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backed away, allowing others to swarm in front of her, confused by the rising feeling of warmth and excitement brought on by watching him. Raven only put on a display to shock the court, not her personally. She thought Cordelia would remain near to watch the entertainment, but instead her friend drifted with her, biting her lip.
     
      “So just tell me what is on your mind,” Abrielle said patiently, recognizing Cordelia’s pensiveness.
     
      “I saw you dancing with Desmond de Marlé.”
     
      Abrielle’s only answer was a shudder.
     
      “I heard people talking about him. Do you know he’s had two wives, both of whom died in childbirth?”
     
      “Those poor women,” Abrielle murmured.
     
      “In more ways than one. It seems he received money from each wife, and then when Weldon was killed falling down the stairs of his newly finished keep, Desmond inherited his true fortune. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”
     
      Abrielle searched her friend’s face, feeling ill. “Do people think Desmond had anything to do with Weldon’s death?”
     
      Cordelia shrugged. “It is only speculation, but he did benefit the most.”
     
      “And I lost my future,” Abrielle added with a sigh. Then she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “But I cannot live in the past. A new opportunity will come, I am sure of it.”
     
      Cordelia’s expression was too sympathetic, and Abrielle had to look away before tears threatened again.
     
      At last her mother and stepfather approached with the intention of retiring. An evening that began with joyous expectations had plummeted into one of numb despair. Cordelia and her family left the castle, and even Elspeth and Abrielle found themselves alone in their chambers when Vachel expressed a need to walk off his frustrations.
     
      Abrielle stood hugging herself as her mother sadly withdrew into the bedchamber she shared with Vachel and began to undress. Abrielle suddenly realized that she had left behind the drinking goblet given to her by her father. It had to be somewhere in the great hall. She gave no thought to her own safety in her panic at losing such a precious memento. Anxious to retrieve the item before it was forever lost to her, she dashed out of their chambers, in her haste failing to inform her mother that she would be returning to the great hall. Once she reached it, she felt relief to see the goblet where the servants had placed it when taking down the trestle tables so the attendees could dance. With it once again in her grasp, she hurried toward the stairs, not feeling the presence of another until it was too late.
     
    CHAPTER 2
     
      Like a wily serpent, Desmond leapt from his makeshift lair and promptly muffled Abrielle’s screams beneath a sweaty palm. Dragging her writhing, kicking, and with arms flailing about in an attempt to claw him or do him some other injury, he swept her into one of the chambers off the great hall and promptly pressed her down upon the chaise. In mounting fear, Abrielle clawed at his face and tried to turn her own aside, but he dug his fingers into her jaw and, with his foul-tasting tongue, ravished the depths of her mouth.
     
      Abrielle had never been kissed by a suitor before, not even by Lord Weldon, nor had she ever been mauled. The fact that she was being held against her will by the horrid rapscallion Desmond de Marlé was not only thoroughly frightening to her, but immensely revolting. The looming possibility that she’d soon find herself a victim of his lust caused her to fight with every measure of resolve she could muster. Clasped within his tightly confining arms, she bit, clawed, and gouged in a frantic attempt to regain her freedom.
     
      Panic was soon joined by wild instinct as she struggled to free herself, but his sweaty weight and the swathing folds of her own skirtwere against her. When at last she managed to free one leg and began to kick blindly, de Marlé didn’t