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Lionheart stepped from behind the altar into the empty chapel, his mind whirling with confusion. He knew not what to make of this astonishing development. The secret entrance came as no surprise, but the knowledge that the White Knight was able to come and go at will stunned him.

Racking his brain, Lionheart began a mental evaluation of every servant within the keep. The majority were women, the only males being a potboy, a spit turner, and two elderly men. None of the four fit the White Knight's description. He dismissed Father Caddoc out of hand.

Had the knight been residing within his keep without his knowledge? Impossible! Yet indisputable evidence led him to believe that he would find the knave within Cragdon's walls. Rage surged through him. Everything became crystal clear. Vanora not only knew the knight's identity but she sheltered him beneath her roof. And the priest and her tiring woman were co-conspirators.

Lionheart strode out the door and was in the courtyard when the truth hit him . . . hard. He felt his heart thud. He took a deep breath, but there was still a cold lump in his throat. He did not want to believe it, but the facts were irrefutable. He had always admired his wife's taut, sleekly muscled body. She was like no other woman he had ever known. Her strength, he realized, came from wielding a sword. What a fool he had been! His nemesis had been beneath his nose all the time, and he had been too consumed with lust to notice.

Lust...

Aye, 'twas the only explanation, for there had been countless clues to lead him to the truth. Clues he had ignored in order to satisfy his raging hunger for his bride. No more, he vowed. He had given Vanora sufficient time to confess, but she had defied him time after time, refusing to name the knight. He could not abide liars.

Lionheart saw Sir Brandon crossing the courtyard and summoned him with a wave of his hand.

"Is aught amiss, Lionheart?" Brandon asked.

"Follow me," Lionheart said without preamble. Turning on his heel, he retraced his steps to the chapel.

"Take a look behind the altar," Lionheart directed. He had left the door ajar purposely, and it did not take Brandon long to discover the opening.

"God's blood! What is this?"

"The entrance into the castle we have been searching for. I want it sealed immediately. Is that dear?"

"Aye, perfectly."

His face carved in harsh lines, Lionheart left the chapel, marched across the courtyard and stormed into the hall. He looked neither right nor left as ha angry steps carried him up the winding staircase to the solar. Servants scurried out of his way, crossing themselves when they saw the rigid set of his shoulders and his forbidding expression.

He burst into the chamber and slammed the door behind him. Legs spread in a confrontational manner, arms akimbo, he glared at Vanora.

Vanora had been expecting Lionheart, for Mair had told her of his unexpected return. Vanora had retired immediately to the solar to make up a story explaining her absence, one she hoped would satisfy her husband. One look at his face, however, told her all was lost.

He knew!

Somehow, some way, Lionheart had learned she was the White Knight. She had never seen him in such a rage. The blood vessels in his neck stood out, and his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. His lips had thinned, and his eyes . . . heaven help her, the look in his eyes chilled her to the bone. She shivered and waited for the heavy hand of his anger to fall upon her.

"You!" he raged, pointing a finger at her. "You played me for a fool! Did you think I would never find out?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Vanora said, pretending innocence.

He stalked forward until they stood nose to nose. His rage was so stunning she could not move, much less speak.

"Do you not?" He removed his sword and thrust it at her. "Take it. Show me your skill."

She shook her head and backed away. He followed.

"I know you can use it. Go ahead, take it."

Hoping to appease his anger, she took the sword but let it hang limply in her hand. "I cannot raise a sword against you."

He laughed, the harsh sound grating in her ears. "You had no such problem in the past."

She refused to admit to anything until she knew exactly how much he knew. "What are you implying?"

"I am not implying, wife. I know who you are."

The color drained from Vanora's face. "How could you know such a thing? I can explain why you could not find me when you arrived. I was in the wine cellar."

Lionheart was not impressed. "Good try but not good enough. I watched you from the top of the cliff. I saw you walk along the riverbank and disappear into the hidden passage."

"What makes you think 'twas me?"

"A simple process of elimination. You, wife, are the White Knight." His voice was deadly calm, too calm. "There is no one else it could be, unless you wish to tell me 'tis Father Caddoc, or mayhap one of the young kitchen lads."

She inhaled sharply. She could incriminate no one but herself. Lionheart knew it and so did she.

Stiffening her slender shoulders, she faced him squarely, her expression resigned. "Do with me what you will, my lord, for I alone bear the guilt. I do not regret helping Llewellyn, for peace with England came as a result, and I am not sorry for aiding my warriors. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I did not know you when we clashed swords as I do now."

She could not bear to look into his eyes; his contempt for her shone in them like a beacon.

"Why did you not tell me? I could have killed you!" he roared. "I wanted to kill you." He shook his head. "I am not a killer of women, but you would have made me one. 'Tis unforgivable."

"I wanted to tell you, but I feared your reaction, and rightly so."

"You fear naught," he scoffed. "Who taught you to wield a sword?"

"My father. I was all he had, and he encouraged me to train with his men."

"He did you no favor."

"What are you going to do?"

"The door behind the altar is being sealed as we speak. Who knows about the entrance besides yourself, your priest and your tiring woman?" His eyes narrowed. "Nay, never mind," he said before she could answer. "Obviously, Daffid, Llewellyn and Cragdon's warriors knew of the entrance, for they have all used it. I am surprised I was not slain in my sleep by one of your countrymen."

"I warned Daffid against it," Vanora said unthinkingly. "He wanted to, but..." Her eyes widened and her lips clamped tightly together when she realized what she had just divulged.

Lionheart glared at her. "When did you see Daffid? Today, when you left the keep?" He grasped her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Lie not to me, Vanora. Did you go to Daffid today? Has he made you his whore?"

"Nay! You accuse me unjustly. I admit I left the keep through the secret passage, but I did not go to Daffid. He came here. My intention when I left was to contact Sir Ren. I wanted to tell him to refuse Daffid's plea to join a rebellion he is planning."

Vanora knew by Lionheart's hardened expression that she had said too much.

"So you did see Daffid. Think you I am stupid?"

"I told you, I did not go to Daffid. He came here," Vanora repeated. "I advised him to go home and forget about me and Cragdon, that I am content with you. I planned to have the entrance sealed after I returned today so Daffid could not use it to hurt you. He wants Cragdon and refuses to give up his dream of possessing it."

"So he plans to kill me, wed you and claim Cragdon," Lionheart guessed.

"Aye, but I would not have allowed it. I told you, I am content with you."

Lionheart gave a snort of disgust. "Tell that to someone who might believe you. You played me for a fool and conspired behind my back with your countrymen. I should beat you and turn you out, but you are not worth the trouble."

Turning his back to her, he stormed toward the door.

"Lionheart! Wait! Do not go. Beat me, confine me, but do not turn away from me. I can bear punishment but not indifference."

He whirled to confront her. "From this day forward you are naught to me. You may go where you will, do as you please, for I care not."

Spinning on his heel, he stomped off. Vanora could not let him go like this. There had to be something she could do to appease his anger. Was there nothing she could say to convince him she had done naught but fight for her country, the same as any man would have done? That she was a woman should not matter. If the White Knight were a man Lionheart would have slain him and felt no guilt, but being made a fool of by a woman had wounded his pride.

If she did not reach out to him now, the breach between them would never be healed.

"Lionheart! I love you!"

He did not turn, but she could tell by the stiffening of his shoulders that he had heard her. He reached for the door latch.

"Lionheart! Please believe me."

He dropped his hand from the latch but said naught. His only reaction was an outburst of bitter laughter as he opened the door and walked out on her.

Vanora stared at the door. She would not cry, nor would she beg. No man, no matter how much she loved him, was worth the anguish she was feeling. Keeping her secret identity from Lionheart had been wrong, but his callous treatment of her now was despicable.

The door opened and Mair slipped inside. "My poor lambie," she wailed, rushing to Vanora's side. Taking Vanora's face between her hands, she searched it for bruises. "Where did he hurt you?"

"Where it does not show," Vanora choked out.

"Never say he punched you! Did he crack a rib? Mayhap I should take a look."

"Nay, Mair, he did not lay a hand on me." She placed a hand on her chest. " 'Tis my heart that is broken. He will never forgive me."

"He is a man, lambie. When you, a woman, crossed swords with him, you pricked his pride and compromised his honor. Say what you will about Lionheart, he takes knighthood seriously. He would never knowingly injure a woman. Had he slain you, he would never have forgiven himself. Give him time to come to grips with the notion that a woman can wield a sword and defend her country as well as a man."

" 'Tis too late, Mair. Lionheart will never forgive me, and even if he does, I know not if I can forgive him for his harsh stand against me. He broke my heart, Mair. When I told him I loved him, he laughed at me."

Mair held out her arms and Vanora rushed into them. Though tears threatened, she did not cry. She had known the consequences when she donned armor and raised her sword against Lionheart, and now she must accept them. But oh, it hurt, hurt terribly to be spurned by the man she loved.

"Show Lionheart your mettle, lambie," Mair advised. "Put on your best gown and come down to the hall to sup. Father Caddoc and I will be there to support you."

Vanora swallowed her refusal and nodded her head instead. She would not let Lionheart know how badly he had wounded her. His refusal to acknowledge her love had almost been too much for her to bear. But Mair was right. She was not going to hide in her chamber and give Lionheart the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he had hurt her.

"None of this would have happened if Lionheart had not returned to Cragdon before he was expected," Vanora said. "Was Althea really injured, or was it merely an excuse to return to Cragdon?"

"Althea took a nasty fall," Mair replied. "But aside from a few bruises and a sprained ankle, she is fine. I did what I could for her, but she should remain off her feet for another few days."

''Pity," Vanora murmured. "I shall be ready in a moment, Mair. We can go below together."

Head held high, chin tilted, Vanora entered the hall and walked to her usual place at the head table. Her steps faltered, then stopped completely when she saw Lionheart enter the hall carrying a whimpering Althea in his arms. He strode directly to the dais and settled Althea in the chair on his right. Sir Brandon sat on Lionheart's left. The remaining chairs had been removed, probably on Lionheart's orders.

Mair tugged her arm. “Come, lambie, there are two empty places beside Father Caddoc.”

Her cheeks flaming, Vanora slid onto the bench beside the priest. He patted her hand. "Are you all right, child?"

"I am fine, Father. I see Lionheart wasted no time in replacing me."

"I will speak to him about keeping his marriage vows."

"Save your breath. Does everyone know about me? About who I am, I mean?"

"Nay, and I am sure everyone is wondering what happened between you and Lionheart."

"Has the entrance behind the altar been sealed?"

"Aye. Lionheart saw to it."

" Tis just as well."

Vanora had no appetite. And seeing Althea and Lionheart together, conversing intimately, made her stomach roil with nausea. She wanted to flee but would not give Lionheart the satisfaction. * * *

Lionheart did his best to keep his gaze from straying to Vanora. He had thought he would feel pleasure when Vanora saw Althea occupying her chair, but her hurt expression tugged at a place inside him he thought he had closed off to her.

"I am glad you finally came to your senses," Althea purred. "I knew your infatuation with Vanora would not last. Tis not your nature to remain faithful to a wife." She leaned close. "What happened? Did you find her with another man?"

"Forget Vanora," Lionheart said. "How is your ankle? Does it pain you?"

"Mair said I should not put weight on it." She gave him a coy smile. "I hope you do not mind carrying me about."

"It will be my pleasure," Lionheart said, placing his hand over hers.

Though he smiled and gave the impression he was enamored with his leman, his thoughts were with Vanora and the way she had deceived him and lied to him and made a fool of him. Were he inclined toward violence against women, Vanora would be black and blue. Never had he been so angry at another human being.

He could not forgive Vanora. He would prove to her that she meant naught to him. What made it difficult, however, was the fact that he had finally acknowledged to himself his feelings for Vanora. It would be a stretch to imagine himself in love, but he had begun to care.

"What are you thinking, Lionheart?" Althea asked. "You seem so distant."

"It has been a long day and you must be exhausted. If you are finished eating, I will carry you to your chamber."

She held out her arms and smiled up at him. "I am ready. I have been waiting for this night since I arrived at Cragdon."

Lionheart's answering smile turned grim as he swept Althea into his arms and carried her from the hall. * * *

Vanora's lower lip trembled as Lionheart left the hall with Althea in his arms, but she remained amazingly calm despite the gloating smile Althea directed at her over Lionheart's shoulder. Rising on unsteady legs, she excused herself and ascended the stairs to the solar. After Lionheart's open attentiveness to his leman, everyone in the keep probably knew that Lionheart had turned from his wife. His public display of affection for Althea was humiliating. How could she bear it?

When Vanora reached the solar, she found Alan collecting Lionheart's belongings. He flushed a deep red when he saw her and stammered an apology.

"I... I am sorry, my lady, but Lord Lionheart

directed me to fetch his belongings."

" ‘Tis all right, Alan, do what you must. I will not interfere." She walked to the window and stared out until Alan finished and quietly left.

Lionheart had truly turned away from her, she thought despondently. With a heavy heart she prepared for bed. Before she crawled beneath the furs, she spied Lionheart's sword lying where she had dropped it. With almost loving care, she picked it up and rested it against the hearth, refusing to cry over the man who had disdained her love. She climbed into bed and closed her eyes, but sleep was an elusive goal that dangled just out of reach. * * *

Lionheart settled Althea on her bed and would have left had she not grasped his arm and pulled him down beside her.

"Where are you going?"

"To find my bed. I am as tired as you are. It has been an eventful day."

"But I thought. . . You led me to believe ..."

"You are injured. It would be cruel of me to impose upon you tonight. I will send a servant to help you prepare for bed. Sleep well, Althea."

What in the hell was wrong with him? Lionheart wondered. Althea was willing; why did he walk away from her? Cursing himself for a fool, Lionheart stomped off to the chamber that had been prepared for him. It was not as comfortable as the solar, but at least Vanora would not be there to tempt him with her provocative smile and seductive body. How could she have made sweet love with him while living a lie?

What bothered him was not so much the fact that Vanora was the White Knight, but the knowledge that she had kept the truth from him. The realization that he had come close to killing her nearly brought him to his knees. Killing his own wife would have destroyed him, and for her deception he could not forgive her.

Without volition, Lionheart's steps took him to the solar. It was not where he wanted to be, but something stronger than his own will had led him there. His hand worked independently of his mind as he opened the door and stepped inside. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting the room in shadows. His gaze went immediately to the bed.

Vanora must have sensed his presence, for she raised herself on her elbow and peered at him through the dancing shadows.

"Did Alan forget something?"

Lionheart went still. What was he doing here? As he searched his mind for an answer to Vanora's question, his wandering gaze found his sword propped up beside the hearth.

"Aye. I came for my sword."

"Do you expect an attack in the night?"

He strode to the bed and glared down at her. "I know not. You tell me."

"Fear not. You are safe, Lionheart. Should you need assistance, I willingly offer my sword arm in your defense."

"You go too far, Vanora," Lionheart warned. "One day that sharp, unruly tongue will land you in trouble."

Now that he had calmed down, he recalled Vanora telling him she loved him. Though he put no faith in her words, he could not help saying, "You claimed you loved me. Were that true, you would not have deceived me."

Firelight flickered across her pale face. She was a study in brazen grace and white-hot defiance. For a brief moment he thought he saw a glimmer of pain pass over her features, but her words quickly disabused him of that notion.

"Love died when you turned away from me and sought comfort from Althea. I feel naught for you but contempt, Lionheart. What I did was what any man would do for his country."

"You are most definitely not a man. Had I slain you, I never would have forgiven myself."

"Is that what your anger is about? I knew the risk when I donned armor and fought to defend my home. Had my father been fortunate enough to have had sons, they would have done the same as I."

"My anger lies deeper than that, Vanora. You had every opportunity to tell me you were the knight I sought yet you lied each time I questioned you. I am your husband. You should have trusted me enough to tell me the truth."

"You were an unwilling husband and an Englishman besides. I feared ... I feared . . ."

"What did you fear?"

"That you would hate me," she blurted out. "Or hurt my friends for keeping my secret." Her next words were low and raw with anguish. "I did not know I would love you."

There it was! That word again. Lionheart felt the strain of maintaining his anger but refused to let his guard down.

"But you no longer love me," he probed. Was he insane? Why did he care? He did not easily forgive and forget, but the demon inside him would not be hushed.

"You are correct, my lord. I no longer love you; you are free to return to Althea. And do not forget your sword."

Lionheart knew he should leave, but the demon that plagued him gave him no peace. "If you feel naught for me, kiss me and prove it." Was he utterly mad?

Her expression mutinous, Vanora reared up, pulling the covers up to her neck to shield her bare breasts. "Did Althea's kisses not satisfy you?"

"Forget Althea. I dare you to kiss me, vixen."

She glared at him. "Is this some new form of punishment you have devised?"

Aye, punishment for myself, he thought miserably. He had no idea why he was torturing himself like this. Nevertheless, he had to know if Vanora was lying about loving him. He could think of many reasons why she would lie and needed to know the truth for his own peace of mind.

"What are you afraid of?" Lionheart taunted. "I want to know how far you will go with your lies."

"What will kissing you prove?"

"That you invented your love to appease my anger. Or," he said, his voice low and harsh, "that you love me still."

Vanora looked away. "Unrequited love hurts, Lionheart. You told me I no longer exist for you, so I banished you from my heart."

Would that I could do the same. The bed sagged beneath his weight. "I am justifiably bitter and naturally distrustful of you after discovering your deceit." He caressed her cheek with the back of his finger, continuing downward over her collarbone, stopping at the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat.

She pushed his hand away. "Stop it! You cannot take, and give naught in return. Go away, Lionheart. I cannot bear this kind of punishment. 'Tis cruel of you to demand that which you are not willing to return in full measure."

"What, pray tell, is that?"

"Your love."

He rose abruptly, his expression stony. "You have not earned my love. In fact, I know not what I am doing here."

"Your sword, Lionheart, remember? You came for your sword."

"Since you are so fond of swords, you may keep it," he returned coolly. "Forgive my intrusion. It will not happen again."

Vanora was torn. Her good sense applauded Lionheart's departure, but her heart wanted him to stay. The thought of him returning to Althea's bed made her sick to her stomach. Besides, she refused to accept that he hated her. He had come to her chamber tonight on a flimsy excuse. Whether he realized it or not, his intention had been to make love to her. How could she let him go to Althea when her heart told her she could win Lionheart's love if she really tried?

That thought brought another. Did she want a man who had washed his hands of her and held her in contempt? Was love worth the anguish of letting a man use her body merely because he desired her?

The answer stunned her. One could not put a price on love. Mayhap her love was strong enough for both of them. How long could his anger hold out against the awesome power of love? Was she willing to let him take comfort in Althea's arms?

"Nay!"

Lionheart was halfway to the door when Vanora's outburst stopped him. He spun around. "What did you say?"

She swallowed hard and prayed she was not making a mistake. "I am willing to kiss you if you still wish me to."

He sent her a mocking smile. "I have changed my mind. Althea would be more welcoming."

Deliberately she let the covers fall to her waist, baring her breasts. "Then go to her. I but wanted to prove how little your kisses affect me."

She had definitely pricked his interest, for his eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch and he returned to the bed. His gaze dropped to her breasts. "What’s going on, vixen?"

"You tell me. You came to my chamber after you swore I meant naught to you."

"My sword—"

"It could have waited until morning. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you want naught to do with me. Tell me 'tis Althea you want, and I will believe you."

"Aye, all of those," Lionheart said gruffly. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Learning you were the White Knight turned me inside out." He grasped her shoulder. "Damn you! Why are you doing this to me?"

She tilted her head up. "Because I refuse to believe you hate me."

His lips hovered scant inches from hers. "I despise what you did," he whispered.

"But you do not hate me."

"I cannot abide liars."

"You want me."

His breath was hot upon her cheek. "My body feels but does not think."

She moved closer, brushing her breasts against his chest. He did not move away. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He took her hand and placed it on the hard ridge of his sex. "It means I cannot stop my body from wanting you, though my mind rejects everything you stand for. You are a woman, not a man. When you donned armor and led men into battle, you risked your life unnecessarily."

Her brows shot upward. "Why should that bother you?"

He met her gaze with a puzzled look. "If I knew the answer to that, I would not be here. I would be with Althea, giving her what she wants."

His reply left her breathless and giddy. Mayhap there was hope for them. If there was a small unguarded place in his heart where she could plant herself and grow, she vowed to find it. Testing the depth of his resolve, she closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his.

He exploded. There was no other word for it. She looked into his face; the angular planes were burnished a dark gold by the fire's glow. His eyes, stormy gray and intense, searched hers. Her breath seized. She raised her hands to his chest; the fire within him scalded her. Then his mouth covered hers. Their lips met and fused. Hungrily. His kiss was ravishing, nearly brutal as he tore the bed coverings away and closed his arms about her.

She felt his hands lock around her waist, then shift her beneath him, his body hot and ready. She was stunned but undaunted when he broke off the kiss and said, "Mistake this not for love; 'tis merely rutting."

His words did not please her, but she had set her course and would not be swayed from it. Instead, she offered him her mouth anew. He did not hesitate but claimed it rapaciously, his hands gliding down her back, molding her to him, cupping the firm curves of her bottom and urging her hips nearer.

Warning bells rang in his head; his demons whispered a litany of reasons why he should not be making love to Vanora. But he banished them, heeding instead the dictates of his body. He could not wait. Removing his chausses took but a moment; his tunic could wait, but he could not. Then he spread her legs, positioned himself between them and shoved inside.

Panting, sweating, aching with raw need, he pounded into her hot center. Again and again. She cried out, shuddered, but he barely heard above the thumping of his heart. He gritted his teeth, thrust hard and deep. Erupted. The relief that filled his body was blinding, the heat gut-wrenching. He had known many women in his lifetime. None like her. Was it his fate to spend the rest of his life with a woman who satisfied him like none other?

A woman he could not trust?

A woman who wielded a sword like a man?