Alyssa assumed at first that she dreamed. Dillon’s mouth closed over the sensitive tip of her breast, tasting and teasing, tempting her to respond. His large, rough hands spread fire along her body.

Moaning, she tunneled her fingers through his thick, dark hair and urged him closer.

Instead, he abandoned her breast and kissed his way up her neck. “Forgive me, love,” he whispered. “I could wait no longer.”

A smile stretched her lips. Opening her eyes to the dim light of a curtained bed, she wrapped her arms around him and stroked his broad, muscled back. “How long have I slept?”

He captured her lips in a long, deep kiss, plundering and exciting her to a fevered pitch.

“Since you arrived yesterday shortly after the noon hour. ’Tis morning now.”

So long?

She practically purred when he nipped the sensitive skin beneath her ear, then laved it with his tongue, his hand finding her breast at the same moment.

“After holding you in my arms all night,” he continued, his warm breath tickling her ear and sparking a shudder of pleasure, “and stroking your soft skin…” The rough hand at her breast slipped to her side, followed the curve of her waist, over her hip and down her thigh. “After hour upon hour spent with your sweet, luscious body pressed to mine…” When she raised her knees in response, he settled himself more firmly against her, teasing her with his arousal. “I find my patience has come to an end.”

She arched into him, eager for more.

Dillon groaned. “I burn for you, Alyssa. I tried to wait, wanted you to rest. But I am so greedy for you. I have to have you.”

His hands shook when they renewed their rough-tender exploration of her body, seeking all of the places that would bring her pleasure. “I have never known such need as this,” he admitted, voice husky as he lowered his mouth to feast on her breast once more.

Her gift told her he truly did feel remorseful, as if awakening her to such ecstasy was somehow selfish of him. But he would hear no protests or condemnations from Alyssa. Her body felt rejuvenated, responding eagerly to the touch of his hands and lips. As it should. She guessed she had slept almost twenty hours. Could not even remember entering the castle or sending word to Robert of their safe… arrival.

She groaned. “Robert.” She had not sent him the missive. She had sworn she would as soon as she arrived, knowing how he worried about his brother. But she had fallen asleep before she could. Now ’twould take a day longer to reach him.

Dillon’s body went still. For several seconds he seemed not to breathe. Then, flattening his hands on the bed to either side of her, he slowly raised his upper body until his arms were straight, his elbows locked, and he could glower down at her.

Alyssa’s eyes widened with shock when they met his and she saw the desperate need to do violence in them. Rage unlike anything she had ever felt before abruptly screamed through him, forcing its way into her at every point they touched and scorching a path to her heart. Mingled with it was such incredible anguish that she could barely suppress it enough to seek its cause.

Dillon thought she had been imagining ’twas Robert making love with her.

Appalled, she gaped up at him as he swiftly lifted himself off of her and backed away to the far side of the bed, dragging most of the blankets with him. Cool air flowed over her like tranquil river waves, soothing her fevered skin, but doing little to assuage her rising ire.

“I imagined naught of the sort!” she exclaimed. Sitting up, Alyssa yanked a blanket away from him and dragged it up to cover her breasts. “How dare you accuse me of such!”

“I do not recall accusing you of aught,” he snapped.

“I know not whence came this erroneous belief of yours that your brother is more proficient with women than you are, but ’tis beginning to twist your thoughts,” she nigh shouted. “The fact that he has bedded more women than your entire army does not in any way suggest that you cannot make women scream with just as much pleasure as he can. More so, were I to judge by my own response to you.”

He blinked in surprise, then frowned, clinging to his anger. “You called his name.”

“I did not call Robert’s name because I was imagining ’twas him making love with me.” She could not halt a slight grimace at the thought of anyone’s hands other than Dillon’s touching her so intimately. “I did so because I only then recalled my promise to him.”

“Which was?” he asked neutrally.

“I vowed I would send him word of your welfare and news of what has transpired here at Pinehurst. He was so worried about you, Dillon. We both were. He would not let me come to you until I revealed the vision I had had of Camden’s perfidy. ’Twas a struggle to make him understand my urgency even then. And when he did, he felt it, too.” Alyssa bit her lip, guilt consuming her. “I should have sent word that you were safe as soon as I arrived. But I was so weary… I can barely remember you helping me down from my horse.”

Dillon’s jaw slowly unclenched. “I sent Robert word of your safe arrival and of Camden’s defeat yesterday whilst you rested.”

She relaxed, relieved that Robert would soon hear that his beloved brother was well and would not be made to wait because of her negligence. “Thank you.”

He nodded curtly. “Now explain to me how precisely you discerned my accusation, since I never voiced it.”

Though Dillon appeared much calmer now, Alyssa hesitated. Almost afraid to tell him. Afraid he would think her freakish or, at the very least, be angry that she had not confessed it sooner and consider it a violation of his trust.

“Alyssa?”

Sighing, she relented. “There is something I have not told you, Dillon.”

He stared at her expectantly.

“I am different,” she began.

His expression lightened as his lips twitched. “Think you I have not noticed this ere now?”

Dropping her gaze, Alyssa plucked at the bed linens. “Nay, I… When the other gifted ones came to heal my wounds and restore my life, it… changed me. I am different now.” She risked a glance up at him.

He sobered. “In what ways?”

“Well, there are the visions. When I saw Camden’s army beneath the keep, ’twas as if I were there, Dillon, walking amongst them, stepping over their feet. One of them seemed to look right at me. And I could feel the dampness of the cave, smell their foul stench. For a moment I stood right behind Camden, listening to him boast as he outlined his strategy. As soon as I realized what he intended, I sought to warn you.”

“You did. I saw you as clearly then as I see you now. Standing over there by the hearth and commanding me to awaken and call my men to arms. I thought you had disobeyed me and followed me to Pinehurst against my wishes.”

Alyssa stared at him in astonishment. “You saw me that clearly?”

“Aye. I knew not what to think when I set Gideon to guard you only to turn around and find you had vanished.”

She swallowed. She had known some part of her message had reached him, but this… “I have had other visions on the journey here. I saw you with your men. Twice. And watching for me from the wall walk.”

“I saw you as well, more faintly than before. None around me did. But I could hear your voice, whispering that you were coming.”

Distracted for the moment, she pondered the significance of that, the contradiction in the visions and possible causes of it. “Do you suppose ’twas because I was weary? The reason the first was clear and the others less so?”

“I know naught of these things, Alyssa.”

She frowned. “Nor do I, but I fear I must learn. And quickly.”

“These visions did not begin until your healing?”

“Nay. The dream I had of Camden stroking the cats… that is how the future normally visits me. Dreams that lack the clarity present in these more recent visions.”

“What else?” There was an air of anticipation about him as he awaited further revelation.

“I also…” She faltered.

“Alyssa?”

“I seem to have acquired the ability to…” Swallowing, she said the last in a rush that emerged barely coherent. “Read others’ thoughts.”

Dillon’s eyes locked with hers, forbidding her to look away. “Could you read my thoughts ere your healing?”

“Nay,” she answered in a small voice.

“Not at all?”

“Occasionally, if I concentrated very hard and you consciously sent your thoughts to me as you did when you admitted you wanted a… a wife, I was able to form a general understanding of them. But I could never read them as clearly as I do now.”

He nodded. “And after your healing, when you realized you could?”

“Your emotions affect me much more strongly now, Dillon, overwhelming me at times. I assumed at first ’twas them I read and that the rest was my imagination. I did not want to believe ’twas aught more than that.”

“Is it only my thoughts?”

“Nay. ’Tis anyone I touch. But you are the easiest for me to read. Most likely because I…care for you more than anyone else.”

The tension seemed to melt from his body. “Why did you not tell me? Why keep the changes hidden?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “These new gifts frighten me. I do not understand why I have acquired them.”

“The gifted one who spoke to me—the tall fellow who called himself Seth—said healings affect you differently than they do me. I thought at the time that he referred to your fever. Mayhap this is what he truly meant. Mayhap when the other gifted ones healed you, you absorbed not just their healing energy, but some portion of their gifts.”

“But I cannot control them.” Her voice rose as her agitation increased and she poured out her fears. “Whenever I try, I find only pain. I was in my chamber when the vision of Camden struck me. I lost consciousness, Dillon. It took Robert over two hours to awaken me. My body was hot to the touch. He said I had been quivering and muttering something unintelligible. I have no memory of that. And this morning, moments ago, when you became so enraged and I tried to read your thoughts, I felt as though I were being seared inside by the flames of a torch. How can I accept these gifts when I cannot check them? How can you?”

And there lay the heart of her concern—Dillon’s reaction. His acceptance, or rejection, of the transformation taking place within her.

Would he still love her now that he knew?

Would he spurn her?

He reached a hand out to touch her face, but frowned and withdrew it at the last moment.

Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes.

She had her answer.

“Do not weep, Alyssa,” he whispered, yet came no closer.

Swiping at the tear that slipped down one cheek, she shook her head and bit back a sob. “This is the true reason I would not tell you.”

“What is?”

“I feared you would not want me. That you would spurn me. And you have. You cannot even bear to touch me.”

His dark brows slammed together. “Alyssa, you just told me that the last time I touched you it caused you pain. I do not do so now because I do not wish to harm you. But that does not mean it is not killing me to keep from wrapping my arms around you and squeezing you so tight our heartbeats become one.”

Sniffing, she stared up at him and drew in a fractured, hiccupping breath. “It is?”

“Aye!” He said it so forcefully she could not doubt his sincerity.

Joy leapt in her breast. Smiling, she threw back the covers and started to launch herself at him.

“Wait!” Dillon threw up his hands to ward her off.

Disgruntled, she frowned and sat back on her heels. “What?”

“I do not want to hurt you!”

“You will not.” To prove it, she reached out, took one of his hands in her own, and brought it to her cheek. “See? No pain.” Turning her head, eyes still clinging to his, she pressed a kiss to his palm, nibbled her way up his index finger, then drew it into her mouth and caressed it with her tongue. “Only pleasure.”

Growling, he dove at her and drove her back against the pillows. Alyssa squealed in surprise. His lips found hers amidst the curtain of her hair and proceeded to kiss her breathless.

Rising above her, he grinned down at her. “We shall ponder your new gifts later. Right now I am more interested in exploring this pleasure you mentioned.”

She laughed and murmured teasingly, “Then I shall let your thoughts be my guide.” Leaning up to bite his chin, she smoothed her hands over the muscles of his shoulders and back. “Whatever you desire, whether you speak it or nay.”

She got no further before heated images flooded her mind and inflamed her body. Burying her hands in his hair, she pulled him down for a devouring kiss, then pushed him onto his back and straddled him, restraining him with a hand on his chest.

Dillon’s mouth dropped open. Verily he had not taken her seriously. The images had just popped into his head in response to his arousal and the press of her body against his. Her hands on his skin, her sultry voice washing over him, and those lips made him burn.

So when she lowered her mouth to his chest and began a slow descent down his body, doing exactly what he had unconsciously asked her to, he groaned both in shock and in ecstasy and buried his fingers in her tousled hair.

Her small hands curled around his arousal as she lowered her mouth and tasted him, first with a long, slow lick.

Lighting sizzled through his veins.

Casting him a look that was both shy and brazen at the same time, she swirled her tongue around the sensitive tip, closed her lips around him, and drew him in deep.

“Alyssa…”

She read his need, his desires, his every thought easily, her mouth enacting every fantasy until his body was as taut as a bowstring and he teetered on the brink.

Growling, he drew her up and flipped her beneath him. Parting her legs, he settled himself between them and rubbed his throbbing shaft against her moist center.

She was ready for him.

Dillon plunged inside her, delighting in her moans of ecstasy as she wrapped her arms around him, her small hands sliding down his back to grip his backside and urge him on. She was so tight. And as needy as he. Dillon held naught back, muscles bunching as he drove himself into her whilst she arched up to meet his every thrust, the pleasuring building and building until they found their release together.

Panting, Dillon stared down at her, so very much in love with her.

He brushed a gentle kiss to her lips, then rolled them to their sides.

“Alyssa,” he whispered, then said naught more.

Seeming to understand, she snuggled closer and rested her head against his chest.

“Here, love.”

Having finished braiding her hair, Alyssa looked over her shoulder. Dillon stood nigh the door, fully dressed, with her black robe dangling from his hands.

Warmth unfurled inside her as she approached him and stood patiently whilst he carefully enshrouded her in darkness. “I wish, sometimes, that you could read my mind and heart,” she told him, smiling as he clasped her hands and brought her fingers to his lips for a series of kisses.

“If I could, what would I see?”

“How much it gladdens me to hear you call me that, to have you touch me and look at me so tenderly.”

Guiding her hands to his waist, he cupped her cheeks with his own. Callused from years of wielding weapons, they slid in rough contrast over her smooth skin. “If you see me as clearly as you say you do,” he whispered, “then you know that I love you.”

I love you, Alyssa.

Her throat tightened. She had waited so long to hear those words fall from his lips. How she wished she were free to act upon them. That they both were.

Unable to speak, she lifted her lips to his for a slow and sensuous kiss full of the love she bore him.

“And I have looked into your mind and heart,” he murmured, pulling back to gaze down into her eyes. “You led me there yourself only yesterday.”

I love you, Dillon. I wanted to tell you ere you left Westcott, but did not think I had the right.

Alyssa froze, her heart thumping so loudly she could hear naught else. Naught save her own voice replayed in Dillon’s mind, confessing her love.

I love you, Dillon.

She shook her head, as if she could deny the truth of the words she had spoken.

“Let me hear them again,” he beseeched her. “Give me the words I wish for the most. Now, when you are no longer walking in your sleep.”

A kind of panic seized her. “I… I…”

His thumb swept across her lower lip in a brief caress. “Never mind,” he murmured, not quite able to hide his disappointment. “I am a patient man when it suits me. I shall wait until the thought of speaking them does not strike such fear in you.”

“I am not afraid, Dillon,” she denied. “’Tis only that what you are asking, what you want between us, is—”

“’Tis not impossible.”

Dillon dipped his head and captured her lips. Filled with a desperate need to brand her and imbue her with the determination he felt, he slid his arms around her and hauled her small, slender form up against his. Anger and frustration over her refusal to believe they could have a future together pummeled him until she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around him, coaxing him back toward gentleness.

He softened the kiss, his lips now teasing instead of inciting. Releasing her, he grasped the sides of her cowl and raised one dark eyebrow. “Have you so little faith in my brother and the seeds of doubt he sows?”

Alyssa stared up at him, humor entering her deep brown eyes. “You know about that?”

He smiled. “Michael mentioned it last night when I spoke to him.” Kissing her one last time, Dillon forced himself to draw the hood up to hide her face and hair, then led her from the chamber.

He settled a hand possessively on her lower back as they turned toward the stairs. Though not as narrow as those at Westcott, the steep steps similarly followed the inner curve of the donjon and boasted a high stone wall that kept the two of them hidden from view of the great hall.

“He would have me believe that half the village has accused the other half of sorcery. And that all are too busy nurturing their fear and loathing of each other to sustain their customary fear of you.” Leave it to Robert to find a way to turn the people’s fears against them.

“Faugh!” she whispered, slipping into her aged wisewoman voice.

Dillon laughed.

“You laugh now. But, when you return to Westcott, there is no telling what chaos will reign.”

He shrugged. “Methinks ’tis a clever ploy.” And he would welcome the chaos if ’twould ultimately aid their cause.

“You would.”

They started down the stairway side by side. “Why did Robert not accompany you on your journey here? I was most displeased when I saw that he had not.”

“I felt very strongly that he would be needed at Westcott.”

“With Camden dead, I know of no imminent threat.”

“Nor do I. Yet the feeling persists.”

Considering her new gifts, Dillon hoped ’twas just a feeling and not a premonition.

“Was it you, Dillon?” she asked, voice hesitant. “Were you the one who took Camden’s life?”

He glanced down at her, wishing he could see her face. “Nay. When they realized their ruse had failed, that my men were not asleep and were rapidly decreasing their numbers, those still able to fell back the way they had come. We followed them into the tunnel.”

“Oh, Dillon.”

“Since you were there yourself, in a manner of speaking, you know the conditions for fighting were less than adequate. ’Twas narrow, inhibiting movement. And dark, more so after they extinguished all but two torches. Faces were largely indiscernible. Did my men not assiduously keep their armor shined and polished, I fear we would have had a much more difficult time distinguishing friend from foe. ’Twas not until we had dispatched them all that light was brought in and we were able to search the corpses for Camden.”

“And he was there?”

“What was left of him. He had taken a mace to the face, amongst other grisly things. His hair and eye color identified him more than aught else.” Since he was touching her, she no doubt felt how much he regretted not being the one to strike the death blow. Did she think less of him for it?

Her cowl swung from side to side as she shook her head. “Nay. He tried to kill you. And, mayhap, tried to kill Robert as well in the attack that left Robert limping to Westcott’s gates.”

Dillon had considered as much.

“You sent the body to Westmoreland?”

“Aye. I thought Lord Everard would want the boy buried beside his mother.” Dillon dreaded the response he would receive. If he received one at all.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs just outside the great hall, Alyssa paused and turned toward him, enough to face him, but not enough to shake his hand from her back. “He will place no blame with you, Dillon,” she said, knowing his thoughts. “Camden incurred the king’s wrath with his avarice and arrogance, injured your brother, mortally wounded you, and would have slaughtered your men where they slept had you not stopped him.”

“And nigh caused your death as well.”

“You should feel no regret. Lord Everard knows the truth about his son.”

Dillon sighed. “He is the closest thing I have had to a father in recent years. I would not wish to lose that.”

“You will not.”

He tried to take comfort in her certainty.

“Ere you begin your duties, I would appreciate it if you would take me to your men. I have waited overlong to see to them.”

“Simon took care of them after your arrival yesterday. They are all rested and have been sent to aid in the construction in the village.” ’Twould take every able body to make the repairs before the first snowfall.

“Not the men who accompanied me,” she clarified. “Those who fought beside you in battle. ’Tis time I saw to their wounds.”

Dillon abruptly moved away, severing all contact. “’Tis not necessary.”

Her cowl tilted. “None were injured?”

Shrugging, he glanced back up the stairs. “Their wounds are paltry at best. You need not concern yourself.” ’Twas the first time he could recall lying to her. But he could not bear the thought of her harming herself to heal them.

“I have seen the wounds you consider paltry,” she scoffed. “’Twould not take much for them to lead to either death or loss of limb. Particularly with your men’s penchant for treating them with a dirty piece of cloth tied tightly about them.”

He would wash the cursed wounds himself if ’twould prevent her from using her gifts to heal them. “’Tis just a scratch here and there. Naught life-threatening.”

Alyssa crossed her arms over her chest and said naught.

Dillon fought the urge to squirm beneath her unseen regard.

When she reached out to touch him, he backed away. He did not want her to know his thoughts.

“All right, Dillon. What do you hide from me? Why do you seek to keep me from your men?”

“You worry for naught, I tell you,” he stalled. He would have to discuss this with her sooner or later, he would just prefer to do so later.

She straightened, lowering her arms to her sides. “Do they hate me so much now that they no longer wish me to heal them?” she asked in a small voice, her whisper forgotten for the moment.

Regret filled him. “Nay. I would not have you believe so, for ’tis not true. I am the reason.” He extended his hand toward her with resignation.

Hesitantly, she took it. Her shoulders relaxed. “Dillon,” she said indulgently, covering their clasped hands with her free hand and stroking his, “the pain is fleeting.”

“Any pain is unacceptable.”

“Unacceptable to you, but familiar to me. I am accustomed to it. I have lived with it all my life and know how to control it.” When he would have interrupted, she squeezed his hand. “Nay. What you saw was uncommon. ’Twas a unique situation, Dillon. You were minutes from death. ’Tis not the same when I heal less severe wounds.”

“I saw the scars,” he reminded her in a low voice, still furious with himself for having caused them.

Sighing, she dropped his hand and threw hers up in the air. “What would you have me say? ’Twas my own selfishness that resulted in those, Dillon. As endearing as the few scars you bear are,” she said, referring he assumed to the faint scar at his chin, the one that divided his eyebrow, and those that decorated his hands, “I did not wish to see you further marked, so I pushed myself and my gift further than I normally would. You are perfect as you are. Can you blame me for wanting to keep you so?”

That admission, belted out in as close to a normal voice as she had ever dared use in a place where they might be overheard, brought him to a stuttering halt.

She thought him perfect?

Dillon frowned and grumbled, stunned to feel a warm flush creeping up his neck. “Nevertheless…”

“I will heal your men, Dillon,” she declared, implacable. “Whether it be now or as soon as your back is turned I shall leave up to you. I would remind you, however, that putting it off and allowing the wounds to fester will only result in more pain when I eventually get my hands on them.”

He swore.

She smiled. “I knew you would see it my way.”

“Contrary, disrespectful—”

“But utterly loyal,” she quipped, folding her hands placidly in front of her. “Now. Shall we go?”

“Very well,” he barked. Scowling, he continued forward, marched through the castle doors, and headed for the tower in which the men were temporarily garrisoned. “But we shall do it my way.”

“As you wish, my lord,” she said, a smile in her voice.

Two figures stepped from the shadows nigh the great hall’s entrance, unnoticed by the quarreling duo. For several long minutes, they stared after the couple, then looked at each other.

“I know not what to make of that,” Simon said, his face wiped blank by surprise and confusion.

“Nor do I,” Michael responded, equally baffled.

“What do you suppose all that about the pain was?”

“I know not. It almost sounded as if healing us harmed her in some manner.”

Simon grimaced. “I like not the sound of that.”

“Nor do I.” Michael frowned. Recalling the many times she had healed him over the years, easing his suffering during his many attacks, he hated to think that such had caused the elderly wisewoman pain.

“Her voice seemed changed as well.”

“Aye. ’Twas odd.”

“So unlike her. Almost…” Simon trailed off, seeming flustered.

“What?”

“Well, ’twas sweeter on the ears than the raspy whisper we are normally subjected to.”

Michael silently agreed.

“And Lord Dillon. Did you notice aught amiss with him?” Simon ventured.

Michael nodded slowly. There had been no formal distance between Lord Dillon and the healer, though there always had been in the past. In fact, Lord Dillon had had his hand on her back when they had entered, settled there in an almost absent gesture of… affection? And the way she had taken his hand… “’Twas much the same with Robert at Westcott, now I think on it.”

Eyebrows shooting skyward, Simon spun toward him. “Robert? But he has ever been leery of her.”

“Not any more, or so ’twould seem. They have been thick as thieves since she healed Lord Dillon.” Michael glanced around, then leaned in to whisper, “I thought for a moment, ere we left, that Robert was going to embrace her.”

Simon’s mouth fell open. “Did he?”

“Nay. But she touched his arm and he covered her hand with his own, holding it in place so she could not release him.”

“Did she strike him down?”

“Nay. They seemed quite fond of each other,” he said with a shake of his head. “And Robert has made it his campaign to improve the people’s attitude toward her. You would not believe what has transpired there since you left. Your wife has even befriended her.”

“Ann Marie?”

“Aye. Ann Marie seems to have found quite a bit of favor with Lord Dillon, too.”

Simon’s expression darkened. “Just what are you implying, Michael?”

Michael raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Not what you believe I am. I suspect he is only grateful because she aided the healer in caring for his wounds.”

“Did she?”

“Aye, but only for a few days.”

His feathers slowly unruffling, Simon relaxed. “All right, then.”

Michael cast him a worried frown. “Although, as your friend, I should warn you…”

Simon’s hackles rose again. “What?”

“’Tis just that I overheard some of the men talking and… I do not agree with them in the least, but…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. Simon was known for having a rather fiery temper. “They seem to believe that Dillon has… taken Ann Marie as his leman.”

The roar of fury Simon emitted was nigh as fearsome as Dillon’s. Michael’s eyes widened upon hearing it, then swiftly squeezed shut when Simon’s fist connected with his nose.

Michael staggered back a step, then moaned and cupped his throbbing nose with his hands. “’Tis not true,” he growled as pain careened through his head and blood poured over his upper lip.

“I know!” Simon shouted.

“Then why did you strike me, you horse’s arse?”

“Because I am angry and you are here,” he gritted, then sighed and visibly fought to leash his fury. “Forgive me.” Stepping into the entrance to the great hall, he motioned to someone out of Michael’s line of sight.

A servant girl approached.

“Have you a cloth?” Simon asked her. “My friend here has suffered an accident.”

Accident, my arse, Michael mentally grumbled. Mayhap he should not have told Simon.

The servant hastened to hand Simon a cloth she pulled from a pocket in her skirts.

As Simon offered the cloth to Michael, his face full of apology, the girl hurried away.

Michael dabbed at the nose that felt twice its normal size. Pain continued to radiate through his head from it, making it feel as though someone kept hitting him in the face with his shield. The damned thing bled profusely, too. Tilting his head back, he studied Simon carefully. “Dillon would not betray you in such a way.”

Simon nodded. “He would not betray me at all. My anger is directed at the men who spoke ill of my wife, not Lord Dillon.”

Michael nodded, relieved. A few minutes later, he lowered the cloth. “How does it look?”

Simon grimaced. “I fear the ladies will not think you so pretty now.”

Warm liquid again slipped down over Michael’s lips. Swearing, he once more raised the cloth to his now-unsightly nose.