But she didn’t. She blinked, black lashes lowering, hiding the fierce light in her eyes. Her face became a placid pool once more as her hand began to pull away from his heart. He made a sound of protest, raising his head, willing her to do as she had been tempted. As she turned away, he wanted to demand that she say something, anything. His lips would not move to form the words. Whether she was an agent of Heaven or Hell, or merely a mortal woman, he had caught in her a glimmer of himself in that moment when her eyes showed a hunger to kill.

He didn’t speak, fearing the explanation he’d wanted would cut open his soul and loose the demon of choice they shared. Life or death. She held it as firmly as he once had held it. But she had put the dagger aside, leaving him to live another day.

CHAPTER 2

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She trod lightly along the slope, pausing to balance herself against a tree. High summer, and the sweet violets were not in bloom. But she could find the plants, here in the good soil among the trees. She must find the proper leaves in goodly amount to dress his wounds and have more on hand for the journey.

“Gwenllian?” Madog was following, calling to her. It was more usual to hear him calling out Pennaeth Du when he wanted to speak to her. Instead, he used her name now, and it rankled her. No doubt he was thinking of her woman’s soft heart, so easily seen this week past as she tended to a man she’d thought was sure to die. To any name or title, though, she would not answer until Madog reached her. She knew what he had come to say, and she did not welcome it.

She gathered her skirt in her hand in the hopes of preserving her only dress from becoming soiled, bending to a patch of the small heart-shaped leaves. It made her feel ungainly, the dress, how it stretched too tight across her shoulders, how the skirt interfered with her stride. Her hands still trembled as she pulled out her dagger, reaction from her encounter with the wounded man. He would live, she was certain now. His fever had broken, after days of raving.