But then, she could not entirely believe last night had ever happened. Last night he had been a tender, persuasive, insistent lover. Today he was a stranger who was capable of forgetting she existed.

Royce had not forgotten she existed-not even on the second day of their journey. Memories of the way she'd felt in his arms, the heady sweetness of her kisses and tentative caresses, had kept him awake for two consecutive nights. All day yesterday, as he'd ridden past the columns of his men, he'd found himself watching for a glimpse of her.

Even now, as he rode at the head of his army and squinted at the sun, trying to gauge the time, her musical laughter tinkled like bells on the fringes of his mind. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and suddenly she was looking at him with that jaunty sideways smile of hers…

Why do you think I decided not to marry? he'd said.

Because no suitable lady has asked you? she'd teased.

He heard her muffled chuckle as she tried to look reproving: Do not ever attempt to dazzle your lady fair with your glib flattery, milord, for you haven't a prayer of success …

Based on what I know of you, I can only assume you'd toss the lady over your lap and attempt to beat her into submission …

He could not believe that one naive Scottish girl could possess so much spirit and courage. Royce tried to tell himself this growing fascination, this obsession with his captive was merely the result of the lust she'd fired in him two nights ago, but he knew it was more than lust that held him enthralled: Unlike most of her sex, Jennifer Merrick was neither repelled nor titillated by the thought of being handled and bedded by a man whose very name was associated with danger and death. The shy, passionate response he'd awakened in her two nights ago owed nothing to fear, it had been born of tenderness and then desire. Knowing all the rumors about him as she obviously did, she had still offered herself up to his caresses with innocent sweetness. And that was why he couldn't drag her from his mind. Or perhaps, he thought grimly, she had simply deluded herself into thinking that despite his reputation, he was actually like the virtuous, unsullied, gallant knight of her dreams. That possibility-that her tenderness and passion had been the result of some girlish, naive self-delusion-was so distasteful Royce angrily put all thoughts of her aside and firmly resolved to forget her.

At midday, just as Jennifer sank down onto the grass beside Brenna, about to partake of the usual fare of stringy fowl and a slab of stale bread, she looked up and saw Arik stalking toward them. He stopped directly in front of her, his booted feet planted at least a yard apart, and said, "Come."

Already accustomed to the blond giant's apparent unwillingness to utter more words than were absolutely necessary, Jenny stood up. Brenna started to do likewise, but Arik held up his arm. "Not you."

With his hand locked around Jenny's upper arm, he marched her forward past hundreds of men who'd also settled onto the grass to eat their Spartan fare, then he drew her toward the woods beside the road, stopping at a place where Royce's knights seemed to be standing guard beneath the trees.

Sir Godfrey and Sir Eustace stepped aside, their normally pleasant faces stony, and Arik propelled her forward with a light shove that sent her stumbling into a little clearing.

Her captor was seated on the ground, his broad shoulders propped against a tree trunk, his knee drawn up, studying her in silence. In the warmth of the day, he'd removed his mantle and was clad in a simple brown tunic with full sleeves, thick brown hose, and boots. He did not look nearly as much like the specter of death and destruction he'd appeared to be yesterday, and Jenny felt an absurd spurt of happiness that he'd evidently not forgotten her existence.

Pride prevented her from displaying any such emotion, however. Since she was completely uncertain about how she ought to act or feel, Jenny stayed where she was and even managed to return his steady gaze, until his speculative silence finally unnerved her. Trying to keep her tone politely noncommittal, she said, "I gather you want me?"

For some reason her question brought a mocking gleam to his eyes. "You're right."

Flustered by his odd, mocking tone, she waited and then said, "Why?"

"Now there's a question."

"Are-are we having a conversation?" Jenny demanded darkly, and to her complete confusion, he threw back his head and shouted with laughter, the rich, throaty sound echoing in the clearing.

Her face was a mirror of lovely confusion, and Royce sobered, taking pity on the innocence that made him laugh at the same time it made him want her more than he had two nights ago. He gestured toward the white cloth spread out upon the ground. On it were some pieces of the same fowl and bread that she'd been eating, along with some apples and a chunk of cheese. Quietly he said, "I enjoy your company. I also thought 'twould be more pleasant for you to eat here with me than to eat in an open field surrounded by thousands of soldiers. Was I wrong?"

If he hadn't said he enjoyed her company, Jenny might well have informed him that he was quite wrong, but she was not proof against that deep compelling voice telling her that, in essence, he had missed her. "No," she admitted, but in the interest of pride and prudence both, she did not sit down near him. Picking up a shiny red apple, she sat down on a fallen log, just beyond his reach, but after a few minutes of casual conversation, she began to feel perfectly relaxed in his company and oddly light-hearted. It never occurred to her that this strange phenomenon was the result of his deliberate efforts to make her feel safe from his advances, or to make her forget the abrupt and callous way he'd ended their preliminary lovemaking two nights ago, so that she wouldn't automatically rebuff his next attempt.

Royce knew exactly what he was doing, and why he was doing it, but he told himself that if by some holy miracle he were able to keep his hands off of her until he sent her either to her father or his king, then his efforts had not been wasted, for he was having a very pleasant and somewhat prolonged meal in a cozy clearing.

A few minutes later, in the midst of a perfectly impersonal discussion of knights, Royce suddenly found himself thinking almost jealously of her former suitor. "Speaking of knights," he said abruptly, "what happened to yours?"

She bit into her apple, her expression quizzical. "My what?"

"Your knight," Royce clarified. "-Balder. If your father was in favor of the marriage, how did you dissuade old Balder from continuing to press you?"

The question seemed to discomfit her and, as if stalling for time in which to compose an answer, she drew her long shapely legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, then she perched her chin upon her knees and raised brilliant blue, laughing eyes to his face. Perched upon that log, Royce thought she looked incredibly desirable-a charming wood nymph with long curly hair, clad in a boy's tunic and hose. A wood nymph? Next she would have him composing sonnets to her beauty-and wouldn't that delight her sire, not to mention enliven the gossip at court in two countries! "Was that question too difficult for you?" he said, his voice sharp with self-annoyance. "Shall I try to frame an easier one?"

"What an impatient nature you have!" she replied sternly, completely undaunted by his tone.

Her words were accompanied by such a wellbred, reproving look that Royce chuckled in spite of himself. "You're right," he admitted, grinning at the outrageous child-woman who dared to lecture him on his shortcomings. "Now, tell me why old Balder withdrew."