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standing in the center of the hall, her golden mass of hair caught in the shapeless confines of her cap, looking more self-possessed than any of those who stumbled around her. Only her eyes had lacked certainty. They had locked on him as if his will could determine the very direction of her thoughts. The vision made him uneasy. Would she flee, or would she heed his warnings? Stumbling across her father had been a stroke of fate. He had searched for her too long to lose her now.
    Alise moaned against his lips as her teasing fingertips glided over his hip and downward with practiced skill. Groaning his surrender, he dragged the wimple from her head. Her hair came spilling out in a pale cloud around their faces.
    Rowena awoke with a firm hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled for consciousness through a groggy haze and reached for her knife. Her hand came up empty. A rough hand plunged inside her overtunic.
    "If you are a lad, sweet squire, then I am a vestal virgin," came a hoarse whisper against her ear.
    The fire had died to embers, leaving her attacker's face in shadow. His wandering hand slid downward outside the coarse braies and clamped between her legs. Panic sliced through the last vestiges of sleep, and Rowena struck out in earnest. The man's cry of triumph was cut short as her fist connected smartly with his smooth chin.
    He caught her wrist and wrenched it. "Damn you, wench. You may fight like a lad, but I swear I'll make you glad you're not one before this night is done."
    A heated breath of ale filled her nostrils. Wet, greedy lips closed on hers. Rowena drove her knee toward his groin but found only air as a shadow fell over them and the man's weight vanished. She sat up, struggling to catch her breath. Her cap fell off, freeing her golden hair to tumble over her face. She tossed it back from her eyes to find her host, Sir Blaine, slammed against the wall with Gareth's misericord pressed to his throat.
    Blaine shrugged as well as he could in his awkward position. "What did you expect, my friend? Did you think me so drunk as to believe her a lad? That mouth may have been fashioned by heaven to service a knight, but not as a squire."
    Rowena touched her lips. They felt hot and swollen.
    Gareth's gauntlets were gone. The muscles of his forearm knotted beneath dark curling hairs. "The lady is not to be troubled." The small dagger in his hand did not waver.
    Blaine's eyes narrowed. "If you cannot offer this…
lady
any more protection than leaving her unattended in my hall, how can you dare reproach me for offering her my protection?"
    "You were offering her more than your protection. If you find my care lacking, old friend, mayhaps you would care to challenge me to a joust."
    Blaine looked away from Gareth's steady gaze. A muscle in his cheek twitched.
    Gareth's smile held little humor. "I thought not." He loosed Blaine and sheathed the dagger. "Now be a good drunken boy and find your bed. I fear I had to disappoint Alise. Perhaps she will consent to soothe your wounded pride."
    Blaine forced a rueful smile and rubbed his chin. "I suggest you armor yourself ere you take this chit abovestairs. She tosses a nasty punch."
    "I know. I saw."
    Gareth pulled Rowena to her feet. She had no choice but to follow him. She glanced back to find Blaine staring after them, his smile gone and his eyes smoldering with an emotion far deeper than annoyance.
Chapter Three
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    The climb up the stairs was far too brief. Before she knew it, Rowena found herself in the middle of a modest bedchamber, twisting her cap in her hands as a heavy door slammed behind her. Would this night never end? She tried not to tremble as Gareth's knuckles trailed gently over her cheek.
    "Did he hurt you?"
    She shook her head, exhaustion making her honest. "Have you brought me here to paw me yourself?"
    He turned away with a disparaging laugh. "God forbid. I've no taste for dirty little moor urchins."
    Rowena opened her mouth to protest that she