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into beads. See there.” She
pointed to a length of linen spread in the sun, dotted with
perfect, round beads.
    To her surprise, he reached into a leather
pouch that hung from his tunic and pulled out the prayer beads
she’d left with him before. “You’ve become more skilled in these
last years.”
    “Aye.”
    She was surprised again when he hunkered
down to sit next to her on the log bench. Now, his face was nearly
on level with hers, and his nearness even more overpowering.
Strength, warmth, intensity vibrated from his person—yet his eyes
and his countenance remained cold and bleak. Madelyne had the
sudden urge, so odd at this moment when he threatened her peace and
well-being, to touch his face, to learn whether it was as
unyielding as it appeared. She curled her fingers into themselves
and willed her foolishness not to betray her.
    “Why did you trick me? Why did you not allow
us to leave with some dignity?”
    She swallowed. ’Twas no surprise that a man
of his power should be angered at such deceit. Using one of the
flat spoons, she scooped up a small portion of the black stew and
began to roll it into the shape of a ball as she chose her words to
respond.
    Gavin watched how her fine hands manipulated
the paddles, noticing again the three freckles that decorated one
narrow wrist. Her head was bent, and the edge of its veil
obstructed much of the expression on her face, though he could see
the length of long, thick lashes as she blinked. She had shown no
surprise at his presence, nor mistrust, he thought. How could that
be?
    “We sought only to protect ourselves.”
    Her words, when they came, were as even and
calm as the rhythm of her breathing. She looked at him, and he saw
nothing but the gray depths of her eyes, clear and without deceit,
without fear. For a fleeting moment, he wondered when last a woman
had looked upon him without fear…and with such guilelessness. She
had naught to hide, it seemed…but he knew that could not be so.
    “Forgive us for acting in such a manner,”
she continued, “but, my lord, we did what we thought best.”
    “You removed us from the abbey so that we
couldn’t find our way here again, yet you aren’t disturbed at my
presence.”
    She blinked, and he could see the faintest
movement of her lips as they tightened in the first indication of
uneasiness. “’Tis true, I wish that you hadn’t found your way back
to the abbey…but now you are here, and there is naught I can do.
Your presence portends little good for me, but I prithee…do you not
hurt my sisters.”
    “I mean harm to none here at Lock Rose
Abbey,” Gavin replied. “I merely come in the king’s name.”
    “The king? What has he to do with those of
us here?” Confusion passed over her face, and she allowed the
black-stained paddles to drop into the stew pot.
    “His royal majesty, King Henry, demands the
presence of Madelyne de Belgrume at his court.” His words were more
formal than necessary, and he spoke them distinctly and with a hint
of threat to be certain she understood the gravity of the
situation. “I have been appointed to bring you to him.”
    She remained silent, and Gavin waited
impatiently for her outraged response. When she said nothing, he
prodded her. “You do not deny that you are Madelyne de Belgrume,
daughter of Fantin de Belgrume, Lord of Tricourten?”
    “Nay.” The breath she expelled was silent,
but of such force that he felt its warmth on his face.
    “Then you know you must come with me.”
    “Aye.”
    Gavin was caught by the clear steadiness of
her eyes, and then they were shuttered as she lowered her lids. She
took away the cloth that had rested on her lap, protecting her
gown, and set it on the ground. There seemed to be little more to
say.
    Made a bit uncertain by the ease of her
acquiescence, Gavin rose to his feet and extended a hand to assist
her to hers.
    Madelyne reached for it, then stopped, and,
dropping her hand back to her side, pulled to her own feet. “I