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knife-edged teeth sinking into her back but she paid no heed.
    "You stinking knave!" she cried out. "Get your filthy hands off me! Have you no respect for the fairer sex?"
    "Not when she's likely as not just as treacherous as her uncle. I've no doubt you'd like to stick a dagger in my belly but I'll not give you the chance."
    They hurtled to the ground. Kathryn lay stunned, the breath knocked from her lungs. She couldn't even cry out when he thrust an iron-thewed leg over hers and dragged her hands above her head, anchoring them to the mossy ground with one of his own.
    His other hand skimmed lightly—boldly—over her. Arms. Breasts. Belly and hips, brutally thorough in its quest. That accursed hand even trespassed beneath her skirts, sliding up the naked length between her thighs. To Kathryn's horrified mind, he touched her everywhere. It scarcely registered that he was searching for a hidden weapon. She fought wildly against his dispassionate encroachment but he only pinned her more tightly to the ground. At last she closed her eyes against the cool detachment of his features, shocked and shamed by his intimacy. But inside she raged against the very helplessness thrust upon her by virtue of her womanhood. The only indignity spared her was that his search wasn't performed in front of his men. It didn't occur to her until much later that he might have done so on purpose.
    The task completed to his satisfaction, he bounded lightly to his feet. God, how she hated his false and knowing smile! A saving anger flowed through her, washing away her humiliation. Kathryn slapped away the hand he offered, muttering every vile curse she could think of as she rose unassisted.
    "By God," she said fervently, "you are a bloody bastard!"
    'The question of my legitimacy does not arise," he parried smoothly. "I fear you cannot claim the same of your uncle, which reminds me... I find I am most eager to make his acquaintance. And I'm sure you'll be happy to know that you have just provided the means."
    For the second time in just a few short minutes, he walked round her again, surveying her with the same critical judiciousness. "A pity," he said with a shake of his head when at last he stopped before her. "You have moss in your hair again, lady. I must admit—" His slow-growing smile mocked her. "—it suits you."
    Kathryn was speechless with rage. Just then she didn't know who she hated more—her uncle or this nameless arrogant knight!
     

     
    She was just as silent on the way back to the keep. Roderick was bound, his hands tied tightly behind his back. Kathryn walked beside him. There was little chance of escape, for they were guarded well by the dark knight’s men-at-arms. Kathryn's skin grew icy-cold as they passed row after row of men armed with lance and shield. She saw archers and crossbowmen. Catapults and battering rams.
    The dark knight had not lied. He had come prepared for battle. He had come for war.
    More, he had come to win.
    Roderick edged closer. "You know who he is?" His voice was meant for her ears alone. With a jerk of his head, he indicated the dark knight mounted up before them. Not once had he looked back at them.
    Kathryn shook her head.
    "He is Guy de Marche, Earl of Sedgewick."
    "The Earl of Sedgewick," she murmured. Her brow knitted in concentration. "The name is familiar, yet I can recall nothing of him."
    Roderick bent his head closer. "Guy de Marche was one of the most powerful lords in Somerset." His gaze was sullen as he glanced at the seemingly endless formation of men and arms. "It seems 'tis still true."
    Kathryn stepped over an exposed root, wishing she had her cloak. The damp air seeped through her thin gown clear to her skin. "I did not know he was an enemy of Richard's," she said very quietly. "This is the first I've heard of it."
    Roderick hesitated. "I can think of only one reason," he said slowly. "The earl left on crusade more than three years ago. Not long after, Richard heard that he'd been