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only for the—” She stopped abruptly. She’d almost betrayed herself. Any mention of political advantage would only raise more questions. “He’s a brutal man,” she admitted. Alan had witnessed some of that brutality today. She prayed that one glimpse would garner his support.
    “He’s hit you?”
    “Yes,” she replied, pulling back her hair to reveal the bruise on her cheek. “He would have done worse had I not run onto that battlefield. He killed my mother.”
    “God’s teeth! No woman deserves such brutality.” His eyes grew stormy.
    Jessamine closed her eyes, fighting back tears once more. She would not be so weak as to cry in front of this knight. She wasn’t the kind of woman who manipulated men through female weakness. She straightened her shoulders and opened her eyes.
    “Not all men are brutal, Jessamine,” he said softly against her ear. “You deserve someone to love you, not cause you pain.”
    The husky sincerity in his voice stole her breath. She met his eyes. His gaze was personal, intimate. Again her breath faltered. This wasn’t the foolish repartee she was used to from the men at court.
    This man might be a Christian warrior monk, but he was dangerous. With him, she felt as breathless as she did protected. A dangerous combination.
    Disturbed by her thoughts, she turned to face the open expanse of desert. The only sound was the whisper of their breath in the cooling, motionless air.
    When he finally stopped the horse, the stars hung high in the velvet black sky. “The horse needs a rest, as do we. We’ll stop here for the night.”
    Jessamine searched the moonlit darkness. They’d stopped near a rock outcropping that towered high overhead. Alan dismounted first, then helped her down. As she slid down beside him, she could feel his hard length. Instantly, the tension that had built between them before surged back to life. His hands encircled her waist, gentle, yet firm. She should have felt threatened, overpowered, engulfed. Instead, she felt the stirrings of passion. Her gaze rose to his face. A somber and tender expression lingered there.
    “We’ll sleep in the open then?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
    His gaze lost its softness. “We’ll be safe enough. I can see and hear anyone who approaches.”
    “Won’t you sleep?”
    “Not likely.”
    “But you’ll need your rest if the conde—”
    “You’d be surprised how little sleep one needs to battle an enemy.”
    She could imagine he’d known many sleepless nights. She had too, in the past few days since they’d met. It wasn’t Alan that caused her sleeplessness. It was the conde. She would do anything she could to escape the man who’d killed her mother.
    “He’s my enemy,” she said quietly, hearing the catch in her own voice.
    “For now, it makes him mine as well,” Alan said softly.
    As she gazed into those mesmerizing blue eyes of his,with his hands on her waist, Jessamine’s breath stilled in her chest. At that moment the conde and the threat he offered were the furthest things from her mind. Nothing seemed to matter except the sound of Alan’s deep, compelling voice.
    Heat came into his eyes. His body remained rigid, yet he pulled her slightly forward and his lips nearly brushed her hair before he set her away.
    A dull ache of disappointment tightened her chest as they looked at each other in silence. “Where do we sleep?” she asked, trying to break the tension.
    “On the ground would be most appropriate.”
    “Do we sleep now…?” Jessamine’s voice trailed off as she looked at this tall, handsome man who was completely off-limits to her. Not only was he beneath her socially, he was also a self-proclaimed monk. Swallowing, she tried again, “Are you tired?”
    “My thoughts have little to do with sleep,” he said in a husky whisper. Suddenly his eyes were smoldering. He shifted toward her, then went utterly still, as if waiting expectantly for her to take the final step