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Aislinn dragged her father away from the courtyard to a spot beneath a tree a small distance from the hall. A bird darted between the branches above her head, and she observed his flight, envying his freedom. She continued to gaze after the bird, unaware of the approach of Wulfgar behind her. But as a heavy object was thrown down at her feet, she started and whirled to face him. He indicated the shovel.
    “Even loving hands need some tool, damoiselle.”
    “You are as kind as your brother Norman, sir knight,” she flung shortly, then she lifted a lovely brow. “Or is it ‘my lord’ now?”
    He made a stiff bow. “Whatever you wish, damoiselle.”
    Aislinn’s chin raised. “My father was lord here. It does not sit well with me to call you Lord of Darkenwald,” she answered boldly.
    The Norman knight shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed. “I am known as Wulfgar.”
    Having hoped to vex him, Aislinn now felt only discontent. The name, however, was not unknown to her, for she remembered clearly Sir Ragnor and his cousin speaking of him the previous evening with hatred. Perhaps she was taking her life into her hands by seeking to stir this man’s anger.
    “Perhaps your duke will give these lands to some other after you’ve won them for him,” she returned flippantly. “You are not lord of them yet and may never be.”
    Wulfgar smiled slowly. “You will learn William is a man of his word. The lands are as good as mine now, for England will soon be his. Do not place your hopes upon false desires, damoiselle, for they will lead you nowhere.”
    “What have you left me to hope for?” Aislinn asked bitterly. “What have you left England to hope for?”
    His brow lifted mockingly. “Do you give up so easily, cherie? I thought I had detected a small bit of hell-fire and determination in the swing of your skirts. Was I wrong?”
    Aislinn’s temper flared at this taunt. “You laugh at me heedlessly, Norman.”
    He chuckled at her anger. “I can see no daring swain has ever ruffled your pretty feathers before. No doubt they were all too besotted with you to put you in your place.”
    “Do you think you are more capable of doing so?” she jeered. She tossed her head toward Ragnor who watched them from afar. “How will you go about it? He has used pain and violated my body. Will you do the same?”
    She glared at him through rising tears, but Wulfgar shook his head. Reaching out, he lifted her chin.
    “Nay, I have more thorough methods to tame a wench such as yourself. When pain brings nothing, pleasure can be the weapon.”
    Aislinn thrust his hand away. “You are over confident, Sir Wulfgar, if you think to master me by kindness.”
    “I have never been kind to women,” he returned casually, making a shiver of fright pass through her body.
    Aislinn searched his eyes for a moment but found nothing to indicate his meaning. Without a further word she picked up the shovel and began to dig. Wulfgar watched her awkward movements and smiled.
    “You should have obeyed Ragnor. I doubt that being in his bed should cause you this bother.”
    Aislinn’s eyes were cold with hatred as they turned on him. “Do you think we are all whores to find the easiest way out?” she demanded. “Would it surprise you to know that I find this infinitely more pleasurable than having to submit to vermin.” She looked meaningfully into his gray eyes. “Normans—vermin. There is no difference I think.”
    Wulfgar spoke slowly, as if to let his words fall with effect. “Until I have bedded you, damoiselle, reserve your judgment of Normans. You may prefer to be ridden by a man, instead of a braying braggart.”
    Aislinn stared at him aghast, unable to make a reply. He seemed to state a fact rather than issue a threat, and she knew with certainty it would be just a matter of time before she would share a bed with this Norman. She considered his tall, broad-shouldered frame and wondered frantically if she would be crushed beneath his