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at the thought. Internment in a convent was a common threat issued to wayward daughters. But Rose had heard favorable things about the church. In the service of the Lord, a woman might enjoy a great deal of freedom and, ‘twas rumored, aspire to great power.
    And what of the disadvantages? As far as she could see, there were only two—celibacy and boredom. After the abomination she’d witnessed in the stable, celibacy seemed desirable. As for boredom…
    She was still reflecting upon her future, absently stroking Wink, when her eye caught a flicker of silver from the darkest shadow in the deepest corner of the room.
    She hadn’t noticed the man before. His black cloak and dark leather chausses made him seem part of the smoke-seasoned timbers of the inn. Even now she couldn’t see him well. His eyes were hidden by the hood of his cloak, which revealed only the lower half of his face—a grim mouth and a square, black-stubbled jaw—and yet somehow she felt he watched her.
    A forbidding thrill shivered along her spine. She turned aside, raising her hand to her face so she could peer at the stranger in secret from behind her fingers.
    His boots extended beneath the table in a lazy, almost insolent manner, and except for occasionally running a single finger along the rim of his cup, he scarcely moved. But when he lifted his arm to drink, she saw it again—the glint of metal.
    Her heart bolted into her throat. He wore shackles. He was a criminal then. She’d heard about men like him, dangerous men who chose to go on pilgrimage as punishment for their crimes. She gulped. What might his villainy be? Theft? Adultery? Murder?
    Maybe going on a pilgrimage hadn’t been such a wise decision after all.
    But before she could change her mind, Father Peter clapped his hands together, calling for silence and summoning the pilgrims to draw near.
    She rose from the table, and when she dared look again, she saw the man in shackles had come to his feet and thrown back his hood.
    Her breath caught. He stood tall over most of the other pilgrims. The width of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest marked him as a man of uncommon strength. Candlelight illuminated the angled planes of his face, accentuating the hollow of his cheek and the depth of his brow. Dark hair slashed down in long, unruly locks over his forehead, shadowing his softly glimmering eyes.
    Rose swallowed a rough knot of fear as she glanced at the irons shackling his wrists, wondering if the length of heavy chain slung between the thick cuffs would hold.
    Father Peter spoke, issuing instructions for the pilgrimage, but she didn’t hear a word. All her attention was focused on the dark figure that seemed to reign over the room.
    He must have sensed her scrutiny, for in the next moment, he slowly turned his head until he stared at her as intently as she watched him. His brow furrowed, and his mouth hardened as he studied her in a bold, leisurely manner from head to toe. His gaze commanded her own, for try as she might, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.
    Yet ‘twas more than fear that held her. Something in his glittering eyes excited her, challenged her, aroused her. He was absolutely beautiful, sinfully so, she realized, more striking than any man she’d ever seen. But there was something terrible in his beauty, some dark secret that lodged within the handsome confines of his form.
    His eyes narrowed upon her for a long moment, as if they delved into her soul. Her heart raced, her breath grew shallow, her knees weakened. Overwhelmed by a mysterious, powerful shock she couldn’t name, she gripped the table to steady herself. When he finally looked away, so intrusive and lasting was the impact of his gaze that Rose felt as if she’d been violated.

CHAPTER 3
     
    Blade scowled in the direction of the priest, his heart pounding far too forcefully. That woman, the one with the half-blind falcon, had unsettled him. And he was unaccustomed to being