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his gray-flecked black hair.
    “What is this hold Miriam has on you?”
    He was stunned at the words, feeling a humiliating flush he hoped Isaac’s keen eye wouldn’t discern in the bright sunlight. “Isaac, I —”
    “Just tell me, damn you! I’ve already said enough to get me hanged if you decide to wag your tongue about me. I want to know what this harpy has on you, so we can figure out a way around it.”
    Clayton felt a surge of admiration for his friend. He knew Isaac hadn’t a clue what he was in for in crossing blades with the Westwood family, but he knew his friend would be at his side no matter the cost. He blew out a breath, and dismounted. He paced for a minute, Isaac watching him in silence. “She and I — before Elizabeth — were involved.”
    “Gods,” Isaac muttered, shaking his head.
    “Miriam wasn’t the way she is now. She was fair, even sweet, at times.” Clayton gazed across the broad field stretching out in the valley below. “But something’s happened to her over the years. Her heart is as black as night now.”
    “What does she want from you?”
    “That’s the trick isn’t it? I’m not really sure.”
    “You’re lying. What was it you just told me about not pissing about?”
    Clayton scowled at his friend. “She wants … me.”
    “So if you lay with her, she’ll let your daughter free? What’s so hard about that choice?”
    He turned on his friend, rage surging through him. “So, you think I should just fuck her and be done with it? Just like that, eh?”
    “Clayton, wait.” Isaac held up a hand.
    “That’s the perfect plan isn’t it, Isaac? Listen to the woman who paraded her wares in front of me any chance she got? Even in front of my own wife? The same woman who’d constantly sent me missives inviting me to lay with her, as if my marriage were a mere inconvenience to be worked around? Should I give in to the woman who asked me to her bed before Elizabeth’s body was even cool ? The same woman who could absolutely crush me if she so chose? What if I did, and she wanted more? What then? You haven’t seen what goes on at Westwood, Isaac —but I have. Her soul is corrupt, sick.”
    “Stop, I didn’t mean to anger you. We need to talk rationally about this.”
    “I am talking rationally, Isaac!” he said, beating his chest with a hand. “The problem is you aren’t listening! She has me right where she wants me, and we both know it. Nothing short of armed confrontation is going to change that.”
    Isaac’s gaze locked with Clayton’s. “Then let us talk about that.”
    “You daft prick. She has more men at arms in her goddamned bodyguard corps, than all the farm militia in the valley combined.”
    “What about the Korsgaards? There’s no love lost for the Westwoods there I can tell you.”
    Clayton shook his head. “Max Korsgaard is on the Frontier, so he can’t very well help us here, even if he were so inclined! The captain that Max left in command of the Korsgaard garrison is as cowardly as he is incompetent. Without Max, there won’t be anyone to lead their men.”
    “The Holstenborgs, then?”
    Clayton grunted. “Dirk Holstenborg would be a possibility, yes. There is a small problem though. His wife Sandra is perhaps the closest friend Miriam has. He’d have no choice but to sit it out, and his snake of a wife would likely find out beforehand anyway. No luck there.”
    Isaac dismounted from his horse, and walked to his friend. He clasped Clayton’s shoulders in a strong grip, a grim smile on his face. “Then let’s talk about how we do this my way.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Westwood Manor
     
    “W hat’s she done to deserve this, Miriam?” Sandra, her rouged lips pursed, glanced over at her friend.
    Miriam strolled over from her great mirror and stood close to her friend, Miriam’s shapely dark-haired form a pleasing visual contrast to the slender fair figure of the Countess.
    “Oh, she still has this silly idea