giving fancy gifts, and up north they didn't see many, but on a trip to York he'd spotted the rose on a merchant's stall, wonderfully carved out of ivory, each petal edge fine as a real one. It was an impractical thing, too small to decorate a room and too big for jewelry, but he'd bought it anyway because its sharp-edged beauty made him think of Jehanne, and after just a few days away he missed her.
When he'd given it to her, her cheeks had flushed and her eyes had shone, perhaps even with a hint of tears. Jehanne rarely cried.
She'd cried, though, when she broke it. He smiled ruefully at the memory of her grief over the accident. Other losses had been met with fierce composure, but the rose - sent flying off its shelf in a careless moment - had melted her to tears. They'd stuck the broken petals back with wax, but one was chipped and another cracked and it had never been as perfect as it was.
Ah, well. He'd brought her gifts from the Holy Land. Perhaps one of them would be the equal of the rose.
He thought he might have some bed tricks, too, that would catch her unawares. He'd kept his vow, but other men had explored the Eastern women and brought back stories. Jehanne would be interested. She liked to experiment, and now that there was no anxiety about barrenness she would be happy to play again.
Tonight.
Jehanne.
Jehanne in bed.
Or on the bed so he could feast on the sight of her - pale blond hair spilling loose over the mattress, supple body his again to touch, to taste, to finally, finally enter . . .
Such thoughts were not wise.
He was hard as a rock, bulging, throbbing, as if he might prove Raoul's words true and explode.
He'd controlled lust and frustration for over two years, so he should be able to do so for a few more hours, but he had to adjust carefully in the saddle to find a tolerable position as he rode.
He realized then that he was into familiar land at last - his own valley land, the strip fields rich with summer, the fells dotted with plump sheep.
The sun was setting and the dun was beginning to tire, but now was no time to stop. He kicked him on, galloping through familiar villages, scattering geese, chickens, and people. The cries of "It's Lord Galeran! Lord Galeran!" fell quickly behind like the cries of the startled birds.
Then he saw the square stone keep of Heywood Castle beyond some trees and reined in sharply. He'd dreamed of this so many times that it almost felt like another dream. He needed a moment to convince himself that it was finally, blessedly, real.
It looked no different. It was as if he'd ridden away yesterday.
Raoul reined up beside him, his horse foaming with effort. "So, we made it, though your men are straggled out behind for a league. Do we wait for them to gather and ride down quietly, as if there had been no hurry at all?"
The thought had crossed Galeran's mind. Trust Raoul to read him so well.
"No," he said, and kicked into a canter to ride around the curve of the road and into fall view of his home. . . .
He hauled the dun to a rearing stop.
An army seethed around Heywood.
His castle was under siege! "By the five wounds, who?"
Raoul shaded his eyes from the flare of the setting sun. "The pennant shows red and green."
Raoul's eyesight had always been remarkable, but Galeran could scarcely believe it. "That's my father's pennant."
"Then your father is besieging your castle."
Chapter 2
Galeran couldn't deny Raoul's words. By now he, too, could make out the familiar banner of William of Brome fixed by the handsome main tent. He even recognized the tent. It was his father's pride and joy.
All joy dissolved into dread. He stared at Heywood, at the simple square keep, and at the solid curtain wall, newly completed just before he left.
They bore no marks.
Heywood was one of the strongest castles in the north. Who had taken it without a battle? And what had happened to his wife and child?
Ice on his heart, he surged down the slope into the camp, ignoring cries and attempts to bar his way. He was aware of the sword in his hand only when he almost used it on a man.
He halted the action just as the guard stopped his attack, shock on