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face. “…your injuries.”
    They were not much more than scratches. “Aye, though your brother is not without his own injuries.”
    She arched an eyebrow. “Far fewer, I wager.”
    Twinged that his man’s pride had caused him to point out that he was not an unworthy opponent, he said, “That wager you win, my lady.”
    “Then I have but to name my prize, Sir Knight?” Her playful unguardedness surprised not only him, but her, as evidenced by the startle in her eyes.
    Captivated, Christian took a risk he knew he should not and moved nearer. He laid a hand over hers. “Name it, my lady.”
    She stared at his fingers covering hers, then made a small, strangled sound and stood. “’Tis time I return to my chamber.”
    Silently berating himself for not heeding the voice of caution, Christian stood to watch her go.
    Upon reaching the back of the chapel, she looked around, but there was no anger in her eyes. “I should not ask, but I would have you come again on the morrow.”
    Once more surprised by this woman who seemed less and less a shrew, Christian said, “I shall be here, my lady.”
    When she had gone, the solitude of the chapel closed around Christian, and once again he felt the weight of his deception and knew that the longer he denied his conscience, the harder it would be to tell Gaenor the truth. He would, but not now when he was just beginning to know her. However, it would have to be done before he left Wulfen, else she would be shaken at her sister’s wedding, and that portended ill.
    In a sennight, then. Seven days to learn the woman who was to be his wife. Seven days for her to learn the man who was to be her husband.
     
    S he should not have gone, should have stayed away as she had vowed she would. But after three days of pacing her chamber, she had ventured to the chapel. And would do so again. Though she had told herself it was the many months of near solitude that had made her seek out Sir Matthew, it was more than that.
    On the stairs to her chamber, she halted. What had possessed her to make light with the knight? Despite Beatrix’s attempts to influence her older sister to behave less severely, Lady Gaenor Wulfrith was not one disposed to such absurdity as her sister had sought to pull from her. And yet, with little more than a prompt from Sir Matthew, she had teasingly inquired after her prize. One moment she was appalled by her brazen response, the next shocked when he acted upon it. Remembering the warmth of his hand, she shuddered.
    Betrayal, a voice warned. Your woman’s heart cannot be two places at once, especially not with a man of whom you know so little. But neither could it be with a man whose heart lay so distant from hers—at least, it should not be, she reminded herself as she had often done since her arrival at Wulfen.
    She remembered her first month here. For those few weeks, there had been hope of deliverance from marriage to Baron Lavonne, even though it would have been by scandalous means, but she could have borne the taint and shame had it meant the baron would reject her—and he surely would have, regardless of the king’s decree. However, God had denied her as he denied her almost everything for which she prayed, including relief from the unexpected turmoil that had arisen from her first meeting with Sir Matthew.
    What did God want from her? As her marriage to Lavonne was inevitable, why did He place another man in her path? To test her? She, who had been tested more than she cared to acknowledge?
    She gripped her forehead. If only He would clear her mind of the knight in the chapel that she might ready herself for her meeting with Christian Lavonne. Instead, He cruelly allowed her a glimpse of yet one more thing forbidden her. And perhaps forbidden in another way as well, for it was possible Sir Matthew was betrothed. Or wed.
    “Gaenor?”
    She pulled her hand from her face and found Everard four steps above, brow furrowed. Though he could not know with whom she