A firm hand over her mouth squelched the scream bubbling from her throat. Alyson froze, knowing from the size of the man’s body pressed against her that it was useless to struggle. Her brain fought to find a reasonable excuse to relay to her master.

“Sssh, I mean you no harm. Promise that you will not scream and I will remove my hand.”

His voice spawned a shiver across her shoulders. She nodded, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Alyson waited as he eased his hand away, his other however, still held her firm around her waist.

“First, I must ask you. Are you a spy for the Saxon?” His voice was firm.

Alyson’s throat grew parched from fear. “Nay,” she managed to squeak. The warmth of his embrace was not like any she’d known, her insides quivered with familiarity. Though she’d yet to see the face of her captor, she knew already it was the man she was sent to speak to.

“If you try to run, I will call my men. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered and as he dropped his hand, she turned to face him. “Do you think I would work for the general and spy for the enemy?” The sting of his words wounded her honor.

“My apologies, milady. Then with any luck, perhaps your coming to my room is for more personal reasons?” He slid the back of his knuckles down her cheek.

She was almost bewitched by his swaggering confidence and horseshit. She batted his hand away. “On the contrary, milord, you are lucky that I did not draw my blade thinking that you were a Saxon invader. What purposes have you for sneaking around in the dark?” she demanded.

He chuckled low. “Good lady, these are my quarters, are they not?” He waited a heartbeat before he spoke again. “Do you carry a blade in truth?”

She stepped into a swathe of clear moonlight and hiked up her skirts to show him the blade tied to her leg. “Rarely do I say what I do not mean, milord.”

He lifted his hands in defense, but his white smile showed in the shadows. “You have no further need to convince me. Now, if you are not a spy, nor here for…well, reasons that I must say I am saddened by, then why do you sneak into my chambers at such great risk?”

“I was instructed to speak with you.” She saw his smile vanish, his expression bathed by the moon, turned serious.

“From whom do you receive your instruction?” he asked searching her face.

Alyson averted her eyes from his steady gaze and searched what to say to him. “Come, sit here beside me and let me see your hand.” She drew him to a stone bench just outside his room.

“You want to see my hands?” The Roman asked, his eyes alert to the garden around them. “You are becoming a more curious woman, with each passing moment.”

“You must believe me. Back there in the garden, when you grabbed my arm. There was great magic in your touch.” There was barely enough room for the two of them on the small bench. She took his hand, palm up and placed it on her lap.

“I think you would find greater pleasure were my hand turned over,” he stated leaning close, providing her with a charming grin.

“Assuming that you think you know what gives me pleasure, milord?” she asked, guarding herself to his bewitching advances. He bore a magnetism that was hard to ignore, no doubt part of his skillful leadership capabilities. That thought reminded her of why she’d been sent. He was far too easy to fantasize about and seated here at his side made the temptation even greater.

“Forgive me, milady. But do I detect a challenge in your response?”

“Did you not believe me when I tell you I’ve been sent to speak with you?”

“To be truthful, when a beautiful woman appears in the middle of the night in my bedroom, my thoughts do not turn speaking.” He squeezed her hand.

“Listen to me well. This is about you, your future. It has nothing at all to do with me, other than to be the messenger for the gods.”