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"Hell, she ' s just plain ugly."
    "Be silent, " Douglas said. "Show the woman some respect. " He glanced at Aidan, standing apart from the others with his arms folded across his chest. " Is that the princess?" he demanded.
    Aidan didn ' t utter a word. He just lifted his shoulders in a lit tl e shrug as if to say, " I ' m sorry. ' Tisn ' t my fault. "
    Dainty gave Douglas a sly grin. "You said you'd cross the bridge of the princess ' s homeliness when you came to it, sir."
    Douglas hesitated. A faint smile touched his firm mouth. " If that ' s the princess, I won't be crossing that bridge. I'll be jumping off it. "
    His men laughed in appreciation as he stepped forward to greet the woman. He bowed gracefully. " Your Highness—"
    Hildegarde dropped the casket at his feet. " God in heaven, that thing is heavy! "
    Douglas straightened abruptly. " You— "
    "Are you the earl? " Hildegarde asked, clamping his jaw in her powerful hand. " Well, let me have a good look at you. Old Hildegarde has a touch of the Sight, as they say in Scotland. Not that it ' s done any good. Let me see your face. "
    She examined him thoroughly while Douglas stood there, dumbfounded, the truth slowly sinking in. "Hildegarde, you called yourself? " he said, easing his aching jaw free. " Then you are not Princess Rowena? "
    Hildegarde burst into a loud storm of laughter. "Me—the princess? Why, aren ' t you the flatterer? As if a mountain peasant such as myself could pass for a princess."
    Douglas glanced over his shoulder at Aidan, whose shoulders shoo k with silent laughter. "Madam," he said gravely, " I apologize from the bottom of my heart for the mistake. "
    "What for? " Hildegarde said in astonishment. "I haven ' t had such a good laugh in ages. Frederic! " she shouted to the gaunt-faced figure approaching the small crowd. "Wait until you hear this— " Then suddenly Douglas wasn ' t listening. He wasn ' t paying any attention to the tall man who regarded him in scowling silence. He was busy studying the second woman walking across the bailey. Willowy, from what he could see, lithe with flowing brown hair and a very compelling profile, at least from this distance. Relief pounded through his veins along with a surge of potent male interest.
    He wanted the princess ' s fortune, yes, he admitted it. Perhaps, too, she was all the more attractive because she was the only woman his sainted half-brother had gone to such intriguing lengths to seduce, and there was a lifelong rivalry between the two of them.
    But for a moment he couldn't decide if Rowena represented more than revenge or rivalry or even redemption. For a moment he wondered if she could restore a portion of the purity stolen from him so long ago that he couldn't remember the day when sinning hadn ' t been second nature. For a moment she was merely a woman unlike any other he had met.
    They met in the middle of the moon-washed courtyard like two figures in a formal dance. His men were strangely silent, never having seen their Dragon behave in such a way.
    He bowed low, his chest tightening at the smile of sweet curiosity she gave him. No breath-taking beauty this, he thought in surprise. Not the winter-cool blonde with guileless blue eyes that Matthew seemed to prefer but rather a vivid brunette with a bright pink nose and chiseled cheekbones that lent elegance to a face one might easily pass in a crowd.
    What did Matthew see in her? He didn ' t need her wealth.
    He didn ' t need her as Douglas did. Douglas, who had perfected the art of claiming what belonged to others. Still, for the first time he could honestly claim he was motivated by an unselfish cause. He refused to let anoth er child under his protection th e for lack of food. He would help his people.
    Yet oddly he had never felt more like Mephi stopheles than at this moment. Predator that he was, he was about to take advantage of his brother ' s misfortune for his own personal gain.
    The Dragon of Darien, accustomed to the rough sport