Charissa smiled complacently and leaned back against his chest. “You worry too much, Ian,” she purred. “With his mind muddled by the merasha in the wine, Brion will suspect nothing until my hand clutches at his heart—and then it will be far too late. As for Colin, merasha can’t affect him unless he has Deryni blood somewhere in his background. And even if he has, he’s safe as long as you keep him away from Brion when the time comes.”

“Colin will be well out of range; you can depend on that,” Ian replied. He idly plucked a stray wisp of grass from her cloak and twirled it between gloved fingers as he continued. “I’ve been cultivating this particular young nobleman for weeks. And if I do say so myself, he’s quite flattered to have come to the favor of yours truly, the Earl of Eastmarch.”

Charissa pulled away from him in irritation. “Ian, you begin to bore me. If you insist upon being so pompous, I suggest you return to the company of your royal playmates. The air there is much better suited to the self-praise and stuffy exchange of platitudes you seem to enjoy so much!”

Ian said nothing, but he raised one slim eyebrow as he crossed to his horse and began adjusting the off stirrup. When he had completed the task to his satisfaction, he flicked his glance across the saddle at Charissa.

“Shall I convey your compliments to His Majesty?” he asked, a wry grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Charissa smiled slowly, then crossed toward him. Ian came around to the near side, and Charissa took the horse’s reins, nodding dismissal to the Moor who had been attending.

“Well?” Ian murmured, as the Moor bowed and backed off.

“I think you need not greet Brion for me this time,” she murmured coyly. She ran a gloved hand down the sorrel’s neck, adjusted a wayward tassel on the intricate bridle. “You’d best go now. The hunt will be approaching soon.”

“I hear and obey, my lady,” Ian said cheerfully, swinging up into the saddle.

He gathered up his reins and looked down at her, then held out his left hand. Wordlessly, Charissa put her gloved hand in his, and he bent to touch his lips to the soft leather.

“Good hunting, my lady!” he said.

He squeezed her hand lightly and released it, then moved his horse into the underbrush, crashing back the way he had come.

The Shadowed One watched with narrowed eyes until he had disappeared from view, then returned to her silent meadow vigil.

REJOINING the hunt, Ian gradually began working his way toward the royal party. They were cantering easily through lightly wooded terrain now, and he could see the meadow not far ahead. With a perfunctory glance at his stirrup, he urged his mount closer to Colin and raised a gloved hand in greeting.