By King's Decree. Shari Anton

with her heathen rituals—tossing animal bones and muttering pagan chants—Harold might have allowed Elva to live in the manor. But the day Elva had slit open a piglet to read the entrails was the day Harold had banished his sister to a hut in the village.

      Though Ardith longed for a proper home of her own, she knew it folly to dream. She placed a hand over her belly, over the ugly scar marring her flesh, sealing her future. Elva had explained to a bewildered girl that though the wound wasn’t deep enough to kill, the damage was severe.

      Ardith could never marry because she could bear no man an heir.

      Ardith shook her head. Why was she thinking of her barrenness now? Why did she let Bronwyn’s visits, witnessing her sister’s happiness, bring on these bouts of self-pity?

      She could hear Bronwyn’s light laughter and the sound of low, male voices coming from the hall. As she passed under the arch separating the two rooms of the manor, she saw not her father, but Corwin.

      Her delight wiped away the dark mood. Without thinking, seeing only her beloved twin, Ardith squealed his name and ran across the room. Corwin barely had time to brace his feet before Ardith flung her arms around his neck.

      

      From several yards away, Gerard watched Ardith gleefully sprint into Corwin’s open arms. He recognized her at once, though he hadn’t seen her for several years. There was no mistaking her deep auburn hair and vivid blue eyes.

      Corwin lifted his sister and swung her around. Gerard barely heard the soft laughter of those around him as he watched the twins embrace. He was remembering the one time he had swept. Ardith from her feet, held an adorable bundle of little girl in his arms.

      Ardith had blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

      She was gowned in coarse wool that hugged her ripe bosom and tiny waist before flaring over the curve of rounded hips.

      Her smile alone could lift a man’s spirits. Ardith’s smile for Corwin caught not only her mouth and eyes, but lighted her entire face.

      The tug in the area of his heart he attributed to envy. Of all the women in his life, from court ladies to peasant wenches, no woman had ever greeted him with such abandon.

      Corwin put Ardith down. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

      “Corwin, you inconsiderate beast, I could hit you,” she said, and did, lightly on the shoulder.

      “What have I done now?”

      “What you have not done is answer my letters! Did you not teach me to read and write so we could exchange messages?”

      Corwin smiled. “As I recall, I taught you the skill because someone pleaded with me to do so, not trusting old Father Hugh’s eyesight.”

      “True, but did you not tell me to practice my writing by sending you messages, which you promised to answer? Fie on you, Corwin. How could you let me worry so?” Ardith backed away and looked him up and down. “You seem in one piece.”

      “Hale and hardy,” Corwin affirmed. With a mocking bow, he added, “And most repentant. You must understand, however, that I had little time to take quill in hand. And believe me, Ardith, you would not wish to read of the war.”

      Gerard’s envy increased as Ardith brushed a comforting hand along Corwin’s arm.

      “Was it horrible?” she asked.

      “Aye. But I am home now, and in need of food and drink. Can you provide a keg of ale to help us celebrate?”

      Ardith hesitated before answering, clearly dissatisfied with Corwin’s short answer and change of subject. Then she nodded and smiled. “I believe I can. Tell me, how long can you stay?”

      Corwin looked to Gerard.

      Gerard answered, “For only a few days.”

      Ardith froze, though her cheeks grew hot. With her complete attention on greeting Corwin, she hadn’t noticed the other people in the hall. Corwin hadn’t made the trip from Wilmont alone. A goodly number of Wilmont soldiers mingled with Lenvil’s men-at-arms and Bronwyn’s escort.

      And the niggling feeling grew that she knew that voice. Ardith prayed, a futile prayer, that the disembodied voice belonged to an unknown knight. She prayed that, just this once, the fates would be kind. But only one other man of her acquaintance could sound so much like Baron Everart. Gerard. Gathering her poise, she turned.

      Her heart leaped as she beheld Gerard. Gerard—no longer the young man who’d carried her from hall to pallet and spoken comforting words to a distraught maiden, but a man full grown. The man whom, but for a cruel twist of fate, she might have married.

      The young lion, Elva had christened the heir to Wilmont. The image had suited Gerard perfectly as a young man, but the cub had matured.

      His eyes hadn’t changed, but for the scant deepening of the lines in the corners. Green eyes, set wide of a noble nose, were still as bright as spring leaves. Over his eyes fanned thick lashes and heavy brows, matching his flaxen, shoulder-length hair.

      The wavy lengths were damp and slightly matted against his head from the pressure of a recently worn helm. Her fingers itched to slide through the locks, to fluff his hair into a mane worthy to frame his high, proud forehead and square, tenacious jaw.

      Over a simple black tunic he wore a hauberk of chain mail. His massive shoulders easily bore the weight of the armor as well as the baldric from which hung a scabbard and ponderous broadsword, tilted within easy reach of his right hand.

      Gerard stood with regal ease. His very stance conveyed an aplomb that only a man sure of his position and power could attain.

      He must have found her scrutiny amusing for he cocked his head and the corners of his mouth rose in a small smile.

      “Greetings, Ardith. Had I known of your concern for Corwin, I would have ordered him to write, I assure you.”

      His words snapped Ardith from her trance. Blessed Mother! She was staring at Gerard as if he were a curiosity from a distant land. Controlling the tremble of her hands and knees, she dipped into a low curtsy. She closed her eyes as she lowered her head, striving for composure.

      She mustn’t allow Gerard to see the turmoil of her thoughts or the ache in her heart. He must never know how his kind words and thoughtful gesture had captured the fancy of a young maiden. He must never know how she cherished the memory in night dreams and unguarded lonely moments.

      “Baron Gerard,” she honored him, just above a whisper.

      Gerard uncrossed his arms. The last time Ardith had curtsied to him, she’d tumbled forward, and for some perverse reason he was wishing she would do so again, just so he could catch her.

      This time, however, Ardith had her body under control.

      And her thoughts, he realized, as Ardith looked up and met his gaze squarely. Gone was the apprehension, the brief glint of anxiety he’d seen in her azure eyes.

      He held out his hand. Ardith hesitated, then placed her fingers across his palm and rose as bidden. Her hand wasn’t fragile, like Bronwyn’s, but sturdy. No callus marred the pads nor redness blemished the palm, but neither was her grasp flaccid from idleness.

      Gerard yielded to an impulse. He raised her fingers to his mouth, brushing his lips across blunt-cut nails. She didn’t jerk away. Instead, she squeezed his hand.

      He must have misread the anxiety he’d seen in her eyes. She assuredly didn’t fear him, or shy from his touch, for which he felt inordinately grateful.

      “Still the scamp, I see,” he teased, nudging her memory of their first meeting.

      She blinked in surprise, then blushed, a wonderful rose shade that complemented her unveiled auburn hair. “I am truly sorry, my lord, for not greeting you first as is proper. And you must think me a hamdan for chastising Corwin in the presence of others.”

      “Shall