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"Prepare hot water for a bath and food for my men and me," Lionheart ordered a nearby servant as he nudged Vanora toward the stone staircase.

Her lovely face set in defiant lines, Vanora preceded Lionheart up the stairs and along the gallery to the solar. She could hear his heavy tread behind her and wondered what he would do to her once they were alone. She had heard that Englishmen were brutal beasts who took what they wanted without a care for their victims. Although the English brute had shown no sexual interest in her, she thanked God that she was not a helpless female incapable of defending herself.

Vanora opened the door to the solar and stepped inside. Lionheart followed close on her heels. She watched him warily as his silver gaze roamed over the large chamber and its furnishings. Everything was just the way her father had left it six months before. Vanora had not claimed it for herself, for the chamber held too many memories.

"Your father lived well," Lionheart said with a hint of sarcasm. "Cragdon will make an excellent addition to Edward's Welsh holdings."

"Surely you do not intend to remain long at Cragdon," Vanora returned, aghast at the thought.

"I intend to headquarter here until Llewellyn is brought to heel or I am sent elsewhere by Edward. I am weary. Help me remove my armor."

He held up his arms, his expression harsh with impatience. Vanora moved cautiously, wary of the Englishman who had just claimed her castle and lands for his prince. Grasping his mail shirt, she tugged it upward, but despite her own height, he was so tall she had difficulty pulling it over his head.

Growling in impatience, he pushed her aside and finished the task himself, and as he did so, his hand inadvertently scraped along her rib cage. A jolt of pain shot through her and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Unaware of her distress, Lionheart removed his mail shirt and gambeson and tossed them aside.

Then he lowered himself to a bench and held out his right foot. "Remove my boot."

Vanora wanted to tell him to go to the devil, but caution prevailed. She feared Lionheart would take revenge on her people if she were belligerent. Grasping his foot, she tugged with all her strength, but the boot refused to budge. Then suddenly it gave, and she sprawled on her backside, the boot in her hand and her skirts flying up past her knees.

Vanora was not prepared for the onslaught of pain and she doubled over into a fetal position, clutching her ribs and rocking back and forth.

"God's nightgown!" Lionheart cried. "What is wrong with you? I've never known a woman with such a tender backside."

With a snort of disgust, he pulled off his remaining boot himself. Then he stood and rolled his chausses down his legs.

"Nay!" Vanora cried, turning her face away.

Lionheart paused, his chausses halfway down his muscular legs. "What is wrong now?"

"You cannot disrobe until I am gone."

"Have you never seen an unclothed man before?"

"Nay, never. I am a maiden," Vanora said over the debilitating pain still gripping her.

"You are pale. Are you ill?" She shook her head. "Have you injured yourself?"

Vanora thought a moment before deciding to placate him with half-truths. "I took a spill recently and may have broken a rib or two."

His silver eyes took on a speculative glow. "Shall I wrap them for you?"

Holding her side, she rose slowly, maintaining a safe distance. "Nay. Mair has seen to it."

"Who is Mair?"

"My tiring woman. She is skilled in the art of healing."

"Then mayhap you should summon her to see to my wound. 'Tis naught but a scratch, but wounds have a tendency to fester and go putrid."

A knock on the door forestalled further conversation. Lionheart gave permission to enter. Two men rolled a

large wooden tub inside the chamber and set it before the hearth. A procession of servants followed, bearing buckets of hot water. When the tub was full, Lionheart dismissed everyone. But when Vanora attempted to leave with the servants, he stayed her with a harsh command.

"Nay! You will remain here and bathe me."

Vanora stiffened when he removed his chausses, fearing to look yet unable not to. Had he no shame? A surreptitious glance showed her that Lionheart was magnificent in his nakedness. Naught in her imagination had prepared her for the darkly chiseled lines of his face or the powerfully cut ridges and planes of his warrior's body. He was hard and strong and sleek, like the lion for which he was named. For a brief, insane moment she wondered what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped tightly around her, to feel the width of his hard chest pressed against her soft breasts, to feel his mouth against hers.

Vanora conquered her madness and regained her wits when Lionheart stepped into the tub and settled down into the water.

"You can start with my back," he said, handing her the washcloth.

Vanora snatched up the cloth, applied soap and moved behind him. Then she began to scrub,

Lionheart was more aware of Vanora than he had led her to believe. The moment she set the cloth to his flesh, he felt his cock harden and his ballocks tighten, and realized it had been a long time since he had tasted a woman's sweet passion.

When Vanora passed the cloth over his wound, he caught his breath. "Careful, woman!"

"Did you not say it was insignificant?" Vanora asked sweetly.

"Would you like me to show you something that is not insignificant?" Lionheart taunted as he caught her hand and brought it down to his groin.

Vanora recoiled in shock. Beneath her hand his flesh was hard as steel yet sleek as velvet. Being a maiden, she had not been required to help bathe her father's guests and had never seen, much less felt, the male organ, but pride would not allow Lionheart's blatant masculinity to intimidate her.

Forcing a smile, she curled her fingers around his erection and announced in a bored voice, "You are overly vain if you think that impresses me. What is remarkable to some is less noteworthy to others."

Lionheart's dark brows slanted upward. "Perhaps you would like me to demonstrate what my less-thanremarkable cock can do."

Vanora pulled her hand away and would have fled had he not grabbed a handful of her gown and held her in place.

"You have not finished bathing me."

Vanora opened her mouth to fling back a scathing retort but was forestalled when the door crashed open and a man, his brown robes flapping around his scrawny ankles, sailed inside, his keen blue eyes ablaze with righteous fury.

"I came as fast as I could, Vanora. When I heard the Englishman had dragged you to the solar, I feared the worst. Take your hands off her, Sir Lionheart."

"Who are you?" Lionheart's tone of voice sent fear racing through Vanora. "Father Caddoc means no harm," she cried, flying to the priest's defense.

"Do not defend me, Vanora," Father Caddoc said, patting Vanora's shoulder. "I am but doing God's work."

"God's work?" Lionheart questioned. "Pray tell what enjoyment of one's bath has to do with God."

Drawing his meager frame up to his less-than-impressive height, Father Caddoc thinned his mouth in disapproval. "You will not dishonor Vanora, sir. She is betrothed to a brave Welsh warrior."

Lionheart's dark gaze searched the far corners of the chamber. Contempt colored his words.

"Where was the 'brave Welsh warrior' when Vanora needed him to defend Cragdon?"

Father Caddoc darted a glance at Vanora, then said, "He is with—"

"Father!" Vanora cried. "Mind your tongue. Do not provide information to the enemy."

With a jolt of insight, Lionheart believed he had uncovered the White Knight's identity. He was Vanora's betrothed. An unexplained fury seized him.

"Where is he?"

Vanora gave him an innocent stare. "Who?"

"Your betrothed. He is the one who led Cragdon's warriors, the one wearing the white and gold tabard, is he not?"

Vanora's smile was far too smug for Lionheart's liking.

"Nay, he is not."

"She speaks the truth," Father Caddoc confirmed.

Lionheart surged to his feet, water dripping from his powerful form as he stepped out of the tub. "May God forgive you your lies, priest, for I will not," he growled. "Men do not disappear into thin air. Fetch the healer to stitch my wound, and send Sir Giles to me."

Father Caddoc stared at Lionheart's naked, scarred body a long, thoughtful moment, then said, "I will not leave Vanora alone with you."

"I said go!" Lionheart roared.

When Father Caddoc hesitated, Vanora said, Fear not, Father, I shall be fine."

With a compassionate glance at Vanora, he turned and fled. Vanora attempted to follow, but Lionheart stopped her with a single word.

"Stay. I did not give you permission to leave, lady."

Two long steps brought him close enough to touch her. Reaching out, he spun her around to face him. She tried not to look at anything but his chest, but her wayward gaze wanted to stray to more interesting areas of his anatomy, although his chest was certainly memorable. Dark ringlets swirled around his flat male nipples. The sculpted ridges of muscle were marred by numerous scars and nicks. Her gaze took in the extraordinary width of his shoulders, then wandered down his bulging biceps to his large hands.

From there it seemed only natural to drop her gaze to that part of him that proved his masculinity. He was in full arousal, erect and hard and rampant. Her breath caught in her throat, and she returned her startled gaze to his face, where a modicum of safety lay. Their gazes clashed with the force of a volcanic eruption.

"Have you looked your fill?" Lionheart asked. "How do I compare with your betrothed?"

Refusing to be cowed, Vanora swallowed her embarrassment and glared at him. "I was not staring. Besides," she said, forcing her gaze downward to his groin, "you have naught to be proud of."

The taunt must not have set well with Lionheart, for Vanora could almost feel the unrelenting heat of his anger sweep over her. His hands tightened on her shoulders, but she struggled free and backed away.

"I will see what is keeping Mair. Your wound needs tending."

"I am here," Mair said from the doorway. Such was their preoccupation with one another that neither Lionheart nor Vanora had heard the tiring woman enter.

Vanora was the first to react. Putting distance between herself and Lionheart, she retreated to relative safety behind Mair's comfortable bulk. "Sir Lionheart needs your attention, Mair. He has suffered an 'insignificant' wound that is in need of stitching."

Hands on ample hips, Mair let her contemptuous gaze sweep over Lionheart's nude body. "Cover yourself, Sir Lionheart," she rebuked. " 'Tis not right that you should bare yourself before my mistress. Have you no shame?"

Vanora's brows lifted in surprise when Lionheart grabbed the towel from the bench and wrapped it around his loins. "Do you not fear me, woman?"

Mair's gaze slid down his body. "I am an old woman; I fear no man. You may bare your 'weapon' to me, but I will not allow you to shame Vanora, I fear not what you may do to me but what you intend to do to my lady. Vanora is an innocent, and not for the likes of you to despoil. Now sit you down and let me get on with my stitching. Fetch the medicine chest from yon cupboard, Vanora."

Vanora acted with alacrity, removing the chest with its precious contents from the cupboard where it was kept and placing it on the bench within Mair's reach. Mair probed Lionheart's wound with a fingertip, then wiped away the blood with a soft cloth.

"Thread the needle, Vanora," Mair ordered.

Vanora opened the chest, found a needle and pushed a fine silk thread through the eye. Then she handed it to Mair.

"Brace yourself, Sir Lionheart," Mair warned as she took the first stitch.

Vanora observed Lionheart from beneath lowered lids as Mair stitched. His expression did not change, nor did he flinch as the needle slid through his flesh, closing the gaping wound on his shoulder. If he felt pain, she saw no sign of it. The man was not human, she thought with a hint of disgust.

"Finished," Mair said as she tied off the knot. "Smear some of that marigold salve on his wound whilst I prepare a bandage, Vanora."

Vanora dipped a finger into a small pot of salve and applied it to Lionheart's wound. She felt his muscles contract beneath her touch, and a jolt of awareness tingled up her arm. He must have felt it too, for he grasped her wrist to stop the sensual slide of her fingers over his skin.

"Enough," he growled. "My squire will help me dress. I'm sure you have duties elsewhere. My men and I are famished. The meal can be simple, but we will require something more substantial later."

Vanora nearly laughed in his face. There was not enough food in the keep to feed her own men, much less Lionheart's. "Where, pray tell, am I supposed to find the food to feed your army? Our stores were depleted during the siege."

Sir Giles chose that moment to present himself to Lionheart. He rapped once on the door, then entered. Seizing the opportunity, Vanora fled through the opening.

"The priest said you wanted me," Giles said.

"Aye. Has Llewellyn been found?"

"Nay. Doubtless he has fled into the mountains, where we are unfamiliar with the territory. Sir Brandon has taken out a patrol to search the

area."

"I need to send a message to Edward immediately. He should be informed that we have taken Cragdon. Meanwhile, I will make my headquarters here. There is a problem, however. The stores on hand are inadequate and cannot feed our numbers. As soon as I dress, I will instruct the villains as to their duty to supply the keep with food. Gardens and orchards should be at their peak this time of year."

"Good luck," Giles said. "Cragdon's people look like a sullen lot to me, little better than the uncivilized savages that pour down from the hills to harass our marcher barons."

Lionheart mulled over Giles's words as he descended the stairs to the hall. Welshmen did not like the English, but Edward was determined to unite Wales and England once he became king, and when Edward made up his mind to something, he was unstoppable.

A hush followed Lionheart's entrance into the crowded hall; the hostility was palpable. He strode to the dais and waited until he had everyone's attention before speaking in a voice that rang with authority.

"People of Cragdon, heed me. I claim Cragdon and all it encompasses in the name of Prince Edward of England."

A nervous stirring followed his announcement.

"Naught will change. You will be allowed to return to your homes unharmed and you will still belong to Cragdon. Due to the long siege, the keep is in desperate need of food. Go home, harvest your crops, and bring the produce and livestock you owe in tithes to the keep as you have always done. I intend to send out huntsmen, but beef, lamb and pork will be tasty additions to wild game. I pledge that no man, woman or child shall go hungry during the coming winter."

A sea of sullen faces stared back at Lionheart. Then the truth dawned on him. They did not understand his words. His discovery was confirmed when Vanora approached him and said, "Few of my people understand English, Sir Lionheart."

"Translate for me," Lionheart ordered. "Make them understand that no one will be harmed if my orders are obeyed."

Lionheart could understand some Welsh and listened carefully to make sure Vanora was relaying his words correctly. He had decided before entering Cragdon that keeping his limited knowledge of Welsh a secret would serve him better than admitting he could understand what was being said about him.

Vanora finished her translation and turned to Lionheart. "Is that all? Are they free to return to their homes now?"

"Aye, but I shall expect to see food arriving at the castle very soon."

Once Vanora translated his message, the crofters gathered their children and belongings and began to file out of the hall. Vanora would have followed, but Lionheart ordered her to remain.

"My stomach is touching my backbone. When can we expect a meal?"

"There is naught in the larder but oats. Do you fancy gruel, Sir Lionheart?"

Lionheart's stomach clenched. "We need meat to fill our bellies."

He hailed Sir Osgood, one of his knights. "Has Sir Brandon returned?"

"Nay, Lionheart. He is still out with his patrol."

"We need food, but there is naught here for us. Organize a hunting party. Game should be plentiful this time of year. Mayhap you will come across some of the livestock the fanners hid away in the woods when they fled to the keep."

Osgood left immediately to carry out Lionheart's orders.

"What about the warriors imprisoned in the tower?" Vanora asked. "Will they be provided with food and water?"

"Aye. When we eat, they eat."

"What is going to happen to them?"

"They will be given the opportunity to join Edward's army."

Vanora gave an unladylike snort. "That will never happen. My people are loyal to Wales and Llewellyn." "And to you," Lionheart added.

Vanora bristled. "My father charged them with my protection during his long absences from home. Serving in Edward's army would betray both Father and Cragdon. Do not expect them to deny their heritage."

"Cragdon belongs to England now. Mayhap they will accept my offer of amnesty for practical reasons."

"We shall see," Vanora replied.

Lionheart watched Vanora walk away. Her head was held high and her shoulders were squared, emphasizing her unusual height. He could not help admiring her indomitable spirit, though he did so against his better judgment.

Vanora's vibrant beauty and curvaceous form pleased him. His mind conjured a vision of her long legs wrapped around him as he thrust into her heated center. That heady thought captured his imagination. Her temperament bespoke a passionate nature, and he wanted to be the first to unleash it.

Vanora was the complete opposite of the leman he kept at the village of Dunsford, near one of Edward's estates where they often stayed. Althea, the village innkeeper's daughter, was small, dainty and submissive, yet passionate and responsive to his needs. Lionheart was more than satisfied with her and visited Dunsford whenever he was able.

He felt no compulsion to wed. His parents' marriage had been disastrous. His mother had produced the required heir and promptly left his father's bed and home. Lionheart had no idea where she was and did not care. His father had told him his mother had taken a lover and abandoned him when he was still in leading strings. He had neither seen nor heard from her since and could not even recall what she looked like. Dimly he remembered a soft voice and comforting arms, but beyond that, memory failed.

Though his father, Lord Robert, was an earl and one of King Henry's courtiers, he drank and gambled to excess and had been forced to sell his poor and badly managed lands to pay his debts. At the age of seven, Lionheart had been fostered; he had seen little of his father since, which was fine with him.

Lionheart had first met young Edward when they were both fostered with Simon de Montfort. Ten years older than the prince, Lionheart had become Edward's protector even then. If not for young Edward's friendship, Lionheart would have been forced to sell his services to the highest bidder after earning his spurs. He had accompanied Edward to France, and when Edward had been given his own household, the young prince had asked Lionheart to remain in his service.

Turning his thoughts in another direction, Lionheart went in search of Cragdon's steward. He was still undecided whether or not he should replace Sir Penryn with one of his own men; nor was he sure Penryn would accept if the position was offered to him. He found the steward in a small chamber that served as the castle office.

"I suppose you intend to replace me with one of your own men," Penryn said, as if reading his mind.

"That depends on whether or not you are willing to serve Prince Edward," Lionheart said.

"Sir Penryn is faithful to Cragdon," Vanora said from the doorway. "He will serve neither Prince Edward nor you."

Lionheart spun on his heel, frowning when he saw the determined look on Vanora's face. "Why not let Penryn speak for himself? If he is faithful to Cragdon, then he will want the estate to prosper. It can only do so with an experienced steward at its helm. What say you, Penryn? Will you remain as Cragdon's steward until Edward decides otherwise?"

"He will not!" Vanora persisted.

"Vanora, you are not thinking clearly," Penryn cautioned. "Lionheart has claimed Cragdon for England, but what if Llewellyn succeeds in winning it back? You want your land returned to you in good condition, do you not?"

"That will not happen," Lionheart said with conviction. "Cragdon is firmly in English hands."

"My father would turn over in his grave if he knew his people were serving England's prince," Vanora said.

"Your father is dead," Penryn reminded her. "We do what we must to survive."

"Listen to Penryn," Lionheart said. "He is older and wiser than you. You can best serve your people by cooperating. Naught will change for them under English rule. They will still till your fields, harvest your crops, care for your livestock and pay their tithes. The only difference is that the tithes now belong to Prince Edward."

"I will continue my duties as steward, if you will have me," Penryn allowed. "I have served Cragdon too long to see it wither and die for lack of direction. I know you are a warrior and cannot remain to see to Cragdon's welfare, so I shall do it because 'tis my home and I love the land upon which Cragdon stands."

"You will not be sorry, Sir Penryn," Lionheart said. "Please prepare a complete inventory of Cragdon's assets, including stores and money. Edward will want to know the value of the great prize I have won for him."

"There is no money," Vanora insisted. "We produce everything we need to survive."

Lionheart's dark brows rose in disbelief. "Surely there are funds to purchase that which the land does not produce. Do you make your own pots and farm tools? Grow your own spices? I think not, yet I am sure you own such items. Do not lie to me, Vanora."

"I told you, there is no coin,"

Lionheart stared at her a long moment, then said, "Very well, if that is the way you want it. I can be stubborn, too. One of your men will be executed for each day you refuse to turn over Cragdon's assets, starting with Sir Ren."

Penryn protested vigorously. "Vanora, your stubbornness will gain us naught. If you do not give over Cragdon's monies to Lionheart, I will."

"There is a cache of gold and silver coins in Father's war chest. You'll find it in the solar," Vanora spat. "Sir Penryn is right. The life of a Welshman is more valuable than any possession."

"Leave us, Sir Penryn," Lionheart commanded.

Penryn bowed stiffly and left the chamber. Vanora rounded on Lionheart the moment Penryn was out of hearing.

"Only an animal would execute men in cold blood. Your name alone tells me what you are capable of. You can have the gold and silver, but Cragdon is mine. Once I wed Daffid ap Deverell, he will become lord of the keep."

"Daffid ap Deverell shall not have you," Lionheart bit out. Now, why had he said that? "Prince Edward will decide your fate. Mayhap he will wed you to one of his trusted lieutenants. What say you to that, Vanora of Cragdon?"

"I will kill any Englishman who attempts to touch me," Vanora vowed.

Laughter rumbled from Lionheart's chest. "A simple Welsh maiden is no match for an English warrior. Think you your betrothed has the ballocks to fight for you?"

"Daffid will fight for Cragdon; 'tis his right to protect what will be his when we wed."

With the sleek grace of a predator, Lionheart stalked toward Vanora. She retreated, her eyes spitting defiance. He did not stop his pursuit of her until she was backed up against the wall.

"Your defiance does not please me," he said. And because he wanted to put her in her place, or mayhap because her lips looked so tempting and he could not resist a challenge, he raised her chin with the tip of his forefinger and kissed her.

Her lips were sweetly provocative; she tasted of defiance, of unleashed passion, of challenge. Even as her body stiffened, her lips opened beneath his prodding tongue. Grasping her face between his hands, he deepened the kiss, savoring her fully, exploring the warm cavern of her mouth with his tongue. A groan rumbled in his throat. His ballocks were full and aching; he wanted this feisty Welshwoman in his bed for however long he remained at Cragdon.

Vanora's senses were reeling. Lionheart's mouth and tongue were making a shambles of her self-control. Never had she felt anything as earth-shattering as Lionheart's kiss. It was her first kiss and not at all what she had expected. Would it have been the same with Daffid?

Though Vanora knew Lionheart was using his mouth as a tool to subjugate her to his will, she realized he was enjoying himself. Her own pleasure in the unwanted kiss stunned her. His kiss was demanding, yet surprisingly gentle. He could have thrown her skirts over her head and taken her without her consent had he wanted to, and she thanked her Maker that he did not.

When his hands left her face and slid down her back to her waist, she tried to push him away, but he was an immovable force despite her own considerable strength. He adjusted his weight, leaning his chest against hers, making her aware of his erection. With strength born of desperation, she broke off the kiss. "Nay, do not dishonor me."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Most women do not consider themselves dishonored by my attention."

"This one does."

"It has been a long time since I have had a woman. There is no greater pleasure, except for the thrill of battle, of course. Has your 'brave' Welshman bedded you yet?"

"When I wed Daffid, I intend to go to him as pure as the day I was born," Vanora vowed.

"Do not count on it, my lady," Lionheart mocked. "Should I desire you, you will come to me and no one shall say me nay."

"Then I shall make certain you do not desire me, sir knight. Touch me again and I will run you through with my father's sword. I will not submit willingly."

She scooted away. Laughing, he reached for her and hauled her into his arms. "I am beginning to enjoy this, vixen. Tis a game you cannot win, however much you try."

"We shall see," Vanora returned, spinning away.

His laughter followed her as she fled. Was there nowhere in the keep she would be safe from him? She could leave, should she choose to. Escape through the secret exit was always possible. Unfortunately, she had not the heart to desert her people. If she left, there would be no one to protect them from Lionheart.

There was something she could do, however. She could arrange an escape for the warriors imprisoned in the tower. With that thought in mind, Vanora hurried to the kitchen to help prepare a meal for her enemy.

Lionheart shook his head in dismay. Whatever had possessed him to kiss Vanora? He had always taken great pride in his ability to control his sexual urges, but Vanora had broken through his reserve with little effort. His groin still ached and his body was rock hard. One day, he vowed, he would have Vanora on her back, with her legs open for his pleasure and her arms welcoming him.