What else could she do but hold on tightly, the reins flapping from one hand while the other gripped into the rough hair of her mare's mane. She was almost flat against the horse's neck and shoulders, feeling herself slipping more and more as the runaway palfrey bore her deeper into the woods over more and more dangerous ground. Despite the whip of her own hair into her eyes, she could see ahead through the thickening trees the frightening prospect of a deep ditch. "Charles, hurry!"

Of the two, his horse was faster, stronger, and he was the surer, more experienced rider. It was only a matter of moments before he caught up with her, but riding at breakneck speed through the forest was dangerous at best, and he had to not only keep his eye on her horse but make sure his own horse didn't collide with the thick growth of trees that seemed to be growing denser the farther they went. Charles spied the ditch first and felt his heart freeze in his chest. The chase was over; it was now or never. He brought his horse up as close as he could to the other, took a deep breath, and pushed off, vaulting toward the runaway horse, whispering a prayer to the Goddess that he made it without killing them both. It seemed an almost impossible feat, but somehow he managed to land behind her, scrambling to find his balance. One arm went around her waist, both to hold her fast and to steady himself, while the other reached for the reins.

Fear was not something Alys Marillier was accustomed to feeling; she was certainly not used to being in the thick of a situation that could not have been predicted and might easily result in her death. Tearing her eyes from the ditch ahead - a ditch that seemed deeper and wider with each step the mare took toward it - she turned her head in time to see Charles drive his own horse close and stand in the stirrups. Abruptly, she felt her own heart lurch, seeing in her mind's eye all the ways that his course of action could go wrong. All the ways it could hurt him, or kill him. "Charles, no!" But it was too late for her cry to have any effect - he was already vaulting through the air as his own stallion slowed to a trot, left behind. The mare let out a shrill whinny as the Duke of Lonnare landed heavily on her rump, and Alys felt a dam break inside her as his arm wrapped about her waist, still clinging to the mane that flapped in her face even as the horse finally began to slow.

He let go of his hold on her waist as he felt the mare start to slow, reaching around her to take hold of the reins with both hands, tugging hard to get her to stop, his breath warm against the lady's neck as leaned forward to soothe the spooked horse with a voice that sounded strangely calm despite the pounding of his heart. "Whoa, there. Easy, girl," he commanded, in a tone that was soothing, insistent, sure, and capable.

Deeply shaken, the young woman caught between man and horse in those moments was grateful for the respite, feeling herself beginning to tremble as the adrenaline and shock made themselves known, telling her acutely how close she had come to total disaster. Charles might as well have been speaking to her, rather than the mare. She felt herself relaxing as his breath warmed her neck, as he commanded peace from the animal beneath them, and knew this was something she would never be able to repay him for. He'd saved her life, even though he seemed to despise her, and though it might have been purely for her brother's sake, Alys knew she had a great deal now to be grateful to Charles Beauforte for.

It took a moment before he was sure the horse was under his control, and a moment longer before his attention turned from the horse to the frightened young woman who was far too close for comfort. "You can let go now, my lady," he told her as gently as he could, letting go of the reins to gently pry her fingers from the mare's mane. "She was spooked by the boar. She'll be all right now." He remained leaning over her, entranced by her closeness, catching a whiff of her scent, which was decidedly Alys. He knew he was playing with fire just being this close, but he found her strangely alluring, more alluring than any one woman he'd ever met.

She had closed her eyes as he soothed the mare, heartened by the strong warmth of him at her back, her trembling growing stronger before it could begin to abate, however safe she was now. She jumped as his hands covered hers, encouraging her stiff fingers to loosen their grip as she began to straighten from her hunched lean, bringing her back flush against his chest as he leaned over her. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest heaving as she tried to get some control over herself, her composure entirely in shreds following the harrowing ride. And when she opened her eyes, there was the ditch that had promised death, barely more than a few feet from the mare's forelegs. A low moan escaped her lips as she took in quite how close she'd been to that final sleep, and her shaking intensified. "I ....I think I should like to get down."

He found his arms sliding around her waist again, if only for a moment to steady her as she straightened, and he closed his eyes momentarily to inhale her scent, a scent that belonged to no one else but her. Somehow he knew he'd re-imagine this moment later in his dreams, when he was alone in his bed and able to savor it privately, without her knowing how deeply she'd affected him. He fought to keep his gaze above her neckline, knowing at this close proximity she would sense any change in his breath or beat of his heart. "Of course," he replied, as her voice drew him out of his thoughts, and he realized how close they'd both come to disaster. He dropped easily down from the horse, the reins still held in one hand to make sure the mare wouldn't bolt. He patted the horse's neck and whispered soothing words, and only when he judged it safe did he reach for the frightened young woman, his hands finding her waist and lifting her effortlessly from the horse onto the solid security of the ground.

It was in that moment as his hands found her waist to lift her, strong and secure, from the saddle that she found herself quietly blessing whoever it was had decided women over marriageable age should ride side-saddle. If she had been astride her horse, there would have been little dignity in being lifted down in such a way, and yet as she was lowered to the ground, her hands trembling but firm at his shoulders, Alys felt no loss of her independence as she had when others had done the same. Set onto her feet, she made no move to step away, lifting her head to meet his eyes, silent gratitude warring with the lingering traces of her fear and the danger of her liking for him before she gave into the urge that was screaming at her and pressed into his arms, closing her eyes, hiding her face against his doublet as she asked for and took comfort from the handsome lord who had saved her.

There were no prying eyes here in the middle of the King's forest, no one to witness what might or might not pass between them. As such, the temptation they were both wary of was very real. The horses had left their retinue miles behind them. It would likely be hours before they'd catch up or find them here, and Charles knew it was more likely that he and Alys would have to backtrack and find their way back, but that was not of prime concern to him at that moment. What was of concern was the trembling woman in his arms who seemed to have thrown all caution to the wind, at least for the moment, to seek a little comfort in the arms of her rescuer.

She had looked into his eyes, perhaps sensing the same passing fear in him that he'd nearly lost her, or the desire his body could do little to hide. He had nearly kissed her then, and he understood all too well the temptation and the test that had been set before him, but as he found her pressing herself into him, he could do nothing but wrap her in the warm, comforting embrace of strong arms and pray to God not to let this, too, end in disaster.

Would that she could have stayed in the circle of his embrace for a lifetime, savoring the scent and feel of him, knowing that even if he disliked her, he couldn't deny that he felt some attraction to her, not after what she had witnessed in his gaze. But Alys was a strong woman at heart, and her temperament was not given to flights of weakness without showing her teeth in some way. Slowly, the fear bled away, leaving in its wake anger with a surprising source. She drew back from Charles, raising blazing eyes to his, and quite deliberately hit him as hard as she could in the chest. "You stupid, stupid man! What were you thinking" You could have died!"

He looked surprised by this turn of events, by this turn of mood. She had been clearly frightened and in danger, and he had more than likely just saved her life, and this was how she rewarded him' With more ire, seemingly angry that he'd put his life at risk for hers, but what sort of man would he be if he hadn't' He caught her wrist before she could do them both further harm, glaring at her with flashing eyes as blue and deep as the sea. "I" I am stupid?" he echoed, mockingly. "If you cannot handle your horse, then perhaps you should be riding in a cart with the vast amount of luggage you cannot possibly need." He winced, immediately sorry for the sharp rebuke that crossed his lips without thinking.

Now she'd taken a taste of this strange, unexpected connection, Alys did not want it to end, nor did she let herself draw back from the brink, despite the call of her common sense, her duty, the danger of expressing such an open preference for a man who would stand on shaky ground until his entitlement to his new rank was seen to have been earned. She did not know if it was love she felt, so different a feeling to the comfortable, gentle fondness she had experienced before her widowhood, yet she couldn't deny it was powerful, forceful, wanting to hold onto it all the more because it was forbidden. He was forbidden. But there were no eyes to see, and would not be for at least an hour, given how far her mare had run away with her. Could she take that risk" Would he let her"

He reluctantly broke the kiss at long last and pulled away, holding her at arms' length again and looking at her as if for the very first time. He knew there was plenty of time for another and yet another, but the more he tasted of her lips, the more he wanted, and he - they - could not take such a risk. He had more to risk than she. Newly titled but yet unproven, he could not fail the first test of his loyalty, the first duty set upon him, and he wondered, not for the first time, if the King had given him this task on purpose. "Alys..." he started, no regret or remorse in his gaze, but something far deeper - longing, perhaps; anguished yearning for something he dared not wish for. "I can't," he told her sadly. We can't.

She protested softly as his lips broke from hers, as the warmth and strength of his body was drawn from her arms, opening her eyes to see the anguish in his gaze as he looked down at her. She'd never thought she would ever see him look at her like that; like the prize that he had no hope of ever winning but would covet nonetheless. But she had lived in noble circles, royal circles, all her life, and she knew a little more of the way the intrigues of court life played out. Shaking her head, she raised her hand to his lips, stilling his sad denial. "Not yet," she corrected him, her tone gentle, regretting that there was any need to let time pass at all. "But in time we may, if you still want me then."

Her touch calmed his troubled heart, easing the loneliness he barely acknowledged. Always feeling like an outsider, one step lower than all the rest, always having to be on guard and watch his back, always having to prove his worth. He did not deserve her, and yet there was no denying she was his perfect match. He did not love her, not yet, not completely, but the first stirring of love were there, kindled by the gentleness of her touch, as much as the fire of her passion. "How could I not want you after today?" he asked, reaching for her hand, brushing his lips against it in a courtly kiss, though he had no right or permission to do so.

After the kiss they had shared, after he had saved her life, there was little Alys would deny him permission for, though she knew he would likely never ask her. "You might find another who suits you better," she pointed out with a faint smile, "or find yourself given another. I will not be any man's mistress, Charles. The king would punish any man I took to my bed without first wearing his ring." She bit her lip, her fingers curling to his. How had they gone from coolness to anger to warmth in so short a time" Was that what it meant, to find and want your own equal match' Jealous sadness flickered in her expression. "You should take a new lover at court. If the Chancellor suspects we might make a match, he will work to prevent it. He hates my family for our influence with the king."

His frown deepened at her argument, her logic. She was right, of course, but she did not know his heart or his mind and she did not know that these past five years that she'd been gone, he had bedded many women but never loved a single one. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before at last letting go, his cheek still stinging from the slap, though it was the memory of her kiss that burned against his lips. "I would not ask you to be my mistress. You deserve far more than that, far more than I can give you." He sighed, dismissing all decorum for the time being and speaking plainly, as plainly as one would to an equal, a close friend, a sister, or a lover.

"Christian has given me this task for a reason, but I cannot read the man's heart. Perhaps it is only that he trusts me with your virtue, knowing I was once almost like a brother. I know not what he wants for you or myself, but I know I cannot betray his trust, Alys. Everything depends on it. Everything. As for Bereth, I despise the man. If he makes any trouble for you or for William - any trouble at all - he will answer to me." Strong words for one who was only recently titled and held no real sway at court, other than being a favorite of the King's.

"I do not have any virtue left to protect," she pointed out softly. "My uncle is not so stupid as to think I might not take a lover. But I think he means to test you with this - he knows we were friends once, that we will be again. But that is all we can be seen to be, for now." She stepped close, curling her palm to his stinging cheek, not regretting the blow because he had earned it by goading her temper. "Seen to be. There is no one to see us here and now." She made no further mention of the cardinal, though he was a dangerous enemy she would have to navigate with care. Bereth would have her married off within months if she were not careful, sent away from court once again, away from her uncle and brother. But the mere fact that Charles was so ready to protect William was enough to make her smile once again.

"He will try to be rid of you again," he continued, with regard to Bereth. "He'll whisper some venomous lie to the king and convince him it's in his best interest and yours to marry you off to some foreign nobleman. I do not understand his hatred of your family, but I will not let him make trouble for you. He is not the only one who has the king's ear, and Christian is fond of both you and Will." He seemed to be thinking along the same lines as her, as if he was reading her mind, but he could not ask the king's leave to marry her, if only to keep her safe. Not yet.

"I'm safe, for at least a few months," Alys reminded him. "I have not been at my uncle's court for five years; he will want to know me again, and loath as I am to admit it aloud, he is known to take delight in watching young men and women dance about one another beneath his throne. So long as I entertain the king, so long as another king does not ask for my hand, Bereth cannot touch me, and he dares not attack Will openly. Do not put yourself in his sights, Charles. He will destroy you, if you do."

That temper of his flared again, but this time in regard to Bereth, willing to risk his own safety for those he loved, those who had earned his loyalty and trust, just as he had for the king. "I don't give a bloody damn about Bereth! It's you and William who worry me. I owe your family so much, Alys. Your family and the King. It's to you and your uncle that I owe my allegiance, not the bloody church and certainly not Cardinal Bereth." He knew if anyone overheard him, there would be hell to pay, but he didn't care. They were alone, as she'd said, and there was no one to witness but the two of them. "He worries me. He's like a viper waiting to strike, when you least expect it."

"I'm not talking about Bereth!" She glared back at him, his temper bringing hers to the fore once again, her palm falling from his cheek to let her hand grip his doublet hard. "I'm talking about you, about your safety. Charles, I want the chance to know you again, to be your friend even if that is all I can be, but if you deliberately set yourself openly against Bereth, he will attack you. William says there is already rumor that he is making his move against the more vulnerable factions that oppose his peace-making and his allegiance to other powers - please, don't put yourself on that list."

Her grip upon his doublet brought him back to his senses, his face flushed with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He'd watched quietly while Bereth went about his scheming, lacking the influence at court to openly oppose him, but times were changing. He was no longer a boy, but a man, and a trusted friend of the king's. If he played his cards right, he would one day hold as much sway at court as the Cardinal, but if he wanted to be a true man of the king, if he truly wanted to protect her and her family, he knew he would have to heed her warning and bide his time. He inclined his head in agreement, though he looked none too happy about it. It surprised him once again to find her so concerned for his safety, and he softened, blue eyes regarding her warmly. "I thought you forgot me these past five years. Will may have told you, I was....opposed to your marriage, but there was nothing I could do. It's said you came to love your husband. Is that true?" he asked, not really knowing why he asked it.

"How could I forget the man I wanted to marry when I was six years old?" she teased softly, remembering that day of her childhood only too well, as well as the years of teasing that had followed her declaration from both her brother and Charles. She sighed softly, gently, as he turned the subject to her late husband, understanding that if he truly had objected to her marriage, he would not like to hear the truth now, even though he had asked for it. "Henri was a good man," she told him quietly. "He never forced me, or hurt me. He knew I was scared, and he protected me at his nephew's court. It was not love as people dream of, Charles; there was no passion, no great longing, certainly not on my side. But I did love him, in the end. I mourned him better than his own children."

Like her brother, she was stronger than she looked, her fright overcome but lingering a little longer in the prospect of mounting her palfrey once again. "I should be better with a kiss or seven," was her bold answer, offering him the flirtation she had learned in her years abroad with the flutter of her lashes and curve of her smile, though they both knew she would have more than a kiss from him if he would allow it. And offered the opportunity to ride with him, wrapped in his arms, there really was no choice but to allow him to do his duty to the very fullest. "And I should feel safer to ride with you, Your Grace. You would not let me fall."

He was easily charmed by that flutter of lashes and curve of smile, though he knew she was teasing him with her flirtation, once again matching him as an equal in that regard. He was accustomed to women flirting with him, and if he found the woman desirable, he was unafraid to flirt back, often rewarded with a few hours of raucousness to relieve the boredom and tediousness of court life, but he was not looking for that with this woman. No, he wanted something more than a moment's flirtation or an evening's distraction. He wasn't yet sure if anything more would come of the attraction they seemed to share, but he felt a spark growing between himself and Lady Alys Marillier that he'd never felt before in all his twenty-five years. "Shall I count the kisses then until I reach seven before I fetch the horses?" he teased back with a gleam in his blue eyes.

"If you can reach seven without forgetting your place, I shall be both suitably impressed and miserably disappointed," Alys informed him laughingly, enjoying the freedom to tease and be teased for these few stolen moments, knowing that it would not last long. Though she had been a faithful wife, she had also been a virtuous widow, engaging in flirtation but nothing more with men who should have known better than to think they could aim so high, men for whom she had felt less than a flicker of what she now felt toward the man currently in her arms. "And do not think you can cheat with anything less than a true kiss each time."

"Ah, but there are many kinds of kisses, Lady Alys. Shall I demonstrate?" he asked, flirting back, equally enjoying these few moments of freedom, with no one there to witness, scold, or discourage them. The first kiss he offered was a chaste one, a light touch of lips to hers that could have been interpreted as friendly or even brotherly.

"You offer lessons in loving now, do you, Your Grace?" was her teasing flirtation in return, whatever else she might have said stopped by the chaste press of his lips to hers. Her brow rose as she looked up at him, her great secret, teasing her fingers against the light scruff of his beard. "I am not your sister, Beau."

"Had I only noticed years ago, I might have already ruined you for other men," he replied, the ghost of a whisper against her lips. That was kiss one. Kiss two was slightly deeper, the press of his lips harder, firmer, showing more promise than a chaste kiss, but still lacking the passion of lovers. It was the kind of kiss made for first kisses, the first taste of lips to test their warmth and sweetness.

"If you could have fought past my pride and ignorance," Alys amended his suggestion that he might have been her first, if this spark between them had only made itself known as she had come into her womanhood. Her lips softened beneath his second kiss, her hands creeping to lay at his hips as she breathed him in.

His lips lingered against hers to claim a third and fourth kiss, in quick succession, as though he could not bear to part from her lips. His forehead came to rest against hers, and he found his heart racing once again as it had only moments ago and seemed to each time their lips met. He breathed her in, his hands grasping her arms before going around her waist again to pull her snugly against him. It was going to prove maddening riding with her back to rejoin their retinue, but he had no regrets. "It is not better that we have found each other now than not at all?" he countered as he waited to catch his breath.

It was not only his heart he set to racing with those next kisses, her desire stirring to draw the breath from her lungs and stagger her pulse, to wrap her arms about his waist with a possessive sense of longing that she knew she would be denied consummating. Resting there against him, she could feel their mingled breaths battling to warm one another as she waited for the next of her lessons, the delicate swell of flesh at her neckline heaving once more as her eyes opened to watch his face. "Would that I had been born lower," she murmured, "and we could have had each other years ago."

"Hush, you do not mean that. We are nearly equals now, and once I prove myself to the king, I will have my pick of any woman at court. But it is you I will choose for my wife, dear Alys. I will have no other." He underscored his statement with another kiss, this the fifth and far more languid that the other four. His lips lingered against hers, plying and teasing them with his tongue, tasting the sweetness of her kiss and wanting still more. "I shall wed you and make love to you and make you forget any man who came before me," he claimed, more promise than boast.

He was setting her to flame once again, as much with his promising words as with the languid tease of his lips and tongue, her answering kiss just as eager to taste him, just as desirous of more than they dared give to one another. Her hands shifted as his kiss lingered, smoothing her touch up over his chest, longing for doublet and shirt to be gone, to feel his skin under her touch. "I will be the envy of every woman who has ever set eyes upon you," was her reply to his promise. Marriages were not made for love in their world, yet if they stayed true in heart to one another, they might yet break that mold. Yet only two more kisses remained, and Alys was unwilling to let them stand alone. Her fingers twitched at his throat, laces coming loose to let her hand slip beneath the layers of cloth and touch the heat of his skin as she gazed longingly up at him.

His breath caught in his throat as she insinuated her fingers beneath the layers of cloth to graze his bare flesh, pulse leaping at the simplest touch, blue eyes smoldering with barely-repressed desire as he gazed into hers. His fingers twitched against her waist, digging into the fabric of her dress. What was wrong with him' She had offered herself to him, and he had refused, wanting more from her and for her than just a quick rutting. If she'd been any other woman, save the queen herself, he'd have taken her without another thought, but she wasn't just any woman.

She was Lady Alys Marillier, the king's niece and the sister of his oldest and dearest friend. Not only that, but he was starting to feel something else for her he had never felt for any other woman before, not only in his loins, but in his heart. Was this what it felt like to fall in love" Could this really be happening to him' To them' "Alys..." he heard himself whisper, her name a prayer upon his lips, a plea for mercy. "I must have you. I will have you, I swear."

She felt the leap of his pulse beneath her fingertips, saw the darker flicker of desire storm through his gaze, and felt her own heart lurch with the same feeling that was touching him. This couldn't be just her childish infatuation making itself known once again; she wouldn't allow it to be. It was more than infatuation, though it could not be love, not so soon. But there was a seed planted that might yet bind them closer in heart than either had been to any other. The sound of her name on his lips, the feel of his hands gripping at her waist, the oath he swore to have her ....all these brought a tender sigh from her throat, the gentle breath touched with just the barest plea of her own, a wordless moan that longed to be answered with his touch, his kiss.

Her hand slipped deeper beneath his doublet and shirt, feeling the prickle of dark hair and warm flesh beneath her palm as her heart hammered in her chest, as her breath came swift and shallow. "Please, Charles," she pleaded with him herself, forgetting her agreement that the risk was too great. What if all their hopeful plans made in this moment never came to be? She would rather enter a nunnery than never have him.

It was almost more than he could bear - it was more than he could bear. He could not deny nor hide the fact that he wanted her. His body was on fire with longing, his heart pounding inside his chest. She was forbidden fruit - oh, so sweetly tempting. He wanted to pluck her from the vine, peel her bare, and suckle the sweet nectar of her womanhood. He wanted to take her and claim her for his own, proclaim that she belonged to him and no other, but he could not, not without the king's permission, which might never be given. This might be the only chance they had to ever know the other.

Lust sated, she waited for the spark to die, for the creeping interest to fade away ....and found, to her joy and pain, that it did not. Something about him had crept into her heart and locked itself tightly inside; she wanted to claim him with a ring, to take his name, to keep any woman from sharing his bed but her, jealous possession coloring her mind at the thought of the lover he must take when they returned to court. He could not afford for any gossip to link his name with hers, not yet. "Goddess, Charles," she whispered against his lips, painfully reluctant to break the tender contact and begin the inevitable retreat that was only minutes away from them. "How will I stand it?"

He had an answer for her nearly before she asked the question, though he knew the plan that was starting to formulate in his brain was a risky one. "Alys," he whispered against her lips, the sound of her name causing his heart to ache with longing. He did not wish to part from her any more than she did from him. He settled himself against her, leaning against his arms so as not to crush her with his weight, as he left a trail of feather-light kisses against her cheek and along her neck. "Come with me to Lonnare," he whispered, his voice softly pleading.

As the newly-appointed duke, he would have to travel there soon, to show his face at the keep, to make himself known. He did not wish to be invisible, to hold the title with little care to the inhabitants of the place. He would have to go there and let it be known what his king's intentions were for the region. Finding a reason for her to accompany him was the real trick.

He could not have asked anything of her that she did not expect less, for despite their only having begun to relearn one another in the past few days, she had already formed an opinion of him as a man who did nothing that would jeopardize himself or his friends. "What?" Her own query, a need to hear him repeat his request, came on a gentle breath against his ear as her eyes opened, a truly reluctant tilt of her head drawing her skin from his lips to let her gaze meet his. Was he asking her to truly throw caution to the wind rather than be without her"

"Come with me," he repeated, knowing what he asked was risky for them both. "We will think of an excuse. Perhaps to see a friend." Which was not so far from the truth, after all, considering he'd once been a friend. "I do not wish to return to court and pretend not to care for you." He had never felt this desperate in all his life, and all because of a woman, putting her before everything else, all his aspirations, all his carefully-considered plans. To return to court was to deny all that they were feeling, and sooner or later, they would be found out.

He knew he was playing with fire with his request. He had only just been made duke and to make such an assumption without leave of the king put them both at risk, but the thought of seeing her with any other man, even if it was only a ruse, was unthinkable to him.

She stared into his eyes, feeling herself teetering on the edge of a decision that could change everything, a decision that could well lose them both the outward favor of the king and her family, though she knew in her heart that Christian would never forget his friend nor his niece, nor would Will wholly turn his back on them. "Charles ....what are you asking me to be?" she ventured, careful enough to need to know his intentions. If it was purely to hide her away so that no man could have her until he grew tired of her, she could never submit.

All the hope in his eyes faded, knowing she could not grant his request, even if she wanted to. There was too much at stake, more for her than for him. "I don't know..." he replied, pulling himself away from her and tugging her skirts back down to cover her from any eyes but his. He sighed forlornly and reached over to trace her cheek with his fingertips. "I only know I cannot live without you."

She couldn't hide the gasp that shuddered from her lips as he withdrew from her, left feeling bereft, though he remained close to her. His hand against her cheek was bittersweet comfort to a heart that was increasingly torn. He didn't know what he wanted her to be to him, and that was not good enough to take such a terrible risk for. "Then I can't go to Lonnare with you," she told him, regret painted large in her eyes as her fingers curled about his own. "Until you know what it is you want me to be, it is a danger even I do not dare to face." Her own hand touched lightly to his chest as she gazed at him, forlorn but determined in her own way. "My uncle, my brother ....they would forgive only one thing, and then only if we could speak direct with them to explain ourselves. And I am expected at court - it is my cousin's birthday, and I've been away so long."

He'd already told her he'd make her his wife, that he'd find a way, As abrupt and unexpected as the statement seemed, he meant it, even more so now that they'd had a taste of each other. A small taste that didn't satisfy his hunger, but only left him wanting more. "I will make you my wife, Alys. I will find a way," he repeated his promise, as it seemed she'd forgotten it, taking her hands in his own. "I swear on my honor," he continued, his eyes shining with longing and loneliness. How alone he suddenly felt without the hope of her love and affection. How alone one could feel, even in a crowd, even surrounded by those who claimed to be his friends. He, too, was expected at court, but only for a little while. He knew duties, both old and new, would not wait for long, and now that he had been pricked by the first sting of love, he wanted nothing more than to claim her publicly for his own, to let the world know that she belonged to him.

"Then be patient a while," she urged him, loath to see disappointment on his face but aware that some things should be done right. The Chancellor was a danger, would always be a danger, and if they gave him the slightest inch, he would use it to separate the king from his friends. "Let me charm my uncle all over again, let him see me shine when you are near me. He is no fool, and a little time will bring Will to our corner, too. My brother is a jealous idiot sometimes, but he isn't so stupid as to get in my way." Her hand left his, curling to his cheek as she leaned close to kiss him softly. "Deliver me to court as though we have behaved ourselves, and the first battle is already won."

But he was still frowning, wondering how he had landed himself in this position when he'd sworn to resist her and even told her she was nothing more than a temptation. How he actually said that only a few short days before" "I am long overdue to be betrothed, Alys. Now that the king has given me a title, he will demand I find a suitable wife and wed. I am afraid he may have someone in mind already. What do I do if he imposes his will" Friend or not, he will tell me that duty comes first. That matters of the heart do not matter." He sighed again, moving to his feet and pulling her up with him. It would never do if they were stumbled upon sitting together in the grass.

His warning that matters may already have been taken out of their hands brought a frown to her face, too, disliking the thought that she may have returned home too late for them. Never mind that she had never considered that this could ever have sprung up between herself and her childhood friend, who had always been a distant thing to admire than someone she could aspire to love. Yet she could not call it love, not yet. There was passion, yes; desire, certainly; and the friendship had been rekindled after a shaky reunion; but love? She did not know. Drawn up onto her feet with him, her hands turned to closing his shirt, re-lacing his doublet, her mind in accord with his at how they did not wish to be discovered. "If he does," she said slowly, knowing that what she was about to say could well be called treason in some circles, "then I will elope with you before it can be made official. I will come to Lonnare, and stay there, and deny any attempt they make to take you from me."