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could open her door. She must present to him a cheerful face and as much bravado as she could muster.
    When the man stepped inside her chamber, she saw that he still wore his black hooded mask though he had doffed his huge cape, making him look a little more human than an avenging dark angel. Despite the morning’s chill air, the sleeves of his muslin shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing deeply tanned skin the color of acorns. Droplets of water dripped from his hands, indicating that he had just washed. Her gaze locked on to the slim dagger in a leather sheath that was strapped on his left forearm. She gulped.
    Glossy black hair curled from under his hood and a single golden loop winked in the light from his left earlobe. Around his neck, he sported a jaunty red neckerchief made from a piece of ragged silk that she had not noticed last night. The spot of bright color cheered Tonia a little, giving her the courage she desperately needed.
    She swepthim another low curtsy. “Good morrow, Master of Death.”
    He halted at her greeting. “Good morrow, my lady.” He crossed his arms over his chest but said nothing more.
    Does he expect an invitation to strangle me? Tonia’s taut-strung nerves almost made her titter at the idea. Two can play at this game. She folded her hands in a pose of tranquillity that was at odds with her true feelings, and waited. For several eternal minutes the two stared at each other across the width of the small room.
    Just when Tonia began to despair of this ploy, the executioner looked over her head at a spot on the bare wall and spoke. “’Tis daybreak, my lady,” he informed her in a low gruff tone.
    Please, dear Lord, soften this man’s heart. Tonia feigned indifference. “Truly? I cannot tell. The window is too narrow and high for me to see out.”
    “The sun has risen over the mountain,” he muttered, still not looking at her.
    Methinks he is as nervous as I am. She gave him a little smile. “I long to see that glorious sight just once more.”
    He pointed to her window. “Stand on the stool and look for yourself.”
    Tonia took a deep breath. “Is there a walkway that faces east?”
    He nodded once.
    “Gentleheadsman, pray escort me there that I may see the sun as a free person sees it and not through bars like a caged sparrow. ’Tis a little thing I ask.”
    He said nothing, nor did he move.
    Tonia braced herself in case he should suddenly spring at her and choke her before she could evade him. She was a Cavendish and would not easily yield up her life no matter what that piece of royal parchment decreed.
    When the silence between them had stretched to the breaking point, Tonia continued. “If you were me, wouldn’t you desire one last taste of freedom?”
    Finally he turned his masked face toward her and dropped his arms to his sides. “Aye, that I would.” He swung the door wider. “Come, then, lady, and look your last, but walk softly, the walls of Hawksnest are old and crumble easily.”
    Now she laughed aloud. “You are afraid that I will fall and break my neck before you have the chance to do it?”
    “The fall would frighten you, my lady” was his only reply. He held the door for her as if he were escorting her to a banquet instead of to her doom. As she passed him, he touched her elbow lightly. “To the left.”
    Her skin prickled at his touch.
    It was after nightfall when Tonia had been brought to this ruined fortress. Since then, she had never been allowed to leave her cell. As she walked toward the spiral staircase at the far end of the corridor, her spirits grew lighter with each step. She had not realized how much she had missed the fresh air and the warming rays of the sun until this moment. Savoring the morning’s light, she slowly mounted the winding stairs until they suddenly opened onto a parapet. As she stepped out onto the narrow walkway a strong arm around her waist checked her progress.
    Her maskedescort pointed to the deteriorating retainer