Castle of the Wolf. Margaret Moore

of gold than I am, and the jewels are just as false. If you have a drop of honor in you, you’ll give me a more worthy prize.”

      With a shrug of his beefy shoulders, her uncle answered as if he were innocence itself. “You received the prize that was offered. I never said it was real gold, or that the jewels were gemstones. It was on display in the hall the night before the melee, and you were quite welcome to examine it then. If you did not...” Her uncle spread his hands wide, as if to say, “What fault is it of mine?”

      “And why such anger?” he continued. “Have you not won another victory? Will that not add to your fame and fierce reputation? Surely that was worth the effort.”

      Rheged regarded the man with undisguised disdain and answered in Welsh. Whatever he said, it was obviously no compliment.

      “Leave my castle, Sir Rheged,” her uncle ordered, all vestige of amiability replaced by indignant anger, “or I’ll order my guards to—”

      “What?” Rheged demanded, his voice low and hard. “Try to make me go? If that’s your notion, think again, my lord. I have my sword.”

      “And I have twenty archers with arrows nocked and aimed right at your head,” her uncle returned.

      A quick glance at the wall walk confirmed the truth of what he said.

      Rheged threw the box onto the ground with such force the lid flew off and it skittered to a halt inches from her uncle’s toe. “Twenty men to one. Why am I not surprised?”

      He gestured at the windows surrounding the yard, proving that he, too, was aware that they were being watched by more than the men and servants in the yard. “Soon all will know what kind of honorable nobleman you are. Then we shall see how many friends you have at court.”

      “More than you, at least,” her uncle retorted. “More than some peasant of a Welshman will ever have, no matter how well he fights or how many walls he climbs. Indeed, a monkey could have done what you did to earn your knighthood, so don’t think to threaten me. Now get out, Sir Rheged, before I have you shot.”

      He would do it, too, Tamsin knew. Leave, Rheged, she silently urged, instinctively stepping forward.

      The Welshman glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before he turned his attention back to her uncle. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have expected better from a man who’ll give his niece to a greedy, lecherous lout like Blane.”

      “My niece’s marriage is no business of yours!” DeLac cried as Tamsin stood frozen where she was, rooted to the ground, afraid to move a muscle lest she make things worse. “And you’ve got the only prize you deserve. Now go, before I order my men to kill you where you stand!”

      “Very well, my lord, who has given a prize worthy of the giver—false and cheap, good for show, but lacking any true value,” Rheged replied as he threw himself into the saddle. “Keep your prize and be damned!”

      “Get out and never return, you stupid, stinking Welshman!” her uncle shouted.

      Rheged lifted his horse’s reins, but instead of heading for the gate, he rode right at Tamsin, turning his horse at the last moment.

      In that same moment, he reached down and grabbed the back of her gown. Gasping with shock and dismay, she kicked and struggled as he hauled her over his lap.

      “Put me down! Let me go!” she cried with desperate panic. Ignoring her, he punched his horse’s sides with his heels and, with her slung over his horse as if she were a sack of grain, rode out through the gates.