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right.”
    “I am, Sybil. But we cannot delay any longer.”
    “But—where would we go?”
    “It does not matter! Perhaps to York. Oh, don’t you see? I would free you of thisNorman’s yoke—I would free us . Now hurry. By the time they awaken, we must be long gone.”
    Hope flared in Sybil’s dark eyes. She nodded. “They took most of my belongings,” she said quickly, “but I managed to hide several trinkets in my pallet. If we can spare but a moment, I will fetch them. We may need to barter them later.”
    Together they hurried down the narrow, winding stairway. Most of the servants were long since abed. Sybil weaved her way to the back of the damp, dank room toward her pallet. While she hunted for her treasures, Alana waited in the passageway outside.
    Soon she appeared. “I am ready,” she announced breathlessly.
    Alana tugged her forward. “You lead the way,” she whispered. “You know the keep better than I.”
    The hall was dark and shadowed; the last embers of the fire burned low. Those within slept the sleep of the dead. Still, Alana cast a worried eye over her shoulder. Luck was with them, for no one followed. Her heart pounded. Her breathing hastened. The wide arched doorway to the yard was but a few paces distant. They were almost there…
    All at once Sybil stopped short. Alana caught herself from barreling into her in the nick of time. She made a sound of dismay. “Sybil, do not stop! We must hurry—”
    “I think not, Saxon. Nay, I think the two ofyou will go nowhere this night—or any other night, for that matter.”
    Alana froze. The beat of her heart grew silent and still. Bitterly she bit back a cry of frustration. God in heaven, it was him—Merrick!
    He filled the doorway, his booted feet braced wide. Bareheaded though he was, the top of his head nearly touched the timbers. Alana’s mouth went dry as parchment. His eyes were steely blue and glittering; it was as if the very fires of Hades leaped within their depths.
    “I am curious, ladies. Whose plan was this?”
    Sybil was only too willing to give up her sister. “’Twas her idea, milord. I would never have done so were it not for her!”
    “She is right,” Alana said quickly. “Do not blame her.”
    His lips tightened to a thin line. He spoke but one word to Sybil. “Go.”
    Sybil fled as if the hounds of Hell snapped at her heels. Though Alana longed to fly along with her, she remained where she was, secretly quaking inside. She had tried to escape him, and no doubt Merrick would not take such a thing lightly.
    “So. You brew trouble already. Tell me, did you truly think to flee?”
    The mildness of his tone did not hide his anger. Alana’s chin climbed high. By God, she would show no fear, not before him, nor any other Norman.
    “Yes!”
    “You could flee to the ends of the earth, and I would find you, Saxon.”
    “And what then, Norman?”
    His eyes darkened. “And then,” he stated grimly, “you would wish that I had not.”
    A chill ran through her. Alana did not doubt it. His tone, like his expression, was utterly unyielding.
    In that instant, she hated him as she had never hated anyone, for his arrogance knew no bounds. “I tell you now, Norman, I will not grovel and beg for mercy, for I know you would have none!”
    “Mercy?” His tone was cutting. “Lady, you live. Your sister lives. There are many among your people who live. Only those who raised their blades against us died. And I tell you, Saxon, that your fate—and your sister’s—could be far worse. You might find yourself beneath a master far more cruel than I.”
    When Alana made no reply, he smiled tightly. “Your eyes smolder, Saxon. If you could slay me with them, I do believe I would even now lie cold in my grave. ’Tis a good thing you no longer have your dagger.”
    A surge of recklessness shot through her. “Then know this, Norman. You stole my dagger but I am also well skilled with bow and arrow.”
    He merely inclined his dark head.