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livestock, directing the newly arriving towns-people to shelter, along with their children and animals.
    Vexation possessed him as he observed her dripping, wet hair, the sopping blue gown that fit her like a second skin, the shivers she couldn’t conceal. She looked small and vulnerable. “Fool woman,” he muttered, coming up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. He turned her toward the stone steps of the castle and gently guided her up, ignoring her objections all the way.
    “There is work to be done, my lord,” Siân protested as they moved through the hall to the castle stairs. “The people do not know where to go. Children are frightened and—”
    “You are going to catch your death,” Hugh interrupted, escorting her down the gallery where his own sleeping room was located. “Which of these is your chamber?”
    Siân stopped in her tracks, a single bleak wall sconce lighting her angry face. “You cannot bully me so, my lord.”
    “You need a keeper, my lady!” he said, raising his voice for the first time in recent memory.
    Shocked by his insult, Siân’s chin began to quiver. “I do not! ”
    “Then behave as if you do not!” Hugh bellowed with irritation. “Get out of those clothes!”
    “No!” Siân crossed her arms and stood toe-to-toe with him.
    “God’s Cross, woman, you try my patience,” Hugh said, exasperated. She’d also wrenched more emotion out of him than he’d allowed in the past two years. Annoyance, aggravation. An idiotic sense of protectiveness. “What could possibly be so difficult about changing into dry things?”
    She dropped her hands to her sides and glanced away self-consciously. Then she spoke truthfully. “I…I have no others.”
    “Surely you…” He let his words fade as he saw the truth in her wary eyes. “Nothing presentable?” he asked gruffly.
    She shook her head.
    Owen had arranged for two acceptable gowns to be made for his sister when she’d arrived in London, but had seen no need for any more since she was to be pledged to St. Ann’s. Siân would soon be wearing the rough, brown woolen tunic of the convent nuns, so any more fine gowns would be a waste of Owen’s rare and precious coin.
    Refusing to be thwarted, Hugh put his hand on Siân’s back and ushered her into his own room, kicking the door shut behind him. Siân, taken by surprise at first, began sputtering protests, but Hugh disregarded her words as he threw a few sticks on the smoldering fire. Then he pulled her over to the hearth where he turned her roughly and began untying the wet laces that fastened up the back of her bodice.
    “My lord!” Siân cried, trying to pull away from his touch—the very touch that sent strange and wild tendrilsof heat through her chilled body. “This is un-seemly! You cannot—”
    “I most certainly can,” Hugh said. “I’ve already saved your foolish life once today, I’ll not see you take ill and die of fever and let my efforts of this morn go to waste.”
    “Then I’ll find someone to help me,” she snapped. “Someone more… suitable! ”
    “Be still, Siân,” Hugh said, ignoring her. “These wet laces are the very devil to open and I have little time.”
    “I object, my lord!” she cried, his strong hands on her back making her tingle in agony. What kind of magic did the man possess to cause such feelings? Why had she never felt these strange sensations…this odd yearning before?
    It was awful! She had to get away from here, from him , before she was rendered incapable of rational thought, of movement, of escape. His touch was nothing like the soft, unwelcome pawing of the London dandies. The earl of Alldale acted with the potent certainty of a man. His was a bold and commanding touch, with strong hands honed in battle, and Siân could not help but wonder if there was any softness in him at all.
    “Your objection has been duly noted, my lady,” Hugh said as he released the final loop of the lace. The stiff, blue gown fell