The Wolf, in particular, was staring at the gleaming, jewelled eating knife she had snatched off the table and was holding in a clenched fist only inches from his nose. Half an eternity passed before he spoke, his tone silky, the words said with a quiet intensity that set off a roaring in her ears.
“I met Sir Hubert de Briscourt some years ago in France. A fearsome warrior on the battlefield, he brooked no insult from any quarter, servant or noble. It is a true wonder then, that in three years of marriage, he was not once driven to strangle you to death.”
Servanne’s lips were parted, the cool air giving ghostly substance to her rapid breaths. She stared down into eyes that were like banked fires, glowing and dangerous, apt to erupt at the merest provocation.
“Tut the knife down,” he instructed calmly. “Or use it.”
For a moment, her fingers tightened, and the knuckles glowed pinkish white. Then her senses cleared and her hand flexed reluctantly open, dropping the knife as if the hilt had suddenly become red hot. The sound shattered the absolute silence, releasing the tension everywhere but in the immediate area of the two principals. They continued to stare at one another over the resumed buzz of movement and conversation.
“Never, ever lift a knife to me again, madam, unless it is done with firm intent”—his voice was so low she could barely hear it—“for you will not be so lucky twice.”
Servanne believed him. Only a blind fool would doubt the savagery that lurked just behind the hooded, soulless eyes.
“You are despicable,” she said, the words tight in her throat. “I pray to God I do not live long enough to hate another human being as much as I hate you.”
“Sit down,” he commanded brusquely, “before the strain of all that prayer drains your strength and accomplishes your desire prematurely.”
“I have no wish to sit down, sirrah. Not now. Not ever.”
His jaw clamped ominously. “None at all?”
“None.”
“Very well, if that is your wish—” He stood abruptly, his patience snapped like a taut thread. “Sparrow!”
A meek corner of the pale, elfin face peeped around Servanne’s skirts. “Aye, my lord?”
“Have the table and stools cleared away. Lady Servanne will be remaining exactly where she is, by her own request. The night ahead promises to be a cool one, so by all means fetch a mantle and rug for the lady’s comfort, but under no circumstances is she to sit or lie down at any time without first seeking my express permission to do so. If she dares to attempt either, through stubbornness or feint, have her bound hand and foot and chained upright to the wall. Is that understood?”
The Black Wolf turned from the defiant sparkle in Servanne’s gaze to launch a particularily venomous glance at the spluttering matron.
“You may share your mistress’s dicipline if you see fit. If not, you would be wise to remain in your chamber for the duration of the night lest you be mistaken for an intruder and shot out of hand. Gil! Friar! We have plans to discuss for the morrow. Ladies … I bid you a pleasant and comfortable evening.”
Servanne watched him skirt the table and stride across the firelit floor. Her body was trembling with anger; pride and obstinacy gave her the added strength to stand her ground and glare contemptuously at the sheepish ring of onlookers. She would stand there till hell froze, if she had to. Ask his permission? She would cut off her tongue and choke on it before groveling to him or anyone else for favours. Ask his permission, indeed!
“Lady?”
A gentle tug on her surcoat drew Servanne’s blurred gaze down.
“Lady … he bears a heavy burden on his mind, does my lord. Aye, and at the best of times he has a temper that rankles most foul when pricked. It cools just as quickly, however, and I warrant he would be happy to reconsider if I went after him and—”
“The man who causes injury to a woman only shames himself,” she quoted stoically. “And, if he so injures her, she breaks his will more by refusing to bow to that shame.”
Sparrow’s eyebrows flew upward, losing themselves beneath the tumbled locks of his hair. Did she think the Wolf was a normal man?
“My lady,” he cautioned earnestly, “it is neither wise nor necessary to prove your will to be as strong as his. Many have tried; none have succeeded.”