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Her body was shapely, with trim hips and rounded breasts.

He didn’t think she’d ever had a child. He hoped not.

He didn’t want to imagine any little one crying for his mother, going to bed that night and for many others with damp cheeks and a heart full of sorrow because she was never coming back.

She’d gone to heaven—a better, happier place, so the priest had said.

Ranulf shook away that memory and studied the wound on the woman’s neck. It was high and on the left side. Judging from the position of the body in relation to Hedyn’s, the killer had been facing her.

Had she awakened to find her murderer standing over her, ready to strike, Hedyn already dead beside her? If so, she’d been too shocked and terrified to scream, her mouth opening but no sound coming out.

And then the water choking…

He closed his eyes a brief moment. When he opened them again, he noted how high on her neck the wound was, starting just below her ear, as if her assailant had held her head by the hair in his left hand and slashed down with his right.

The poor woman. The poor, terrified woman. At least Hedyn hadn’t seen his doom coming.

“I’ll find them,” he quietly vowed, as if they were still capable of hearing. “I’ll find out who did this and he’ll be punished. I give you my word.”

Then, with respect and care, Ranulf drew the sheet up so that both bodies were covered, allowing them what dignity he could even in death.

W HEN R ANULF RETURNED from Hedyn’s house, he was more upset and agitated than Beatrice had ever seen him. Grabbing a goblet of wine from the table on the dais that she had poured in anticipation of his return, she rushed forward to meet him.

“Oh, Ranulf!” she cried, pity and sympathy for him overwhelming her other tumultuous emotions. “I’m so sorry!”

“I don’t want any wine,” Ranulf snapped, brushing past her. He threw himself into a chair on the dais and stared at the floor at his feet.

She forgave his brusque manner, seeing it for what it was—his reaction to the death of a good man.

She quietly ordered the servants gathered in the hall to leave him in peace.

For a moment she thought of going, too, but she couldn’t bear to leave him alone when he was in such a state.

He might be angry on the surface, but she’d seen his eyes.

There was pain there, too, so she would stay and offer him what comfort she could.

She set down the goblet on the table beside his chair.

“This is not your fault,” she ventured softly.

Ranulf barked a harsh, mocking laugh. “Then whose, if not mine? I’m castellan here, charged with keeping the peace. I think the murder of the sheriff and his paramour could be accounted a failure to do that, don’t you?”

She excused his rough sarcasm, too. “You didn’t do the deed.”

Ranulf jumped to his feet and strode to the end of the dais, then back again. “No, but I should have done more to prevent it.”

She spread her hands. “What more could you have done?”

“I shouldn’t have been so lenient, so damn patient,” he snarled. “I should have put an end to the smuggling and questioned every man in the village about Gawan’s death, and those other two, and Frioc’s as well.”

He began to pace. “But no, like a softhearted fool I waited for them to decide to trust me. Fool! Stupid, weak-willed fool!”

She couldn’t stand to hear him berate himself so.

“Yes, you could have done that,” she agreed, her heart aching as she watched him.

“You could have entered Penterwell like an avenging angel, and detained and questioned everyone. You could have thrown any man who smuggled into the dungeon, which would have been more than half the men of the village, and their women, too, if you went after anyone who profits by illegal trade. You could have put a cordon around the village, and forbidden any boat to put out. There are many things you could have done—but you would have made everyone in the village hate and fear you. They would never trust you, ever , and be far more likely to work against you. You might have made things a hundred times worse.”

“How could it be worse?” he demanded. “A good man is dead because I let myself believe these selfish, stubborn villagers would see that I meant them no harm. I let them break the king’s laws. From there, it must seem a small step to murder.”

“And if they had still not given you the answers you sought, what then, Ranulf?” she asked.

“Would it have been the rack or hot irons? Do you think that would have helped you get the answers you need? Or would it only have created more enmity, until every man, woman and child in Penterwell wanted you dead, too?”

His expression changed, from anger to bleak despair. “Why won’t they help me?” he asked as he sat heavily and ran his hands through his hair. “Why won’t they tell me what they know?”

“Perhaps now they will,” she offered. “Maybe this will make them come to you. Let’s hope so, Ranulf.”

He continued to regard her with dismay. “And if not? What should I do then, Bea?”

She knelt beside his chair. “You may have to question everyone, as you suggested, and put an end to the smuggling until you find out who’s done these terrible things, but you must tell them why .

You must make them understand that you feel you have no choice, not if you’re to discover who killed Hedyn and the others, and to keep them all safe. ”

Some of the tension left his body as he looked down at her and gave her a weary smile. “When did you grow so wise, little Lady Bea?” he asked, reaching out to caress her cheek.

“I don’t claim to be wise, Ranulf,” she replied, warmed by his gentle touch. “I’ve met the people of your town, and I think most of them want to believe they can trust you and put their faith in you, that you’ll protect them. But they’re afraid, too.”

“They should be,” he murmured, hanging his head and sighing. “God’s wounds, Bea, I’ve seen men killed before, but that poor woman…she saw her attacker, knew what was coming…”

Beatrice put her hand over his, offering him her silent comfort.

“It was done right in his house, in his bedchamber, with the servants sleeping below.” His voice hardened. “Damn it, Bea, what kind of a man could do such a thing?”

Since he truly seemed to want an answer, she said, “An evil one an honorable man like you can’t possibly understand. But you’re clever, Ranulf. You’ll catch him. I know you will.”

“How can I, when no one in the village seems willing to tell me what I need to know? I confess, Bea, sometimes I feel as if the whole village is not only unwilling to provide information, they’re conspiring against me.”

She lifted his hand and pressed a kiss upon the back. “I don’t think so. It could be they truly don’t know anything more than you’ve already learned.”

He gave her a sad and wistful smile. “Little Lady Bea, always ready to believe the best.”

“I have faith in you, Ranulf. I know you’ll find out who’s done these terrible things.”

His expression determined, he rose and pulled her to her feet. “You’ve got to leave here, Bea. Until I catch whoever’s responsible, it’s too dangerous for you to stay.”

“I don’t want to go,” she said, unable to keep from voicing the wish of her heart. “I want to stay with you. I want to help you, even if it’s only to bring you wine when you return.”

He took her hands in his and looked down into her eyes. “I wish you could stay, too, but I won’t put you at risk.”

She gazed up at him with all the love and devotion she felt. “I would rather face danger with you than be safe without you.”

“Would you really, Bea?”

“Yes, I really would.”

With a sigh, he gathered her into his arms. She held him tightly, loving him. Needing him. Not wanting to leave here, where he might be in danger from unknown enemies. She wanted to protect him, and comfort him, and keep him safe and happy forever.

“Bea, Bea,” he murmured. “Don’t make it any harder for me to send you away than it is. If anything were to happen to you, I couldn’t bear it.”

He must love her! He must!

And then—oh, and then!—he bent his head and kissed her.

It was like the kiss he’d given her when she’d been half-asleep—soft, tender, wonderful—except that this time, she was very wide-awake.

She could feel his affection, his warmth, how much he cherished her.

His kiss told her better than words, more than anything he could say, that he must love her, this man who’d suffered.

Who’d loved and lost. Who deserved to be admired for his strength and his courage, respected for his honor, cherished for the goodness that no one had been able to crush out of him, even though they tried.

With a low moan of encouragement, she relaxed against him, giving herself up to the desire flowing through her body. She let the love she felt for him come through her lips in a way different from words, but no less intense for all that.

Soon they were lost to everything but each other. Nothing else existed. All they knew was their passion as his hands shifted, moving with languorous exploration up her back. She slid her arms about him, holding him closer still, feeling his arousal and thrilled that she had caused it.

And then, as his kiss deepened and his tongue slid into the welcoming warmth of her mouth, his hand moved again, around her side to cup her breast.

Her breathing quickened and her hold tightened as her excitement reached a new height. Her breasts grew taut, her nipples pebbling beneath his still-light touch.

His beard began to tickle her and she smiled even as they kissed.

“I amuse you, my lady?” he asked huskily as his lips left hers to trail along her cheek.

“Your beard tickles,” she breathlessly confessed.

“I shall have to do something about that.”

“Please…”

Again they kissed, their passion fiercer now. She slipped her hands beneath his tunic, feeling the heat from his flesh through the shirt that remained between her hands and his skin. His lips took hers harder, with more urgency, and she responded in kind—until he drew back.

“You’ve got to go, Bea,” he whispered as he rained light kisses on her cheeks. “Back to Tregellas, where you’ll be safe. After this is over, once I’ve found the villains, I’ll come to you there.”

His lips found hers once more, and they kissed deeply, passionately.

Until somebody gasped.

They jumped apart as Bea remembered where they were. They were kissing like lovers in the hall of Penterwell, where anybody might see them.

It wasn’t anybody staring at them. It was Lady Celeste, pale and horrified at the bottom of the stairs, one hand to her slender throat as if she were choking.

Nobody moved or spoke, until Celeste felt shakily for the handrail carved into the stone wall beside her.

“Ranulf,” she stammered. Her eyes closed and her knees gave way.

Ranulf immediately rushed to her side, Beatrice right behind him. As he caught Celeste and lifted her in his powerful arms, Beatrice couldn’t help wondering if this was a show on Celeste’s part, a desperate attempt to regain Ranulf’s attention.

“She feels very warm,” Ranulf said, his brows knit with worry.

Beatrice put a hand to Celeste’s brow. She was hot. A swoon might be bogus, but unless Celeste had somehow anticipated finding them kissing, she couldn’t have planned to feign a fever. “Let’s get her to her bedchamber, and I’ll see if I can help her.”