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thinking of Hugh. The baron's breathing was low and deep, though an hour ago he had been straining and grunting over Isabel, punctuating his groans with murmurs of love and devotion.
    Love . A human weakness, easily confused with lust. And when it was true and fierce, as Robert's love for his wife was fierce, its strength was the perfect tool for destruction.
    She should have been taking this opportunity to enter his dreams, as she had the past few weeks, planting suggestions of Isabel's betrayal. Should have been sending erotic images of the young knight to the countess. Should have sought out Hugh's mind, suggested ambition and adultery.
    But she did not.
    The Chelmsford girl rolled in her sleep, pressing against Lilith's breasts. With a shove, Lilith pushed her off the pallet, biting her lips against a laugh when she heard the thump. She regretted it when she was forced to close her eyes and feign sleep as the girl crawled back into the bed and snuggled against her side, shivering, and she waited interminably for her to fall back into slumber.
    It was intolerable, having to live among them, pretending to sleep and eat when the food was tasteless, sleep impossible, and dreams far from her. She ached with boredom, reduced to staving it off with petty pleasures. Certainly, it had been relieved for a few moments during supper with Hugh, but now it fell upon her again like a hair shirt, itching and scratching until she thought she might scream from inactivity.
    Finally, unable to bear it a moment longer, she slipped from the bed.
    The floor was freezing beneath her bare feet, but she paid no attention, focusing on the sounds outside the castle. Mandeville had assigned Hugh to castle guard, and she doubted the seneschal would have given him a cozy spot within the keep or the newly built garrison at the front gate.
    She stepped silently through the hall, avoiding the benches topped with sleeping knights and servants. A couple rutted in the shadows of the spiral stairwell, and she gave them barely a glance as she passed them.
    The curtain wall surrounding the inner bailey still held evidence of John's siege; though d'Aulnoy had begun repairs and added fortifications, the masonry was patterned with jagged holes and uneven pilings. A half-moon shed pale light across the scene, though she did not need it to illuminate her way. She waited a moment, sniffing the air, until a thread of scent led her to the tower that joined the south and west walls. She climbed the stairs and found Hugh asleep, his back against the parapet, his chin hanging against his chest. His helm lay next to him, and he'd wrapped his arms around himself as if cold mail could warm him.
    He stirred. She had formed no real plan when she'd sought him, and she had but a moment to decide to appear as Marie or Isabel—and though sense and purpose demanded Isabel, her vanity overwhelmed them and she remained Marie.
    Hugh looked up, scrubbing his hands over his face and squinting against the darkness. She knew the moment he saw her. He rose awkwardly to his feet, still half-asleep, his arms and legs at odds with his intention to stand.
    "And this is how you guard your lord and his lady?" she chided, and though her tone was light, he flushed. She sent the heavens an exasperated sigh. "Truly, I don't care should the walls fall down around them."
    Hugh smiled drowsily. Tapping his heel against the battered stone, he said," 'Tis possible they will."
    She pretended to examine them. "They would not even hold a man tied."
    "Is that why you ventured into the cold night?" He gave a short laugh and hunkered down again, as if respect to a lady must only go so far against frigid air, and rubbed his hands together. "Sir William has a much more comfortable alcove than I."
    "I could warm you." She caught his hands in hers, held them clasped between her palms. His shivers eased as her heat enveloped him.
    "Aye, my lady," he said. For a moment she thought he was agreeing to something more,