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him looking at her with something different in his eyes. Something wonderful. But it was not until she had seen him with a rich widow from York that reality struck a killing blow.
    And Alana knew…It did not matter that her father was Kerwain of Brynwald. A man such as he would have naught to do with a bastard—a baseborn peasant.
    Soon the Normans began to empty the hall. Quickly Alana’s gaze swept around. Radburn was there, slumped against the outer wall. Darting a hasty glance to either side, she sneaked a leg of mutton from one of the tables and hid it in the folds of her bliaud. Her pace hastened as she crossed the floor.
    His head came up just as she reached him. Surprise lit his face. “Alana!”
    Alana dropped to her knees and wordlessly handed him the haunch. She did not mind that he spared her no thanks. The way he bit greedily into the juicy flesh clearly bespoke his hunger. She kept her silence as he ate. When he’d finished, he tossed the bone to the hounds and wiped his fingers on his tunic.
    She couldn’t take her eyes from his face. One entire side was red and swollen, a mass of bruises and cuts. Her hand stretched toward him. “How—”
    “Tis nothing,” he said with a dry smile that made him visibly wince. “A sennight and it will be gone.”
    Her lips pressed together indignantly. There were no words to vent her fury.
    His chains clanged together as he touched her hand. “I saw your father fall,” he said gently. There was a small pause. “Alana, I know not what to say except…he died bravely.”
    Sudden, startling tears glazed her vision. Radburn patted her hand awkwardly. “Alana—”
    She dashed away the moisture from her cheek. “I’m all right. ’Tis just that I—oh, Ihate that the Normans are here. I hate what they have done. Our lives will never be the same!”
    “I know.” He squeezed her fingers. “We must accept them, Alana, for we cannot beat them. But at least we are alive.” His gaze caught hers. Alana sensed he would have said more, but all at once she realized they were not alone. Merrick had stepped close. He stood there, his hands behind his back, his features as drawn and tight as she had yet to see them.
    His gaze flickered over her. “You should not be here, Saxon.”
    “Pray tell, why not? I do not shirk my duties,” she snapped.
    “Indeed,” he said curtly. “Well, your duties for the night are not yet over. I require your presence at once in my chamber.”
    Hot color stained her cheeks. Alana was furious that he would shame her so, and in front of one of her own people yet!
    The line of his jaw was tense—so very tense—but she did not care. “I will be along shortly—”
    “Nay, Saxon. You will come with me now.” He hauled her to her feet.
    Alana’s teeth came together so tightly her jaw hurt. “Stop!” she hissed.
    “Nay, lady, I will not stop. And I warn you now—say no more, for I will not allow you to make a spectacle of yourself yet again.” Already he had begun to propel her toward the stairway. There was no give in either his voice or his touch. His fingers dug unmercifully into her soft flesh. She tried to jerk free, but to no avail.
    He marched her down the corridor. Undulating shadows from the rushlights mounted on the walls preceded their way. Once they were locked within his chamber, it was readily apparent his dark mood had not eased.
    “I am curious, Saxon. The man in the hall…is he your lover?”
    Alana gaped. Her lover ! “Nay!” she gasped. “But even if he were, ’tis none of your affair!”
    “I disagree, Saxon. It is most certainly my affair, for it’s just as I told you earlier. I am your lord and conqueror and you are mine.”
    Alana still smarted with humiliation. “Why is he chained?” she demanded.
    “He is a dangerous man.”
    “Dangerous?” She cried her outrage. “He’s been beaten!”
    “You are a woman,” he growled. “You know little of the fire that heats a man’s blood during battle. When