When Dillon had informed Alyssa that she would undertake the healing of his men his way, she had had no idea what he intended.

The first floor of the tower to which he led her was divided into two chambers. She knew not what purpose they had previously served, but they were now being utilized as sleeping quarters for Dillon’s soldiers. Each sported neat rows of pallets, a couple of long benches and his men’s gear, which was haphazardly strewn about.

Dillon evacuated one chamber and led Alyssa over to a bench, settling her upon it. Whilst the servants retrieved her bag of medicines and the other items she would need to cleanse and bandage the wounds, he ordered any and all wounded men to line up outside the large oaken door.

When all was ready, she waited curiously to see what he would do.

One by one, under her fascinated, amused, and intermittently irritated gaze, he allowed the men to enter. Dillon firmly closed the door behind each new patient, shuttering the curious gazes of those who would follow. He then blindfolded the victim, led the already uneasy man to the bench in front of Alyssa, and directed him to seat himself.

At Dillon’s silent command, Alyssa then removed her cowl and bared whatever part of her body she intended to heal on the wounded man. She had not understood the reason for this until Dillon had touched her and silently informed her that he planned to watch her carefully for any signs of pain, to be certain the wounds did not open upon her own skin, and to ensure she did not push herself too far, as she had with him.

None of that happened, of course. She healed the wounds partly with her hands and partly with herbs as she normally did. ’Twas less of a strain that way. Dillon stopped her only twice, immune to her glares of reproof, all over a little grimace she had been unable to suppress.

She knew not whether she wanted to hug him for his concern or strangle him for his heavy-handedness.

When the last man had been healed and hurried to take his leave (the blindfolding and Dillon’s bizarre behavior had certainly not eased the people’s fear of her), Alyssa was surprised to see Michael step into the doorway. Bowing sheepishly, he held a crimson stained cloth to his nose, which bled rather plentifully.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dillon demanded.

Her ears straining to catch the words, Alyssa thought Michael muttered something about striking the messenger.

“What?” Dillon asked impatiently. Verily, his mood had deteriorated with every man she had healed.

Rolling her eyes, Alyssa whispered, “Come here, Sir Michael. Let me look at it.”

“’Tis not as bad as it appears I ab sure, Healer.” He slowly approached. “I just caddot seeb to stop the bleedeeg and wanted to ask you what I should do.”

Dillon raised one eyebrow. “Aside from staying out of the path of other men’s fists?”

Poor Michael. His face went nigh as scarlet as the blood that coated his hand at that sarcastic aside from his lord.

Alyssa bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Sit down and lower the cloth.” As gently as she could, she ran her fingers over the swollen bump, finding two places his nose had broken. Her eyes widened. Simon of all people had hit him. “Oh dear.” She spoke involuntarily, shocked by the idea that leapt from his mind to hers.

Both men snapped to attention. Dillon yanked her arm away as Michael watched her carefully, noting his lord’s actions.

“What is it?” ’Twas Dillon who growled that question, worried that she had experienced some pain.

Refining her whisper, she shook her head. “’Tis broken in two places. I must heal it with my hands.”

Michael instantly looked as if he wished he had not come. His eyes widened when Dillon retrieved the blindfold and moved to stand behind him.

“You must not, my lord,” she protested. “’Twill cover the breaks and interfere.” Only Alyssa saw his responding glower as she waited with some measure of trepidation for his response.

Would he refuse to let her use her gift? Would she be forced to oppose him in front of Michael? To disobey him?

Because she would, if it came to that. She would not allow Dillon to forbid her the use of her healing ability.

“Michael,” he snapped.

“Aye, my lord.”

“Close your eyes.”

The man did so, unquestioning.

“Should you open them ere I bid you do so,” Dillon warned, “I shall blind you as punishment.”

Michael paled slightly. “Aye, my lord.”

Grunting his satisfaction, Dillon nodded for Alyssa to remove her cowl.

Pursing her lips, she tossed it back and told him with one disgruntled look, ’Tis only a broken nose, Dillon!

One dark brow rose as his eyes seemed to say, You shall do as I say or you shall not heal at all.

Another sigh escaped her. Freeing her hand from her robe, Alyssa placed it on Michael’s nose, closed her eyes, and concentrated on mending the breaks. Heat raced through her body, down to her arm, then to his nose. Soon her own began to ache. Bone shifted position beneath her fingertips, weaving itself back together. Something warm began to tickle her upper lip.

“Cease!”

Startled by Dillon’s abrupt command, she jumped and released Michael, whose eyes remained steadfastly screwed shut. Her gaze flew to Dillon.

Jaw clenched, he leaned forward around Michael and drew his finger across the skin beneath her nose. It came away wet with her blood. “No more,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.

Alerted to his distress by his touch, she nodded and raised her cowl.

Dillon moved to stand beside her. “You may open your eyes, Michael.”

Complying, Michael raised a hand to his nose and explored it experimentally. It was straight once more, no longer bleeding. The throbbing and much of the swelling had vanished as well. “My thanks, Healer.”

She nodded.

“Return to the village and aid in the repairs,” Dillon bid him curtly.

“Aye, my lord.” Standing, Michael bowed respectfully. He froze for a moment as he started to turn away. Alyssa saw his gaze go to Dillon’s fingers, still painted with her blood, then fly to her.

In the next instant, he was gone.

Dillon kicked the door shut, then returned to her side and lowered her cowl. Picking up one of the clean cloths she had set aside to use as a bandage, he grasped her chin and tenderly dabbed her nose with it, wiping away the blood. “I like this not, Alyssa,” he told her.

“I know.” Her body had already begun to heal itself. The bleeding ceased even as he watched. “’Twould not have affected me at all,” she assured him with a smile, “were I not weary from healing so many other paltry wounds before it.”

Dillon dropped the cloth with a groan and pulled her to him, locking his arms around her as he rested his cheek upon her hair.

* * *

When Dillon and Alyssa emerged from the castle, they found Michael deep in conversation with a knight whose back was to them.

“Does no one around here follow orders?” Dillon snapped, startling them out of their huddle.

Michael’s companion turned.

“Simon,” Alyssa whispered.

His eyes flew to her cowl.

As did Dillon’s.

“Aye, Wise One?” Simon asked.

“I would speak with you in private.” She wanted to thank Simon for trusting in Dillon’s honor rather than in the foul rumors Michael had exposed.

And to suggest that mayhap ’twould be best if he kept a tighter rein on his temper in the future. Either that or unleash it upon the source of his anger rather than whomever happened to be standing in front of him at the time.

Dillon eyed his second-in-command with suspicion.

The large man swallowed nervously. “Have I done aught to displease you, Wise One?”

“Nay.” But she did not want to mention the rumors in front of Dillon. “There is a matter I would discuss with you. If—”

She felt a tug on her sleeve. Frustrated at being interrupted, Alyssa stopped mid-sentence and turned to Dillon. “Aye?”

He glanced down at her. “You wish my aid in this?”

She frowned up at him. “Nay, I—”

Again her sleeve was pulled.

Alyssa drew in a quick breath and eyed the space between them. ’Twas not him. Dillon had not touched her. He had not moved at all.

Confused, she looked to her left, to her right, behind her. All inhabitants of the bailey were hard at work and paid her little attention.

“Wise One?”

Dillon’s voice drew her attention back to the men. Simon and Michael regarded her cautiously. Dillon watched her with some disquiet, most likely cursing his inability to view her features.

She felt yet another tug, this time on the hem of her robe. Glancing down, she stifled a gasp. Written in the dirt just in front of her, as though drawn by a finger, was the word orchard.

Her head jerked toward the neglected, thickly overgrown orchard that peeked around the corner of the donjon. “You men have work to attend to,” she whispered, surreptitiously swiping a toe through the dirt. “We shall speak of this later.”

Dillon caught her arm when she would have left. “All is well, Seer?”

“Aye. I have neglected my duties, my lord. ’Tis time I discovered what medicinal plants Pinehurst has to offer until some of my cache from Westcott can be retrieved.”

Accepting her explanation with some reluctance, he let her go.

Ignoring her audience’s inquisitive gaze, Alyssa headed straight for the trees. By the time she reached the corner of the donjon, she practically skipped in her haste.

The tall grasses at the edge of the orchard parted as she approached, inviting her within.

She smiled now, knowing who had summoned her, and began to run. Through weeds. Past errant saplings. Into the shadows. Out of sight of the bailey. Cursing branches that ripped the cowl from her head and sought to detain her from her quest.

Ducking beneath a low-hanging branch, she caught a glimpse of a man up ahead and stumbled to a surprised halt. Her eyes widened.

This was not whom she had expected to find waiting for her.

As she stepped nearer, she saw that he was a boy, not a man as she had at first believed. Not much taller than herself. His clothing was filthy and tattered, the hat that hid his eyes beyond redemption.

Legs braced apart, arms folded across his chest, he stared at her insolently, saying naught.

“Forgive me. I… I thought you were…” Squinting at his features, she discerned a hint of familiarity. “Meg?”

Bright, feminine laughter filled the orchard as her visitor doffed the hat, allowing shoulder-length raven curls to tumble forth. “At your service, cousin.”

Laughing, Alyssa hurried forward to embrace her. “Why are you garbed like a boy?”

She shrugged. “People leave me be when I travel so clothed.”

Alyssa wrinkled her nose and took a step back. “Mayhap ’tis your aroma and not the clothing that keeps them at bay.”

Meghan laughed. “Well, when one spends one’s time searching musty caves littered with animal droppings, one can hardly emerge smelling of flowers.”

“Musty caves?”

“I shall explain in a moment. First, how fare you, Alyssa? We have all been so worried about you.”

She smiled. “I am well, as you can see.”

“Geoffrey wanted to return to Westcott to see how you fared, but feared Lord Humphrey would mark his absence.”

Alyssa frowned. “Another battle?”

“Aye.”

There seemed to be no end to them on Broughston lands. And, since Lord Humphrey lacked the large, disciplined army Dillon maintained, the peasants were often called upon to fight.

“I would have come sooner myself,” Meg said, “but Grandfather cannot travel, and ’twas difficult to talk him into letting me come alone.”

“You should not have come alone. You should have waited for Geoffrey.” ’Twas not safe for any woman to walk the roads unescorted. ’Twas one of the reasons Alyssa so rarely visited her family.

“Faugh! I need no man to protect me. I have my gift. If any man threatens me with a weapon, I can rid him of it and fling it back at him with a thought.”

’Twas the truth. Meg had been born with the ability to move objects with her mind. But Alyssa now knew from experience that killing a man—even a villain like Gavin—was neither easily done nor easily forgotten. “Well, I am glad you are here.”

Meg looked her over carefully. “’Tis happy I am to see you so well. Verily, I know not how you survived.”

“You saved me. You and the others. Thank you, Meg. I am in your debt.”

“You are as a sister to me. There is naught I would not do for you.”

“And there is naught I would not do for you,” Alyssa responded, meaning every word.

“You must promise me you will never be so foolish again,” Meg entreated. “You cannot sacrifice yourself for him, Alyssa.”

“I fear I cannot make that promise.”

Meg took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You love him still?”

“More every day.”

With a sad smile, her cousin drew Alyssa over to the stump of a tree that had been felled by lightning. “He is an earl.”

Alyssa sighed. “I am aware.”

“He can never be yours,” Meg reminded her gently. “He must wed a woman of noble birth.”

“I know.” The slim hope Robert had raised in her crumbled. He and Dillon seemed to be the only ones who thought the circumstances of her birth and her station at Westcott meant naught. For a moment, Alyssa had begun to believe them and hope that she and Dillon could have a life together. Meg did her a kindness now, ensuring she saw the truth of the matter. “Tell me of your cave explorations,” Alyssa requested, wanting to change the subject. “What do you seek in them?”

“Not what, but whom.”

The two attempted to make themselves comfortable on the lumpy wooden natural bench, then gave up and sat on the ground.

“I seek the gifted ones who helped us heal you,” Meg said at last.

Alyssa frowned. “Dillon said there were seven of you.”

“Aye, but only six of us were gifted ones. The one called Seth allowed Matthew to accompany us so he would not worry.” The tale she told next was a fantastical one of Seth coming to Meghan’s door and taking her—in the blink of an eye—from her home to Broughston lands to find Geoffrey, then to Alyssa’s mother, then to Westcott.

“You said there was another with Seth?”

“Aye. His name was Roland, but he spoke very little. He said only that Seth is the eldest and most powerful amongst us.”

“Did you not say Seth appeared young?”

“Aye. No older than Lord Dillon. ’Tis a mystery, is it not?”

Alyssa nodded. “In truth, I knew not there were any others out there. I thought our family the only ones born with unusual gifts.”

“As did I.” Meg shook her head. “I know not who Seth is, but I sensed such immense power in him, Alyssa. ’Twas he who told us you would not perish if we healed you and—since your grandmother lacked the strength to do so alone—showed us how to help you.”

“Dillon said as much, but I know not how you did it. Only Grandmother has the healing gift.”

“Roland was a healer, too. I think Seth was as well, but he did not participate. He just told us the healers could draw strength from the rest of us and… ’twas exactly what happened when we healed you.”

Alyssa shook her head. “’Twas not all that happened.” She explained the changes that were taking place within her. Her visions. Her ability to read thoughts.

Meg stared, her gaze fascinated. “You’ve acquired new gifts?”

“Aye. And have little control over them.”

“I have never heard of such.”

“Nor have I.” They sat in silence for several long moments, wooed by the birds singing in the tree limbs above them. “Who is this Seth?” Alyssa asked. “How does he know so much more than the rest of us?”

“I know not. But he is more powerful than all of us combined. And tall,” she marveled. “Seth was so tall that he even dwarfed Lord Dillon.”

Alyssa could not imagine it. Dillon was the tallest man she had ever met.

“I intend to find him,” Meg said again as a determined gleam entered her brown eyes.

Alyssa did not attempt to dissuade her cousin, knowing such would prove fruitless.

Long moments of quiet passed.

“Why a cave?” Alyssa asked curiously.

“I asked your mother to seek him in a vision and she saw him in a cave with a shadowy figure. So I searched every one I came upon on my way here.”

“’Tis not much of a guide.”

“I know, but how long can a giant go unnoticed?”

“Hmm.”

Meg gave Alyssa a speculative look. “So, what does your handsome warrior earl think of you now that he has seen you unshielded by your robes?”

Alyssa forced a smile. “He thinks himself in love with me.”

Meg bit her lip and again took Alyssa’s hand. “Oh dear.”

* * *

“You are quiet, my lord.”

Dillon pried his eyes away from Alyssa’s hands and glanced at her face.

She had not looked up when she had spoken. Her attention seemed riveted to the dried herbs she currently ground into powder, yet another treatment she prepared for the neglected people of Pinehurst.

A month had passed since her cousin Meghan had visited. A strange young woman, that one.

During that time, much had been accomplished.

Dillon spent every day from sunrise to sunset laboring alongside his men, shoring up the keep’s defenses, making repairs, tearing down structures that were unsound and replacing them with new ones. In the evening, he retired with Alyssa to the lord’s chamber, which also served as the solar and had rapidly become their haven away from duty and prying eyes.

The people at Pinehurst, like all those weighted by superstitions, were wary of the healer and feared her peculiar gifts. Yet they seemed to lack any real hostility toward her, mayhap because they had quickly come to understand the value Dillon placed on her and did not wish to displease their new lord in any way. He was, after all, turning out to be much more generous than his predecessor, though Simon told him they found his presence formidable and his reputation downright frightening.

Their manner toward Alyssa was more one of caution than hate. She had visited many of them in their crumbling huts, asking after their health, which more oft than not had suffered under Camden’s brutal rule. Though all feared having her heal them with her hands—something only permitted in Dillon’s presence, behind closed doors, whilst blindfolded—they treated her with respect and always thanked her for her troubles.

Each night, as Dillon sharpened his weapons or mended any number of items that required care at Pinehurst, Alyssa worked diligently at the table he had ordered installed in the solar, filing away the herbs she had collected and mixing her miraculous cures. Sometimes they toiled in companionable silence. Other times they laughed and talked and teased. They even sang on occasion.

This night differed, however. The hush that gradually settled upon their shoulders was heavy with words unspoken.

Seated at one end of the table, Dillon found himself watching her as was his wont. Her lovely profile. The graceful curve of her throat. The full breasts nigh hidden beneath the material of her robe. The thick braid that dangled down her back and danced with every movement. The motions of her dainty fingers.

And, as he watched, his own hands grew slack, forgetting the task he had assigned them.

“You are quiet,” she repeated now.

“Aye.”

“Does aught trouble you?”

“Aye,” he confirmed.

An expectant pause ensued as she waited for him to speak his mind.

“I fear you have been less than honest with me, Alyssa.”

Her head snapped up, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “What?”

“You have not been honest with me.”

Her brown eyes widened in astonishment. “You accuse me of lying?”

“Mine own eyes have confirmed it.”

She frowned at him with dawning aggravation. “I have never lied to you, Dillon. If your eyes tell you otherwise, then ’tis they who have been untrue.”

He shook his head. “You are keeping something from me. I would know why.”

A strange expression flitted across her face as she fell still. Releasing the mortar and pestle, she turned to face him, one arm resting on the table, the other at her side.

“Do you deny it?” he persisted when she said naught.

“What is it you believe I have kept from you?” she asked carefully.

“’Tis obvious to any who have eyes and care to see,” he retorted, his gaze dropping to his target.

The hand at her side twitched, as though she had instinctively begun to raise it, then thought better of it.

“Dillon,” she began.

He looked up. Her expression had softened, her eyes pleading for understanding. But he did not let it move him. “Why did you not tell me you had acquired other powers during your healing?” he asked, hurt that she had not.

Her brows drew together. “Powers?”

“Powers. Gifts. You know of what I speak.”

“I did tell you of my new gifts. The first morning I awoke in this chamber. Do you not remember?”

“I remember well. But you failed to disclose the whole of it.”

Alyssa folded her arms across her chest. “I told you of my ability to read thoughts. I told you of the visions. What more could there be?”

“Your ability to move objects without touching them.”

She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again. “What?”

“Why did you not tell me you can move objects with your mind?”

Dillon knew not what response he had anticipated, but the laughter that abruptly escaped her caught him unawares.

“I have been with you for seven years, yet your rare jests continue to surprise me.” Eyes sparkling, teeth flashing in a wide smile, she drifted closer until she stood between his knees.

Dillon struggled to hold onto his anger as she leaned her body into his and slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. She was so small and he so large that even seated he was taller than her.

“Move things with my mind,” she murmured merrily, her lips lifting to meet his, making his heart race. “I love it when you tease me, Dillon.”

His arms closed around her of their own accord as her mouth settled upon his and stole his breath. The intimacy they shared amazed him more every day, extending so much further than the lovemaking they lost themselves in when darkness fell and the rest of the keep slumbered. A look. A touch. A melding of lips. They were both so hungry for affection.

Dillon had always been secure in the love of his brother. How often had they hugged or draped an arm around one another’s shoulders, slapped each other companionably on the back, or rumpled each other’s hair in jest? He had thought little of it at the time, mayhap taking it too much for granted. But Alyssa…

She had been so isolated for most of her life. Feared. Hated. Ostracized. Utterly untouched. Even he had avoided physical contact with her, touching her rarely when not employing her gifts, ensuring that a respectful distance remained between them at all times, never considering how much she might need an occasional brush of his hand.

However now that their relationship had changed and deepened and evolved, Dillon could not keep his hands off of her.

Whenever they were alone, he felt compelled to touch her hair, tunneling his fingers through it if she left it loose or smoothing his hand over it when it was not, tucking wayward strands back into place. The silky texture of her cheek always seemed to beckon, demanding a brief caress. Her shoulder fit so perfectly beneath his large palm. ’Twas only natural that it would itch to go there. And even more natural for his fingers to glide down her arm to link with hers.

The small of her back, the curve of her hip, the stubborn thrust of her chin, her tiny feet, that special place behind her ear that called out for a nuzzle, the little crinkle that formed between her brows when she was concentrating or angered all drew him like a magnet, their pull irresistible.

’Twas new to him, this adoring yet nonsexual compulsion to touch her and display his affection. And the more he gave in to it, the more comfortable Alyssa seemed to grow with his love, surprising him with similar gestures of her own.

Like this kiss that awakened within his body desires he dare not give in to until this matter was settled.

But ’twas so very tempting.

Gathering his strength, Dillon regretfully drew back and set her away from him, severing all contact.

Face flushed, lips rosy and slightly swollen, she looked up at him in confusion. Blissful, beautiful, sinfully arousing confusion.

“I assure you I am in earnest, Alyssa,” he said, his voice a tad unsteady, and waited for his words to register.

When they did, she took a step back, that beloved little crinkle forming between her brows again. “You did not jest?”

“Nay.”

Her head swiveled slowly from side to side. “Dillon, whatever would lead you to believe such a thing? I move objects the same way you do. With my hands, not with my mind.”

Rising, he began to pace.

Why did she continue to deny it? How could she persist in speaking falsely after giving him vivid proof to the contrary? “If you did not wish me to know of your new talent, why then did you display it in my presence?” he asked. “Did you think it would escape my notice?”

She threw up her hands. “What new talent? The only skills I have displayed are—”

“I saw you move them!” he snapped, frustration rising. How could she still not trust him?

Shocked by his outburst, she stood mutely before him.

“I saw you move them,” he said again, more controlled.

For several long minutes, she stared at him as though he were some inscrutable puzzle she could not fathom how to solve. When at last she spoke, her tone reminded him of that which Thomas often used to soothe skittish horses. “What did I move, Dillon?”

He gestured toward her work table. “Whilst you were preparing your potions and salves and such. Thrice as I watched, you reached for a pouch that was beyond your grasp and it slid across the table into your waiting hand.”

Her brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”

“You moved them, Alyssa. Without so much as a touch of your little finger.”

“I must have jostled the table and—”

“You did not.”

She chewed her lower lip. “Mayhap the table is unsteady and—”

“You know ’tis not. You placed it there yourself and would have noticed such a flaw long ere now.” To confirm his words, he pressed on one corner of the table, which did not move. “’Twas you, Alyssa. The pouches moved at your command.”

“But such is not possible, Dillon.”

“Why do you deny it when just moments ago I witnessed it?”

Alyssa gripped her hands together in front of her and eyed the table as though she feared the jars upon it would leap up and fling themselves at her.

Dillon frowned. Could it be that she had not known?

It seemed unlikely, yet her surprise and unease appeared to be genuine.

“Could you not have imagined it?” she suggested hopefully, face falling when he shook his head. “I do not understand,” she said again.

Regretting his burst of temper, Dillon moved forward and wrapped his arms around her. “Did you truly not know, sweetling?”

“Nay.” She sounded a bit dazed. As well she should be, he supposed. Dillon thought that, of all the gifts she had demonstrated, this one was the most daunting.

Well, nay. That was not precisely true. Her newfound ability to appear before him in visions and project that lovely translucent image of herself wherever he may be was more unsettling, though not unwelcome. He treasured every glimpse he was given of her.

Even so, seeing objects move at her command, silent or otherwise, had made his breath stop.

“I should not have shouted,” he told her gruffly, unused to offering apologies.

She tightened her hold about his waist. “Had I thought what you thought, I would have shouted.”

Sighing, Dillon pressed a kiss to the top of her head and leaned back so he could look down at her. “I thought you kept it from me apurpose as you did the others because you feared I would spurn you if I knew the truth.” When she smiled up at him, he smoothed his hand over her hair, once more compelled to caress. “It angered me to think you had so little faith in me.”

“Nay. I was wrong in that. I know that now. And had I known that those were not the only gifts I had acquired, I would have told you. I do have faith in you, Dillon. Whatever the future may bring, never doubt that.”

Bending his head, he brushed his lips across hers in a gentle kiss. “My temper is atrocious,” he muttered.

“Your temper is endearing,” she retorted.

Dillon stared down at her in horror. “Endearing?” Men throughout the continent quailed at the mere sight of his scowl and this little bit of a woman claimed his temper was endearing?

Her lips twitched.

His eyes narrowed.

“Only when directed at me and driven by love,” she conceded, kissing his chin.

He snorted, reveling in her attentions. “You are making me soft, I vow.”

“’Twas not what you told me last night,” she teased, her smile turning provocative.

His body instantly rose to the bait. “Do not think you can succeed in distracting me from my purpose, wench. You have yet to admit to possessing your new gift.”

Her lips pursed in a pout. “’Tis difficult to acknowledge a gift I have never utilized. Knowingly,” she added at his pointed look.

“Then do so now.”

“Now?”

“Aye. Demonstrate your new gift for me so that you may be convinced it can be done.”

“Oh, I know it can be done,” she muttered. “I have seen Meg do as much many times.”

“Not whilst she was here.”

“Aye, she did. ’Twas how I knew she awaited me in the orchard.”

“Hmm.” He had noticed naught unusual.

Taking her by the shoulders, Dillon turned her so that she faced the table upon which her jars and pots and packets of herbs and medicines were neatly arranged. “Now, choose an object and attempt to summon it to you.”

She stared up at him, face full of doubt. “Did I speak any words to make the pouches move?”

“Nay. You merely reached your hand out and they slid toward you.”

Nodding, Alyssa drew in a deep breath and dramatically flung her hand out toward the table.

Naught happened.

“Try again.”

Lips tightening, grumbling beneath her breath, she repeated the gesture.

A small pot with a loose stopper rattled violently, then sped forward, left the table, and hit Dillon squarely in the chest, spilling a foul-smelling, gooey concoction across the front of his tunic.

“Oh!” Alyssa’s dismayed cry accompanied the sound of the pot shattering as it hit the floor at Dillon’s feet, spattering his hose and boots with the rest of its contents.

Grimacing over the noxious fumes engulfing him, he saw her pretty umber eyes widen, her mouth fall open. His first instinct was to bellow a protest, his second to laugh. She looked so horrified, though, that he feared neither would be appropriate and sought a more diplomatic response.

“Ah… not bad for a first attempt. I am certain that with practice your aim will become more true, love. No need to worry.”

Her eyes fell away. She began to nibble her lower lip.

He frowned. “What is it?” His eyes began to water from the stench.

Did her lip tremble?

She met his gaze hesitantly. “You will not be angry?”

There it was again! Suspicion rose. Was that a tremble? Or was it a twitch?

His burning eyes widened. “You did this apurpose!”

“I did not believe I could do it!” she stressed hastily. “I just thought… Well, you were being so lordly about it all, refusing to be distracted when I was trying so charmingly to seduce you and-and-and…” She sighed. “Aye, I did it apurpose.”

A moment of silence passed. Absolute reeking silence.

Dillon burst into laughter. Brushing her hands aside, he yanked her into his arms and squeezed her close, smearing his tunic against her.

“Dillon!” She squirmed and tried to break his hold. Wonderful, musical laughter rained upon him when she could not, pleasuring both his ears and his heart. “Ugh! Cease!”

“’Twas your fit of temper,” he reminded her joyfully. “If I have to smell like this for… how long?”

She controlled her amusement long enough to say, “Two or three days.”

“Two or three days!”

She laughed harder. “Aye!”

“Then you will, too!”

They wrestled and laughed and tickled and growled and teased until, breathless, they collapsed onto the monstrous bed. Smiles still adorning their faces, they lay on their sides, eyes locked, unspeaking as their pulses returned to normal.

“My temper is atrocious,” she murmured.

“Your temper is adorable,” he returned, reaching up to brush his hand over her hair.

“I have been so waspish of late. Will you forgive me?”

“There is naught to forgive, love. I have yet to find a single thing about you that does not delight me.”

Alyssa sighed and burrowed her face into his chest, then coughed and hastily drew back, blinking furiously.

Dillon laughed. “Forgot so quickly, did you?”

“Aye,” she croaked, then coughed again.

Sitting up, he glanced down at the rank stain that darkened his clothing and grimaced. “What is the purpose of this foul substance? Is it truly medicine? Or did you conjure it up just for me?”

She sat up beside him with a smile and wiped at her shiny face and watering eyes. “’Tis good for clearing the head and chest.”

“I can vouch for that,” he muttered as his nose began to run.

“I admit I have been tempted to burden those who have been less than kind to me with its use. Lead them to believe ’tis a necessary part of the healing process for whatever ailment they have brought to my attention.”

He grinned down at her. “’Twould be just punishment, do you ask me.”

Chuckling, she pushed herself to her feet. “You know I could not.”

“I know.” Reaching out, Dillon drew the fingers of one hand down her pale cheek. “Since I was so boorish as to rebuff your earlier attempts at seduction, what say you I make it up to you with a shared bath?”

Turning her face into his hand, she buried her lips in his palm. “Will it be like last night’s?”

His blood warmed just thinking about it. “Aye,” he promised, then grinned, “only with a bit more scrubbing to rid us of this salve of yours.”

Laughing, Alyssa stole a quick kiss, then raised her cowl. “I shall see to it immediately.”