Dillon came awake slowly. Eyes still closed, he smiled, more at peace than he had been in years. If only he could remain thus, spooned around Alyssa’s sleeping form, and never again need to emerge into the real world.

She stirred in his arms, sighing as she released her hold on sleep.

They lay amongst the tangled bed linens, facing the window. Dillon pried first one, then the other eyelid open and located the sun. Judging by its position in the sky, they had not slept long. Dusk would not blanket the earth for a few hours yet.

“Robert would think you have fallen ill if he knew you were lazing the day away,” she murmured drowsily.

Smiling, he nuzzled her hair away from her ear and graced it with a kiss. “More like he would suspect you of casting a spell on me. I have not slept in the afternoon since I was in swaddling clothes.”

“You deserve a restful afternoon.” Sadness crept into her voice. “The days ahead will be difficult.”

Dillon tightened his arms around her. “Were it not so dangerous, you know I would not leave here on the morrow without you.”

“I know, Dillon. You need not explain.”

Their tranquility shattered as visions of his imminent departure engulfed them.

“Would you do something for me ere I leave?” he asked after a moment.

“Of course,” came her immediate response. “How may I serve y—?”

“Nay,” he snapped, pushing himself up onto his elbow and urging her to her back. “Nay,” he repeated more gently. “I do not ask you as your lord. I ask you as your…” Dillon hesitated. What exactly was he to her now?

“My friend?” she supplied tentatively.

He smiled down at her. Friend. Lover. She was so much more than that. “Aye.”

Pink touched her cheeks as she returned his smile. “Then I shall answer as your friend. What boon do you ask?”

“I would like you to show me your garden. I wish to know more of you.”

Reaching up, she combed her fingers through the hair above his forehead, smoothing it back in a gesture so casual and endearing that he felt his heart contract.

“Will you show me?” ’Twas the first time he had asked her to share something so personal with him… other than her body, of course, he thought with a twinge of guilt.

“Aye, Dillon.”

Relieved, excited, he planted an exuberant kiss on her lips, then leapt from the bed. “Come. Let us rise.”

They used the now-cool bathwater to wash before donning their clothes. Alyssa seemed embarrassed by her nudity despite Dillon’s attempts to put her at ease. And he reminded himself once more that she had kept every aspect of her face and form hidden for seven years. ’Twould be folly to think that shifting from showing none of herself to showing all of herself would be easy. He knew not how he had conquered her shyness last night. How he had coaxed her into letting him explore every lovely curve.

Pushing away the amorous thoughts that began to form, he frowned at the kirtle she pulled on over her shift. Although not the same garments he had torn off of her when she had lain bleeding to death, both were in very poor condition.

She deserves better, he thought, as he buckled on his sword belt. Silks and satins and velvets, adorned with jewels that mimic the sparkle in her eyes. She should be garbed as the lady of the castle. She should be the lady of the castle. His lady. His Countess.

Yet something told him she would balk if he dared suggest as much.

“You are staring, Dillon.”

Blinking, he realized he had indeed been staring.

A flush of uncertainty painted her features.

He smiled and closed the distance between them. “Forgive me. I was merely committing your beauty to memory ere you hide it beneath this.” Reaching up, he helped her tug the black robe down over her head.

Her color deepened. “You flatter me.”

“I speak the truth.” Dillon clasped the lowered cowl loosely in both hands, one on either side of her face. Her pale skin provided stark contrast to the midnight material. Her glossy raven hair had been tamed into a single braid, accompanied by so much muttering and grumbling that he had chuckled as he stopped to watch her wrestle with it. Her full lips were still rosy and slightly swollen from his kisses.

So much warmth and understanding filled her gaze as she stood staring up at him that he wanted to crush her to him and never let her go.

“Dillon?” She waited for him to raise the hood into place.

“I cannot,” he murmured, unmoving. He should feel some guilt, he supposed, for the main motivation of his refusal appeared to be greed.

He was greedy for the sight of her. Every smile, every twitch or purse of her lips. Every blink of her entrancing brown eyes. Every flicker of her long lashes. Every rising, falling, and drawing together of her sculpted eyebrows. Every crinkling of her forehead. Every wrinkling of her nose.

How could he bear to have it hidden from him again now that he knew all that he would be missing?

Even more unthinkable… once she raised the cowl, would Alyssa slip back into her role of advisor and forget all that they had shared?

Her hands came up to clasp his wrists. “You know this is how it must be.”

“For now,” he conceded with reluctance.

She shook her head, eyes full of regret. “For always.”

Nay. That he would not, could not accept. Leaning down, he pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips, then drew the hood up to shield her face.

“We shall speak more of this later,” he intoned and led her from the solar.

Alyssa did not realize just how much she had changed since her healing until she followed Dillon out of the solar and down to the great hall. His easy acceptance of her appearance had made her complacent. The kindness he, Robert, and Ann Marie had heaped upon her had been a healing balm for her soul. Yet it could not safeguard her from the pain inflicted by others.

Throughout the keep, the mood toward her had shifted, deteriorated. Those who had feared and mistrusted her before now seemed utterly repulsed, alarmingly hostile. Their narrowed gazes impaled her. Their mouths moved in mutters. Even the precious few who had been civil in their dealings with her in the past now crossed themselves and scurried away as she neared them.

“I have been negligent,” Dillon confessed through tight lips as he noted her reception. “I assure you the problem will be dealt with ere I depart.”

“What has altered?” she whispered.

Starting, he glanced down at her, then frowned and gave his head a slight shake as if her elderly woman’s voice had caught him off guard.

Had he forgotten so swiftly that her guise went beyond the robes?

“Is it…?” She swallowed. “Is it because I killed Gavin?” Her hands still shook and her stomach still knotted whenever she thought of it. Though she had ridden into battle at Dillon’s side in the past, Gavin’s life was the first she had ever taken.

“In part. Those who were not present in the great hall fail to understand why you killed him. They do not know that, had you not done so, he would have impaled you with his dagger. Every man who was in that great hall can attest to it—and would have done the same as you in your position—but none have spoken in your defense.”

Nor would they. Such should not surprise her.

“I shudder to think what might have transpired had Sir Rolfe’s reaction not warned you in time,” he continued. “Those who were there are wrong to condemn you for defending yourself. And unwise. Had you done naught to stop him, Gavin—and Camden—would have emerged the victors. You would have died. And, without your healing skills, I would have perished as well.”

’Twas a relief that Dillon did not condemn her for it. “What else angers them?” she asked as they stepped out into the crisp autumn air.

He sighed. “A rumor that you took the life of the spy in the dungeon.”

“Did you not tell me he hanged himself?” He had been alive and unharmed when she had left him.

“Aye.” He lowered his voice as they as they descended the steps of the keep and began crossing the inner bailey. “Around the time you were being healed by the other soothsayers, which makes me wonder if one of them might not have snuck down there before leaving and… aided him in finding the rope. But some of the people whisper that you bespelled him.”

“They believe I tortured him, too,” she murmured.

“Aye.” A moment passed. “Did you?” ’Twas the first time he had broached the subject.

She shook her head. “I merely frightened him into telling the truth.”

“How?”

“Rats and snakes, if you can believe it.”

He huffed a laugh. “Rats and snakes frightened him?”

“Aye. But they did not bite him,” she hastened to clarify. “I simply sent the rats up his hose then released two snakes who thought the rats would make a fine meal.”

“And that worked?” he asked, brow puckering with disbelief.

She smiled. Dillon was fearless. It should not surprise her that he expected others to be as well. “In truth, I did not expect it to succeed either, but ’twould seem the man had a most grave fear of snakes.”

He grunted. “Not at all the gruesome torture of which you have been accused.”

Alyssa sighed, weary of it all. “They are all so eager to believe the worst of me.” Until that night, she had injured not one resident of Westcott. Had never used her gifts for aught but healing and helping those who now spread the vicious rumors about her.

“’Tis infuriating,” he growled. “They offer me their loyalty when I give them so little whilst you, who have aided almost every individual at Westcott at one time or another, are rebuffed.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm, the black material of her robe hiding it from others’ view. “Do not underestimate your worth, my lord. Your father was a good man and kept his people fed, but they have flourished under your care.”

“And your guidance,” he added. Poised on the steps of the keep, he surveyed his holding with a troubled frown.

It was beginning to dawn on him, she realized. One of the many insurmountable obstacles that would prevent them from seeking a future together. If she could not find favor with his people as their healer, they certainly would not accept her as his leman. And she could never be his wife, despite the strong attachment for her she could feel growing within him.

“Your people may be wary of your temper and overly preoccupied with the fearsome reputation you have earned,” she continued, “but you won their hearts long ago. Each time you defended them from marauders and villains and thieves. Each time you helped them bury loved ones and ordered their dwellings repaired. You built a wall around the village to further ensure their safety. You—”

“—do not know their names,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“There is not a man, woman, or child at Westcott whom you do not know by name. You have healed someone in every family. You have that link with them, and I do not. Yet they persist in…” He sighed and ran a hand down over his face. “I did not express my displeasure so that you would sing my praises…, Wisewoman.”

Even his inability to call her by name frustrated him.

Releasing his arm, she followed him down the steps and matched his strides—slowed so as not to tire her—as he began traversing the inner bailey. “I appreciate your concern, my lord, but naught can be done to alter things as they are. A life’s worth of superstition and distrust cannot be erased in a day. Or a fortnight. Or even a year for that matter.”

“Aye, it can change in a day,” he declared gruffly. “It will change in a day. I must simply apply myself to discovering the means I shall use to induce the metamorphosis.”

“And a great metamorphosis ’twould be. Even more so now.” Alyssa’s lips twitched. Glancing around to ensure their privacy, she murmured teasingly from the safety of her cowl, “A few hours in my arms and you believe yourself capable of sorcery. Mayhap wizardry does course through my veins.”

A burst of laughter escaped him, turning heads as far as the stables. His eyes twinkled merrily. “A few more such hours and I could work miracles. What say you, Healer?”

When she made no response, her boldness now lurking behind timidity, he laughed again. “Would that I could see your face,” he pronounced, lowering his voice. “’Tis no doubt as flushed as the rest of your beautiful body was when I—”

“Ahem.” The sound of a man clearing his throat behind them interrupted him.

Dillon closed his eyes and gripped his forehead in a visible attempt to generate patience.

Alyssa bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Dillon? A moment, if you will?”

They turned in unison to confront his brother. Robert’s gaze flickered from one to the other then away as an unexpected blush crept up his neck.

“What is it, Robert?”

As actively and enthusiastically as Robert entertained the women of Westcott, Alyssa thought it odd that catching Dillon in the act of invading her bath would embarrass him so.

“I wanted to confirm the number of men you wish to accompany you on the morrow. After the difficulties you encountered the last time…” His eyes went to Alyssa, then returned to Dillon as if he were hesitant to mention it in front of her.

Because Dillon had been wounded? Because she had almost perished saving him? Who knew?

Alyssa took a step back, hands clasped in front of her inside the long, black sleeves. “I shall leave you to your discussion.”

She started to turn.

“Wait.” Dillon’s protest stopped her.

Glancing up at him, she realized he feared she would not show him her garden if she left now.

“I shall speak with Harry until you are finished. We can continue our business then, my lord.”

“You will await me at the gates?” he persisted.

Robert studied them, his shrewd eyes missing naught.

“Aye,” she affirmed. “I shall be there.”

Dillon smiled, relaxing once more. “Very well. I shall not tarry long.”

“As you will.” She felt their gazes follow her as she continued across the inner bailey.

Westcott was quite large. Impressive. The envy of many, both landed and landless alike. It possessed two separate baileys, each surrounded by a high wall and a moat. The inner curtain wall was broken by four round towers. The outer boasted six. The smaller inner bailey encased the stables, the mews, the garrison. The armory. The smithy. A tiltyard. Two spacious training fields, both of which were currently occupied by sweating, straining soldiers and sparring squires. A third for practicing archery. A large, profuse garden just outside the kitchen. A pond stocked with fish. A well-tended orchard. Carefully cultivated hives.

The ringing of the blacksmith’s hammer followed Alyssa as she passed through the first formidable barbican, across the drawbridge and into the outer bailey, which housed the village. She tried to ignore the fearful looks she received as she passed. Hands rapidly made the sign of the cross. Others fisted with forefingers and pinky fingers extended to ward off the evil eye.

The only friendly face in the sea of suspicion that surrounded her was the one that swam into view as she approached the outer barbican.

Harry greeted her with a wide, open smile, oblivious to the odd looks to which his companions treated him. “Wise One! ’Tis a glorious day, is it not?” he offered brightly.

Though he could not see the face her cowl concealed, he seemed to know ’twas Alyssa.

“Aye. ’Tis beautiful,” she agreed, warmed by his happiness to see her.

“The nights grow cold. Mayhap winter will fall across the land early this year.”

“Verily, I had not noticed.” She had been ensconced in Dillon’s solar, snug beneath layer upon layer of furs and blankets with a fire in the hearth to dispel any cold air that attempted to seep in through the cracks.

If winter did approach early, she would do well to prepare a large quantity of the medicines Harry and others like him used to soothe the pain that settled in their joints each time the temperature dipped or a storm rolled in.

“Agnes, the weaver’s wife, was complaining only yesterday of the ache plaguing her hands and wrists,” he continued, confirming her thoughts.

She nodded. “Who else requires my aid, Harry?”

“Have you lost your senses?”

Dillon smiled inwardly, staring at the place where Alyssa’s small, black-robed figure had disappeared through the gate house several minutes ago. Aye. Twice this afternoon.

“Well?”

“You would not ask me such a question had you not already formed your own opinion. What troubles you, Cub?”

“You mean other than walking in on you fornicating with the healer?”

He shrugged, surprised Robert had waited until they had concluded their business to mention it. “You should have knocked.”

“Have you no shame?” Robert hissed, careful not to raise his voice and draw attention to them. The depth of his brother’s agitation surprised Dillon. “She saved your life—nigh forfeiting her own in the process—and you would repay her by seducing her and robbing her of her innocence?”

Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “What know you of her innocence?” His brother had spent far less time in her presence than he had.

The look Robert gave him next said, Look who you are asking. “I have been with enough women to recognize one who is pure, brother, and those I always give a wide berth.”

“I knew not you possessed such a weighty conscience,” Dillon commented dryly. He had to admit he had not realized his brother was so discriminate and—before Alyssa—had, in fact, envied him his many lovers.

Robert shrugged. “I am not so noble as that.”

“Then think you a maiden would not offer you as much sport as a widow or a whore?” If so, he was sadly mistaken. Dillon had never tasted such ecstasy as he had found in Alyssa’s sweet embrace.

Robert smiled a little. “I do not believe a virgin would be as inventive as the women who seek me out, nay. Nor would she know how to prevent conception. My strict avoidance of innocents is the reason I have not peopled Westcott with bastards.”

Despite his efforts to the contrary, Dillon felt himself pale.

“I see you understand now.” Robert eyed him somberly. “After all she has done for us, ’twould not be right for you to use her, then leave her with a babe in her belly.”

Mayhap he already had. Mayhap his seed had already taken root and Alyssa even now carried his child. Should that thought not alarm him? Should fear or worry or anxiety not assail him now instead of the warm jubilation that sifted through him?

How would she look swollen with his child? As slender and graceful as she was, he found it difficult to imagine her waddling ponderously into the solar with one hand resting protectively on their unborn babe. Even the idea of such made him want to smile.

“Dillon?”

“What? Oh. What makes you think I would discard her?”

Robert’s gaze sharpened. “Are you saying you would not?”

“I care a great deal for her,” he avowed softly.

A worried frown marred the younger man’s forehead. He brought his hands to his hips and sighed. “Do you love her?”

Dillon stared out over the busy bailey. “I believe so, aye.”

If aught, his words seemed to increase his brother’s concern.

Much to his surprise, Dillon himself felt… liberated. Pleased to have reached the realization.

“Dillon, she is not of noble blood.”

“Her bloodlines mean naught to me.”

“If you seek to take her as your mistress, nay. Nor will the rest of the nobility care as long as she remains your mistress for but a short time. But should you seek to make the wisewoman your bride, they will never accept her. Nor you.”

Irritation tightened Dillon’s jaw. “They do not accept me now. They merely tolerate my presence because of my title and the power I wield.”

“Even that will be lost to you should you pursue this. You know well their cruelty. That which the wisewoman suffers here will be naught compared to the barbarism she will face at the hands of those of our station if she weds you,” Robert persisted. “And what of the king? King Richard will want you to wed a noblewoman from—”

“Enough! I will speak no more of this.” Stiff with anger, he spun around to leave.

Robert grabbed his arm before he could get away. “Dillon.”

Gritting his teeth, he turned back to hear whatever else his doomsaying brother felt impelled to impart. “What?”

“As your brother, I support you in your every endeavor. Should marriage to the sorceress be what you truly desire, then I shall welcome her as my sister with an open heart. I merely wanted you to be aware of the obstacles you will face in trying to make her yours.”

His anger melting, Dillon clamped a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Thank you, brother. But, in listing those obstacles, you neglected to include the people’s fear and distrust of her.”

Robert grimaced. “I did consider that, but thought the people’s superstitions would be easier to overcome than the circumstances of her birth or our king’s love of making gainful matches.”

“Have you any suggestions?” Dillon asked. He suspected these were all the reasons Alyssa had told him she would forever remain his advisor, hidden beneath the robes.

He watched his brother squint, peering thoughtfully at the people around them.

“Nay,” Robert admitted. “Not yet. But I shall think of something.”

Dillon smiled. “Thank you, Robert. You give me reason to hope.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Robert raised both eyebrows. “You seem to have already made your decision.”

“She brings me peace, Robert, and makes me happy in a way I have never been before. I would be a fool did I not cherish her for it.” Eager to return to Alyssa’s side, he left his brother and made his way through the inner and outer baileys with long swift strides.

Though he could not see it, Dillon could feel Alyssa’s smile when he joined her at the outer barbican. Harry stood close to her, his face wreathed in a smile that puzzled onlookers as he listed the names of men, women, and children who suffered from this ailment or that.

Dread coiled within Dillon as he pondered the decision he now faced. No doubt Alyssa would seek out each one mentioned to offer aid, whether they overcame their fear of her and sent for her or not. Some she would heal with herbs. Others she would heal with her hands.

He swallowed. How could he let her do it? Allow her to use her gift to take their pain and illness and injuries into herself? Leave those who reviled her and would give her not a word of thanks or kindness to bask in their restored good health whilst she suffered in their stead?

’Twas unthinkable. And so soon after her brush with death, after her own illness?

On the other hand, how could he say her nay? ’Twas only recently that she had told him that a gift withheld was no gift at all. Would she not resent him if he forbade her the use of her special healing skills? Would she not see such as a rejection of that part of her that had inspired so much distrust in others? As a rejection of her?

He would gladly cut off his sword arm before he would hurt her apurpose. So, he found himself in something of a quandary. Now that he knew the true nature of her gifts, to permit her to use them freely would be to invite her to do herself harm. To forbid her to utilize them would be to watch her die a little inside each time another suffered as a result. And she would never forgive him should one of his people perish for lack of her care.

“You seem troubled, my lord,” she whispered as they left Harry and the rest of Westcott behind them.

He followed her into the dense, dark forest to the south. The fact that she had not abandoned her guise now that the trees had swallowed them up and hid them from others’ view unsettled him. Did she mean for their relationship to return so soon to what it had been before she had healed him? Before he had looked upon her unveiled? Before they had made love so tenderly? So passionately?

He had always enjoyed her company, but could not bear the thought of retreating to the scrupulously respectful distance that had stood between them in the past.

“Aye,” he answered, finding comfort in the familiar despite his concern. For seven years now he had taken his troubles to Alyssa, seeking her counsel, respecting and valuing her opinions. ’Twas one of the reasons he had not believed he would ever marry, though ’twas one he had not mentioned to her. He had wanted a wife who would prove to be as good a helpmeet as his wisewoman had. A partner in whom he could confide, not merely another pretty ornament to decorate his household.

Had he not been injured so gravely, would he ever have discovered that Alyssa was the one he had sought?

“Mayhap if you were to share your problem with me, we might endeavor to solve it together,” she suggested.

Were her cowl folded back, he would run an affectionate hand over her hair and pull her close for a kiss, telling her without words how much he appreciated her.

Instead, he smiled to soften his refusal. “Nay. This time ’tis something I must struggle with alone. You have my thanks, though.”

She nodded, her disappointment palpable as they made their way through dappled sunlight. The trees and bushes conferred with one another as a cool breeze tickled its way through them. Uncertain of the quality of her robe, he began to worry she might catch a chill.

“Are you warm enough, Seer?” he asked, reaching for the clasp that held his cloak together, ready to wrap it around her for increased warmth.

“Aye, Dillon. These robes are very warm.”

Just as he noted that she had abandoned formality and once more spoke in youthful, dulcet tones, she parted the brush in front of him and stepped into a pool of bright sunshine.

Swiveling to face him, she drew back her cowl and proffered a proud smile. “Welcome to my sanctuary.”

Dillon froze as his breath left him. No air replaced it. He could not seem to squeeze any into his lungs, past the throat that rapidly grew tight.

Dazzling sunlight bathed her features, lending her ivory skin an unearthly glow. Her brown eyes sparkled with golden highlights he had been unable to discern in the dimness of the castle. Radiant rays reflected off of full pink lips, making him hunger for them anew.

She was so lovely his heart ached.

Her smile faltered as the silence lengthened, broken only by the twittering of birds that watched from the tree limbs. “Dillon?”

The hand he raised shook as he folded his fingers in and drew his knuckles down her cheek.

Alarm flared in her eyes, burning brightly as she frowned up at him. “Dillon, what is amiss?”

He had to swallow once to force his voice to cooperate. “’Tis the first time I have beheld you in sunlight.” His voice sounded hoarse. “You are so beautiful. I wish I had the words to describe you, Alyssa, so that you might see yourself through my eyes.”

She bit her lower lip, but not before he saw it quiver.

Had he said it right? Had he managed to convey what it meant to him to see her like this—so incandescent in the sun’s beams?

One of her small hands came up to clasp his own and brought it to her lips. “You need no other words. You said it perfectly.”

His gaze went to her hair. “Take it down,” he implored. “I would see it loose, watch it dance on the wind.”

Smiling, she turned her back to him, tugged her braid from her robes, and waited for him to perform the task himself.

Dillon grinned, feeling like a boy rewarded with a treat. He swiftly went to work, giving her captivating curls their freedom, and combed his fingers through them until they fell loosely down her back to graze her hips.

The scent of lavender rose up to tease him. Welcoming it with a deep inhale, he walked around to stand before her.

“It shimmers like a moonlit lake,” he whispered. And indeed it did, the sun’s rays uniting with the breeze to make the dark strands come alive.

He wanted so badly to kiss her in that moment.

Alyssa must have been of the same mind, for she rose onto her toes and touched her soft lips to his. Her arms came around his neck, the black material of her sleeves sliding back as she leaned her slight weight into him.

Settling his hands at her waist, Dillon enjoyed the leisurely kiss.

I love you. The words formed in his mind without any forethought and he knew them at once to be true. I love you, Alyssa. I shall find a way for us to be together.

She drew away, umber eyes glinting with moisture, and gave him a smile imbued with melancholy. ’Twas almost as though she had read his thoughts and saw no hope for them.

“Come.” Taking one of his hands in her own, she began to walk backward, tugging him after her. “Let me show you my garden.”