Witch Storm

by Kate

The following is a work of fanfiction, and is not intended to infringe on the copyrights held by ABC Television, Gil Grant Productions, or any other holder of Covington Cross Copyrights. No profit is being made from this story. The author is simply having fun plotting romance for Richard. Although this story is a bit of a sequel to "The Persecution" you needn’t have seen the episode to enjoy the tale.

Silently fuming, Richard released his horse to the groom and turned from the stable. His stride was crisp, briskly paced, as he headed for the inner courtyard. The tall towers of Covington Cross cast patches of blue shade on the beaten walkways and carefully tended grounds stretching in labored fashion against the sun’s piercing rays. Despite the warm summer air, fragranced by heather and clover, Richard’s mood was appallingly sour.

Tomorrow, Lady Ilyssa Worthington formerly Ilyssa Brisby along with her father and appropriate servants, would arrive in preparation for her impending marriage to Richard. Arranged by his father, the nuptials were to take place at the end of the week just three days hence. Already guests had begun to arrive from as far away as Crichton and Knob Hill, entrenching themselves in the vast guest quarters of the castle’s north wing. Though Richard had acknowledged each exuberant greeting with a tight smile, inwardly he seethed over the arrangement.

As second son to Sir Thomas, he had hoped to escape the awkwardness of a forced marriage. Armus, as first-born heir, was the son most noblemen would seek when considering a union for an eligible daughter. Lady Ilyssa, however, had already been wed and widowed, left in dire financial straights by an unfaithful husband. Still young enough to rewed, her father could hope to obtain no higher match than a second or third son. Thus, when Lord Brisby approached Sir Thomas with a small dowry of lands and livestock, Richard was deemed the appropriate match.

"You’ve been free of martial responsibility much too long," Sir Thomas had insisted, when Richard balked at the proposal. "This is a good union, and I expect you to respond accordingly."

Impulsive and hot-headed, Richard had responded badly. Though Lord Brisby himself never knew of the occurrence, Richard’s heated exchange with his father left both men barely on speaking terms. In the end, however, Richard had bowed to his father’s authority and stood mute while finalization of Ilyssa’s dowry took place.

He knew little enough about her and desired to know even less. Striding through the smoky corridors of the castle, he tried to summon an air of civility for dinner in the Great Hall. Arrival found his father and Armus before the hearth, but no one else in attendance. Platters of fruit, pastries and breads had been set on the table, but the servants had gone no further with preparations. The room was oddly deserted.

" couldn’t be worse timing." Richard caught the tail end of Armus’s words as he strode into the hall. Both his father and brother flinched at his unexpected arrival, as though apprehended in an awkward moment. Looking almost guilty, Armus wet his lips and turned away. Sir Thomas dragged a hand across his beard a nervous habit, clearly conveying unease.

Richard halted just shy of the table. "What’s wrong?"

Sir Thomas’s eyes darted to his eldest son, before skittering back to Richard. "We’ve received some news," he said solemnly.

The silence became doughy as tense seconds lengthened and grew. "About Lady Ilyssa?" Richard guessed, confusion mounting.

Thomas shook his head.

"Then what?" Richard persisted.

"I’m afraid " Armus started and stopped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "One of the guests brought news about an incident that occurred in village four days ride to the north." His eyes dipped to the ground, as he drew an unsettling breath. "It’s about Rachel."

"Rachel?" Richard felt his heart lurch to his throat. An image of the girl he’d once loved came back to him straight flowing hair and soft blue eyes; the hint of a dimple when she smiled; an undeniably proud spirit despite a common birth. Suddenly, the downcast stares and morose expressions of his father and brother made sense. Alarmed, he strode forward and gripped Armus by the shoulder. "What’s happened?" he demanded.

Armus shook his head. "I’m sorry, Richard."

"Damn it, what are you saying?"

"She died nearly five weeks ago," Thomas explained quietly.

Richard spun to confront his father. A horrible tightness built in his chest, threatening to strangle the air from his throat. "Died?"

"Killed," Thomas admitted. Grief touched his own eyes as he relayed the truth: "There was another incident like the one in the village here. Apparently the abbot was unwilling to concede defeat. He followed her to Cordelyn where he incited a riot."

Disbelieving, Richard took a halting step backwards. His eyes were enormous in the stark white shell of his face. "Dear God . . ." The strained sliver of his voice rose barely above a whisper. "They . . . they burned her?" The tangled emotion in the question was dispensed as a wrenching half-sob. Before either Sir Thomas or Armus could react, Richard turned and fled the room.

Concerned, Armus moved to follow.

"No." Thomas caught his arm. "Let him be. He must work through the grief on his own."

+++++

Leaning forward, Richard buried his face in his hands and wept. Seated on the edge of his cot, he was oblivious to the dusky haze of late afternoon light streaming through his bedroom window; immune to the heady perfume of jasmine and musk mallow from the garden below. Consumed by grief, he couldn’t stop the convulsive sobs that shook his shoulders and left him blinded by tears.

"Dear God, Rachel." He had loved her and allowed her to leave. If he’d only insisted she remain, he could have protected her from ignorant superstition which branded her a witch. "I’m so sorry. So sor " The word broke beneath yet another wrenching sob. Folding an arm across his middle, Richard leaned forward, trying to block the brutal horror of her death. Witches were burned at the stake. Her demise would have been no exception. Though he had stopped the tragedy from happening once, he hadn’t been present to prevent it a second time.

"Richard?" Armus’s muffled voice came through the stout door of his bedchamber. When he failed to respond, the barrier scraped inward, admitting his fair-haired brother.

His self-control shattered, Richard raised a tear-streaked face to the other. "I should have been there," he choked. "I could have protected her. I " But the words trailed away as tears flooded his eyes, streaming unheeded down his pale cheeks. Bowing his head, Richard wept freely.

Moved by the sight of his normally self-composed brother reduced to tears, Armus knelt before him. Wetting his lips, he placed a hand lightly on the other’s knee. Beneath his fingertips he could feel the minute trembling of strained muscle. "No matter what you think, Richard, you could not have saved her. It was her choice to leave Covington Cross."

"I-I should have . .. forced her to stay . . ." Raising his head, Richard stared bleakly. "If I’d only been there "

"You might be dead as well. Richard, you can’t blame yourself for this." Futilely, Armus struggled for words to ease his brother’s pain. The tortured light in Richard’s red-rimmed eyes pierced his own heart. His brother looked appallingly young, like a heartsick child. Curling strands of hair clung to the high-planned arc of his cheeks, held in place by the glistening track of his tears. Shadows ringed the pale flesh beneath his eyes, contrasting the liquid green of his irises.

Belatedly, Armus reminded himself that in three days time, Richard would be taking a bride. Lady Ilyssa was due to arrive at Covington Cross tomorrow noon. How would Richard react to a woman he’d never met, when his heart was consumed by grief for the woman he’d once loved?

Raising his hand, Armus brushed the clinging hair from Richard’s cheek. "You’ve exhausted yourself, Brother. Lie down and rest."

Another time, Richard might have bristled at the contact. Now, it was painfully apparent he needed the comfort. Though four years separated them in age, Armus sometimes forgot Richard was only twenty-one. His younger brother’s staggering self-confidence usually made him appear older. Despite a youthful, almost angelic countenance, Richard was surprisingly jaded at times.

Lying back on his cot, his lustrous hair creating a riotous fan of curls against his pillow, Richard looked more stricken than staid. "I wish it were a dream," he whispered, tossing one arm across his wet eyes.

Armus gripped his wrist. "You gave her your love, however brief your time together. Hold the memory precious."

Pressing his lips together, Richard nodded. Though the arm stayed over his eyes, his shoulders shook as fresh tears tracked down his face. Armus stayed with him until he slept.

+++++

"I worry for him," Armus said quietly.

Thomas’s glance was sharp. "And you think I don’t?"

"It isn’t that." Absently, Armus began a slow circuit of the room. His father’s study was always warm and brightly lit, no matter the hour of day. Tonight was no exception. As darkness settled without, hugging the thick castle walls, braziers and candles kindled a jeweled glow within. Oblivious to the molten gleam, Armus stopped to finger the base of a fat rushlight. Dripping wax had tracked down the side of the squat candle, leaving raised ridges like gnarled bumps beneath his finger. Unable to meet his father’s eyes, Armus stared at the ancient slivers of wax. "This wedding has come at a very bad time for Richard. He wasn’t enamored of the idea to begin with, and now with Rachel "

Standing before an open window, Thomas turned. A cool breeze trickled into the room and feathered the edges of his long silver hair. "You certainly aren’t suggesting I call it off?"

"No, of course not." Armus’s reply was a trifle too quick. Stepping from the candle, he joined his father at the window. "It’s just . . . I was thinking of Lady Ilyssa. We both know Richard can be abhorrently cold when he chooses. I couldn’t see him welcoming this girl before. Now, I fear he may be downright uncivil."

" ‘This girl’ is twenty-seven years old, Armus. She’s been wed and widowed, and can no doubt hold her own with any apathetic charade Richard cares to engage."

Armus scowled. "I fear it wouldn’t be a charade. I know his romance with Rachel was brief, but judging from his reaction tonight, he’s devastated by her death. Certainly that’s not an ideal state of mind to enter a marriage. Given the circumstances, couldn’t you . . . postpone the nuptials for a brief time? Perhaps a week."

Thomas remained unyielding. "The contract’s been made. The marriage will take place as agreed." Sighing, the older man laid a hand on his son’s broad shoulder. "Your concern for your brother is admirable, Armus, but it’s time Richard faced certain responsibilities. You and I both know he’s treated love lightly in the past. I’ve overlooked his dalliances with peasant girls, and his many interludes with . . . wanton women. He is a nobleman and a knight. It’s time he acted accordingly."

Knowing the conversation would go no further, Armus nodded. Still, as he shuffled tiredly back to his room, he found it hard to reconcile the cocksure egotist Sir Thomas spoke of, with the boy who wept silently in his bed.

+++++

If Armus had any doubt Richard would recover his haughty self-composure, the fear was put to rest the following morning, when his younger brother joined the Grey family and their guests for morning chapel. Though a hint of shadow still lingered beneath his verdant green eyes, his demeanor was unmistakably cool and aggravatingly assured. Richard sat slightly apart from the others face impassive, but for the few moments when he first arrived and bowed his head. Though the tousled waves of his thick hair concealed his expression, Armus detected a fervent sincerity in his posture, and guessed that he prayed for Rachel.

Later, at the breakfast table, Richard ate quietly while conversation continued around him. With so many guests in attendance, the discussion was kept to light prattle, pertaining mostly to the upcoming wedding, the weather, and the price of goods in the neighboring village. When the meal concluded, Richard joined Cedric and Eleanor for a routine check of Sir Thomas’s tenants, shunning Armus altogether. Deciding his younger brother was simply feeling awkward about his loss of composure the previous night, Armus took no offense at the snub. Preparations continued in the castle, as servants scurried to and fro, creating a frenzied but festive air in the staid edifice. Garlands of fresh wildflowers were draped over stairwells and windowsills, fashioning a multi-hued tapestry, as fragrant as it was vivid.

Maintaining a watchful eye over the proceedings, Lady Elizabeth drew Armus aside. "How is your brother?"

He had little need to inquire which brother. The long-time romantic paramour of his father, Lady Elizabeth was well aware of Richard’s relationship with Rachel. Like others close to the family, she’d received news of the girl’s death. Knowing her concern genuine, Armus worked his large shoulders into a half-hearted shrug. "It’s difficult to tell with Richard, Lady Elizabeth. Though he was distraught yesterday, he appears to have his emotions well in hand this morning."

"A skillful mask," Elizabeth intoned and Armus was inclined to agree. Vainly, he tried to dismiss the matter, silently praying Richard was adept enough to behave civilly when Lady Ilyssa and her escort arrived. As expected, the party appeared shortly after noon.

A striking woman with red-gold hair and dewy fawn-colored skin, Lady Ilyssa was slender and graceful. From the accepting, almost weary gleam in her deep aqua eyes, Armus guessed she considered herself little more than chattel in her father’s manipulative hands. At twenty-seven, she was distressingly old for most marriage beds, but a second son wasn’t apt to reach much higher. Watching the exchange of pleasantries between his father and Lord Brisby, Armus found the thought of his youthful brother and this older woman, momentarily distasteful. Then he recalled Richard was far from innocent, and the hesitation was past. Lady Ilyssa was extraordinarily beautiful, whatever her age. Any man with even a hint of passion in his veins would desire her in his bed.

Coloring, Armus lowered his gaze. It was wrong of him to think of her in such context. She was soon to be his sister-in-law. Drawing a breath, he glanced about the courtyard, watching as Eleanor and Cedric approached. Richard was no where in sight.

Thomas, also noting the absence of his second son, covered the awkwardness by introducing Eleanor and Cedric to Lady Ilyssa and her father. There followed a monetary lapse in the conversation, as Brisby glanced about the courtyard. "And my daughter’s intended? Is he not here to greet her as well?"

Holding his mounting frustration in check, Thomas glanced speculatively at his youngest son. "Cedric, where is your brother?"

Uncomfortable, Cedric gnawed on his bottom lip. His eyes darted from his father to Lord Brisby, then sought Eleanor for aide. Stepping forward, she smiled disarmingly.

"I’m afraid Richard was detained at one of the lower holdings. There was a problem . . . with the crops, he needed to address." Though Eleanor’s hesitation was slight, it was apparent to Sir Thomas, his daughter evaded the truth. Not wishing to make a scene in front of Lord Brisby, he graciously suggested they go indoors. As Armus and Cedric escorted their guests inside, Thomas drew Eleanor apart.

"Now, young lady, I’ll have the truth as to your brother’s whereabouts."

Sucking on her bottom lip, Eleanor raised doubtful eyes. "He’s in the village, Father."

"The village?" Thomas heard the incredulity in his own voice. "What’s he doing there?"

Troubled, Eleanor shifted uneasily. It was obvious from her expression she wanted to sink through the ground.

"Well?" Thomas prodded, both his voice and his manner growing alarmingly short.

"He was in the tavern. And not well disposed about leaving."

"Not well disposed?" Thomas practically spat the words. A vein in his temple throbbed to sudden life, ticking with a bloated infusion of blood. It took every shred of control he possessed not to vent his frustration on his daughter.

Armus appeared at his side, broad face pinching in consternation at his father’s thunderous expression. "Lord Brisby and Lady Worthington are with Cedric, Father. Richard "

" Richard is in the village," Thomas snapped before his son could formulate a sentence. Drawing a jagged breath in an effort to calm himself, Thomas glanced aside at his eldest. "I want you to find him, Armus, and bring him back. He’s in the tavern."

Though he might have inquired further, Armus knew it would only agitate his father. With a brief nod, he tromped off towards the stables, intent on securing his horse and retrieving his willful younger brother.

+++++

The tavern was smoky and dark, imbued with a sundry of odors. The reek of woodsmoke meshed with the tart redolence of straw and the sliver of a forest-born breeze. Hot stew bubbled in an open cauldron suspended in the hearth. The outside air warmed with early summer blended with the heat of fire within, streaking Richard’s face with a fine sheen of perspiration. Armus found him seated at a table, tucked in the corner, a half-empty tankard of mead clutched in his hand. Judging from the red glaze of his eyes, the beverage was not his first.

"Brother!" Richard grinned up at Armus, managing to look both chagrined and pleased. "J-join me for a drink?" Though the cultured edge of his voice was only slightly askew, it was enough to make Armus realize Richard had already imbibed too much.

Hooking a nearby stool, he dragged it to the table and sat down. "Time to go home, Richard. Lord Brisby and his daughter have arrived."

Despite the alcoholic gleam in his eyes, Richard managed to look thoughtful. "Nothing like whoring your daugther off to the highest bidder. It’s a wonder Brisby didn’t hold out for you a couple more cows may have done it."

Armus felt his irritation stir. "That’s beneath you, Richard."

Richard chuckled snidely. "As Lady Ilyssa is like to be two days hence."

"That’s enough!" Incensed, Armus knocked the tankard from his brother’s hand. It flew from the table and cracked against the wall, spewing nut-brown liquid over both wall and floor.

With a distracted glance, Richard watched it dribble among the straw rushes. The incident normally enough to incite him to rage barely fazed him. Raising his hand, he signaled the tavern wench to bring another mug.

Armus snared his wrist. "You’re coming back to Covington Cross now. Don’t make me drag you out of here, Richard."

"Oh, very well." With a disgusted grunt, Richard stood. "If I really must go through with

this . . . sham of a-a marriage, by all means, lets get the bloody thing over with. I wouldn’t want my intended to pine away, before I can take advantage of her in the marriage bed."

With effort, Armus resisted the urge to strike him. Richard was drunk, argumentative, and obviously still battling grief. The combination was a dangerous one, which accounted for his crudeness. Though he could be belligerent when he chose, Richard was rarely malicious or spiteful. Armus tried to overlook his shortcomings. "Has it occurred to you that Lady Ilyssa is an unwilling player in this match as well?"

"It doesn’t matter. There’s little enough I’m going to gain from this union, thus I have every intention of exercising my rights as a husband. If that alarms you Brother, maybe you should go back to the Crusades and the kitchen."

Unable to control himself any longer, Armus snared his wrist and dragged him towards the door. With a soft, mocking laugh, Richard allowed himself to be escorted from the room.

+++++

Lady Ilyssa Worthington lifted the ornate goblet to her lips and delicately sipped the wine within. Somewhere within the course of the last few days, she’d lost command of her senses. Circumstance once clear, became alarmingly muddled during the swift journey to Covington Cross. When her late husband, Lord Gerald Worthington, perished in battle eighteen months ago, she had thought herself freed from the restrictive chains of a loveless marriage. Unfortunately, Worthington had been as excessive with his debts as he was with his faithlessness.

Forced into the arranged marriage at nineteen, Ilyssa’s estranged union had lasted just over six years. A cruel man with a barrel chest, Worthington had been forty-eight when he took her to bride. Ilyssa could still recall the nauseating touch of his sausage-thick fingers, roughly caressing her body. Black-haired and bearded, he’d looked the part of wild chieftain, despite a lengthy and noble lineage. Inherently gruff, he’d been neither a gentle lover nor a patient one delighting only in personal pleasure. She’d been an instrument designed to bring satisfaction, little else. The thought of entering a similar union left her heart bleak and cold.

She’d never met Richard Grey knew little about him only that he was younger than herself, and that made her oddly nervous. A young man was more apt to be unfaithful than an older one. Perhaps in the grand scheme of things, such unfaithfulness would not be so dreadful. If Richard sought his pleasure elsewhere, at least he’d leave her bed empty. She would be content playing the dutiful wife at social events, with the remainder of time to herself. Surely Covington Cross was infinitely inviting a finer home than either her father or Worthington possessed.

As for Richard’s family, she found them ingratiating treating her kindly, while obviously trying to cover his absence. Though the drone of conversation continued around her, Ilyssa began to feel the warm disorientating haze of the wine. She was almost relaxed, sitting comfortably in a high-backed chair, when Armus entered the room appearing oddly hesitant.

He cast a nervous smile at his father, who was seated before the hearth. "I , um . . . found Richard at the tav er, the lower holding. He’s in his chambers. He . . . needed to wash up, but should be down presently."

Thomas canted his head to the side, as though trying to gauge the accuracy of his son’s words. Ilyssa noted some silent form of communication passing between them. Whatever Richard’s reason for not being present to greet her, she was certain it had nothing to do with crop production in the lower holding.

Half an hour later, when he entered the room, Ilyssa received her first glimpse of her husband-to-be. Tall, like Sir Thomas, Richard was also trim, with a surprisingly autocratic bearing. His face was youthful and comely, framed by long waves of thick brown hair. Even in the muted haze of the room, a myriad of highlights stood out in that tangled mane threads of walnut, crimson and gold. His eyes were green a pale shade, like new leaves budding in early spring. Though his face was composed, Ilyssa saw a thin sliver of contempt in his eyes as he bent over her hand.

"Lady Ilyssa welcome to Covington Cross."

They were the only words he spoke to her all evening. Though he sat at her side, dutifully making small talk with her father and his family, he didn’t bother to address her again. For that matter, he barely glanced in her direction. Ilyssa called for more wine, silently deciding that for all his incredible comeliness, Richard Grey was like to make a worse husband than Gerald Worthington.

+++++

The following morning Richard was scheduled to take Ilyssa for a ride in Tiner Forest. He bowed out by sending a message, declaring he had more urgent matters to attend. Rather than draw attention to his rudeness, Ilyssa had a horse saddled and departed on her own. They weren’t even married yet, and already she could feel the horrible friction between them. Was it possible he was in love with someone else, she wondered.

The rise of early morning helped ease the sting of her loneliness. Unfamiliar with the twining paths of Tiner, Ilyssa didn’t venture far into the lush copse of towering trees. Dew still blanketed the grass, glistening with the reflected brilliance of a corn-gold sun. The sweet trilling of sparrows, meadowlarks and wrens wove a gentle melody of sound through the warm air. A perfumed breeze fondled the leaves over her head, and whispered through lush beds of fern.

For a time sheltered by the serene copse she could almost forget the turmoil which had brought her to Covington Cross. A sudden rustling in the brush drew her attention, shattering the peaceful reverie of her thoughts. There followed a deep guttural sound, and then the brush exploded as a dark shape surged forward. Startled, Ilyssa uttered a short gasp, struggling to bring her horse under control. The animal bucked beneath her, terrified at the sight and smell of a wild boar.

Ilyssa heard a horrible squealing, and then she was unseated tumbling backwards, as the frightened horse bolted from the thicket. Wide-eyed, Ilyssa remained motionless too terrified to move as the boar snuffled the trampled earth near her feet. Certain she was about to be gored, she held her breath and waited. A second later, an arrow pierced the air, slicing cleanly from behind her, and embedding into the bristled head of the animal. The beast dispensed one choked squeal, then toppled lifeless to the ground.

Startled, Ilyssa scrambled to get her feet under her. Backing away from the dead beast, she glanced up as Richard emerged from the trees on horseback, longbow in hand. "That was a stupid thing to do," he snapped belligerently. "Fool woman, you should know better than to go riding without an escort."

She wasn’t certain if it was the hostile tone of his voice, or her recent encounter with death, but quite suddenly Ilyssa felt her frayed nerves snap. "How dare you speak to me like that! As I recall, you were to be my escort," she countered hotly. "Whatever your business in Tiner, it certainly appears more urgent than riding with me."

Frowning, Richard dismounted and walked to the boar. Slinging his bow over his back, he knelt beside the dead animal, and worked the arrow back and forth until it slid from the thick hide. The tip came free, stained brilliant red. Repulsed, Ilyssa glanced away.

Richard spared a pointed glance. "This might have been your blood if I hadn’t come along when I did. Whatever groom allowed you a horse, is soon to find himself without position."

Alarmed that she might have cost someone his station, Ilyssa strode to his side. "It wasn’t his fault. I insisted on the steed."

Unconvinced Richard stood. "Grooms in our stables know better than to allow ladies to ride unattended. You might have been killed. I will see the man dismissed."

"How can you be so cruel?"

Richard stared. "How can I be so cruel? Maybe you should have thought twice before placing the man in such a delicate predicament. As it is, we’ll have to search the forest for your horse. When we are married, Lady, you will not do anything so foolish."

"I am not a child, and I refuse to be treated like one. Especially by a-a " Ilyssa struggled for words, each passing second filling her with greater contempt. Something about Richard’s grating disdain infuriated her beyond measure " an arrogant boy, masquerading as a man," she finished as scathingly as she could. For a moment, Ilyssa feared she had gone too far.

Richard’s smile was tight, as though he too struggled for control of his temper. Stepping very near, he stared down at her, his expression dark and cutting. Though she was dreadfully shy of his height her head barely reaching his shoulder Ilyssa refused to back down. Amused by her defiance, Richard lifted a gloved finger and stroked it down her cheek. "I fear you only have one more night before you realize, I am most assuredly a man."

Twisting her face away, Ilyssa resisted the urge to strike him. The veiled promise left her distressingly hot and cold at the same time. This near, there was no questioning the powerful masculinity of his body, or what that closeness did to her. As much as she wanted to loathe him, she felt herself yearning for his touch. Unlike Gerald, she found herself attracted to this man, despite his cold arrogance.

Interpreting her silence as acquiescence, Richard stepped backwards. "I’ll take you back to Convington then return for your horse."

"You’ll take me ?" Ilyssa stopped suddenly, cold dread clutching her stomach as she realized she would be forced to ride double with him. Her fear of that closeness seemed absurd, given tomorrow they would grow intimate. Still, she balked. "Perhaps the horse hasn’t gone far."

"Unlikely." Oblivious to her anxiety, Richard retrieved his own horse and mounted. Cantering the steed to her side, he reached forward and extended his arm. "Come on. I’ll help you up."

Knowing there was little protest she could make, Ilyssa allowed herself to be pulled into his lap. Linking an arm about her waist, Richard held her snuggly against his chest while he gathered the reins with his free hand. Sitting sideways, her legs dangling, Ilyssa wrapped an arm about his neck, holding tight, as he eased the horse forward. She could feel the brush of his long hair against her sleeve; smell the heated leather of his jerkin. She tried to concentrate on those sensations, rather than the tight plane of his chest; the muscular feel of his thighs against the backs of her legs. Swallowing, she suddenly realized the prospect of her wedding night terrified her.

"May I ask what kept you from our ride?"

Richard’s immediate answer was a distracted grunt. Though there was no denying Ilyssa Worthington was exceedingly beautiful, he hadn’t realized how much that beauty effected him until now. He felt almost guilty thinking of another woman, with Rachel so recently deceased. Though they’d parted with no promise between them, Richard was convinced that by marrying another, he was somehow being unfaithful to her spirit. The amulet she’d give him was tucked inside his tunic a reminder of the love they’d shared. He’d taken it with him this morning, hoping to spend time in reflection, when he’d come upon Ilyssa in the forest. There really had been no true reason for canceling their ride just simple selfishness on his part.

"A private matter," he relented finally. He could smell the rosewater she’d used for her bath; the perfumed oil that clung to her bound hair. Coiled into a thick braid, he wondered how that spun silk would look, tumbled freely over her shoulders and back. He felt her eyes touch him.

"My Lord Richard, please," Ilyssa said suddenly, her voice desperate and firm. "Do not dismiss the groom for my foolishness. If there is reprimand to be had, I should be the one to suffer."

Taken aback by her sincerity and evident concern, Richard glanced down. Her face was upturned to his, eyes wide and trusting, lips parted, just shy of his own. Uncertain if she attempted to beguile him with passion, Richard decided he wasn’t above complying. Gripping her chin, he pressed his mouth to hers. Immediately, he felt her stiffen, her back going rigid in his embrace.

Breaking the kiss, Richard stared ahead. "We’ll see," was all he said.

+++++

Despite his better judgement, Richard did not dismiss the groom. Perhaps it was nothing more than Ilyssa’s heartfelt plea, but for some absurd reason he had no wish to cause her duress. Thus, he reprimanded the attendant for his carelessness, but halted shy of discharging him. Ilyssa knew nothing of the incident, having already retreated to the castle. As promised, Richard returned to Tiner where he located her wayward horse and brought it back to the stable. He was just departing, having left the animal in the care of the Avener, when he encountered his cousin, Kenrick rounding the livery.

"Ah! The groom-to-be returns."

Richard tried to overlook the taunting inflection in the other’s tone. For as long as he could remember, Kenrick and he had been at odds. A year older than Armus, Kenrick Chatwin was a distant cousin with family connections on his mother’s side. Of medium height and medium build, he was thoroughly unimposing, but for a conniving demeanor bordering on beguiling. Though Armus had tolerated him well for most of their years, Richard’s lack of tolerance routinely made them clash. Of all the guests in attendance at Covington Cross, he had hoped to avoid Kenrick.

Richard spared a passing glance as he headed for the castle. "Good day, Kenrick."

"So soon to leave?" Falling in step beside him, the other offered a wheedling smile. It failed to warm the wintry light of his blue-gray eyes. "One must assume your haste is poorly concealed eagerness to join Lady Ilyssa. I speculate you’ll be twice as eager on your wedding night."

Though he refused to be baited, Richard cast the other a sidelong glance. Experience had taught him Kenrick delighted in nothing more than provoking him. "I’ll thank you to leave speculation out of it. My business is my own."

Kenrick made a soft tsking sound. Dressed in fashionable clothes that paid impeccable attention to detail, the shorter man looked more the part of court knave, than country gentry. Straight blonde hair framed a face remarkable only for its plainness. "You disappoint me, Cousin—I’ve heard tales of your many dalliances with the fairer sex. I admit, Lady Ilyssa is nearer my age than yours, but even a pup like you can’t be blind to her appeal."

"You’re wearing on my nerves, Kenrick."

"Am I?" The other bestowed an elegant smile. "We’ve barely spoken two words since my arrival and already you tire of me." The smile thinned with calculated chicanery. "Perhaps Lady Ilyssa won’t find my company so tiresome—unless of course you object to my spending time with your intended."

Though he was not truly enamored of Ilyssa, Richard found the thought oddly irritating. Still, he feigned indifference. "She’s able to make her own decisions, I’d warrant."

"Well then—" Kenrick smiled broadly. "I won’t tarry with the groom, when I can loiter with the bride."

As he moved away, quickening his step, Richard suppressed a scowl. What did he care if Ilyssa fawned over his fashionable cousin? His own heart wasn’t in the marriage, why should hers be?

Thinking again of the amulet tucked inside his tunic, Richard experienced a sharp pang of regret. In truth, his love for Rachel had been little more than a pleasant interlude, but what might it have become if he’d only insisted she stay? The vows he was scheduled to take tomorrow might have been with her, rather than a woman he barely knew.

Do you know what a double yolk means? Rachel had asked when he’d cracked an egg in the griddle, only to have it produce twin yolks. He could still see the teasing glint in her blue eyes, as she’d leaned forward smiling up at him. It means there will be a wedding soon.

At one point he’d fancied it might be their own. Now he realized the only union to take place was his own ill-fated match, scheduled to commence with the dawn. Inhaling sharply, Richard bowed his head.

"I’m so sorry, Rachel. I didn’t love you enough to marry you . . ." The thin sliver of his voice trailed into silence, as the horrid realization settled in his heart. If he’d asked, she might have remained.

Torn by misery, Richard closed his eyes.

If he’d asked, she’d still be alive.

+++++

The day of the wedding passed in a blur for Richard. He remembered little of the actual ceremony, only that it left him feeling slightly nauseous. It was as though he simply went through motions responding when required, nodding appropriately at brief silences. The festivities afterwards seemed much too loud, and somehow staged. Once the vows were complete, he’d been free to leave Ilyssa’s side on the pretext of mingling with the guests. Neither of them seemed especially attentive to the other, the awkwardness of the situation coming full circle. As the day wore on toward evening and twilight settled on the castle, Richard noticed his bride had disappeared.

Belatedly he realized she would be upstairs, attended by her maids in the new chambers assigned to them as husband and wife. Richard knew the servants had spent most of the day transferring his possessions to the new suite of rooms. In a few hours he would be expected to join her.

Disturbed by the knowledge, Richard called for more wine.

+++++

Ilyssa stood before the window, staring out over the rolling fields of green. She could see the dark, ragged line of Tiner in the distance trees rising like the scaled teeth of a dragon’s tail. The sight of the forest reawakened her memory of yesterday’s encounter with Richard. Since arriving, she’d resigned herself to enduring another loveless union. She’d been so certain the man her father had chosen for her, would be no different than the man who’d left her one step shy of financial ruin. Indeed, Richard barely acknowledged her. Even today, he’d been cool and distant, despite the vows they’d exchanged at morning chapel. And yet, she couldn’t help recall the feel of his lips against hers. That brief kiss had awakened something in her she’d thought long dead. It terrified her to think that she could actually feel. That passion was something to be shared and experienced, not hidden and denounced. She’d stiffened in his embrace for fear of responding, yet even now she secretly desired to explore the possibility.

The sound of footsteps jarred her from her thoughts. Turning from the open window, she brushed her hands against her arms. The shift she wore was sleeveless and thin scant protection against the intruding touch of cool night air. She felt oddly exposed, her long, unbound hair a thicker shroud than the fine linen. Mouth suddenly dry, she realized she was terrified of facing Richard. From the start, she’d known what to expect from Gerald a union based on convenience and cruelty. Was this marriage to be no different? Was this man so much younger apt to be as heartless?

The door scraped inward and Ilyssa swallowed hard. She could feel the rat-a-tat beat of her heart like the cadence of frenzied hooves against her ribs. Frozen to the spot, she watched Richard step into the room.

For a moment he seemed disoriented, even distracted his expression intent on some inner turmoil. Then his glance swept in her direction and he came to an immediate halt. A tangle of emotion flitted across his face, much too quickly for her to define. Stepping around the bed, he gazed at her oddly, as though seeing her for the first time.

Nervously, Ilyssa lowered her eyes.

"You’re quite beautiful, My Lady," Richard said sincerely. The sight of her so scantly attired hair flowing over her shoulders and back in a lush satin veil, made him feel suddenly restless. Taking a step nearer, he slipped his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. Eyes that were neither blue nor green, but a blending of both, watched him warily. Lifting his free hand Richard brushed the heavy curtain of hair from her face, allowing his sensitive fingertips to rest against her cheek. "Would it truly be so dreadful to lay with me this night?"

Surprised by his directness, Ilyssa flinched. The touch of his hand was like fire on her skin coaxing abeyant heat from awakening flesh. "There is no debate, My Lord," she answered truthfully. "There is only your will the will of my husband."

Richard’s hand trailed from her cheek, tracking slowly down her neck. "And what of the wife? Have you no say in the matter?"

"You mock me," Ilyssa said flatly.

Richard took no offense. "That was not my intent."

Gently cupping his hand behind her head, Richard leaned forward and kissed her. Once again, she responded with rigidity, her back stiffening even as her mouth opened beneath his. For a moment she felt only the suffocating pressure of Gerald’s brutal kiss. Then the memory passed usurped by the delicious feel of Richard’s lips upon hers. Unconsciously she melted into his embrace, induced by the enveloping warmth of his arms about her body. His tongue teased the inside of her lips, kindling a shockwave of sensation deep in her belly and groin. Terrified by the intensity of that reaction, Ilyssa tried to withdraw. How could a man she barely knew inspire such a complicated mesh of feeling?

"Lyss, please don’t " The broken thread of Richard’s voice stopped her. Was there desperation in that unexpected plea? His eyes were masked, heavily lidded with a soft veil of delicate lashes. She could garner little from his expression. Wrapping his arms about her, he buried his face in the thick shroud of her hair.

Ilyssa felt him shudder. Confused, she held him, arms gently encircling his back. "Richard?"

For a moment he didn’t respond. She felt the warm whisper of his breath against her cheek; the gentle touch of his lips near her ear. "You deserve better," he whispered. Disentangling himself, he drew back. A slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth with resigned acceptance. Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly on the brow. "Goodnight, Ilyssa."

Bewildered, she watched him stride from the room. His shadow leapt across the floor as he vanished into the adjoining sitting area. Alone, in the main chamber, Ilyssa listened to the repetitive thud of her heart, trying to decide if she was disappointed or relieved.

+++++

Though he couldn’t hear the noise of merriment, Richard new the wedding festivities continued on the main floor of the castle. It felt odd to know so many people were enjoying themselves at his expense. He felt detached and alone tangled in a web he’d been innocent of crafting.

He hadn’t desired this marriage had done everything he could to convince his father to reject the offer. Only today he’d pined in sickness for the girl with beguiling blue eyes and mystical manner. How could he love Rachel so fiercely one moment, and desire to bed his wife the next?

How could he need Ilyssa with such passion and strength after so short an acquaintance? Only this evening he’d taken the time to learn her history from a visiting aunt. The detailed knowledge of Gerald Worthington’s heartlessness and unfaithfulness, made him want to lavish her with devotion.

But there was Rachel.

Richard folded into a chair, and dropped his head into his hands. Had he really walked away from Ilyssa when he needed her so badly? His confusion over Rachel had made him want to drown himself in the yielding of her flesh. Yet that small hesitation on her part, had made him realize he desired her for all the wrong reasons. How could he expect her to love him, when he wasn’t sure where his own heart belonged?

The memory of her kiss, and the feel of her body pressed to his, was torture to recall. A part of him yearned to stride into the adjoining room and demand what was his by husbandly right. Yet another part the part that kept him redeemable even when he was at his worst said he’d never force an issue of love.

With a pent-up exhalation of breath, Richard leaned back in the chair. It was where he intended to spend the night.

+++++

Ilyssa woke to the pallid light of dawn puddling through the open window. The air had grown decidedly chill with the advancement of a dew-drenched night. Shivering, she slipped from the bed and latched the window. Distressed to realize her husband had not returned, Ilyssa padded barefoot into the adjoining room.

Richard was slouched in a high-backed chair, legs stretched out before him. The left was bent at the knee, drawing the fabric of his black breeches tight across his thigh. He’d unlaced his tunic, so that it gaped on his chest, creating a deep "v" where the richly embroidered material parted. The unruly snarl of his hair fell in soft waves against his brow and collar, making Ilyssa yearn to smooth it into place. Viewed in profile, his features appeared curiously angelic and distressingly young. For a moment, she had to remind herself that he was indeed twenty-one years of age, soon to be twenty-two. Lost in sleep, he looked no older than Cedric.

Disturbed that he would spend the night in the chair rather than her bed, Ilyssa’s heart constricted. Originally, she’d feared what he would demand of her, now she feared there would be only distance between them. Unbidden, the memory of his heated kiss invaded her thoughts the feel of his body pressed to hers; the powerful circle of his arms holding her close. Was she lascivious for wanting to experience more? Moreso, how could she overcome her fear, and abandon herself to the feelings he inspired within her?

Returning to the bed, she retrieved a blanket. Gently, she draped it over him, leaning forward to kiss him softly on the brow. Richard stirred briefly, but never opened his eyes.

Uncertain what he would expect from her the day after their wedding, Ilyssa retreated to the bedchamber.

+++++

Richard awoke stiff and sore in the morning, muscles cramped from an uncomfortable night curled in the chair. Shrugging the blanket aside, he strode into the bedroom, where the aroma of freshly cooked eggs and spiced pork mingled with the lighter scent of lavender-laced bread. A table in the corner had been laden with breakfast foods plus an ample pitcher of mulled wine. Though the bed dressings were still rumpled, Ilyssa was no where in sight. Crossing to the washbasin, Richard stripped off his jerkin and tunic and proceeded to scrub the grit from his eyes. He was still freshening up when he heard the door scrape open behind him.

"Good morning . . . Richard."

It was the hesitation in his name, which drew him, more than the sound of his wife’s voice. Mopping a towel across the back of his neck, Richard half-turned in her direction. She’d yet to change from her sleeping gown, but she’d pulled an outer robe over it, belted at the waist with a simple sash. The long flow of her hair cascaded over her back and shoulders, tumbling in red-gold waves to her small waist. For a moment Richard simply stared.

"I had the servants bring breakfast." Closing the door behind her, Ilyssa motioned to the table. "I should think it would be expected we eat in our chambers this morning."

Richard’s mouth tightened marginally. "By all means let’s do what’s expected." Turning away, he tossed the towel aside.

Ilyssa tried not to cringe at the icy sarcasm of the words. Already she’d grown accustomed to the precise edge of his voice each consonant and vowel distinctly modulated. While that tone was normally a step shy of musical, it now dripped with bitter disdain. Confused, Ilyssa watched him reach for the clothing he’d discarded earlier on the bed. Could this truly be the same man who’d kissed her so passionately last night?

As Richard retrieved the tunic, something slipped from the material and rolled across the floor. Nearer than he, Ilyssa bent to retrieve it. She’d no sooner straightened, then Richard snatched it from her hand.

Thoroughly bewildered by his abruptness, Ilyssa struggled to remain calm. "What is that?"

"Nothing." Sensing his mistake, Richard shook his head. "—just an amulet a gift from a friend."

"A female friend?" Ilyssa wasn’t certain why she broached the question. It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She saw Richard’s eyes slew to the side, his glance dark and baleful; saw the ripple of muscle across his shoulders as he tensed.

"That doesn’t concern you, Lady."

The formality of his words irritated her. "I am your wife."

He smiled thinly. "In name only. I seem to recall you had no wish to proceed otherwise last night."

Ilyssa drew her arms around her as if that might ward off the hostile coldness of his tone. Her eyes slipped to the amulet in his hand, noting the blood-red hue and silver binding. For a moment, she had a fleeting image of Richard standing on the southern battlement, green eyes dancing with the warmth of his smile. "What is it?" he’d asked, rubbing his thumb across the garnet-dark surface. A young woman with straight hair and enigmatic blue eyes smiled gently. "An amulet for luck. I want you to have it. Promise me no matter what happens, whenever you look on it, think of me."

Shaken by the image, Ilyssa gasped softly. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she struck a hand against the table to steady herself. The color ran from her face, leaching her skin of pigmentation. Trembling, Ilyssa felt the breath catch in her throat. She hadn’t been troubled by visions since before Gerald’s death.

"Lyss, are you all right?" There was genuine concern in Richard’s voice. Blinking, Ilyssa realized he was standing very near, his hand gripping her upper arm.

"I " Ilyssa felt her knees wobble. Disorientation swept through her jumbled senses, leaving the imprint of a name clinging to her mind: Rachel. " need to sit," she managed.

Richard helped her to a chair. Unwilling to leave, he knelt at her side. "Ilyssa, are you ill?"

For a moment she forgot they’d been ready to quarrel. The anxious regard in Richard’s eyes, was so utterly genuine, she felt her heart constrict. No man had ever looked at her like that not even her father who saw her only as a means to advance his own position in society. She tried not to think about the weight of Richard’s hand on her knee; concentrated instead on the small droplets of water clinging to the edges of his ragged hair.

"I I’m fine," Ilyssa managed. "I just felt a little dizzy."

Uncomfortable, Richard wet his lips. "I didn’t mean to be short with you. I just it’s going to take some time for me to adjust to this marriage."

"You’re not alone in that regard, My Lord."

Drawing a breath, Richard stood. "It might help if we were a little less formal. Please call me Richard."

Sensing they’d made some progress, Ilyssa nodded. She was still distracted by the vision she’d seen and the name that had surfaced with the images. Tilting her head to gaze up at him, she forced herself to address the issue. "Who is Rachel?"

Immediately, Richard stiffened. She thought the transformation on his face utterly amazing. One moment his gaze was warm and solicitous; the next it was as though a veil had fallen over his eyes. Turning away, Richard strode crisply for the wardrobe closet. "No one. Whoever you’ve been talking to, you’d do well to pay them no heed."

Ilyssa watched as he shrugged into a fresh tunic, then reached for the wide studded belt he’d discarded on the bed. Mutely, she watched as he buckled it around his waist. Earlier, she’d had suspicions he was in love with someone else, now she was certain of it. "Think of me," the girl with the blue eyes had instructed.

Apparently, as though bewitched, Richard could do little else.

+++++

Richard remained for breakfast, then left with the pretext of estate business. Although Ilyssa knew Sir Thomas would make no demands of his son so shortly after his wedding, she stayed silent. He’s leaving to meet her to meet Rachel. Ilyssa felt sick to the stomach. Her first husband had been unfaithful. Why should her second be any different? Why should she care? She certainly didn’t love the man. Though Richard wasn’t physically cruel, his affection was granted in sparse allotments, more staged then genuine.

Vainly, she tried to dismiss the vision she’d had. As far back as she could remember, Ilyssa had been able to see things. Sometimes the events were in the past; others in the future. Fear of repercussion kept her silent through most of her life. Once a few years past, when the visions had become extreme she’d approached her uncle with vague references to the problem. A dignitary in the church, she’d hoped for his help. Instead, he’d rambled on about the evils of witches and demonic spirits, denouncing inner visions as the tools of both. To this day, no one knew of her penchant, despite the fear it caused her to harbor within.

Unable to bear her solitude any longer, Ilyssa dressed and descended to the main level of the castle where numerous wedding festivities still took place. Lingering among the guests made her realize how much she desired the fresh air of the forest. Richard had already banned her from riding alone, and she had no desire to embroil the stable attendant in any further trouble. As though sensing her inner turmoil, Kenrick Chatwin approached and offered to escort her to Tiner.

Ilyssa was only too happy to comply.

+++++

"Kenrick, do you know who Rachel is?" Ilyssa found the nerve to ask the question in the enveloping canopy of the forest. Though she’d ridden mostly in silence with Richard’s cousin at her side, her mind never slacked from its staggering preoccupation. As loathe as she was to admit it, there was something about Richard that made her desire to know him better that whispered she had enjoyed the feel of his lips against hers, as well as his attentive concern. The thought of him now, in the embrace of another woman, curdled her stomach.

"Ah you must mean Richard’s Rachel." Kenrick launched an elongated brow into the scattered fringe of his thin hair. Tugging on his reins, he drew his horse to a halt. "Let’s sit here for awhile beneath those trees, and I’ll tell you."

Ilyssa wanted to keep riding. As pleasant as he was, there was something oddly disturbing about Kenrick. His presence made her feel oily and unclean, as though she shared company with a reptile. She hadn’t noticed his inclination for sidelong glances and veiled looks until they were alone in the forest. Now, she wanted to complete the ride and return. Unfortunately, she also wanted to learn about Rachel.

Dismounting, Ilyssa surrendered her horse to Kenrick, then took a seat on a fallen tree, beneath a copse of mammoth oaks. The wind kicked up at her back, coaxing a bright burst of sound from the leaves overhead. Though the sky was blue, the horizon swelled with a dark mass of rapidly-moving clouds. "It looks like a storm’s coming," Ilyssa commented as Kenrick joined her. Perhaps he would take the hint and keep his discourse brief.

Unfazed, the blonde-haired man shrugged. "Just wind and clouds a witch storm. This time of year, they happen a lot." His smile thinned as he gazed down at her. "It’s kind of ironic actually talking about a witch storm and Rachel in the same breath."

There was a rancorous gleam in his eyes that made Ilyssa uncomfortable. She suddenly recalled overhearing Armus and Eleanor discussing how Richard despised his cousin. Only now was she beginning to comprehend the reasons for that emotion. "I don’t understand."

Kenrick sat beside her much too close for her comfort. "Rachel was common born. Sir Thomas would probably have allowed Richard to marry her, if he’d only asked, but he didn’t love her enough or so I guess. She left Covington Cross after an incident in the village."

Disquieted, Ilyssa wet her lips. "What kind of incident?"

With exaggerated nonchalance, Kenrick plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. The wind grew incensed, pushing at his back, scattering his thin hair like pieces of straw across his forehead. "Rachel was suspected of witchcraft. Abbot Seward convinced the villagers the only way to save their crops was to burn Rachel at the stake."

"Abbot Seward?" The wind howled in Ilyssa’s ears, screaming like a banshee. Her fingers curled into her palms, nails embedding in soft flesh.

"You seem distressed." Almost solicitously, Kenrick took her wrist. His eyes were thin and hooded, imbued by a carnal light she’d often seen in Gerald. Alarmed, Ilyssa realized the congenial guide who’d offered to escort her riding, was now intent on other motives. Frightened, she tried to pull free.

"Please don’t, Kenrick."

Wrenching her closer, the blonde-haired man chuckled a low, insidious sound that made the wind seem suddenly tame. "Why? You can’t seriously tell me you found a boy like Richard satisfying."

"This boy will put an arrow through you, if you don’t immediately unhand my wife." Richard’s voice cut so savagely and so abruptly from the trees, Kenrick jerked to his feet. Appalled, Ilyssa turned to see her husband, mounted on horseback, just twenty feet shy of the fallen tree. Though she’d done nothing wrong, a deep flush of color stung her cheeks. Richard’s bow was drawn, an arrow knocked to the string. The sight of him induced a staggering swell of relief, underscored by a disquieting twinge of dread. Though she’d only known him a short time, the set mask of his face told her he was furious.

Raising both hands, Kenrick smiled benignly and took a step backwards. "You misinterpret what happens here, Cousin."

"I misinterpret nothing, least of all your sniveling attempt at worming free. If you come near my wife again, you’ll answer to me."

Ducking his head, Kenrick offered acquiescence. Clearly staged, the humility failed to soften the snake-like gleam in his slitted eyes. "Pardon my behavior." With a last glance for Richard, Kenrick collected his horse and rode from the thicket.

Lowering his bow, Richard slid the arrow into his quiver. A severe scowl pinched his mouth in a white line as he dismounted. Ilyssa waited nervously as he secured the bow to his saddle.

"Of all the people to go riding with, you had to pick Kenrick." Richard snapped irritably.

Determined not to quarrel, Ilyssa struggled to remain neutral. "He offered."

"And you immediately accepted." Frustration turning to anger, Richard stalked to her side. "If I hadn’t come along just now "

" If you hadn’t abandoned me this morning, I wouldn’t have gone riding," Ilyssa countered sharply, her own anger rising. The savage force of the wind grew furious, shuddering through the branches overhead. Ancient limbs protested with guttural creaks and moans. Lifting one hand, Ilyssa raked tangled hair from her eyes. "You might have had the courtesy to wait a fortnight before you went to see your lover," she spat acidly. "At least the guests would have departed by then."

"Lover?" Richard was incredulous. The cultured edge of his voice slipped into base rudeness. "You’ve lost your head, woman."

"Certainly not to love!" Ilyssa had to shout now to heard above the raging calliope of wind.

Distracted, Richard glanced to the branches dangling over their heads. A brief flicker of irritation crossed his face. Gripping her arm, he attempted to pull her forward. "Come with me. This wind is dangerous."

"I am not going anywhere with you, My Lord." Ilyssa could be abhorrently stubborn when she chose. Tired of his argumentative nature, she vowed she’d have an apology rather than endure discourtesy yet again.

"Ilyssa, don’t be foolish. There’s a witch storm brewing. The sooner we get back to the castle "

A sudden wrenching snap cut short the remainder of his words. Ilyssa heard the sickening pop of aged wood as a massive branch gave way overhead. Before she could move, Richard grabbed her about the waist and bore them both to the ground. A startled shriek slipped from her lips, even as the branch crashed to the earth. Pinned beneath Richard, Ilyssa struggled to breathe. "My Lord?"

With a groan, he rolled clear. Only then did she see the bright puddle of blood fouling his sleeve. "Richard!"

Clamping his right hand over his injured left arm, Richard struggled to sit. The splintered edge of the branch had torn through his skin, gouging a path from back to front. A jagged piece approximately ten inches in length had broken off and was impaled through the muscle. Before Ilyssa could react, Richard gripped the protruding edge and wrenched it free. A torrid deluge of blood followed, splattering the ground with bloated red tears. Hand slick with his own blood, Richard tossed the soiled piece of wood aside. "My horse " he gasped.

Ignoring the request, Ilyssa knelt at his side. Had she reacted sooner, she would have insisted he leave the impaling splinter alone, until a physician could remove it. Now, freed of pressure, the wound bleed profusely. Working silently, Ilyssa tore the hem from her gown. "Stay still," she instructed as she wound the strip around his arm. Almost immediately the fabric grew saturated as blood rushed to soak the delicate material. Tearing a second and third strip free, Ilyssa repeated the procedure. Overhead the tree thrashed with increased agitation.

"We’ve got to get out of here," Richard croaked.

Not trusting her voice, Ilyssa nodded. She was responsible for this refusing to leave when he’d insisted they depart. Wedging a shoulder beneath his right arm, she bore the burden of his weight and helped him to stand. Arm braced across her shoulders, Richard swayed momentarily.

"Can you ride?" Ilyssa asked.

Richard’s face was grim. "I have no choice." The wind slipped through his hair, teasing the long ends to animated life, scattering tumbled tresses across his brow. He could feel the throbbing pulse of blood in his arm each minute movement pumping precious fluid to the surface. Sticky trails sluiced down his arm, plaiting the back of his hand and dripping in tiny swells from his fingertips. Staggering to his horse, he braced himself against the saddle.

Ilyssa’s face was a pinched white shell at his shoulder. "Richard, the castle isn’t that far. Perhaps I should go for help."

"No." His voice was raw, strung with pain. Placing a booted foot in the stirrup, Richard gathered the reins in his right hand, then curled his fingers into the steed’s coarse mane. Sucking down a gulp of air, he pulled himself into the saddle. "Get your horse," he told Ilyssa.

With a worried glance over her shoulder, Ilyssa rushed to obey. Mere moments lengthened to hours as they began the grueling trek back to Covington Cross. Time hung suspended for Ilyssa, who silently cursed the relentless fury of the witch storm. Chafing at each agonizing second, she stole worried glances at her young husband. Hunched forward in the saddle, Richard seemed oblivious to his surroundings, intent only on holding crippling pain at bay. Judging from the strained lines of his face and the waxy sheen of his complexion, those efforts were futile.

They were still a good distance from the castle, when Ilyssa realized he was barely holding on to consciousness. Frightened, she began to prattle nonsensically talking about anything that popped into her head, in the hopes the sound of her voice would keep him coherent. She told him about her father; about her mother who died when she was three. As the wind grew louder, she pitched her voice even higher, talking until she thought her throat would rasp raw. She told him about her marriage to Gerald, babbling foolishly about things she’d never dare share under normal circumstances. Numb to all but the turbulent wind and the sound of her own voice, Ilyssa felt tears prick her eyes. She could just discern the upper towers of Covington Cross in the distance, when Richard lost consciousness and slipped from his horse.

+++++

Ilyssa lay in the large bed, listening to the even breathing of the man beside her. Soft shadows draped the room in pewter veils, while beyond the stone walls, twilight deepened to the richer shades of night. Richard had slept most of the day, his wound tended by Sir Thomas’s personal physician. It had taken Armus’s intervention to get his brother back to the castle. Shortly after Richard had lost consciousness, the fair-haired man had appeared instigating his own search for the young couple, in view of the brewing witch storm. Ilyssa didn’t think she’d ever been so thankful to see anyone in her life.

Now, hours later, she replayed the events of the day through her mind. Beside her, Richard stirred, moaning slightly. Concerned, Ilyssa rolled onto her side, pressing the back of one hand to his cheek. Though his flesh was warm, it wasn’t hot with fever. The physician had cautioned over the likelihood of infection in the wound an event certain to give rise to fever. Stirring at her touch, Richard opened his eyes and tried to move. Immediately, he groaned.

"Lie still," Ilyssa pressed her palm against his bare chest, holding him in place.

Experimentally, Richard lifted his hand and examined the stiff bandage on his left arm. Collapsing against the pillows, he released a ragged sigh. "What happened?"

"You don’t remember?"

" I remember " he paused. He was going to say "arguing" but decided against it. " wind. The branch snapped. After that "

"A part of it went through your arm," Ilyssa supplied. We were still a few miles from Covington when Armus found us. The healer gave you something for the pain. You’ve been asleep most of the day."

Turning his head, Richard regarded his wife. With a belated sense of distraction, he realized they shared the same bed. The shift Ilyssa wore was entirely too thin, leaving little to his imagination. He could see the swell of one breast, the pink bud of the nipple straining against the scant fabric. Mouth dry, he realized he was unclothed beneath the bed linens but for the covering of his underhose.

"How do you feel?" Ilyssa asked.

He closed his eyes. "Tired."

Moving next to him, Ilyssa took his right arm and draped it around her shoulders. Nestling against him, she rested her head on his chest. "Go to sleep, Richard. I’ll stay with you."

His mind was too muddled to protest her presence. Part of him knew it was unwise to accept the comfort when there was still so much unsettled between them. Yet another part enjoyed the delicious feel of her body next to his the blissful infusion of warmth negating the torturous ache in his left arm. Tightening his grip around her shoulders, he kissed her lightly on the temple. Lost in the half-daze of encroaching slumber, he could almost believe their marriage was based on more than convenience and land deals.

Within moments Richard was asleep.

+++++

The following day when he finally made his way downstairs, the hour had inched well past noon. Moving gingerly for care of his wounded arm, Richard entered the armory, where his older brother was seated before a low table. Systematically rifling through an assortment of arrows, Armus appeared to be checking the fletching on each.

"Are you planning a hunting foray?" Richard asked as he stepped into the room.

Caught unaware, Armus glanced up, his blue eyes tinted with violet in the murky haze of muted light. Flashing a lazy grin, he slouched back in his chair. "And how’s the patient today? No sword fights for a while, I’d wager."

Easing into the chair across from Armus, Richard blanched as pain spiked up his arm. Grunting, he offered his brother a strained smile. "As long as the guests leave quickly, I’ll manage without."

"Then you needn’t worry, little brother." Armus reached for the nearest arrow. Raising the shaft to his eye, he squinted down the length. "Your injury put a damper on the festivities. Most of the guests have already departed."

"If I’d known that, I’d have gotten injured before the wedding. It might have saved me a lot of aggravation."

"Like a bride you’d rather not have?"

Growing quiet, Richard shrugged. A few days ago, he might have agreed wholeheartedly. Now the thought brought an odd tightness to his chest, making him realize he’d grown fond of Ilyssa. Was it possible to care for someone in so short a time? "Perhaps the marriage will work," he relented.

Armus immediately ceased his tinkering with the arrows. Expression serious, he considered his volatile younger brother. "And what of Rachel?"

Richard wet his lips. He’d been unable to speak of her since receiving the news of her death. Though the barbaric manner of her demise tore at his conscience, the memory of her love was something he could now place in proper context. No matter what happens think of me, she had pleaded.

"I can’t change what’s happened," he said slowly. "I did love her but not enough for marriage. If she’d remained, our union would have been a mistake."

Armus nodded. He was glad to see his younger brother thinking rationally. Though Richard often reacted with blind emotion, Armus knew he eventually relented to the wisdom of circumstance. "Then you’ll attempt to make your marriage work?"

A thin smile curved the corners of Richard’s lips. For a moment Armus felt a disquieting flicker of alarm, sensing the cool edge of his brother’s arrogance. As quickly as the emotion stirred it was past. His mouth tightening in a grim line, Richard lowered his eyes. "For a marriage to work, there must be two willing parties. I fear it may be too late for that."

Armus snorted. "Unlikely, Brother. I’ve seen the way Ilyssa looks at you. You need to remember her first husband was a step shy of abusive."

With a guilty flush, Richard glanced away. Vaguely he recalled Ilyssa prattling on about Gerald, as they rode through Tiner Forest and she struggled to keep him awake. She had talked endlessly, until the drone of her words became a feeble string, tying him to a distorted bubble of consciousness. Bits and pieces of those garbled words still lingered in his mind: thought all marriages were like mine . . . a cruel man who liked drink and women in equal measure . . . a sometimes violent lover . . . could shed no tears when he died . . . expected you to be the same . . .

Richard swallowed. "Where is Ilyssa?"

"Her father left earlier said it was time he returned home." Training his attention on the arrows, Armus checked the tip on a thin-shafted bolt. "Ilyssa went to see him off."

Richard nodded. He started to push out of the chair, then hesitated. Warily, his gaze skittered back to Armus. "I’ve been rather short lately, and you’ve been patient as usual. I owe you an apology."

"You’re forgiven." With a dismissive wave of his hand, Armus indicated the door. "Go find your bride. I’m sure she’s worried about you."

"Thanks." With a smile for his brother, Richard left the armory. In the outer hall he encountered Cedric, who pointed him in the direction of the stable. Lord Brisby had indeed departed, seen off by Sir Thomas and most of the household. Afterwards, Lady Ilyssa had ventured to the stable to check the condition of the horses she and Richard had ridden through the witch storm. Upon investigation however, Richard was told his wife had not arrived. Concerned, he backtracked through the main courtyard. Taking a detour through the inner gardens, he was wrenched suddenly short by a muffled cry.

Alarmed, Richard quickened his pace. Venturing off the main pathway, he followed the sounds of struggle, until his footsteps led him behind a curtain of obscuring foliage. There, Ilyssa fought to free herself from Kenrick’s crushing embrace. Hair askew and unpinned, the petite woman was a vision of righteous anger as she clawed at her attacker. Unprepared for the violent reaction of his would-be victim, Kenrick sought to subdue her by striking her across the face.

Seeing his wife treated so brutally, Richard lost all sense of judgement. With a harrowing cry, he wrenched Kenrick away from Ilyssa. Without thought for his own injury he buried his fist in the shorter man’s midsection, doubling him over. From the corner of his eye, Richard saw the mixture of surprise and concern on Ilyssa’s pinched face. Raising his right arm, he dropped his fist on the back of Kenrick’s neck driving him to the ground. Before he could make another move, Kenrick hooked his ankle and spilled him to the earth.

Molten needles of pain exploded in Richard’s arm, waffling outwards from the epicenter of lacerated tissue. For a moment, a sickening maw of blackness hung before his eyes. Then a booted foot struck him in the ribs and the world erupted in a kaleidoscope of abrasive light and sound. Corkscrewing into a fetus position, Richard gasped for breath. He heard the muted strike of boot heels against soft earth fading in the distance. Cool fingers touched his brow, brushing the sweaty tangle of hair from his forehead.

"Richard?"

With effort he forced himself to a sitting position. He could feel fresh blood beneath his sleeve and knew the wound had broken open. "Kenrick?" he rasped.

Ilyssa’s teal-colored eyes were bare of all save concern. "Fled. He . . . he lured me here with a promise to tell me of your lover."

Richard balked. "My lover?"

Ashamed, Ilyssa glanced away. The hint of a bruise rose on her smooth cheek, marring the fawn-colored cream of her complexion. She seemed to debate the matter, then reluctantly her gaze swung back to Richard. "You’ve every right to be angry, My Lord. He promised to tell me of Rachel."

Richard felt oddly detached from his surroundings. There was a coarse buzzing in his head, a persistent ache in his arm. Vainly he strove to focus. "Rachel is dead," he said thickly.

Stunned, Ilyssa could only stare. The prickling beat of her heart sent blood pulsing through her temples. Richard was watching her oddly, his green eyes tinged with ivory and gold in the grizzled haze of the sun. All this time she had thought him secretly in love with another jealously envisioning a mistress tucked away in a remote cottage or highland castle. Before she could collect her thoughts, Richard lifted his hand, gently grazing a knuckle across her cheek. The heated stroke of that feathery caress sent a spiral of sensation burrowing into her stomach. Terrified by what his touch did to her, it took every ounce of will she possessed not to draw away.

Misinterpreting her reaction, Richard dropped his hand to his side. The look in his eyes was accepting, almost sad. "Would you help me inside? I think my arm’s started bleeding again."

Only too glad to have something useful to do, Ilyssa helped him to stand. They walked in silence to their chambers where Richard peeled off his tunic, and pried back the blood-soaked bandage. The wound had been stitched with coarse thread, drawing the lacerated flesh into mottled peaks skin dark and discolored as bracken. Ilyssa retrieved a basin of water while Richard folded wearily into a chair. With a soft cloth she gingerly washed the glistening streaks of blood from his arm. Though he allowed the ministrations, his patience was brief. Catching her wrist, he drew her aside.

"I should have told you about Rachel."

Suddenly frightened of what he might say, Ilyssa turned her back and crossed to the window. The afternoon breeze whispered through the open arch, carrying scents of primrose and sweet clover. The touch was fickle and light as fleeting as a cajoling lover with a penchant for flattery. She heard Richard’s footsteps behind her. A moment later, his hands settled on her shoulders his touch warm and dry; surprisingly assuring.

"Rachel died recently." Richard’s voice was soft the precise modulation of his words now achingly familiar. "I only learned of her death the day before your arrival. I’m afraid it’s had me preoccupied. I felt . . . responsible."

Surprised, Ilyssa turned. For a moment she was struck by the tortured light in his eyes the depth of his emotion so utterly clear, she wondered how she could have ever placed him in the same context with Gerald Worthington. One man was cruel and unfeeling, the other torn by conflict. It suddenly occurred to her that Richard Grey was a creature of passion, who routinely concealed his feelings behind a mask of arrogance. For the moment, he’d dismissed the pretense, permitting a rare glimpse of the contradicting soul beneath.

"Lyss " Richard raised a hand and brushed the hair from her eyes. This time she did not flinch or stiffen. Every nerve in her body pulsed with heightened sensitivity. Rooted to the spot, she waited for him to incite or abandon the slumbering web of desire he’d awakened. A shiver of anticipation rippled down her spine as Richard trailed his thumb across her bottom lip. He was standing much too close, his very presence instilling a sense of suffocation. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, and then his mouth was upon hers, gently forcing her lips apart. Yielding to the velvet intrusion of his tongue, she willingly melted into his embrace.

Richard stroked her back cupped her cheek and hair. With each touch of his hands; each passionate caress of his lips, Ilyssa surrendered a little more. Far from shy, he pressed against her until she felt the intimate swell of his arousal. Frightened by memories of Gerald, she resisted the urge to pull away.

"I won’t hurt you, Lyss," Richard whispered into her ear. He stroked his fingers down her throat, drawing pinpoints of heat from her pliant flesh. His mouth found hers as he cupped her breast. Despite the intervening fabric of her gown, Ilyssa’s nipple swelled to a rigid peak. A soft moan slipped from her lips.

The sound sent desire coursing through Richard’s veins. Burying his face in her hair, he struggled to control his own rapid breathing.

Trembling, Ilyssa clung to him. Her body screamed that she surrender, yet memory held her back. As her husband, he could simply take her and be done with it, but Ilyssa realized he’d never force the issue. "Richard, I " She felt the sting of tears as she struggled with the conflict. "Gerald . . . was never kind. My memories of . . . this . . . are vile."

Gripping her face between his hands, Richard drew her watery gaze to his. "I won’t hurt you," he said again. "And I won’t force you. You’re my wife, not my property. Ilyssa, I’ve fallen in love with you."

Choking back a sob, she fell against him. It didn’t seem possible that this man, so set against marrying her could possibly love her. Only days ago he’d barely acknowledged her presence. Now, his touch was brazenly intimate, and it left her aching for more. As young as he was, she’d originally feared he’d have little patience when it came to lovemaking taking what he desired with no regard for her feelings. In truth, he was the opposite of everything she’d suspected. Only now, did she realize how much she loved him.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed warm lips to his. "I love you, Richard."

It was what he wanted to hear. His kiss became eager; subtly demanding. Surrendering, Ilyssa allowed him to pull her down onto the bed. He shifted slightly, wincing when the movement jarred his wounded arm. She felt his hand scrape beneath the edge of her gown, pushing the bunched fabric high on her leg. The touch of his fingers on her bare flesh made her head reel.

Gently, he caressed her, stroking the silken flesh of her thigh, until she whimpered with delight.

Before she could gather her breath, his fingers rounded beneath her, cupping her bottom. Once again she felt the delicious warmth of his mouth pressed to hers. Curling against him, she surrendered completely, her body and emotions responding in ways she’d never thought possible. She’d been stiff and unyielding with Gerald. Yet as Richard fumbled with the laces on his breeches, she found herself welcoming the intimate promise that marriage brought.

For the moment, she conveniently forgot there’d ever been a girl named Rachel.

+++++

"We should go down for dinner," Ilyssa said sleepily. Curled beneath Richard’s arm, she rested with her head on his chest, one bare leg twined over his, her arm hooked across his ribs. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows, attesting to the shamelessly early hour of the day. Tiny dust motes twirled in the air disembodied will-o-wisps snared in an enchanted beam of light.

Drawing her closer, Richard kissed the top of her head. "It’s only two days after our wedding. We’re permitted seclusion. Unless of course you wish to abandon our bed so soon."

Rolling onto her stomach to gaze up at him, Ilyssa indulged in a sultry smile. All her previous inhibitions had scattered with their lovemaking. She blushed to think of how attentive he had been intent not so much on his own pleasure, but on banishing her fear. She could still feel the heated touch of his flesh against hers; hear the heightened hitch of his breath as he moved within her. Just a few short days ago she’d dreaded the prospect of life with Richard now she couldn’t imagine anything else. "Most all of the wedding guests have departed," she told him quietly. Distracted, she curled her fingers around a gold-streaked lock of his hair, delighting in the smooth texture against her skin.

Richard made a soft sound of disapproval. "If Kenrick has left, it will be enough for me."

Alerted by his tone, Ilyssa canted her head to the side. An unsettling thought stirred groggily to life in the back of her mind. Disturbed, she wet her lips. "Richard, I don’t mean to keep discussing Rachel, but something Kenrick told me " She stopped abruptly, feeling him tense. Hesitating only briefly, she plowed ahead. "There’s something you should know about Abbot Seward "

"That despot?" Growing agitated, Richard propped himself up on his elbows. "Lyss, this really isn’t a discussion I wish to have."

"Seward is my uncle," she said quickly. Forcing the words gave her little opportunity to dwell on the complications of that relationship. Richard meant too much to her to keep the association a secret. It was better he hear the truth from her, than someone who might spill it callously. Drawing the bedsheets to her breasts, she sat up, curling her legs to the side. Wine-red hair tumbled over her shoulders, creating a startling contrast against her naked flesh and the ivory-white linens. "Now I understand why he didn’t attend the wedding. Though we’ve never been close, I thought it odd he chose to decline the invitation. It’s obviously because of what happened between you and Rachel."

"The man would receive no welcome at this castle," Richard replied tersely. Sitting up, he braced his back against the headboard, folding his arms across his chest. For a moment he looked terribly young a petulant child sulking over a perceived wrong. Then Ilyssa saw the savage glint of witch-fire in his green eyes, and realized his dislike of the abbot surpassed common disregard. A stone mask smoothed the youthful innocence from his face. "Ilyssa, the abbot is responsible for Rachel’s death. He . . . started a riot and . . . she was burned at the stake."

Ilyssa felt the blood drain from her face. "Dear Lord, how horrible!" One thin hand fluttered to her mouth.

Twisting away, Richard swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I thought you knew all this."

Fearful she’d severed the bond between them, Ilyssa moved behind him. Pressing her cheek to his back, she wrapped her arms around his waist. "I only knew her name. Richard, I didn’t mean to resurrect memories you’ve buried. I simply didn’t want you to find out about my uncle elsewhere, and think I’d tried to conceal the truth."

Turning, he wrapped his arm about her and hugged her to his side. He didn’t want to think about Rachel. Didn’t want to recall the self-righteous abbot or the grisly manner of his lover’s death. He simply wanted to forget to put the stain of corruption behind him. Cupping his wife’s face in his hands, Richard bent his head and kissed her tenderly.

Ilyssa clung to him emotion and love, snarled with the sheer intensity of regret. Responding to the heightened mix of her passion, Richard eased her back on the bed. His knee urged her legs apart, even as he continued to gently kiss her. "I want to forget the past," he whispered. "You’re my future, Ilyssa. Only you."

Yielding beneath the skillful caress of his hands; the warm assurance of his lips, Ilyssa surrendered to the promise of his love.

+++++

Though Richard and his new wife did join his family for dinner that evening, Sir Thomas was detained on business at a smaller holding. Thus it wasn’t until three days later when the Lord of Covington Cross returned, that Richard had an opportunity to speak with his father. Since Sir Thomas’s original announcement of the proposed marriage, the two men had exchanged few words. Fearful that he wouldn’t be able to keep a civil tongue, Richard had thought it best to avoid the older man. Now, with his feelings towards Ilyssa drastically altered, he felt guilty for his earlier hostility.

"How was Nicholas?" Richard asked, stepping into his father’s study.

Thomas glanced up with a startled jerk. Reclining in a cushioned chair before the fireplace, his normally immaculate clothing grit-stained from his ride, Thomas looked haggard. He clutched a half full goblet of wine in his right hand, resting the cup on the arm of the oversized chair.

"Am I intruding?" Uncomfortable, Richard glanced nervously to the stone hearth now barren in the warm summer months then back again.

With a thready smile, Thomas motioned to the chair opposite him. "Come join me."

As Richard took a seat, Thomas passed him a goblet of wine. Though candlelight flickered weakly in the room, the descent of night scrolled shadows across the floor. In the murky half-glow, Thomas’s face was webbed with stark lines and slivers of amber. His blue eyes glittered with fever-like intensity despite the weighed sag of his shoulders.

Richard drew on his bottom lip. "You look tired."

"Nicholas had an irrigation problem," Thomas returned, referring to the overlord of Narfort Holding. "What started out as a simple visit, became an issue of momentous proportions. After two days with our high-strung friend, I was anxious to be home. I’ve been in the saddle since early morning."

Richard glanced down, tightening his fingers around the stem of the goblet. Thomas nodded towards his shoulder. "How is your arm?"

Still uncomfortable, Richard gave a slight shrug. "Sore, but I’ll live." He took a draught of the wine, feeling the bitter tingle of the beverage slide down his throat. Setting the goblet aside, he leaned forward, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Ilyssa and I . . . are doing well," he managed at last.

Thomas chuckled a deep, languorous sound. "Well? Come, Richard gossip in the castle is that you’ve been sequestered in your bedchamber for days."

Though he was far from innocent, Richard felt a hot blush spread over his face. Glancing aside, he cleared his throat. From the corner of his eye, he could see Thomas grinning. His father was clearly enjoying his uncharacteristic awkwardness. Recovering his composure, Richard straightened in the chair. "My relationship with Ilyssa isn’t simply sexual. I don’t know how it’s happened, but I do love her."

"Then I imagine I’m forgiven for forcing you into such a wretched union?" Thomas’s grin stretched to wolfish proportions.

Unearthing the shriveled root of his anger, Richard slumped back in the chair. "I hate it when you’re right especially when you gave me no say in the matter."

Thomas set his wine aside. "The duty of a father isn’t always pleasant. My own marriage was arranged, Richard. Though it was awkward at first, I loved your mother dearly. Don’t think I treated your union lightly."

"It felt like it at the time."

Lacing his hands together, Thomas pursed his lips. He considered his son. "I knew Ilyssa’s background, and I’d heard tales of her beauty. Her age concerned me for a time, but she still has many childbearing years left. You have a birthday coming soon, thus are not terribly younger than she."

Richard snorted. "You sound like you’re discussing wares in the marketplace."

"It does seem heartless," Thomas agreed, "And yes Covington Cross profited from your marriage, but that’s not to say I discounted your welfare. As free as you’ve been with your . . . favors . . . I knew you’d curb yourself to marriage, given the right woman."

"And if Ilyssa hadn’t been the right woman?"

Thomas grinned broadly. "An unlikely possibility since my judgement was involved."

Richard shook his head. "And Armus calls me cocky."

Reclaiming his wine goblet, Thomas swallowed a mouthful of the stringent liquid. It felt odd to be discussing such things with Richard. Though of all his children, Richard was most like him, he was also the most distant. Whereas Cedric was ingratiating even youthfully charismatic and Armus congenial, Richard was entirely too self-reliant to allow closeness. Thomas always felt there’d been a wall between them, constructed more from Richard’s aloof pride than his own lack as a father. Or so Thomas liked to believe.

"There’s something I must tell you," he said abruptly, surprising even himself by the solemnity of his tone. He felt his son’s gaze, coolly appraising, as he nudged the goblet onto a side table.

Expelling a breath, Thomas met Richard’s narrow stare. "Nicholas told me that Abbot Seward has been seen in the village."

Unable to remain seated, Richard jerked upright like a marionette on a string. He stood a moment, hovering over his father, then turned quickly away planting a hand against the blunt stone of the hearth. His head was bent forward, spilling the curling waves of his hair against his cheek. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice ragged.

"Fairly. Nicholas’s son was in the village when a contingent from the church arrived." Standing, Thomas moved to his side. "There’s no need to address this, Richard. I simply thought you should know."

Eyes slewing to the side, Richard visibly bristled. "He killed her!" he spat.

"He’s a dignitary of the church and thus untouchable," Thomas cautioned. "You have a wife to think of now."

"A wife who is his niece or didn’t you know that when you investigated her background so thoroughly?"

Ignoring the stinging sarcasm of the words, Thomas placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. "Rachel is dead, Richard," he said firmly, almost angrily. "You can’t change that. A few moments ago you told me you loved your wife. Are you now willing to cast that aside for an ill-fated play at vengeance?"

Miserable, Richard folded against the wall, pressing his back to the stone. "God, no. It’s just "

"Son " Thomas’s hand slid from his shoulder to the back of his neck, slipping beneath the tousled waves of his long hair. "Don’t torture yourself with this. If you’re truly happy with Ilyssa, she deserves your whole heart not just part of it."

Richard frowned. Hadn’t he told her mere days ago she was his future? Hadn’t he decided to bury his memories of Rachel, along with the horror of her death? No matter happens, think of me. Had his enigmatic lover truly bewitched him touching him in some hidden part of his soul, he might never reclaim? "You’re right, or course," he told Thomas quietly. A weak smile flitted over his lips as he glanced at his father. "I sometimes lack for restraint, but I’ll make an effort to avoid the abbot."

Feeling an unexpected surge of warmth, Thomas slipped his arm around his son’s shoulders and tugged him close. "Thank you, Richard."

+++++

Lightning forked across the night sky, chasing dragon-fire to the torn edge of the horizon. Beyond the walls of Covington Cross the wind keened like a banshee. Buckling his sword belt over his leather jerkin, Richard gazed down on the sleeping form of his wife. Briefly, the chamber was illuminated by a blue-white conflagration, strung high in the heavens. Thunder rumbled ominously, breaking over the massive castle walls, then fading to stillness.

Leaning over the bed, Richard kissed his wife on the brow. "I do love you, Lyss, but I can’t carry this ghost any longer. Please try to understand."

Though she stirred only briefly, Ilyssa never awakened. Silent and liquid as the shadows around him, Richard slipped quietly from the room.

+++++

It was never his intent to harm the abbot just to look the man in the face and know he could continue, without the ulcerating wounds of hatred destroying him. By placing a face with the demon, Richard hoped to silence it forever.

Securing his horse from the stable, he vanished into the night as a witch storm battered the heavens above. The air was dry with no hint of rain, the clouds fast-moving and tattered. Though lightning continued to crease the sky, illuminating his path through Tiner, the thunder grew fickle and distant. Warm buffets of air lashed hair in his face, obscuring his vision. With gloved fingers he raked the clinging strands from his eyes. Two miles into the woods, he glimpsed indistinguishable shapes moving through the trees.

Pulling on his reins, Richard drew his horse to a halt. Squinting through the darkness, he attempted to discern shape from shadow. A brief flicker of lightning betrayed an apparition on horseback. Yet as quickly as the fiery light speared the sky, it vanished into black obscurity, draping the copse in a shroud of gloaming. Uncertain if the image was trick or reality, Richard moved slowly forward. The wind coiled around his neck, impishly scattering the long strands of his hair. Growing playful, it fondled his body with bold fingers. "Who’s there?" he called into the trees.

There was a burst of sound on his right. Turning he caught only a glimpse of a black shape exploding from the thicket. Something solid eclipsed his field of vision, lifting him from his horse, then sending him crashing to the earth. His wounded arm struck first, buckling beneath him. A sickening wave of pain washed through him, sending his senses into a chaotic reel.

Mercifully, the world went suddenly, utterly black.

+++++

"Cousin." The hand on his shoulder jarred him back to wakefulness. Blinking, Richard struggled to focus on Kenrick’s pinched face. His cousin was leaning forward, studying him acutely with crinkled eyes. Seeing he was awake, the blonde-haired man sat back on his haunches. "That was a nasty fall you took."

An image of a rider bursting from the trees resurfaced in Richard’s mind. For one startling moment of clarity, he saw Kenrick swinging a stout length of wood like a club. "It was you!" Richard spat. "You attacked me." Scrambling to get his feet under him, he stood much too quickly. The world see-sawed alarmingly, and he struck out a hand to brace himself against a tree. Fresh blood trickled from his reopened wound.

Amused by his clumsiness, Kenrick took a step backwards. "I couldn’t take any changes that you were still angry about what happened with Ilyssa," he said mildly.

"Lady Ilyssa," Richard snapped.

Kenrick tapped a finger against his lips. "Abbot Seward might be inclined to disagree with you."

"The Devil take Abbot Seward!"

"You’ll burn for blasphemy against the Church," a new voice inserted tartly. Richard swung about in time to see the demon of his nightmares emerge from the trees. Shrouded in black robes, the abbot had been all but invisible among the thick shadows and sheltering foliage. Now, his whey-colored face bobbed like a disembodied orb as he slithered nearer. Suspended around his neck, a thick metal chain bore a heavy silver cross like a shield of office.

Richard felt his stomach roil at the sight of one so defiled, brazenly proclaiming to be an emissary of God. Fighting for control, he curled his hands into fists. As the abbot came within inches of him, he glared at the shorter man, making no effort to conceal his hatred. "It’s not the Church I curse, just its messenger."

"Scum!" With surprising speed, the abbot struck him across the face. Incensed, Richard caught his wrist as it descended, skillfully spinning his arm behind his back. The abbot uttered a strangled cry of surprise. Before either man could move further, Kenrick drew his sword.

"Let him go, Richard." The tip of the blade hovered within inches of Richard’s face. With a bitter curse for his cousin, Richard flung the abbot against him. As Kenrick struggled to keep his footing, Richard drew his own sword. The beaten length of the blade glinted coldly as a rag-tag splinter of lightning severed the sky. Suddenly uneasy, Kenrick wet his lips. "I’m no match for you we both know it."

"Then put down your weapon."

Undecided, Kenrick glanced at the abbot. Richard’s arm was bleeding freely. In the brief flash, both men had seen a wet stain spreading over his arm. Streaks of blood ran down his sleeve black as ink in the gloaming; ruby-red when lightning illuminated the thicket.

"He’s injured," the abbot said to Kenrick. "It’s likely to negate any skill he might have."

Kenrick wet his lips. Three weeks ago he’d seen his young cousin take top honors in a tournament. Though he had no desire to cross swords with Richard, he didn’t wish to back down and concede defeat.

Sensing his indecision, Richard held his sword poised. "What business have you with this man, Kenrick?" he inquired, indicating the abbot with a tilt of his head. He held no qualms about fighting his deceitful cousin, but was astute enough to realize loss of blood gradually sapped his strength. In all likelihood, the match would go badly.

Kenrick’s glance sidled nervously to the abbot. "I agreed to lead him to Covington Cross."

"In the dark?" Richard challenged. "Why