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gatehouse.
    The chateau was an enormous structure, as large as Notre Dame in Paris and completely enclosed by a deep freshwater moat made by the river at its side. The wide moat circled the outer bailey, which was a three-story stone wall topped by battlements connected by wall walks. Surrounding the chateau were the domestic buildings: the knights' barracks and servants' building, the stables, piggery, garden, and exercise yard. There was a lesser bailey that enclosed the castle keep, its towers and fore building.
    The famous Gaillard vineyards stretched up and over the hillsides in every direction. The barley, oat, and wheat fields reached from the north all the way to the valley's end. Thickly forested mountains enclosed the whole. This day was made of blue skies and bright sunlight, and the Gaillard valley, its castle, and the wealth of its rich farmland stole Paxton's breath. The profound beauty of his land would always strike him.
    Nay, he thought. Not my land. My brother's land.
    Morgan de Gaillard Chamberlain, his older brother by an absurdly meaningful two minutes. They had shared the space of their mother's womb for nine months, where even then Morgan had tried to squeeze him out; his brother had been born hale and heavy, a goodly weight for a babe, while he had been half his brother's size, frail and sickly and expected to die before the winter months were through. His mother and her ladies saw this at once—and to everyone this seemed to explain his mother's indifference to him and her blind adoration of his brother. And so it had begun: the joining of their two lives. They were like two rams that had locked horns in a battle, only the battle seemed to last forever. Brothers and enemies by turns or heart...
    The warhorse thundered over the wooden planks that led to the gatehouse. Two guards rushed down the stone steps to greet Paxton, but he continued to stare straight ahead as he crossed over the moat and under the wide stone arch of the entrance keep His knights galloped behind him. A trumpet sounded, alerting Morgan and his men to his brother's return. As Paxton came through the entrance gate, he first saw John Chamberlain, his uncle and his brother's steward. The older man rushed down the stone steps of the keep to greet him as well
    Paxton drew the horse up sharply, dismounting before the great stallion's legs crashed back to earth. His knights headed straight for the stables. Paxton's black cape billowed behind him as he approached his friend. The gray-haired man's gaze filled with anxiety, so much so that Paxton stopped and asked, "What say you, John?'
    " 'Tis bad, Paxton, 'tis very bad. Henry returned just before you. He's in the hall with Morgan now, telling of...of lurid deeds that he lays at your feet."
    Hands on hips, Paxton demanded, "What deeds be these?"
    John met Paxton's level gaze, his arms reaching up to firmly grasp Paxton's muscled biceps, as if needing more of his nephew's attention. "Henry claims you abandoned the battle and carried off a condemned witch to the forest, that he followed you there and came upon your lustful coupling. He says you stayed away half the night, abandoning the search for Lady Belinda to lie with this witch."
    Paxton swore softly, viciously.
    A curious assortment of half-truths. Nay, he realized with sinking dread. 'Twas no half-truth. He had done just that. Worse, after the magic of the one night with his virgin witch, he would do it all again. The entire ride back he could think only of her, his witch-child, and how, as soon as he found the Lady Belinda, he would find the silver-eyed girl and bring her to Gaillard. Even now, he could close his eyes and see her with her strange beautiful eyes, her red mouth, the cascade of her hair, the curves of her slim form, her pants and cries as he filled her...
    He had no excuse. There was no explanation.
    "Deny it, Paxton!"
    Paxton's dark blue eyes seemed to turn black with his thoughts; his gaze remained steady, unwavering.