Copyright © ALICE GAINES, 2007

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

A full moon-cycle passed after the ill-blessed birthing before Lord Markus came for Arine again. This night, she was ready for him.

He entered her room tucked above the family sanctuary as he always did. Silently, while the household slept and with no regard for the gods in the chapel below or the ones in the nook over her bed. If Isra and Glaet couldn’t stop his nightly assaults, neither could the family nor all his staff. Lord of the manor and all the tenant lands for several days’ ride, Markus did as he pleased.

Isra only knew why he sought out these dark trysts when he could have any woman in his domain—even his lady wife. Perhaps Arine’s clear distaste for his touch gave him sport.

He stood in the doorway, a small lamp in his hand. The light cast shadows up into his face, turning the curl of his smile into a parody of the noble beauty that ran in the Markish line.

“A pity about the babe,” he said. “But it’s for the best.”

“As you say, my lord,” she answered. She’d tried telling herself that exactly since her body had pushed forth a perfect boy-child only to have him die within the hour. At least, so the story went. More likely Markus had him killed.

“Glaet’s will,” the midwife mumbled. But she’d not looked Arine in the face when she’d said it, and no one had let Arine see the babe’s corpse.

Markus stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. After setting the lamp on a table, he slipped his robe from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, leaving him standing in a nightshirt of fine white linen.

“A sad affair,” he said. “But the gods give us no choice in these matters.”

She could laugh at that if she dared. He had choice aplenty. If he hadn’t forced himself on her, he’d never have gotten a bastard with her, and he wouldn’t have had to kill it. But to tell him that would only earn her a cuff across the face, and then he’d take her anyway.

“It cost me to wait out your term,” he went on. “I even stayed away this last cycle as the Book commands.”

“I thank you, my lord.”

“You will thank me. Now.”

“I wait to serve.” Not tonight. Tonight you shall not take me.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he said. “By Glaet, I swear you’ve bewitched my cock.”

Again, he’d jested without knowing it. If she had bewitched his cock, he’d never again get it hard. He’d managed nicely this night, as his erection tented the front of his shirt. How she’d love to strangle the life out of the thing the same way he’d done to her babe.

“Get undressed,” he ordered.

Instead, she slid deep into the bed and pulled the covers up under her chin.

“Now,” he said.

“Yes, my lord.” But her hands wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t make them expose herself to him.

He didn’t issue any more commands but walked to the bed, grabbed the thin blankets where she held them at her chin and yanked them off in one sweep of his arm. The smile of triumph on his face didn’t bode well for the rest of the encounter. The time had come for Arine to strike the Balance with him—a life for a life—if only she could find the courage.

“Where did you get that nightshirt?” he demanded, staring down at her.

“Your lady wife. It’s one of her old ones,” she answered. “I think she pitied me the loss of my babe.”

“My lady wife is too soft by half,” he answered. “Get up.”

She did what he ordered this time. She stood, her bare feet cold against the rough planking of the floor. She’d already defied him more than she should. He grasped the gown at the neck and yanked her away from the bed so that he could circle her, his gaze raking her from head to toe.

“Should I ravish you in Laelia’s gown, I wonder?”

His tone sent a tremor through her. On good nights, he spent himself inside her quickly and left. Other nights, he dreamed up fancier play. The gleam warming his eyes didn’t promise one of the good nights.

“You could act the part of my lady wife and give me the satisfaction she never does,” he said. “What say you?”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“As I wish.” He snorted softly. “You loathe my touch, don’t you?”

“No, Lord Markus. Truly.”

The back of his hand went across her face so quickly she couldn’t brace for the blow. Her vision swam for a moment and she stared down at her toes while her head cleared. This was how it always started with him. She took a deep breath and then another. Tonight would be different. Tonight she’d either kill him or die trying.