Becca felt a thrill of pleasure at the prospect of riding Rosamunde-and then dread. For Elyd was dead and there was no one to saddle- "Miss Beauvelley," Jandain murmured, and once again she felt compelled to raise her head and look into his eyes. "May I call you Rebecca?"

"Certainly," she heard her voice say, before she had time to consider the matter, and Jandain smiled.

"Excellent," he murmured, and picked up his cup. "Please, do not feel that you need to make small talk with me. I am content to lie here and bask in your beauty while you break your fast."

Becca felt her cheeks heat again, and looked down into her coffee cup.

"You, sir, are quite ridiculous," she heard herself say.

Jandain laughed. "So it has been said-many times!"

Becca cast him a sideways look from beneath her lashes. He smiled at her, and sipped his coffee.

"Now, there's a filly in want of a ride," Jandain commented as they entered the stables, and Becca smiled for the praise of Rosamunde.

"Indeed, she is a very fine horse!" she said, seeing with relief that the horses-Rosamunde and a big-chested white stallion-were both saddled and waiting. The Gossamers, of course. She hoped that Altimere would give them a gift, to compensate them for the extra work that had fallen upon them.

"Rosamunde is the granddaughter of one of Altimere's horses," she continued, laying her hand on the filly's nose. Immediately, she felt the warmth of Rosamunde's regard, tempered by-something. She hesitated, but here was Jandain, setting his hands around her waist; Becca gasped, shrank back-and caught up against Rosamunde's shoulder.

"Gently," Jandain murmured. "I only wish to lift you to your saddle."

His hands were firm, and Becca looked up at him shyly.

"Of course," she whispered, and he smiled.

Once she was up and gathering the reins into her good hand, he swung onto the back of his own beast, which danced under him in a show of impatience that seemed utterly lost on Jandain.

"Pasha wants to run," he commented. "Shall we have a race?"

"Certainly, if you like it. But what shall we have for a prize?"

"Why not a kiss?"

Becca frowned. "Are you so certain of victory, sir?"

He laughed and held up a hand. "No, you mistake me! If I win, I shall kiss you. If you win, you shall kiss me! Surely, that's a fair division of wealth."

Becca clicked to Rosamunde and that lady moved out of the stable.

"Very well," she heard herself say as they pa.s.sed Jandain and Pasha. "The stakes are acceptable."

The white stallion gained an early lead across their impromptu course. Becca threw herself along Rosamunde's neck, and dropped the reins, letting her run.

Run she did, pa.s.sionate, fleet, and determined, the ground a blur beneath her hooves and her mane lashing Becca's cheek. Together, they ran, they flew- They gained. Inch by inch Rosamunde closed the distance between them, until she was at Jandain's stirrup. And there she stayed, unable to gain more, unwilling-determined-to lose an inch.

Hooves pounding, they rounded the third corner, heading for the finish.

The white horse stretched, and Rosamunde did, keeping her place, but unable to gain. Becca clung to her neck, exhilarated-and there! There was the finish! Certainly, they were going to lose, but the white stallion knew that he had been in a race, by good seed, and Jandain the Fey as- Ten lengths from the finish, the stallion checked, slowed-and Rosamunde tore past, pa.s.sing the fourth corner, and coming around-guided now by Becca's hand-to where Pasha stood, Jandain smiling at her from the saddle.

"You, sir, are unhandsome!" Becca cried angrily.

He laughed, and moved his hand, showing her the post they had agreed on as the finish.

"You and your lady won, did you not?"

"We did not!" Becca said hotly.

Jandain blinked, his smile vanishing.

"You pulled back and let us pa.s.s! Did you think I would not see? Do you think that she would not know? That was no win, but a cheat!"

Jandain's pale cheeks flushed bright red.

"Do you say I cheated?" he asked in a tone so quietly dangerous it pierced Becca's fury.

She drew a hard breath, and leaned over to stroke Rosamunde's neck. "Swift, my lady," she murmured, "and beautiful. You have spirit, grace and heart, and you ran with all-an admirable race, my lady . . ."

"Do you say," Jandain asked again, as Pasha walked toward them, "that I cheated, Rebecca?"

She raised her head and met his eyes. "I do," she said, slightly more temperately "-and it is nothing nor the truth, sir. You pulled up. 'Twas not a fair race." She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes firmly. "You mock my horse, sir, and her lineage."

Jandain's lips parted-but he closed them again without giving voice to whatever he had thought to say. The color receded, leaving his cheeks properly pale, his eyes a glittering deep blue. He considered her for a long moment, then bowed low from his saddle.

"Lady Rosamunde, your pardon. It was never my intention to mock you-or to anger your fair rider."

Rosamunde flicked her ears, and he smiled slightly.

"I see my poor manners are forgiven." He tipped his head. "And you, cruel beauty?"

Becca looked down at Rosamunde's mane, suddenly overcome with shyness. "If Rosamunde accepts your apology, it would be churlish in me to refuse it," she murmured.

"Reprieved," he said, lightly, flashing his wide, brilliant smile that was so different from Altimere's.

"Where shall we ride now, Rebecca? The horses must walk." He jerked his head toward the Wild Wood, looming dark and moist just over the wall. "Perhaps a short ride beneath the trees might amuse you."

Becca shook her head quickly. "I cannot," she said, her voice sounding breathless in her own ears.

"Are you timid of the wood? There's no need, you know. I doubt the Brethren come within a league of Altimere's land. If by chance there is some danger, I will protect you."

"No." There was a high ringing in Becca's ears; her chest was tight, and it was hard to get enough air-"I cannot!" she burst out, tears springing from her eyes. "I cannot cross the wall!"

"Cannot-ah. I understand." Pasha was suddenly very close. Rosamunde began to sidle away-and went still. Jandain leaned over and gently wiped the tears from Becca's cheeks with his fingertips.

"Hush, pretty child. Hush, hush. There's no need for distress. I had not understood. He keeps you very close, indeed. Of course he does; I would do the same, did I hold such a treasure. There, don't cry. There's no blame to you."

Becca sniffed, swallowed, and blinked up into his face. "I'm sorry, sir-"

Jandain lifted a hand. "No need. Come, let us walk the horses back to the stable."

Meri slept, finally, stretched along the broad branch of a ralif tree, rousing only when a grey whistler sang a shrill inquiry into his near ear. It was mid-morning by then, and his mind was clearer. Sian might well think that she had sound reason to believe that Faldana was but a cat's paw for her ambitious kin. In fact, Faldana could have been just that. Even so, she could not have dreamed that she would endure what horrors came to her on the far side of the keleigh, nor did anything she had-or might have-done before negate the fact that she had died a hero, granting him the means to cross the border in one burst of power.

That sacrifice, Meri thought, as he climbed down from his arboreal couch, yet requires an answer. Whatever Sian might think.

He put his hand against the ralif's smooth ebon trunk. "Thank you, friend," he murmured, and felt a brief warming against his skin, which meant that the tree had heard him.

Well. Meri looked about him, caught his direction and strode off into the trees. He had walked a goodly distance last evening while he struggled with his memories, but he was still on the Engenium's lands, which meant that-technically, at least-he had not violated his parole.

Perhaps Sian would even see it that way.

He plucked berries as he walked, and broke his fast; followed a silvery giggle to a spring where he drank, and washed his face.

Thus fortified and refreshed, he came back at last to Sea Hold, and sauntered up to the main gate.

The Sea Wise standing guard there looked to be the same who had pa.s.sed him and Ganat, a small age ago. Certainly, her frown was familiar, and also the ironic cant of her brow as she surveyed him. He braced himself for a sarcastic greeting, but she had better in her a.r.s.enal than mere sarcasm.

"The Engenium desires to see you," she said, her voice studiously bland. "Immediately you return."

"Wine and a light luncheon," Jandain said as they came into the house. "On the evening terrace."

Becca wondered if the Gossamers would serve him-and then decided that of course, they would. Altimere had doubtless left word with them, as well as with her, regarding the guest and his comfort.

She considered mentioning that the evening garden did not have its best face on so early in the day-and did not. If it pleased the guest to overlook night-blooming plants in the full light of day, well, then, his pleasure was hers.

Or, to state the case as exactly as possible-Altimere would be pleased that she had cared for the guest so well. And to have Altimere pleased with her was everything she desired.

Jandain stepped out into the garden, Becca at his heels. She noted that the Gossamers had wasted not a moment in carrying out his instructions. Wine, two gla.s.ses, and the requested light luncheon sat on a small table between the two chairs.

She was, Becca realized suddenly, quite hungry. Exercise-and the aftermath of anger-were the likely culprits. She moved toward Altimere's chair, but Jandain was there before her, settling into it as if it were his by right.

"Sir!" Becca said-or thought to say. Despite her intention to speak sharply to this man who usurped Altimere's place, she said nothing, but meekly went to her place at the side of the chair and curled up, leaning her head against Jandain's knee.

"Ahhh . . ." He exhaled, and it seemed to Becca that he shivered. His hand dropped to her hair, very lightly, smoothing it where it had come loose during the race.

"Yes," he murmured, perhaps to himself. "He keeps you very close, indeed."

He said nothing else for a time, merely stroking her hair as he overlooked the garden. Becca tried to ask him what he thought of it, in daylight, but her lips would not form the words.

"Are you hungry, little child?" Jandain asked eventually, sounding as if he were thinking about something else entirely.

"Yes, sir," Becca said truthfully, and nestled her cheek closer against his knee, as if he were Altimere!

She tried to lift her head away, to put distance between herself and this stranger-but it might have belonged to someone else, for all the success she had.

"If you are hungry, then it will be my pleasure to feed you," he said, lifting his hand from her hair. "Come and sit on my lap."

As if his words had released her, she raised her head, and waited a heartbeat, but-unlike Altimere-it seemed that Jandain was not going to lift her to her feet. Gritting her teeth, she rolled clumsily to her knees, unbalanced by her crippled arm, and staggered upright, nearly missing a headlong tumble off the terrace and into a silverthorn bush, showing black and toothy in the mid-day sun.

Disaster averted, she turned to find Jandain watching her intently, as if he had never seen someone almost fall and break their heads open before. He met her eyes, forcefully, and patted his knee, as if, Becca thought hotly, she were a lapdog.

And, precisely as if she were a lapdog, she went to him and sat, stiffly, upon his knee.

Jandain laughed softly. "Such an obedient little one," he murmured caressingly. He lifted a wine gla.s.s and sipped, with every evidence of enjoyment, then held the gla.s.s to her lips.

"Drink," he murmured, and Becca, who wished to do nothing other than rise, dash the gla.s.s from his hand and retreat to her room, meekly did as she was bid.

He sighed, as if deeply affected. Becca felt her face heat, and tried to concentrate on the flavor of the wine-her favorite, tasting of peaches.

The gla.s.s was removed. Jandain reached to the tray and selected a piece of cheese, which he held out to her.

She lifted her head without wishing or desiring to do so, lips parted to receive the morsel from his hand. He caught his breath, watching, rapt, as she swallowed, and extended his hand once more, fingers tracing the line of her throat, down to the lacing, leaving trails of fire down her flesh.

No! Becca thought. I don't-he's not- "Fear not, little Rebecca," Jandain crooned, his voice slurring slightly, as if he had drunk too much wine, but-a sip? How could he be drunk on so little?

"I will do nothing that you do not like," he murmured. His fingers ran along the margin of her shirt, and Becca gasped, shaken to her core.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes . . ." she breathed, truthfully, her voice wavering.

"Good. And this?" He touched her breast, covered as it was with shirt and undergarment. Her nipples hardened, and Jandain laughed, low in his throat. "I feel that you do."

He took his hand away, reached negligently for the winegla.s.s, and sipped slowly. Becca, watching him, licked her lips, craving the taste of peaches. Jandain watched her from hooded blue eyes, gla.s.s cradled close.

"You said," Becca heard her voice say, small and timid, "that you would care for me, sir."

"And I do care for you." Abruptly, he brought the gla.s.s to her lips. She drank thirstily, and when he took it away, it was empty.

"Greedy little one," he whispered, slipping his hand along her waist. Becca's stomach clenched; all at once she felt the urge to laugh uproariously, coupled with a yearning so poignant she felt that she must weep.

"Come closer," Jandain murmured. "Let us find what else you may like."

He tucked her against his chest, her head on his shoulder, and his right arm like an iron bar around her waist.

"Do you like that?" he asked.

"Very much, sir," she said shyly.

"Excellent. And this?" He stroked her cheek with a light forefinger.

"Yes . . ."

"Ah. And we have already found that you like this . . ." He cradled her breast, kneading gently, then his clever fingers were between her legs.

It was as if there were no barrier between her womanly parts and his fingers. Becca moaned, bit her lip and tried to hide her face against his shoulder.

"What a rare, lovely and astonishing prize she is." Jandain crooned. "Look how her kest burns . . ." He withdrew his hand, and Becca moaned again, as he took her chin between forefinger and thumb and forced her face up to him.

He covered her mouth with his; his tongue twining with hers as his fingers teased the lacing wide and pulled her shirt off her shoulder and down her left arm, the slide of his fingers along her ruined flesh exciting, tormenting-She moved her head, and suddenly it was not she who was being kissed, but who was kissing him, demanding.