“I think that you are lying.”

“Can’t prove it.”

Of course he could. It would not take much to break this one. He would not even have to raise a hand. Dylan’s thinness spoke of a life that had known hunger, and he would fear knowing that gnawing pain again.

“Do you know who I am, Dylan? Where you are?”

“Aye.”

“Then you know that I am one of the lords who need not wait on the King’s courts. I hold ancient rights of judgment on these lands. If I say that you hang, you hang. If I say that you are beaten, the lash will fall. You helped to steal what was mine, and I think that you knew it was mine as you did so. Tomorrow I will ask again if you know where Llygad’s men are. Think about your answer tonight, because if you lie again I will not be inclined to mercy.”

The youth did not so much as flinch through all of it. He just stood there, braver than a man twice his size would be, hearing the ultimatum that might mean his death. As Marcus left, he was treated to that bold glare once more.

He climbed the stairs. Tomorrow he would decide whether to carry out his threat, but he already knew what the decision would be. He should hang the bard because, as Paul had said in the village, Dylan was either a thief or a traitor, and most likely the latter.

He wouldn’t, however, and not because it would distress the girl whose favor he needed. He wouldn’t because Dylan’s rebellious insolence reminded him too much of someone else.

Himself, not so long ago.

CHAPTER 7

He burned.

Nesta’s presence fueled the hellfire that tortured him.

Flames licked at him during meals. Her sister sat between them, but even the barrier of Genith’s ice could not cool the heat.

During the day, Nesta had only to walk nearby or look at him to make his blood crackle. At night a blaze roared. As he gazed out at the stars or lay restless in a bed damp with sweat, his imagination knew no constraints. He mentally made love to her a hundred times, often in ways he had never taken the time to try with other women.

For a few days he tried avoiding her, but that did not help much. He would enter a chamber and know at once she had been there from the lingering spring scent, and her ghost would invade his head to fan the embers. And so, since it made no difference, he stopped avoiding her at all.

Which only meant that he burned all the more.

Paul noticed. A week after returning to Anglesmore they were walking across the yard when Nesta passed them going in the other direction. Marcus was so distracted in watching her that he stepped on a chicken.