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  Coming onto her knees, she focused her attention on cutting slices of cheese and bread as she sensed him turning toward her once more since she had no confidence that he would not read everything in her face—her fears and her hope.

  “Do you prefer your meat red? Or brown?”

  Aslyn glanced up at him and then looked at the half cooked slice of meat he had skewered on his knife. A wave of nausea washed through her. “Brown,” she said with an effort, wondering if he thought he was testing her by offering the meat virtually raw.

  He dropped the chunk of meat onto the nearest plate and returned his attention to his task. “A pity. It’s far more succulent when not overcooked.”

  Aslyn stared at the piece of meat and repressed a shudder.

  “But I was referring to werefolk—not specifically werewolves,” he continued the previous discussion.

  Aslyn met his gaze. This time, however, she truly was confused and had no need to pretend. “Werefolk?”

  “They are not limited to taking the form of wolves.”

  Intriguing as that was, Aslyn realized it was far too dangerous to pursue any further. His piercing stare unnerved her to such an extent that she was certain she would give herself away somehow, if she hadn’t already. To her relief, he dropped it and focused upon the meal once he’d placed a slice of meat on her plate.

  Uncorking the wine bottle, he poured a measure into each of the earthen mugs she’d set out. “You seem … surprisingly well educated,” he commented, just as Aslyn had begun to relax and enjoy the meal.

  She almost choked on the bite of bread she’d just taken and had to take a gulp of the wine before she was able to speak. “I had the good fortune to be reared by a lady of good breeding but no fortune.”

  He cocked an inquisitive brow. “I thought your father was a sea captain?”

  Aslyn did choke that time. When she’d recovered from her coughing fit, she glanced up at him through watery eyes. “Yes. He was. But, naturally, I did not sail with him. I was referring to the woman who kept house for us.”

  He nodded. Before he could think of another question, Aslyn asked, “And what of you?”

  “A younger son of an impoverished gentleman—no prospects,” he responded coolly.

  Aslyn colored, felt irritation surface. It took an effort to curb the urge to slap him. She had not been fishing for information of that type, or for that reason, and he damned well knew it. “Which is of no interest to me as I’ve no interest in attaching a husband,” she said tartly. She’d been sorely tempted to say ‘you’ rather than ‘a’, but decided he was not so thick skinned as to need anything more pointed.

  His eyes gleamed. “No?”

  “I plan to enter the nunnery when I finish my pilgrimage and return to Mersea,” she said tightly. Let him stew on that!

  He frowned. “You must have loved him very much.”

  The comment threw her for a curve, particularly since she could tell from his expression that the thought displeased him far more than he liked, or than he was willing to allow her to see. Unfortunately, she wasn’t altogether certain what it was that she’d told him before that had provoked the comment. She stared at him, trying to remember exactly what she’d told him about herself. It was the pitfall of deceit. One must lie to suit the occasion, which meant if one stayed in one place too long, one could begin to hang oneself with lies.

  She must have mentioned her betrothal, she finally decided, either to him or to someone he’d questioned. She had never been inclined to elaborate, however—she was at least wise enough to realize her limitations and she couldn’t help but wonder what her exact words had been to lead him to this conclusion. Regardless, there could be only one answer. She’d already told him she would enter a convent. She had to have some excuse for choosing to do so. She looked down at her food to keep from giving herself away by her expression. “Yes,” she lied.

  He refilled her cup. “You are far too young … and far too beautiful to hide yourself from the world in a convent. Your destiny lies elsewhere.”

  Aslyn wasn’t about to allow herself to be sucked in by his flattery. With his probing questions and comments, he’d made it clear enough that his only interest in her was in discovering if she had anything to do with the attacks. How could he imagine her as some sort of hideous beast capable of such ferocity and yet so simple as to fall for the grains of flattery he sprinkled out between his probing questions? Or, perhaps, believing her to be of the werefolk, he thought her mind could only be simple?

  She smiled dismissively and turned her attention to her meal, trying to show enthusiasm she did not feel. In truth, she’d lost her appetite long since, which was a shame considering he’d provided the best meal she’d seen in many months.

  “You surprise me.”

  “How so?”

  “In virtually every way, in truth. More specifically, I’d expected either a coy prompt for more flattery, or a denunciation … or a polite ‘thank you’.”

  Aslyn didn’t look at him. She was doing her best to curb her temper. “Was I rude?”

  “Surprisingly.”

  She glanced up at him then. “Perhaps I didn’t consider it a compliment?”

  “You thought, perhaps, that it was mere flirtation?”

  She did not care, at all, for the feeling that she was being toyed with, as a cat might play with a mouse. Anger made her incautious. “I did not make the mistake of thinking it a ‘mere’ anything. I am curious, however, to know why you pretend an interest in me that you obviously do not feel.”

  He was silent for so long that she thought he would not answer at all. “You could not be more wrong.”

  Aslyn threw him an uncomfortable glance. She didn’t doubt that she was meant to believe he was expressing an interest in her when in truth his interest was merely in tripping her up. He was a true hunter, and one far more dangerous than any she had ever encountered before. She would do well, and live longer, if she could bring herself to ignore her attraction to him and guard herself.

  Chapter Seven

  Since she could think of no response to his comment, Aslyn focused her attention upon pretending to finish her meal. When she reached the point where she thought she might choke if she tried to force down another bite, she wiped her hands then took the remaining cheese and carefully wrapped it. Collecting their plates, she rose and took them outside to scrape them, leaving the soiled dishes outside to be cleaned in the morning. When she returned, she discovered that Kale was once more strumming upon his lute. The meat was still hot, but she wrapped it carefully, tied it with string and put it outside the door, covering it with her overturned cook pot to keep stray animals from dragging it off.

  She explained to Kale that she’d left it in the snow to cool so that it would be easier to carry when he left, hoping he’d take the hint and depart. In truth she was exhausted from the turmoil of his visit, for she’d run the gamut of emotions since he’d arrived. More disturbing, and unsettling still was the fact that, despite everything, beneath it all had lain a simmering desire she could never completely ignore. Every look, every gesture, his slightest touch had burned her with awareness of herself as a woman and him as a desirable male.

  She could not recall a time when she had ever been more agitated. She needed to be away from him to recover her equilibrium and think.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I brought it, and the cheese, for you.”

  Aslyn did not want to take it. It was one thing for him to provide their meal, quite another for him to be supplying her with food. However, she did not feel up to the challenge of a debate with him over the matter at the moment. She merely thanked him therefore, stood uncertainly for a moment, and, when she saw he had no intention of departing, sat on the edge of the blanket again.

  She fidgeted for some moments, realizing the obligation of manners and wishing she could ignore it. Finally, reluctantly, she invited him back to dine with her once more on the food he’d provided.

  The lo
ok he bent upon her was far too perceptive for her comfort, but he did not comment upon her lack of good manners in making it far too obvious she had only asked out of politeness. “Thank you, but we are leaving in the morn and may not return for some time.”

  “Oh?” Aslyn asked, trying to keep the hopeful note from her voice.

  Apparently, she didn’t succeed, for he sent her a narrow eyed glance. “We’ve heard word that there was an attack near Beaver Falls. There’s little chance we can track the pack now, but we leave at dawn to try.”

  Aslyn nodded, folded her hands in her lap and thought hard of something she might say that would send him on his way without making her appear more rude than she already had, or worse, suspicious.

  She noticed after a moment that Kale was holding the lute out to her, waiting for her to take it. Unbidden, longing welled up inside her. She had loved to play when she was younger, but it had been years since she’d touched an instrument. She doubted very much that she could even remember the tunes she had once played, or the words to the songs. Moreover, commoners rarely owned such things. It would certainly look suspicious if she possessed a skill she should not have. She shook her head. “I don’t know how to play.”

  He eyed her skeptically for several moments, then indicated again that she should take it. “It’s not difficult to learn. I’ll show you.”

  Reluctantly, Aslyn took the instrument and held it awkwardly, hoping he’d interpret that as inexperience. He rose, moved behind her and knelt so that his splayed knees were on either side of her. Reaching around her, he placed her fingers on the strings, explaining the chords to her. Aslyn stiffened, more disturbed than she liked by his nearness, but allowed him to guide her fingers since she seemed to have no choice in the matter.

  Her back burned where he brushed against her. His male scent engulfed her with his essence, sending a heady wave of longing through her that demolished rational thought. Her heart thundered erratically, making her breath rush quickly in and out of her lungs as if she were trapped beneath a heavy weight that made her fight for air. The harder she tried to struggle against it, the more ensnared she became until she was hardly conscious of his hands over hers except for the currents that seemed to spread from his fingertips into her hands, rush along her arms and strum some wanton chord inside of her.

  At last her hands fell idle and she gave up all pretense of learning the strings, mesmerized by the movement of his thumb as he rubbed it back and forth across the back of her right hand. He captured her hand in his finally and lifted it for his inspection. Almost against her will, her gaze followed the movement until she was looking up into his golden gaze. “You have been bitten.”

  The comment sent a shaft of fear through her, dampening the heat surging through her, though even fear did not dispel it completely. She moistened her dried lips. “I … It was a hound when I was a small child,” she lied, knowing it was no such thing, though she could not recall how or when she’d gotten the scar.

  He touched the tiny, white scars with his lips, brushing them back and forth against her flesh in a way that sent a fresh surge of heat through her. As she watched, he turned her hand palm upwards and placed a kiss on the sensitive flesh there. When their gazes met over her hand, she knew he meant to kiss her.

  Her mouth went dry at the thought. Her heart lurched painfully. She hovered breathlessly in anticipation, fighting the urge to give in to her body’s urges.

  With an effort, she withdrew her hand and looked down at the instrument in her lap, knowing if she allowed him to kiss her she was lost. After a moment, Kale rose. “I should go.”

  There was a note in his voice that told her he would have far preferred to stay. She knew in that moment that she desperately wanted him to … and that he was far more dangerous than she had perceived.

  She closed her eyes against the desire, trying to close her mind to the little voice that urged her to take what joy she could of life. She was cursed. She knew in her heart that she would never find the cure, never be a wife and mother. It mattered little that it went against everything she had been brought up to believe in to even consider taking a lover. What she’d become against her will went against everything she’d been brought up to believe in, and it had deprived her of any chance of love and marriage.

  In the end, it was fear that made her reject the offer she wanted so badly to accept … not the fear of condemnation by her peers--she had already been condemned to damnation by her malady--but rather the fear of loss. Far better never to have loved, she thought, than to have loved and lost.

  She knew if she gave herself to him she would be giving all of herself, not just her body and her passion, but her heart and her soul.

  Without a word, she offered up his lute.

  He studied her for a long moment but did not take it. “I’ll be back for it,” he said finally and strode toward the door.

  She found she was too weak to rise at once when the door had closed behind him. Finally, however, she rose and bolted the door.

  After banking the fire and dousing the candle, Aslyn shook the blanket and made her way to her bed, but she found little rest. She ached for his touch with a yearning that filled her mind with heated dreams.

  It took an effort to drag herself from her bed the following morning. Still bleary eyed, she made her way to the necessary behind the cottage, noting as she did so that the camp had been struck. A mixture of relief and sadness filled her. She should be glad the soldiers had gone. It meant her secret was safe. It meant she had the chance to leave without the danger of being caught fleeing the area.

  It meant she would probably never cross paths with Kale again.

  The urge to weep at the thought was strong. She quelled it with an effort, turning her thoughts to the necessity of leaving while she had the chance. Somehow, however, she could not seem to find the energy to gather her few belongings and set out. She’d slept so little the night before that her head ached, making coherent thought nearly impossible. She was tempted to simply crawl back into her bed and try to sleep for a few hours. She was certainly in no condition to travel as she was. She would need to move fast and put many miles behind her if she was to attempt it at all or she would run the risk of still being too close to Krackensled when … if … the soldiers returned.

  A sickness had crept into the village, she soon discovered, when first one and then another of the townsfolk appeared upon her doorstep with a child bearing spots. A different sort of dread seized her when she realized what it was—small pox. She did what she could, but in truth there was very little she could do except to warn them to keep the sick as far from the well as possible. Her supply of medicinal herbs was low and even if that had not been the case, there were none she knew of that would cure the illness. The strong would survive. The weak would die.

  She was so weary when she finally crawled into her bed that night that she could hardly keep her eyes open, and still her dreams were plagued by Kale’s touch. When she woke the following day feeling worse, if possible, than the day before, she began to wonder if he had somehow placed a spell upon her. Her obsession with Kale seemed unnatural. He had done no more than kiss her hand.

  But he had not merely kissed her hand. He had enfolded her in his embrace. Remembering the feel of his arms around her, the brush of his chest against her back, the woodsy scent that clung to his flesh, was enough to send a rush of heat throughout her body.

  If she were truthful with herself, she had been lost long before he had touched her.

  As much as she would have liked to discount her feelings as the result of some sort of black magic, she knew very well that it wasn’t. With no more than a careless caress, Kale had aroused a sensual awareness in her that she began to doubt that she would ever be able to put to rest. She might flee from him, but she could not flee the memory of her body’s response to his nearness.

  She lost count of the days, for she found little rest at night, and none at all during the day. Finally, however, the traf
fic to her door began to slow as the small pox ran it’s course with surprising speed. The death toll was relatively small in numbers. She’d seen whole villages wiped out by the disease, but, doubtless because it was far too cold for anyone to be out unless absolutely necessary, more families were untouched than those that were hit. The villagers were convinced that it was her doing and lavished gifts of appreciation on her, much to her embarrassment. It did no good, however, to claim she’d done nothing to earn their gratitude.

  Weariness finally took its toll and Aslyn slept dreamlessly throughout the night and most of the following day. It was nearing dusk when she finally roused herself enough to rise. Disoriented, it took some moments to realize that she’d slept throughout a night and entire day and that it was not morning approaching, but evening when she opened her door at last.

  Shaking off the haziness of sleep, she made her way around the cottage to the necessary, trying to recall when she’d eaten last. If the clamor of her stomach was anything to go by, it had been days.

  As she was returning to collect her cook pot, however, she heard the snap of a twig close by and it drove all thoughts of hunger from her mind. She froze, instantly alert, and turned slowly toward the sound. A snow fox stood less than two yards from her, watching her with a steady, golden eyed gaze.

  He was by far the largest fox she had ever seen, nearly as big as a small wolf. In fact, for several moments she thought it was a wolf, but as she stared at him in fright, she began to notice the subtle differences.

  Her fear subsided somewhat, but she could not help but be uneasy about discovering a fox virtually at her door step. After a moment, when he made no move to leave, she took a cautious step back. To her dismay, the fox took a step toward her.

  Aslyn stopped, studying him. He did not appear to be mad, but perhaps hunger had driven him this close to town? If that were the case, then he was easily as dangerous as a wolf, for he was as big and his teeth sharp enough to rend her flesh.