Without another thought, Joan turned to the left and headed not for the Great Hall but for the chapel. If anyone was watching, they would see a woman going to pray—hardly unusual with the men about to march off to war.

The chapel was quiet and dark when she entered. There was a priest with his back toward her near the altar lighting a candle, but he appeared not to have taken notice of her arrival.

Stepping into one of the side chapels used for private prayer and confessions, she was about to kneel on the velvet-covered stool before the small altar when someone grabbed her from behind.

Chapter 22

22

JOAN RECOGNIZED HIM right away. “Alex!” she exclaimed, twisting around to look up at him. “You scared me half to death.” One glance at his face was enough to tell her something was wrong. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer her right away. His expression seemed dark and forbidding in the flickering candlelight of the chapel. His entire body seemed to be radiating with dangerous emotions. His eyes burned with dark flames that she hoped were a trick of the candlelight. He didn’t look like himself at all.

She could feel his fingers tightening almost imperatively on her arm. “Where are you going this late in the evening? And don’t tell me it’s to confess your sins—not that you don’t have plenty of them, Joan.” He leaned closer, saying with a low growl, “Or should I call you Ghost?”

No amount of training could have prevented the small gasp from escaping from between her lips or the draining of blood from every pore of her face. He knows . . . Dear God, he knows. And if the look of barely restrained fury burning in his eyes was any indication, he wasn’t in any mood to listen to excuses or explanations, though she had to try.

“Alex, I know you are upset—and you have every right to be—but if you will just give me a chance to explain—”

“Upset?” He cut her off with a roar of outrage. The hand set like a brand around her arm gave her a hard shake and hauled her closer. “Now why would I be upset to discover that the woman who has agreed to be my wife and to whom I have given my heart has been deceiving me since the day we met? That she has drugged me”—Joan winced—“and spied on me? That she has acted the wanton to entice information from men? That she has put herself in unspeakable danger with no thought—” He stopped, apparently realizing that his voice had grown too loud, and took what she hoped was a calming breath. “When I saw you come out of the donjon and feared I wouldn’t reach you in time . . . By God, you nearly walked right into their trap!”