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“A warning,” he acknowledged coolly. “Well, here is one for you, Saxon. I will tolerate no further attempts to escape me. Should that occur, I promise—nay, I vow you will regret it.”
    Alana bristled. Damn his Norman hide! If he meant to kill her, why did he prolong her torment?
    “Damn you,” she said fervently. “Why couldn’t you have stayed in Normandy? If not for you, my father might still be alive!”
    His jaw clamped tight. “I understand that you mourn him, Saxon, yet many of my people died as well. All is not as it was before, and it will never be so again. ’Tis just as I told you this morn. We are the conquerors and you the conquered. That is the way of the world, and the ways of men. You must accept us or risk more bloodshed.”
    “Accept you? Never!” she cried. “So if you would kill me, then do it now!”
    He laughed as if she’d said something vastly amusing. “I think not, Saxon, for we are not finished, you and I. And I can think of many more pleasurable things to do to you than kill you.”
    He moved then, walking in a slow circle around and around her, until at last he stood before her. They were so close— too close. Her heart leaped wildly as he stood there unmoving. And all the while his eyes took brazen liberties no other man had dared. It was as if he stripped her utterly bare…
    A horrified inevitability filled her mind. She knew then, she knew what he intended…When next he touched her, it would not be with just the stroke of his eyes. Nay, ’twould be with the power of his hands.
    Her own had grown icy cold. Hiding them in her skirts, she swallowed a sick feeling. Somehow she managed to force words pastthe stranglehold in her throat. “Please,” she whispered. “What do you want of me?”
    He smiled as if he knew her every thought, her every fear. “I think you already know, Saxon.”
    Her fingers clutched her skirts. “Nay,” she said faintly. “You cannot—”
    That devil’s smile widened ever so slightly. “But I can,” he said softly, “for I have claimed Brynwald Keep. I claim all that Kerwain once held. And now…now I will claim you, Saxon.”

Chapter 4
    H e was angry, and fiercely so. Alana sensed it with all she possessed. And though he hid it well, she knew that he despised her. What was it Raoul had said? His grating voice echoed in her mind. Endowed like an ox—and with the stamina of one…
    Waves of alarm shot through her. Icy fingers of dread crawled up her spine. To lie with this fierce, angry Norman…He would not be gentle. She could still feel the imprint of his body hard and heavy upon hers. Images of Hawise, bleeding and broken, flashed through her mind. How could she stand it…
    Yet how could she stop him?
    To run would be futile. Her first two attempts had taught her so. Yet what choice did she have?
    She spun around and bolted. But he was quick, so agile he caught her easily, his arm hard and strong as he whirled her around.
    Alana’s cry was a blistering curse. “Leave me be, you cursed Norman!” Her fists flashedout toward his chest, but she struck not a single blow. Instead she felt herself tossed upon one broad shoulder like a sack of grain. He strode forward, taking the winding stairway abovestairs two at a time. Alana’s head whirled; his shoulder drove the very breath from her lungs with every step. She was giddy and light-headed when at last she was lowered to her feet once more. Blindly she flung out a hand to steady herself. Not until her fingers closed around masculine, hair-roughened forearms did she realize she had reached for him—her tormentor yet! She snatched her hands back as if she’d been burned.
    His laughter stung. Straightening her spine, she glared at him, then deliberately turned her face aside. A huge bed strewn with furs dominated the opposite wall. A dull shield and wicked looking sword lay propped in the corner. The chamber was utterly masculine…utterly his. With a sinking flutter she realized he had