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The hunting party bagged enough fresh game to feed everyone in the keep. A satisfactory meal was served that evening, and Lionheart went to bed with a full stomach. He had taken the solar for his own use and after securing the keep for the night, he retired with every intention of sleeping well in Lord Rhys's comfortable bed.

The night, however, proved anything but restful. Not only did Vanora haunt his dreams, but also did the mysterious knight whose identity remained a well-guarded secret.

The church bell had just tolled the hour of prime when Lionheart awoke the following morning, his mood as dark as his thoughts. He washed and dressed and went down to the hall to break his fast. Only a few early risers were about, but Lionheart's spirits lifted when a serving woman appeared from the kitchen and placed a cup of cider, fresh bread and sliced cheese before him and quickly retreated.

Sir Brandon joined him and helped himself to bread and cheese.

"The prisoners are becoming fractious, Lionheart. We cannot keep them in the tower forever."

"I intend to speak to them after I break my fast. Mayhap I will let the mercenaries leave if they pledge fealty to Prince Edward."

"Think you they will agree?"

Lionheart shrugged. "What choice do they have? If they accept my offer of amnesty, they can sell their services elsewhere."

"My warriors will not swear fealty to you," Vanora said from behind Lionheart.

"Lady Vanora," Brandon said, rising. "Will you join us?"

"Nay, I broke my fast in the kitchen. I wish a private word with Sir Lionheart."

Brandon bowed and took himself off.

"Be ready to accompany me to the tower after I have spoken with Vanora," Lionheart called after him.

Vanora blanched. "What are your plans for my guardsmen? What must I do to save them?"

A slow smile stretched Lionheart's lips. How far was Vanora willing to go to save the lives of her men? he wondered. No time like the present to find out.

"Sit you down, my lady, while we discuss terms," he said.

Vanora stiffened, "Terms? I know not what you mean."

"Do you not? I will spare your warriors' lives in return for your cooperation."

"How must I cooperate? You have robbed me of everything I own. I have naught with which to barter."

A lustful gleam lit Lionheart's eyes. "How much of yourself are you willing to give to save the lives of those you claim to care for?"

The violet of Vanora's eyes darkened with understanding. "Speak plainly, sir knight. Tell me what you want of me."

His gaze slid down her body in bold regard. "I think you know what I want. Give yourself to me, and I will spare your men."

"What you are suggesting is sinful and immoral! " Father Caddoc cried from where he stood not two feet away from them. "Do not listen to him, Vanora."

Lionheart sent the priest a disgruntled look. "Every time I turn around, either you, Mair or Vanora is lurking about. Go away, priest. I would speak privately with Vanora."

"Nay. I am Vanora's confessor. Tis I who absolve her of her sins and I who must protect her virtue. She does not need one such as you leading her astray."

Lionheart turned his steely gaze on Vanora. "Does Father Caddoc speak for you, Vanora? You know the consequences of your refusal, do you not?"

"Please leave us, Father. I am old enough to make my own decisions."

"Vanora, listen to reason," the priest pleaded.

Vanora pulled the priest aside and spoke to him in a voice meant for his ears alone. "Many lives depends upon Lionheart's goodwill," she whispered. "I promise not to do anything rash. Think you I want to surrender myself to Lionheart? I have a plan that will save both my virtue and my men."

"Ahhh," Father Caddoc said. "I should have known. Very well, I will leave you to placate Lionheart as best you can."

"What did you tell him?" Lionheart asked when the priest withdrew. "I trust neither of you."

"I told him I am old enough to make my own decisions," Vanora replied.

Lionheart's brows lifted. "Does that mean I will have you in my bed tonight?"

"It means I will think about it. Meanwhile, you must vow to do naught to my men until I reach a decision. In return for your restraint, I promise to give your request serious thought."

Lionheart settled back in his chair and stared at Vanora. He had not thought to gain so great a concession from her. His eyes narrowed. Something was not right. Vanora liked him not. She would never agree to become his leman unless she had some mischief in mind. It suddenly occurred to him that she was bargaining for time to plot against him. Stifling a grin, Lionheart considered himself up to the challenge of curtailing whatever mischief one insignificant Welsh maiden could cause.

"I will give you a sennight to make up your mind. But consider carefully, lady, for many lives depend upon your answer. When I want something, I usually get it."

Vanora's eyes widened. "You would force me?" His gaze raked over her with lustful intent. "I vow there will be no force involved when I take you to my bed."

Vanora inhaled sharply. "Your arrogance appalls me, sir. Not all women find you irresistible. I, for one, find you presumptuous, overbearing and contemptible. If you will excuse me, duty calls."

Chuckling to himself, Lionheart did not try to stop Vanora as she strode off. The stiffness of her lithe form betrayed her outrage, but Lionheart could not help admiring her spirit. She did not walk with the mincing steps of a woman; nay, her stride was long and confident, as if she knew her strength and took pride in it. She would bear watching closely, he decided, for, given the chance, she would make a fool of him.

While Lionheart hated to admit it, Vanora's defiance was arousing. Women rarely, if ever, defied him, and most men thought twice before doing so. Whether she realized it or not, Vanora's passionate nature was apparent in her every word and deed, in the way she carried herself and in the proud tilt of her chin. That brand of fiery temperament was rare in a woman. He wanted to plumb the depths of her passion.

Sir Brandon interrupted Lionheart's introspection. "Are you ready to speak to the prisoners now?"

"Aye. How many guards have you posted in the tower?"

"Two above and two below."

The conversation halted when Alan appeared, bearing Lionheart's weapons. Lionheart strapped on his broadsword, then nodded to indicate that he was ready to speak to the prisoners. As he followed Brandon up the winding tower staircase, the two sentries at the bottom fell into step behind them.

"Unlock the door," Lionheart ordered when he reached the top landing. One of the sentries produced a key from his belt and fitted it into the lock. The door swung inward, and Lionheart stepped inside.

The prisoners surged forward. Immediately the guardsmen drew their swords and pushed them back. The air was fetid and thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and human waste. Lionheart was willing to bet that after two days of confinement, the prisoners would agree to whatever terms he offered.

"Have you decided our fate, Sir Lionheart?" asked Sir Ren, Vanora's captain of the guard. "Are we to be executed?"

Recalling his promise to Vanora, Lionheart said, "That depends. How many mercenaries serve the castle?"

"Half our numbers are mercenaries, some English, some Welsh, some foreign," Ren replied. "The rest of us are Welshmen pledged to serve Sir Rhys's daughter."

"To the mercenaries I offer amnesty in return for their fealty to Prince Edward," Lionheart said. "They are free to serve another lord if they so desire."

A hush fell over the prisoners as each man considered the offer and what it meant to him in terms of monetary and personal gain. Mercenaries usually cared not to whom they sold their services as long as they were paid. At length, one man stepped forward, dropped to his knee before Lionheart and swore fealty. One by one, others followed, until all the mercenaries had pledged themselves to Lionheart.

"Sir Brandon, give these men their arms and horses and escort them to the portcullis."

"You are deserting Cragdon and Lady Vanora," Ren cried as the warriors filed through the door.

"Knights fight when and where they are paid to do so," Lionheart said. "Cragdon no longer belongs to Lady Vanora, nor does she possess the coin to pay her mercenaries. You judge them too harshly, Sir Ren. Even Penryn has seen the wisdom in serving Edward. He will carry on at Cragdon as Edward's steward.

"As for Cragdon's Welsh defenders," Lionheart continued, "I offer no terms. Edward will decide your fate. He may be inclined toward leniency if you decide to swear fealty to him."

"We are sworn to protect our lady." Ren replied.

"So be it. You shall remain prisoners until Prince Edward returns and decides your fate," Lionheart continued. He turned to leave.

"Can you not find more hospitable quarters for us?" Ren asked. "We lack bathing facilities and are not allowed to visit the garderobe. We are forced to make do with buckets."

"Prisoners do not make demands," Lionheart said harshly, "but mayhap I will take your request into consideration if you reveal the identity of the knight who led the battle against my forces."

" 'Twas I," Ren said.

Lionheart raked him with a contemptuous glare. "Think you I am stupid? If you refuse to reveal the knight's identity, mayhap you would be more inclined to tell me if the castle has a secret exit."

Ren's lips remained tightly clamped.

"Very well, so be it. I shall find the knight without your help and search for the exit myself."

So saying, he exited the chamber, leaving the disgruntled Welshmen to mull over his words.

Vanora had no idea that half of Cragdon's defenders had pledged themselves to the enemy, but even if she had known, it would have changed naught. She had but a sennight to find a way to free her loyal warriors. Should she fail, she would have no recourse but to become Lionheart's leman and destroy her hope of marrying Daffid ap Deverell, for she refused to go to her betrothed soiled by an Englishman.

Damn all Englishmen! Damn Lionheart!

* * *

The following days were a trial for Vanora. Lionheart's dark, intent gaze seemed to follow her everywhere. Though she tried to avoid him, their paths seemed to cross far too often for her liking. The only peaceful moments she had were when he went hunting or joined his men on patrol, or when she hid from him in her chamber.

Vanora had to admit that the castle was running smoothly, but a good deal of the credit went to Penryn, who had the ability to hold her people together. Though she wished it otherwise, rebellion was not feasible with the castle's defenders imprisoned in the tower. Regrettably, Vanora's plan to free the prisoners had been shot down by Father Caddoc. He had insisted it was too dangerous.

Vanora would not give up, but time was running out for her.

One day Lionheart cornered her in the gallery. A thin beam of waning daylight streaming through the high arched window slanted across half of his face, painting it with harsh strokes, delineating the aggressive thrust of his chin and the gleaming silver of his narrowed gaze. The other half remained in brooding darkness.

"Have you been avoiding me?" he asked harshly.

"I am surprised you noticed," Vanora shot back.

He crowded her against the cold stone wall. "I notice everything about you. Have you come to a decision yet?"

"You gave me a sennight."

"Why do you refuse to accept the inevitable? I will settle for no less than total surrender. Your protectors cannot help you, and your mercenaries have abandoned you."

"You lie!"

"I speak the truth. There are but a handful of stubborn Welsh knights remaining in the tower. The others were wise enough to accept my terms. They chose life over death."

"Damn you!" She tried to maneuver away, but his hard body blocked her retreat.

"Not so fast," he growled. "Mayhap you need a sample of the pleasure to be had in my bed."

Grabbing her about the waist, he pulled her to him for a hard, thorough kiss. She struggled against him, keeping her mouth firmly closed as he tried to pry it open with his tongue. Then he urged her hips against his, forcing her to feel his arousal, and to her utter shame her hips surged forward against his erection. When she realized what was happening, her resolve grew firmer and she stomped on his foot with her heel.

Laughing, he broke off the kiss. "You cannot hurt me, vixen."

With the supreme confidence of a man accustomed to getting his way, Lionheart's mouth claimed hers again. This time he showed no mercy, forcing her mouth open and stabbing his tongue inside. He kissed her like a lover instead of an enemy, hot and deep, his hands sliding down to cup her buttocks and mold her against the bulge straining his chausses.

Trying a different tactic, Vanora bit down on his lip, hard. It worked. He reared back, roaring in outrage. "Bloodthirsty wench! Yield to me."

"Never!" Her words rang hollow. How could one sound decisive when one's legs had just been reduced to a boneless, quivering mass of jelly by a man bent on seduction?

"We shall see, Vanora," he said with typical male arrogance.

Then the insolent devil continued on his way.

Vanora sagged against the wall, left weak and trembling by the encounter. God help her. What if she failed to find a way to free her men? The alternatives were unpalatable. She would either be forced to abandon them or give herself to the English devil.

But a niggling little voice inside her head whispered of buried feelings that had never been awakened until Lionheart had kissed her and touched her.

* * *

Vanora knelt in the chapel, praying for guidance. She had remained on her knees so long that dampness had seeped into her bones and her legs were trembling with fatigue. She was waiting for Father Caddoc to return from the village, where he had gone to pray at the bedside of a woman stricken with childbed fever. She was determined to wait however long it took for the priest to return. Lionheart's assault upon her senses made her realize he was more dangerous to her than she had thought before.

"Vanora, what are you doing up so late?" Father Caddoc said from the doorway. He hurried over to join her, his knees creaking when he knelt beside her. "Are you ill?"

"I had to speak with you, Father," Vanora began. "About the plan we discussed earlier."

"Nay, child, 'tis too dangerous."

"Dangerous or not, I am committed to saving my men." She looked down at her hands, refusing to meet the priest's eyes. "Time is running out. If I do not act soon, I will be forced to yield to Lionheart in order to save the lives of our brave Welsh knights."

"I will pray on it."

"'Tis not enough."

"What if Lionheart does not take the bait?"

"He wants the warrior he calls the White Knight almost as much as he wants me. God willing, he will not have either."

The priest's eyes lowered with resignation. "What do you want me to do?"

"Help me don my armor. I intend to leave through the exit behind the altar, fetch my horse from the village, and remain hidden until morning. Then I will present myself outside the castle walls until I attract the attention of the guards on the parapet."

"I fear for your life, child."

"Nay, Father, I shall be fine. Once I draw Lionheart's attention, he will empty the castle of warriors to

give chase. They do not know these lands as I do. I shall lead them into the mountains, then disappear into one of the numerous caves. The rest will be up to you and Mair. Think you can release the men from the tower?"

"How do we get past the sentries?"

"Mair will tell them about the appearance of the White Knight at their portal and lure them to the battlements to watch. While she is distracting them, you can lift the key from the guard."

"I like it not, Vanora. Lionheart is not stupid. He will suspect trickery."

"He wants that knight as badly as he wants Llewellyn. Naught will go wrong."

"Pray God you are right," Father Caddoc said fervently.

"I will need more than your prayers if I am to succeed. Help me don my chain mail."

Father Caddoc accompanied her to a small chamber behind the altar that held a variety of religious articles. He opened a storage chest, pushed the robes aside and removed Vanora's chain mail, chausses, sword and white tabard. The priest left her while she removed her gown and donned the armor and returned after she was dressed.

"Your destrier is still stabled behind the village blacksmith shop," Father Caddoc said. "One of the stable lads caught it and took it away before the gates were secured by Lionheart's forces."

"I know. Mair told me. 'Twas her grandson who took Baron to the village. Drem is taking good care of him for me. I am ready, Father. Open the door."

The priest touched a panel behind the altar, and a door leading to a passageway to the riverbank sprang open. From there it was an easy walk to the village. Vanora planned to bide her time until morning, then show herself to Lionheart's men.

Father Caddoc lifted a torch from a wall sconce and handed it to Vanora. "You will need a light to see your way. Take the torch and leave it at the entrance of the cave for when you return. I shall pray for our success."

"Thank you, Father. Meet Mair in the hall at Prime tomorrow. I shall show myself to Lionheart's sentries shortly after daylight. You both know what you are to do." She placed her helm on her head and ducked through the opening.

"God go with you," Father Caddoc whispered as Vanora disappeared down the passage.

Lionheart tossed and turned most of the night. He heard the church bells ring compline and then matins, but for some reason his mind was troubled and he could not sleep. Warning bells jangled in his brain, and his senses tingled with awareness. Yet he could find naught amiss. The prisoners were secure, and Vanora was safe in her bed where she could do no mischief.

Mayhap that was what was wrong with him. He wanted Vanora in his bed. It would not be long now, he thought smugly. His threat to execute her guardsmen would bring her to his bed very soon. He had given her little choice in the matter. When he wanted something, he went after it with a single-mindedness that usually got him what he desired.

He could order Vanora to his bed if he wanted, but using force gave him no pleasure. He liked his women submissive and willing. The thought of Vanora submitting willingly brought a snort of laughter to his lips. The vixen was too proud and independent, but he was confident that once he had her in his bed, he could make her want him. The thought of an eager, warm and passionate Vanora brought a surge of hot blood to his loins. If he did not have the vixen in his bed soon, an erection would become a permanent part of his anatomy.

Lionheart dozed off and on until the sound of the church bells tolling prime awakened him. Stretching, he rose to begin his day. He had just finished washing himself when Giles burst into the chamber, his excitement palpable.

"He is here! The audacity of the bastard boggles the mind. You must come and see for yourself."

"Take a breath, Giles, and tell me what you are talking about. Who is here?"

"Him! The White Knight! He rode up to the gate at first light as bold as you please. The guards on the parapet saw him first and alerted the garrison."

Lionheart poked his head out the door and yelled for Alan. The lad appeared moments later, out of breath and flushed with excitement.

"I saw him!" Alan crowed. "Him and that great white steed of his."

"Help me with my armor, lad," Lionheart bit out.

Alan hastened to obey. "Is he alone, Giles?" Lionheart asked in a muffled voice as Alan pulled his mail shirt over his head.

"Aye," Giles replied, "but Llewellyn’s army could be hiding in title hills, waiting for the White Knight to lure us out."

Lionheart grabbed his sword and strode from the chamber. "I want to see the bastard for myself before I decide what action to take."

Lionheart sprinted up the winding stone staircase to the parapet and peered over the edge. What he saw sent shards of rage racing through him. Clad in his distinctive white and gold tabard, his mail and helm gleaming beneath the rising sun, the knight, mounted on his snowy white steed, was gazing upward. When he saw Lionheart, he raised his sword in a gesture of defiant challenge.

"The bastard!" Lionheart spat.

"What do you suppose he wants?" Giles asked.

" 'Tis obvious. He is challenging me."

"Methinks he will lead us into a trap if we give chase."

"Mayhap he will lead us straight to Llewellyn," Lionheart mused. " 'Tis what we want, is it not? We have been looking for the Black Wolf of Snowdon since we arrived in Wales. A confrontation with him is what we have been training for these long weeks. We shall let the renegade knight lead us to him."

"Aye," Giles agreed. "The men are eager for a good fight."

"Alert the garrison," Lionheart ordered. "Leave two men behind in the gatehouse. Under no circumstance is the portcullis to be raised during our absence. And assign two sentries to guard the prisoners in the tower. The rest are to muster in the courtyard in full battle gear.

"Prepare to die!" Lionheart yelled down to the White Knight. "When we meet in battle, only one of us will walk away!"

A short time later, the portcullis was raised and Lionheart rode through at the head of his impressive army. When the White Knight was absolutely certain of being followed, he raised his sword to his helm in a mocking salute and galloped off toward the distant hills.

Lionheart bit back a curse. The white steed was fast, and the knight seemed to know exactly where he was going. Lionheart kept him in his sights as he galloped steadily upward into the hills. Keeping track of the knight was difficult once they reached the dense woods, but Lionheart's determination did not waver.

"Keep your eyes peeled for an ambush," he warned his lieutenants.

The ambush never materialized. Instead, the knight led the patrol higher and higher, plunging ever deeper into the thick forest. Lionheart had just crested the hill when the knight suddenly disappeared. Assuming that the knave had plunged down the opposite side of the hill, Lionheart led his warriors down the steep incline. When they reached the bottom, Lionheart knew he had been tricked. But to what end?

For what reason had the knight lured them from the keep?

* * *

Lionheart's patrol had already ridden off when Mair and Father Caddoc made their way to the tower. Each carried a pail of fresh water.

"What have you there?" asked Sir Osgood, one of the two guards left behind.

"Water for the prisoners," Father Caddoc replied.

"What was all that commotion in the bailey?" inquired the second guard, a mercenary named Fenwood.

"Did you not know?" Mair said in feigned excitement. "The mystery knight Lionheart has been seeking appeared outside the walls shortly after prime. Lionheart mustered his forces and gave chase."

"God's nightgown, I wish I were with them," Fenwood muttered. "The knight will lead our forces straight to Llewellyn."

"Mayhap you could watch from the battlements," Mair suggested slyly.

The guards exchanged speaking glances. "Leave the water," Sir Osgood ordered. "We will take it in to the prisoners when we return."

As Father Caddoc set down the pail, he accidentally bumped into Fenwood. "God forgive me," he muttered beneath his breath as he handily lifted the key from Fenwood's belt.

Eager to observe the action from the battlements, both guards bounded up the staircase, leaving the priest and Mair behind. "Do you have it?" Mair hissed. "Aye," Father Caddoc said, producing the key from his black cassock.

He fitted the key in the lock and pushed the door open. "Father Caddoc! What are you doing here?" Ren asked when he saw the priest standing in the open doorway. "Where are the guards?"

Mair peered from behind the priest. "Hurry. There is no time to lose. Down the stairs with you and to the chapel."

The dirty, bearded men poured out of the chamber and clambered down the stairs. Mair held her nose and flinched as they passed but valiantly stood watch until the last man had slipped past her.

Then Father Caddoc locked the door, handed the key to Mair, and fled below with the men. Mair climbed the stairs to the battlements on trembling legs and approached the guards.

"Do you see anything, Sir Osgood?" Mair asked innocently.

"Nay. They must be well into yon woods by now."

Mair turned to leave, pretended to turn her ankle, and leaned heavily into Fenwood, grasping his tunic for support. With a flick of the wrist she returned the key, wedging it into his belt.

"Here now, are you all right?" Fenwood asked, reaching out to steady her.

"Aye, thank you." Bobbing a curtsey, she hurried off.

" 'Tis done," Mair said when she reached the chapel. "They might suspect but they have no proof. Pray that our lady returns unharmed."

Mair watched anxiously as the last Welshmen fled through the passage behind the altar. Once they reached the riverbank, they would be free to join Llewellyn’s forces or return to their homes. Father Caddoc closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Return to the keep, Mair. I will wait here for Vanora."

* * *

Vanora left her steed with Drem and made her way to the river, creeping along the steep bank until she reached the cave. She made sure no one was following, then ducked inside, removed the torch from the sconce, and returned to the chapel. Father Caddoc was waiting for her when she reappeared from behind the altar.

"Thank God," the priest said fervently.

"Did all go as planned?"

"Aye, all went well. By the grace of God, your knights escaped through the tunnel," Father Caddoc said as he lifted her helm from her head and returned it to the chest.

Together they divested her of her chain mail. While Vanora changed into her gown, the priest put away her armor and sword and arranged the robes to hide them.

"Come, child, we will pray together. Methinks you will need all the help you can get when Lionheart returns."

Vanora was still on her knees in the chapel when Lionheart burst in. His black look did not bode well for her.

"So there you are," he growled. "I have been looking for you. I suppose you know what happened. The White Knight led us on a wild chase into the hills. Then he disappeared. Did you have a hand in this? Was there a reason my men and I were lured from the castle?"

"I have not left the keep; you cannot blame me for something I knew naught about," Vanora said sweetly.

"Did you not?" Lionheart said uncertainly. "Be assured that I will not rest until I have the bastard at my mercy. Pray for his eternal soul, lady, for his days are numbered."

The words had scarcely left Lionheart's mouth when Sir Brandon ran into the chapel and skidded to a halt before him.

"The prisoners are gone, Lionheart! Every last one of them."

His face a mask of fury, Lionheart rounded on Vanora. "What have you done?"