Lord Camden drew back his leg and slammed his boot into the side of the boy curled into a ball on the floor of the kitchen. Then kicked him again. And again. And again. In the ribs. The stomach. The back. Whatever body part happened to roll in front of his foot. His fury rising with every blow.

The little bastard had been caught filching food for his family.

Every crumb in Pinehurst’s measly stores would be needed until Westcott’s men were called away to mourn the death of their lord and cease this cursed siege. Camden would be damned if even one of those crumbs went into the mouth of a thieving whelp like the one moaning and weeping on the floor.

One of the women present whimpered.

“Silence,” Camden roared, spittle flying from his lower lip. “Or you will be next.” By the time he finished with this piece of filth, no other would even think of stealing from his larder.

“My lord,” a gruff voice said just as Camden prepared to kick the boy in the head.

“What?” he barked mid-kick and looked over his shoulder.

Osbert, one of the men who guarded the walls stood just inside the doorway. “Sir Simon is demanding to speak to you.”

Sir Simon, the burly knight from Westcott who had believed he could pass for Lord Dillon. Foolish knave. Even had Camden’s spy not revealed the ruse in a missive, Camden was certain he would have swiftly guessed the truth. None were more clever than he.

“Have an archer fell him.”

“He says he has received word from Westcott. He says you will wish to hear it.”

Camden stilled. Tilting his head to one side, he ignored the groans of the boy at his feet and considered the soldier thoughtfully.

Had the ambush already taken place? Had Lord Dillon been slain?

Grim satisfaction suffused him, twisting his lips in a smile that made the other occupants of the kitchen take fearful steps backward. At last, the cursed whoreson was dead. How Camden wished he had been the one who had wielded the crossbow.

No more would Camden have to hear the praise heaped upon Lord Dillon’s head. No more would he have to endure seeing the admiration that filled his father’s eyes each time he spoke of Dillon turn to disappointment when he regarded his own son.

Delivering a final kick to the moaning boy, Camden spun around and preceded the soldier out of the kitchens. Across the bailey they strode. And, with every step, anticipation thrummed through Camden and swelled his chest.

The siege that had barely begun would end now. Sir Simon and the rest of Westcott’s men would withdraw to mourn the loss of their lord. Lord Robert would be too buried by grief to begin the siege anew.

Camden would send missives to the king, alerting him to the tragic loss of his friend. The kind missive would, of course, include a fabricated account of Camden valiantly having hunted down and slain the thieves who were responsible. The same thieves, he would add, who had attacked Lord Robert and stolen the coin Lord Camden had sent to pay the delinquent taxes he owed. Alas, the coin had not been recovered.

The king, in his benevolent gratitude, Camden thought with an inward sneer, would reverse his decision to take Pinehurst from him. Mayhap King Richard would even grant him some of Lord Dillon’s lands. He seemed to reward Lord Dillon for every minuscule act he performed. If Dillon so much as visited the garderobe, he was granted another keep, the bastard. So why would King Richard not give Camden a boon for avenging the death of his beloved friend?

Lord Dillon of Westcott would, at last, no longer be the most feared and revered warrior in England.

Nay. Camden would assume that position.

Upon reaching the gatehouse, he scaled the steps to the wall walk two at a time.

The men who manned it all bore grim expressions.

Ignoring them, Camden leaned into one of the crenellated openings in the wall, Osbert at his side.

Sir Simon stood in the meadow below, what appeared to be every man he had brought with him lined up behind him.

Had they not had their shields at the ready, Camden would have ordered his archers to fell them all.

“I am told you wish to speak with me,” Camden called.

Even work on the trebuchets had halted, he noted with triumph.

Sir Simon removed his helm. “Aye. I’ve news to share with you.”

“Speak it,” Camden commanded.

A malicious smile lit Simon’s face. “Your plot has failed,” he shouted.

Unease trickled through Camden.

The men behind Simon did not mimic his smile. Nay, they all bore murderous expressions.

“Plot?” Camden called back. “I know not—”

“The ambush you arranged did not gain you what you hoped it would,” Simon interrupted. “Lord Dillon survived. Gavin has revealed your perfidy. And a missive has already been sent to the king, granting him the details of your attempt to murder his most trusted warrior.”

Camden’s blood went cold. Gavin had betrayed him? Dillon had survived the ambush?

“You should have at least had the bollocks to try to kill him yourself, you bloody coward,” Simon mocked him.

A rumble of agreement swelled behind Simon.

Humiliation heated Camden’s face. “Kill him,” he whispered hoarsely, his hands beginning to tremble.

“What?” Osbert asked.

“Surrender the keep now,” Simon ordered in a voice all of Pinehurst could hear, “and mayhap, when Lord Dillon arrives, he will let you live.”

“Kill him!” Camden hissed furiously.

Osbert murmured something.

One of the archers behind Camden stepped into the next crenellated opening and raised his bow.

An arrow struck the archer in the chest with a thwup.

Camden watched him stagger backward and collapse. Heart racing, he returned his attention to Sir Simon.

“Did you fail to notice we have our own archers?” he drawled. “Sleep well tonight, cur, whilst you ponder the fate that awaits you.”

Simon turned and strode away as though he had not a care. The other warriors closed ranks around him.

Lord Dillon had survived.

Camden’s heart slammed against his ribs. And he cursed the fear that drove it.

Dillon had survived. The king knew of the murder plot. And Simon had named Camden a coward loud enough for everyone at Pinehurst to hear.

The corner of one eye began to twitch as fury battled fear.

They thought themselves so much better than he?

They were not fit to eat the shit that clung to the bottom of his boot.

All was not lost, he silently vowed.

Nay, all was not lost.

They could not defeat him. They could not outwit him.

Camden would punish Dillon, that bastard Simon, and every man they led who thought him a coward. Then he would claw his way up out of the mire.

There would be a reckoning.

Ah yes. He would see to it.

There would be a reckoning indeed.

Alyssa awoke, a slow, gradual return to consciousness. She did not think she had slept long after Dillon’s exit. An hour, mayhap. The deep sleep, bereft of dreams, had gone far toward easing her body’s weakness. That odd humming was almost a memory. Her limbs no longer prickled with pain. Neither heat nor cold bombarded her. She was quite comfortable actually.

And yet, something seemed amiss.

Frowning, Alyssa cautiously opened her eyes. The shutters had been closed whilst she had slept, leaving the chamber thick with shadows.

One such shadow detached itself from the rest and loomed over her.

Gasping, she lashed out with her fist, striking her assailant squarely in the nose. A slew of curses filled her ears as he stumbled backward, tripped over something, and went down. Alyssa scrambled out of bed and raced for the door.

“Wait!”

Skidding to a halt, she spun around.

The intruder abruptly shoved open the shudders, allowing the golden light of a setting sun to flood the room and illuminate its occupants. “’Tis only me.”

“Robert?”

“Aye.” Straightening, he wiped the blood from beneath his nose and dropped his hand. “Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you.” He took a halting step toward her. “Dillon will run me through if he learns I woke you. Please, do not tell him.”

She would have been amused if Robert were not staring at her with an awkward combination of hesitance, apology, and fascination.

Heat crept up her neck when his gaze assessed her in a disturbingly masculine way.

Where was her robe? She felt naked standing before him without it. Dillon’s tunic hung off one shoulder and covered her to just below her knees, leaving her calves, feet, and—worse yet—her face bare.

Dismay swamping her, Alyssa ducked behind one of the bed curtains.

“Robert!” a voice bellowed behind her.

Alyssa jumped and spun around in time to see Dillon slam the door shut.

“I specifically ordered you not to disturb her!”

“Dillon.” She did not realize she said his name. Nor did she hear the relief and pleasure her voice carried to his ears.

His attention shifted to her. Both his expression and tone sweetened. “You should be abed. You are not yet recovered.”

Surely that explained why her knees suddenly went weak.

“I made a vow, Dillon,” Robert began.

“I come here and find her cowering behind the bed curtains whilst you leer at her and slaver over her soft white skin and you prattle on about a vow?”

Alyssa started to protest his description of her—she was not cowering—but the soft white skin part distracted her.

All thoughts fled entirely then as Dillon closed the distance between them and lifted her into his arms. Cradling her to him, he tenderly pressed his cheek to her forehead. Her heartbeat stuttered. Her flesh tingled where his whiskers abraded it.

“No fever,” he murmured, raising his head and giving her a proud smile as though she had some control over her body’s temperature.

“I was not leering at her,” Robert gritted. “If you would but listen—”

“I grow tired of listening.”

“Then allow me to do my duty! I am a man of honor, Dillon. I have never been forsworn and will not be so now. I made a vow and ’tis time I…”

The brothers continued to bicker as Dillon lowered her to the bed and tucked her beneath the covers. Alyssa knew not what kind of vow Robert had made, but she could feel the irritation it inspired in Dillon.

As soon as a lull arose, she cleared her throat and asked Robert, “Of what vow do you speak?”

Lips tightening, Dillon crossed his arms over his massive chest and glared at his brother.

Broad shoulders back, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, Robert said, “I vowed that if healing Dillon weakened you, I would be your servant until you recovered. Whatever you ask that is within my powers to grant, I shall grant you.” Gallantly dropping to one knee beside the bed, he finished earnestly, “I am yours to command, Wise One.”

Her mouth fell open. She looked to Dillon for his reaction.

Dillon’s arms fell to his sides as he snapped, “Oh, get up, you horse’s arse!”

She looked back at Robert, who did not budge. “Aye. Please rise, Robert.” Her eyes widened. “My lord. Please rise, my lord,” she corrected, shocked that she had forgotten his proper address.

Robert shook his head as he rose to stand beside the bed. “We are alone here. There is no need for formality, particularly when I owe you so much.”

“You owe me naught. I release you from your vow.”

“Nay. The vow was made to myself, Seer. I have sorely wronged you in the past and regret the unkindnesses I have dealt you. I allowed myself to be swayed by the words of others instead of judging you on your own merit.”

Alyssa stared. “But—”

“I will not be swayed, Healer. I am your servant. Command me as you will.” He sniffed and swiped at his nose again.

She blinked. “Very well. Come closer.”

Dillon scowled and eyed them suspiciously as Robert drew nigh.

“Kneel down as you did before.”

He did so, curiosity replacing the unease she usually saw in his eyes.

“Now, lean forward.” She reached a hand toward him. “Your nose still bleeds. I would heal it for you.”

“Nay!” The brothers spoke simultaneously.

Robert reared back as Dillon dove forward and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

Confused, Alyssa studied them. “Why?”

Robert looked to his brother.

Avoiding her eyes, Dillon lowered her hand to her lap and gave it a pat as he withdrew his own.

Her eyes narrowed. “You think I am too weak?”

“Aye,” Dillon said.

“Aye,” Robert parroted.

“I am not so weak as that,” she protested indignantly.

“’Twas only today that you awakened fully,” Dillon informed her. “I shall not risk your falling into another decline.”

An indecipherable look passed between the brothers, leading her to suspect that something more was at work here.

Robert cleared his throat. “Mayhap some broth might appeal to you, Wise One. I would be happy to fetch you some from the kitchen.”

Alyssa’s gaze went from one to the other.

“Make it something a little more substantial, Robert,” Dillon instructed. “’Twill help her recover more swiftly.”

Nodding, Robert bowed to Alyssa, then left. She stared at the closed door, wondering silently if she had not transferred her fever to Robert.

Dillon laughed, drawing her gaze.

“What amuses you?”

Seating himself on the bed, he leaned to one side and rested an elbow beside her thigh. “If you could but see your expression.”

She sent him a wry smile. “’Tis the truth I feel as if I have awakened into an odd dream.”

He winked. “More like a nightmare? Robert is quite determined to serve you and make amends. He will not be dissuaded.”

“But he is not at fault,” she repeated. “He did not force me to heal you.”

“I have told him so a number of times. I suspect more of his guilt lies elsewhere. He is thankful and amazed that you went to such lengths to save my sorry hide. It has made him regret being less than kind to you in the past.”

She shook her head. “’Tis bewildering.”

His eyebrows rose. “Is the change in him so difficult to accept?”

She let her gaze rove his muscled body, lounging so casually and comfortably nigh her own. “’Tis not only the change in Sir Robert that confuses me.”

Dillon’s expression sobered. His cerulean eyes turned watchful. “Am I different with you, Alyssa?”

The sound of her name falling so smoothly from his lips after so many years should not inspire this depth of pleasure. Swallowing nervously, she wished now that she had held her tongue. “You know that you are.”

“In what way?” His gaze swept her hidden form. His voice deepened, turned husky. “Tell me.”

Alyssa’s heart hammered beneath her breast. What was he doing to her? With just a look… such a look… he peeled away her exterior and threatened to expose all of her hidden desires.

“In this way,” she managed to say, heart pounding. “The way you look at me.” As though you are a starving wolfhound and I a choice bit of venison that has fallen at your feet.

“I thought you gray-haired and wrinkled beneath your robes. Yet, here you are, younger than myself by several summers unless I miss my guess. To discover such exquisite beauty… ’Tis not surprising that I look at you differently.” Still reclining on one elbow, he leaned forward and, with his free hand, brushed his fingers across her forehead, traced the arch of one brow and trailed down her temple to her cheek.

Images stirred in her mind. Erotic images that stole her breath and began a flash fire in her body.

Dillon drawing back the blankets, baring her body to his heated gaze.

Dillon’s hands and mouth touching her in the most shocking places.

His clothing miraculously vanishing as he lowered his body to hers.

Sucking in a breath, she drew away.

Hurt dimmed the sparkle in his eyes as he dropped his hand.

“That does not explain why you…” She bit her lip, afraid he would laugh if she finished her thought. What if it was all her imagination? Could it not be that the earthly desires that frequently flooded her at his touch were her own, rather than his?

“Continue,” he urged her.

“You do not treat me as formally as you used to.” She danced around the issue, of course. Without her robes to hide her expression, she found herself battling a new shyness and uncertainty when nigh him.

Flattening his hand on the bed, he splayed his fingers and frowned down at it. “You would prefer formality? Distance?”

She opened her mouth, ready to say aye, that aught would be better than this confusion he inspired.

Unfortunately, to do so would be to lie outright and—with the exception of neglecting to correct his assumptions regarding her age—she had always dealt honestly with him.

“Nay,” she admitted softly.

“Then what troubles you about my recent behavior toward you, Alyssa?”

She closed her eyes and repressed a shudder of pleasure. What troubled her about it? That she craved more and more and more of it and feared she would soon become a glutton.

Lifting her lashes, she stared at his bent head. “I simply do not understand why you are treating me with such… tenderness.”

His eyes rose and captured hers. “Because you are letting me.”

You seek a woman who will be as gentle with you as you wish to be with her.

Was this what he had meant, what he had longed for? Someone with whom he could share his warmth? Someone who would welcome his caresses, his fingers combing through her hair, as she had several times since waking?

Alyssa thought of the women who had occasionally satisfied his physical needs during their long acquaintance.

How hard it had been for her, watching him disappear with this wench or that.

She had known the name of every one of them. Brazen women all. Enticing him to their beds. Touching him boldly for all to see. Pushing him until he dragged them wide-eyed from the great hall to the nearest place of privacy. Never to his chamber.

What fools. They had gone to him seeking domination when what he had wanted most was tenderness. Both to give and to receive it.

She had envied them the intimacy they had shared with him, yet now understood that beyond the act itself, there had been no such intimacy.

Was she the first woman to whom he had shown this side of himself? The first woman who had allowed him to?

If so, what did it mean?

To him? To her? For the future?

She was his advisor. His sorceress. His servant.

He was her lord.

That could never change.

“I know not how to react, Dillon. I know not how I should react.”

He smiled. “Do not tax yourself so. How oft have you lectured me on the necessity of change, of accepting it and learning what one can from it?”

She grimaced. “Aye, but that change has never affected me before.”

He chuckled. “Mayhap ’tis time that fate did bring a few changes into your dull, dreary life. Nay, do not wrinkle your lovely brow. I but jest.”

Those wrinkles he mentioned deepened as heat crept into her cheeks. She simply did not know how to deal with him when he acted this way. Less the fierce, commanding warrior she was accustomed to and more the buoyant young swain who was completely unfamiliar and far too appealing.

He leaned closer, eyes glittering. “Ahh. She blushes at compliments. And so very prettily.”

The heat in her face increased.

“I shall have to compliment you often in order to make up for all the times your cowl hid your rosy cheeks from me in the past,” he murmured playfully.

Alyssa grabbed a pillow, the only weapon available to her, and hit him squarely in his smile.

Dillon laughed in delight.

Alyssa pursed her lips, fighting a smile of her own. “I begin to think that when you were struck by those quarrels you must have fallen and hit your astoundingly hard head. You are behaving most strangely, Dillon.”

Tucking the pillow beneath his arm, he ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Well, you had better accustom yourself to it,” he warned with a wicked grin. “Now that I know we are of a similar age—”

Robert entered, cutting off whatever Dillon intended to say. Kicking the door shut, he circled the bed and placed a large cloth-covered tray in Alyssa’s lap. “Your dinner, Wise One.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Robert.” When he removed the cloth with a flourish, her eyes widened. A virtual feast lay before her, with numerous mouthwatering selections and… a small bouquet of wildflowers tied with a pink ribbon.

Thunder rolled across Dillon’s features even as Alyssa glanced up to gauge his response. “You are not courting her, Cub! You are only supposed to serve her.”

Robert’s face tightened. “Of course I am not courting her. I merely thought to please her after all she has done for us.”

“And what do you suppose Cook thought when he saw you add posies to the platter you no doubt claimed you were preparing for your brother?”

“Cook never saw them,” Robert retorted. “I hid them under my tunic until I was sure no one was about.” His smile was charmingly rueful as he looked at her. “I fear they are a bit bedraggled.”

“It matters not, Robert,” she assured him. “’Twas very thoughtful of you.”

He tossed Dillon a triumphant smile.

Alyssa spoke up quickly to head off the impending explosion. “I assume by the bounty before me that the two of you will be sharing my meal.”

“Robert will dine below with the men,” Dillon stated when Robert opened his mouth to reply.

For a moment, she thought Robert would protest just to provoke him. But, in the end, he merely shrugged. “Is there aught more I may do for you, Wise One?”

She shook her head, moved by his desire to please her. “I thank you, Robert, but nay.”

“As you wish.” He offered her a chivalrous bow, then strolled from the room.

Scowling, Dillon watched his brother leave. Curse his hide. Robert always knew the right thing to do when it came to women. The right thing to say. Exactly how to brighten a pretty face.

Flowers.

As much as his people distrusted her, Alyssa had probably never been gifted with flowers in her life. And Dillon could have been the first to do so had he thought of it.

He could have been the one to receive her sweet smile of thanks.

Instead, Robert had.

Sitting up, he swiveled on the bed to face her and crossed his legs.

“Pay him no mind, Dillon,” she advised with a sweet smile. “’Tis only as you say. He wishes to make amends. As soon as I return to my duties, his vow will have been fulfilled and he will move on to more interesting endeavors, leaving us to enjoy our ordinary world.”

Relief suffused him. “You are right, of course.” He reached for a piece of bread, relaxing as his jealousy subsided. Though jealousy was new to him, he began to understand why it repeatedly drove men to make idiots of themselves. “I should not complain. His wariness around you has always troubled me.”

She nodded. “As it has me. I have hoped over the years that—as close as the two of you are—your trust and acceptance of me would in time find its way past his superstitions.” She took the tasty bit of venison he offered with a smile, then chewed thoughtfully.

Dillon’s food went untouched for long moments as he watched her lips, entranced. She reached for the wine. His gaze fell to the graceful lines of her throat as she sipped, noting the gentle motions as she swallowed. A hint of liquid sparkled upon her lips when she finished, and he waited impatiently for her to sweep it away with her tongue.

Ah, yes. He had had no idea a man could derive such pleasure simply from watching a woman eat, watching her drink. The movements of her hands. Her lips. Her tongue.

A new hunger rose within him, superseding the other.

“You should eat, Dillon. ’Twill help you regain the remainder of your strength. Though you appear fit, I am sure you tire more quickly than does please you.”

She truly is an innocent, he thought when she tendered him a piece of roasted venison with her fingers.

Dillon leaned forward and opened his mouth, allowing her to carefully place her offering inside. Before she could withdraw completely, he closed his lips, trapping one of her fingers within. He heard her breath catch and drew his tongue leisurely across her skin in a brief caress, circling and stroking. Her eyes focused on his lips as the pulse at the base of her neck began to pound erratically.

So. She was as affected as he.

Pleased with his discovery, he gave her fingertip a little nip and released it.

Her dazed eyes met his, blinked, then flickered away as she ducked her head and nervously stuffed a piece of bread in her mouth. The finger he had teased, she curled into a loose fist and tucked against her chest.

“Am I mistaken in believing that you did not serve my father?” he asked as though naught unusual had passed between them.

She cleared her throat and avoided his gaze, color still ripe in her cheeks. “Nay, my lord. I have served no other but you.”

He paused. Had she reverted to formality apurpose to remind him of their mutual positions or inadvertently because he had unsettled her? “And you have been with me since my father’s passing?”

“Almost,” she answered, her voice barely audible. “I began serving you the night I helped you take Brimshire.”

“You alone?” He wondered how she could have advised him so wisely at such an early age.

“Aye.”

“What age had you attained when you came into my service?”

“I was ten and six, my lord.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and, finding him watching her, occupied herself with taking a sip of wine.

Dillon began to regret making her so uncomfortable. It had not been his intention. Instinct had driven him. Instinct and a desire to learn whether the attraction he felt sparking between them was mutual or one-sided.

Unfortunately, having never pursued an innocent, he lacked Robert’s smoother skills.

“You should eat, Alyssa,” he murmured, mimicking her earlier words to him. “’Twill help you regain the remainder of your strength.”

Her lips lifted in a wry smile. “You have acquired the most irritating habit of late of tossing my words back at me like a discarded bone.”

He grinned as she took another bite. “Should good advice not be shared?”

She opened her mouth to offer what he suspected would be a traditionally dry reply, then rolled her eyes and went back to eating.

He fought a laugh. “I have one more question for you, then I shall leave the rest for the morrow and let you concentrate on your meal.” She seemed to relax and even managed to keep from blushing when she sent him an inquiring look.

Sobering, he asked the question that had been poised on the tip of his tongue ever since he had removed her cowl. “Why have you hidden yourself from me these many years?”

Swallowing, she dabbed her lips with her napkin. “The previous wisewoman would not relinquish her position until I vowed to conceal my true age and appearance beneath the robes, allowing others to believe she and I were one and the same.”

He nodded his acceptance of her explanation, but battled disappointment. The fact that she did not distinguish him from the others discouraged him. He had thought they had grown closer than that over the years.

“She left no room for exceptions, Dillon,” she continued. “And I did ask. My adherence to the robes is not a reflection of any lack of trust in you. You were the one person I would have willingly shared my secret with had I been given a choice in the matter.”

His spirit lightened. Curiosity rose.

He had been too quick to promise to pose no further questions.

She smiled. “I can see the wheels turning in that inquisitive mind of yours. But I intend to hold you to your promise and will answer no more questions this night.”

He grinned. “Ah, Seer, you know me well.”

A crash resounded from below, drawing a sigh from him. “My men appear to be celebrating my return to health and the resumption of my duties more exuberantly than ’tis wise, particularly when one considers that there was an enemy within our midst only a few days past. I’d best go down and see to them ere they destroy the trestle tables and drink themselves into oblivion.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he strode over to the door, where he donned his most stern expression and pointed an authoritative finger at her. “You are to consume every crumb on that tray, Alyssa, ere I return. You have gone too long without sustenance and have desperate need of it.”

She eyed the wealth of food before her doubtfully. “I shall try, Dillon.”

He grinned at the sight of her sitting there, so small in his oversized bed, seeming almost a child. When she glanced back up, he winked, earning himself another treasured smile, then ducked out into the hallway.

He would not return until he was sure she slept. After resting beside her, always touching some part of her and drinking in her sweet presence, he was loath to give it up. ’Twas the first time in his life he had ever spent an entire night (three actually) in bed with a woman.

He found it addictive and could not imagine sleeping without her by his side. Yet he felt certain she would object should he return early, doff his clothing, and climb into bed with her.

Nay. He would wait until sleep claimed her, slip beneath the covers, hold her close through the darkest hours, then leave before dawn broke. That way he would be content.

And she would remain none the wiser.