Juliana Garnett by The Vow

conversation.”
    “And did he slay a messenger sent out from Wulfridge, and cut off his ears, as I have been told?”
    Reddening, Giles nodded slowly. “The messenger broughta plea for time instead of immediate surrender, and that was Sir Simon’s reply.”
    So Ceara had not lied. Not about that.
    “You may rejoin your comrades now, Giles. I will see to the lady for the night.”
    Giles’s relief was obvious, and he left quickly, as if afraid Luc might change his mind. The men rolled up in blankets beneath trees and small shelters of brush and limbs, but a tent had been set up for Luc’s use. He smiled to see it. How quickly circumstances changed, for only a short time before he had been one of the men shivering by the fire. Now he had a tent, position, and the respect that was given a man as lord.
    At the moment the tent was the most important reward, and he moved toward it. The limber walls shivered in the press of wind, stretched taut by ropes and poles. A light burned inside, a steady inviting glow.
    Luc paused by the fire and held out his hand to Ceara. She stared at it warily for a moment, then rose slowly to her feet. When he did not move, she took a deep breath and gingerly placed her hand in his. He closed his fingers around her palm. “Join me in the tent, my lady.”
    “Do you dare risk being alone with me, my lord? I might be dangerous.”
    Luc laughed softly at her testy tone. “You are most definitely dangerous. But I am a man who loves a challenge, unlike poor Giles. You have terrified the man.”
    “Good. He is a spineless cur. I doubt he has ever used his sword for anything other than shaving, for he is as clumsy a cow as ever I have seen.”
    “Nevertheless, you will cease tormenting him.”
    “Why? It amuses me. And I have done nothing to him, save point out a few of his weaknesses. He will be a better man for it. You should thank me.”
    “No doubt the king himself will wish to show his appreciation for your philanthropy, but I am not so inclined.” His handtightened around her fingers in a gentle warning. “It would be to your best interests to heed my advice,
demoiselle
.”
    “That is debatable, but I will take it under consideration since you have asked so nicely.”
    Tension underscored her words, and Luc paused beneath the sputtering light of a pine torch to look at her more closely. The hood shadowed her face, but there was a quivering agitation about her that struck him.
    “What is it you fear,
demoiselle
?”
    “I fear nothing.”
    The words came quickly, much too quickly, an abrupt denial that did not ring true. His gaze sharpened. Something had unnerved her, and he did not think it was her precarious situation with the king. Did she fear being alone with him in the tent? No, not after the events of two nights before when she had all but flung herself at him. It could not be that.
    “As you say, my lady. Here, step into my tent. It is much warmer out of the wind.”
    As he spoke he urged her toward the open tent flap with firm patience, and after a last brief resistance, she stepped just inside and stopped. It was only when he entered behind her, his body forcing her forward a step, that she moved farther inside. She turned toward him, looking as if she were poised for flight.
    “I prefer sleeping outside, my lord.”
    “Your preference is not mine, however. There are cushions, blankets, and a skin of wine here. It would be foolish to sleep outside when it is much warmer in the tent.” When she stared at him unmoving, he lifted a brow. “Do you fear I will force myself on you?”
    She made a rude noise and shrugged as she began to unfasten the brooch that closed her cloak at her throat. “That is hardly one of my great concerns, my lord.”
    Annoyed that she would treat it so lightly, he demanded with a sharp edge to his voice, “Do you think me incapable?”
    Her fingers stilled on the silver cloak pin, and she lookedup at him with a faint smile. “I am not so advanced