head cradled in his hands, his feet crossed at the ankles, Dylan lay upon the large bed in the chamber made over to his use while he visited his uncle at the castle of Craig Fawr. “Not serious, me, and she knows it. You could have saved yourself some trouble and stayed in the hall with your wife.”
“How can you be so sure what she thinks?” Griffydd demanded, his arms folded over his broad, muscular chest. “If I did not know you well, I would think you were wooing Genevieve Perronet with marriage in mind.”
Dylan shook his head, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Everybody knows I’m not ready to be married, and I’m too young, besides.”
“Not ready, maybe—but you’re older than I am,” the newly wedded Griffydd reminded him.
“Just because you’ve got yourself a wife doesn’t mean everybody thinks of marriage. I was only enjoying the young lady’s company.”
“Lady Genevieve Perronet is already betrothed.”
“There, then!” Dylan cried triumphantly, shifting to a sitting position. “She can’t think I’m serious.”
“People have broken their betrothals before this, and I hear you’ve been doing a little more than talking to her,” Griffydd said, looking at Dylan with grim intensity.
Dylan flushed. “A few chaste kisses hardly count as trying to break a betrothal,” he replied, wondering if one of the nosy castle servants had seen him with her and gossiped.
“For you, perhaps. It could be Genevieve Perronet thinks differently. She has led a very sheltered life with Lady Katherine.”
“And now she’s free for a short while. I don’t see anything wrong with amusing her.”
“Tell that to her intended. Lord Kirkheathe might take a different view.”
“Well, as I am an honorable knight, I would never come between a man and his future wife,” Dylan said with genuine conviction.
“And you are being honorable, aren’t you?”
“God’s wounds, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You aren’t trying to seduce her?”
“I’ve considered it.”
“Dylan!”
“But only considered,” he assured Griffydd jovially. “She’s a well-bred, betrothed lady for whom I have the greatest respect, for one thing. And for another, there’s her uncle. Norman to the bones, that one, all gloom and ambition. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.”
“I’m glad you’ve realized that. Her uncle does not strike me as a forgiving man, should his plans for her be thwarted.”
“They won’t be, although I must say it is a waste to marry one so young to one so old. Kirkheathe must be—what? Sixty?”
“Forty.”
Dylan stretched, his movements lithe as a panther. “Making too much of this you are, Griffydd.”
“Making too little of her feelings you are,” Griffydd retorted. “A woman’s heart is not something to be toyed with.”
“We’re both enjoying the game, that’s all,” Dy-lan insisted. “And if she’s a little sad when she leaves here, I see nothing so wrong in that. I will be sad to see her go, too.”
“So you like her, then?”
“Of course. What is there not to be liked? She’s young, she’s pretty, she laughs when I make a joke.” Dylan leaned conspiratorially closer. “She’s as shapely a woman as ever I’ve seen, and her kisses—chaste though they were—were very pleasant.”
“You are beyond redemption,” Griffydd growled.
“Nonsense! I’ve done nothing that requires redemption.”
“Did you tell her about your children?”
Dylan frowned. “There was no occasion to mention them. We are having a little harmless fun before she marries that ancient knight, is all.”
“You are absolutely certain she understands that is how you feel?”
Dylan could not quite meet Griffydd’s steadfast gaze. “I said so, didn’t I? I’ve given her no reason to think otherwise.”
“I hope you’re right. I wouldn’t want anything to spoil these celebrations. This is Trystan’s time. He’s worked hard for his knighthood, and I don’t want the festivities disrupted because you can’t keep it in your breeches.”
Dylan scowled. “Anwyl, listen to you! I told you, I haven’t done any harm. And speaking of Trystan, should you not be seeing if your little brother has recovered from his vigil and his knighting? It’s long past noon, and he was still asleep the last time I looked. I hope he’ll be well enough to attend tonight’s feast.”
Griffydd nodded as he rose from the stool. “You will be at the feast?”
“Where else?”
Griffydd raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe I do have a notion to go see Bertha at the village tavern, for old times’ sake.”
Griffydd shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he muttered as he strode through the door.
“Only joking, me!” Dylan called out as the door banged.
For a moment, an uncharacteristically serious expression appeared on his darkly handsome face, then, being Dylan, the expression disappeared, replaced by a merry grin.
He rose from the bed and started to whistle as he went to see if pretty Lady Genevieve would keep their rendezvous in his aunt’s garden.
Genevieve pulled her fur-lined cloak more tightly around herself as she waited. She shivered despite the warm lining, for it was a chilly morning in early March. Occasional remnants of snow dotted the stone path and beds, and the bare stalks of the climbing roses rubbed against the garden wall.
She wondered if she should have come here at all. Perhaps she should have stayed in her chamber, where her uncle believed her to be.
She should have been engaged in her prayers, instead of sitting in a barren garden awaiting a young man.
A very handsome, charming young man.
The first time she had set eyes on Dylan DeLanyea, he had been standing in the courtyard among a group of other knights. They, warriors all, had turned to look at her uncle’s cortege.
Her gaze had been drawn to the dark-eyed, good-looking man whose black hair brushed his shoulders. He stood with his arms casually folded, his weight on one long, lean leg.
At once she had been reminded of Lady Katherine’s cautions regarding evil young men who only had one thing in mind when it came to women. The
