He carried her into her room and kicked the door shut behind them. "It's all right now," he said, laying her on the bed. "You're safe."

"No," she said urgently, shaking her head. "I am not-none of us is safe." He sat down beside her on the bed, and she took his hand. "Sean, listen to me." There was no time; Emma could come in with Clare any moment. "It's Tristan. Tristan DuMaine has returned."

His eyes widened for a moment, his face going pale. "Sweetheart, that's impossible," he said, shaking his head. "Tristan DuMaine is dead."

"Yes," she nodded. "He is..." She thought of the sound his flesh had made when it healed itself after her attack, a hiss like water on hot coals, the flash of fire she had seen in his eyes as he kissed her. "I think he must be," she finished with a shudder. "But he was here."

"Siobhan-"

"He bit me." It sounded ridiculous, she realized, but when it was happening, it had all made a weird sort of sense. "It's like he has become some sort of demon. Sean, I slashed him with my sword, a blow that should have killed him, and he barely flinched-I saw the wound heal itself, saw it close up in barely a moment. I struck him with my dagger..." She stopped, another thought occurring. "He had your dagger." He was staring at her, obviously appalled. "He showed it to me; I thought you must be dead, but he said not."

He reached for the sheath at his side. "Siobhan, I swear," he began, then stopped. The sheath was empty.

"He took it." She made herself sit up. "He said he would kill all of your men. He wanted me to tell you..." Tell him you are mine, her memory whispered again.

"Siobhan, this is madness. Enough." He stood up, backing away from her. "Dead men do not come back."

"He said he would." In his heart, he believed her; she could see it in his eyes. "He promised me he would come back from the grave to punish me. Don't you remember?"

"I remember what he looked like when he left here," he said angrily. "I remember my instructions to Bruce and Callum before they took him away."

"And did they ever return?" she countered. "I have not seen them if they did."

"Siobhan, I said enough!" His words were furious, but his face looked green with fear. "Tristan DuMaine was not inside this castle last night. Tristan DuMaine is dead-and gone. He cannot come back." His expression softened. "Poor child..." He came back to the bed and took her hand. "It's all right." He bent and kissed her forehead. "It was just a dream."

"A dream that almost murdered me?" she answered. If she'd had the strength, she would have slapped him. "If I am a liar or a child who cannot tell her dreams from truth, what bit me?"

"Nothing," he insisted. "You were attacked in your sleep with a blade of some kind-"

"Then where is the blood?" she asked "Who killed Angus? Who murdered Sam?" She squeezed his hand. "Sean, you must believe me. We must leave this place." He will find me, she thought, unable to stop the thought from coming. "Whatever Tristan has become, we cannot fight him-I could not even wound him last night. You could not believe how strong he has become-"

"Aye, la.s.s," he cut her off. "I don't believe it." He stood up again, his tone as cold as his expression. "Listen to me, Siobhan. You are a woman, with a woman's heart, and your guilt has driven you mad."

"Guilt?" she demanded, breathless. She didn't have the strength for this. He was her brother; he should believe her, not treat her like some raving lunatic child.

"Your guilt about DuMaine," he said. "I never should have let you be a part of this, love. I'm sorry."

Cilla came in before she could answer, her old nursemaid looking frantic with horror. "My poor, sweet lady," she cried, hurrying to the bed. Michael followed close behind her, carrying her basket of supplies, and Emma and Clare followed him. "What has happened to you?"

"Someone attacked her in the night," Sean said before Siobhan could answer. "The same person who killed the others, I would think."

"Who was it, my lady?" Emma asked as Michael helped Cilla unpack her bandages and little pots of herbs and salve.

"She doesn't remember," Sean answered for her again. He laid his hand on her brow, his eyes meeting hers in a narrow frown that bade her to keep silent. "But I mean to find out." Caressing her cheek with the back of his hand for a moment, he turned and headed for the door. "Come, Michael." With a final look back, they were gone.

"Sean!" she tried to call after him, but Cilla was pushing her back on the bed.

"Hush now," she soothed. "Still and quiet, love, that's the way." "My papa killed those bad men." Clare was standing at the foot of the bed, watching Siobhan with Tristan's eyes. "My papa has returned." She smiled. "Just as he promised he would."

"My lady, hush," Emma scolded. "Why would you tell such a lie?"

"I am not lying," the little girl said. "Am I, Siobhan?"

"That is quite enough," Cilla said. "Emma, take this child away."

"I cannot," Emma said, looking back and forth between Clare and Siobhan and turning pale. "The captain has bolted the door and set a guard for my lady's protection."

"It doesn't matter," Clare said. "My papa will still come."

Clare has seen him, too, Siobhan thought, feeling dizzy. "Yes," she answered, turning her face to the pillow and closing her eyes.

She was so tired. "Yes, he will."

"Hush now, all of you," Cilla scolded. "Lady Siobhan is ill; she needs her rest." She patted Siobhan's cheek. "A good, long sleep, and some good, strong broth, and she'll soon be better."

No, Siobhan thought, I will not. But she had no more strength to protest.

Silas had been comforting young Brother Thomas in the half-ruined chapel when Lebuin's guards had seized him and led him to the tower hall. Gaston was already there, his hands bound behind him. "You're mad, Lebuin," he was saying, obviously ready to combust with fury. But the rebel leader was paying him no mind.

"Gather all of DuMaine's original garrison in the lower hall," he was telling one of his own captains. "Only use force if someone resists, but no one is above suspicion."

"Yes, my lord," the captain nodded. With a final contemptuous glance at Gaston, he led his patrol away, leaving two men to guard the doors.

"Lebuin, what is this?" Silas asked mildly. "Why have you brought us here?"

"Can't you guess?" Gaston said. "He thinks one of us murdered his men-an old man or his nearest ally."

"Siobhan is my nearest ally," Sean said, turning on him. "And now she lies near death."

"Lady Siobhan was attacked as well?" Silas asked, horrified.

"Not so sorely as Angus or Sam, but yes," Sean answered, still glaring at Gaston. "She will live."

"How was she wounded?" Silas had seen the body of the man, Angus, when it was brought up from the ditch. The very idea that any young woman could have suffered the same was appalling.

"In the throat," Sean said, turning his eyes on the scholar at last. "A pair of jagged tears in the flesh, just here." He pointed to a spot on his own throat just over the thickest vein. "An ordinary a.s.sa.s.sin would have simply cut her throat."

"What reason would either of us have to kill the girl?" Gaston demanded. "Or your b.l.o.o.d.y captain, either one?"

"Siobhan hates you, Gaston, and you know it," Sean answered him coldly. "Perhaps Angus tried to defend her."

"So I ripped his throat out with my teeth?" Gaston asked, quite reasonably, Silas would have been forced to admit if he were asked. "I dragged his bloodless body down the stairs and dropped it into the ditch? The man outweighs me by a stone, at least."

He looked over at Silas. "Or did Master Silas carry him for me?"

"Do we know Angus was killed by a man?" Silas asked. "I saw his wounds myself; I would have said they were made by some manner of beast, and from what I have heard, the other man was the same."

"No beast could have scaled the castle wall," Sean pointed out. "No beast could have attacked my sister."

"What does Siobhan say?" Silas said.

"Siobhan does not remember," he answered, but a lie flashed in his eyes. "She must have been sleeping."

"Unless she did it herself," Gaston said. Sean turned on him, sword drawn, before the words were out, but the other man did not flinch. "You're right, Sean; the chit hates me. But she was none too happy with you last night either." He glanced at Silas for a moment as if not certain he should continue before him. "Did you not say your plans for her future did not please her?"

"So you're too much of a weakling to have murdered Angus, but my sister did it?" Sean said bitterly.

"She could have set those dogs of hers on him," Gaston answered. "She's made it quite plain she considers DuMaine's kennels to be hers and no one else's."

Dogs, Silas thought, his mind wandering for a moment. He had seen a dog last night, the golden mastiff that had not seemed to be part of the pack. But that was madness.

"But why, Gaston?" Sean was asking. "Why should Siobhan want to kill Angus?"

"Who knows?" Gaston retorted. "Why did she attack one of your soldiers' sweethearts last night in the hall? She was drunk out of her mind-and with your friend Sam, I might add."

"Siobhan attacked another woman?" Silas said, disbelieving.

"Attacked is much too strong a word, from the way I hear it," Sean said brusquely.

"But she was not herself; your own men have said it," Gaston pressed on. "Perhaps she thought if one of your best men were mysteriously slaughtered, you would give up your plans, give up this castle. Is that not what she wants?"

"You're mad," Sean answered, but Silas thought he heard the faintest trace of doubt in his voice as he said it. "Siobhan cares for every one of our men as much as she does for herself; she would never have done anything to harm them."

"Not knowingly, perhaps," Gaston said. "But drunk, angry, and frightened as she was last night?"

"Why should Siobhan be frightened?" Silas asked.

"Who knows what tricks her woman's mind might have played upon her?" Gaston went on, ignoring him. "Perhaps that's why she made those marks on her own throat; perhaps she meant to kill herself out of remorse."

"No!" Sean roared, his patience at an end. He drove Gaston back against the wall, his sword poised under his chin. "My sister is not mad." Gaston opened his mouth as if to argue, then seemed to think better of it. "She would rather die than let any of our men be killed, especially Sam. She was attacked by someone else." He leaned closer, his blade cutting a tiny slice in Gaston's throat remarkably close to where Siobhan was said to be wounded. "Any man who dares say otherwise will wish he'd been born without a tongue."

"Kill me, then," Gaston answered. "Then explain to the baron of Callard how your sister is a saint."

For a moment, Silas was certain the brigand leader would take the man at his word. Then he backed away. "Cut his bonds," he ordered the nearest of the guards, sheathing his sword. "Release him."

"Aye, my lord," the man nodded, moving to obey.

"But watch him," Sean continued. "If he tries to tell his lies again, arrest him and bring him to me."

"Aye, my lord," a second guard said, coming to help. "He will keep his peace." He fixed Gaston with a glare of his own. "You may depend upon it." He took him none too gently by one arm while his comrade took the other, both of them hustling him quickly out the door.

"What of me, Lebuin?" Silas asked when they were gone. "Am I to be released as well?"

Sean didn't answer for a moment. "You liked Tristan DuMaine, did you not?" he said at last.

"Yes," Silas answered. "I thought he was an honorable lord."

Sean smiled bitterly, shaking his head. "And my mercy means nothing, I suppose."

"Your mercy is temporary." The rebel knight's blue eyes widened. "Is it not?"

"You think I mean to murder you?" Sean seemed genuinely shocked.

"What else can you do, sir knight?" Just then, the fierce young rebel looked very young indeed, he thought. "If you release me, do you think I will keep your secrets?"

"My secrets?" he echoed. He smiled again. "Mayhap you will not. But will you keep Siobhan's?" Silas's shock must have shown on his face, because Sean laughed. "She is very beautiful, isn't she, Silas?"

"Exquisite," the scholar agreed.

"Imagine what she might have been..." His voice trailed off, his smile fading to an expressionless mask. "Silas, do you know aught of what happened in her room last night?" he asked. "Do you know what murdered my men?"

For a moment, Silas thought again of the dog he had seen. In all his months working on this castle, he was almost certain he had never once seen it before. But a dog alone could hardly have done so much evil. "No, Sean," he answered. "In faith, I do not know."

Sean watched him for another long moment, then nodded. "Aye," he said, turning away. "You are released."

CHAPTER 10

After a nap, Siobhan felt much better, but her mind was still in a whirl. She watched Clare and Emma playing with Clare's dolls as the night played over in her head...Tristan in this room, alive but a monster. Tristan in the stable, her demon lover in her arms. He had murdered Angus and Sam; he must have. He had sworn to murder everyone Sean loved. But not her. Tell him you are mine.

She opened the cask of letters she had collected before the castle siege, Tristan's letters stolen from his couriers on the road. For months, she had practiced his script until she could produce a perfect forgery. But she had never really paid attention to the pith of what he wrote.

"Dear Uncle," he began in a long missive to some minor baron in France.

I also regret that you find yourself unable to a.s.sist me as I had hoped. I believe you know I would not have troubled you so on a whim. But since you have obliged me with advice in lieu of silver, allow me to respond.

The course of action you suggest would perhaps be to my benefit if I intended to remain here only so long as required to complete this fortress and secure the district. However, I intend to make DuMaine my home, to live out my days and rear my daughter in the midst of these peasants. To that end, I hesitate to place the burden of my debts upon their backs, particularly now with the rebels so active and so many of my troops away at war. While you are no doubt correct in your a.s.sertion that their poverty is due at least in part to their support of these self-same rebels, I believe that my ultimate interests will be better served by mercy in this matter than punishment by whip or taxes either one. Having observed your management of your own lands, I know you will disagree and consider me a fool-you need not bother to respond to tell me so.

In short, my lord, I thank you for your counsel. If you should find your situation different and wish to reconsider making me a loan, I will be most grateful and swear that you will quickly be repaid with whatever interest you deem fair.

Your obedient servant and kinsman, Tristan DuMaine When she had first heard this letter, Sean had been reading it aloud, making Tristan sound like the worst sort of spoiled, sniveling fop. "No doubt he has gambled away his inheritance and now means to milk our people dry to recoup it," her brother had scoffed, and Siobhan had agreed. But now that she knew the man himself, she read it very differently. Hearing the words in his voice in her mind, she could well imagine the pain it had cost him, begging money from a man he obviously did not respect. That he had not only done so once but accepted the old man's scolding to repeat his suit was a testament to...what? His determination to finish his castle, yes, but also to spare the common people of the district taxes they could ill afford to pay. The people she and Sean were so convinced he cared for not at all. Silas of Ma.s.sum had told her Tristan had paid for the castle from his own purse, had bankrupted himself to reseed the fields after they were burned. At the time, she had called the old scholar a liar, but this seemed to suggest he was not. Sean spoke of his ally, the baron of Callard, as a Norman overlord who cared for his people.

Could Tristan have been the same? And if he was, what were his murderers?

This thought was put off by a knock on the door. "My lady?" Silas said from outside. "May I come in?"

"Of course." Her guard unbolted the lock and let him in. "In truth, I was just thinking of you."