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had been swimming in her clothes only that afternoon, then snapped it shut. If the sweet, pure dirt of the moor would protect her from the attentions of
honorable
knights like Sir Gareth and his friends, she would give up bathing altogether.
    Gareth turned his back to her and drew his tunic over his head. A web of pale scars crisscrossed his broad shoulders. Rowena wondered which scar should have belonged to the king.
    " 'Tis no wonder," she murmured. "You've challenged everyone but me to a tournament this eve."
    Gareth turned on her, his eyes bright. Dark, curling hair furred his chest. His lips quirked upward in what might have seemed amusement in a less guarded man. Rowena realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud. She sank down on the woven rug beside the bed and nervously began to braid her hair.
    The feather mattress shifted as he lay his solid weight on it. His dark head appeared over the edge of the bed. "No one accepted my challenge, did they?"
    "Are you that good?"
    He threw his weight back on the bed. She took his grunt to be one of assent. Realizing that she was tying her hair in knots, she abandoned the braids, longing for Little Freddie's competent hands. She lay back and hugged her overtunic around her, missing the musty warmth of the hound in the hall. Overwhelmed by the weight of the day, her tired eyes fluttered shut. She sensed a shadow fall over her.
    Gareth loomed above, and Rowena's breath caught in her throat. She waited for his strong hand to cover her mouth, his smooth lips to clamp down on hers in demand. Instead, a coverlet fell on her chest. His misericord thumped to a halt on top of it.
    "If anyone else attempts you tonight—including me—gut him."
    Her unblinking blue eyes met his dark gaze. The bed creaked again. She waited in silence for the sound of steady breathing that would tell her he slept. It did not come. She curled up on her side, her hand clenched around the hilt of the tiny dagger.
    Rowena awoke to a sun-warmed and empty chamber. She uncurled her stiff back and stood, rubbing her eyes. The goose-down coverlet slid around her ankles. The rumpled tick on the deserted bed was its only sign of recent occupancy. She glanced around guiltily, then threw herself on the feather mattress with a sigh. The bed frames at Revelwood had been sold long ago,leaving only moldy heaps of straw in the hall for all to share. She rolled over, burrowing her face in the luxuriant softness. Her body fit neatly into the larger imprint of the man who had slept there. She breathed in a scent of leather, deeper and more evocative than the smell of old feathers. She flopped to her back and bounced up and down, giggling with delight. The timber frame creaked a shrill complaint, but Rowena was still gleefully bouncing when the door flew open.
    Gareth stood in the doorway, a pair of dripping chausses draped over one arm. Rowena froze, though the bed kept reverberating for an excruciating minute. Gareth's face revealed nothing, yet for the first time in her life, Rowena wondered what she looked like. The hand she raised to her hair found it half braided and half matted around her face.
    She grinned weakly. "Good morn, sir. I was awaiting your pleasure."
    He lifted an eyebrow and Rowena bit her tongue. He shut the door.
    "As your squire, I meant, kind sir." She casually sidled off the bed. "I was awaiting your pleasure as your squire this morn to learn how I might best serve you." Rowena winced and pondered taking a vow of silence. She started for the coverlet, but his tall form blocked her path.
    "My dagger, please." He held out a broad palm.
    "I was just going to fetch it."
    " 'Tis what I feared."
    He stepped back a few scant inches, forcing her hip to brush against his thighs as she bent and scavenged through the blanket folds for the dagger. She slapped the hilt into his palm and stepped back. He tucked the jeweled weapon into his boot and bent to gather his scant belongings.
    "You will find a tub in the chamber