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higher, her hand clenched, white-knuckled, on the hilt of her blade. “An exchange of warriors. Four of your best men for me.”
    “ Four of my men?”
    “Aye.” Her brow arched, and a shock went through him. ’Twas the same expression she’d made at him countless times in their magic circle. So long ago, when they’d still loved each other…
    “I am my people’s leader in battle,” she continued, seemingly unaware of her effect on him. “Equal to you, at the least. But then, if the trade was you for me, it would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” She lifted her brow a little higher, sending that stabbing ache of longing into his heart again.
    He swallowed. “I suppose it would.”
    “If we agree on this, then when I am returned to my people, your men will be restored to you in like condition.”
    He was readying to reject her offer when Cedric stepped forward. “Allow me to go, my lord,” he said. He was followed by Gareth, Bryan, Kevyn, and another half score of his men, each boldly asserting their willingness to participate in the trade that would allow their leader to bring home the Dark Legend.
    Speechless for a moment, Aidan viewed them, pride filling him. This could well be a fatal mission, and they all knew it—none better than Aidan himself. The trade might stop the Dark Legend, but only temporarily; his duty to King Henry would remain. And by the terms Gwynne suggested, if she wasn’t given back to the Welsh alive and well at the end of their agreement, his men would be unmercifully slaughtered by their Welsh captors.
    An idea that had flickered to life as he’d led his forces into Welsh territory bloomed in full now. ’Twas possible,he supposed. It would mean complicating his life, but he could do no less with his men’s safety hanging in the balance.
    And three months was a fair amount of time…
    “Very well,” he said, finally. “I accept your terms. Four of my men for you.”
    “Nay,” Marrok called out before Gwynne could answer him. “She must be allowed two of her teulu , her bodyguards, to accompany her, or she does not go at all.”
    “Then I’ll be trading you four for three,” Aidan said.
    “So be it,” Marrok growled, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring Gwynne’s glare.
    “Well, Gwynne? What say you?” Aidan directed a pointed look to her.
    She paused, tight-lipped, for a moment, before jerking her head once. “Agreed. Let’s get on with it, then.”
    With a grimace she sheathed her sword; the Welsh reluctantly followed suit, as did Aidan’s men. In the end, Cedric, Bryan, Edward, and Gareth crossed to the Welsh side, while Gwynne came over to the English, accompanied by a seasoned-looking warrior named Dafydd, and a younger man she called Owin. Marrok walked over with her as well, pulling away to approach Aidan. He stopped to stand face to face with him, for a moment just studying him, seeming oblivious to the activity around them.
    “Before you leave, know this, Englishman,” Marrok finally said, his voice as unflinching as the stony set of his jaw. “If you go back on your word—if anything happens to Chwedl in your keeping—I swear to you on my last breath that I will hunt you down and drain the life from you drop by drop. Do not mistake me.”
    “And do not mistake me, old man,” Aidan answered evenly. “I live by my honor and my word. ’Tis not I who pillage homes and kidnap unsuspecting young women.You’d do well to remember that. Gwynne has nothing to fear from me.”
    Marrok didn’t answer, only staring at Aidan for a moment more before making a noise in his throat and moving away to have a few final words with Gwynne.
    Kevyn came up next to Aidan, handing him his helm and leaning in to talk with him as the others around them finished preparations for their departure.
    “Christ’s blood, I can’t believe ’tis really her. But even so, what in hell were you thinking to publicly claim a betrothal with her?” he asked quietly.