Chapter 5

Hell's teeth! Dominic the Silver, so called for his silver eyes and silver tongue. Rhodri knew him slightly; had heard him perform. He'd also seen the man in a fight, when a keep they were both in had been invaded. The memories of D'Argente's wickedly flashing silver-etched blade reaffirmed Rhodri's determination to keep his hands off Selene.

"So do you sing?" Surely Dominic's daughter must, but he'd never heard her do more than hum to Huw.

Even in the glow of the fire, he could see her skin darken with a flush.

"No. I've no voice at all. But I love music. Once my father took me with him to a banquet and I was allowed to watch the dancing with the children of the castle. It was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen."

Right now, Rhodri wasn't sure that there was a more beautiful sight on Earth than Selene, with her fair skin flushed and her black hair, free of its usual kerchief, tumbled down her back. But telling her that would be unwise, so he asked instead, "How is it he leaves you here alone, unprotected?" Surely a bard of his stature could have arranged a marriage for his daughter, with a wealthy merchant, or even the younger son of a knight. She should have a grand house and servants to command, rather than this cozy cottage all to herself.

But she just laughed.

"I gave him no choice in the matter. He took me with him to London one spring. That was enough. After turning down no fewer than twelve not-so-honorable proposals, I begged him to let me return home."

"So you've no thought of marriage?"

"I did, of course, as a girl. But my parents never wed, you see, though they loved one another dearly. And my great-grandmother was a dark-skinned Spaniard, making me even less desirable to a stolid Englishman. I refused to marry for anything less than love, and certainly not to sell myself without marriage. Now I am a spinster of eight and twenty, and base-born besides. But do not pity me. I am resigned to my solitary life."

Eight and twenty? Rhodri would never have guessed, though compared to his own five and thirty, she was still practically a babe. But it mattered naught since he had already decided she rated more than a quick tumble. And that was all he could give her, more's the pity. If only he'd met her before Acre.

"What's wrong, Rhodri?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You seemed so sad all of a sudden. Tell me about yourself," she urged. "Have you a wife and children waiting in Wales?"

"No. I was a second son, never meant to inherit. My older brother died of a fever while I was Outre Mer." And by then it had been too late.

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother. But that wasn't the worst of it for you, was it? Something happened to you on the Crusade." Her voice was steady, certain. He didn't know how she could tell, but she was not guessing.

"Many things happened on the Crusade. Surely you heard about the siege of Acre."

"Aye. Even here in the back of beyond, I've heard of that." Of course she had. The butchery of Moorish hostages by the supposedly honorable crusaders was known throughout the land, celebrated by some, decried by others. I'm sorry, Rhodri, for what you've endured. Was Huw with you then?"

"He was, which explains the nightmares. None of us, man or boy, returned unscathed." He'd never forget being ordered to kill innocents women and children beause of another man's perfidy.

"I see that." She blinked rapidly, and Rhodri hoped to God she wasn't blinking back tears. Not for him. Then again, God had quit listening to him two years ago.

"You like music?" The question popped out of his mouth as he racked his brain for a way to lighten the mood. Anything to bring the smile back to her full, sultry lips.

"Very much." She cast him a sunny smile.

"Well, I'm no Dominic D'Argente, but I may be able to play a tune for my supper." He reached for his saddle bag and withdrew a small silver flute.

"How lovely," she cried. "Is it Welsh?"

"Aye. It belonged to my brother Daffyd at one time, and to an uncle before that, who did his best to teach us both. Let us see if I remember any of his lessons."

He began to play a jaunty tune. Actually, it was a fairly bawdy sea chantey, but since he couldn't sing and play at the same time, she'd never know that. She leaned her cheek on her hand and listened raptly, her slipper-shod foot tapping along. He decided it would not be wise to mention that the uncle in question had captained a ship. His mother's family had been anything but noble. Perhaps that explained why he felt so comfortable in her modest home.

Later he made way through the dank drizzle back to his tent. He couldn't see the moon through the clouds, but the hunger clawing at his guts told him it wouldn't be many days till the new moon. He prayed Huw would be able to ride by then, because Rhodri couldn't risk being anywhere near Selene during the dark of the moon. He snorted at the irony. The woman he was tumbling head over heels in love with was named for a goddess of the moon. The very orb that controlled his curse.