Odd, what strange alliances one sometimes formed in the pursuit of one’s goals. He had certainly never planned to join forces with the fiery Charissa. Indeed, that had not even been a consideration in the beginning. And now, the daughter of the Marluk trusted him almost completely, had agreed to unite their powers in this common goal. Who would have dreamed, a year ago, that he, Ian Howell, would soon be the master of Corwyn?

He smiled to himself as he added another thought on that matter, but he did not allow himself even to sub-vocalize it. Further powers and rule awaited the right man, if he could but take it. And when with the likes of Charissa, it was better not to even think such thoughts. Once Kelson and Morgan were dead, and his holding in Corwyn secure, there would be time enough for other matters. Meanwhile . . .

Silver spurs jingled gaily as he clattered down a granite staircase, and the torches in their bronze holders cast crimson highlights on his chestnut hair, reflecting, perhaps, the even more crimson thoughts of the man who strode by so confidently.

He passed the guard post and took the precise salute with a studied nonchalance, then approached a pair of golden doors with two tall Moors standing guard.

They made no move to stop him, however, allowing Ian to slip through the doors without a sound. Leaning back against the ornate handles, he fixed his gaze intently upon the woman who sat brushing her long, pale hair, all thoughts of malice gone—at least for the present.

“Well?” she asked. Her voice was low, her full lips curved in a slight, sardonic smile.

Ian sauntered toward her with a careless intensity. “It went as I said it would,” he said silkily, brushing a hand across her shoulder as he passed. “Did you expect otherwise?”

He paused to pour red wine from a crystal decanter, filled his cup once and drained it, then refilled it and carried it to a low table beside the spacious state bed.

“You generally perform according to your talents, Ian,” Charissa said without missing a stroke.

Ian unclasped his heavy cloak and dropped it across a bench, unbuckled his sword and eased it to the floor, as he sank down on the bed’s damask coverlet.

“There will be no further problem tomorrow, then?” Charissa said. She laid the silver-backed brush gently on the dresser top and stood, gathering the gossamer folds of her gown about her in a soft azure cloud.

“I think not.” Ian smiled, reclining on one elbow and picking up his glass of wine. “Kelson has given orders he is not to be disturbed until morning. If he should make some move before then, however, we’ll be informed immediately. I have someone watching.” His brown eyes followed her every move hungrily as she glided toward him.