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  In truth, she was far more embarrassed than amused by the picture they must represent and relieved beyond measure when they came to her cottage once more, until it occurred to her to wonder if they would part company at the door or if she would have to conceive an idea to foist them off.

  With an edge of desperation, she pulled free as they reached her door, grasped the handle determinedly and turned, barring entrance, a false smile pasted on her lips. “I must thank you … both … for your assistance. I wish I could invite you in for something to war--a cup of tea to warm you, but I have someone coming in a very little bit with a sick child.”

  To her relief, the men exchanged a look and bowed. Kale stepped forward and set her cook pot on the stoop. Even as he did so, Lord Algar seized her hand and bent over it to give it a salute.

  “Until this eve, then, Mistress Aslyn,” Kale said, a wicked gleam in his eyes, then nodded and departed before she could say anything at all.

  She was left with her jaw at half cock, staring after him in consternation over Lord Algar’s dark head. The comment brought Lord Algar’s head up with a jerk. As he whipped around to glare after the huntsman’s departing back, Aslyn recovered sufficiently to grab her pot and duck inside the door. When Lord Algar turned to look at her suspiciously, she pasted a bright smile on her lips. “Thank you again,” she said and hastily slammed and bolted the door.

  She braced her back against the door, partly from the weakness of relief, partly from an uneasiness that Lord Algar would not take her dismissal lightly. Her heart was thundering in her ears, making it difficult to listen for sounds of Lord Algar’s departure. Finally, however, he left without another word.

  Aslyn stared down at the pot hanging on the hook above the fire. She had nothing to put in it. She’d intended to go foraging for something to make a soup once she’d returned with the pot. She didn’t dare do so now, however, afraid she’d run up on Kale or Lord Algar again, or worse, both of them.

  She turned and looked sadly at the crusty loaf of bread that had been brought to her earlier. It would have gone well with soup. Alone it lost much of its appeal.

  Dismissing it, she began to pace the small room, trying to think how she might depart Krackensled without being accosted by either of her ‘suitors’ or the men with them. It seemed an impossibility. The soldiers roamed the land at night, searching for the elusive wolves. During the day she would be far too easily noticed, by villagers and soldiers alike.

  Twice, she’d gone foraging and both times she had repeatedly spotted soldiers lurking nearby. She did not believe for a moment that it was purely coincidence, despite the fact that they’d given the pretense of having other matters on their minds.

  She was obliged to admit, after much pacing, that it would be worse, given the current situation, to try, than to wait for a better time. If she tried and was caught, then she would be under suspicion and watched even more closely. If she waited, the situation might turn in her favor. There had been no reports of attack in nearly a week. Surely the soldiers would soon leave if nothing happened to keep them in the area?

  In the afternoon, a rap came upon her door. She was reluctant to answer it, but she could not simply hide away, as much as she would have liked to. Still, she was cautious, calling through the door before she opened it.

  Enid favored her with a curious look when Aslyn opened the door. “You were expecting someone?”

  Aslyn smiled weakly. “It pays to be cautious.”

  Enid hid a smile. “Especially when you’re being courted by two such powerful men.”

  Aslyn turned away as she felt color creep into her face. “They are hardly courting. The rivalry between Kale and Lord Algar is almost certainly older than our short acquaintance. It’s difficult to be flattered when they seem more interested in besting each other than claiming the ... uh ... prize.”

  Enid nodded skeptically.

  Irritated, Aslyn asked if she had need of anything.

  Enid grinned, not insulted in the least. “Nay. Jim’s outside taking care of those repairs, as promised. I thought mayhap you’d like a bit of company.”

  Aslyn was not currently inclined toward company—in truth she would not have welcomed it at any time, but she found she could not be rude in the face of Enid’s determination to promote a friendship. She refused, however, to be drawn into any sort of discussion regarding her ‘suitors’. Instead, she played with the baby and listened absently to Enid’s recital of all the clever things the baby had done most recently.

  Baby Bess seemed none the worse for her accident the previous week. The knot on her head had all but disappeared, leaving a yellowed patch of bruising. Jim was healing well, as well and, with the exception of the continued attacks by wolves, all was right with Enid’s world.

  Aslyn felt her heart drop to her toes when Enid asked if she’d heard of the latest attack. “There’s been another attack?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  Enid nodded, her eyes wide. “Just last eve. I’m surprised you’ve not heard, considering.”

  Aslyn was almost afraid to ask. “Considering?”

  “Will the Red--the farmer that was here to see you about the boils just yester morn. He was on his way home, and nearly there when he was set upon.”

  “He was … was he … killed?”

  Enid shook her head. “By God’s mercy! Frightened nearly witless, but he was fortunate enough to come off without a scratch. He had chanced to kill a stag along the way and had it upon his shoulders. Doubtless, it was that that attracted them. In any case, when they leapt upon him, they dragged the carcass from his shoulders and he was able to flee while they fought over it.”

  “The poor man,” Aslyn murmured. She did sympathize with his fright, but her own plight was beginning to look more and more desperate and she had difficulty focusing upon anything but unraveling the problem. With an effort, she dismissed her anxieties and directed the subject back to Baby Bess, knowing Enid could not resist following. She wished she could as easily put it from her own mind. It unnerved her to think the man had been set upon so quickly upon the heels of his visit to her. She dearly hoped that Enid had not spread the tale in the same way she’d told it to her, else the villagers would be wary of coming to her door, or worse, become hostile in the certainty that the problems they were having were her doing.

  All in all, she was not sorry to see the McCraney family take their leave. As she opened the door for them, however, she discovered she was sorrier still that they had already said their good-byes, for Kale stood upon her stoop.

  Chapter Six

  Enid threw her a twinkling glance, nodded at Kale and departed, leaving Aslyn staring uncomfortably at her visitor.

  “I’d invite….”

  “Thank you,” Kale said. He handed her a wheel of cheese and strode inside with something wrapped loosely in a piece of thin leather.

  Aghast, Aslyn watched speechlessly as he moved to the hearth with the air of one who belongs. He was carrying, she saw, a haunch of meat, already skewered and ready, apparently, for the fire. He arranged it on the spit before he straightened and turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

  He had invited himself to dine with her and had brought the main course. Or, did he think she would be the main course, Aslyn wondered uneasily.

  After a moment, she pushed the door closed. By tomorrow, she would almost certainly be receiving the looks reserved for women of easy virtue, but it was far too cold to leave the door ajar for the sake of decorum. In any case, she doubted her reputation would survive much longer whatever she did. Kale and Lord Algar had blatantly marched her down the street between them. No doubt the community had been titillated over that and were even now snickering about the healer and her two lovers.

  The townsfolk’s low opinion of her would not wound her, nor need she concern herself about it as any young, unwed, woman would need to to find acceptance. It might well lead to a precipitate departure for her, however, if for no other reason than tha
t she would be avoided out of censure and have no way of earning her keep.

  That might have its advantages. Not that she liked the idea of being run out of town, but it would certainly solve her dilemma over how she might leave without arousing suspicion.

  On the other hand, it would also leave her more vulnerable to Kale and Lord Algar, whatever their plans for her.

  After studying him uneasily for several moments, Aslyn moved away from the door. “I see you’ve brought…?” She broke off, uncertain of what the bloody chunk of meat was.

  “A haunch of venison.”

  She nodded and continued to the washstand, pouring water into the basin so that he could wash up. He crossed the room to stand behind her. She glanced up at him over her shoulder, caught by his gaze for several heartbeats before she shook herself and moved away with the realization that he was merely waiting for her to move so that he could wash up.

  She watched him as he washed his hands, mesmerized by the movements of his hands and the play of muscles on his forearms, exposed when he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows. His hands were strong, his fingers long and tapering. Dark hair sprinkled the backs of them as well his forearms. She was still watching as he turned at last, drying his hands on the cloth she’d left beside the bowl for him. He studied her a long moment and finally turned to the bowl once more. Lifting it, he carried it outside to empty the contents.

  More than a little dazed by the turn of events—for despite Kale’s earlier threat/promise, she truly had not expected him to show up--Aslyn surveyed her cottage when he’d gone outside. She was fortunate to have the little that she did since she had ‘inherited’ what Gershin had left. However, Gershin had lived alone and had not enjoyed a great deal of prosperity. The cottage contained one small table, one rickety chair and a narrow bed.

  Aslyn ignored the bed. There was no sense in stimulating the man’s imagination by inviting him to sit on it. There was far more dirt floor in the room that anything else … and, to be sure, little enough of that considering the size of the cottage. She would never before have even considered such a thing for a moment, but a very little thought told that, unless she was willing to use the bed as a seat—which she most certainly wasn’t—she really had no choice but to entertain her guest on the floor.

  Irritation surged through her briefly, that she’d been put in the awkward position of entertaining a guest when she hadn’t the means for it. She dismissed it with the reflection that Kale had come for a reason. For her safety as well as her peace of mind, she needed to know what that reason was.

  If his intention truly was to court her, then she would simply have to find a way to fob him off until she had the chance to move on. If, as she suspected, it was something more, then forewarned was forearmed.

  Pulling the old quilt from the bed, she spread it near the hearth, placing the cheese, her knife, the cracked earthen mugs and plates that seemed the least damaged and a bottle of wine near the center. Lastly, she found a dish to hold one of the candles Algar had sent to her, lit it, and set it next to the bottle of wine. She was just finishing the last when Kale returned, knocked briefly and entered carrying a load of wood before she could respond.

  His dark brows rose as he surveyed the ‘picnic’ cloth before the hearth. Until that very moment, Aslyn had not considered the ‘table’ she’d set might be construed as seductively intimate. She was appalled when she realized that that was exactly what it looked like … a blanket before the fire, candles--wine.

  She glared at him, lest he conceive the notion that that was her intention. “I apologize, but I’m afraid I have little to offer visitors. Rather than suggest we take turns at the table, I thought we might share the blanket.” She could have bitten her tongue off the moment the words were out of her mouth. It took no imagination at all to twist those words into a far more intimate invitation than she’d intended. One look at Kale’s face was enough to assure her that he’d not missed the, seeming, double entendre.

  A faint smile curled his lips. “I should be delighted to share the blanket with you,” he responded and continued to the hearth, dropping the pile of wood he carried beside the hearth, then carefully placing a few branches on the fire.

  Aslyn blushed. At least a part of it was irritation. If he had openly acknowledged the inadvertently suggestive nature of her comment, she could have set him back on his heels. As it was, he had merely turned it back upon her so that she could not even take exception to his response.

  But she knew very well that he had not missed the connotations.

  It was even more irritating that he had only to give her that piercing look of his and she began to feel exceedingly warm all over and as breathless as a giddy young maiden. She was more than a little inclined to think it was his fault that she could not open her mouth without uttering something witless.

  He left again when he’d turned the spit over the fire. This time when he returned, he was carrying a lute and it was Aslyn’s brows that rose. “Do you play?” she asked in surprise.

  A slow, infinitely appealing smile curled his lips. It did something drastically disturbing to her heart. “I’ve a modest skill with it. Mostly I carry it to charm the ladies at court and convince them that I’m a man of breeding and sensitivity.”

  Caught off guard, Aslyn chuckled. “I had not pegged you for a rogue.”

  His dark brows rose at the comment. He took her hand, assisting her to take a seat on the edge of the blanket. “Do not let this boyish countenance disarm you. I’m considered one of the blackest rogues unhung.”

  Aslyn eyed him skeptically as he settled himself opposite her with his back to the wall and began to tune the instrument. There was nothing the least boyish about his face. It was all man--harsh, angular, dangerously appealing. Nor could she imagine him as a seducer of innocents—he seemed far too controlled for that, far too honorable a man--though she had no difficulty at all imagining any number of young ‘innocents’ casting lures in his direction, hopeful of being seduced.

  If her own life had not changed … but there was no point in allowing her thoughts to take that direction. Her life had changed. It would never be the same. And if it had not, then she would have been wed long since and very likely have a babe at her breast by now.

  In any case, she was very doubtful that his intentions toward her were of a seductive nature … however treacherously her body interpreted every word, look and gesture he bestowed upon her. Possibly, he viewed that as a potential bonus to his efforts, but it was not the ultimate goal. Of that she was fairly certain. His behavior toward her had been that of a gentleman from the very first. Unlike Lord Algar, he had made no attempt to take advantage of her situation.

  “A breaker of hearts, perhaps,” she responded finally, teasingly. “But I can not see you as a seducer of innocents.”

  The comment was rewarded by one of his rare grins. “I never said it was true, only that it was rumored … and, in any case, I don’t recall that I suggested it had to do with the seduction of innocents at all.”

  Aslyn’s jaw went slack. “But … uh….”

  He chuckled at the look on her face. Instead of commenting, however, he began to pluck a tune and sang a ballad. Regardless of his claims, his skill was far more than merely modest. He played well, and he sang even better, his voice deep and rich, reaching down into her soul, curling a tight fist around her heart that made her yearn for all those things she’d missed in her life … husband, hearth, and children … the passion of a man she could love who loved her in return. She was so enthralled she forgot her guard, clapping enthusiastically when he’d finished, smiling at him warmly. “That was beautiful!”

  He bowed his head slightly. After a moment’s thought, he played another tune. The ballad he sang, however, was completely unfamiliar to her. It was hauntingly sad, and spoke of a people hunted, misunderstood, despised.

  When he’d finished, he set the lute aside and moved to check the meat.

  “What is this ballad? I�
��ve never heard it before.”

  He shrugged, intent upon his task. “It’s from a legend as old as mankind … as old as Uthreana, the Earth Mother.”

  “This is about a people that lived long ago?”

  He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. “Many believe they still live among us.”

  Aslyn frowned, thinking back to what she remembered of childhood lessons, but she could not recall ever having heard a tale anything like it. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard about them.”

  He returned his attention to the meat, cutting into it experimentally to check it for doneness. “It’s the legend of the werefolk—the beast people—or, as they prefer to call themselves, the brethren, who appear as ‘normal’ as you and I much of the time, but who are virtually immortal, and change themselves into beasts and roam the night. According to legend, there are those born into the clan, and those fortunate enough to be … chosen as mates.”

  A dizzying rush of fright washed through Aslyn as she studied his back, realizing this was no idle conversation. He knew, or he suspected. In either event, her situation was far more dire than she’d supposed. The realization threw her mind into such turmoil that it took a supreme effort of will to force herself to consider how one not guilty, as she was, would react to the story. Should she dismiss it? Or would it be best to express some interest in the subject? Would it be dangerous to show any interest at all?

  In truth, despite her fear, the tale held more promise of her possible salvation than anything she’d learned in all her years of travel. If there was any truth at all to it, and surely there must be, she wanted—needed to know whatever he might know about it.

  She decided it wouldn’t be safe to appear too intrigued and forced a scoffing chuckle that sounded hollow even to her own ears. “Werewolves? But these are just stories simple folk frighten themselves with. In any case, I wouldn’t think being ‘chosen’ a very desirable thing. Who would willingly give up their humanity to become some savage beast?”