Alyssa led Dillon forward, happiness and hopelessness vying within her.

Dillon loved her. He loved her.

Never, in all of her imaginings, could she have foreseen that the friendship they had cultivated for years would—overnight—transform into so much more. One simple act, the removal of her cowl, had changed everything.

She should not have allowed herself to lose control, to give herself to him with such wanton abandon. But she had been alone for so many years. Had craved his touch. His touch. Only his. Always his. Had imagined it every time she had seen him slip away with one woman or another. Had imagined him turning to her instead.

And she had loved him for so long. Since that moment when—she but a child and he newly knighted—she had seen him come to her grandmother’s aid and defend her with such valor, castigating her tormentors.

He was Dillon.

Her Dillon.

She had always thought him so.

How could she not have succumbed?

But they could never be together, she thought sadly as she stared up at him.

“Amazing,” Dillon breathed as he beheld her beloved garden.

Forcing dark thoughts away, she entwined her fingers through his and moved to walk beside him. “’Tis more than you anticipated mayhap?”

“I did not expect it to be so grand.”

She nodded. “Although I would like to assume the credit for it, I am not solely responsible. It has taken decades to become thus.”

Pausing nigh the center of the clearing, Dillon twisted this way and that. “I can well believe it.”

The garden was immense, she had to admit, larger even than the vegetable garden outside the kitchens at Westcott. Row after row of square and rectangular raised beds stretched before them. Wattle—a basketlike border constructed of branches woven horizontally in and out of vertical sticks—held the dirt neatly in place. Leaves and other materials gleaned from the surrounding forest provided mulch that nourished the herbs even as it smothered and prevented the growth of weeds.

A heady conglomeration of scents shifted and changed with each breath of wind. Lavender, basil, rosemary, mint, sage, and many more. A kaleidoscope of colors dazzled them. Every shade of green imaginable. Silver. Powdery gray. Purple. Striped. Solid. Spotted. And that was just the leaves.

Some of the herbs still bloomed, preparing to produce the seeds she would use to regenerate them in the spring and work medicinal magic. Ivory, azure, scarlet, saffron, coral, and combinations thereof.

“All the years I have watched you grind dried, shriveled roots to powder, steep brittle brown leaves in water, mix some foul-smelling poultice or other…,” he murmured. “I would never have believed you had you told me your concoctions found their origins in such beauty.”

Beaming, she gave his hand a squeeze. “I am glad it pleases you.”

“Tell me about them,” he urged with a happy smile.

Alyssa touched her fingers to a fern as they came abreast it. “The roots of this fern may be used to rid one of worms.” She laughed when he grimaced. “And this…” She motioned to a plant with spotted leaves. “This is lungwort. ’Tis used in remedies for coughs and inflammations of the lungs.” She pointed to another. “Bloodwort aids in healing wounds.”

She pointed out several others she thought he might have heard her mention over the years. Comfrey, mouse-ear, feverfew, yarrow, centaury.

“’Tis truly a sanctuary,” he commented at last and seemed to savor the peaceful atmosphere as much as she did.

“Your father thought so. He came here often after your mother died.”

“Did he?” Dillon’s visits home had been infrequent after he had been fostered out. And once knighted, he had been preoccupied with winning his own fortune and land through tournaments and such, not to mention crusading with King Richard.

It did not surprise her that he had failed to notice his father slipping away for an hour or two here or there during his visits.

“Who tended these beds ere you?” he queried curiously.

“My grandmother.”

His eyebrows rose. “Your grandmother lives at Westcott?”

“She did for many years, but no longer. She was the wisewoman who preceded me. The one who served your father and his father before him.”

He nodded, his handsome face thoughtful. Drawing her hand through his arm, he began to lazily stroll down the rows. “Does she still live?” he asked hesitantly.

“Aye. Two day’s ride from here, deep within the forest where none will disturb her or threaten her safety.”

They turned down another row.

His brows drew together. For a moment, he looked almost ill. “Did your grandmother… That is, were she and my grandsire or my father ever…”

“Lovers?” she supplied, understanding dawning.

“Aye.”

“Nay. She was never more than advisor, healer, and friend to either of the men she served.”

“She was wed then?”

“Nay.” She turned a pensive gaze on the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. “My mother was bastard born.” Would it trouble Dillon to learn that Alyssa had been bastard born, as well?

“Before or after your grandmother came to Westcott?”

“After.” The usual anger rose within her. “Lord Bertram killed the man who sired her.”

His head snapping around, Dillon stared at her. “My grandsire killed yours? Alyssa, I am sorry.”

“Do not be. I am not. Were the man standing before me now, I would drag your sword from its scabbard and run him through myself.” Such fury filled her whenever she thought of him.

Abandoning her hand, Dillon curled an arm around her stiff shoulders. “Tell me.”

A great sigh escaped her as she forced herself to relax. “Grandmother was a midwife at Westmoreland.”

The Earl of Westmoreland’s property bordered Westcott to the north.

A troubled frown made its way to Dillon’s brow. “Think you Lord Everard blames me for Camden’s losing Pinehurst?”

“Nay. He is well aware of his heir’s many faults.”

“I would think he would be furious.”

“Disappointed more like. He and your father fostered together and remained the best of friends until your father’s death. He loves you and Robert as though you were his own. What grieves him is the knowledge that his son will never be what Lord Everard wishes him to be—more like you.”

Dillon muttered a denial, clearly thrown by the unexpected praise.

Alyssa smiled and gave his chest a tender pat. “He said as much to me only last summer.” Like Dillon, the Earl of Westmoreland had always treated her kindly and often sought her out during his visits to pass a pleasing word.

Dillon brought her hand to his lips. “Forgive me for interrupting you. Please continue.”

“Grandmother and I possess the same gifts,” she told him. “She hid hers as well as she could, fearing she would be branded a witch if the truth were known. But her talents as a healer soon became renowned throughout the countryside.”

They began to walk again, arms around each other, as comfortable as they had always been together.

Every once in a while, she paused to pluck a leaf and crush it to release its fragrance. “Lord Bertram’s newly widowed sister was in residence at Westcott, visiting for a time. She was with child, the babe not due for two months yet, when her pains began. When Lord Bertram sent for Westmoreland’s healer, Grandmother used her gift to stop the labor. But the lady was so distraught and afraid she would yet lose her babe that Lord Bertram asked Grandmother to remain at Westcott until the danger had passed.”

Alyssa quieted for a moment. She had never spoken of her grandmother’s past to anyone outside the family. “She did not wear robes then and… she was very beautiful. Westcott’s men were all quite taken with her, arguing and wagering over who would gain her favor first. They were very determined.”

She hesitated, unsure how to continue.

Dillon folded his arms around her and pulled her into a comforting embrace. “Did one of them force himself on her, Alyssa?”

She nodded, glad she did not have to say it, and rested her head against his chest. “Your grandsire stumbled upon the crime in time to punish it, but sadly too late to prevent it.”

He swore beneath his breath. “Did he slay the villain?”

“Aye. Lord Bertram was horrified that a woman he had brought into his household to care for his sister—a woman solely responsible for saving the babe’s life—had been brutalized by one of his own men-at-arms. Thereafter he forbade any man to touch her on penalty of death and, in recompense, invited her to remain and reside in the donjon as his healer. He vowed to protect her and her child, if she bore one, as long as they made Westcott their home.”

“So she stayed.”

She nodded. “Your grandsire upheld his vow and saw to her protection. Eventually she came to trust him and confessed the true extent of her gifts.”

“And the robes?”

“She donned the robes after my mother was born. She could bear no man’s touch and sought to hide her beauty in hopes that they would soon forget.”

“And that is why she made you vow never to remove your robes?”

“In part. She feared I would meet a similar fate.”

“What of your mother? Did she serve my father?”

“Nay. She left Westcott when she was very young. As Grandmother’s unusual healing abilities became known, superstition grew and rapidly poisoned the people’s minds. The priest sowed the first seeds, naming her Witch, Satan’s Handmaiden, and other such nonsense.”

“There has been no priest at Westcott for as long as I have lived,” he commented.

“Your grandfather banished him when the man set my mother afire to purify her.”

“What?” Shock cut through him.

“And Lord Bertram allowed no other to take his place, fearing similar repercussions. Your father followed his example after a similar episode occurred when he caught another priest, one he believed was different, encouraging the people to stone Grandmother to death.”

“’Tis the first I have heard of this,” Dillon told her, and she could feel how much the thought sickened him.

“I know. ’Tis the other reason for the robes. As long as others believe my grandmother and I are one and the same, they have difficulty determining just how long we have been wielding our sorcery. People are far less inclined to try to burn or drown a witch if they think her immortal and capable of exacting retribution.”

“Ah.”

“And, since none have ever seen me without the robes, should they ever overcome their hesitation and seek to harm me, I can merely duck out of sight, discard the robes at a moment’s notice, and walk away unharmed. None would recognize me, because they all think the wisewoman old.”

“’Tis a clever shield and deterrent,” he admitted. “Was my father aware of your grandmother’s history? That she bore a child?”

“I do not believe so,” she answered. “He was but a child himself when Grandmother sent my mother away. I doubt he would remember her. No one else does.”

“And your mother? Does she also share your gifts?”

“Nay, her gifts differ from ours. She cannot heal with a touch. But she sees things. The future is frequently very clear when it comes to her. She does not have to wait for dreams as I do. Ofttimes it comes when she beckons.”

“So that is it,” Dillon muttered.

Alyssa looked up at him. “What?”

“I wondered how your grandmother arrived at Westcott in time to heal you if she lives at such a distance. Your mother must have foreseen your injury and alerted her.”

“Most likely ’tis as you say.” Alyssa had had no opportunity to visit her family and learn all that had happened that night. And she trusted no one at Westcott to carry a missive to them.

“But why did she not simply come to Westcott and prevent you from healing me?”

“Because she knew there was naught she could have said that would have stopped me.” Alyssa’s grandmother and mother were both well aware of her attraction to Dillon, the love she felt for him.

Dillon frowned. He did not seem to care for her determination to sacrifice herself for him.

She smiled up at him. “She also may not have had time. Though she can view the future at will, she rarely can choose whose future she will see. Sometimes her visions come too late to prevent harm from being done and the only course of action left her is to attempt to repair the damage.”

Tightening his arms, Dillon drew her closer and rested his chin atop her head. “I am sorry for what happened to your grandmother, Alyssa. I would she had not suffered so.”

“Your grandsire avenged the wrong.”

“’Tis not enough. It pains me to think of the solitary life she led.”

“She has always spoken of your grandsire with great fondness,” Alyssa murmured, nuzzling his chest. He smelled so good. “I suspect she loved him as much as she could love any man. And, from the stories I overheard as a child, I believe your grandsire’s motives—his swift and violent justice, his generosity in placing her under his protection and giving her a position of respect—were driven by more than guilt.”

Dillon leaned back so he could meet her gaze. “Love?”

“Aye. From the day she arrived to tend his sister, ’twas said Lord Bertram was smitten with her.”

He frowned. “But he married another.”

Filled with regret, she took a half step back from him, raised her chin, and firmly addressed that which they had danced around since she had awakened in his bed. “Aye,” she confirmed softly, yet firmly. “He married another. As you will marry another, Dillon.”

“Nay!” The word burst from his lips as he dropped his arms and moved away from her. “Nay. Why would you say such?”

“I am your advisor. ’Tis my duty to counsel you wisely and I am doing so.”

His face turned to stone. “Did what we shared only hours past mean so little to you?” he demanded.

“That can have no consequence in this decision.”

“No consequence?”

“Aye, no consequence,” she repeated, her voice rising as she lost the battle she fought with anger and fruitless resentment. “’Tis the way of things, Dillon. You are an earl, one of the wealthiest in the land, a favorite of the king, the Lord of Westcott, Brimshire, Northaven, Shepford, and soon Pinehurst, not to mention half a dozen others. With that power comes obligation. You are expected to take a noblewoman to wife.” She paused long enough to cultivate some semblance of calm. “No noble blood courses through my veins, no matter how oft I have wished otherwise. And, if that is not enough, I am bastard born.”

He swallowed what she feared would have been a scathing retort. “Your mother… she was not…”

“Nay, she was not taken against her will. But I shall not discuss that now. ’Tis essential that I take this time to make you understand.”

He took a forbidding step toward her, features darkening as he towered over her.

And Alyssa could not prevent herself from taking a hasty step backward.

“If what you wish me to understand,” he said, his voice deep and angry, “is that my future lies with some heiress who will quake in her slippers each time I approach her, then you shall never succeed. What of the words we spoke when you lay so nigh death? Were yours false?”

She frowned, her anger giving way to confusion. “I know not what you mean.”

“After you healed me, you collapsed. Whilst Robert sought a healer to minister to you, you opened your eyes and spoke to me for the first time without robes or pretense.”

Alyssa shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I have no memory of such, Dillon. What did I say? Of what did we speak?”

He hesitated, heightening her concern even more.

What had she said that he would not repeat?

“You would watch me wed another woman?” he asked gravely in lieu of answering her questions. “Know that I take her to my bed?”

Pain knifed through her, but Alyssa would not let it defeat her. She lifted her chin. “You have not bedded a woman without my knowledge since I arrived at Westcott.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “’Tis not the same, Alyssa. A wife deserves more consideration than those women. They wanted only a quick tumble, craved domination at my hands. A wife requires special care. Tenderness. Passion.”

His voice dropping, he took another step closer.

Though her heart gave a little stutter, Alyssa held her ground.

“Would you feel naught then,” he asked, “knowing that each night I did to her all of the things that I spent much of this afternoon doing to you? That my hands and mouth spent hour upon hour seeking out all of the places on her body where you welcomed my touch on yours? All of the places that made you cry out and clutch me closer, your nails leaving marks upon my back, your heels digging into my hips, pulling me in deeper…”

She swallowed, eyes locked with his. Mute. Miserable.

“You would feel naught when she began to quicken with my babe? When I doted upon her and cosseted her and smoothed my hand across her burgeoning belly with husbandly pride? When you delivered my son into your hands and stared down at him, knowing he could have been ours? That he should have been ours?”

Wanting to weep at the image he conjured, she squeezed her eyes shut and touched her fingers to her lips to hide their trembling.

Dillon grasped her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “Look at me, Alyssa.”

She did so, tears welling in her eyes and blurring his cherished visage.

Cupping her face in one rough palm, he smoothed his thumb across her cheek. “You see me better than anyone. You must know how I feel about you.” When she would have spoken, he shook his head. “You are a brilliant strategist and have guided me well these seven years past. Do not abandon this particular quest so easily.” He brushed her lips with a gentle kiss. “Please, Alyssa. You have fought by my side before. Do so one last time and I promise you the reward will be far greater than we ever dreamed.”

Heartsick, she let her head fall forward against his chest. “Oh, Dillon. The only lesson you have yet to learn is that some battles are lost ere they have even begun.”

He wrapped his strong arms around her, rocking her from side to side. “’Tis a lesson I shall never learn,” he responded.

But she could feel the concern that plagued him, his fear that she may be right.

They held each other for many long moments.

“A storm approaches,” she whispered at last, pulling away. “We should make haste back to Westcott.”

Eyeing the blue sky doubtfully, Dillon agreed to leave.

They turned as one and made their way back through the fragrant beds to the point where they had exited the forest earlier. Dillon halted and faced her, grasping her hood as he had in his chamber.

She stood silently whilst he studied her.

“Mark my words, Alyssa,” he said. “These robes will not be necessary for much longer. I will find a way to free you. To free us.” Bending, he captured her lips in a long, determined kiss.

Then, tucking her hair inside her robes, he covered it with her cowl and slowly led her back into the shadows.

The great hall was rife with delicious aromas as servants brought forth platter after platter heaped with steaming foods that would make any mouth water.

Any mouth, that is, save Dillon’s.

He did not want to be there. He would prefer to be up in the solar, dining with Alyssa, whom he had sent back to bed—his bed—upon their return.

Right now he could be laughing with her, teasing her, tempting her as he had the previous night. Offering her the choicest morsels. Stealing kisses in between. Enjoying her company.

But a feast had been prepared to celebrate his return to health, so he had sent Robert up to her with food enough to keep her busy for at least an hour and orders to consume every crumb.

Thunder rumbled overhead, almost drowned out by the laughter and boisterous conversation that flowed around him. Moisture blew in with the wind as the large, heavy doors opened and two knights stumbled inside, their cloaks and hair dripping wet. A storm had indeed rolled in, its wrath reflective of Dillon’s mood.

Face frozen in a perpetual scowl, he leaned back in his chair, food untouched, and glared at the people who packed the trestle tables and crowded the hall. Even the wives who usually stayed away, ever leery of him, had joined them for this joyous occasion.

One hand absently toyed with his goblet, rotating it this way and that, before he raised it to his lips for a brief, distracted taste. Behind him, he heard Gideon shift his stance. Alerted to his lord’s foul disposition, the boy no doubt worried over its cause. Baldwin and the other knights whom he had invited to join him at the high table restricted their comments to murmurs and darted wary sidelong glances at him.

Eventually notice that something was amiss filtered down through the lower tables to the other occupants of the hall.

The noise level decreased.

Conversation switched to whispered speculation.

All kept one eye on the glowering Earl of Westcott whilst they dined.

William appeared at Dillon’s elbow and motioned to his full trencher. “You are displeased, my lord?”

“Aye,” Dillon growled, “but ’tis my people who displease me, not the fare.”

With the exception of Ann Marie’s baby, who grunted as he attempted to stuff as much of her kirtle as possible into his little mouth, everyone in the great hall froze. Tankards halted halfway from table to lips. Mouths ceased their chewing. Tongues stopped wagging. All eyes widened with trepidation and focused on Dillon, who altered neither his position—lounging in his chair like a lion awaiting the chance to pounce upon its prey—nor his expression.

Thunder roared through the hall, startlingly loud now that all else was quiet. One of the dogs beneath the trestle tables whined.

Nearby a throat cleared, drawing his attention to Baldwin. Rising, the older man bowed respectfully and said, “If it pleases you, my lord, I ask that you inform us how we have wronged you so that we may make amends.” Retaking his seat, he waited with the others for Dillon’s response.

Dillon abandoned his study of Baldwin and raked his gaze over several of the faces turned expectantly toward him. “All here know I was ready to receive the last rites when my brother brought me home.”

Murmurs of agreement rose up around him, words such as blood, quarrels, and death standing out above the others.

“’Tis glad we are to see you hale and hearty again, my lord,” someone called out nigh the entrance.

A rousing chorus of aye’s ensued.

If anything, Dillon’s mood darkened. “Are you?”

Smiles faltered, replaced by frowns of confusion.

William nodded earnestly. “Of course, my lord. ’Twas worried about you we all were.”

Confirmation again sounded from the people.

Dillon merely stared at them frigidly. “Your actions tell me otherwise.”

All exchanged uneasy glances.

“Though I doubt not you have all heard the tale several times, I tell you now that I took three quarrels in that ambush. One in the shoulder. One in the side. And one in the chest. My own squire thought me dead ere I was carried through the gates, and he was not the only one.”

Some of the men nodded grimly. A few women uttered swift prayers.

“The wisewoman risked much to save my life,” he informed them dourly. “Had she not used her gifts to heal me, I would not have seen another dawn. Yet were I to judge you by your reactions to her today, I would have to say that you scorn her for coming to my aid and would have preferred instead that she let me find my grave.”

Since the nay’s that followed were not nigh as adamant as they should have been, Dillon guessed they began to see where he was leading them.

William stepped forward. “My lord—”

Dillon raised a hand to stop him. “Your loyalty is not in question, William. Nor is Robert’s. Nor Ann Marie’s.”

All heads swiveled to look at Ann Marie, who stood nigh the great hearth, offering Dillon a proud smile.

“Nor is Harry’s or Gideon’s,” he continued. “’Tis the rest of my people whose loyalty is suspect.”

No one seemed to know quite what to say to that.

“Sir Richard,” he called suddenly.

The young knight who had shouted his good wishes only moments before reluctantly stepped forward. “Aye, my lord?”

“You say you are happy to see me hale and hearty again.”

“Aye, my lord. I vow ’tis the truth.”

“Have you proffered your thanks to the healer for caring for me so well during my recovery?”

The young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “Nay, my lord.”

“Why have you not?”

“It… it did not occur to me, my lord.”

“It did not occur to you,” Dillon repeated amiably, though any watching him could see the danger that lurked just beneath the surface. “Did it also not occur to you to greet her civilly when she passed you on her way across the inner bailey this afternoon?”

All waited with bated breath for Richard’s answer.

Sweat began to bead on the knight’s forehead and trail down his temples. “I cannot say as I recall seeing her, my lord.”

Dillon nodded. “’Tis fortunate then that my memory does not suffer as yours does.” He allowed the fury he felt to enter his voice and expression. “You see, I recall quite clearly that she did indeed draw your notice. You glared at her most fiercely as she passed, then spat dangerously close to the hem of her robe.”

Dillon wanted to kill the man as he recalled the incident.

Eyes widened when the metal goblet Dillon clutched began to bend beneath the pressure of his clenching fist, slowly sinking in upon itself.

“Know you the punishment you would have been dealt had your aim been more true?” he questioned menacingly.

The knight shook his head.

“I warned you all, did I not, ere I left for Pinehurst that any offense made against her is an offense made against me.”

Richard blanched.

“What say you now to the earl upon whose feet you spat today in his own bailey?”

The young man trembled beneath Dillon’s wrath. “F-Forgive me, my lord. I—”

Lunging to his feet, Dillon slammed the twisted goblet down on the table, causing everyone to jump and those nearest him to skitter away. “’Tis not me you should be begging to forgive you!” he bellowed. “She saved my life! And you all treat her with contempt! If ’tis not because you wish she had let me perish, then I would hear your explanations now!”

Deadly silence filled the hall, the air thick with fear.

One of his men at arms, Kenneth, slowly rose beside his place at a lower table. He looked to be only a tad less frightened than Richard. “Verily, my lord, not one of us here is sorry you live. ’Tis thankful we are that you survived. If some of us possess… unkind feelings toward the healer, ’tis because of Gavin.”

“I see.” Dillon leaned forward and braced his hands on the table. “So you claim you are loyal to me, yet admit to mourning the death of my betrayer.”

“Nay, my lord,” he corrected. “’Tis not Gavin’s death that troubles us, but the way he died.”

“And how is that?” he inquired, wanting to stamp out once and for all whatever nonsense was being bandied about.

Kenneth glanced at the faces around him, then returned his attention to Dillon. “I was told his head was nigh severed from his body and that she… that the sorceress… mutilated his body in unmentionable ways”—his gaze went pointedly to a few of the women in the hall—“ere she was finished with him.”

Appalled, Dillon turned his head and speared Baldwin with a look. “Baldwin.” His voice was hushed and laced with barely restrained rage.

The man scrambled to his feet. “Aye, my lord.”

“You were there, were you not?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Who else was present? Name as many as you can remember. Those of you whose names are called will rise and make yourselves known,” he commanded.

One by one, Baldwin called out names. Most were men. Several of Dillon’s knights and men at arms. A few servants, both men and women. Each remained standing as Baldwin’s voice droned on until he could recall no more.

“Ann Marie,” Dillon said more kindly, turning toward her. “You may be seated. As I said before, your loyalty remains unquestioned.”

She smiled and bobbed a curtsy, her son bouncing on her hip. “Thank you, my lord.”

The others watched with envy as she took her seat.

Dillon’s scowl returned as he faced the assembly. “The rest of you… hear you what Kenneth said?”

“Aye,” they chorused.

“Why have you not come forward with the truth and cleared the healer of such obscene false charges?”

Their eyes fell beneath his furious regard.

“Baldwin, inform the others what transpired here that night.”

Features tight with guilt, he did so, abandoning any and all exaggeration. Frowns and murmurs filtered through the listeners. Dillon was pleased to hear more than one admit that Gavin had left the wisewoman no choice.

“What about the man in the dungeon?” someone called out, not so eager to absolve her.

Dillon raised one eyebrow. “What of him?”

“She tortured him, did she not?”

Straightening, Dillon folded his arms across his chest. “As long as the betrayer’s identity remained unknown, Westcott was vulnerable and all of your lives were in danger. The wisewoman was well aware of this and questioned the man until he confessed his conspirator’s name. Would you condemn her for protecting you?”

“But what she done to him… ’Twas terrible.”

“You watched, did you?”

The man shifted awkwardly. “Nay. But we all heard his screams. And once he gave her Gavin’s name, she hanged him.”

His teeth grinding in frustration, Dillon held up a hand to arrest the growing grumbles. “The man still breathed when she left him. He was also unharmed. My brother can confirm this, as can the men he ordered to guard him. Since the wisewoman spent the rest of the night tending my wounds in my solar and had no further contact with him, I assume you are laboring under the foolish belief that she cast some sort of spell upon him?”

Abashed looks.

“Then allow me to ease your minds. If aught drove the man to hang himself, ’twas the knowledge that I lived and he would soon face my wrath. Knowing my reputation, he would have had no reason to expect mercy. If he did, I am sure my brother rid him of the false hope. Like all of you here, I doubt he had any difficulty imagining the fate that would befall him when I resumed my duties. So ’tis lunacy to suggest that sorcery had aught to do with it.”

He saw a change in some of their faces as the logic of his words began to penetrate and conquer the lies. No doubt they would still be wary of Alyssa. But mayhap acknowledging the truth of what had happened that night would take them one step closer to acceptance.

At least, he prayed ’twould be so.

Dropping his arms to his sides, he relaxed a bit. “The wisewoman has healed almost every one of you at one time or another. Many of us would not be here today had she not and owe her our very lives. She has treated you all with kindness and compassion and should in return be treated with deference and respect. She has in no way earned your fear or distrust.”

He paused. “I suggest that from this day forward, if you intend to continue judging the healer, judge her solely by her actions toward you and remember the numerous ways you have benefited from her care.”

Stepping back from the high table, he headed for the stairs. When he drew even with Richard, he paused long enough to slam a fist into the quaking man’s face, knocking him unconscious. Then, nodding to Ann Marie, Dillon left the hall.

The rest of the gathering found their seats once more and resumed supping, suitably subdued as they pondered his words.

Not one of them went to Richard’s aid.