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released her. “I thank you for your concern, Sir Knight, but I must return to my chamber.”
    He inclined his head. “Good day, my lady.”
    At the door, she paused. “When do you depart Wulfen, Sir Matthew?”
    “Less than a fortnight.”
    For some reason, the prospect that it was not sooner was not displeasing to her. “Should you be present when next I seek the chapel, I but ask that you not delay in making your presence known.”
    His eyebrows rose. “I give you my word.”
    There was that movement again. Wishing it away, she swept the hood over her head and pulled the door open.
    Long after her departure, Christian remained unmoving. Though he could not be certain, he had sensed the lady felt something not unlike the attraction that had surprised him when he had touched her and stood so near. Was it possible she had not truly given her heart to another? That it might yet be claimed?
    In the next instant, he rejected such thinking. He did not seek nor require Gaenor Wulfrith’s heart. He wanted an end to the feuding between his family and the Wulfriths. He wanted children and a wife who neither feared nor loathed him. And now that he had met and spoken with his betrothed, it seemed possible he might gain all he sought—providing his deception did not upset everything. But there was time aplenty to reveal himself and make amends. Time during which he would not only continue to better his sword skill, but meet again with Lady Gaenor.
    He looked over his shoulder at the slant of light coming through the eastern window. As it was another hour before he and Sir Everard returned to the darkened cellar, he considered remaining here and seeking God as he knew he must do. He wavered and, in the end, silently vowed he would seek God another day.
     
    S he did not understand it—did not know why it was no longer mere monotony and curiosity that drew her to her window to watch for Abel and his student. More, she did not understand the sense of loss when, for the second day, they did not appear.
    She should not care, should proceed with her unending day the same as she did every day. But something kept her at the window, and she knew what it was. Despite Sir Matthew’s offense of stealing upon her, she was drawn to him.
    She recalled his gold-flecked eyes that looked at her as if he truly wished to know who dwelt within; saw those same eyes waver when she flung contempt at him, and in the next instant warm upon her; saw his mouth tighten with impatience, then tuck up as if to smile; heard the ebb and flow of his deep voice that made her skin prick; felt his hand on her that had been firm, yet gentle; felt the pull in the space between them that had made her long to fill it.
    She shook her head. She was not attracted to the knight. Could not possibly feel anything for a man she did not know beyond his discomfiting interest in her plight. More, it was another for whom she felt. And though her dream was hopeless, it was surely betrayal to feel anything for another man. Even if only attraction.
    Gaenor groaned. She had felt something for Sir Matthew—something familiar, yet unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, for it was as if he had also felt it, unlike…
    “Durand,” she whispered the name of the knight who felt naught for her despite what had gone between them.
    Awash in shame, she silently vowed she would not return to the chapel until Sir Matthew left Wulfen a fortnight hence. Though she was surely mistaken in thinking he was attracted to her, if it was true, naught could come of it but more pain.
    Less than a fortnight ere he departs, she told herself, only to realize she would also be gone from Wulfen. And that hardly bore thinking on, as it was then she would meet her betrothed on the occasion of Beatrix’s wedding.
    Resolved to remaining in her chamber and praying for the strength to accept her fate, she pressed her shoulders back, crossed to the bed, and lowered to her knees.

CHAPTER FOUR
    L ady Gaenor had not returned.