking at the floor, her attention on the wriggling, yapping puppy. "This little one will not leave me alone." She scooped the dog into her lap. "Elinor said I could have her if I wished."

Royce shut his eyes and drew a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down. "Ciara ..."

"She will be almost as tall as my hip when fully grown. At least that is what Elinor told me." The little beast licked Ciara's face, eliciting a giggle. "I think I shall name her after Hera, queen of all Greek goddesses and protectress of the home."

"Nay, you will not. We cannot possibly-"

"How can you resist this face?" She extended the squirming mongrel toward him with a hopeful smile.

"Easily." The little blur of fur did have rather endearing features-a long nose, floppy ears, and bright black eyes almost hidden by tangles of grizzled hair. "We have difficult terrain to cross and the last thing I need is one more unruly creature to watch over."

"I will watch over her." She frowned at his surly reply, withdrawing the dog. "I never had a pet before-"

"And you do not have one now." He was starting to lose patience. "She will make too much noise. Draw too much attention. Run away at every opportunity-and we will waste valuable time searching for her. We are not taking that animal with us."

"But-"

"Do not argue with me, Ciara," he snapped, unable to control both his desire and his temper. "You can either give her up now or give her up twelve days from now. I suggest giving her up now. Before you form any sort of emotional attachment." He leaned across the table, the rest spilling out in a harsh whisper. "Because your husband will never allow you to keep such a mongrel. You may wish to play at being an ordinary woman, milady, but he is not the sort to indulge you."

Ciara flinched, her expression stricken. She cradled the puppy close, her eyes suddenly glistening with dampness.

Blinking hard, she turned and put the dog down and let it scamper away.

Royce cursed himself under his breath. "Ciara, I am sorry. I did not mean to-"

"Nay, you are right to remind me of my duty," she said quietly, still looking at the floor. "The prince would never approve. I was enjoying myself so much this evening that ... for a moment I almost forgot-"

The buxom brunette arrived out of nowhere before she could finish. "Milord?" The woman leaned over the table, sliding a tray of sugared nuts in front of him. "Can I tempt you with one of these?"

Royce wrenched his gaze from Ciara, only to find himself faced with an eyeful of bosom, artfully displayed by an indecently low-cut bodice. "Nay," he said curtly, "I am not-"

"Then at least allow me to refill your cup for you." She set down the tray and reached across the table to pick up the wine, her breasts brushing against his shoulder.

Instead of feeling aroused, as she so obviously intended, he was annoyed. He had had more than enough feminine attention and companionship for one day. "Thank you for the offer, but my wife and I-"

"Your wife?" She feigned surprise, lifting a hand to cover her bosom, only to stroke her fingers across the curving expanse of skin. "I did not realize. Someone said she was another refugee brought here for shelter. And from her garments ..." She eyed Ciara's muddied gown with disdain.

For once, Ciara did not respond with a polite smile or courtly phrases.

She looked as if she wanted to spear the woman on a stick.

Which only made the brunette smile as she turned back to him. Evidently she enjoyed a challenge. "If you have finished your supper, I would be happy to offer you a tour of the keep."

For a second-just one second-Royce wanted to accept. God knew he needed release from the ravenous desire that held him in its talons. And the woman was obviously eager for a tumble. A half hour with her might clear his mind, enable him to focus on his duty.

But duty had naught to do with his decision. To his astonishment, he found that her offer did not, in truth, interest him. She was willing to serve herself up like one of the sweetmeats on the platter, but her wiles left him cold. He no more wanted her than he wanted the food forgotten on his trencher.

'Twas a stunning moment. Never in the past would he have refused such a brazen invitation.

"Thank you," he said unsteadily, "but I have no need of a tour. I am quite familiar with the castle."

"Ah, then you know of the east tower." Undaunted, she caught a lock of her long hair, twirled it around her finger, and brought it to her lips. "You can see the entire valley from its roof. And the view is especially beautiful at night."

With one last smile, she turned and walked away, hips swaying with obvious entreaty. Heading for the east tower.

He watched her go, then turned to find Ciara glaring at him.

"Do not let me keep you."

"Ciara-"

"Nay, go with her. You have my full permission. Why should you let any sense of duty stop you from enjoying your evening?" She rose from the table.

Royce reached out to grab her wrist. "You forget, milady, that I take my duty as seriously as you take yours."

She yanked her arm free. "Well, I hardly think one of the orphans means to carry me off this night. I will be perfectly safe in our chamber. The only window is an arrow slit, and any intruder would have to be rather thin to slip in that way. And I promise to bolt the door behind me."

"Ciara, I cannot allow you to-"

"I would prefer to be alone, if you do not mind. Surely you can grant me one evening's privacy. You can see our chamber from here, at the top of the stairs." Her voice became brittle as she glanced toward the spot where the brunette had disappeared. "Though I doubt you can see it from the east tower."

She turned and fled the hall, leaving him alone with his frustration, his hunger, and a table full of cold food that he did not want.

And her mandolin. Only after she was gone did he notice that she had forgotten her precious mandolin.

Chapter 8.

Ciara slammed the bedchamber door behind her and fell back against it, covering her face with her hands, breathless from her dash up the stairs. Mortified that she had just run from the hall. From him.

She tried to inhale a calming breath, only to release all the air in her lungs with a sharp sound of hurt. She shook her head in denial, confused by her behavior, by feelings that made no sense to her. The way Royce and that woman had looked at each other, the idea that they might ... that they would ...

She pressed her palms flat against the door to steady herself, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She would not cry. Did not even understand why she wanted to cry. It was absurd to feel so upset by the actions of that ... that ...

Wench. That was a good word for her.

Ciara lifted her lashes, her vision swimming with tears. Fie, how she had wanted to snatch up the jug of wine and dump it over the shameless bawd's head!

Blinking hard, she wiped the moisture from her eyes with trembling fingers, perplexed by the intensity of her feelings. Never in her life had she experienced such animosity toward another woman. Toward anyone. What in Heaven's name was wrong with her? Mayhap she was ill, mayhap she had ...

Her thoughts stilled as she beheld the contents of the room clearly for the first time since shutting the door.

A fire glowed merrily on the hearth. Someone had also left candles burning on low tables that flanked the bed, along with a silver flask and two exquisite goblets. The mattress had been covered with fresh sheets, folded back to reveal a scattering of rose petals, the four posts draped with white silk to form a canopy and bed curtains. Sniffing the air, she caught a musky scent-from sandalwood shavings added to the fire.

"Oh, Lady Elinor, nay." Ciara went to the foot of the bed, where Elinor had left a white cotton kirtle for her to sleep in. She picked up the garment, filled with dismay at its delicate beauty. The material was as sheer as mountain mist, the long, loose sleeves and full skirt edged with embroidery.

Her kind, thoughtful hostess had prepared the chamber for a romantic tryst! But Elinor did not understand. Did not know that Royce was not her husband.

That he would not be spending the night here, but in the east tower.

Biting her bottom lip, she set the garment aside and bent to blow out the candles.

But she paused.

Royce would be enjoying his evening. Why should she not enjoy hers?

She had the chamber to herself for the night. Why not savor the luxuries her hostess had provided? She had vowed to seek out pleasant experiences during her journey. And she did not know when she would have another evening alone.

Straightening, she exhaled slowly and left the candles burning. She would not sit about and sulk like some pitiful, lovesick damsel in a troubadour's tale. She was not pitiful. And she certainly was not lovesick. It was no business of hers where Royce chose to spend his evening. Or with whom. She did not care.

Did not care about him in the least.

Pleased with her decision, Ciara went to the corner where a servant had placed her satchel earlier. She dug through the contents and pulled out one of the books she had brought with her. Then she walked back to the bed and began to disrobe, her gaze on the kirtle, her spirits already lifting.