“You cannot control your impulses, Mage Lindin. I’d not further inflict your lack of self-discipline upon Rumm. He has enough to do without waiting with bated breath for the next time you put the household in an uproar.”

Her bones still felt watery, but she pushed to her feet regardless. Swaying a little, she glared down at him. “Anyone would think I woke in torment for no better reason than to inconvenience your servant.”

Lithely, Morgan Danfey rose to face her. Now there was a mocking light in his eyes. “It would not surprise me. You delight in the discomfort of those you consider inferior.”

And there was just enough truth in that to sting. She tilted her chin. “And you’d know, of course, after our lengthy acquaintance.”

He shrugged, almost smiling. “Whet your tongue on me if you must. But I do know you… and better than you think.”

Her heart was hammering again. “Is that so?”

“It is,” he said, still with that taunting near-smile. “And I can prove it.”

He was standing so close she could feel the warmth of his skin, and breathe in a hint of some rich, masculine scent. She fought the impulse to step back.

“Just as I can prove I’m not to be feared, but trusted.”

“How?” he said, one supercilious eyebrow lifting. “Not that you frighten me.”

She did something. A pulse beat fast at the base of his throat, revealed because he’d neglected to properly fasten his hunter-green silk tunic. Seeing that swift pumping of blood beneath his skin, Barl hesitated.

If it’s not fear, then it’s an emotion… more base. I must use that. I have no other weapon.

Lifting her gaze, she softened herself. “Unbind me, sir. You have my word I’ll not run. I’ll stay on your estate and obey Master Rumm from dawn to dusk, for as long as the Council decrees. I won’t complain. I won’t cause trouble. Only please don’t ask me to endure another morning like this.”

“I told you.” Councillor Danfey cleared his throat. “I will make you a soothing posset.”

“Possets don’t agree with me.”

A shadow of distress touched his eyes. “Mage Lindin, I cannot unbind you.”

“Yes, you can,” she insisted. “No-one will know, so long as I pretend I’m still bound. You can leave the estate warded. That will keep me your prisoner. That—and my word.” She folded her arms. “Unless the word of an unranked mage carries no more weight than a promise made by a Feenish mud merchant.”

“Stop harping on this business of being unranked,” he said, turning aside. “You make the notion of ranking a nonsense.”

She couldn’t afford to care for his grudging admiration.

“If that was true, Councillor, I’d not be standing here bound. So please don’t insult me by—”