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woman who touched and spoke to her so kindly.
    Meg turned toward Dominic, a silent question in her eyes. The answer came as he began stroking the falcon as she had, head and breast and wings, his touches both gentle and certain. Unhurried, as though there were no more demands on him than those placed by the need to reassure the beautiful captive falcon, he stroked her and whistled her five-note call.
    Fascinated, Meg watched. When the bird became restive at the strange breath bathing her, Dominic showed no impatience. Long minutes passed as he began the ritual all over again and yet again, touching the falcon as Meg had. Slowly the bird calmed, accepting him.
    Only then did Dominic speak to the peregrine, praising her fine beak and the proud curve of her head. Bells jangled as the falcon moved restlessly, unused to Dominic’s voice. Again, he showed no impatience. He simply began all over again, repeating the calming ritual until the falcon accepted his touch, his voice, his breath bathing her.
    Meg let out a sigh she hadn’t been aware of holding in. Smiling with pleasure, she watched Dominic finish gentling the falcon. He had a fine touch, light and yet firm. Even when he turned the bird to the light to see her better, she accepted him without restlessness.
    â€œYou are very gentle with her,” Meg said softly.
    â€œFalcons respond best to gentleness.”
    â€œAnd if they responded best to beating?”
    â€œI would beat them,” he murmured matter-of-factly.
    There was silence while Meg measured anew the dismaying extent of Dominic’s self-control. Had she not sensed the pain buried so deeply within him, she would have thought him an utterly cold man.
    â€œAgain, Meg,” whispered Dominic. “Let me see your hands gentling her.”
    But this time it wasn’t the peregrine on his wrist Dominic watched. It was Meg’s graceful hands, her slightly parted lips, and her breasts rising beneath her open coat. His nostrils flared slightly as he drank in the scent of spices that rose from Meg’s body like heat from a candle flame.
    Desire surged powerfully, making Dominic uneasy. A warrior who wasn’t in complete control of himself made mistakes. Fatal mistakes.
    With the ease of long experience, he reined in his impatience to bed the wench. He couldn’t control his body’s hard response, but he could control what he did about that arousal.
    â€œIt might be worth captivity to be touched so sweetly,” Dominic said after a moment. “Do you caress your lovers with your breath and fingertips, maid Meg?”
    Startled, she turned toward him. He was very close, and he watched her with a falcon’s intensity. In the half-light of the mews, his eyes gleamed like quicksilver.
    â€œI—I know not such things,” Meg said.
    â€œIs your husband so ungenerous, then?”
    â€œI’m not married.”
    â€œExcellent,” Dominic said, blowing gently over the peregrine. “I would be loath to sever that which was melded together with God’s blessing, yet I findI want you as my leman. Do you have a father or an uncle who will receive your price?”
    Spine straight, chin raised, Meg said coldly, “You overreach yourself, lord.”
    The clear tone of outrage in her voice amused Dominic.
    â€œHow so?” he asked.
    â€œYou are to be wed on the morrow!”
    â€œAh, that.”
    Dominic turned aside long enough to replace the peregrine on its perch.
    â€œMarriage is for land and heirs,” he said.
    With no warning, Dominic turned and pulled Meg against his body, testing her response to a direct approach. When he lowered his head as though to kiss her, he felt the refusal in her stiff body and saw it in the fierce glitter of her eyes. The wench was as proud and aloof as any peregrine. And like a hunting bird, she would have to be taken by stealth rather than force in order to achieve the desired result.
    God’s teeth, why