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  “What a ridiculous question.” To her own ears, Lilianne sounded much more like her usual self, strong and firm-minded, with the momentary weakness gone. “In the last few hours I have entrusted you with my life and Alice's, with her honor and mine, and with my brother's life and future. Why should I hesitate over a mere splinter?”

  “Splinters have been known to fester.” A faint smile curved his mouth, but his eyes were serious.

  “I trust you,” she said.

  “Then, come below. I'll want a couple of candles for light, and some wine to wash the spot once the splinter is out.”

  “So much fuss for a mere sliver of wood?”

  “Lady Lilianne,” he said gravely, “it's my opinion that you are worth a great deal of fuss.”

  Lilianne could not recall why she had thought his eyes were cold and flinty when they were, in fact, warm and shining with kindness. He pulled the wooden hatch open and gestured. Obediently, she preceded him through the hatchway and down the ladder.

  Magnus escorted Lilianne past Braedon, who grinned at her, and on to her small cabin. When he followed her inside he was so big that he filled the cramped space. He looked distinctly uncomfortable until he forced open the tiny porthole.

  “That's a little better,” he remarked. “At least, now I can breathe.”

  “I don't like small spaces, either,” she said. “Perhaps it's because we are both large people.”

  “Possibly.”

  He stared at her, but she had the feeling that he wasn't considering how tall she was, or her lushly rounded figure in light of what she'd just said. Magnus was studying her mouth.

  Lilianne couldn't help herself; she moistened lips gone dry under his intense gaze. She saw the sudden fire that flared in his eyes before he turned to the door.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. “I'll find some candles and a clean cloth for a bandage.”

  Lilianne was so unnerved by the way he'd looked at her that she didn't bother protesting yet another command from him. She heard him speak to Braedon, and heard the door of the next cabin open so he could exchange a few words with William. So far as she could tell, nothing was changed in there and Erland remained unconscious.

  A single step took her to the open porthole. All she could see was the sky and the ocean, and all she could hear was the slap of water against the hull of the Daisy. She breathed deeply of the cool outside air while she tried to calm her confused emotions. She was still trying when Magnus returned.

  He carried a tray on which rested two stubby lighted candles, a pitcher, a wooden cup, and a folded linen napkin.

  “Take the candles,” he ordered. “The ship's cook is certain I'm going to stumble and drop them and start a fire.”

  “There’s no table in here,” she pointed out, lifting the candles off the tray. “You will have to set the tray on the bunk. The candles, too, and that could be dangerous if they tip over.”

  “Then, you will have to sit very still, won’t you?.” Balancing the tray on one hand, he used the other hand to smooth the blanket covering the bunk, pressing down and flattening the mattress until he was satisfied, before he put down the tray.

  Lilianne hadn't noticed the narrow shelf near the head of the bunk. It was barely large enough for one of the pewter candleholders, but it did have a raised edge to keep whatever was set on the shelf from falling off when the ship pitched. Magnus placed one candle on the shelf, after dripping some wax onto the wood first, so the candleholder adhered to the wax and stayed steady.

  “Very clever,” Lilianne said.

  “You will have to hold the second candle in your right hand and shine it on your left thumb, so I'll have enough light,” Magnus told her. “Can you do that, and not drop it, even when I hurt you? For this is going to hurt.”

  “Of course.” She wasn't sure she wouldn't flinch, but she wasn't going to expose her possible cowardice to Magnus.

  “Sit down,” he ordered, pulling his eating knife from its sheath at his belt, “and let me see the splinter more clearly.”

  She sat, being careful not to upset the wine pitcher. Staring in fascination at the knife, she extended her left hand.

  “Hold the candle closer,” Magnus commanded. “Now, don't move.”

  She braced herself for pain, but she felt nothing when the sharp tip of the knife sliced into the base of her thumb. By then she was no longer looking at the knife; she was watching Magnus, noting the intense expression on his face, the firm line of his mouth, and the way his shining dark hair lay smoothly over his skull to end in a precise edge halfway down his forehead. His eyebrows were drawn together in a slight frown as he concentrated on what he was doing. His left hand held her wrist in a firm grip. They were sitting so close their knees were touching, but Magnus didn't seem to notice.

  Lilianne felt an uncomfortable prick as he caught the piece of wood on the tip of his knife and lifted it out, but she didn't move.

  “There.” He showed her the splinter.

  “It's so small to hurt the way it did,” she exclaimed.

  “It was lodged in a sensitive place.” Laying down the knife, he dipped the napkin into the wine in the pitcher and dabbed at the cut with the moistened linen. “Press down on that and it'll soon stop bleeding.”

  “I can't press it,” she said. “I'm holding the candle.”

  “So you are.” He pinched out the flame and took the candleholder from her, placing it on the tray. She followed every movement of his large, fine hands.

  “Drink this,” he commanded, filling the cup with wine and holding it out to her.

  “Why must everything you say to me be an order?” she asked.

  “I hadn't noticed.” His mouth softened into a rueful smile. “My lady, will you be good enough to sip a bit of wine? I'm sure you will find it helps to ease any lingering discomfort in your hand.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir,” she responded, letting herself relax into an answering smile. “You are most thoughtful.” Accepting the cup, she took a long gulp of the wine.

  “Thank you, Magnus,” she said again, more seriously this time. “I’m grateful for your help. How can I repay you?”

  “My usual payment for such a service,” he said, wondering what her reaction would be, “is a kiss.”

  Her gaze locked on his, violet eyes wide, and Magnus perceived astonishment in those beautiful depths. Her rosy lips were parted, and he thought he'd perish right there in the airless little cabin, unless he could press his mouth on those twin rose petals.

  “M-Magnus?”

  The surprised question was uttered so softly that he had to lean closer to hear it. Lilianne smelled of lavender-scented soap and Magnus knew if he kissed her once, he'd never want to stop.

  “Of course,” he said, “if you prefer to remain in my debt, you may.”

  “Oh, no.” A faint hint of amusement lurked in her eyes, as if she had decided he was only joking. Her lips tilted enticingly. “I always pay my debts promptly.”

  “What debts could you possibly have?” he asked.

  “Well, I – there’s this.” She held up her left hand with the napkin still wrapped around it.

  “Precisely.” Exerting all his self-control, he waited to see what she would do next.

  She caught her breath, and Magnus was painfully aware of the movement of her lush bosom under the wool of her gown. He fought against the urge to push her back onto the bunk and fling himself on top of her to plunder her sweet, trembling mouth while he caressed her breasts the way he ached to do. Having gone so far, he knew he'd have her skirt pushed up in a moment, so he could see and touch all of her long, curving legs as far as her ivory thighs. And then, unable to stop himself, he'd—

  “Allow me to pay my debt now,” Lilianne whispered, inching a little closer to him.

  Her right hand touched his cheek and Magnus gritted his teeth to stop the groan he longed to utter. He wished he could suppress the painfully eager evidence his lower body was offering in response to Lilianne
's nearness.

  He couldn't understand his reaction to her. He’d always been able to manage the hungers of his body, taking his pleasure where he could while staying in complete control of his emotions. Only this tall, lusciously female creature threatened to drive him beyond all control. If he once put his arms around her and touched his mouth to hers and felt her respond to him, he knew he'd never stop kissing her, never stop wanting her. He'd pour his heart and his manhood into Lilianne and never cease to desire her until the day he died.

  That was a situation he could not allow.

  He sat rigid and unmoving while Lilianne scooted still closer on the bunk. Lifting her face, she lightly placed her lips on his. Magnus kept his eyes wide open, so he saw the purple shadows on her closed lids. He saw up close how smooth her skin was. He even saw the tiny mole, no larger than a pinhead, at the outer corner of her left eye.

  She drew away, to regard him with a hurt expression.

  “I expected you to kiss me back,” she whispered. “You did say you wanted the kiss.”

  “My lady,” he began, resorting to painful formality because he was uncertain how to explain what he couldn't fully understand.

  “Is Uncle Erland correct, then?” she asked. “He says I am too big and too ugly for any man ever to desire any intimacy with me. But you picked me up, Magnus. When you carried me to the rowboat, I felt light as air. For once, I felt like any other girl. For that kindness alone, I thought you deserved to receive my first kiss. But you didn't really want my kiss, did you? You were only teasing. I should have known better than to think you were serious.”

  “Lilianne—”

  “I am sorry, Sir Magnus.” She hung her head, her shoulders slumping. “You have been kind to me, and you've promised to help me learn where my brother is. All I've done in return is cause you trouble and embarrass you. I do apologize.”

  “I don’t like you humble,” he said. Unable to help himself, longing to restore her usual cheerful confidence, he caught her face between his hands, forcing her to look directly at him. “If your uncle says you are ugly, it's because he is blind. Lilianne, you are a beautiful, priceless treasure.”

  “I am?”

  She raised her head and there was that trusting look again, the violet eyes wide, the soft lips atremble. Magnus, who had spent years believing he could resist the blandishments of any woman, however desirable, suddenly found himself about to succumb to the naive wiles of a girl who had never been properly kissed. Her lost look he could remedy, even if he could not, in honor, take what else she offered. He wasn't sure she was aware of what she was offering; that Lilianne de Sainte Inge remained sensually unawakened was painfully obvious to him. With every fiber of his being he longed to be the man to arouse the rich passion that he suspected lay sleeping beneath her sweet innocence. At the same time, he knew he had no right to lay his crude hands on her.

  But he could kiss her – just one kiss – to let her know she was desirable, to restore the feminine confidence her uncle had undermined with cruel words.

  Only one kiss, he told himself, and then he'd never touch her again. He could do that much for her. For Lilianne's sake, he'd control his rampaging lust.

  As soon as he reached England, he'd find a willing female, a tavern wench, or a lady's maid, or perhaps one of the many noblewomen who were eager to bestow sexual favors outside the marriage bed, whose indecent interest in his great size he had always shrugged off before, and he'd slake his lust and be done with the uncomfortable demands of his manhood. Then he'd forget all about Lilianne de Sainte Inge.

  He could do it. He knew he could.

  Still holding her face tenderly between his palms, he leaned forward and kissed her.

  Lilianne's breath was sweet as roses. Her lips were soft and moist and they parted easily under the pressure of his mouth. Her hand stroked up into his hair, pulling him a little nearer. She didn't even know enough of men to understand that she ought to hold something of herself back from him. She leaned against him, giving freely of her warmth and goodness, and Magnus eagerly accepted the gift. Without thinking, acting out of simple male instinct, he touched his tongue to hers. She made a soft noise, not quite a whimper of desire, yet something more than a sigh. She didn’t fight what he was doing, but welcomed the intrusion.

  His wits spinning, Magnus drew back to stare at her. One kiss, and now he knew he'd never be able to substitute another woman for her.

  “Oh, Magnus,” she whispered, her fingertips lightly caressing his bristly cheek.

  “Magnus? Is the splinter out?” The cabin door opened and Braedon appeared. He looked from Magnus to Lilianne and his expressive eyebrows rose. A slow grin spread across his handsome face. “Yes, I can see that the removal was successful.”

  “What is it?” Magnus growled, wrenching his gaze from Lilianne's flushed face.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Braedon said, still grinning, “but I thought you'd want to know.”

  “Know what?” Magnus demanded irritably.

  “Erland is awake.”

  Chapter 5

  “Untie me at once.”

  Erland snarled the words at Magnus the instant he stepped into the larger cabin. The fact that Erland was lying on his side, unable to move, probably didn't help matters from his point of view. What the count surely intended as haughty defiance sounded more like whining. Magnus regarded him with distaste.

  “You’ll get no ransom from me if you persist in mistreating me this way,” Erland continued his complaints. “King Louis will have your head for what you've done to me.”

  “Oh, never fear, you will be ransomed.” Magnus was intensely aware of Lilianne directly behind him, and of Braedon crowding through the door. Crossing the cabin to Erland's bunk, he considered his prisoner. “However, I doubt if either you or King Louis will like the price of your freedom.”

  “What price?” Erland demanded.

  “I regret to say, you will have to wait until later to learn just how valuable you are to us,” Magnus told him.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To England, of course.” Magnus spoke with a smile that anyone who knew him would have recognized as dangerous, though Erland couldn’t have understood it. “Then, I want to speak to your king as soon as this miserable ship docks!” Erland demanded.

  “No.” Magnus put cool satisfaction into the denial

  “I insist upon a meeting!” Erland jerked his head and shoulders, trying to sit up without using his bound arms. He fell back on the mattress, his eyes blazing, his mouth pulled into a grimace of pain. “I'll kill the man who gave me this headache!”

  “After we arrive in England, you may speak to King Henry's representative.” Magnus spoke softly, making the promise into a threat. Erland understood; Magnus saw the comprehension in his face. Erland expected to be tortured. Good. Let him think so.

  At that moment Magnus experienced another of the chills that had plagued him intermittently since the day when he’d first learned of his brother’s plight. Did the cold running along his spine mean that Desmond was being tortured? He tried not to think about the possibility.

  “Lilianne!” Erland exclaimed, turning his attention to her. “You traitorous bitch! You conducted these men to my private room at the manor. What did they offer you if you would help them?”

  “Uncle,” Lilianne began, but Erland cut her off before she could answer him.

  “As for you,” he shouted at Alice, who had risen from her bunk and was retreating toward the door, “is this the thanks I get for taking you away from an endless round of scrubbing convent floors and washing dirty linens? Answer me, you stupid females! What are the two of you doing here?” On that last question Erland raised his voice to a roar.

  Alice began to shake, pressing herself against the door jam for support. William placed a comforting hand on her arm.

  Lilianne's back stiffened as if she was preparing to withstand further assault. But then, while Magnus watched with growing admiration,
she went on the attack.

  “Uncle, cease these unfair accusations at once! Alice and I are not to blame for what has happened to you.” Lilianne stalked over to the bunk to glare down at him. “Alice and I are here because we dared not remain alone and unprotected at Manoir Sainte Inge after you were gone.”

  “In point of fact,” Magnus said to Erland, “both ladies are my prisoners. They had no choice but to accompany you on your voyage.” He hoped the excuse would provide some protection for the two women after they and Erland were all safely returned to France. After Desmond was free. After Lilianne was gone from his life forever.

  “They will not be ransomed,” Erland declared, adding with considerable venom, “Neither wench is worth the cost of a scrap of parchment to carry a ransom demand. Do with them as you will.”

  While Magnus clenched his fists at his sides to prevent himself from punching a man who couldn't strike back, he sent a warning look at William, lest that overly emotional young man should decide to challenge Erland for Alice's sake. Meanwhile, Lilianne planted her hands on her hips and bent forward until her nose was almost touching Erland's.

  “Understand this well, Uncle,” she said in a tone that nearly matched his for dislike, “I don't care how low your opinion of me is. Hate me if you will. Despise me, as you despise all women. Just tell me where you have hidden Gilbert.”

  “You will never see your brother again,” Erland informed her.

  “What do you mean?” She was pale as sea foam, but she kept her voice steady, and Magnus's respect for her increased to a remarkable degree.

  “So long as I am bound hand and foot and kept far from France, no one will care for Gilbert. Delicate as the boy is, he will not live long.” A cruel smile curled Erland's thin lips.

  “You didn’t know I was watching,” Lilianne declared, “but I saw him leave Manoir Sainte Inge with you and Norbard.”

  “Did you?” Erland's smile was chilling. “Still, you don’t know where he is now, do you? Or even if he’s still alive.”

  “The lad had better live,” Magnus stated firmly, “or it will be all the worse for you, Count Erland.”