Juliana Garnett by The Vow Page A

in age that I have forgotten how … 
capable
 … you were on the night before last, my lord. Nor am I so blind that I could not see the size of your capabilities.”
    Luc stared at her, chagrined at the hot flush he could feel rising up his throat and face. “
Bon Dieu
—you dare to remind me … 
Jésu!
Have you no shame?”
    “Perhaps you have forgotten, but I was not the one who disrobed first. Is it shame only if it is not the man’s idea?”
    For the life of him, he could not think of a worthy response. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and after a moment Ceara shrugged out of her cloak as if he were not standing there in furious, choked silence. She draped the wool garment over a small stool and moved to warm her hands at a brass brazier filled with glowing coals.
    Curse her, she was so cool now, when only a moment before she had displayed such uneasiness. A changeling, with mercurial moods that always left him feeling as if he had made a misstep. It was not a familiar sensation, nor one that he relished.
    “There are blankets on the floor for your use,” he said abruptly. “Give me your word you will not attempt escape, and I will not bind you.”
    Her head came up, eyes wide and shadowed as she stared at him. The silence stretched. The wind gusted against the tent walls with a thumping sound, and the faint howl of a wolf rent the night air, closer than before.
    Ceara blew out a small breath and smiled faintly. “Do not trust me, my lord, for if the chance should come, I fear that I would do what I felt I must.”
    He had not really expected her to promise, but it was irritating that she would not yield in even this small thing. If she would not swear to this, it was unlikely that she would swear to William. And that monarch would not take her refusal lightly.
    Grimly, Luc bound her right wrist with a stout length of rope, and fastened the other end to the wooden frame of the coterected for his use. Alone, it would never hold her, but with his weight in the cot, she would not escape.
    With deliberate silence, he examined the reports his scribe had prepared for William, ignoring Ceara. If he had thought to annoy her, it seemed that she was pleased to be ignored, for she said nothing, lying upon the pile of blankets in silent contemplation of the tent ceiling. He read the neatly penned reports for some time, then glanced up.
    Ceara lay in repose, her eyes closed and her hands crossed over her chest as if laid upon a funeral bier. His lips twitched with wry humor. She was either overly dramatic or hoped that he would find her dismissal of him deflating. Even more deflating was the fact that she was right. If ever there was a woman who could shake his confidence, this might be the one.
    Praise God that he would not have to deal with her much longer. Once matters were set aright with William, the king would no doubt find her a suitable husband and send her off to some remote part of England where she would be of little danger to anyone, including herself.
    Rising from the small, hard stool, he stretched to ease his cramped muscles, then moved to the narrow cot and lay upon it fully clothed. Morning would come much too quickly. If William were not back at York, he would have to travel on to Stafford to find him, or worse—Winchester. It would take over-long, when he was anxious to get back to Wulfridge and set about making the land profitable.
    It did not escape him that if not for the stubborn courage of the girl lying so close, Wulfridge might yet be in the hands of the Saxons and he would still be a landless knight. What fate took from one, it oft gave to another.
    He turned in his cot to look at Ceara in the faint glow of the lamp. She looked lovely and serene, almost vulnerable. For a moment he regretted the necessity of what he must do. But then he steeled himself. It was the way of things.
    Outside, the wolf howled again, and he heard the uneasysnorting of the horses. Then came the sound