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reflecting the falling afternoon sun. Some kind of tower pressed into the sky. She swallowed her fear and pulled her shoulders back. With her nose pointed into the air, she sat the horse and imagined their arrival at the castle behind those gray blocks.
    Would Baron deShay be waiting for her? Would tonight see the end of the maiden, Rhianna Ap Brynn Ffrydd? She closed her eyes and murmured a quick prayer.
    They traveled on. The road twisted and turned as they climbed the hill to the town. As they drew nearer to the top, she could not still her pounding heart. A deep ditch surrounded the place and tall gray stones rose to protect those within. Suddenly, she realized what she viewed was not a town at all, but rather, the curtain walls of the keep.
    With each step the horse took, she felt those gray blocks reach out to ensnare her. She stared at the home of the Baron of Knockin and tensed with dread.
    She had expected something constructed of wood, something like her own keep, something from which she could escape. Not a prison made of stone.
    Tipping her head back, she gazed up at the curtain of gray. Knockin was huge, beyond all comprehension. A tower guarded one corner and as they approached, an enormous gatehouse rose from the stone. She stared at the cavernous opening, black against the gray. It looked like the mouth of a monstrous serpent, waiting to devour her.
    She kept her eyes fastened on that gatehouse, barely aware of crossing the wooden bridge that linked the road with the building itself. Then, they rode into the bailey.
    The babble of castle folk penetrated her uneasiness. She glanced around the courtyard. Her natural curiosity took hold and she gazed at a hundred people gathered around the returning knights and foot soldiers. Waiting wives and sisters clamored around them. Twice Lydon shifted his charger to make way for a running, laughing woman.
    Against the confusion, Rhianna searched for her brother’s cherished face. She could not afford to lose Arthur, not with the unknown before her. Then, abruptly, she found herself lowered to the ground. Lydon followed her from the saddle.
    “Nay,” she pulled against his hand, but with a nudge to her waist, he urged her up the steps leading toward enormous wooden doors. She struggled against him but she was no match for his strength.
    Rhianna gazed over the milling soldiers before Lydon pushed her into the great hall. Even here chaos reigned. Knights shouted to squires, and the clang of metal against metal served as a counterpoint to the din. She shook her head to lessen the conflict. For a fraction of a second, she let Lydon draw her toward the dais.
    In a high-backed chair sat Garrett deShay, his light brown hair shimmering golden in the glow of a thousand candles. Her heart bumped against her ribs. She yanked against the hand that held her.
    “Nay,” she whispered.
    Just the sight of the man as master held her entranced. Panic, she told herself, and hate. She forced herself to look away from him.
    The candles registered in her flustered brain. One thought alone slipped past the loathsome noise and the alarm that threatened to well up and destroy her. This man must be as wealthy as the King of England himself, to burn all of those candles.
    She knew she wasn’t ready to confront the lord of the castle, not in his own den.
    Just for the moment it seemed infinitely wiser to view the room than the master. She stared at the sight before her. But, similarities existed between the two.
    The room was like the man, massive. At one end she stared at a hole in the wall. The pile of cinders told of the many fires built in that place. She glanced around and noticed the room had no fire hole like her keep.
    Several tall, narrow chairs stood close to the hole where the fire must burn, so the occupants could enjoy the warming heat from the comfort of a chair. She shook her head and continued her study.
    Above her, heavy oak timbers bore the names of England’s kings and