She avoided Marcus whenever possible, and soon the raised eyebrows regarding them lowered. They saw each other mostly at meals. Those long hours were hard, because she sat near him and saw the questions in his eyes when he looked at her.

Sometimes it was the gaze of the King’s man that she saw, wondering what role she played in the rebellion. More often it was the smoldering regard of the young knight with whom she had shared an illicit passion. The intensity of those stolen glimpses would leave her flustered and dazed, and far too aware that passion denied could be more heady than passion fulfilled.

She had told him that she had made that night into a magical memory, but that had been a hopeless lie. The memories lived in her with a reality that she both resented and relished. They occupied her mind, as did the impossibility of ever reliving those moments with a man who opposed all that she lived for.

Marcus suspected just how much in opposition they would be. The confrontation in her chamber had made that clear, just as it had revealed that the passion was not dead. It could not be ignored and would stand between them as a lure to damnation. For certainly a person who forsakes who she is for any reason, even love, can only know hell afterward.

She continued visiting the little market that formed in the yard every morning. A week after her return, she was there soon after dawn to sell Iolo her latest tapestry design.

Iolo appeared excited. He tucked the parchment into his tunic and handed over the coins. “My lady, I’ve something to tell you …”

Nesta hushed him with a subtle slice of her hand. Marcus was in the yard, and had noticed their exchange. He strolled up behind Iolo and eyed the coin in Nesta’s hand.

“Only a few pence, Nesta? You labor hard for very little.”

“I am in Wales, not London or Edinburgh. Most likely five men will take their profit before my designs find their way to a weaver. This one may not go far at all. There are those who buy them to tack on their walls for decoration, but they will not pay a weaver’s price then.”

“I don’t suppose that there is a letter for Carwyn Hir folded in with the design?”

“Of course not. I told you, I do not know the man.”

Iolo’s color rose when he heard Marcus’s challenge.

Marcus noticed. He held out his hand. “May I see the design one more time? It was my favorite one. I especially admired the countenance of lust that your brush made.”

“This is not the one with the virtues. I sold that to a passing merchant days ago.”

Iolo groped in his tunic and produced the design anyway. Nesta crossed her arms and tapped her foot while Marcus unfolded the parchment.