A glint of confusion joined the other lights in her eyes. She quickly dropped her gaze, but he saw it just the same. In his dazed absorption, it seemed a yielding and submission. He came close to pulling her onto his lap.

She stepped away, as if she sensed his impulse. “Think of me what you will, Marcus. Actually, I believe you may be right. Perhaps in my heart I did take Genith away in order to spite the King.”

The rose drapery swayed around her as she strolled to where Dylan still made lyrical sounds on his harp. Marcus watched her every step, and imagined the way the fire glow would play over her invisible body if the robe were removed.

She had not done this to spite the King. Her admission itself convinced him of that. She had merely retreated to another lie in order to feed him a story he would find palatable.

He suspected that the explanation was more complicated than the simple ones they had traded. When they got to Anglesmore, he would have to learn the truth.

CHAPTER 5

Dylan remained tethered to the wagon throughout the journey, a prisoner who walked while others rode. On the second day, as the way grew increasingly rough, Nesta could tell that he wearied. He finally fell, and the rolling wagon dragged him while he struggled vainly to scramble back on his feet.

Nesta smacked the shoulder of the wagoner and ordered him to stop. She climbed out and helped Dylan up, then told him to take her place in the wagon.

She soon had cause to regret her generosity. Her thin shoes offered little protection and she felt every rut and rock in the road. Marcus, riding at the lead of the entourage, glanced back and noticed her walking. He turned his horse aside and waited for the wagon to catch up.

As they passed, he fell into place behind her. She could feel the horse’s breath on her shoulder, and its rider’s attention on her progress.

Suddenly the horse moved beside her. A looming body leaned, and a vise of an arm imprisoned her waist. The world shook, spun, and blurred, and the next moment she was sitting sideways on the horse, in front of Marcus.

She frowned up at him. “What are you doing?” His face was very close. Too close. All of him was.

“Keeping a prideful woman from becoming a cripple before the day is out.”

He retook his place in the lead. She twisted and stretched to see the wagon, but his body blocked her view of the women and other riders. And theirs of her.